Messenger
W here was she?
Stevic G’ladheon craned his neck to see over the heads of the embassy from Kir-kranya that stood ahead of him and his crew in the throne room of King Farrad Vir. He looked this way and that, but could not see her, the one for whom he had crossed oceans. The one he loved.
Where are you, Laren? he wondered.
This being Varos, no women would be allowed in the halls of power, but she’d been abducted to be the king’s “truth-teller” and he assumed that meant that she’d be present for audiences.
After all, wasn’t the point of the king’s abduction of her to flaunt his possession of a rare, magical truth-teller?
In addition, of course, to having one who could discern the truths and falsehoods of all those who came before him.
There was much discussion between the representatives of Kir-kranya and the king, and it sounded contentious.
Stevic knew little of the Varosian language, and it was spoken so rapidly that he had no idea of what was being discussed.
Kir-kranya, an inland mountain territory that bordered Varos, was even more of a mystery to outsiders than Varos, and he was uninformed as to the nature of the relationship between the two realms, though Master Hunt had mentioned something about border disputes.
Whatever their differences, there were plenty of Kir-kranyans working in the streets of the capital city of Varos, though many were indentured servants and slaves.
Kir-kranyan porters had helped carry Stevic’s goods into the palace.
“I don’t see her,” Melry whispered.
“Shhh...” Stevic warned.
Laren’s daughter, Melry, disguised now as a boy and a sailor, rose on tiptoes, searching over the shoulders of the Kir-kranyans for her mother.
There was a pause in the argument and the king made a query directed not at the Kir-kranyans, but toward a lattice-work screen just behind and to the side of his gilded throne chair.
“Yi,” came a quiet reply. A woman’s voice.
Stevic’s heart thudded hard in his chest. Laren. It had to be. He clamped his hand on Melry’s shoulder when she started, sure she would cry out or leap across the room to reach her mother. She stayed put and kept silent, but he could feel her quiver beneath his hand.
The rest of the room was in an uproar. Whatever yi had affirmed, for it was the Varosian word for yes, it enraged the Varosians.
The king’s guards lowered their polearms and marched the Kir-kranyans out of the throne room.
The atmosphere immediately lightened, and everyone seemed to give a collective sigh of relief.
“We are next,” Stevic murmured.
“Aye,” his cargo master, Sevano, said.
Sunlight filtered through large openings framed by ornate, geometric screens that could be closed to provide shade or left open to allow cross breezes and a view of pleasant gardens filled with the trills and songs of birds, and the tinkle of a fountain.
The gentle breeze carried in the scents of jasmine and the blossoms of a sweet fruit called orrodei.
The climate was warm year-round, and even now was steamy.
Slaves wielded huge fans to cool the king and other important personages who lounged on pillows and carpets to observe the day’s audience.
Some sucked on water pipes or partook of wine and dates.
An official bearing a staff spoke to them in Varosian.
“You may proceed before the king,” said their translator, Sil Vel Orr.
Stevic nodded, and he strode forward with Melry, Sevano, and his crew members under the curious gazes of the Varosians.
He and Master Hunt had instructed the crew in the manners of the Varosian court.
When they arrived at the throne, they went to their knees and bowed their heads.
Stevic fought with himself not to gaze at the screen that hid Laren.
“Signa,” the official said.
“You may speak,” Sil told Stevic.
“Great and honorable king,” he said, and he pressed his palms together and bowed again. “It has been many years since last I was in your inestimable presence. I am Stevic G’ladheon, chief of Clan G’ladheon, merchant.”
Sil translated.
“I remember you, G’ladheon,” the king said in the common tongue.
It came out more like Glah-ee-on with his accent.
His command of the common tongue was, as Stevic recalled, passable.
Being the king of a closed realm did not make him stupid.
Far from it. He was versed in several languages, and educated in history, culture, and mathematics.
This did not mean he chose to allow education for the average Varosian, and especially not the women.
He took the traditional path of his predecessors, maintaining an ignorant populace, which was easier to control.
“I am honored that the great King Farrad Vir recalls me,” Stevic replied.
“My treasury was poorer for our meeting.” The king laughed, and his courtiers, following his lead, laughed, as well. “You bring us goods to make my treasury poor again?”
“I do happen to have brought a number of items that I think will be of interest to you.”
“Ah, good. Our meeting with the Kir-kranyans was most displeasing, and this will amend what has become a distressing day.”
A padded bench was brought for Stevic to sit on, as well a light fruit wine, delightfully cool.
He directed his crew to present bolts of fabric for the king’s inspection—feathery silks in an array of colors, damasks of varying and beautiful patterns, soft cotton from the Under Kingdoms, and shimmering satins.
He had just about emptied his warehouses in his effort to release Laren from the Varosians.
He kept a close eye on Melry, who repeatedly glanced at the screen.
“Is this all you’ve brought?” the king asked.
“Indeed not, Your Majesty,” Stevic replied.
“The hold of my ship is filled with an array of fine items from many lands. Perfumes and wine from Rhovanny, carpets and other fine weavings from Durnesia, tobacco from the Under Kingdoms, spices and sugar from the Cloud Islands, and more textiles and furs from my own homeland.”
“Good. You will bring me all these things tomorrow. Now, our list.”
The king’s secretary provided Stevic with a list of items the king wished to purchase. Sil translated, and Stevic made a show of consulting with Sevano on the value of the goods. As planned, they presented an extravagant figure well beyond their true worth.
The king chuckled. “Merchants, it is always a game, yes? This negotiation.” His counteroffer was reasonable, but Stevic came back with a still unreasonably high price.
“We have traveled far,” he explained, “and my goods have come from distant realms, from across the sea, down long rivers, and over land. I must take into consideration the expense this incurs.”
He counted on the fact that Varos was isolated enough that the king and his men would be uncertain as to the market value of items in the wider world. It turned out they were, and as Stevic hoped, the king decided to consult his truth-teller.
“Does this merchant,” he asked, “tell the truth as to the worth of his goods?”
“Yi,” came her answer, sure and clear. It really was Laren! He had to force himself to remain calm. Beside him, Melry struggled with herself not to charge across the space to tear the screen down.
Laren’s affirmative answer surprised him, however, because he’d spoken a lie.
Her answer should have been neh, or no. Melry, who had witnessed the abduction of her mother, said the Varosians had placed a centipede in Laren’s ear.
An ekedian centipede, Master Hunt had explained, which sensed etheric impulses.
If a magic user used their ability improperly, in this case Laren lying about her readings of true and false, the centipede was supposed to cause crippling pain.
Yet, Laren did not cry out or exhibit any other signs of distress.
Had she become inured to the pain, or had she somehow mastered the centipede?
She could not have removed it for doing so would have killed her.
There was always the unlikely possibility the number he’d given the king was in fact accurate in this part of the world prompting the positive answer, but he knew better.
“My truth-teller,” the king said, “says you offer a reasonable price. Therefore, we will purchase the goods as stated.”
“Truth-teller?” Stevic asked. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Yes, one of my most prized possessions. It was found for me in your own land of Sacoridia, and it has helped me discern many untruths, especially from those lying dogs, the Kir-kranyans.”
“How remarkable,” Stevic replied. “The king is a fortunate man.”
“I am,” the king agreed.
When the deal was agreed to, Stevic and his companions were guided from the throne room by the secretary, who handed over a heavy purse full of coins. With a curt bow, the secretary returned to the throne room.
A guard led them through the grand colonnade, bright with sunlight pouring on white marble. Melry strode beside him, quivering with rage.
“Stay quiet until we are back on board the ship,” he warned her.
It was to her credit she held her peace all the way through the palace, on the carriage ride through the busy streets to the harbor, and then even as they rowed out to the ship.
Messenger stood tall and majestic among the tubby, rustic fishing boats and small coastal barqs of Varos.
Unlike the kettle-bottomed merchants with which he was most acquainted, she’d sleek, sharp lines, and more canvas than sense.
The sails were, of course, furled while at anchor, which truly revealed how lofty the masts and yards were, how much taller than on any ship he’d ever known.
They required an intricate network of rigging.
A sword-hulled clipper, Saber Class, the newest design from the royal shipyard, she was an attack vessel made for speed, capable of carrying only limited cargo.
However, they’d modified quarters meant for naval fighting crews and marines and stuffed them with goods.
She would fly even more swiftly when the cargo was unloaded.
Stevic had wondered at the symbolism of King Zachary giving him a ship called Messenger for the mission to rescue a messenger, the colonel of the Green Riders, and he’d been bemused by the figurehead.
She was a figure in green and, even without the winged horse anywhere to be seen, clearly a Green Rider, poised to stride out over the waves while reaching into her shoulder satchel for a message.
Her brown hair flowed out behind her as though wind blown, and she gazed purposely across the water.
The carving was magnificent and lifelike, and oddly resembled his daughter, Karigan, though it wore no eyepatch. Coincidence, surely.
King Zachary may have intended symbolism, but might it not prove an affront to the Varosians? Such depictions of women were not allowed in the realm, but so far no one had insisted they cover the figurehead.
Messenger ’s companion ships, Stargazer and Sojourner, had undertaken the journey with them, but the king had been adamant Stevic helm Messenger.
Presently, Stargazer was anchored behind a cluster of uninhabited islands out to sea, and Sojourner had been given permission by the authorities in the port to do some trading along the near coast. He suspected there would be as much intelligence collecting as trading.
Should Stevic and his crew need to make a hasty withdrawal, both ships were positioned to run interference.
The G’ladheon colors of blue and purple snapped in the breeze from the mast, and though the ship was flagged for Sacoridia as its country of origin, naval authorities back in Corsa had done their best to remove insignia of the realm before the trio of ships set sail, so if anything went wrong, Sacoridia would not be held responsible.
Fake papers had also been drawn up to show a nonexistent corporation with Stevic’s name at the head owned the vessels.
Indeed, if anything did go wrong, he would be held responsible.
When they reached Messenger, Melry scrambled up the hull on the rope ladder like she was born to it.
A long voyage across the sea had made her an able mariner, and she could climb to the highest spar to drop sail, or to the crow’s nest to keep watch.
Stevic had promised Arms Master Drent back in Sacor City that Melry’s arms training would continue unabated during the voyage in order to prevent a decline in her skills due to lack of practice.
A lapse in training could delay her entry into the academy for Weapons on Breaker Island.
Sevano, who oversaw her training, incorporated the work of a ship’s hand as part of her conditioning.
Drent, Stevic thought, would have no complaints.
Unless, of course, Melry decided to become a sailor instead of a Weapon.
Stevic climbed after her more slowly, briefly envious of the vitality of youth, but he’d no real desire to relive those hard years, working on a privateer turned pirate ship. When he stepped over the top rail onto the deck, Melry waited for him with her hands on her hips.
“Well?” she demanded. “Why did we just leave her there? You didn’t even try to get her released.”
He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You know we must proceed carefully. If we make a mistake out of haste, it will not go well for us or your mother.”
She let go a long breath. “I know, but she was right there. I want my mother back.”
“I know you do.” He, too, wanted to bring her safely home. He wanted her in his arms and to never let go. “I promise you,” he told Melry, “we’re going to get her back. No matter what it takes.”