Читать книгу Stormtide - Den Patrick - Страница 13

Kjellrunn sat on a coil of rope at the back of the ship, hunched and folded in on herself, one hand resting against her brow. Time and again she had tried to clear her mind of the street battle, tried not to remember the dull echo of weapons on armour or the shrill calls of the dying. Every noise from the docks sounded threatening to her. Every raucous voice belonged to a Solmindre soldier. She snuck a look over the side of the ship, holding her breath until she was sure they were safe.

The corner of the stern and the coil of rope were a poor substitute for her cabin, but she had no wish to be close to Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn didn’t know what was worse, the way the old woman cursed under her breath or the moments she gave in to silent weeping for the dead children. Kjellrunn nested down on the rope once more and blinked away the memories of the carnage. Six children beaten and bloody on the streets of Virag. Beaten until they stopped moving and breathing. Beaten for bearing the ‘taint’ of witchsign and the misfortune to run across an Envoy with the sight.

‘Frøya save us,’ whispered Kjellrunn as a chill wind whipped across the deck, bringing spots of rain with it. The crew of the Watcher’s Wait went about their tasks under a pall of surly silence, keen to sail away under the cover of night. The glee of ransacking Vladibogdan had subsided and the men and women shared sidelong glances, muttering bitterness when they spoke at all. They wore their weapons openly and all humour had been cast aside. Romola directed the resupply of the ship’s stores and not one of them shirked under her stern gaze. Mistress Kamalov appeared on deck and scowled at the grey sky and the promise of rain as if it were a personal affront. She spoke with Sundra and Tief for a moment.

‘They can’t wait to be rid of us,’ said Tief, indicating the pirates. ‘We’re bad luck. We’re worse than bad luck.’

Kjellrunn couldn’t hear Mistress Kamalov’s response, but moments later the old Vigilant was hobbling across the quarterdeck and up the steps. She approached the stern of the ship as if she hadn’t seen her pupil then leaned against the rail a dozen feet from where Kjellrunn sat.

‘It is quite a thing to hide in plain sight,’ said Mistress Kamalov, staring out to sea. Kjellrunn shrugged, too tired to argue, but there could be no question that hiding was what she was doing.

‘Sometimes it’s good to hide,’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘Sometimes hiding is necessary but sometimes hiding costs people their lives.’

Kjellrunn flinched at the last word and felt the heat of anger in her cheeks.

‘This isn’t about me sitting in the corner of the ship, is it?’

‘I always said you were a smart girl.’ Mistress Kamalov looked out to the city of Virag and curled her lip. ‘This entire city smells like rotting fish heads and wet dung, but I doubt the cities of Shanisrond will be any better.’

Kjellrunn released a breath of relief, glad for the change of subject, glad that the old woman hadn’t taken her to task for failing to protect the children. She was more than capable of doing that for herself. Neither woman spoke for a moment and Kjellrunn stood up, keen to reach the quiet of the cabin and avoid anyone else.

‘Strange that you take up arms against that Envoy but not fight with the arcane the way I taught you.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said Kjellrunn quietly. ‘I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t …’

‘What can you not do?’ asked Mistress Kamalov, hobbling forward, a frown fixed above her furious eyes.

‘I have nightmares,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘dreams where the souls of all those dead Okhrana drag me back to the woodcutter’s chalet in Nordvlast. They take me down to the deep places in the earth. I can taste death, feel the decay of creatures gone to their rest. Those Okhrana want me dead for what I did. I can’t use the arcane like that again. I can’t destroy a score of people in a heartbeat.’

Mistress Kamalov looked away and rubbed her face. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and Kjellrunn suspected there would be many more to come.

‘You killed the Okhrana with the arcane to avenge Verner,’ said the old woman quietly. ‘And you should have killed those soldiers with the arcane to protect those children. Now they are dead. They are dead because they trusted an old, foolish kozel and a student who has suddenly lost her nerve.’

‘What?’ Kjellrunn stepped closer to the old woman.

‘You had no such qualms about sinking an entire ship of Imperial sailors off the shore of Nordvlast.’

‘That was to stop the Empire coming to Cinderfell.’

‘So.’ Mistress Kamalov held up one finger. ‘It is permissible to use the arcane when you wish to avenge a loved one, or to protect yourself, but not to protect anyone else.’

Kjellrunn pulled back her hand to slap the old woman across the face when she noticed the raven-haired novice just a dozen feet away. Kjellrunn lowered her hand. The remaining novices had gathered at the stern and were watching the exchange.

‘What do you want?’ said Kjellrunn. She eyed the girl with an unfriendly glare and the girl returned it with one of her own. For a brief moment Kjellrunn was back in the street, watching the girl breathe fire, killing the soldier who gripped her arm while Kjellrunn did nothing.

‘I’m Trine,’ said the girl. Kjellrunn took a moment to look at her more carefully. She was around the same age as Kjellrunn with the same pale complexion, made stark by the shock of black hair that tumbled down her back. Kjellrunn stood a little straighter but no good came of it. They were roughly the same height, the same scrawny build. They might have been twins if not for their hair. ‘I came to tell you’ – the girl looked at Mistress Kamalov – ‘that we’re staying on the ship. All of us. We’ll come with you to Shanisrond.’ For a fleeting second the girl looked apologetic. ‘And we promise not run off and get into trouble.’ The young girl looked over her shoulder with a hard expression, as if warning the other children.

‘How old are you, Trine?’ asked Kjellrunn.

‘Sixteen.’ Trine jutted her chin and stared at Kjellrunn with a note of challenge. ‘And I’m not scared of using my powers.’ Kjellrunn felt the rebuke as clearly as if she’d been struck.

‘Then perhaps you should be Mistress Kamalov’s new student.’ Kjellrunn pushed her way through the centre of the novices and kept walking until she was at the prow. She didn’t look back.

The crowds at the end of the pier shifted uneasily but Kjellrunn couldn’t see any soldiers among them from her place on the ship. A small contingent of guild masters lingered for a time, locked in discussion despite the inclement weather. Only three guild masters remained as the evening drew on, along with four of the city watch. A cruel wind whipped at their tabards and coats and Kjellrunn shivered. ‘Where are you, Steiner?’ she whispered, knowing all too well that her brother was spoiling for a fight with the Empire. She’d rather not lose him so soon after getting him back from Vladibogdan.

‘Frøya’s teeth, Steiner. Don’t leave me on this rotting ship.’

The guards on the pier intercepted two people before letting them approach the ship. Kjellrunn didn’t recognise them at first in their new clothes, but it was unmistakably Kimi and Marozvolk that stalked down the pier and not Marek and Steiner. Kimi looked cold and furious, much as she’d done for the whole voyage, while Marozvolk spared a backwards glance towards the city. Kjellrunn watched the former Vigilant bend closer to the Yamali princess and exchange words before both of them broke into a run. Marozvolk had seen something.

‘Not again,’ said Kjellrunn. Her mouth went dry.

The crowds at the docks broke apart and a single scream pierced the confused mumbles of the city folk. More soldiers in black enamelled armour and black cloaks approached. Kjellrunn counted a dozen at least, possibly twenty.

‘Cast off now!’ bellowed Romola.

Kjellrunn’s stomach turned to ice. Kimi and Marozvolk hit the boarding ramp even as two sailors attempted to drag it on board. The soldiers were moving down the pier as fast as their heavy armour would allow.

‘Archers!’ Romola’s voice again. She had drawn her sabre and pointed towards the pier. Kjellrunn ran, heading for Romola at midships. Sailors were heaving and grunting as they drew up the anchor and Kjellrunn struggled to slip past them.

‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘Wait, gods damn it! My brother is still ashore.’

The pirates’ arrows raced through the air, embedding in the thick wood of the soldier’s hastily raised shields. Other arrows clattered off the stone pier and ricocheted into barrels and crates near the guild masters. The soldiers had dropped to one knee behind their shields, their advance slowed.

‘Keep firing!’ shouted Romola.

Kjellrunn reached the captain and took her by the arm. ‘We have to wait for my family!’

‘It’s your family or my ship and my crew,’ shouted Romola. She shook Kjellrunn off.

‘Just a few more minutes!’

‘A few more minutes and there won’t be a ship to come back to.’

Sundra emerged at Kjellrunn’s side and took her hand. ‘Come away from the captain, no good will come of it.’

A soldier on the pier had slung his shield across his back and ran towards the ship, sprinting as best he could in the heavy armour.

‘Cast off, damn you,’ shouted Romola. ‘Push off from the pier.’

The soldier leapt on, mounting a pile of crates as arrows fell all around him. He was almost at the gunwales when Romola planted a foot against his head and forced him off the ship. The deck was a flurry of action as sailors went about their tasks.

‘Look out!’ shouted a pirate beside Kjellrunn. Moments later a handful of grappling hooks streaked over their heads, ropes arcing behind them after. The metal clattered on the wooden deck and the ropes became taut. Someone screamed and Kjellrunn discovered a sailor pinned up against the side of the ship, a grappling hook, thrown from land, embedded in his thigh. Kjellrunn drew the pirate’s cutlass as the pinned man clutched at his leg and howled in agony.

‘What are you doing?’ he gasped. Kjellrunn severed the rope attached to the grappling hook and a soldier on the pier collapsed backwards.

‘I have wounded here!’ shouted Kjellrunn.

More grappling hooks were thrown, prompting more calls of alarm.

‘How did they know to bring grappling hooks?’ said Romola. ‘They’re soldiers, not marines.’

‘Whatever they are,’ said Kjellrunn, pointing to another contingent of soldiers further up the docks, ‘there are a lot more of them.’

‘Marines don’t wear armour, halfhead,’ said the captain. ‘Keep firing, you filthy dogs!’ she bellowed at the archers.

The hissing sound of fabric unfurling filled Kjellrunn’s senses as the main sail dropped from its boom. Kjellrunn caught a glimpse of Mistress Kamalov at the stern of the ship with four novices, all standing with feet spread wide and arms outstretched, fingertips splayed. The sail snapped out and the ship lurched forward. The shouting stopped as all aboard clung to whatever was closest to hand. Kjellrunn dropped to her knees and blinked through the unnatural wind. There was a moment where no one said a word and the only sound was the shrieking arcane gale and an almost unhinged laughter. Kjellrunn turned to see Romola staring up at the main sail with a wide grin.

‘May you have witchsign!’ shouted the captain above the howling gale. ‘Glorious witchsign and a fair wind at your back!’

The Watcher’s Wait surged away from Virag and the sailors dropped more of the sails. Kjellrunn ran to the stern, ignoring Mistress Kamalov and her charges, who squeezed their eyes closed in concentration. The pier was taken over by black-clad soldiers, who stared after the ship in mute fury. Kjellrunn watched the city as it grew smaller and smaller with distance. Somewhere in that sprawl of people was her brother, her father. Did they even know they had been left behind?