The Blade of Ryl, page 17
part #1 of Corelle Of Dur Series
“What of Jeg and Argull?” The man had a deep voice that resembled the growl of an animal, she thought.
“Dead. Are you Priu?” He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Corelle’s blade remained pressed to his neck, and blood ran down his neck and shoulder from the ear she had cut. “Where are the others?”
“Dead, you told me.” Spit flew from his lips as he spoke, his fury evident in his eyes.
“Not them, the others who came here also.”
He snorted “Others? There are no others.”
She gave a sardonic laugh. “Krage sent only four to capture me? I do not believe you.”
He glowered at her. “You are not all you believe yourself to be.”
“Yet here you are, beneath my blade.” She laughed again.
He gave a small, derisive laugh of his own. “I would rather die than tell you anything.”
“You will die, my guess. It matters not, after all else. The Bailiff’s men come to take you to the gallows soon, and afterward we leave to kill Krage and Sisnop.”
He tried to scoff, but doubt tinged his words. “They are well guarded. You will not find them easy to take.”
“On a farm? I think not, unless they are guarded by muttons or milk cows.”
She laughed and he squirmed against the blade in anger. “We have eyes in Yerrsun.” She heard his vitriol in every word. “Your movements there will be known long ere you can act. Guild justice will be hard on you. You have set yourself against us at every turn.”
She gave no indication they had already known the nearest town to the farm, albeit one of the men had misremembered its name, but it pleased her he had fallen for so crude a bluff. The training in Ryl must have been inferior to that in Zhanghar. “I set myself against nothing. Rather, you set me against yourselves, when you chose me for shrouding.” He said nothing in reply, and she turned to the other. “What of you? Do you know where these others skulk, afraid to show themselves until you need their aid? They leave you to take the risks and seek to enter the fray at the end to claim all the glory. Why protect them?”
He looked downcast. “I do not know their whereabouts. I did not know others had come to Alcmouth until you…suggested it.”
“Come. The Bailiff’s men will be here any moment. Tell us what we wish to know, and I will release you through the rear door. You will be hanged for Klordia’s murder otherwise.”
His eyes widened. “I did not do that. He did.” He nodded his head toward Priu.
Priu spat at the man. “Shut your mouth. Do you wish Guild justice?”
The other gave an ironic laugh. “I am a dead man either way. All is destroyed. Styrrach is dead, the Guild is shattered, and you have cost me my life.”
Fists pounded on the door and heralded the arrival of Raolos’s men, and Synna pushed the Guild member into the couch. He sat, despondent, and stared at the floor as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stem the flow of blood. Synna ran to the front door, unlocked it, and the yellow tunics of the Bailiff soon filled the room. They pulled the two men out into the parlour and slapped manacles on their wrists.
One of the men nodded to Corelle. “They will hang before morning.”
“Raolos might consider some leniency for this one.” Corelle pointed a finger at the ordinary member. “He may be prepared to swear he saw this other kill Klordia.”
“That will be for Raolos to decide.” Raolos’s men dragged the Guild members out to the street.
Synna sat in one of the chairs in the parlour. “Success, and yet failure.” He sighed and looked downcast.
“Indeed. We are little further forward, and if another group had been sent here, they must have seen all and fled.”
“Do we abandon our search for them?”
“That we do. Go home and sleep. Tomorrow, I will head for Yerrsun. That is the only information we gleaned from all that passed today. I will invent a plan on the road.”
Synna looked up at her, and thought creased his brow. “I will see whether Raolos can spare me. I will come to your inn if he can. If not, then tread with caution. They will be forewarned, if you have the right of it. They will expect you, and we do not know how many they are.”
Faces swam before Corelle’s eyes. Deineike, Arella, Pettra, Klordia, Taro. She stared at Synna, then spoke a soft reply. “I know how many of them there are.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How many, then?”
She gave a grim smile. “Not enough.”
CHAPTER 22
CORELLE
Corelle awoke to the sound of knuckles as they rapped on the door of her room. She guessed the hour was still early, although the effective shutters allowed almost no light into the room. Her clothes lay folded on a table beside the bed. She had not drunk any wine last night on her return to the inn. The tavernroom had been deserted and dark, neither customer nor staff visible, and she had retired to bed in frustration.
The knocks came again, and Synna’s voice called out, muffled by the heavy door. “Corelle. Do you still sleep?”
She shouted back at him. “That I do. Go away, if you value your life.”
Synna laughed. “Rouse yourself, I bring news.”
Corelle groaned. Curse the man. Why had he turned up in the middle of the night? “Go away.”
“I have pastries.”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “You try to bribe me now? I hate you.” She crawled from the bed and dressed. When she tugged the door open, Synna had taken a step backward down the hallway as though fearful of her reaction to his early visit. The smell of fresh baked pastries came from a small sack in his hand. She turned, stomped into the room without a word, and tugged the shutters open. The hour was not as early as she had thought. A bright, warm summer’s day greeted her as the shutters abandoned their vigil against the light that now poured into the room.
She turned. Synna had sat on her bed and worked hard on one of the cakes with the delicious cream centre. Another of the cream centred cakes had been placed on top of the sack, and she grabbed it for herself and settled in the sole chair in the room. “What news?” A mouthful of the delicious pastry turned her words to mush.
Synna wiped some cream from his face with the back of a hand. “Raolos bids me travel to Yerrsun with such help as I can find.” He paused, then, “It infuriates me, this game we play, how he pretends you are not in Dur even as he knows full well you are. Regardless, he has heard nothing of Yerrsun, but we have learned it lies three days’ ride to the east of Ort, or many days ride north from Eastport.”
“Eastport?” Corelle had never heard of it.
“Some little town east of Alcmouth, it turns, along the coast. A small dock, a couple of taverns, and a Portreeve nobody has ever heard a word from. Eastport.” He took another bite of the cake.
“It will be faster to sail to Ort and ride to Yerrsun, I think.” Corelle turned over his news as she worked on the last of her pastry. “Are there more of these?”
Synna looked ashamed. “There were. They disappeared on the way here. There is a fresh bun though.”
“A bun? You ate all the cream pastries and left me a bun?”
“And a cream pastry. That pastry tempted me, let me assure you. You should be grateful for that.”
“I hate you.” Corelle reached for the bun. Fresh baked and still warm, it had overtones of cinnamon. It tasted delicious, but compared to the cakes… “I hate you.”
“More news.” Synna licked around his mouth as though he quested for some last trace of the cream. “Priu has drawn his last breath. The testimony from the other member convinced Raolos. He hanged Priu at first light. The other is banished. A better outcome than he deserved. With luck, you will find him at some other time, and there will be harsher justice.”
Corelle gave him a non-committal nod. The other man mattered little to her. Priu had killed Klordia, and he had been hanged. She would have preferred to slit his throat herself, but Raolos’s men had arrived, and the moment had passed. “How did Wilash respond to Priu’s death?”
“He claims justice is served, but I believe he would buy you a goblet of wine for every additional death you bring to any involved.”
Corelle nodded and did not doubt it for a moment. She remained determined to bring further justice for Klordia, Arella, Deineike, and Pettra. The price rose with the death of every friend, and those involved must pay. As must she, she reminded herself. Afterward.
The pastries had gone. Synna sat on the bed and swung his legs back and forth. He had no pack she could see, and she wondered how he intended to manage for fresh clothes on a journey that would take the better part of a tenday before they came to Yerrsun, and longer to complete once they arrived. “Where is your pack?”
“Downstairs. I left it with a comely woman who greeted me.”
Corelle smiled as she took simple pleasure from Synna’s appreciation of the woman. Corelle believed her to be the daughter of the innkeep but did not know for certain. “You burden me again. I must keep you alive so you may pursue a friendship with her on your return, my guess.”
He smiled back at her. They held a tenuous grip on life, the consequence of the work they undertook. Life could be assured only until the next breath they took. Beyond that, no guarantees would be asked or given. “Indeed.” He smiled. “Where is yours?”
He had criticised her unready state in so polite a manner, and she laughed, amused. Corelle crammed her few belongings back into her pack, careful not to damage Deineike’s sketches any more than she already had done, then picked it up. “To Yerrsun, and whatever we find there.” She cast a final glance around the room before they descended the stairs, and Synna collected his pack from the woman. He smiled at her and blushed when she returned it. The exchange entertained Corelle, and she turned away in order not to embarrass either of them with her grin.
She paid for her room, said she hoped to return soon, then they set off for the docks. Corelle studied their surroundings as they walked but nobody appeared to show any interest in them. They spoke little, and soon enough the docks came into view. The sun sparkled from the surface of the river. Several masts stretched toward the blue sky as Corelle and Synna entered the docks, and she hoped at least one of the ships would travel to Ort on the next tide.
The Torr Sea lay to the south, and the docks had been built north of the sea somewhat, in the wide mouth of the Alc as it made its way into and out of the sea with the tides. Somewhere far to the south, Pettra had lost her life. Corelle wondered about the custom in Vyrrmod. Did they hold a Pyre? Would somebody give Pettra a Pyre and a Sending? Justice of a kind had been served for Klordia, but none for Pettra, unless the death of the man who had hurt her counted as that justice. Corelle believed nothing but her own death could atone, and she longed for it with every breath she took. In truth, she should die young for all she had done in her life, but vows to end her own life lay broken and scattered behind her. Unless somebody else killed her, her death might elude her for many years. She had not yet found the courage to end the one life whose blood might pay some of the debt owed to so many who had died as a result of her existence.
Corelle stopped outside a tavern. She wished to buy a cask of wine for the voyage north, but now it came to it, she felt embarrassed to admit it to Synna, and she gave him a sad smile. He responded with a confused one of his own. Her raised hand suggested he should remain outside as she ran into the tavern, found the innkeep, and persuaded him to sell her a cask for a price she imagined he had inflated. It would doubtless be of a poor quality, here on the docks, where the rough and tumble of mariners, courtesans and dock workers made up the daily life.
Synna raised his eyebrows when he saw her emerge with the cask, but he said nothing. They approached the dockside, and Corelle voiced her thoughts. “The Dur ships, the two-masters. They are more likely to be headed for Ort than the southern traders, I think.” Synna nodded in silence, and they wandered along the dock and called up to the mariners on the decks until they found a ship headed for Ort. Corelle had never seen such a small ship on the river, and the name painted on the stern, Journeys End, seemed bizarre to her. Synna laughed and explained the play on words. Corelle had not appreciated a small squiggle between the Y and the S would change the definition of the name so much, although she doubted Synna had the right of it. Deineike would know, she thought sadly. Even if Synna had been correct, she doubted the ship’s owner had intended to make the pun. It seemed more likely to have been a mistake by whoever had painted the words rather than a clever jest.
They boarded, and Synna paid for passage. As they walked to their cabins, he said Raolos had given him some coin for the trip. Corelle had a tiny cabin, two bunks and two chairs the only contents. It had no window, the door had no lock, and no trunk had been provided for her belongings. With nowhere to hide all the coin she still carried, she took her pouch to Synna’s room, but he had no trunk either. They agreed they had no option other than to trust the mariners not to steal the coin, though they both expressed some doubt such men could be trusted. Corelle returned to her own cabin, laid the pouch at the bottom of her bunk, and spread the pouch’s contents as flat as she could before she remade the bed. She laid her pack on the blanket above the coin, the best she could do to disguise its presence.
In the common room, she found a cup and took it back to her cabin so she could drink the wine as they sailed, then decided to go up to the deck and watch the ship set off for Ort. She took her usual position at the bow of the ship and sat cross-legged on the deck. As the sounds of activity grew louder, she turned so she faced backward and could watch the mariners as they coiled ropes, pulled on lines that extended from the sails, and readied themselves to haul in the lines that ran down to the dock. Each man seemed to know his precise duties, and she saw nothing she thought would be difficult to learn. Officers barked orders, men leapt to tasks in response, and the ship slid out into the river and headed north. The sails filled with wind, and soon the little ship made good speed as it skipped along the water. The activity on the deck reduced once they were under way, though mariners coiled the lines and laid them on the deck at the front and rear of the ship.
Synna came out of the cabin area and sat near her for a time. They spoke little, nothing more than a few words of observation as the land slipped by on either side of them. Corelle guessed they sailed the widest part of the river, based on her recollections of previous journeys. As darkness fell, Synna went in search of some food, but Corelle sat at the bow until long after dark. At last, she rose and returned to her cabin, where she poured some wine into the cup, and sat on one of the chairs as she sipped at it. She had been correct about the low quality of the wine. The harsh, almost bitter taste suggested it had not been worthy of the price, but it would suffice. At first, she intended to drink only enough to drive the nightmares from her, but as the ship pressed on toward Ort, she drank more than she had planned to and had become intoxicated by the time she climbed into her bunk. Something at the bottom of the bunk, underneath her blanket, pressed against her legs, but she felt too inebriated to investigate. She kicked it aside as best she could. It jingled, and she remembered she had hidden her coin there, giggled at her own foolishness, and soon fell asleep.
Her condition the next day had become all too familiar, and she tossed in the bunk, restless, too ill to get up. She battled the urge to fetch up, her head pounded, her throat felt as dry as sand, and her eyes hurt. The ship wallowed in the water, but it appeared to have no effect on her condition; her stomach roiled without any encouragement from the river. She had no idea of the hour, but the occasional voice passed her cabin door. At some point, she reached down inside the blanket, pulled the coin pouch out, and dropped it to the floor. Her tunic lay next to the bunk, but she still wore her trousers. She could see only one of her boots, and she hoped Synna would not come to her cabin.
A knock at the door woke her, and, to her disappointment, Synna asked if she needed assistance. Corelle ignored him and stayed silent but imagined he would peer round the door at some point. She pulled the blanket over her head and hoped he would leave. The door might have opened, but Synna said nothing, and she fell asleep again. She felt little better when she woke. With great reluctance, she dragged herself out of the bunk, pulled her tunic over her head and searched for her other boot. To her dismay, she realised she had worn it to bed. She ran her fingers through her hair, and they tangled in many knots. Where had she put her hairbrush? In her pack, she imagined. She pushed her clothes around without enthusiasm until she found the brush, then sat on the bunk and ignored the pain as she dragged it through her hair until she felt satisfied she had tamed all the knots.
With a deep breath, she headed for the deck. The shock of the wind in her face refreshed and revitalised her, despite the cold of a grey day with a hint of rain in the air. She missed the warm, summer day she had left behind in Alcmouth yesterday as she wrapped her arms around herself for some warmth and made for the bow. Synna already sat there, and he glanced up as she sat down.
“What hour is it?” Her voice sounded croaky even to her.
“Around the midday.”
It amazed her the hour had grown so late. He must have guessed wrong; the sun could not pierce the heavy grey cloud above. He might be mistaken.
The uncomfortable silence unsettled her. They often said little enough to one another, but she sensed some judgement from him, unless she felt guilty she had drunk so much wine. “Something is amiss?”
“I should ask you the same.” He turned to face her. “You look terrible, and you smell like a tavernroom.”
“I drank a little more than I realised, I think.” A barefaced lie.
His head bobbed once. It might have been a nod, or some reaction to the movement of the ship. “Does this happen often?”
