The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (12 page)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Cal asked as seemingly endless folds of ochre canvas flopped around her feet.

“Of course I do. Do you not trust me?”

He couldn’t say no, and tried to concentrate as she told him the names of the parts of the boat he would be in charge of. Her familiarity seemed to increase his fear, not relieve it. There were an awful lot of unfamiliar terms.

Once Tad joined them in the boat, the young swordsman learned he was to be in charge of the small headsail and sat toward the front of the boat looking as nervous as Cal.

“Now, Cal,” instructed Sullyan, “undo that line from the stern of the boat and push us away from the jetty.”

Cal did as he was told, pushing gingerly at the wood of the jetty. The small craft slid forward a few feet to lie still and calm in the center of the bay. They were aware old Jeriko had come out of his shed to watch them, and even the goodwife stared from behind her cottage window, no doubt anticipating a good laugh at their expense.

A preoccupied Cal didn’t hear Sullyan’s instruction, and had to ask her to repeat it. “What’s a halyard?”

“That rope there.” She pointed. “Pull on it as Tad pulls on this one; it will raise the mainsail. And watch the boom does not catch you. It will swing about until the wind arrives.”

The two men did as they were told and the long wooden beam from which the ochre-colored sail hung rose slowly up the mast. When the sail was taut, Sullyan showed them how to tie the ropes off so the beam was held aloft with no fear of it falling.

Now they had to avoid the swinging boom, the second heavy wooden beam that controlled the sail’s base. “Cal, pull the tiller toward you and hold it there,” Sullyan said. “The wind will come from over your right shoulder and we want the sail to fill from that side. Tad, when you see the mainsail fill, raise that headsail and tie it off as I showed you. Ready?”

The men nodded wordlessly. They had no real idea of what to expect, so how could they say they were ready? All they could do was trust in Sullyan and do as they were bid.

Sullyan sat in the center of the boat and closed her eyes. It wasn’t necessary for her to do this in order to access her psyche, but her companions’ anxiety might distract her if she wasn’t careful. She had to do this just right. Air was a most capricious element and needed all her attention.

Slipping within her consciousness, she attuned her psyche to the element of Air. The day was cloudy, but the cloud cover was thin. Behind this she could feel the next weather front approaching from the east, and there was wind aplenty here. All she need do was encourage it closer. She centered her will and exerted her power.

The zephyr startled Cal. He hadn’t seen it ruffling the water as it came from behind him. The small craft slid gently through the water. “Sullyan!” he called, alarmed by the pressure on the tiller and completely ignorant of what he should do.

Silently, still concentrating on calling Air, Sullyan placed her left hand over Cal’s on the tiller, directing his movement. The prow of the little boat came around until it was pointing toward the gap in the reef. She nodded at Tad and he pulled on the rope to raise the small headsail, and the strengthening breeze filled the ochre canvas with a snap. Tad secured the halyard and grasped the other rope to control the fill of the sail.

The breeze grew stronger by the minute and Sullyan could now afford to spare some of her concentration for instructions. She couldn’t resist turning to wave casually at an open-mouthed Jeriko, who stood dumbfounded on the strand.

Cal and Tad heard her small, triumphant chuckle. “Oh, I just
love
doing that.”

Their eyes stretched wide at this uncharacteristic mischievousness, and she laughed. “Well, gentlemen, what is the point of all this power if you cannot enjoy its effects once in a while?” She sobered. “Although, as you know, I do not condone showing off.”

They glanced at each other, clearly unsure how to judge her mood. She grinned again and they relaxed, trying to familiarize themselves with the motion of the boat and the complexities of sailing.

The wind Sullyan had called was cold and smelled of snow. The sea was calm and made little wavelets along the sides of the sloop as it slipped through the icy water. Cal sat in the stern, gradually learning how to make small adjustments to the tiller to keep them on course away from the headland. Tad sat in the prow, watching the fill of the headsail and loosening or tightening the sheet that controlled it, according to Sullyan’s instructions.

“Why’s it called a sheet?” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with rope?”

“How many lengths of rope do you see on this craft, Tad?” Sullyan asked pointedly. “They all do a different job. If I told you to heave on that rope, how would you know which one? And on a larger vessel, with more sails, there is even more rope. Of course they all have different names!”

Tad continued to grumble good-naturedly under his breath and Sullyan let him. She knew he was only covering his nervousness, for they were far off the coast by now and nearing the point when they must turn due west. She could see the red patch of sandstone marring the gray of the cliffs and also the fire beacon mounted on top, as Jeriko had said. She could also just make out the tip of the clerics’ island as it rose from the waves.

Attuning herself once more to her psyche, Sullyan checked the state of the wind. They hadn’t seen any other craft so far and she supposed the fishing fleet had allowed the morning tide to take them farther out to sea. She hoped her little wind would not cause them any inconvenience; she didn’t want to disrupt their trade or prevent them from sailing home when they wished.

Her breeze was behaving as she’d hoped. They turned westward, aiming the prow of their vessel toward their destination. Sullyan herself controlled the mainsail and paid out the sheets, allowing the boom to move out at right angles to catch more of the wind from behind them. She was enjoying herself, pleased to find she had forgotten none of the lessons she had learned whilst sailing with the free-traders of Andaryon.

S
itting in the stern of the little sloop, Sullyan regarded the island. With the light behind it and fading into the west, the island’s rock was black and stark, adding to its forbidding aspect. Frozen snow lodged in the lower crevices of the sharp-edged surface rock, and ice slicked the smoother stone. Not a sign of green could be seen from the water; no trees, no plants, not even any seabirds. Seemingly barren and lifeless, the sharp pinnacle of rock thrust up from the water and loomed above them.

She wondered why there was no snow covering its highest peaks.

“Where on earth are we going to land?” said Cal, leaning over the gunwales to peer beneath the boom. He had surrendered the tiller to Sullyan now they were closer, and she gave him and Tad instructions on how to alter the sails while she guided their craft nearer to landfall.

“There will be a jetty or landing stage somewhere,” she said, her eyes on the rocks. She was allowing the breeze to die down, just keeping enough to allow her steerage. “The fishermen must put in somewhere when they deliver their supplies.”

“That could be the place,” called Tad from the prow. When they looked, they could see a flattened area of stone just behind a low line of rocks, iron rings sunk into its smoothed sides. Sullyan told Tad and Cal to lower the mainsail and they managed to achieve this without covering everyone in wet canvas. Sullyan concentrated on bringing the vessel alongside the slab of stone without crunching the wood. Despite the generous amount of gold she had given Jeriko, he wouldn’t appreciate his boat being gouged on the rocks.

Tad, stationed at the headsail sheet, released it at her command, allowing it to flap in the wind as the boat lost speed. Cal was instructed to jump ashore and catch the line thrown to him by Tad, then secure the boat to one of the rings. He landed inelegantly, making Sullyan and Tad laugh as he tottered on the stone as if drunk.

He had his revenge when Tad, in an effort to leap stylishly ashore, found that his legs also betrayed him and he staggered into the sharp rock face. Sullyan eyed them both sympathetically. “Your pardon, gentlemen. Did I forget to mention the effect of a sea voyage on your sense of balance? Fear not, the sensation will fade in time.”

Both men directed venomous looks at her as she stepped casually onto land and proceeded to hand out the packs.

Checking the boat was secured against the pull of the tide, Sullyan shouldered her pack. To the left of the landing stage was a rough-hewn set of steps, the only other exit.

The steps were treacherously uneven and slippery with frozen spray. Someone had thoughtfully secured a bight of rope along one side, and they held on to this to steady their ascent. The gradient was steep and unrelenting, but the strenuous exercise helped both Tad and Cal recover their sense of balance.

At the top they were confronted by an iron-barred gate set solidly into the rock. The stair had become increasingly narrow as they ascended, taking on the aspect of an open-roofed tunnel. This gate effectively blocked their onward path and there was no sign of human habitation.

“What now?” panted Cal, leaning against the rock. The ride from the Manor, the stress of the sea voyage, and now this steep climb in the biting cold had sapped their strength. They were ready for a warm fire and some rest. This inhospitable gate did not bode well for their reception.

“We announce our presence.” Sullyan indicated the large brass bell hanging to the right of the gate. Its clapper was wrapped in cloth to keep it from sounding when the wind blew strong, and she reached up to unwind the bundled linen. She rang the bell twice.

Silence followed. They could barely hear the susurration of surf on the rocks far below. Tad stirred as if to sound the bell again, but then they heard footfalls approaching. Sullyan threw back the folds of her cloak to display her rank insignia.

“Who comes to disturb our peace at this hour of the day?” came a scratchy voice from beyond the gate. The light was fading fast and it was difficult to make out the hooded figure that appeared from the gloom.

“I am Colonel Sullyan of the High King’s forces and I have come at the request of Elias of Albia to speak with Cleric Patrio Ruvar,” Sullyan said. “My two companions are Captain Cal Tyler and Swordsman Tad Greylin, also of the King’s forces. May we enter? We have had a long journey and we are tired and cold.”

The figure moved forward to study Sullyan’s array of rank insignia and battle honors. Apparently satisfied, he drew the bolts. “You come on the back of a strange breeze,” he commented, holding the gate for them. He relocked it once they were through.

“Yet a convenient one, for all that,” she replied. “Frar …?”

The hooded man inclined his head. “Frar Varian. I am the warder of the gate and I must insist you leave your weapons with me. No one goes armed into the presence of our Patrio.”

“Very well, Frar Varian. We mean no offence to your order. We are here purely to ascertain the facts surrounding the death of Baron Reen.”

Varian sighed as he beckoned them toward a stone cottage fifty yards from the gate. Welcoming lamplight glowed in its windows. “Ah yes. That was a sorry business and one we all regret.”

Sullyan followed the man into the warmth of the small dwelling. “Why is that, Frar?”

He turned to face her and cast back the cowl of his robe. Frar Varian was an elderly man of maybe seventy-five years, and his thinning hair had been shaved into a complicated spiral design, symbolizing his initiation into this particular Order of the Wheel. He was thin with sunken cheeks, but his brown eyes were shrewd and sharp. He regarded Sullyan frankly as she divested herself of her weapons.

“Baron Reen was a mightily troubled soul,” said Varian, accepting Sullyan’s sheathed sword and dagger. He laid them respectfully on a wooden rack, showing an unmistakable familiarity with edged steel that narrowed Sullyan’s eyes. “He took some months to settle to his life here and to fully accept his fate. In those early days, we despaired of ever giving him ease or succor. He even refused to participate in our services at first, despite his devout piety.”

Cal’s eyes boggled at this description of the traitorous Reen and he shot Tad a glance. The young swordsman returned the look with raised brows as they too handed their weapons to the elderly Frar. He laid them beside Sullyan’s on the rack.

“Eventually,” the old man continued, “we began to see improvement. He accepted friendship from one of our number and gradually integrated with us. For some long while he seemed content.”

“And then?” Sullyan was acutely interested in what the Frar had to say.

“None of us guessed he would do such a thing.” The man’s voice, hoarse with disuse, held deep sorrow. “It was pure chance Frar Durren saw him cast himself into the sea. And then, of course, we discovered the bloodied knife with which he’d slit his wrists. It was only an eating knife and not very sharp. It left quite a mess.”

“I can imagine.” Sullyan was watching the old man’s face. “And you are familiar with the mess a blunted blade can cause, are you not, Frar?”

Varian froze, staring at her in silence. Then his eyes shifted to the rack holding their weapons and she saw understanding dawn. “We were not all born into the order, Colonel Sullyan,” he said stiffly. “Some of us had other lives before taking our vows.”

She inclined her head respectfully, continuing the conversation. “But you cannot blame yourselves for the Baron’s state of mind. He was skilled in cunning and would not have scrupled to hide his true feelings from you. I doubt he would ever have accepted his banishment. The shame and injustice he felt would have eaten through him like canker. I was not surprised to learn the content of the Patrio’s letter to King Elias.”

Varian frowned. “You speak as if you knew the Baron, Colonel.”

She responded softly. “I did, Frar. I knew him intimately.”

Her tone made Varian look away, unwilling to pry further. He seemed unsettled and gave himself a shake, as if to dispel some vague disquiet. “I must inform the Patrio of your arrival and your request to speak with him. You will have to be patient. He will be taking the Sundown Service shortly and then he will hear the avowals of the order. Only then will he be free to speak with you. Please make yourselves comfortable here and remain inside. This dwelling place is for the use of the rare guests we receive. You may stay here until your business with the Patrio concludes. There is food in the cold store through that door, and beds through that one. Now you must excuse me or I will be late for Sundown.”