Captain's Fury (53 page)

"For what, Max?" Crassus demanded.

"You were right. It was too easy," Max said. "The Canim are coming—at least two separate elements coming from the northeast and southeast, and they're converging here."

Crassus clenched his hands into fists and then nodded sharply at the First Spear. "Assemble, and prepare to move down the hill to support the defense of the palisade wall," he said sharply. "Knights to stay at the crown of the hill in reserve. Maximus, how many of your troops are in?"

Chapter 42

Isana watched as the
Slive
approached the docks at Fellcove, a small port town on Alera's western coast, many miles south of Founderport and the Elinarch. The place had a seedy look to it, the boards of its houses weathered with age and smeared with tar. From the looks of the docks, one could practically step off of one's ship and directly into the town's drinking house, or its brothel— possibly both.

Ehren stood beside her, smiling. "Don't look so alarmed, my lady," he murmured. "We won't be staying long enough for it to make you uncomfortable."

"It's close to Mastings," Ehren said. "The Legions are probably there already, and even if they aren't, Nasaug almost certainly is."

"Shouldn't we have sailed directly to Mastings, then?"

Demos's voice cut into the conversation as the captain came striding down the deck. "The Canim have been rather narrow-minded about commandeering every ship that they can get their hands on. I'd rather keep mine."

"Which makes Fellcove our only real option," Ehren said. "The Canim don't keep a presence here. Something about the smell."

Isana arched an eyebrow. "Surely they don't leave it entirely unguarded?"

"No," Ehren said. "They pay a local, ah, businessman named Ibrus, to commandeer ships and keep them informed about any naval movements."

"What's to stop him from taking the
Slive?"
Isana asked Demos.

"He's greedy," Demos said. "Not suicidal."

"I've done business with him before," Ehren added. "He's as reasonable as any of his ilk can be."

The ship's lines got tossed out to the dock rats, and the men drew the
Slive
up to the dock and made it fast. Isana noted that a broad-bladed axe had been set out beside the base of each mooring line on the ship, presumably so that they could be severed quickly, if necessary.

The ship's hull bumped against the dock, and Demos nodded to Ehren, holding out his hand. "There you go."

Ehren slapped a jingling leather pouch into Demos's palm, and nodded to him. "Pleasure doing business."

"I always enjoy working with Cursors," Demos replied. "They pay on time, and almost never try to kill me afterward."

Tavi emerged from the passenger cabin, wearing a mail shirt and his weaponry. Araris, similarly clad, also appeared. Tavi nodded and smiled at Isana, before walking over to the hold and growling something in the Canish tongue. An answering snarl rose from the depths of the ship, and then Varg came up the stairs through the cargo doors. The enormous Cane wrinkled his nose and growled something, to which Tavi responded with a bark of laughter. Varg disdained the gangplank. He simply put one hand on the ship's railing and vaulted lightly down to the dock beneath.
Lightly
being a relative term, Isana supposed.

The dock rats all paused in their tasks for a moment, staring at Varg. The big Cane stretched, then deliberately yawned, displaying a mouthful of fangs.

"I'm not really sure," Tavi said. He gave Varg a wry glance. "I don't think I'm supposed to be. Excuse me." He paced down the gangplank to stand near the Cane.

Kitai climbed down from the ship's rigging and dropped the last several feet to the deck. Over the course of the journey, her hair had begun to grow in again and was now a short, fine brush of white offset by her longer mane. She gave a brilliant smile to one of the crewman, a brawny young sailor with a fresh cut running across his chin. The man visibly flinched and seemed to remember urgent duties requiring his attention elsewhere on the ship.

Kitai murmured to Isana, "I take my shirt off once, and it is as if these Alerans think I have invited them all to mate with me."

"Here," Kitai said, drawing a finger across her chin. "And another you can't see, right about…" She started untucking her shirt from her trousers.

Isana sighed and put her hands over Kitai's. "Later, dear. For the time being, let's just get off the ship." She turned to Kitai and offered her one of the traveling cloaks she had folded over her arm.

Kitai took the cloak, evidently well pleased with herself, and threw it about her shoulders, covering her distinctive hair with the hood. "Though I hardly see the point of wearing any kind of disguise," she said. "Not with the Cane with us."

Isana donned her own cloak. "Humor me."

"Easy enough," Kitai said agreeably.

Araris, now cloaked and hooded, came up to Isana, a satchel over his shoulder. He offered it to her, and she took it, her fingers brushing his. His eyes shone for a moment, and he bowed his head to her. "Ready?"

Isana felt a sudden flutter of amusement mixed with realization from Kitai, who murmured tartly, "Why, I expect she
is
."

"Kitai!" Isana whispered fiercely, her face heating.

"All that fuss about the men in a separate room. I should have shared a room with my Aleran and you with yours. We all would have been happier."

"Kitai!"

"Though I suppose we might not have gotten things done quite as quickly," Kitai said. She tilted her head and gave Araris a frank appraisal. "How is he with his mouth?"

Araris looked considerably more shaken than he had when he'd received his hideous belly wound. "Um, ladies," he said. "Excuse me." He hurried down the gangplank to move to Tavi's side.

Kitai laughed, a merry, silvery sound. "Alerans make this easy."

"You're shameless!" Isana protested, but she felt her mouth turning up into a smile.

"Of course," Kitai said. "It's obviously a side effect of being an unlettered savage." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and glanced at Tavi, who was speaking intently to Ehren. "My Aleran does not know."

Kitai smiled faintly. "There were times when Doroga would meet with a woman, after my mother died. I was much younger. I thought he was betraying her memory. It was painful."

Isana shivered a little at the sudden sense of hollow loss and loneliness she felt in Kitai. The loss of her mother must have affected her deeply, still to bring up such intense emotion years and years later.

"I know better, now. My mother was dead. Doroga should not be expected to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was a difficult thought to hold between my ears."

"I'll tell him," Isana said. "When he doesn't already have so much on his mind."

Kitai nodded. "Then I will not bring it up. I will not lie to him should he ask me, but I will not draw his attention to it."

It had been sundown when they made port, and it was well on toward full darkness now. Fellcove had very few furylamps on its streets—in fact, the town itself seemed to have none at all. The only lamps in evidence were outside of homes and businesses, doubtlessly personal property. The streets were crude mud tracks, utterly lacking the properly furycrafted stone, or even the ruder, more common cobblestones. Fellcove's filth ran through garbage-choked gutters on either side of the street, and the whole place smelled awful.

Indeed, as they proceeded into the town, Varg seemed to shrink a few inches, his shoulders hunching up even higher, his head lower and often turned aside, as if to seek some respite from the stench.

There was only one street, and it wound back and forth from the ocean up the steep side of a hill. Ehren led them to its very last winding, and to an enormous house that may at one time have looked respectable, perhaps as a residence for a magistrate or a minor Count. Now, its white stone had been stained by years of weather and sun, and most of the windows were out. What had once been a small garden in front of the house had become a patch of weeds and brambles so thick that it had strangled itself to death.

Ehren walked up to the front door of the house, drew his knife, and banged the pommel of his dagger several times upon the door. The door was cheap and weatherworn, clearly a relatively recent addition to the house, and it was marked with the shallow, round indentations of what Isana assumed had to be thousands of other people banging on it with a dagger's pommel.

For a long while, nothing happened.

"Should we let ourselves in?" Tavi asked.

"Oh crows no," Ehren said quickly. "Bad idea." He pounded on the door again. "Ibrus!" he shouted. "I need to talk to you, and I've got cash!"

Footsteps thudded on floorboards inside the house and grew louder. Shortly the door was opened by an enormous man in a food-stained shirt. He had a heavy brow, a thick neck, and something had removed an entire section of his upper lip, leaving his teeth bared in a perpetual snarl.

"Siggy," Ehren said, smiling. "Is Ibrus in?"

The big man's voice was slurred by his mangled face, but its tone was surprisingly warm and mellow. "It's late, Appius. He's told you about his hours before."

"I'm prepared to make it worth his time."

"Heard that one before," Siggy said.

Ehren tossed a pair of coins at the big man, and Isana saw the glitter of gold in the light of the single furylamp outside the front door.

"I'm prepared to make it worth his time," Ehren said in exactly the same voice as before.

"Come in," Siggy said. He pocketed the coins and led them into the entry hall, a large room obviously used as a reception area, centered around a large (and largely defunct) fountain with its own pool. The water was dark and stagnant. Siggy paused for a moment as Varg crouched to come through the door, and stared at the Cane. "Wait here. I'll go get him."

"Everybody in this part of the Realm has at least two or three aliases. If you don't pick up a couple, you'll never fit in."

More footsteps sounded, and another light approached. Siggy bore a fury-lamp in one hand and a heavy cudgel in the other. A man walked beside him. He was a little taller than average and well built, his thick red hair and beard shot with grey. He wore a fine robe, much like those sported by Senators and the most pretentious of the Citizenry, though it was rumpled and stained with what Isana hoped was wine.

"Appius," Ibrus said. He yawned. "I was just finishing a rather fine evening's entertainment, and I cannot adequately express how annoying your presence is."

Isana found herself focusing more intently on Ibrus. Though the man looked and sounded both bored and mildly angry, his true emotions were considerably different.

He was tense. Afraid.

"You're a middleman, Ibrus," Ehren replied. "Everyone wants to see you in the middle of the night—or in the middle of a bonfire. There's not much in between."