The Ship of Tears_The Legend of the Nine_Part One Page 8

  Gangs roamed the old city, stealing from anyone weaker than they were. And in turn, bigger gangs stole from them. Families with young children stayed in large groups, but few would stand up to the gang members. The best those folk could hope for was to make enough noise so that someone might come to their aid. Since the general left, even that option was a futile exercise. In short, there was no one they could call on for help – or at least, no one who could cover the entire breadth of the old ruins.

  The area around the Dragonsong Inn was relatively safe, but barely a hundred people could find shelter in that small courtyard. The rest, maybe five thousand of them, had to fend for themselves.

  Of the new city, there was nothing but rubble and ruin. The burnt out remains of the wooden buildings made shallow piles of ash along what were once busy streets. No traders came to the market; no fisherfolk threw their lines into the river, no farmers brought food. The new city was gone; what had stood for a hundred years had been flattened in a little under two hours.

  Daric looked out over the rubble from his perch atop the wall. Not for the first time, he wondered how one dragon had managed to cause so much damage.

  But then Orki was no ordinary dragon.

  Even now, folk said they could hear her at night, swimming in the bay off the Speerlag peninsula. Daric knew they were wrong – the Water Dragon had gone back to her lair – but it was enough to keep everyone inside the old city, where they thought they were safe from the beast.

  “They might be safe from the dragon,” Daric whispered, “but they are still dying by the score.”

  “What was that?” Cal said.

  “Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  The wall was maybe a span high, but Cal leaned on it as if it were a bar in some tavern, resting an elbow on the jagged top, looking out at what was left of the new city. He seemed relaxed, given the state of the place. But then they had both gotten used to the view.

  “Any movement?” he asked Daric.

  “Not a whisper. If folk are coming back, they’re not coming today.”

  They were talking about the folk who had fled the valley during Orki’s attack. Many had made a run for Lop, thinking the Ulroch would protect them from the dragon’s fury. Others, including most of the farmers, had gone north, taking their wagons and livestock with them. They would need those farmers back if they were to rebuild the new city. But thus far, nothing.

  Cal nodded. “And what of the general? Have you seen anything of him?”

  Daric shrugged. “If you believe those deserters, he has gone east, to Tag.”

  Cal made a humming noise in his throat. “Shame,” he said. “This lot need some discipline if they are to rebuild.”

  “I think it has gone beyond that,” Daric said, glancing over his shoulder into the old city. “Kunadi is finished. For now, at least. It will be ten years before there is a town here again. Longer, if folk with memories of what has happened stay in the area.” He sighed heavily, glancing over at the old ruins. “We should go. We can do no more for these people, except maybe tell them to leave.”

  Cal followed his gaze, then gave a sigh of his own. “But where will they go? Five thousand refugees? It’s winter up north, and no merchant is going to sail to the southern islands, not if what they are saying about Bly is true. I suppose we could lead the women and children out. To Sharm, maybe?”

  “They won’t follow,” Daric said. “Half think we are at least partly to blame for what happened; the rest won’t follow northerners. No, we should just leave. Sad to say, but there is nothing we can do.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Cal said. “It’s just, all those children and old folk; sticks in my claw that we can’t help them.”

  “I know,” Daric said. “But like my old grandfather used to say, ‘You can take a horse to water, but it’ll likely piss in the stream.’ And besides, Aleria should have news from Eiras. If Gialyn is on Toi, I mean to beat the news back to Bailryn before his mother worries herself to death.”

  “He has been gone over a week,” Cal said. “Do you think he is still there? I’d have thought he would have at least made it to Eiras by now. He’s a resourceful lad. I’d be surprised if he isn’t halfway to Bailryn.”

  Daric nodded his agreement. “There, or back in Eiras,” he said. “Either way, I mean to go home. Good news or bad, I want to be at Mairi’s side when she hears it. And that goes for all those rumours coming out of Bly, too. This is no time to be wondering the Southlands – I need to be home. As do you, my friend.”

  Cal smiled at that. “If you recall, I was on my way home. And I would be there by now, had the Ulroch not closed the temple.”

  Daric grimaced. He had forgotten about that. He was hoping the giants would send him back through the Cisterns; Travelling that Way would cut the journey time in half, if not more.

  “I don’t suppose you have heard anything from Ban and Lyduk, have you?” he asked.

  Cal nodded to the north. “Up on the Steps. They’re staying out of the way.”

  Daric nodded. That was good news; next to the Cistern, the dragons would be the fastest route back to Bailryn.

  “I suppose I should go up and say hello,” he said. “Make sure they don’t fly off and leave us stranded.”

  “They’ll not go until they know what is happening on Bly. You heard what the big dragon said – fifty thousand Karakin!” Cal shuddered at the comment. “Gods, I hope he’s wrong.”

  Daric remembered the day the big dragon landed by the now-empty black pool. The folk in the city thought it was Orki come back to finish them off. But as big as the new dragon was, Skorn still had a way to go to match the Water Dragon for size.

  He had said he was going back to the island, to fetch Brea and Ealian, and it was Arfael who had told him to bring the news of the Karakin to the mainland.

  And all that may well be true. But there was something not quite right about the big dragon. A little too eager, maybe, as if he relished the thought of a Karakin invasion.

  Well, dragons can be odd creatures, Daric reminded himself. As long as he went back for Brea and Ealian, I can forgive him his peculiar ways.

  Thinking about Brea and Ealian, maybe he should have asked them to make a stop at Kunadi on their way through. Skorn could have carried all of them home.

  Too late now.

  Apparently, Arfael was staying on the island, along with Vila’slae, of all people. Daric had no idea how that could have come about, and nor did he want to know. But he was worried that Si’eth had decided to say, too. And there was a girl with them… Suhari, was it? Something like that. Daric shook off the thought. As far as he was concerned, they should all get as far from Bly as they could – and that included the folk in old Kunadi. Sooner or later, those Karakin would find a way off the island, and when they did, the Gods alone knew what might happen.

  “You are doing it again,” Cal said.

  Daric blinked. “Doing what?”

  “Staring at nothing. If I did not know better, I would swear you were a woodsman hunting crecotta. But as there are no trees nearby… What’s got you thinking so hard this time, my friend?”

  “Nothing,” Daric said. “Everything. You know how it is. I hate not knowing. Gialyn, Mairi, the palace, Mersius, the Lebarans, and now we’ve got the bloody Karakin to worry about, and no idea if they are still on the island.”

  “Ban and Lyduk will know,” Cal said. “And as for the rest, did you not say you were waiting on Aleria for a message from the palace?”

  “Oh yes,” Daric said. “I had forgotten about that. Come, let’s see if the old woman is at home.”

  “Old woman?” Cal said, grinning. “You’ll get no favours calling her that.”

  “Maybe not, but she is a hundred and fifty years old.”

  Cal laughed. “And I wouldn’t mention that, either.”

  * * *

  The Dragonsong Inn was the only place in old Kunadi where folk had room to move. Aleria had not let any o
f the new city folk into the inn, and she only let the stable out to women and children, which was why Daric had to wait at the door while Glory went to fetch the old woman.

  It was a long wait.

  Finally, a shutter opened, and Aleria appeared at the common room window.

  “What is it? I’m busy.”

  Daric blinked. Aleria was never a one for good manners, but today she looked ready to spit nails.

  “Err… you said something about a message?”

  Aleria appeared to realise just who it was she was talking to. “Of course, Daric. Stupid of me. Please, come in. I’m upstairs. You too, Cahldien; I have news from Kirin’thar.” She waved them toward the still-closed door. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I have one woman about to drop a child and another with ankle wart. If I don’t clear that up, the whole city will be hopping on one foot.”

  “Lovely,” Daric said, as Glory opened the front door.

  “No, it really isn’t,” Aleria said. She ducked back inside and closed the shutter.

  The shutters were a new addition to the Dragonsong, as were the bars on the upstairs windows and the two guards stationed in the outer hall. The common room was now a dormitory, and the big pantry at the back of the kitchen had been turned into a school room. Daric had to mind his footing as he made his way toward the stairs – there were children everywhere.

  Aleria’s room was just as Daric remembered from the time Gialyn had been lying sick on the old woman’s bed: more books than most libraries, more pens than a bookmaker’s, and more dust than a city full of deserted warehouses. The dust was red: blown up from the peninsula, no doubt. Attempts had been made to clean shelves, but it was everywhere. Absently, Daric wondered why the common room was not similarly afflicted. Maybe the old woman was not as particular with her cleaning as the innkeeper was. But how could she sleep in all that muck?

  The three Raics were still on the shelf behind Aleria’s desk, and the lier’sinn was on its stand by the far window. The only thing different about the room were the two children playing on the rug beside the bed.

  “Janos, Dhabi, I told you not to play in here,” Aleria said. “Shoo, back to your own rooms.”

  The two children laughed, then ran out the room.

  Aleria caught one of them and pulled something from his shirt pocket. “I’ll keep that, I think.”

  The boy looked crestfallen but said nothing.

  Aleria closed the door.

  She put the vial down on her desk. There was a black liquid inside – a very familiar looking black liquid.

  “I think maybe you should put a lock on that door,” Cal said, nodding at the vial.

  Aleria pulled in a long breath while looking down at the vial. “Yes, I think maybe you are right, Cahldien. But later. Messages first.”

  Again, she took in a long breath. Then, as if they each weighed as much as a heavy log, she picked up two scrolls from her desk. She handed one to Cal, the other to Daric.

  Daric took the scroll from the old woman’s outstretched hand. A wave of dread washed over him. Who was in trouble; Mairi or Gialyn? It had to be one or the other; Aleria would not have that sympathetic look in her eye were it anything else.

  “Do I want to read this?”

  It was a stupid question; of course he wanted to read the thing. Well, maybe want to read was stretching the truth, but he certainly had to.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Aleria said. “Go fetch some tea, I think. Yes, that will do. I’ll go fetch some tea.”

  She seemed to be saying the last to herself.

  Gods, why is she acting like that? Is one of them dead?

  Hands shaking, Daric sat on the bed. He spent more than a few seconds staring at the scroll before finally unrolling it.

  The line on the top said – A message from Evin Cesim.

  So, it’s Mairi, Daric thought. Please don’t tell me she is dead, Evin.

  He read the message.

  Then read it again…

  Then read it again…

  Daric stared up at the open window. A stiff breeze was blowing into the room. He could feel fine sand caught up in that breeze.

  So that’s why the shelves are covered in dust, he thought. All she need do is close the window, or put one of those linen nets across the opening.

  Daric stood, walked to the window, and pulled it shut. He started brushing sand from the sill.

  “Daric? What are you doing?” Cal asked.

  “Somebody has to tidy this place up a bit. Look at all this dust and sand. Children play in here, and never mind what it’s doing to the books.”

  Daric glanced over to the bed. The scroll was on the pillow. It had half rolled itself up again. He looked across at Cal. His scroll was still in his hand.

  “Bad news?” Daric asked.

  “Bar’deth,” Cal said. “Kirin’thar thinks the black raic has gone west, back to Aldregair. He is gathering a band to hunt him down; he wants to know if I will be back in time to lead it.”

  Cal pointed at the scroll on the bed. “Daric,” he said, voice quiet, “what has happened? Is it Gialyn?”

  Daric sat on the stool by the window. The counter to his left was almost brown with dust. He started brushing it with his sleeve.

  “Daric?”

  “He has her,” Daric finally said. “Lord Breen, he has my wife. A wool merchant found the men Evin sent to guard her carriage. He found them in a ditch just north of Whitecliff. Took the discovery as a bad omen and turned back to Bailryn. The merchant brought the bodies back with him. He said they had been stabbed in the back, all six of them, the driver, too. Why in all the hells would they kill the driver?”

  Cal’s brow pinched. “Where was she going?”

  Daric laughed out loud. “That’s the amusing part of the story,” he said. “Evin sent her to treat with the man! Can you believe it? She sent my wife on a diplomatic mission to Whitecliff. My wife, who has never so much as entertained an ambassador. Seems Evin thought she might get through to Lord Breen, given that Mairi had spoken to the man at a party and introduced him to her mother.” Again, he laughed. “She thought Mairi might discover what he has been up to these past few months.”

  “Did they find the carriage?”

  Daric shook his head.

  “Then how do they know Breen has her?”

  Daric ignored the question. He stomped over to the door and swung it open. As he had guessed, Aleria was waiting at the top of the stairs.

  “You need to send me to Whitecliff,” Daric said. “As soon as you can.”

  Aleria glanced over her shoulder. Gyna was standing in the doorway to her room. Bent double, so she could fit in the door frame, she was still a head taller than Aleria was. “I’ll take us,” the half-Ulroch said. “We will go through the Cistern.”

  So, they had been talking; Gyna already knew what was in the message. Daric fought down a pang of anger; it did not matter who knew, only that they would help.

  “That will only get us as far as Kelmac,” Daric said. “Barely half way.”

  Gyna was shaking her head. “I have already sent Ban and Lyduk. They will meet us at the border, north of the Belkyn. I would have suggested we fly all the way, but they can get there faster without us weighing them down.”

  “And how long will that take?” Daric asked. “It is near on four hundred leagues to Whitecliff. Cistern or not, the dragons will still have to fly all the way.”

  Gyna glanced at Aleria, then turned back to Daric. “Three days, if the weather holds. More, if it starts snowing up there.”

  “That’s too long,” Daric said. “She can’t wait three days,” he told Aleria.

  He remembered the men he had seen when he had gone to Whitecliff with Damari and Nana. Nial had said those men were brainwashed; they had gone to Breen’s estate and come back different – obsessed with serving His Lordship. And now Mairi was there. Gods, what if they did that to her!

  “You could send me now,” he told Aleria. “I could be
there in an hour.”

  “I can’t send you all,” Aleria said. “Especially not Ban or Lyduk. You should go with Gyna. Her plan is—”

  “Too bloody slow,” Daric finished, almost shouting. “You send me today, Aleria. You hear?”

  The old woman made a grunting noise in her throat and ushered Daric back into her room. “Sit down,” she said.

  Daric bit back a curse. “We have no time for—”

  “Sit down,” Aleria repeated.

  Reluctantly, Daric sat back on the stool he had used earlier. Anything to stop her interrupting him. “I need to go, Aleria. I can’t wait for—”

  “And what will you do?” Aleria said. “If I send you alone, what will you do? And mark me, you would have to go alone. After what happened with the others, I’ll not risk sending more than one at a time through Arenthenia. You could end up in Nos’fael, or somewhere along the—”

  “Rescue my wife, is what I will do,” Daric said.

  “Get yourself killed, more likely,” Aleria said. “You read what happened to those guards; they tied them up, threw them in a ditch, and executed them. And for no other reason than to delay reports of your wife’s kidnap. They will kill you on sight, Daric. Without help, you would not get within a mile of Breen’s manor.”

  Daric ran his fingers through his hair. He felt like pulling it out. He felt like leaving the Dragonsong and running all the way to Whitecliff. Gods, he would ask Orki for help, if he thought it would do any good.

  Finally, he nodded. “You say Ban and Lyduk are already on their way to the Belkyn?” he asked Gyna. She had squeezed into Aleria’s cluttered room and was now sitting on the bed.

  The half-giant nodded. “The dragons left an hour ago, right after Aleria told me what was in the message. And I have arranged to meet up with some friends, once we reach the Townhill road.

  Daric laughed mirthlessly. “Took you that long to come up with a plan, did it? You are getting slow.”

  He shot the big woman a coy look. She must have known something was wrong days ago to come up with such a detailed plan so quickly; send the dragons, rendezvous at Kelmac, arrange travel through the Cistern… and who were these friends?