Tower Lord
Lyrna slumped back to the boards and he relocked her manacles, leaving her fumbling at her bodice as he stomped up the steps. Davoka would have slit his belly and laughed as his guts spilled out. Smolen would have hacked his head from his shoulders in a trice. Brother Sollis would have . . .
THEY ARE NOT HERE!
She breathed deeply, forcing the tremble from her hands, leaning down to lace up her bodice with deliberate care. You have no protectors here. No servants. You must serve yourself.
? ? ?
Nighttimes were the worst, the other captives often given to terrors, calling out in their sleep for lost loved ones or begging for release. Lyrna slept only fitfully, waking often thanks to the pain and the memories. This night it had been the Volarian woman again, but instead of flame it was water that gushed from her arms, great torrents of it, filling the throne room . . .
She rose to her customary crouch, waiting for her heart to calm itself. The dreams were vivid, no doubt because she had repeatedly forced herself to examine every facet of what she witnessed in the throne room, realising for the first time that her fearsome memory could be a curse as well as a gift. She spared herself nothing, every word spoken by Brother Frentis, every nuance of expression, every lick of flame.
He had been flawless, she thought. Perfect in every way. Not like an act at all. A damaged man, noble in his humility, returning home after an epic of tribulation. The woman too, every inch the timid escaped slave. All gone the moment my brother died. And her rage when I killed Frentis, no acting there. Her thoughts lingered on the woman’s face, the grief and rage as the blood began to stream from her eyes. Unexpected, Lyrna decided. Frentis wasn’t supposed to die. Not part of the plan. Which begged another question. What else did she need him for? Or was it just the rage of a woman who loses her lover? The Mahlessa’s words came to her, as they often did as she pondered the mystery of it all. Three of these things . . . His sister . . . you wouldn’t want to meet her. Could it be? Had she survived an encounter with the third malicious agent the Mahlessa spoke of?
A fresh spasm of pain clutched at her scalp, making her stifle a gasp. Perhaps survive was not the right word. A mountain of questions but no answers. No evidence. But I’ll have it, however many years it takes . . . However much blood I have to spill to get it.
Her eyes were drawn to a movement off to her left. It was Fermin, leaning forward with a hand extended towards the deck, his finger moving from side to side as he smiled down at something between his feet. Lyrna followed his gaze, seeing a small black rat on the planking, staring up at the moving finger, its head matching the movement with exact precision, as if it were being pulled along by an invisible string.
Lyrna’s chains made a small clanking sound as she leaned forward for a better view. Fermin’s head came up in a start, expression void of any humour now. His fingers spasmed and the rat scampered off into the shadows. He looked away as Lyrna continued to stare, the Mahlessa’s words now singing in her head like a triumphal bugle: Look to the beast charmer when chains bind you.
? ? ?
“So, my lord,” she asked Fermin the next morning, “what manner of thief were you?”
For once he seemed reticent, reluctant to meet her gaze. “A poor one, given my capture.”
“When you are . . . taken aloft,” she persisted. “You must have seen how many hands crew this ship.”
His gaze met hers. “Why would that interest you, Mistress?”
There was a rattle of chains as Iltis shifted behind her, as she hoped he would. “Do you wish to be a slave?” she asked him. “Used like this for all your days? What fate do you think awaits you in their empire?”
“A better fate than being cast into the ocean. I’ll suck every cock they thrust at me and bare my arse to a thousand more. Shame is not my vice. But fear is. I intend to live, mistress of no name.” He turned away. “Scheme all you want, I’ll have none of it.”
“Forget him,” Iltis said in a dismissive rumble. “A coward will be of no use to us in any case.”
Lyrna turned to him. “Us, brother?”
“Don’t play with me, woman. I see your eyes covering every corner of this hold. What have you seen?”
She turned towards him, shuffling as close as she could, speaking softly, but still loud enough for Fermin to hear. “My family were merchants, as you know. We traded with Volarian ships. A ship this size will have a crew of perhaps forty men, fifty at most.”
Iltis frowned. “So?”
“There must be at least one hundred and fifty people in this hold. Odds of three to one, if we can loose them.”
“Many will be too weak to fight, and half are women.”
“Give a woman a good reason and she’ll fight a hundred men. And a weak man becomes strong when fired with fear and hatred.”
The man beside Iltis stirred, raising his head. Iltis turned a hard stare on him. “Breathe a word of this and you’ll wake up with a broken neck.”
The man shook his head, sitting up and shuffling closer. He was sturdy, though not so large as Iltis, with a prominent jaw and a scars on both cheeks marking him as either outlaw or soldier. “Get these chains off,” he said. “And I’ll rip the throats from a dozen of the fuckers with my bare hands.”
Outlaw, Lyrna decided.
Iltis regarded the earnest face of the outlaw in silence for a moment then turned back to Lyrna. “The overseer’s key. You have a way to get it?”
No. “Yes. But we need to be patient. Wait for the right time. Speak to those around you, keep your words soft, but warn them to be ready.”
“How do we know we can trust them all?” Iltis enquired. “Some may sell us for favoured treatment or a promise of freedom.”
“We have no choice,” Lyrna said, glancing over her shoulder at Fermin, now huddled with his back to them, though she saw his fists were clenched. “Trust must be risked.”
? ? ?
The word was passed from captive to captive, questions whispered back and forth throughout the day. They were afraid, but none save for Fermin said no, and none sold them to the overseer. Still free at heart, Lyrna thought. Not yet moulded into slaves.
She had questions relayed to the slender girl who was taken aloft most often. How many in the crew? How many are armed? The next time she was led to the steps her hair was pulled back from her face, her eyes still leaking tears, but lit with a determined light. Upon being returned to the hold her answers came back. Thirty crewmen. Fifteen guards, positioned about the hold entrance, working in shifts of five at a time.
She waited until Iltis was asleep before speaking to Fermin again. He sat half-turned towards the hull, eyes closed, a slight frown on his brow, as if straining for some faint sound. Lyrna listened and picked up a distant, lilting drone.
“Whale-song,” she said.
Fermin’s eyebrows rose and a grim smile came to his lips. “Not for long.”
Abruptly the whale-song ended and a moment later the hull reverberated with the echo of a crushing impact. “Red sharks,” said Fermin. “They’re always hungry.”
“You can hear their hunger?”
He turned back to her, expression closed once more.
“I know what you are,” Lyrna said. “Beast charmer.”
“And I know you’re not some merchant’s daughter. Did the overseer have it right? A rich man’s whore? I know you understood every word he said.”
“Whores get paid. Slaves don’t.”
“What do you want from me?”
“To do what you do. Steal. Or rather have your little friend steal for you.”
“The overseer’s key.”
“Quite so.”
“We unshackle everyone and storm the ship. That’s your great plan?”
“If you have another, I should very much like to hear it.”
“I have a plan, of my own. You see it’s the master of this fine vessel who calls for me. He’s a man of considerable property, a large estate near Volar, a wing of his house given over to his collection of young men from all the corners of the world. I’ll be his first from the Realm, pampered and cared for whilst you’ll be squirting out babies every year until your womb dries.”
“That’s your ambition? To be kept like a pet until you grow too old to interest him.”
“I’ll be on my way long before then, don’t worry. A whole empire to explore, so many treasures to steal.”
“Leaving everything behind? Your city, your mother?”
She saw that one hit home, the twitch of his mouth speaking of a suppressed pain.
“What of her?” Lyrna prodded. “Do you know what became of her when the city fell?”
He rocked back and forth, hugging his knees and suddenly appearing very young. “No,” he said in a whisper.
“You said you provided for her. That’s why you took to thieving, isn’t it? For her. Don’t you want to know if she still lives?”
“How do we know anyone still lives back there? How do we know anyone remains free?”
“I know it. And I think you do too.”
“When the City Guard caught me she bribed the lord of the dungeon to make sure I was fed. The King allows a few comforts in the dungeons now, if you can pay for them. At least, he did.” He closed his eyes, hugging his knees tighter. “She’s dead. I know it.”