Chapter Thirty-One
Evidently, the crew of the Swiftsure sighted the eastern coast of Far Amitryea sometime in the dark hours of the morning, because by the time Druadaen and the others came on deck, she was already several leagues into the Earthrift Channel.
Druadaen peered through the clearing mists at the landmass to starboard: North Omthrye. Its coast rose gently from the faint breakers to broad strands, and occasional farmlands beyond.
“So,” said Elweyr’s voice behind him, “how many times did your Courier duties bring you here?”
Druadaen moved aside so the mantic had room along the gunwale. “Once, and we never made landfall.” He smiled. “We were there to take Outriders off the shore, not deposit our own upon it.”
Umkhira had overheard and joined them. “You send Outriders so far from home?”
Druadaen nodded. “Like the mariners among us, those who are based on foreign soil are a special group. They are called ‘overseas expeditionaries’ and are officially part of the Couriers.”
“Officially,” echoed Elweyr with a sly smile. “Because it sounds better to say you have Couriers in other countries rather than armed scouts, I take it.”
Druadaen returned his smile. “That is the unspoken understanding among us.”
“And is that an island to the southwest?” Ahearn shouted, pointing to the opposite horizon.
Druadaen frowned. “No, I think those are the highlands west of Wydshanan, the only realm of consequence on this coast.”
A new voice from back near the starboard quarterdeck stairs rose above the hoarse rush of swells rolling past the hull. “You seem passably acquainted with these lands, having never visited them, Outrider Druadaen.” The voice was that of Captain Firinne, who had proven to be not only a fine shipmistress, but the very soul of discretion. At least when it came to the unique collection of companions that Druadaen had brought aboard her hull.
Druadaen turned, prepared to raise his hand to his chest in salute, but she waved it off. “You’ve spent too much time in Tlulanxu,” she muttered through a grin.
“My presence here proves that you are not alone in that opinion,” he said, hoping his smile wasn’t as crooked as it felt.
Firinne’s glance suggested she was as astute as she was discreet. “Nor are you alone in being sent on a very small assignment to a very distant land.” She winked in response to his surprised stare. “And ships which sail the expanse between Ar Navir and Far Amitryea carry more such hapless servitors than others, I reck.”
“The further the better, eh?” Ahearn suggested in a stage whisper.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I will allow you to draw your own conclusions on that, swordsman. In the meantime, I will ask you all to make ready for action.”
Druadaen was the only one who did not spend a long moment staring at her. “Enemies sighted, Captain?”
She jutted her prominent chin westward beyond the bowsprit. “No reason to expect so, and still too far off to see. Just caught sight of topsails ahead.”
Ahearn seemed surprised. “Is such precaution customary…Captain?”
She looked at him more carefully this time. “Why do you ask, Master Ahearn?”
“Well, it’s just that—well, the short of it is that I had a…a friend who officered ships in the Sea of Kudak. And so, Dunarran pennants were a regular sight, crisscrossing that pond as they do. But sh—my friend never mentioned that your ships take up arms merely upon glimpsing another sail.”
She smiled. “Your ‘friend’ did not mislead you. But the Sea of Kudak is all open water. The Earthrift Channel is less than ten leagues wide here, and ahead, will narrow to three, at parts.”
Elweyr crossed his arms. “Good hunting spot for pirates.”
Firinne nodded. “And what might be worse. Suffice to say, we take no chances in these tight waters. Too easy for smaller ships to come out of the coves on either side of the channel and box us in. So forewarned is forearmed as they say, and if any mean to stand before us, our course of action shall not be to come about, but crowd sail and cut through.” She looked around the group. “Can I count on all of you?”
“You can count on us,” Druadaen answered before anyone else could open their mouths. This was a decision for the company’s “master aboard” rather than “captain,” and he meant to set that precedent quickly and clearly.
Firinne looked at him with a surprised, and pleased, smile. “Very well, then. You’ll want your weapons. And if you don’t have light armor, speak to the purser; he has some in stores.”
* * *
The voice from the maintop crow’s nest was stentorian but also hoarse from the many reports of the past hour: “A dark gray sword on a white escutcheon, framed by midnight blue. Ship out o’ Corrovane, Captain!”
Firinne’s return bellow was not only loud but surprisingly deep-toned. “Is she showing a response to our welcome code?”
Druadaen glanced up at the array of colored pennants on the starboard mainstay.
“No, ma’am,” came the wind-muffled reply. “Probably hasn’t seen ours, yet.”
“Or is not really a Greyblade ship,” muttered Elweyr.
“Possibly,” Druadaen agreed, “but it’s more likely their telescopes are more rudimentary.” He studied the mantic. “You called it a ‘Greyblade’ ship. Do you speak Old Amitryean?”
His eyes conspicuously avoided meeting Druadaen’s. “Some,” he said. “I’m a thaumantic. I spend a lot of time with old scrolls and dead languages.”
“Old Amitryean isn’t entirely dead,” Druadaen pointed out.
“What are you two on about?” Ahearn muttered. “Here we are, possibly ready to cross swords with pirates, and you decide to have a scholarly argument over a few archaic words?”
Firinne had overheard and was smiling shrewdly. “Not just any words, swordsman. And not from a dead language.” She nodded at the ship approaching. “Corrovane: corrov is Old Amitryean for ‘grey’; vaan is ‘sword.’ Your friend translated the name of the nation for us. No mean feat.” She nodded to Elweyr who looked simultaneously annoyed and anxious.
“Captain!” shouted the lookout. “She’s run up a response. One of the correct codes. And she’s run up a counter-challenge.”
“Make reply,” Firinne thundered up along the mainmast.
Umkhira’s gaze roved over the crew, who had reacted with relief. “So, the ship ahead is showing a true flag?”
Firinne raised an eyebrow. “Looks like it. But we’ll stay prepared until we’re sure. It would be quite a coup for pirates to be able to mimic our safety codes…but when you’ve been at sea as long as I have, you don’t put anything beyond the realm of possibility, Mistress Warrior.” She nodded a curt farewell and headed back up to the quarterdeck, shouting orders as she went.
* * *
The captain of the Corrovane ship Atremoënse—or, Ready Narwhal—was like so many of his infamously dour countrymen: taciturn and serious. His first words as he came aboard were, “Greetings. Where are you bound?”
Either Captain Firinne was happy to dispense with formalities and courtesies, or she had ample experience dealing with the Corrovani. “Shadowmere. You?”
“Crynyrcar. Our home port. Your business in Shadowmere: Is it refit or assignment?”
“Some of both.” Firinne gestured for Druadaen to stand forward. “This young fellow has sealed orders and summaries for the station officer.”
The Corrovani captain kept his focus and speech directed toward Firinne. “You are referring to the commander of your Overseas Expeditionary Consulate, there?” Druadaen could hear the capitals in the way he said it.
The moment after Captain Firinne nodded, the Corrovani turned to Druadaen. “Then your journey will not end at Shadowmere. The station officer, Talshane, departed while we were laying over there. He had urgent business in Crimatha. Do you know it?”
“I know of it, sir. I have never been.”
“I’ve ported at Treve a few times,” Firinne interjected. “Is he in the field or the capital?”
“I cannot say. He meant to remain in Treve, I think, but I am uncertain that the circumstances will allow that. He is responding to a sensitive matter that arose on the realm’s frontiers. I believe an attempt to poison several of your Outriders was involved.”
Firinne frowned. “I appreciate the information, but it is unusually…detailed. Were any of your Urnwards operating in concert with our Outriders?”
The Corrovani may have smiled. “It is always a pleasure dealing with another veteran of such matters. No Urnwards were personally committed to the activities, but several of their servitors were. Your forces at the consulate were overextended, so some of ours were tasked to assist, including she who was to be my ship’s sacrist for our return. She is named Padrajisse and was sent by her temple in Shadowmere to assist Talshane in his investigation. She will need the help of our allies to make her return to Ar Navir; we have no other official ship traveling to or from Far Amitryea for the rest of this season. So, if it should be within the scope of your authority and permissions, it would be a great favor and service to the Urn if you would port there before sailing for home.
Firinne smiled thinly. “I would be happy to help our friends of Corrovane, even if we did not need to detour there, now.”
The Corrovani cocked his head in curiosity; it made Druadaen think of a quizzical dog.
Firinne explained. “It just so happens that my next orders were not given to me directly. For reasons unknown, they are in the secure pouch carried by this fellow, and which have been sealed and cyphered so that only the station officer—Talshane—can access them. So it seems that I will by necessity be aiming my bow at the very port to which your sacrist has traveled.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I shall convey what little we know of the present conditions in Treve, as well as our sacrist’s particulars, that you may know how best to seek her when you arrive. Would it be convenient to speak in your cabin, Captain?”