Talis felt an angry flush warming her face, but she forced her voice to be steady, neutral. “I ask that my entourage be accorded the same courtesy you accord me.”
He laughed. “You travel in bad company, Mistress Aloro.
And this,” he waved Castio’s document at her, “says nothing about anyone but you. In deference to our alliance with your leader, I shall not confine you with the others. You may keep your freedom aboard ship, but the Redai will want to question you, of that I am sure.” He turned to the others and gestured. “Take them away, lock them in one of the small cabins. See that they come to no harm. Post a guard.”
The soldier he addressed snapped to attention, responded in their own language, and obeyed. Talis watched as her comrades were marched off, disappearing belowdecks.
Barus turned away from her to direct his men. Talis was left standing on the deck.
What now?
she wondered forlornly.
She took a turn around the deck, careful to keep away from the Chonao soldiers.
I have to do something! Why did
this have to happen, just when we were almost to Pela?
She wound up beside Falar’s stall, then slid down to sit with her back against the boards. The mare, scenting a familiar presence, came over to snuffle at her hair. Idly, Talis stroked her questing nose. “What am I going to do, girl?”
she muttered. “We’re all in a pretty mess, and I have to do something!”
What would Jezzil do? What would Rufen do?
She swallowed, then sat up straight, glancing around. Nobody was paying her any attention. The Chonao warriors were swarming all over the ship, and some of the Meptalith vessels had set sail and were heading away.
We’re captured,
they don’t need all the vessels,
she realized.
They’re heading
for Pela, carrying troops. How many troops?
There was no way to know. She watched between the slats of the stall as Barus scribbled a message on a tiny scrap of parchment and bound it to the leg of a messenger bird. The bird went up in a blur of wings, circled once, then headed west.
The morning was now well advanced, and a rumble in her stomach reminded Talis that she hadn’t eaten since last night. Searching in the pocket of her jerkin, she found a few scraps of dried fruit and chewed them, hoping they would give her energy, clear her mind.
He said the Redai was coming. Kerezau himself.
She stopped chewing as her answer presented itself, then nearly choked when she tried to swallow. Despite the fruit, her mouth had gone utterly dry.
I have to kill him.
Kill the leader of the world’s most formidable army?
Could she? Could she even get close enough? How to do it?
He’ll be surrounded by bodyguards, warriors trained the
way Jezzil is trained. Expert swordsmen and assassins …
And yet, Barus had said the Redai would see her. And she knew from Jezzil that there were no warrior women among his people. Kerezau might not be suspecting a female assassin.
I’ll wear a dress,
she thought.
But still, they’ll search me.
There’s no place to hide a pistol, sword, or knife. How can I
get close enough to him with a weapon?
Falar nuzzled her hair again, the mare’s hot breath gusting down the back of her shirt. Talis reached up absently to pat the horse, and her questing fingers brushed one of her hairpins.
She pulled it out and sat staring at it intently. It was longer than her forefinger, made of steel, and quite sturdy. But it was blunt, not pointed.
But if I sharpened it, it would be long
enough to stab out an eyeball and enter the brain, or pierce
the carotid, or the jugular.
Talis looked around again, then casually tucked the hairpin into the pocket of her jerkin. There was bound to be a whetstone down in the galley, and the cook had smiled at her each morning when serving breakfast. He’d be thrilled if she wandered into his galley for a little chat.
Whether I succeed or not, my life will be forfeit,
she realized.
Can I do it? Knowing I’ll die?
She shivered, though the sun and the breeze were warm. Suddenly the taste of the dried fruit seemed cloying, and she swallowed fiercely. She would
not
vomit!
If Castio were here in my place, what would he do?
She knew. Rufen Castio would do what he had to do in order to save his country from a ruthless conqueror. She remembered the way Clo had charged into battle. Surely she had known she might die.
Talis grimaced. There was a world of difference between “might” and “would.”
But she couldn’t overlook this opportunity. The chance to kill Kerezau had been given to her, and to her alone. She had to act.
Jezzil had taught her some of his warrior philosophy, and she remembered one of his warrior’s credos:
Better a dead
target than a live assassin.
Talis got up and walked over to the railing, staring out to sea. Her father and mother would probably never know what happened to her. Her brothers would miss her, all right, because they’d have to do her work. But that would be the only thing they’d miss, she concluded cynically. And if she died, she lost all chance at revenge on her uncle Jasti.
For a moment a wave of the old panic swept over her, but, teeth gritted, she forced it back. Making Uncle Jasti suffer and die was the least of her problems at the moment. If the old demon lived to rape other maidens, there was nothing she could do about it. Killing Kerezau would save hundreds,
possibly thousands, of Katans, not to mention her kinsmen, the Pelanese.
Thinking about Jezzil made her remember another thing he’d said. Even a casual scratch could be made fatal. Jezzil himself no longer had access to his assassin’s supplies, but what about Master Khith? Surely the doctor had potions that could harm as well as heal?
She wondered how closely her friends were being guarded. Time for a little trip belowdecks, to reconnoiter the situation.
Thia sat on the edge of the bunk in the small third mate’s cabin, crying silently. Tears flooded her eyes, slid down her face, and every few moments she swiped at them with her free hand. Her eyes already felt sore and hot.
Khith sat beside her on the narrow bunk, holding her other hand, gently stroking it with its delicate, long digits.
Eregard sat on the floor, knees drawn up, his face buried in his arms, muttering softly in Pelanese. Thia didn’t know most of the words, but from his tone, she assumed they were curses. She wished she knew a few herself. Before thrusting them into this tiny third mate’s cabin, their captors had patted them down in a rapid and cursory fashion, searching for weapons. They’d confiscated only two things: her firestriker and Eregard’s knife. It was obvious they considered the three no threat, as they’d laughed and joked in their own language the whole time.
She’d looked, but hadn’t gotten even a hint of where they’d taken Jezzil. Images of him bleeding and barely conscious, being dragged off by his countrymen, tormented Thia. Where was he now? How badly was he hurt? That man—Barus? Was that his name?—had said he would have Jezzil executed, hanged! Thia shuddered.
Khith’s fingers tightened on hers as the little Hthras gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. She turned to look at the physician, on the verge of breaking down completely. “Doctor, did you understand what that man Barus said? That Jezzil will be hanged when the Redai signs his death warrant?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, swiped at her face with her sleeve.
“We can’t let that happen!”
Eregard raised his face from his arms and regarded her bleakly. “What can we do? There’s a guard posted outside this door. The cabin is stripped bare, not so much as pair of drawers left. Talis is still free, but they certainly are going to watch her, so we can’t count on her to break us out.”
Thia frowned. “There has to be something we can do.
Maybe one of us could pretend to be sick. When the guard comes in, we can …” She hesitated.
“Break the chamber pot over his head?” Eregard suggested sarcastically. “Thia, this isn’t some bardsong or epic lay. That sort of thing only works in stories.”
“There has to be something,” she insisted. “What have we got between us? Anyone have anything sharp?”
“Just my knife,” Eregard said. “And they took that.”
“They didn’t take everything. Empty your pockets,” she ordered, scrabbling through the folds of her skirt. “Let’s see what we have.”
Eregard laid out his contents on the bare boards of the floor with a sigh and an eye roll. Two small coins, a bit of string, a bandanna that had been used to clean Talis’s tack in the past, and two pieces of endpaper he’d torn from a book and folded carefully, planning to use them to write a note to his father in case he had trouble getting past the palace guards.
Thia didn’t do much better. She had a small pouch of coins, a chapbook of Rufen Castio’s writings that Denno had given her as a farewell present, a stub of candle, and a small waxed parcel of dried fruit and nuts she’d bought from a vendor on the docks before boarding
The Pride of Pela
.
When both humans were finished, they turned to look at the Hthras. “Master Khith?” Thia asked, wondering if the Hthras even had pockets in its robe. “Do you have anything that could help?”
The Hthras’s huge eyes gleamed in the dimness of the little cabin. “Let us see,” it said, reaching into the folds of its physician’s robe. “What do we have?”
Thia watched in growing perplexity as the Hthras crouched between the bunk and the wall, adding objects to the small pile. Five brightly colored scallop shells, tightly closed.
Seven large acorns, their little caps still in place. A piece of charcoal, and a stub of chalk. A short piece of string, and a small tube that looked like a pipe with the bowl broken off.
Thia regarded this depressing collection dejectedly. “Oh, well,” she murmured. “It was just an idea.”
Khith sat down on the deck beside Eregard, arranging its robes prissily around its skinny shanks. The Hthras looked up at her, and the corner of its huge eyes crinkled. “Oh, I don’t know, Thia, my dear. I believe we have done rather well, all things considered.”
Eregard raised his head to look again at the little pile, then glanced up at Thia. It was plain from his expression that he was wondering, as she was, whether the little healer had lost its wits.
“Master,” she said hesitantly, “you see something in this collection that will help us?”
“Quite possibly,” Khith said. “It depends on our course of action. What is our first priority?”
“Free Jezzil—” Thia began, but Eregard raised his voice to speak over her.
“Warn my father of Kerezau’s invasion.”
Now it was Thia’s turn to give him a scathing look.
“There’s no way to do that!”
“Do not be too sure, Mistress Thia,” Khith said. “I secreted some of my powders and potions in these”—it touched, first, the shells, then the acorns—“and many things are possible.”
“Sending a message to my father?” Eregard jumped up so quickly he nearly stepped on their little pile of “treasures.” Khith made a warning hiss as it raked the pile onto a fold of its robe. “Caution, Your Highness! My containers are fragile.”
“Yes,” Eregard said, moving with exaggerated care. He dropped onto the narrow bunk beside Thia. “Excuse me, Master Khith. I don’t mean to seem skeptical, but
how
?”
Khith regarded him. “There are invisible cords that bind us to those we love … and, sometimes, those we hate. Tell me, Your Highness, which member of your family are you closest to?”
Eregard considered for a moment, “Well, my mother, I guess …”
“Can you see her face clearly in your mind?”
The Prince closed his eyes, then shook his head. “No, she’s been ill for some time. I can’t visualize her.”
“Whose face
can
you see?”
Eregard smiled wryly. “The Princess Ulandra. My brother Salesin’s wife. I—” He gave Thia a look that she couldn’t read. Embarrassment? Defiance? “I love her,” he said after a long pause.
“Love is good. Love is the strongest of bonds, I believe, more so than even hate or fear. Does the Princess return your feelings?”
He looked down. “No. But she knows I’m her friend. I think she has some affection for me … at least, I hope she does. But she probably thinks I’m dead, along with everyone else.”
“That does not matter. If this works, she will know that you are alive. She will be within you, inside your mind. She will see through your eyes.”
Eregard stared at the Hthras, wide-eyed. “You can
do
that?”
“It can be done among my people. Whether I can accomplish it with a human subject is another thing. It would be better if Jezzil were here. He has the potential for great power, and he is of the same species. But we will do what we can, at this time.” The little physician raised its head, sniffed the air. “I sense a change in the weather, and not far off.
There will be a storm by nightfall, a bad one. We had best hurry.”
Quickly, they scrambled to obey the doctor’s instructions.
Thia found herself hanging the faded old sheet from the
bunk on the wall, struggling to catch it on splinters in the ship timbers. Finally the task was done to Master Khith’s satisfaction. The Hthras handed her the tiny chunk of charcoal, and told her that she and Eregard would be writing with it, so that Princess Ulandra would be able to read their message. “Write clearly,” it instructed. “She will not receive a verbal message, only what you write.”
“First of all,” Eregard said, “we need a map.”
The Prince sketched busily with the charcoal for several minutes, drawing a rough outline of Pela, labeling the port of Minoma on the western side, across the Narrow Sea from Kata. Then he made small sails with half-moons below them to indicate the presence of Kerezau’s fleet. “My best guess is that he’ll attack from the north,” he muttered. “It wouldn’t make any sense for him to sail all the way around the island to come in from the south. That way he’d have to cross the Goddess’s Crown, and that range is still snowcapped. No, he’ll come from the north, or perhaps northeast.” He drew an arrow to indicate the direction the symbolic fleet was heading, then handed the charcoal to Thia.