The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (4 page)

‘Thank you, master.’ He received a light cuff to the back of the head as he walked towards the tall ship and Captain Makad.

Ruth, who sauntered slowly behind them, was given special attention by the Karesians, who leered at her. She didn’t react, but kept her eyes forward, gliding along the wooden dock and weaving between the gruff sailors.

‘She with you?’ asked Makad as Randall reached the gangplank.

He nodded. ‘I told you, three of us. Me, him... and her.’

Utha smiled up at the captain and pushed back his hood to reveal his bone-white hair, pale skin and pink eyes. ‘A fair wind for the Kessian dock, captain?’

Makad was startled at the intimidating man before him, but showed no sign of recognition. As Randall had hoped, Utha’s celebrity had not spread to Karesia.

‘Three days,’ replied the captain. ‘The winds are pretty constant along the Ridge.’

‘And make sure our friend isn’t bothered by your men,’ said Randall, glancing at Ruth.

‘They’ll behave.’ Makad was suspicious, but the gold was a good enough reason to keep his word for now. ‘Come aboard. The three of you will be sharing a cabin.’

Utha boarded first, leaving Randall to wait for Ruth, who was taking her time walking along the dock.

‘I’ve never been to sea,’ she said calmly.

‘Something we have in common,’ replied Randall, realizing that he didn’t know whether or not he got seasick.

It took a few minutes for the crew to cast off and ready the ship to make way. Randall and his companions were left on deck to stand by the railings while Makad shouted at his men. Utha said nothing and his thoughtful gaze was directed across the Kirin Ridge to the shimmering southern horizon. Somewhere there was a strange new country. Jaa’s land. Karesia.

The three of them stood in a silent line, looking out to sea, as the ship – the name of which Randall had not noticed – began to lurch out of the small harbour. Kabrin was a modest place, remarkable primarily for its dock, and he hoped that anyone searching for Utha would not think to look here. A quick glance at his master made it clear that the squire was alone in his worry. Utha was as oblivious, as always, lost in his complicated thoughts.

The Karesian sailors moved with a certain professionalism and the ship began to bob smoothly over the calm sea. Randall knew nothing about sailing but he was impressed with the spectacle of sails unfurled, ropes uncoiled, orders shouted. Within minutes they’d caught the wind and the three passengers looked up to see the billowing white sails tense and pull the ship out to sea with a sudden lurch of speed.

‘This is how it starts,’ muttered Utha, holding his stomach and puffing out his cheeks. ‘Soon there will be headaches and vomit.’

‘So, if Captain Makad is less than honest, I’ll have to fight his crew on my own?’ joked Randall.

‘Get her to help.’ Utha waved at Ruth, who was ignoring the two men and gazing up at the wind-filled sails.

As the ship moved swiftly away from Kabrin, the sailors slowed down. The back-breaking part of sailing seemed to lie in the bits that involved the harbour, and now that the ropes were tied and the sails in place the Karesians visibly relaxed. A few of those Randall had encountered earlier displayed hostile looks and muttered comments, as if they were more confident at sea, but they still had work to do and Makad kept them too busy to cause problems.

‘Out the way, boy,’ snapped a gruff sailor, reaching for a coil of rope next to Randall’s feet.

The squire moved along the rail and nearly fell as the roll of the ship caught him by surprise.

‘If we’re both sick, my dear boy, Ruth will have to defend us on her own,’ said Utha, smiling at his squire.

They were eventually led below and shown to their cabin. Randall slowly began to get the hang of walking on the ship and was glad that he didn’t suffer from seasickness. Unfortunately, Utha was not so lucky and his pale skin was turning green by the time he lay down in his hammock.

The wooden frame of the ship was solid and well cared for, and Randall found its construction interesting. From the wide crew quarters through which they had to walk, and the stairs that interlocked between decks, the ship felt like a creaking mansion, with large empty spaces and cosy compartments. It was strangely empty, with only provisions taking up any space and no obvious cargo. If these men were smugglers, they had already deposited their goods.

‘I’m going to be face-down on this hammock until we reach Kessia,’ slurred Utha.

‘How long will that take?’ asked Randall, glancing round at their new living quarters. There were four hammocks and a low table, with everything closely packed and no open floor space.

‘Couple of days,’ he replied.

‘Should be enjoyable,’ said Ruth.

‘Not for me.’ Utha was looking very unwell. Even for an albino who normally looked strange, his appearance was a mess.

‘We’ve only been at sea fifteen minutes,’ said Randall.

‘Don’t pity me, I’ll die quietly,’ Utha replied, burying his face in the hammock and clasping his hands behind his head.

‘The mighty Utha the Ghost,’ said Randall, with an ironic smile. ‘If your enemies could see you now.’

‘I’m going to break your fucking nose when we’re on dry land.’ It was said so feebly that all Randall could do was laugh.

* * *

Being at sea was a calming experience for Randall. He had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Captain Makad was true to his word and kept his men polite, though the underlying current of aggression remained.

The first night was peaceful, with Utha’s moaning the only sound, and Randall slept better than he had in months. The hammock was more comfortable than it looked and the air was fresh and clean. By the time he awoke, to the gentle ripple of waves and the calling of sea birds, the young squire was surprisingly well rested.

One of Makad’s men, one of the few who actually spoke to the young man, had told him that they would reach the main shipping lane within a day and then turn south towards Kessia, passing the broken ridge of jagged islands that gave the sea its name. Hoping to be on hand when they sighted another ship, Randall was spending his time on deck, enjoying the sea air and watching the Karesians go about their work.

‘You worry a great deal,’ said Ruth suddenly. ‘Things happen in their own time and in ways we can only accept and rarely predict.’

Randall snorted with little elegance, showing his scorn for the words. ‘That’s one of those annoying things that sounds profound, but is basically rubbish.’

‘You are cynical beyond your years,’ replied the Gorlan mother.

He laughed, more genuinely this time. ‘That is a commonly held opinion.’

The ship was alone, bobbing gently southwards on an empty blanket of blue. Randall and Ruth stood alone against the railings of the forecastle, far from the sailors, who went apathetically about strange tasks that Randall didn’t understand.

‘We should mate,’ she said, as if she’d been thinking about it for a while.

The squire raised an eyebrow at her.

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree,’ he replied. ‘And the suggestion is a little... er, disconcerting.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re a spider.’

Her thin lips curled into the merest hint of a smile. ‘Actually, I’m a Gorlan, not a spider.’

A shiver travelled up his spine as he remembered their first meeting. She was, as far as Randall could tell, a huge, talking spider. He’d never liked spiders, even the small ones that killed chickens throughout the Darkwald, and Ruth was a terrifying specimen.

‘Have you known women?’ she asked.

Randall’s life had moved quickly over the past year and he had been forced to miss out on the usual stages of a young man’s experience. ‘It’s strange to think that I haven’t... and that it doesn’t bother me.’

‘I haven’t known another’s flesh for time beyond your understanding,’ said Ruth.

Another shiver of nerves, tinged a little with revulsion. ‘Don’t you... mate with other spiders... er, Gorlan?’

‘Only when the need to procreate is paramount. We eat our males after mating.’

He took a step away from her and his eyes widened.

‘Do not worry, Randall of Darkwald,’ said Ruth. ‘We mate in other forms purely for pleasure. The instinct to consume applies only to male Gorlan. That is why there are no remaining Gorlan fathers.’

‘You are seriously scaring me,’ muttered the young man. ‘I’m no expert on seduction, but I think you’re going about it the wrong way.’

‘I understand that humans often use alcohol to aid seduction. Perhaps we should try that.’ She wasn’t joking and Randall wasn’t laughing.

‘Can’t we just forget about it?’ he asked.

She attempted a smile. It didn’t quite work and her narrow face looked harsh and angular. ‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll try another method of seduction. What do you think would work?’

Randall suddenly found the situation funny. He snorted with amusement, his face cracking into a broad smile. Ruth was slim and would be attractive to a man who had not seen her true form. As he looked at her, his smile became softer and he leant forward over the railing.

‘I don’t think any attempt at seduction would work. I’d be nervous having sex anyway, and adding the Gorlan element to the equation would probably make me catatonic.’

‘I could relax you,’ replied Ruth.

‘It would probably take a lot of booze.’ Randall instantly realized that this comment would offend a normal woman. He found it reassuring that Ruth was immune to petty annoyance.

‘I’m sure the captain has plenty of wine.’

‘Wait,’ Randall said, shaking his head. ‘Are we seriously considering this?’

She gazed out to sea. ‘We have little else to do. The ship can sail without us.’

They locked eyes. The young squire was taller than the Gorlan and his shoulders, broad and muscled from months of activity, made Ruth appear rather petite. She had a vulnerability in her eyes that disconcerted him, a low gaze from green pupils and dark irises.

‘We would enjoy each other,’ purred Ruth, causing him to shiver with involuntary arousal.

‘Stop it,’ he said.

‘No.’ She stepped closer to him until they were virtually touching.

‘Please,’ he murmured with little confidence.

Ruth lowered her head and looked Randall up and down. Her eyes moved slowly, making him even more uncomfortable. She paused for a second, looking at his chest, before returning her gaze to his eyes. It was a deeply sensual look, loaded with hidden meanings. Randall understood his rapid breathing, his sudden arousal and his nervousness, but he didn’t understand seduction.

She gently ran her fingertips along his forearm and lightly cradled his hand. ‘Do you still want me to stop?’ she asked, a gust of wind catching her hair.

‘I... I don’t know,’ he stuttered in reply.

* * *

It was a strange hour, spent largely naked and filled with constant apologizing from the virginal squire. Sex seemed to be a matter of not trapping your hair, skin, legs, hands and private parts in a manner that caused pain. When this was accomplished, the melding of flesh was a deeper and more fulfilling experience than Randall would have thought possible. He fell in love a little as Ruth, straddling him, rose in apparent ecstasy and caused her new lover to become utterly lost in sensation. He couldn’t see beyond her skin, the smooth and dusky flesh that swayed on top of him. He didn’t think about her true nature; it was further away than the gentle rippling of the water or the surge of the sails.

The sex ended quickly, but the naked sprawling on the floor of the small cabin lasted nearly an hour. Ruth had pulled down two unused hammocks to act as a blanket and they had been quiet enough not to disturb the sailors. Utha, still seasick in the next cabin, had been silent, probably asleep, and the two naked, sweaty bodies that adorned the wooden floor were undisturbed.

‘You have much to give a lover, Randall of Darkwald,’ purred Ruth. Her dark hair was wild and wavy, spread across her naked back. Their bodies glistened.

‘Do you mean other than you?’ he replied, still breathing heavily.

She leant on her hand and ran a finger down his chest. ‘It would seem selfish to keep your talents to myself.’

She kissed him and Randall lost himself again. He felt naive, young, stupid and, for the first time in weeks, out of his depth. He had found it easier to deal with swords, blood and death than with a woman and sex. Even in the warm afterglow he was wide-eyed and light-headed, not fully trusting himself to speak without sounding like an idiot.

Ruth craned herself over him, looking down into his eyes as he lay on the white linen hammock. ‘Even now you can’t relax,’ she said plainly.

‘Especially now,’ he replied.

‘We have nothing to do at this moment, no commitments or responsibilities. The Ghost is occupied, the sailors are sailing. We are alone.’

She kissed him again. This time it lingered. Her lips parted gently and he closed his eyes, letting the sensation ripple through his body. They remained there for what seemed like days.

* * *

Utha the Ghost dreamt. When he wasn’t awake and vomiting, murmuring quiet insults to the waves, he was lost in his own mind. When Ruth had touched his mind in the Fell, she had awoken something within him. Now, his sleeping hours were filled with visions and dreams of obscure places and bizarre beings for which he didn’t have names. Creatures lived and died in worlds of imagination and realms of fantasy.

He believed that he saw the halls beyond the world, but he couldn’t understand what he saw. His eyes were not equipped to translate the vistas of castles, mountains, halls and caverns that his dreams showed him. He saw ethereal roads, arcing through the eldritch sky. He saw patterns and silhouettes colliding together.

The upper and lower void, the faded pathways, the fragment of R’lyeh, the flesh halls, the dreamlands, the plateaus of Leng, the sea of urges. None of it made sense, but he could see it and it did not drive him mad. He was unique among men. He could perceive beyond the world and keep his mind intact.

The only thing that made sense was the pull southwards, the desire to find the staircase, the labyrinth and the guardian. Utha believed that he could reach beyond the world – that he was the last being who could do so. He wasn’t given to selflessness, or to follow vague intuitions and dreams, but someone – or something – was summoning him.