The Blade of Ryl, page 3
part #1 of Corelle Of Dur Series
As they drew closer to the docks, Pettra laid a hand on Corelle’s knee. “I have something for you. I collected it from Raolos’s desk before we left.”
Pettra handed her a thin item wrapped in cloth. When Corelle unwrapped it, she saw the dagger Wilash had dropped during the fight against the Guild in Raolos’s office, the twin of her own dagger. “Raolos kept this?”
“He told me he collected it after the horrors of the fight in his office, when you saved him. I do not know what he intended for it, but it is not his. It belongs to you more than him. You are Wilash’s friend, and you should have it.”
“My thanks.” Corelle muttered the reply as she placed the dagger into her pack. Whether she would ever see Wilash to return it to him, she could not guess, and he might not wish it returned. He had used it to kill a Guild member in Raolos’s office, and it had sickened him. The dagger might bring him unhappy memories best left buried deep in his mind.
The carriage stopped once they had reached the docks. Corelle moved to open the door, but one of the men had climbed down and pulled it open. “Please.” He smiled, and she climbed out to scan the ships at the dockside. Two of the three-masted ships the southerners preferred sat at the dock, and Corelle would need to board each ship and ask where they would sail once they left Ort.
“Wait here while I determine where these ships sail. I will return for you.” Pettra nodded her agreement, and Corelle walked to the ramp of the first ship. She asked a mariner for the master, but the man did not seem to understand the language of Dur. She guessed the master would be on the aft deck, near the wheel, so she skipped up the stairs. A man in a long coat stood by the wheel. “Are you the master?”
“Not I. I bring.” The man’s dark skin and remarkable, chiselled features marked him as a southerner. He spoke the Dur language, however, and Corelle wondered how easy it would be to learn a new language wherever she ended up.
“You seek me?” A man’s voice came from behind her, and when she turned, she saw a tall, dark man in an officer’s coat. He wore a flat cap with some sigil on it, three vertical stripes. She guessed the sigil indicated the master of a ship.
“I seek passage south. Where are you bound?”
“We leave for Vyrrmod on the next tide.”
Corelle had never heard of Vyrrmod and did not know whether it might be a city or a land, but she did not wish the master to know that. “That is ideal. I seek one cabin for two passengers if you have one suitable.”
He paused. “We do not carry passengers south unless they are part of the business of those who own the ship.”
Corelle turned to gaze out into the river. Should she push for passage, or try the other ship? After a few moments, she spoke again. “What business brought you to Ort?”
“Trade.” He did not elaborate.
“With Raolos, or Ibie?”
He tilted his head at her words. “You know Raolos?”
“I work for him.” That had not been true, but she felt it might not hurt if she stretched the truth. “He has now become the Bailiff of Dur.”
He nodded. “I had not heard this. Respect is due.”
His words rang a bell. The merchant who carried the message to Styrrach had used it, part of the strange customs and speech of his land. She searched for his name in her memory. “Do you know Rakulaj?”
“He is an important merchant in our land, and the owner of this vessel. You know this name?”
“We have exchanged names.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “Respect is due. Will you honour me with your name?”
“My name is Corelle.” She could not recall the exact format of the exchange of names when she had met Rakulaj.
“Corelle of Dur?” He sounded surprised.
“That I am.”
“Then you are an honoured guest aboard my ship at any time, for respect is due. You are known to us all. You brought about a change in our trade with Dur. It now works with greater fairness, and this change has removed the pall of fear that lay over the arrangement with Raolos’s predecessor. Contar, my name.” He favoured her with a slight bow.
Corelle felt the warmth rise to her cheeks. “I played only a small part in it.” Ibie had worked hard to bring about the changed trade conditions, she reasoned, while she had done little more than kill Styrrach.
“Rakulaj tells a different story.” He laughed. “Do you need assistance with luggage? I will send my crew to your aid if you do.”
“That we do. We have one trunk. My thanks.”
He called out to two mariners who worked nearby and spoke to them in their own language, and they nodded and replied with words she could not understand. He turned to her again. “We will prepare a cabin for you and your companion.”
She pulled a pouch from her trouser pocket. “Please let me know the cost and I will settle with you now.”
“For Corelle of Dur, there is no charge. You will be our guest, and it will be our honour to have you aboard. Respect is due.”
“I cannot ask this of you.” It horrified her to think she might not pay for the voyage.
“But you do not ask it. It is given with joy, for respect is due.” He smiled.
“My thanks. Respect is due.” He laughed and nodded.
Grateful, she turned and led the two mariners to the carriage. As they walked back to the ship, Corelle gave Pettra an explanation of the conversation with the master. The two mariners carried the trunk between them. It looked heavy, and Corelle shook her head. “I said ‘light.’” She pointed to the trunk.
Pettra turned to look at the mariners as they struggled with the trunk. “I have left ten times as many clothes behind. Do you wish me to wander this strange land naked?”
Corelle laughed. “You would be popular, at the least.”
Pettra smiled at her and laid a hand on her arm. “That I would.”
CHAPTER 4
KRAGE
Krage stared at the man before him in disbelief, certain he had misheard. “Styrrach is dead? You are sure of this?”
“That I am. He has been slain by Corelle, as has his Senior Aide. I fled as soon as I heard. Alcmouth is no longer safe for any from the Guild.”
“Porl is dead also?”
The man’s forehead wrinkled. “I do not know this name. The man Corelle killed, Gill, had been appointed after Styrrach killed Balgow and—”
Krage held up a hand to stop the man and turned away. He did not wish the man to see his reaction to the news. In truth, he felt many emotions, not the least of them confusion. Why had Styrrach killed Balgow, the former Guildmeister of Alcmouth? Why had he then named this Gill as Senior Aide rather than Porl, who had served him in Zhanghar for many years? Most of all, he felt anger that Corelle continued to be a thorn in their thumbs, not least because Styrrach had promised she would be dead, shrouded and removed from the scene in Zhanghar, leaving Krage free…
These thoughts could not change what had turned. The jade had fled long ago and killed Arella as she did so. Despite Styrrach’s best endeavours, she had evaded capture and wreaked havoc on their operations at every turn. Krage’s anger at Styrrach, who had not succeeded in his attempts to kill her, also ate at him. He had another reason to be fearful, for with Styrrach dead, she might come for him, more so if she had learned about the attempt to shroud her. Even worse, the Guild would doubtless crumble without Styrrach. Glailam would lose his nerve. Styrrach had described the Bailiff as spineless, and Krage felt sure the man would flee before he could be hanged. Whoever the Duke appointed to replace him would not be beneficial to them unless one of the friendly Portreeves could be manoeuvred into the role. It seemed more likely Raolos would find some way to cast the death of Styrrach in his favour and worm his way into the Bailiff’s role. That would be catastrophic, since he and Corelle worked together, hand in glove.
Disastrous. There could be no other way to see this news. How had Styrrach been so careless he had allowed her to get close enough to kill him? Krage had left Ryl to take temporary control of Zhanghar with great reluctance, and he had intended to persuade Styrrach to allow him to run both Guilds from Ryl, his home town, rather than Zhanghar. The issue had become moot, thanks to Corelle.
He composed himself and turned to the Alcmouth member before him. “My thanks for this ill news, which is not the fault of its bearer. What will you do now?”
“I thought I might serve you here. Doubtless it will take some time to re-establish operations in Alcmouth, but I am certain you will come up with some plan.”
Krage smiled at the man. “Of course. You are welcome here.” “Stay here and die if you wish,” he thought. “I will not.”
The man returned the smile and left the small office. Krage had no desire to remain in Zhanghar now, nor Ryl. He would send letters to Priu in Ryl and Sisnop in Torric, the other two cities where the Guild might still be operational. Priu had been left in temporary charge in Ryl when Styrrach had called Krage to Zhanghar. They would meet up at Estway. It made perfect sense. The Guild had owned the farm in the Eastlands for years, a safe haven for the leaders if something ever turned awry. Krage could not imagine Styrrach ever anticipated events might turn as awry as they now had. They would meet up at Estway nonetheless and plan their next move. He imagined they would flee Dur, which would become unsafe for them if Raolos did become the next Bailiff.
Once he had scribed the letters, he summoned Mauvlin, the man who had acted as Senior Aide since Krage had arrived. He told Mauvlin to return to him with the three best men in the Guild as soon as the letters were in the hands of trusted couriers. Four bodyguards should be enough, Krage thought—five horses that could each bear a portion of the coin he would take with him. He could not now access his own coin in Ryl, but he knew where Styrrach hid some of his chests, and the Guildmeister would have far more than Krage, after all else. It would be a sum sufficient to ensure he could live a life of luxury far to the south, if that was the fate written for him.
“Curse you, Corelle,” he thought. “And curse you Styrrach, for you allowed her to get the better of you. Curse you both.”
CHAPTER 5
CORELLE
The voyage south to Vyrrmod proved the longest journey Corelle had ever taken. The two women watched from the deck as Alcmouth slipped by, but the ship did not put in for provisions. They had been accommodated in a small but comfortable cabin at the rear of the ship. It had two bunks and a small table with two chairs. Mariners brought fresh water into the cabin each day, along with a bowl of fruit. The master urged them to eat plenty of fruit as they travelled south and said they risked illness if they did not eat enough fruit over an extended period. Although their voyage would take only two sevendays, he told them eating fruit aboard any ship made good sense, and they complied every day.
They ate with the master and his two officers three times between Ort and Alcmouth. The officers spoke the language of Dur a little, but none had the proficiency of the master, who spoke almost flawless Dur. The men amused and fascinated Corelle and Pettra with many tales of a life spent at sea. When the officers pressed them for tales of their lives, Corelle became cautious. She feared to reveal all the details of her life lest she be cast into the water, but Pettra regaled them with tales of the high life she had lived. The men soon ate from her hand as they became captivated by her charm and the mystique of all the important people she professed to know in Dur.
They also ate in the common room at times, and the mariners were respectful and as friendly as possible, given the language difficulties. They attempted to learn the language of Vyrrmod as they spoke to the crew. Pettra proved more skilled than Corelle and grasped the unusual words with greater ease. Within a few days, she elicited laughter from the crew she spoke to. Corelle could not discern if they laughed at her jests or her mangled attempts at their language, but they appeared to understand Pettra far better than they did Corelle.
Pettra demanded satisfaction from Corelle every night and often through the day as well, but true to her word, she did not ask for the violence she had sought in Ort. Lovemaking with her fulfilled Corelle, and more so now the older woman did not beg to be hurt whenever they lay together.
Corelle’s nightmares had not been left in Dur, and Pettra consoled and comforted her whenever she sprang awake, fearful and soaked in sweat. Styrrach, Taro, Deineike, and Arella appeared in a constant series of ever more horrific dreams that left her drained.
Sure enough, as they travelled further south and lost all sight of land, the seas turned heavier, and the ship rose and fell with the immense waves as it ploughed through the tumultuous water. To Corelle’s relief, her stomach coped well with the heavier swells. Pettra felt nauseous at times but fetched up only once, as rain lashed the ship, and the wind howled around them in a violent storm. The hideous weather meant they could not go onto the deck, and Pettra lay mournful in her bunk until her stomach could cope no more. She fetched up on the floor of their cabin, and Corelle went in search of a pail and some water to wipe up the mess. The weather tossed the ship about and dashed Corelle to the floor several times. It crossed her mind they might die; the ship might fall apart under such a fearful onslaught, but by the next morning the storm had passed, and the ship remained intact.
Contar visited them in their cabin to check they had survived the storm without mishap. When he heard Pettra had been unwell, he said the storm had been one of the heaviest he had encountered in many years at sea.
They dined with the master and the officers again on the last night of their voyage. They continued their attempts to learn more of the language of Vyrrmod, and Contar told them they should arrive in port around the midday the next day. They would arrive in a city called Arkkyd, the most important trade city in the land. Although he had been circumspect to this point, Contar asked them why they travelled to Vyrrmod.
Pettra lacked Corelle’s caution. “We have run away together.” Pettra laughed, and Contar needed to translate the concept to the other two officers. None of them appeared shocked, but it concerned Corelle that Pettra had blurted out such a controversial reason for their voyage. She considered a correction to the story but feared too much protest might worsen her embarrassment.
Contar, his explanations done, turned again to Pettra. “Why do you need to run away?”
Pettra again showed a distinct lack of discretion. “Dur is unfriendly toward women whose friendships cross certain societal bounds.” Corelle squirmed in discomfort and wished the older woman would be less honest.
“That is strange. In Vyrrmod, we do not care about such things, unless respect is not due. You will encounter no problems here, Corelle of Dur.”
Grateful for his assurance, Corelle smiled at him. “My thanks.” Pettra laid a hand on hers. Corelle shook it off as she raised a fork to her mouth and hoped the awkward gesture had not been noticed.
Contar continued the conversation. “Where will you live?”
Corelle preferred to reveal as little as possible. “We may settle in Arkkyd, if it appeals, and if we can afford to buy a small property.”
Contar’s sad sigh matched his regretful expression. “Alas, while we encourage visitors from other shores, our laws do not permit those who are not citizens of Vyrrmod to own property. You can find many pleasant houses you may rent, of course.”
The news disquieted Corelle. It would add a constant expense that might prove a heavy drain on her coin. They would try Vyrrmod on for size, but it might be preferable to sail to a different land where she could purchase a house and have more certainty of her future. She doubted Pettra would remain with her once the blush wore off the romance and their escapade. If Pettra did return to Dur, Corelle could not return with her, so ownership of her own house would be a more efficient use of her coin.
The next day, the ship docked in Arkkyd in warm sunshine beneath a cloudless sky. Alcmouth did not match Arkkyd’s size, and the city spread before them away from the docks and rose up several hills in the distance. Many of the buildings were made from a pale brick, topped by bright red roofs. All the dock workers who scurried about below them had dark skin, and the Vyrrmod language carried up to them as they stood on the deck and gazed out over the city. Contar had given them some directions and instructions on how they might find a home to rent and had scribed some information on a piece of parch to make the process easier for them. He also arranged for two of his crew to carry Pettra’s trunk off the ship and help them find a carriage to take them to the location he had told them about. He came to wish them good fortune as the ship tied up, and the dock workers below prepared to push the ramp up to the deck.
Pettra took his hand in her fingers. “Our thanks for your hospitality, and your help. Respect is due.”
He laughed. “You will fare well in Vyrrmod, I think. Our land is honoured to have Corelle of Dur and her delightful wife visit us.”
The reference to Pettra as her wife took Corelle by surprise, but she could find no appropriate words to say. Pettra gave a coy smile, blushed, and looked pleased at the appellation. At length, Corelle blurted out the only reply she could think of. “Respect is due.”
“Respect is due.” Contar nodded and left them to disembark.
They followed two mariners who carried Pettra’s trunk down the ramp between them. The men lowered it to the dock as soon as they had moved clear of the activity around the ramp. One of them wandered away and returned a short while later. Corelle thought he told them he had found them a carriage that would arrive soon.
Pettra bowed to the man, who returned the bow, then whispered to Corelle. “He says a cart is on the way.”
“You have adapted to your new home already, I see.” Corelle laughed, but she also exchanged bows with the mariner. When a cart appeared and came to a halt before them, the mariners loaded the trunk aboard and helped them up into the seats. The men spoke to the driver, but Corelle could not understand any of the conversation. The cart moved off, and they gazed around in wonder at the unfamiliar sights.
