The God-King had stopped directly in front of Asima. It was the first time he had come to a complete stop during the ceremony. Asima had smiled in satisfaction as the God-King had reached across to Ashar, who was busy studying the girl they had last discussed, and tapped him on the upper arm, pointing at Asima.
The music in the background would make it exceedingly difficult for anyone close by to hear, let alone the general public in their seats, but Asima was close enough and sharp enough to catch the whole exchange spoken beneath their breath.
“Look at this one!”
Ashar had peered at her and, despite her resolve and her surety, Asima found herself suddenly experiencing doubt. There was something about the black-clad prince that unnerved her. It was as though he was staring directly into her soul and dissecting her motives. The Prince frowned at her and shook his head. He knew. He couldn’t possibly have known how Asima had schemed and worked everything since her arrival here, how she had ruined the chances for her main competitors and played every opportunity to her own advantage, even that morning’s beatings. But somehow Prince Ashar Parishid distrusted her.
“This one is more trouble than she’s worth, uncle.”
“Sometimes a little trouble is good for the soul, Ashar.”
The prince had nodded unhappily.
“That is very insightful and certainly true, my King, but mark my words. This one will do you no good. Her smile is bright and her mood is mischievous, but her soul is black. Take her if you must, but remember what I say.”
The God-King had straightened and, in a breach of etiquette that had never been seen in generations of this ritual, he had spoken to one of the girls. He had smiled at Asima and addressed her directly.
“My nephew warns me off you, young lady. What have you to say for your unique appearance this morning?”
Asima had lowered her head slightly in respect and taken a deep breath.
“Majesty, I am considered a threat by many of my peers and they act according to their fears. I do not fear and shall not hide what I am. If your majesty deigned to choose me, you will know from the very beginning what I am.”
The God-King had laughed.
“Outspoken and honest? That will truly be a change among my companions.”
He had given her a nod of respect and moved on along the line. Ashar, however, had let his glance stay on her for some time, boring into her very being. Finally he had shaken his head sadly.
“Honest, indeed.” It had not been meant to be heard, but Asima’s hearing was sharp.
As the ceremony had concluded, one of the priests had come along the lines and selected the three girls that would be taken in by the God-King and his household. Asima had been so sure that she had already been stepping forward when the priest came to her.
She had noticed, that day in the great temple, that one of the other two chosen girls was Sharra, her companion now for years and the most rebellious and insolent girl that the witch had ever dealt with. Clearly the absolute ruler of Pelasia had a soft spot for insolence.
A bird flew past the ornate window, casting its shadow briefly over Asima and pulling her back in from her reverie.
She sighed and left her nails alone at last, turning her attention ostensibly to the book before her, but in truth looking over the top at the three girls at the other end of the solar. The game had been far from over when she had been selected. No, indeed. The game had then begun in earnest. In the three years she had occupied the concubines’ section of the harem, she had continued her campaign of discrediting the competition, though any activity she undertook outside the harem remained above board, due to the watchful eyes of the ever-present Prince Ashar.
She smiled behind the book as she examined Lady Dierra, her next target. She had been itching to cause a fall in the standing of the God-King’s favourite concubine for months, though Dierra kept Asima at arm’s length and was guarded about her actions.
News had arrived this morning that Prince Ashar was to leave Akkad for a time on a mission to Velutio, the capital of the Empire, and with no Ashar to watch over the God-King’s women Asima would move swiftly up the ranks.
She was no longer a girl, but a woman of sixteen years and some weeks, and she was already a concubine to the most powerful man in the world. Given enough time to manoeuvre, within a month or two she would be in a position to be taken as wife instead of concubine. Then would be the greatest challenge of all…
To disband the harem and become sole queen.
In which we see that the years have been kind to Samir
The Dark Empress lunged violently through the water, rounding the sandy spur that jutted from the island. Ten minutes ago they had been plodding along, using only two sails and no oars, the crew resting and relaxed, trying to decide whether to drop anchor and go ashore to collect fresh water. And then the boy aloft above the main sail had called out.
A merchantman had appeared around the far side of the island, visible over the humped sandbank only from the lookout’s position.
Within moments captain Khmun had called the orders, the sails had been unfurled and altered, three rows of oars extended and dropped into the water and the Empress sallied forth to confront the target.
Not many years ago, Samir thought as he watched the boys with the rigging, he would have been there, hauling on ropes and climbing the sails. Strange how things worked out, but then he’d been planning his advance on board since the day he arrived.
And here he was now at sixteen years old. Still short for his age, but lithe and wiry, with his straight hair brushing the base of his neck and shoulders, Samir’s face had filled out, giving him a heavy jaw and dark bristles that defied his attempts to stay clean shaven, attempts that had ceased a year ago now.
With a sigh, he squared his shoulders, allowing the chainmail shirt to settle into a more comfortable position over his heavy tunic. Blinking away a sudden spray of salty water, he grasped the hilt of the heavy blade at his side and cast his glance over the men on the deck before him.
“Alright, lads. Let’s not have any cock-ups like last time. A sailor’s precious little use with one arm. Felix and his men will take the wheel and rudder and then move to the sails and the hatch. Our job is to neutralise whatever marines they have on board so that Felix can do his job. Got it?”
There was a rumble of assent from the men of Samir’s boarding party.
“They’ll probably not have any marines anyway, Samir.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“It’s possible, but not likely. In the last couple of years we’ve earned a bit of a reputation, Jaral. I’ve heard the merchants have started to eat into their own profits to hire mercenaries and guards. Chances are there’ll be warriors on any vessel in these waters.”
Again there were nods of agreement.
Samir sighed. It was definitely getting harder. Khmun and Sharimi had consulted with the senior sailors and suggested the possibility of heading east or north; moving to more traditional Imperial waters, where the Dark Empress was as yet unknown. They could still be just about within reach of Lassos and yet raid waters towards Germalla. Samir had panicked for a moment at the thought of moving so far away from M’Dahz. His intention had always been to reach a position among the pirates of Lassos in which he could begin to use them to move against Ma’ahd and reclaim his home.
He had already allowed himself to lapse once into a wasteful life in the docks of M’Dahz and forgotten his overall purpose. He would not allow himself to do that again. Marshalling every argument at his disposal, Samir had turned his considerable talents at persuasion to keeping the captain and crew of the Empress close to the southern coast.
Soon, though, he would have to find a way to gather the various captains together and move on M’Dahz. The idea of promoting it to them as a second Lassos, a potential pirate haven in the border zone, had played around in his mind a few times, but the position was so dangerous, and the fight to claim it would be so tough, that he would need a great deal more incentive to make it an attractive proposal.
He shook his head. In the meantime, he had a job to do.
“Everyone ready?”
There was a murmur of assent from his men once again. They would not shout; no reason to risk giving too much warning to the oblivious merchant merrily wandering along at the other side of the sandbank.
Slowly, almost ponderously, the merchant came into view around the slope at the end of the sand bar. There was, as always, a pregnant pause while the quiet predator raced in at an angle toward them. Then, suddenly, someone on board must have spotted the Dark Empress, for cries went up aboard and there was a sudden burst of panicked activity. The merchant began to lean away from them and turn on an escape path.
Samir laughed quietly. This was a slow mercantile vessel; little more than a barge with a sail. They’d not get very far before the swift ex-military Empress was on them. Obviously their military complement was not overly large, given their desperate attempt at flight.
The boarding party were clearly as eager as he and, as he listened, he could hear someone in Felix’s party abaft urging the Empress on toward her prey.
He smiled as he stood, tensely, watching the impressive speed with which the powerful pirate vessel gained on the cumbersome merchant. As the minutes passed, the details became visible on the target ship. The crew were running around as though their panicky desperation could prevent the inevitable. Samir gripped the rigging next to him as the Empress lurched slightly in the wake of the merchant. The trader captain had done very well to turn such a slow beast away from them in this time and in such a tight curve. He must really be very good.
He nodded to himself as he watched. He was about to ruin a man’s livelihood, but such were the perils of the sea and better they met the Empress than some of the other ships that worked out of Lassos.
Khmun had once been part of the Imperial navy, long ago, and held certain principals that were sadly lacking among most of the pirate captains. The captain of the Dark Empress, while now infamous for the sheer number and value of his achievements, had also managed to maintain a reputation that, unchecked, would turn him into some sort of folk hero.
Samir’s captain always gave the opposition the opportunity to surrender their cargo without further incident. If this was not acceptable, then he would take the vessel and its cargo by force, but always with as little injury and loss of life as possible. Most of the captains would simply kill most of the captives, ransoming the more important ones. Khmun held to the principal of mercy and always allowed the crew to leave on board their own lifeboats. If the enemy had been particularly courageous and deserving, he may even take their cargo and leave them with their ship intact.
This set of very military principals had spread to one or two of the other captains, who could see logic as well as mercy in the method. Dead merchants were no danger, but neither could they buy new ships, re-equip and then bring fresh cargoes your way. There was a small movement of what Samir considered gentlemen captains among the more vicious cutthroats of Lassos.
Another lurch and they were almost on the enemy vessel. With a few crisp commands from captain Khmun, the Empress swung out sharply to starboard and then back on line. Within a few moments they would start to come alongside the merchant, at which point Samir and his boarding party would swing over and put paid to the marines on board, clearing the way for Felix.
As the two ships closed, something occurred to Samir. They would have to manage the boarding action very carefully, as the side of the merchant vessel was considerably higher than that of the Empress. He frowned. How could that be? This was a laden and slow merchant. It should be floundering around several feet below their own deck level. And the Empress was light and riding tall.
“Shit!”
The men of his party turned to him in surprise.
“Sir?”
“Something’s wrong, Rin. I think we’re in trouble.”
Without waiting for questions, Samir ran across the deck and glanced up at the lookout.
“Can you see anything unusual?”
The lookout looked down in surprise and then quickly spun around and cast his gaze across the horizon. Samir heard the string of expletives very clearly.
“You blind ass!” he bellowed up. “How many and of what?”
By now other members of the crew had caught on to the sudden flurry of activity amidships. The lookout shook his head.
“One ship, but she’s a daram, the same as us.”
“Flag?”
The lookout squinted and shaded his eyes with his free hand.
“Can’t quite see, sir, but I think its pale green or pale blue.”
Samir was already running toward the captain at the stern before the boy had finished.
“Sir. Daram closing in behind us and the idiot boy lookout can’t tell who it is, but it’s clearly not Pelasian. Could be Calphorian or some private force. Also, the merchant’s got far too much freeboard, whereas she should be wallowing low in the water. Sir, she’s not carrying any cargo. We’re in the jaws of a trap.”
Khmun rubbed his chin for a moment.
“Any marines on board the trader?”