The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three) Page 9

  Someone up ahead was raising the mob, making speeches from a wagon cart, with the crowd responding to each remark with a roar. Rogan began to get seriously worried for Amelia and Tapel. He didn't have his armoursilk with him; it was too expensive to maintain, and the same applied to his zenblade. He wondered if he should have left his family back in Sarostar, but he knew Amelia would never have listened. Or would she have? When it came to her son's safety, she was all ears. He should have at least left Tapel in Altura.

  Through a gap in the crowd Rogan saw the speaker. Of course it was Bastian; he'd never had any doubt. Rogan had tried to open serious talks with the former mason, but the man always refused.

  If Bastian turned the mob against them, they would die.

  ~

  BASTIAN was pleased. He'd never managed to gather as many followers in one place before. And now some lord or lady was here, with Bastian holding his or her life in the palm of his hand. It gave him a heady sense of power.

  "The Evermen haven't deserted us!" Bastian cried. "It's we who have deserted them!"

  The crowd replied with a roar.

  "There are those who say they weren't gods; that the Evermen never looked over us. Of course they were! Think about the wonders of Stonewater, the great machines and the golden light of the Pinnacle, now destroyed by the Alturans! What about the Sentinel, now off-limits and under guard? Who knows what our western occupiers plan to do with the statue that has guarded our harbour for an eternity?"

  The crowd surged and ebbed. A hundred paces away, the carriage of whatever fool noble was trying to get into the palace rocked from side to side.

  "It's a plot to control the people, yet it's a plot that cannot work, for the evidence is there for all to see! I follow the Evermen, and no one can take that away from me!"

  People shouted their approval. Bastian decided it was time to change tone.

  "My name is Bastian, and I am a mason. My father before me was a mason, and back when Xenovere was the Emperor my father led a team of a hundred men in his workshop. Xenovere made sure the Toraks didn't get all the building work. Who needs Torakon's lore when you're building a man's simple house? Yet now they have the Toraks building a wall around the Sentinel and none of the work has gone to a single man from Tingara or Aynar!"

  "That's not fair!" a man in the crowd cried.

  "What does that mean? Essence is twenty times the price it was before the war. So for the cost of that wall around the Sentinel, we could rebuild more of the city and we'd all have jobs!"

  "They destroyed our city so they should fix it!" a woman shrieked.

  "Meanwhile, what are all these foreign soldiers doing here? We're ploughing the land by hand, and our farms can only feed so many. Why should our farms feed foreign pillagers when the people of Tingara are starving?"

  As Bastian's words took effect, the rocking of the carriage increased. The wrought-iron gates of the Imperial Palace opened and a squad of soldiers came forward, but they were far from the carriage and struggled to push through to come to the occupant's rescue.

  The carriage door opened and a man stepped out. Someone raised their arm to strike him but was thrown back ten paces themselves, before falling to the ground, dazed. People surged towards the man but were either tossed back or fell away to let someone else take their place. He was like a rock poking its head above the ocean, yet a rock that steadily moved. As he walked through the crowd none could touch him, and now that the occupant of the carriage had exited, the mob left the vehicle alone.

  The tall grey-haired man neither rushed nor faltered as he moved towards Bastian's makeshift podium atop the bed of a wagon. The mob fell back from the man's stare, but followed in his wake. As he drew close, Bastian realised with a smile it was the head of the beast, the subject of many of his speeches.

  Bastian had under his power the Lord Regent, Rogan Jarvish.

  With a warrior's agility the Alturan leapt atop the wagon. Disconcerted, Bastian couldn't help but draw back.

  "Lord Regent." Bastian smiled, his voice loud so the mob could hear. "So pleased you could come to answer for what you've done."

  "I haven't come to answer for anything," the tall man said. He looked out over the crowd and continued. "I've come to explain some hard truths. Truths you won't like but must face up to."

  Bastian was taken aback. He'd learned to project his voice by helping his father on the masonry floor, shouting commands in an environment where a misinterpreted word could mean instant death from the heavy blocks of stone. The Lord Regent's parade-ground voice could easily be heard across Imperial Square and the crowd was stilled.

  "The truth is things are tough for you here, I know," Rogan said. "But they are little better in Petrya or Halaran, Vezna or Torakon."

  "What about Altura?" a man in the crowd yelled.

  Rogan's face was sober. "In Altura the High Lord is near death, with the Lord Marshal's son also poisoned, in an attempt to shatter this fragile new order."

  Some in the crowd looked down. Even Bastian was taken aback; this was the first they'd heard of it.

  "We've had enough of bloodshed, haven't we? We're working hard to give work to your men and put food on your tables. I choose to bring my wife and son here because I have faith in this city, that it's a safe place where things are getting better day by day. At the moment we're having to make do without essence, which is difficult, but we're making progress. The harvest will come in soon, and it will be the largest harvest yet made without drudges to till the soil. The new aqueduct is bringing fresh water into the city without the use of any lore. I have faith that Seranthia won't just be the city she was before, she will be something even greater. I have faith in all of you. Don't do anything to make me lose that faith."

  "When will the essence return?" someone shouted.

  Bastian realised he'd lost control of the crowd. They now looked to the Lord Regent, where before they'd turned to him for answers.

  "As we speak the machines are being rebuilt. Lignite is being stored, ready to process. It will be soon, I can promise you."

  "Why is it you use a carriage when we starve?" a woman cried.

  "I use a carriage because when I returned only hours ago from Castlemere, I saw this opportunity to address you all and wanted to get here as quickly as possible."

  Bastian sneered; he knew it was a lie.

  "But," Rogan held up his hand, "this day I will take the drudge to the fields and give it to a farmer who needs it."

  Bastian snorted, but was forced to admit to himself that for a soldier, Rogan knew the right things to say.

  The Lord Regent turned to Bastian and gave a small bow in the Tingaran manner. He then turned back to the mob.

  "Thank you for the opportunity to address you all. My wife and son have had a long journey by sea and I have a great deal of work to do. Working together, we can make this city great."

  As the Lord Marshal descended there wasn't exactly a cheer, but people made way for the commanding figure and one or two even shook his hand.

  There would be another opportunity, Bastian knew.

  The coming harvest would never feed them all. Parents were less easy to reason with when it came to the fates of their starving children.

  ~

  ROGAN re-entered the carriage and as he took a seat his shoulders slumped with weariness. The crowd opened up and the drudge got underway.

  "You did well," Amelia said. "I'm proud of you."

  "I had to lie, something I promised myself I'd never do. Bastian wants power. Can't they see it? Scratch that man!"

  "Sometimes you need to say whatever it takes. The worst thing that could happen is you let the city fall to mob rule."

  "What will I do though, if the mob gets truly violent? Will I call out the army — my men, many of them Tingarans — to fight their own people? How do you think that will stand, having an Alturan order soldiers with swords to strike down the hungry citizens of Seranthia?"

  "We're not at that point yet. Yo
u did well today."

  "It's not over yet," Rogan growled. "Not by a long shot." He looked out at the common people passing by. "Evrin Evenstar, you had better get those machines working soon."

  10

  MIRO woke to a burst of pain as a boot crashed into his head. He ducked his head into his body as he was kicked again.

  He looked up, into the rat-like face of the Delphin's new captain. Carver rose when he saw Miro was awake. He stomped over to Amber's comatose form and kicked her savagely in the ribs. Amber moaned, and Miro wanted nothing more than to kill him.

  They were in the brig, an iron-barred room half the size of Miro's old cabin. A tiny window let in fresh air and sea spray, and Miro and Amber were both wet and bruised. They'd suffered through more than one beating. Fortunately, the cut on Miro's side wasn't deep.

  Carver nodded to some men, who entered the brig and cut the bindings on their ankles, dragging them both to their feet. They were marched out of their cell and down a series of passageways, finally emerging on the main deck.

  They were taken to the side of the ship, with the rough water crashing not far below.

  Miro squinted in the bright sunlight. Carver had evidently ordered the sails reefed, and the ship now bobbed on the water with little power or steerage.

  He looked at Amber. She looked terrible; one of her eyes was half-closed and she had a blue bruise next to her mouth. He couldn't bear to see her like this. Miro wondered what would happen next. They were far from home, and apparently Carver now had full control over the galleon and her crew. What story had he given his men?

  Miro and Amber were still trussed and gagged, their hands tightly bound behind their backs. Sailors knew how to tie knots, and Miro had no chance of breaking his bonds.

  The huge sailor with the broken nose stood beside Amber.

  "Do it, Ros," Carver said.

  Ros marched Amber to the rail at the side of the ship. Without a word he picked Amber up, his muscles bulging, and tossed her over the side.

  Miro roared: a sound of primal rage. His arms burned as he pulled and twisted at his bonds, to no avail.

  Carver waited a moment, and then nodded to a seaman who held a rope in his hands. The seaman dived off the side of the ship, the rope running free behind him. Miro counted the breaths. The blood throbbed in his head and he twisted and strained, receiving a sharp punch in his gut from one of Carver's men. The end of the rope was held by two big sailors at the rail. After an incredible length had vanished over the side, the rope went taught, and the sailors started to haul.

  Amber was hauled back over the side of the ship with the end of the rope tied in a loop around her waist. The diver climbed up a ladder and was helped over.

  Amber flopped onto the deck like a fish. Carver strode over and with a flick of his wrist cut through her gag. Tears poured down Miro's cheeks as she coughed and a huge volume of water came out of her mouth. She twitched and spluttered, yet while she was still gasping Carver stuffed a ball of cloth into her mouth.

  The newly-made captain came over to Miro. "We can do this as many times as we like. Klaus here is a strong swimmer, but who can say if he'll find her again the next time? Or I can simply tell Klaus not to bother. Do we understand each other? I'm going to remove your gag now. I've learned not to let this one speak. She can breathe through her nose. Or not at all, as far as I care."

  Miro nodded, and his gag was removed.

  "You're no enchanter, but I've heard a bit about what bladesingers can do," Carver said. "Take a look."

  Miro's turned to where Carver gestured. "No!" he cried.

  A sailor flung his arm, and Miro's armoursilk caught the wind like a kite, flying far into the distance before falling to the sea, finally swallowed by the waves. The sailor then tossed Miro's zenblade over the side. Amber's satchel followed.

  "Now you're nothing," Carver said.

  "What do you want?" Miro said. He knew he would do anything to prevent Amber being thrown over the side again.

  "Thanks to the lovely lady here…" Carver frowned down at Amber's comatose form. The sheer nightdress she'd worn when they were captured had ridden up to the backs of her thighs, now made transparent by the water. It clung to her breasts, while the sailors leered at her nipples. "Cover her up!" Carver cried.

  A blanket was thrown over her.

  "Where was I?" the rat-faced man asked. "Thanks to the lovely lady here, we've lost most of our provisions. Whatever her device was, it destroyed half our food and water and put a hole in the hull. The seawater ruined much of what was left of our stores. We've managed to stabilise the hull and pump out the water, but we're now in a predicament."

  Miro looked around, trying to gauge the mood of the sailors. Those close by were definitely Carver's men, but some of the men in the rigging were stone-faced. Miro guessed that Amber's device had made Carver's plans go awry. He had probably planned to kill them all quietly and make up some story for the authorities. Now, with the sailors witness to the mutiny, there would be no turning back for Carver and his supporters.

  Miro received an enigmatic look from Werner, the helmsman. He remembered that Werner had done little more than wave his cutlass around, and wondered if he had a potential ally.

  "So," Carver continued, "we've been left with no choice. We have to find these islands of yours in order to reprovision. That book's been cut into ribbons. Where are the islands? What can you tell us?"

  Carver looked significantly at Amber. Miro had read over Toro Marossa's directions enough to commit them to memory.

  With no other choice, Miro told him everything he knew.

  ~

  AMBER moaned through her gag.

  "What is it?" Miro asked.

  She wriggled until her back was to Miro and he could see her hands. Her wrists were tied too tightly, with blood seeping at the edges of the twine, and her hands were white with pink spots.

  Looking through the bars of their small cell, Miro couldn't see any of Carver's men. They had been left to their own devices as Carver fought to keep control of the ship and make as much headway as possible. If Carver couldn't find the Ochre Isles, they would all die of thirst.

  Miro threw his body flat onto the ground, feeling the pain of his own bonds cut into his wrists. He kicked with his legs until his mouth was close to Amber's hands.

  Miro took some cord into his mouth until his tongue found one of the tough sailor's knots, and he began to chew.

  He kept his ears pricked for the sound of anyone coming to the brig; often the bare-foot sailors were difficult to hear. If he managed to free Amber's hands they would be punished, but there was no use worrying about the future. Amber must be in excruciating pain, and Miro needed to do something about it now.

  Miro had managed to loosen one of the knots. He worked at it with his teeth and tongue until he could feel the cord stretch and give. Amber moaned again.

  Miro moved to the next knot, learning the knack of it now. His teeth hurt and his jaw ached but he kept working until he felt the knot go. Amber wriggled her hands and he felt her sigh with relief. He continued until the cord fell away and Amber's hands were freed.

  She rubbed at her wrists, her eyes closed and chest heaving, and then she pulled the gag away from her mouth.

  "What about your hands?" she whispered.

  At that moment Miro felt the regular pounding of the ship on the waves slow, which could only mean Carver had reefed the sails. The motion of the ship calmed, and for the first time in an eternity the Delphin wasn't rolling on huge waves. Miro scampered over to their tiny window and looked out, then gasped.

  "What is it?" Amber said.

  "We're here," said Miro.

  Miro was surprised at the pleasure he felt in seeing land for the first time in an eternity. Outside the window birds were wheeling over a nearby rocky outcrop. Miro's view was restricted, but he could see the galleon had just passed through a narrow channel, with a headland on one side and the treacherous darkness of a barrier reef on the
other. The water was a vivid light blue, and they had entered a tranquil lagoon. He wished he could properly see land, but all he could see were the rugged trees that spotted the headland.

  He heard the stroke of oars rumbling in their rowlocks and then a longboat entered his vision, pulling away from the ship with each of the men's strokes. Barrels were stacked high on the vessel, and Miro recognised Beck, the second mate, leading the provisioning party.

  There was the grunting of men, and then a mighty splash as the Delphin's anchor was thrown out, plummeting through the water on a thick hawser of gnarled hemp.

  Miro heard a throat clear outside the bars of their cell.

  He twisted his body and saw the helmsman, Werner, standing and watching him silently.

  "Here to beat us?" Miro said, kicking with his legs until he was in a sitting position.

  "Now that we've found your islands, I'm not needed for some time," the helmsman said. "Carver's going to have you both killed as soon as the ship has water and whatever food we can find. As we speak the sailors are all fishing, so it's complete chaos out there. Divers are scraping the hull clean, and workmen are patching up the hole your wife here put in our hold."

  Werner paused, and Miro wondered what would come.

  "So, overall, Carver's keeping the men busy, but what you may not know is he's only just holding onto power. He made up some improbable story about you attacking the captain after he made a drunken pass at your wife, but no one believes him."

  "Can you help us?" Miro said.

  "That depends on you," the helmsman said.

  "What do you mean?" asked Amber.

  "We can nominate a new first and second mate, but without me, the men know they'll never make it back home. The captain and I were the ones who got us most of the way here, and the crew know they need me. Most of the men didn't sign up for a mutiny, and they just want to go back home. Yet no one wants to go home to the noose. We can deal with Carver, Beck, Ulrich and Ros, but there'll still be a hell of a story to tell to the council back in Castlemere. Those with me don't want any loose ends confusing the picture, if you know what I mean."