Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (44 page)

Sorn holds dear."

“Fascinating,” Dixon stated. “And you can understand all he says."

“It is most helpful when you do not want your conversation overheard by prying ears."

“Ah,” Dixon said on a long note. His beady eyes began to gleam for he could see the advantages of such

silent language in his business. Conferring with his men in a way his competitors could not ‘hear’ would

be extremely advantageous during bidding procedures. “Would he teach me?” the dwarf asked.

“It has taken me six months to master the rudiments of the language, Dixon, and I have to insist Lin Su

sign very slowly for me to follow. We will be here only a day; just until the Serenian Star arrives in port.

That wouldn't give you much time to learn."

Dixon's concern over Genny had been replaced with an eagerness to learn something new he could use

to make his business prosper even more. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Lady, there

are only a very few words I wish to know for now,” he told her.

* * * *

Trace Sorn read the missive in his hand once more, his eyes gleaming with evil intent. Carefully, he folded

the parchment in fourths and placed it in his coat pocket. For a moment or two, he sat at the gaming

table, ignoring the messenger who had brought him the news, then motioned the man to come closer.

“You can vouch for the accuracy of this information?” Sorn asked.

“Aye, Milord. It came from a very reliable source,” the messenger replied.

“I see.” Sorn pulled at his lower lip, thoughts swirling like storm clouds in his fevered brain. “There is no

mistake?"

“None, Your Grace."

Sorn stood. He bowed slightly to the two inebriated older men who were half-dozing over their jilp

cards. “I must take my leave, Lord Gannon,” he told the more sober of the two.

“I pass,” Lord Gannon replied and threw down a card. His head dipped to his chest and he began to

snore.

With a disgusted snort, Trace Sorn strode regally from the gaming room. He'd won a goodly sum of

money from the two drunkards only because none of the other members of the club would play with him.

Lords Gannon and Wilson were too old, too soused with mead, and, as such, oblivious to what went on

around them to know or care with whom they lost the occasional gold coin.

“Find me six hungry men,” Sorn said as he and his messenger left the Thorny Rose Gentleman's Club,

“who will do whatever I tell them to do and not ask questions."

Lyle Drake rubbed his bewhiskered face. “Won't find any such here in Wixenstead, Milord,” he

countered. “I'll have to hire over to Ciona."

Sorn's upper lip lifted in scorn. “I don't care if you have to go all the way to Corinth for them; just find

me six of the meanest pricks you can muster!"

“You want men what will kill if need's be?” Drake asked, licking his lips.

“Aye,” Sorn snapped. “And make sure it will not matter to them if it's a woman they have to kill!"

A gleam of pure evil lit Lyle Drake's vicious eyes. “A woman you say.” He reached down to scratch at

his crotch. “Can we have her a'fore hand if'n we got to do her in?"

It was on the tip of Sorn's tongue to say no simply because a wisp of decency still remained in the

reprobate; but then he considered who the woman in question was and her defilement mattered little to

him.

“You may do whatever you wish to her,” Trace Sorn granted. “Only not before you bring her to me.”

He pierced his minion with a steely glower. “Is that understood, Drake? You are not to touch her in any

way until I give the word."

Drake nodded. “It'll be as you say, Milord."

“Good,” Sorn said, his smile as cold as the nether regions of the Abyss. “Then we'll have the honey to

catch the fly!"

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At that moment, Weir Saur was cursing a blue streak to the heavens as he paced the deck of the

Revenge. “Where the gods-be-damned hell is that woman's head?” he bellowed, frightening away a flock

of seagulls sailing overhead. “We told her to stay in Chrystallus!"

Neevens spread his hands. “When has a woman in love ever done what she was told to do, Cap'n?

Leastways, she didn't bring the bairn with her."

“Aye,” Weir snarled. “At least she didn't do that!” But he was just as angry at his sister for leaving her

babe behind as he was to find she had disobeyed both his and Syn-Jern's express orders.

“You want us to send some men to intercept her a'fore she scamps over this way?” Neevens inquired.

Weir drew in a long, calming breath. “Aye, you'd better.” He raked his hand through his thick curls. “I

ought to beat her black and blue for this, but I think I'll reserve the honor for Syni."

Neevens sniffed. “As if he'd lay a hand to the lass,” he commented.

“He ought to!” Weir growled.

“Ought to and gonna ain't the same thing,” Jarl Stevens put in.

“Send word to Syn-Jern so he won't worry and...” He stopped when he saw Neevens shaking his head.

“He knows?” he gasped.

“Word came from the McGregor, Cap'n, and the McGregor got the word direct from that Kerm fellow

who got it from..."

“I don't give a rat's arse where Kerm got it from!” Weir snapped. He wasn't overly fond of Sara's sullen

brother. “We've got problems, then, if Syni knows that idiotic sister of mine is camped out in Ciona."

“How's that?” Stevens inquired.

Weir hung his head. “He'll gods-be-damned sure go after her."

“Even sick as he's been?” Neevens demanded.

“On his deathbed, if need's be,” Weir responded.

* * * *

Genny tapped her foot on the carpet as she stared out the window of the inn. The rain was coming down

with such force, she could see only a blur beyond the pane. As the lightning stitched across the gunmetal

sky, she tensed, but did not leave the window. A rap on the table behind her drew her attention to her

sentinel.

Lin Su, his face inscrutable, signed his feelings to her.

“I think not,” Genny disagreed. Her frown tightened. “The gods are not angry with me."

A quick flurry of the warrior's hands brought a contemptuous snort from Genny Sorn. “I don't know

why we've had such bad weather, but it isn't because the gods are pissed at me for coming after

Syn-Jern!"

One last comment from the strong sword hand of Lin Su made her turn away.

“No, I don't want to go to sleep!"

Lin Su shook his head at his lady's stubborn attitude and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. The

settee did not accommodate his tall frame well and was uncomfortable, but the only other

alternative—the floor—was worse. He snuggled into the warmth of the wool blanket and closed his eyes.

If his lady was inclined to spend her evening glaring at the rain, he could not stop her. He had sworn to

protect her, but he'd made no vow to encourage her willfulness.

“Sleep well,” he heard her tell him and smiled despite himself.

Genny slumped against the window frame, her eyes prickly with the need to sleep, but she was too

wound up, too excited, and too furious with the uncooperative weather to rest. Since leaving the palace

at Binh Tae, the rain clouds had followed them all the way to Ciona. She'd suffered motion sickness most

of the time and that was something that had never happened on board her brother's ship. She did not

want to entertain the thought that the gods were trying to keep her from joining Syn-Jern; but now that

Lin Su had broached the subject, she wondered if there might not be something in his argument.

The Serenian Star had nearly sunk off the coast of Oceania and her journey had stalled for five days

while repairs were made to the hull. Oceania was lovely, the weather so perfect, Genny had sighed with

relief, thinking the remainder of their trip would be easy. But two hours from the harbor at Fealst, the sky

became a thick layer of gray wool basted with silver threads of lightning. Half an hour later, the Serenian

Star was fighting a full-blown gale as a pall of black velvet fell over the sea.

“Even if the gods are angry,” Genny said aloud, knowing Lin Su was still awake and listening, “I'm still

going to find my husband."

Lin Su's thick lips pursed with aggravation, but he remained still. He wasn't angry with his lady, but at the

circumstances that had brought her to Serenia. If he could keep her from venturing into Virago, he would,

for he felt it was not in her best interests to journey to that cold land.

“If there's not let up in the weather come morning,” Genny said, “we'll just have to look into buying

horses and going overland."

The Chrystallusian warrior opened his eyes. He wondered how well his lady knew the country of

Virago. The Empress Rowena had given Lin Su an extensive lecture on the place and he had memorized

sea routes as well as land trails. Would it be wise to tell his lady they were only a few miles from Holy

Dale?

He pondered the situation for a moment, then decided it would not be. If his lady knew they were that

close, she'd insist on riding out this very night, storm, or no storm. At least going by sea to Wixenstead,

he would have another day or two to protect her from what he was beginning to believe was destined to

be disaster.

Totally awake now, unable to sleep, the warrior stared at the ceiling, his superior tactical mind going

over and over alternate plans. He had not agreed with his lady's plan to show up at Wixenstead,

announce she was Captain Saur's sister and insist on meeting with him. It was a dangerous ploy,

especially in light of the growing lack of communication between the NightWind force and Binh Tae

palace of late. That, he thought with a sharp frown, was why the lady was here in the first place. Her

worry had gotten the best of her and her coming here may have gotten her into more trouble than Lin Su

could handle for her. The Emperor and Empress could not talk the strong-willed lady from traveling to

this heathenish part of the world in search of her husband so the Empress had assigned Lin Su to the

young woman.

“Every Daughter has a sentinel to keep watch,” the Empress had told the lady. “Lin Su will be yours."

“I am not a Daughter!” the lady had snapped.

“You're close enough to being one that it doesn't matter,” the Empress replied. “You'll not leave here

without his shadow close at your side!"

“If it is raining tomorrow morn,” Genny said, drawing Lin Su's attention back to her. “We will go by land

through the Carbondale Gate."

Lin Su sighed. Perhaps the lady knew more about the country than he suspected.

“I know it will be dangerous, Lin Su,” she told him, “but I am worried."

No more than I am, Lin Su thought.

* * * *

Lyle Drake hunched over the table and lowered his voice so the four men sitting with him had to crouch

toward him in order to hear. His Grace had wanted six men, but four was all Drake could find at such

short notice.

“She'll be passing through the Gate right around ten of the clock. You can't miss her ‘cause she'll have a

hulking bastard a'ridin’ with her. You are to ride down on ’em, kill the man what's with her and take her.”

Drake's face tightened. “You ain't to lay a mitt on her ’til His Grace says you can. Is that clear?"

One of the men rubbed his bewhiskered chin. “Not even a feel?” he asked.

Drake shook his head. “Not nothin’ ’til the man gives you permission."

“I don't want these Serenian's after my arse,” another of the men commented. “They see us attacking a

woman, they'll send a troop after us for sure! They be protective-like of their womenfolk. Remember

what happened with the Hesar woman back years ago?"

“This bitch ain't one of theirs,” Drake growled.

“Don't matter,” his companion returned. “Them Serenians be funny in that regard."

“You snatch her and get her deep into Virago,” Drake ordered. “They won't be a'comin’ after you

through the Gate."

“You don't know that they won't."

“Ain't got no jurisdiction in Virago,” Drake grated, proud of his use of the big word. “Can't come after

you with no authority whatsoever!” He dug into the pocket of his filthy jacket. “I got ten silver pieces for

each of you soon's the job is done.” He drew out the pouch of coins and jiggled it. “Not a single

flauthing, though, ’til you bring the bitch to the cabin I told you ‘bout."

“That's too near the witch's hut for me!” another of the men piped up.

“That old biddy ain't no witch,” Drake guffawed. “She's just an ugly old cripple so's you got nothin’ to

worry ‘bout on that count.” He jiggled the pouch again. “What's it to be? A single flauthing can buy a

man a right good bottle of ale."

His companions stared at the pouch, licked their lips, then nodded in agreement.

“Count me in,” the oldest of the four replied.

“Me, too."

“I reckon I could use a flauthing or two to last me through the bad months,” another commented.

The fourth man nodded, but he wasn't as thirsty as his friends. His thoughts were of the woman and what

he would do once he was given free rein of her helpless body. The mind picture he entertained brought

such an evil leer to his face, the others at the table moved cautiously away.

* * * *

Sara looked up at the sky as she came out of the manse the next morning. The rain had stopped, but the

sky still looked angry and threatening. Her lips pursed, she resolutely set off to the stables to fetch Kerm

his breakfast. He would be accompanying her to market this morn and she knew he'd be in a foul mood;