Kitabı oku: «Stormtide», sayfa 6

CHAPTER TEN
Steiner

It took two weeks to make their way along the Rusalka River. Steiner had never travelled anywhere by barge before, nor had he ever been so absolutely bored. The persistent damp leeched any good mood out of the three travellers. The owner of the barge was a stooped man called Rezkh who might have been any age from fifty to seventy years old. Long, iron-grey hair emerged from under a battered grubby hat and he rarely said much on account of missing most of his teeth. When he did communicate, in a series of grunts, mumbles and gestures, the conversation was directed at Marek.

‘There’s not even a view to look at,’ said Kristofine, gesturing to the ever-present mist surrounding them. The river was the colour of unquenched steel and the riverbanks were thick with reeds the height of a man on both sides. Trees would emerge from the mist like ghostly sentinels as the barge slunk along the river. In the distance crows called out to one another in strident tones muffled by distance.

Kristofine spent the time learning swordplay from Marek, though there was scarcely enough space for the lessons. Rezkh the boatman would let Marek teach for an hour or so before complaining bitterly about ‘the gods-damned racket of swords crashing against each other’.

It was after one of these training sessions that Kjellrunn and Marek joined Steiner at the prow and stared ahead into the gently swirling mist. They settled down under their cloaks and pressed their hands into their armpits to keep warm.

‘Just our bad fortune to be travelling in winter,’ said Marek.

‘Better this far south than up in Nordvlast,’ said Kristofine, still catching her breath from the lesson.

‘Why is it called the Rusalka River?’ asked Steiner, trailing a hand over the side of the barge and into the water. ‘Why not just the Virag River?’ Marek cleared his throat and looked around to check that the bargemaster wasn’t eavesdropping on them.

‘Before the Empire came into being it was more common to meet things on the road that weren’t human. And sometimes they lingered near the canals too.’

‘Things that weren’t human?’ said Kristofine.

‘The old stories tell of water nymphs who served the land,’ explained Marek. ‘It was seen as good fortune to have one close to home. The fields and forests were more fertile when a nymph was happy, so they said.’

‘And when they weren’t happy …?’ asked Kristofine.

‘The Emperor’s hatred wasn’t merely confined to dragons. He hates all arcane beings. The Empire placed a bounty on the heads of the nymphs and for a time the men of Virag earned coin by murder.’ Steiner pulled his hand back under his cloak, his water-chilled fingers clenched into a fist. Kristofine huddled closer to him.

‘But the Emperor hadn’t counted on the true power of the nymphs. They didn’t pass on to Frejna’s realm and die like the Emperor had hoped. The nymphs came back but now they called themselves rusalka. Where once they had brought life, now they brought only death.’

‘What happened to them?’ asked Kristofine.

‘The rusalka wrought a terrible vengeance on the living for their treachery. Trade by barge stopped completely in Vannerånd, Svingettevei and Drakefjord. The Empire sent Vigilants to kill the Rusalka and many were slain on both sides. Some say the Rusalka were wiped out, but I think some still exist near lakes, where it’s quiet and people are few.’

The barge bumped against something and Steiner flinched. He looked around with one hand on the haft of his sledgehammer, then breathed a sigh of relief. Rezkh had found a small pier to tie up to for the night.

‘Maybe it’s time we went ahead on foot?’ said Steiner. ‘I think I’d like to spend some time among the living. This endless mist is getting to me.’

Marek smiled and clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We’re close to the final stop anyway.’

‘How do they get you?’ asked Kristofine. ‘The Rusalka, I mean. How do they, you know, kill you?’

‘A rusalka appears as a beautiful woman bathing in the river. When a man gets close by she calls to him, and the man can’t help but draw close to her.’

Kristofine rolled her eyes.

‘And when the men are close enough the rusalka’s hair comes alive and wraps about the man’s neck, dragging him under the water and drowning him.’

‘We should really go the rest of the way on foot,’ said Steiner.

‘Seems to me the people of Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Svingettevei could have maintained their barge trade if they’d had any brains,’ said Kristofine, gathering her bag.

‘How’s that?’ asked Marek.

‘If the rusalka lured only men to their deaths, they should have employed women to run the barges.’

Marek laughed long and deep and Steiner found himself caught up in the sound, laughing along with him. It was the first time any of them had laughed since Tikhoveter had been killed.

The riverside inn was a welcome sight after two weeks aboard the narrow barge. A small village spread out from beside the canal though most of the buildings were little more than shadowy outlines in the mist. Once they had settled in, Steiner took a bath and joined Marek and Kristofine downstairs in the bar.

‘We’ve wasted two whole weeks on the barge,’ he said. ‘I need to start telling my story now.’

‘Steady now, Steiner,’ warned Marek in a hiss. ‘We only just escaped Virag. We need to be cautious. The Empire has ears everywhere.’

‘Even here, in a riverside inn lost in the mist?’

Marek shrugged. ‘I’m just saying we should be careful is all.’

Steiner cast his gaze around the bar and searched the faces of the local men and women. Wasn’t it the business of spies to blend in and look like everyone else? He approached the bar and nodded to a handful of heavyset men in muddy smocks and forced a smile.

‘Hail, friends.’

‘Friends?’ said tallest of them. He was a bull-necked man with a heavy brow and black beard shot through with grey. ‘Were only friends if you’re buying the drinks.’ The men around Bull-neck chuckled and looked away.

‘I bring news about the Empire. A story really.’

‘A story!’ Bull-neck grinned. ‘What a delight.’ Steiner couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic on account of his accent. ‘An’ you come all the way from …?’

‘Nordvlast,’ supplied Steiner.

‘So you come all the way from Nordvlast to interrupt our conversation with a story about the hated Empire. The Empire that took my niece three summers ago.’ The man’s expression darkened. ‘Go back to Nordvlast, halfhead.’

‘There have been two uprisings against the—’

‘Go back to Nordvlast,’ repeated the bull-necked man. ‘There’ll be no uprising in Svingettevei. We prefer to keep our heads attached to our shoulders. Go.’

Steiner headed back to his table where Kristofine waited with an anxious look. Steiner slumped down in the seat beside her and stared into his mug of ale.

‘I need to get better at that,’ he said quietly.

‘People are strange creatures,’ said Kristofine. ‘Territorial. You can’t just walk into their place and tell them a thing. It makes them feel stupid, ignorant. You need to make them curious. I used to see this done a lot in my father’s tavern. A person would come in and hint that they had just arrived from somewhere or perhaps knew something everyone else didn’t. Just a hint really, to make people curious, make them ask a question or two.’

‘Making people curious,’ repeated Steiner. He looked at his father over the top of his mug. ‘And what do you think?’

‘I think I’m an old soldier who doesn’t know much about storytelling. But I think Kristofine has a point,’ said Marek. ‘Let’s try it her way next time.’

Marek insisted that he needed a room of his own on account of not having a moment’s peace in the last month. ‘We have a little coin to spare,’ he said. ‘One night’s luxury won’t kill anyone.’

And so Steiner found himself alone with Kristofine that night when the bar finally stopped serving and the lanterns downstairs were extinguished one by one. They headed up the creaking wooden steps hand in hand and spent a minute fussing at the candles before Steiner sat on the bed and gave a deep sigh.

‘What’s got you frowning so, dragon rider?’ said Kristofine, running her fingers across his scalp and down his neck. She pressed closer to him and he rested his head against the soft curve of her stomach. Her fingers continued to trace the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

‘Dragon rider?’ He huffed a bitter laugh. ‘They called me the Unbroken back on the ship. At Nordvlast I wielded the Ashen Torment and fought Shirinov in single combat. Out here I can’t even make a handful of men listen to what I have to say.’

‘It will come in time. You’ll work out the trick of it. We’ll work it out together.’

‘Everything will fail if I can’t make people pay attention.’

‘I’m paying attention to you,’ she whispered. ‘And we have our own room for the first time since you were taken by the Empire.’

‘When you put it like that …’ Steiner gave her slow smile and stood up to kiss her.

‘Much better,’ said Kristofine as he began to unbutton her skirt.

They were late joining Marek for what passed for breakfast the following morning, and even the paucity of the fare couldn’t dim Steiner’s spirits.

‘Took us a while to pack,’ said Steiner, setting down his bag and sledgehammer, which he hid under his cloak. Marek raised an eyebrow. Kristofine blushed and Steiner took a seat. They ate their food in the bar and tried to ignore the stale smell of ale and the sweat of men long in their beds. Kristofine smiled a lot but said little, and Marek approached the innkeeper and his wife at the counter.

‘Folks are talking of trouble up north,’ said the innkeeper after the usual round of pleasantries. The innkeeper looked towards the door and then conspiratorially over his shoulder, even though the bar was empty save for Marek, Kristofine and Steiner. ‘Never heard anything like it, I tell you.’ The innkeeper was a thin man in his fifties, with a ratty ponytail of greying brown hair and a patchy beard. He’d introduced himself as Gerd or Ged – Steiner wasn’t quite sure on account of the man’s accent.

‘We’ve been on the road for a few weeks now and not heard a thing,’ replied Marek loud enough to attract Steiner’s attention.

‘Word is that the Empire have a fortress on a secret island.’ Gerd leaned across the bar and dropped his voice. ‘An’ they’ve been taking the children there this whole time.’

‘You know,’ whispered his wife. ‘The children with witchsign.’ She was a short bulb of woman called Lena, as generously proportioned as her husband was lean. She’d been pretty once, but decades spent ushering drunk fools out of her establishment had given her a hard look. ‘An’ to think, this whole time we supposed they were taking them to be slaughtered in Khlystburg.’ She raised her eyebrows.

‘That’s quite a tale,’ said Marek. ‘How did you come by such news?’

‘A trader came into the village late last night,’ said Lena. ‘He told us some Nordvlast man escaped the island.’

‘Said he was seven feet tall an’ covered in scars,’ explained Gerd. ‘Said he wielded a sledgehammer that could fire lightning bolts.’

Steiner half-laughed, half-snorted, as he attempted another spoonful of thin porridge, drawing affronted looks from his hosts.

‘Sorry.’ He coughed. ‘Excellent breakfast, by the way.’ Steiner shared a look with Kristofine and they both held their breath to keep from laughing.

‘Ignore my son,’ said Marek with a frown. ‘He’s a touch simple. I shouldn’t let him drink ale of an evening, but it helps him sleep.’

‘Never seen no enchanted sledgehammer,’ said Lena in a frosty tone of voice. ‘An’ our trader friend said the man flew on the back of a dragon and killed a dozen men an’ a Vigilant.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But he was drunk as a lord and I’m not so foolish as to believe everything I’m told.’

‘She’s not foolish!’ crowed her husband, his eyes wide and earnest in his thin face.

‘And what will happen now?’ said Kristofine, rising from the table to join the conversation at the bar.

‘Same as always happens when someone crosses the Empire,’ replied Lena with a scowl. ‘They’ll find this man an’ kill him, fancy sledgehammer or not.’

‘Probably send those wicked Vigilants after him,’ moaned Gerd.

‘How much of what your friend told you do you believe?’ asked Kristofine. Gerd blinked at her and Steiner supposed he wasn’t asked for his opinion on a great many things.

‘Can’t say I know.’ He looked to his wife. ‘I suppose there could be one or two dragons hiding out from after the war. An’ I suppose it might be possible to ride one.’ He sighed. ‘But a sledgehammer seems like a stupid weapon for a man to carry. Never seen anyone fight with a sledgehammer before.’

‘And the lightning,’ said Marek. ‘That seems like pure invention.’

‘Aye, invention,’ said Gerd, nodding.

Steiner chose that moment to stand up and pull his cloak around his shoulders, then picked up his bag and hefted his sledgehammer. Gerd and Lena stared at him and he could almost feel their eyes counting the many scars on his face, scalp and the backs of his hands. He approached the counter. ‘Sorry I’m not seven feet tall,’ he said to Gerd and Lena, before turning to Marek and Kristofine. ‘Come on, we need to get going.’

They were a dozen feet from the inn when Gerd called out to them from the doorway. ‘Don’t be leaving so quick now.’ Steiner looked over his shoulder. ‘Is any of it true?’ said Gerd and Lena joined him in the doorway.

Steiner nodded. ‘The island. The children. They train them to be Vigilants.’

‘And the lightning?’ said Gerd, and Steiner could see the tiny spark of hope in his eyes.

Steiner shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, no lightning.’

‘You’re not him,’ scowled Lena. ‘Come on now!’ And she ushered her husband inside.

Marek, Kristofine and Steiner walked for some time, leaving the misty village until at last Steiner spoke.

‘Think he’ll tell anyone?’

‘Without a doubt,’ said Marek with a slow smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kjellrunn

‘They caught us by surprise, right.’ Romola was sitting against the edge of the table in her cabin with a hard look on her face, her head cocked to one side. She’d patiently listened to Kjellrunn’s complaint, waiting for the stream of anger and frustration to abate. ‘I’m not happy about it either. I’ve known your father for a long time and I like Steiner. I like him a lot.’

It had taken Kjellrunn a restless night to get up the necessary courage. Her frustration and dismay had grown with every hour that passed, and with every league they sailed further south.

‘We have to go back. They won’t stand a chance.’

‘We have to, do we?’ Romola shook her head and moved around the table to pour a drink. ‘Let me tell you how it works.’ She poured two tots of rum and downed the first before she’d finished pouring the second. ‘The Empire has graduates or cast-offs from the Vozdukha Academy in most towns, especially the ports. They’re not Vigilants but ones with a gift for sending whispers on the wind, right? Messages can be sent for leagues with the arcane, far faster than men on horseback or birds with scraps of parchment tied to their legs. Word of your street fight may have spread across the Empire by now. The Emperor himself will be spitting blood when he finds out.’

‘The Emperor is hundreds of miles away!’

‘But his soldiers are close. Closer than we think sometimes. They’ll be looking for us, just as Imperial ships will be looking for us.’

‘Then we’ll fight!’ replied Kjellrunn.

Romola raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘Like you fought in Virag?’

Kjellrunn felt the anger drain out of her.

‘I’m a smuggler, not an admiral,’ replied Romola. ‘And the Watcher’s Wait is a fast frigate. She can’t take on those big Imperial galleons. She just doesn’t have it in her.’

For a moment the woman and girl eyed each other over the captain’s table. The ship creaked as it voyaged further south.

‘What will happen to them?’ said Kjellrunn quietly. ‘Do you even care?’

‘I care about plenty of things. My crew, my ship, my skin. And I care about rum, of course.’ Romola knocked back the second tot. ‘Marek and Steiner are more than capable of slipping out of a city unnoticed. Maybe you forgot, but Steiner the Unbroken escaped from Vladibogdan. I don’t think Virag will give him any problems.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Kjellrunn, hating the pleading note in her voice. ‘I may never see them again.’

‘But you’ll be alive to miss them. And so will I. The Watcher’s Wait is not returning to Virag, Kjellrunn. You can get off at the next port if you don’t like it, but we are not going back.’

The door to the captain’s cabin slammed open and a tall woman with red hair entered, one of the crew. Kjellrunn scowled but the pirate simply grinned.

‘Hello!’ She turned to Romola. ‘Here’s the inventory you asked for.’

Romola took the parchment from the tall pirate and it was clear the conversation was over. Kjellrunn sighed in defeat. She slunk out of the cabin, not bothering to close the door behind her.

She was halfway across the deck of the ship when her fingers strayed to the hammer brooch her father had given her.

‘None of this would be happening if you’d just stayed pinned to my cloak.’

The brooch had no answer, which only put her in an even worse mood.

Kjellrunn spent the afternoon sitting in the prow of the ship running over her conversation with Romola and cursing herself for not persuading the captain to turn around. She’d wrapped herself in her cloak so that it came up under her nose and only the top of her face could be seen. The gunwales shielded her from the worst of the wind, but the weather was cold enough that she half considered going below decks. It was almost nightfall when Mistress Kamalov appeared on deck. Trine, the fire-breathing novice, hovered nearby, shooting dark looks at any sailors who came too close to the old woman. The renegade Vigilant hobbled across the deck and Kjellrunn felt another pang of irritation.

‘You hurt no one but yourself when you don’t eat.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ replied Kjellrunn, looking up to the rigging in order to avoid the older woman’s eyes.

‘As you wish. The food is gone now. Too many mouths to feed.’

‘I just want to be left alone.’

‘It’s right that you are upset for your family, but you must see the sense in the captain’s decision.’

‘I must, must I?’

‘It was going to happen anyway, Kjellrunn.’ Mistress Kamalov rested a hand on the side of the ship, supporting herself as the waves rocked the slender vessel. ‘Your brother would have disembarked sooner or later. He is keen to take the fight to the Empire. His path is not yours—’

‘His path is going to get him killed!’ Kjellrunn stood up, feeling the familiar heat of her anger stoked to life once more. ‘What was the point of escaping Vladibogdan if he’s going to run back to the Empire so that they can kill him?’

‘He has found his purpose, Kjellrunn. Now you must find yours.’

‘Purpose? What purpose? The Empire has taken everything from me. My home, my father, my brother, my uncle.’ Her voice broke slightly. ‘I never had the chance to meet my mother.’ Mistress Kamalov shook her head, pursing her lips in a look of disappointment Kjellrunn knew all too well.

‘And you are the only person aboard to have lost something precious to the Empire, I suppose?’

Kjellrunn turned her back on the renegade Vigilant. ‘I just want to be left alone.’

‘Soon we will reach Shanisrond,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Where people with witchsign are not hunted. We can live quietly with the novices.’

‘And I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what happened to my family, wondering if they’re still alive. What’s the point? I want to get my family back and I’m going to leave this stupid ship and find them.’

Mistress Kamalov bowed her head and made her way back across the deck. Trine did not follow, but eyed Kjellrunn with a curious, unfriendly stare.

‘Hoy there,’ said Kjellrunn, more out of habit than any desire to speak to the girl.

‘Are you always such a whining bitch?’ replied Trine.

Kjellrunn stepped forward. ‘They’re my family. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I imagine the Vigilants stripped all the decency out of you on the island.’

‘Mistress Kamalov said you were her best student, but you just seem like a snivelling child to me.’

‘You have some some cheek. Those six children might still be alive if you hadn’t snuck off in Virag.’ Trine’s eyes widened in surprise at Kjellrunn’s rebuke. ‘Perhaps you’ll consider other people in future, now that you have blood on your hands.’

Trine shrank back a step, shaken by Kjellrunn’s words, then remembered herself and followed after Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn watched her go, anger beating loudly with her pulse. She slumped down in the prow, tired beyond reason with tears of loneliness brimming at the corner of her eyes. Maybe she was a snivelling child, she decided. A snivelling child who wanted nothing more than her family returned to her safely.

The scent of pipe smoke and the sound of soft voices woke her. Sundra and Tief had sat down next to her and were chatting.

‘What time is it?’

‘Too late to be sleeping on deck when you have a perfectly reasonable cabin,’ said Tief with a crooked smile. He toked on the pipe and breathed out a few smoke rings. ‘What foolishness is this?’

‘I had an argument with Mistress Kamalov. Two actually.’

‘You and your brother have a fine gift for stubbornness,’ said Sundra. She stared up at the night sky and clucked her tongue. ‘I do miss that boy.’

Kjellrunn felt the beginnings of tears at the mention of Steiner. ‘As do I. And that seems to be a problem for some people.’

‘I’ve got something for you.’ Tief reached under his jacket and pulled out a small sack. ‘Steiner would kill me if I let his little sister starve, so eat up.’

Kjellrunn reached into the sack and pulled out an apple. ‘Thanks. Is this bread too?’

Tief nodded. ‘I’ll give you nip of rum too if you don’t tell Mistress Kamalov.’

Kjellrunn ate for a time and they listened to the shushing sound of the waves against the prow. Stars shone overhead and the ship rumbled and groaned as the timbers moved. The sails billowed from the masts and Kjellrunn felt calm in the presence of the two Spriggani.

‘What will you do?’ asked Sundra.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What will you do in the weeks ahead? We won’t always be on this ship.’ Kjellrunn couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Here was a high priestess of Frejna, representative of a proscribed religion, asking about her future. Here was a woman four times her age if not more, speaking to her as if she were an adult with a plan.

‘I don’t know. My family … It seems we’re destined to be pulled apart. I’ll never be able to find them on my own.’ It was tough to admit to such a thing, but the words needed saying.

‘It is difficult to be away from the ones we love,’ said Sundra, though Kjellrunn realised the words were intended for Tief rather than her.

‘I’m going on to Yamal with Kimi and Marozvolk,’ explained Tief. ‘We’re going to present ourselves to the Yamali king and explain what happened, try and rally the tribes for the forthcoming war.’

‘You don’t know they will go to war,’ snapped Sundra.

‘Hopefully Steiner will raise such a ruckus the Emperor will be too busy to send an army to Yamal.’ Tief toked on his pipe a moment. ‘But if he does send an army …’

‘And Taiga has decided she has to go with him,’ said Sundra to Kjellrunn with a note of disgust in her voice. ‘Everyone rushing off to get themselves killed. Did we escape the island for nothing!’ The old priestess rolled her eyes in a rare display of pique and Kjellrunn almost laughed, though she shared the sentiment entirely.

‘And Taiga is coming,’ agreed Tief. He blew out the smoke and cleared his throat. ‘The thing is—’

‘The thing is,’ said Sundra, her voice brittle with irritation, ‘is that I am too damned old to go wandering around this continent. I will leave the ship and stay with Mistress Kamalov and the children. I should very much like it if you were to become my apprentice.’ Kjellrunn nearly choked on her apple. She stared at the older woman in disbelief.

‘Apprentice?’

‘I am getting old and our religion has all but died out. I need someone to carry these traditions and beliefs on to the next generation.’

‘But I barely know anything about the goddesses,’ said Kjellrunn.

‘As it is in all the provinces of the Solmindre Empire and the Scorched Republics. There was a temple in Virag, you know? Dedicated to my goddess. They boarded up the windows and the doors were locked.’

‘All knowledge of the old ways is prohibited in Nordvlast,’ added Kjellrunn.

‘But this did not stop you, did it, Kjellrunn?’ Sundra narrowed her eyes with a smile of admiration on her thin lips.

‘Well, no,’ Kjellrunn admitted. ‘I always loved the old stories.’

Sundra clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘They are not just old stories!’

‘Pah! You’ve upset her already.’ Tief gave an earthy chuckle. ‘You’ll make a fine initiate.’

‘And what of my family?’

‘I’ll be out there,’ said Tief, jerking a thumb towards land. ‘There can’t be too many people rushing towards Khlystburg in the hopes of killing the Emperor. I have hope that I’ll cross paths with your brother before too long. I’ll be sure to bring him back to you.’

Kjellrunn smiled.

‘That’s it, girl. You keep smiling. There’s too much pain in the world and every smile is a rebellion against it.’

Sundra made a dismissive snort. ‘So says the grumpiest man I know.’

‘Nothing to say I can’t be a grump and hypocrite at the same time,’ replied Tief proudly.

‘An initiate of Frejna,’ said Kjellrunn, testing the words out. Sundra nodded. ‘And we’ll live in Shanisrond and wait there until my family comes back?’

‘We will.’ The high priestess got to her feet, though it took her some time and a helping hand from Tief. Sundra was quickly swallowed by the darkness as she retired for the night. Kjellrunn stood to watch her go.

‘Thank you for that,’ said Tief when his sister had gone. ‘I’ll be glad to know someone will be keeping an eye on her.’

‘You looked after my brother on the island, didn’t you?’

He grinned. ‘I did, although Frøya knows he was a pain in the arse more often than not.’

‘I’m beginning to think everyone is a pain in the arse,’ said Kjellrunn as her thoughts turned to Mistress Kamalov and the ever-present Trine.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Tief. ‘But some of them are worth fighting for.’