The Blade of Ryl, page 18
part #1 of Corelle Of Dur Series
She tutted. “An impertinent question. I do not seek your approval for my actions.”
He held up a hand. “Then so be it. You have gained weight, however, and I must be sure you can perform if it comes to a fight, that you have not slowed down.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. Had he called her competence into question? “Do you know how much blood I have spilled?” Venom had crept into her voice.
“That I do not. Much, my guess.”
“Then you should not doubt me. I could kill you in the blink of an eye, whatever doubts you hold about me.”
He shook his head. “You are unfathomable. At times, you are easy company, but there is unpleasantness in you.”
Her lips drew back from her teeth as her anger grew. “Forgive me. One would think my life of ballgowns and attentive suitors would have made me a nicer person.” She turned away in a sulk and watched the water as the ship sliced through it with ease. Another episode of temper, but Synna had angered her with his words, and she felt justified in her rage. She made no effort to break the silence between them as the vessel carried them north toward a town Corelle felt she had visited more times than she would have cared to, and never to any good purpose.
CHAPTER 23
CORELLE
Corelle lay back on the deck, weary. She had no sooner done so than Synna spoke again. “I grew up in the poor quarter of Alcmouth with an oaf of a father, in his cups more often than not. Somebody killed him when I was young, a fight over a hand of cards. An accident, they said, the misfortune of a brawl in a tavern while intoxicated. One punch and no more, but his head smashed into the floor, and he never woke again. My mother did her best to take care of us. She took in laundry from the better parts of the city, cleaned floors, whatever she could find.”
He paused, and Corelle turned to gaze at him as he fiddled with a sleeve. “I became a thief at a young age, stole anything I could lay my hands on; food from stalls so we could eat, anything I could sell for a few groats. I killed my first man in my early teenyears, an attempt to pick a pocket turned awry. The man produced a knife, but I took it from him and killed him with it. I weighed little more than a sack of tubers and never grew tall, but my speed and toughness saw me through those times. Somebody suggested I should meet a man called Styrrach who might find me some work. The rest…”
Synna fell silent again, and Corelle could not understand why he had told her this story. “I had no privileged childhood, any more than you did. Less so, my guess. Yet I do not spit threats at my friends as you do. It is unfathomable, as I have already said.”
“You had a difficult life. You had a low hand and played it as well as you could. You have emerged to a better outcome than many might have in your circumstances. Do not expect pity or sympathy from me. You have guessed right; I enjoyed a comfortable childhood, with parents who loved me, and no shortage of coin. Then I met Arella. From that moment, through nobody’s fault but mine, my life has turned as black as the darkest night. Blood and death stalk and manipulate me. You cannot know what gnaws at me. You cannot understand, for you are not me.”
Synna shook his head. “I know what gnaws at you, although I accept I cannot understand it. How you bear it, I cannot say, and I admire your resilience. I do not believe I could have done so. I would have ended my life, I am certain.”
“Empty words. At times, they have sprung to my own lips with similar ease. It is not so easy to act on them. The mind invents ever more plausible reasons to delay. I may live forever, and forever promise myself I will kill myself as soon as I avenge the next person whose life I have destroyed.”
“You find the strength to cope with these things in the wine? Is that what you say?”
His earnest gaze pierced her, and she looked away, ashamed, then sighed, resignation more than misery. “It may be. I turned to drink when the arguments with Pettra grew unbearable. I should never have taken her south with me.”
He seemed to contemplate her answer for a few moments before he replied. “I have never drunk much, the occasional tankard of ale and no more. I cannot imagine any answers lie at the bottom of an empty tankard. You would be more likely to fall over than strike me today, it seems to my eye. That is dangerous by itself, but excessive wine must affect other things—judgement, speed, perception.”
“Synna. You mean well, I am certain. But please—leave me be. I am a conundrum to myself. You can never unravel me. Do not strain our friendship and press me in directions I do not wish to go.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “I have never doubted your capabilities. In a dangerous spot, I must trust your skills will not desert you. My own life might depend on it.”
“Then trust. I will not let you down. Now, let us speak no more of this. I apologise for my outburst earlier. You are right; there is part of me I cannot control, and it is quick to anger these days. Klordia’s death has compounded my guilt, to say nothing of poor Pettra.”
Synna gazed off to the side of the ship for a while. After some time, he spoke again, a friendly tone to his voice. “I do not think I have ever travelled so fast on the river. Either this ship has remarkable speed, or the wind pushes us along with some extra strength.”
She nodded. The small trees and fields raced past at a pace she had never noticed before. She glanced up at the sails, which billowed above them. “The wind, my guess. We may reach Ort sooner than we anticipated.”
“Have you eaten today?”
The question caught her by surprise. “That I have not. In truth, I am not hungry.”
“You should eat something.” His soft voice carried encouragement.
“Have you eaten the bread they carry on these ships?”
He pulled a face of distaste. “That I have, when I journeyed north on The Jorinda. It is as vile a bread as I can imagine.”
Corelle gave a soft laugh of agreement, then recalled the incident long ago when she had tricked Wilash into eating it. “Wilash has a taste for it.”
Synna looked staggered by the revelation. “That he does not. I refuse to believe anybody can enjoy it.”
“He does.” She looked down, consumed by the memory of that journey. Both Deineike and Klordia had been killed since that voyage. How could that be? She shook her head.
Concern in his voice, Synna laid a hand on her arm. “Something troubles you?”
“That it does, but there is little to be done about it, I fear. Let us see if we can find something edible in the common room.”
Corelle drank little wine that night, somewhat bashful over the confrontation with Synna, and she wished to avoid feeling so dreadful the next day, in truth. Despite how long she had slept that morning, she retired to her bunk early, exhausted.
The following morning, she met the master in the common room. He confirmed strong winds from the south had helped the little ship, and he thought they might arrive in Ort late the next day. It would be one of the fastest voyages he had ever had, he told her. Synna nodded when she relayed the news to him later that morning. To her relief, no awkwardness lingered from the previous day’s conversation, and Synna did not suggest Corelle felt so much better because she had not drunk to excess the night before, although he must have noticed her liveliness throughout the day compared with the day before.
That night, however, she drank more and again felt intoxicated when she collapsed into the bunk. She could not explain it, but once she started to drink, she could not stop, continued until inebriated, then needed to sleep. The next day, she felt terrible and had to find a pail as she fetched up through the morning. She decided not to spend any time at the bow of the ship as she could endure no more recriminations from Synna.
Corelle went to the common room at one point and found some meat and cheese she could take back to her cabin, along with a little fruit. She ate the food mouthful by slow mouthful, pleased it stayed down, for she had feared she would fetch it straight back up. Miserable, she took Deineike’s sketches from her pack and looked through them until a knock came at the door, and she looked up and called out for the person to enter.
Synna peered round the door. “I thought I would check on you. I have not seen you at all today.”
“I desired no company. I would be poor company today, in truth.” She let out a miserable sigh.
Synna seemed to notice the sketches. “You sketch?”
“That I do not. Deineike used to, although she was terrible.”
Synna seemed contemplative for a moment. “I will leave you with her memory.” He turned to leave.
“Synna.” He stopped and looked back at her. “My thanks.”
He smiled and left the cabin, and tears ran down her cheeks. She packed the sketches again. They had become battered. She must find a way to store them that would protect them, since her pack appeared unsuited to that task.
Melancholy drove her to take some fresh air, so she walked to the bow but did not sit as had become normal. The wind rippled the surface of the river as it stretched out ahead of the ship. The river had no worries, she guessed. It ebbed and flowed with the tide and had no responsibilities. If somebody chose to jump into it, it had no obligation to tend to their safety. If heavy rains came, it left its banks and spread where it wished with no guilt, and only returned to its course once the myriad tributaries that flowed into it no longer overfed its gluttony. It felt neither happiness nor sadness. It shed no tears, nor did it laugh. It seemed an idyllic life.
It would be easy to embrace that life, she reasoned. She need only jump from the ship and join the river in a permanent union. All her cares would be behind her. Nobody would ask her to kill for them again. She leaned over the rail and watched as the ship ploughed forward, fascinated by the splash of the droplets as the sharp point of the bow parted the water. When she leaned forward further and stared down into the water, it seemed to whisper to her. “Come to me. Abandon your cares. I will tend to you.” She sat on the wooden rail, swung her legs over the side, leaned forward, and watched her feet as they dangled over the river.
Hands grabbed her arms, and a gruff voice came from behind her. “Dangerous that, miss. You can fall right easy, then down to Helchik’s treasure with you.”
She turned. A mariner held her tight with his large hands, faded etchings all over his hairy arms. “Helchik?”
“The ruler of the seas. He keeps his treasure down deep, way under the waters. People who go in, they go down to him. Some say he claims them as part of his treasure.”
“Ruler of the sea? I have never heard of this.”
“Few have unless they ply the waters for their coin, miss. Now, why don’t you come back aboard? I’ll catch it from the master if you go down to the treasure. Like as not he’ll refuse to pay me for the voyage.”
Corelle had lost count of the number of times she had sailed. It would not be many compared to these mariners, but it staggered her nobody had mentioned this treasure story to her before. Not that she believed it, of course, but it had been a quaint story. She swung her legs back over the rail and stood on the deck. “I will not go to Helchik tonight.” She gave the man a smile.
He nodded and left her alone, although she noticed he did not wander far. She wondered whether he realised she had contemplated a jump from the ship, or whether he thought she had sought a thrill, to ride with her feet over the river. No matter, the moment had passed. Corelle would not be added to the treasure. She would return to her cabin and be tormented by thoughts of the four women whose faces had been forever burned into her memory, then fall into nightmares. The prospect did not appeal, but what else could she do? She spoke to the mariner as she passed him. “I will get no better offer.” He nodded his head and smiled as though he had understood.
A little wine remained in the cask, and she finished it alone in her cabin. It seemed possible the wine’s low quality may have contributed to worse after-effects than she might have felt had she drunk a better wine. She lay on the bunk until sleep took her.
Tonight’s nightmare had never come to her before. She stood before a door. A wall ran away on either side of the door as far as the eye could see. From behind the door, Pettra’s voice cried, “Let me out.”
Corelle turned the handle, but the door had been locked and had no key. She bent to it and fiddled with her dagger until she heard the tongue of the lock clear the groove in the door frame. When she pushed the door open, another wall ran away from her, a fresh door set into it, and from behind it, Pettra’s voice called again. “Let me out.”
As before, the door would not open, and she pried the lock open with her dagger. Once more, a wall ran away from her and once more, a door had been set into the wall. Again, Pettra called to be let out, and again Corelle opened the lock with her dagger in confusion. Why did the walls continue to appear? She should be back where she started by now, she believed. Her dagger opened the lock again and repeated the entire scenario.
Over and over, the same thing. Corelle opened the door, but instead of Pettra she found another door to unlock. When at last her eyes opened to free her from the nightmare, sweat soaked her. The nightmare had not been violent or bloody, but she thought it had been the worst nightmare she had ever had. She hoped it would never be repeated.
Corelle trusted they would reach Ort later that day, as the master had suggested. With the wine gone and the nightmares back, she felt ready to leave the ship. So much time had been wasted on ships in the last year or so as she waited to reach one destination or another. It bored her.
She mentioned the nightmare to Synna as they sat together at the bow later in the day and asked him what he thought it might mean. Most of her nightmares had been simple enough to unravel, and almost all involved the death of someone close to her in some hideous way. Corelle believed such nightmares to be the work of her guilt. This one made no sense to her, and to her frustration, Synna could not fathom its significance either.
As the last light of the day faded, Corelle saw the outskirts of Ort ahead of them. Relieved they could leave the ship, she retrieved her pack and watched the buildings grow ever denser. They had reached Ort, and she waited, impatient for the ship to dock and a ramp to be raised up. She hurried down the ramp and stood for a moment to allow herself to become accustomed again to the firm ground beneath her feet. Synna did not appear desperate to leave the ship, and she thought she might wander off to find an inn. He appeared at the top of the ramp and his eyes swept the dockside until he saw her. His cheerful wave surprised her, not at all what she had expected. She beckoned for him to join her, and he wandered down the ramp.
She spoke as he drew close. “We should find an inn.”
He pursed his lips. “Could we not cross to Eastort tonight and stay at an inn there? We would have a good start tomorrow this way. It seems better to me.”
She considered his point. He had the right of it; it would save time in the morning, but she did not know whether the rowboat still plied its trade so late in the day. It had almost grown dark, and it might be dangerous to cross the river in such a small boat in darkness. “Let us see if the rowboat still crosses this late.”
A sign at the rowboat dock said the boat had left earlier for its last journey of the day and would set off again from Eastort at the sunrise the next day. They found an inn on the docks, reluctant to wander far, determined to rise early and take the rowboat on its first return journey. They took two small rooms on the first floor, at the rear of the inn. The small, three-storey building came nowhere near the quality of the finer inns Corelle had been staying at since she helped herself to Styrrach’s coin. Her pouch felt far lighter these days, and she guessed she could not make the coin last much longer.
Corelle dropped her pack on the bunk and headed down to the tavernroom. As she sat at a table with a goblet of wine, she realised she had made no attempt to hide her coin. She had been in such a hurry to reach the tavernroom, it had slipped her mind. Synna may have had the right of it. The wine might affect her judgement, after all else.
With a shake of her head, she dismissed the thought and ordered a second goblet of wine. The low-quality wine reminded her of the cask she had drunk on the ship, also bought in a dockside tavern. She gazed around her. Four women sat in the tavernroom. The men appeared to be dock workers for the most part, finished for the day. She saw no mariners, and she wondered what made any given tavern appeal more to different types of workers. Three of the women appeared to be courtesans and the other wore rough clothes like those of the dock workers, as though she also worked on the docks. Precious few women did, but Deineike had worked in a tally house in Vjort and found the work none too difficult, although she had been a tall, muscular woman, unlike the one in the tavernroom tonight.
Corelle lost interest in the woman as she started on her third goblet. Synna entered the tavernroom and gazed around himself as the innkeep poured him a tankard of ale. His gaze met Corelle’s, then slid to the table and the goblet. He carried his ale over to Corelle’s table and sat opposite her.
He took a sip of his ale. “I hope we can rent horses in Eastort.”
Corelle had not considered this difficulty. “We must be able to. The rowboat cannot carry horses, and people must cross here to ride to Dur City and other towns in the east.”
He sipped again. “I hope so. It will be a lengthy walk if we cannot.”
She pondered his words. “I wonder why there is an Eastort and an Eastport. They are easy to confuse, I imagine.”
Synna looked into his ale. “They may be, though they are far apart. One may not know of the other.”
“Eastort is clumsy on the tongue.”
“That it is. More so after several drinks.”
Corelle pouted. “I have only had three.”
He held up his hands. “My apologies. I meant that comment as a jest, not as a barb aimed at you.”
Corelle sighed, frustrated. She seemed to have become so sensitive these days. She drained her goblet. “Three will be my lot for tonight. I will await you in the morning and we will discover whether we ride or walk to Yerrsun.” He returned her smile. “Goodnight, Synna.”
