There was a pounding of running feet and Ivern appeared at the door to the cell, his grin even wider than usual. “Brother Sollis sends his regards, Aspects,” he said, nodding briefly at them in turn before addressing Frentis. “He says to gather your people and forget about holding this place. We need to get to the docks.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Have I ever told you,” Nortah began, his pallor somewhat grey in the dim light of the hold, “how much I detest sea travel?”
Behind him one of his fighters gave a grunt of agreement before heaving into his helmet. “Do it in the bilges,” Nortah rebuked him. “You’ll have to wear that before long.”
Vaelin gave his brother a soft pat on the arm and moved deeper into the hold, passing ranks of free fighters dressed in Volarian armour, taking the steps to the lower deck where the Seordah sat in equal misery. He found Hera Drakil sitting next to a half-open porthole, eyes closed and mouth open to suck in the sweet outside air.
“We’re five miles from the harbour,” Vaelin told him, drawing a puzzled frown. “We’ll be there soon,” he clarified. “Make your people ready.”
“They have been ready to get off this horrible thing since they stepped on it,” the war chief returned with a baleful glint in his eye. Without Dahrena’s guidance, persuading them to this stratagem had not been an easy thing. He had explained it all in detail to Hera Drakil, the queen adding her voice with promises of great rewards and everlasting gratitude should they consent to take ship to Varinshold. The Seordah listened to it all in silence then walked back to his people’s encampment. Vaelin and Lyrna lingered on the periphery watching the argument unfold. The Seordah were not a demonstrative people, rarely given to raised voices or gesticulation, so there had been a certain ominous quality to the increasing stillness and quietude evident in the various war chiefs as they sat in a circle and debated the merits of Vaelin’s plan. Eventually, after several hours and with night coming on, Hera Drakil returned, his face rigid with reluctance as he said, “We go on the big water.”
“Salt staining every breath,” the Seordah said now. “No earth beneath your feet. How can such a thing be borne for any time?”
“Greed or necessity,” Vaelin replied. “You recall your part in this?”
“Kill all the two-swords we find and make for the big black building.” The Seordah stirred as Vaelin rose, leaning forward, fixing him with the same questing gaze he had shown him since Alltor.
“You . . .” The Seordah paused, searching for the right words. “You are more . . . you now,
Vaelin replied with a cautious nod. In truth he felt stronger, the chill having lifted from his bones, for the most part. Also his final practice with Davern had actually seen him defeat the shipwright, much to his sister’s delight. She had taken to watching the daily contests and gave a squeal of triumph as Vaelin’s wooden sword found a gap in Davern’s defences, jabbing into his midriff with enough force to provoke an obscenity-laden shout of pain. His dark-faced fury at Alornis’s taunts had been something of a guilty pleasure, though Vaelin was careful to hide it as he thanked the sergeant for his service and released him from future obligations.
“I am,” Davern grated, “
He made his way to the top deck and joined Reva at the helm, dressed in her light mail shirt, sword on her back, and bow in hand, laughing at something the Shield had said. The man’s humour faded at sight of Vaelin and he beckoned his helmsman forward to take the wheel, offering a cursory bow. “My Lord of Battle.”
“Fleet Lord Ell-Nestra,” Vaelin replied, bowing lower. The Shield’s resentment was more carefully hidden than Davern’s, though, he suspected, no less deeply felt.
“Our pet savages are prepared, I take it?” Ell-Nestra asked.
“Don’t call them that,” Vaelin told him, annoyed at the ease with which the Shield provoked him.
“Your pardon, my lord. Though you must agree they make poor sailors.”
“Who can blame them?” Reva said, her face only slightly less grey than Nortah’s. “I’d fight half the world to get off this tub.”
“Tub?” The Shield rounded on her in mock fury. “My lady insults the finest vessel ever taken by a Meldenean sabre. Why, I would challenge you, if you were not merely but a feeble woman.”
