Chapter 15:
Homeward
Hanuvar watched from the docks as the great ships glided out across the waters. Tiny white caps rustled at the sides of their hulls, slapping the close laid timber.
Two great masts towered above each of the decks, each billowing with a wide white sail. The vessels were deep bellied and high prowed, the result of generations of Volani expertise, designed to outrun and withstand and sustain. Each carried almost two hundred of Hanuvar’s people, though only a few dozen sailors were visible upon the deck, manning lines and rudder.
Both vessels bore ample food and spare supplies, as well as the very future of his people. Each one of these lives seemed infinitely more precious than normal, for each should have been companioned by at least two hundred more.
The ocean was vast, and uncertain, and he worried for them.
Izivar squeezed his arm. “It’s up to them now. You’ve done everything you could. No one could have done more.”
And to her, and only her, he spoke his fears. Quietly, so Antires, waiting to their left and Julivar and Serliva on the right, would not hear. “But will they make it? Can they be safe?”
“They are in good hands. The ships are sturdy and well provisioned. We built them well.”
The morning sun had lain a molten iron beam upon the waters and the ships struck its glow. As they did, the sails caught the full force of the wind beyond the coast, and both ships surged forward like hounds catching the scent of prey. Hanuvar smiled in pride, and hope.
He clutched Izivar’s hand, breathing in the scent of the salt air, and of freedom, and her floral perfume. He glanced at his friends and they smiled. Antires wiped away a tear. How like a poet, to cry even when happy.
Carthalo remained at the center of his web in Derva, always scheming to recover more of their people, but most of the living Hanuvar loved and trusted were here. He wished that his daughter could be as well. Somewhere she lived free, and he hoped he would find her soon.
He wished he might have shared the moment with Ciprion. His friend could not have attended, for fear of drawing more scrutiny to the Volani at this moment. He had written that rumors in the barracks were Metellus’ assistant Munius was the one passing money around to a few bad apples, and Metellus blamed himself for not seeing through his underling’s treachery. The centurion was throwing himself into the reorganization of the corps, no matter being plagued by terrible headaches. He had lost an eye and Ciprion thought his rage against traitors and Cerdians in particular was genuine.
The new emperor had asked what had happened to the Ceori who had borne the emperor from the burning flames.
Ciprion told him how he had answered in the next paragraph. I said that you were so heartbroken by what you had seen that you had returned to your people. I think Enarius could profit by your counsel, too, my friend. You could shape the course of an empire if you wished to join me, though I understand why you will not.
The position was too exposed, and risked his life, and Ciprion’s, and the entire recovery effort. Much as he would have enjoyed working at Ciprion’s side, the empire’s future was important to him only as it might impact his people. There was much work to do still, for many of the Volani remained imprisoned in dire circumstances.
Well beyond the shore now, the ships dwindled into the distance.
Izivar leaned against him. “So, my brave one, we can celebrate at last. Are you hungry?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I am.”
Her gaze was sharp as she looked up at him. “You look restless. Today, of all days, you must relax.”
He bowed his head to her. “We will feast with our friends. But there’s a trip to plan.”
“You’re thinking of the slaveholders in southern Tyvol. And the Volani children.”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly. “That isn’t a long journey by ship.”
“No. And I had thought we might sail there together.”
“You would want me there? I have a lot to keep track of here.”
He smiled gently. “I would like you everywhere. But I suppose there are things that we both must do. Our people need us yet.”
“What do you need?”
She looked as though she wished to be kissed, and he wished to kiss her anyway, for she was warm and clever and lovely. And so they briefly pressed lips to one another, and his heart soared as they broke apart, smiling at one another.
She took his hands. “Things ought to be a little simpler now. The emperor himself is our friend, and Ciprion is like your brother, and he’s Enarius’ top advisor. We are shielded.”
He shook his head. “You know that winds can change, suddenly. The revenants are discredited, but they’re not disbanded. Most Dervans distrust and hate us, and politicians are always looking for scapegoats. And then there’s the small matter of my own identity. If Enarius should ever catch wind of that . . . ” He let his thought trail off. “We must never be complacent. We can let down our guard when the goods are sold and the shop is closed and we are beyond the sunset.”
She studied him seriously, then squeezed his waist. “Tomorrow we can take up our worrying once more. Today, we celebrate a victory. Even if you do not need to pause, your people do.”
She spoke wisely. He turned with her and faced their friends. “Enough gawking,” he said. “Who’s for breakfast?”
They clapped and jested and cheered, then turned with him to walk for the harbor buildings and the waiting feast.