David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

Her name was Jastanne ja Triln. She was a Qirsi merchant and the captain of a ship, the White Erne . Indeed, the one time they met, she told him that she was usually on her vessel. “If you need to find me,” she said that night in his quarters, “just look for the Erne .” She also told him that she expected them to communicate solely through written messages. She wouldn’t be pleased to see him.

If she saw him at all. Riding away from the city walls, Aindreas realized that she could be anywhere in the Forelands, “from Rawsyn Bay to the Bronze Inlet,” as she had put it. The chances of her being in the quays of the Tarbin were so remote that he actually reined his mount to a halt. After a moment, however, he rode on. He had already left Kentigern. It was but a small matter to continue on to the river. If her ship wasn’t there, he would return to the castle. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too late to seek out the duchess after all.

He rode westward for nearly a league and then turned south toward the river. The Tarbin was the boundary between Aneira and Eibithar and had been crossed many times by the armies of Mertesse and Kentigern. But here, west of the cities and their soldiers, the river became a place for trade, not war. Merchants from both realms traded with the sea captains who sailed up the river from the Scabbard, haggling over prices rather than borders, and counting their successes in gold rather than blood. “Kings must have their wars,” it was often said, “and merchants must have their gold.” Nowhere was this more true than on the banks of the Tarbin.

Long before he reached the river, Aindreas could see torches burning brightly on the quays, and as he drew nearer, he heard music and laughter. He couldn’t begin to guess the time, though he thought it must be well past gate closing in Kentigern. But in the port, the night was just beginning.

Qirsi ships tended to dock near the end of the pier, although not by choice. The nearer landings were the more desirable, offering as they did easier access to the roads leading to Kentigern city and the smaller villages that lay nearby. These the rivermaster held for Eandi ships.

Aindreas halted his mount a short distance from the closest of the piers, tying the beast to a tree and covering the remaining ground on foot. The duke lowered his gaze as he walked, keeping the cloak tight about his shoulders and throwing the hood over his head. Had anyone been watching for him, they would have recognized Aindreas instantly. But he was aided by the foolishness of what he was doing. No one would have thought to look for him, and so no one noticed him.

Reaching the first quay, he passed a group of men carrying jugs of ale.

“I’m looking for the White Erne ,” he said, not bothering to stop or look at them.

“Go to the end of the third pier,” one of the men answered. “I believe she arrived last night.”

He could scarcely believe his good fortune. Managing a quick thank-you, he hurried on. He turned onto the third quay, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. There were three ships close to the shore-all captained by Eandi, no doubt-and a single ship at the end of the pier. The Erne . No one seemed to take note of him as he walked past the Eandi ships, but before he was halfway to the Erne , three Qirsi men blocked his path.

“What do you want, Eandi?” asked one of them, a lanky, narrowfaced man with white hair that hung loose to his shoulders and bright yellow eyes that glimmered like gold rounds in die torch fire.

“I’m going to that ship there. The White Erne.”

The Qirsi grinned, though the expression in those golden eyes didn’t change. “I had guessed that much. It was either the Erne , or you fancied yourself a fish.” His grin widened. “Or perhaps a whale.”

The other two laughed, low and menacing. Aindreas noticed that they had unsheathed their blades.

“I see you carry a sword, Eandi,” the man said, stepping closer to him. Aindreas had the distinct impression that the man had expected him, that he knew exactly who Aindreas was, and that he wasn’t the least bit frightened of him. “You don’t intend to use it on any of us, do you?”

The duke would have liked to pull the weapon from its scabbard and cleave this impertinent white-hair in two. Instead, he opened his hands, keeping his gaze fixed on the Qirsi.

“Not at all, friend. I merely wish a word with the Erne’s captain.”

“Her captain,” the Qirsi repeated, glancing back at his companions. “She’s a busy woman, and she hasn’t much patience for Eandi whales interrupting her evening meal.”

Aindreas placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, no longer caring what magic this man might possess, or how far word of his visit to the Erne might travel. “And I haven’t much patience for any man who insults me in my realm. Now tell her Aindreas, duke of Kentigern has come to speak with her, or I’ll have your head on a pike before dawn.”

The man didn’t flinch, nor did the duke’s threat wipe the grin from his face. But after a moment he nodded, and turned back toward the ship. The other two remained, blades still in hand.

Aindreas had thought she might keep him waiting, but only a minute or two later, the first man returned and with a quick gesture, beckoned Aindreas to the Qirsi vessel.

It was a larger ship than the duke had expected, with a mainmast nearly twenty fourspans tall and a wide, sturdy hull that appeared hardy enough to weather even the worst storms of the snows and early planting season. There were perhaps a dozen men on the deck and Aindreas had no doubt that the Erne ’s crew numbered at least twice that many. All this under a captain whom he remembered looking as frail as a reed and as young as Affery.

The Qirsi men led him onto the ship and down into the hold, which was ample and clean and smelled slightly of pipeweed and brine. As they neared the bow belowdecks, they came to a small oaken door. The Qirsi knocked, and in response to the summons from within, indicated to Aindreas that he should enter.

Ducking his head to step through the doorway, Aindreas entered a small chamber, well lit by several oil lamps. It was obviously designed for a Qirsi-it seemed to the duke that his own frame took up most of the room-but it was equally clear that it offered all the comfort a sea captain could want. The walls and floors were made of a dark, polished wood, and a small bed stood in the far corner. Beside it, at a small writing table made of a lighter wood, sat Jastanne, a taunting smile on her lips. Her hair was tied back from her face, and her eyes were an even deeper gold than those of the man on the pier. She was prettier than Aindreas recalled, though no less youthful in her appearance.

“Lord Kentigern,” she said, not bothering to stand. “I hadn’t thought to see you again, at least not so soon.”

“Really? I had the impression that your men were expecting me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re perceptive. I dreamed three nights ago that you would come, and so, yes, my men were prepared.” She held a sea chart in her lap, and now she placed it on the table so that the parchment curled up into a loose cylinder. Then she gestured toward the bed. “Please sit. I’d offer you a chair. .” She trailed off, shrugging.

Aindreas understood. None of the chairs in the chamber was big enough to hold him. He smiled thinly and sat on the bed.

“When I said I hadn’t thought to see you again,” she went on, “I was referring to our conversation three turns ago, when I told you that I wished only to communicate in writing.”

“I remember,” he said.

“Then why have you come?”

“Because I felt it necessary. You may command the obedience of the Qirsi in your movement, Captain. But I’m a duke. I don’t answer to anyone unless I so choose.”