Mariner's Luck Read online

  Scarlet

  and the

  White Wolf

  Book 2: Mariner’s Luck

  KIRBY CROW

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Scarlet and the White Wolf, Book 2: Mariner’s Luck

  © 2005-2017 by Kirby Crow

  http://KirbyCrow.com

  Bonecamp Books

  ISBN-13: 978-1542904919

  ISBN-10: 1542904919

  Cover Art by Analise Dubner

  All rights reserved.

  For J.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  1. | An Ill Fate

  2. | The Mariners

  3. | Pursued

  4. | Rough Seas

  5. | Malice

  6. | T’aishka

  7. | The Land of Night

  8. | Nazheradei

  9. | Forgive

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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  1.

  An Ill Fate

  The heavy sky was the color of ash. A light mist seeped from the clouds, covering the flat, soaked landscape in another layer of moisture to add to its endless tides, mildew, sewage, and the constant, pelting rain that deviled the decaying port city of Volkovoi from the month of Trees until the beginning of Wilding.

  The city was made of many haphazard rows of uneven, ramshackle buildings the color of rotting straw, all jutting up at odd angles, frames sagging against each other for reluctant support. Their crumbling facades bravely faced the waterline, patiently waiting for the inevitable wind or storm that would erase their mark from the scenery. On the pier, a tight knot of leather-armored bravos shook their fists and cursed the departing ship. The crew of the Rshani brigantine ignored the disturbance on land to return to their duties, guiding the great ship northward and home.

  Scarlet‘s skin tingled with triumph from his near escape from the port of Volkovoi, and he could taste the salt of the air on his tongue. He brushed the grime from his long red pedlar’s coat and tried not to appear too smug. He’d gotten away! He was going with Liall! The youth—a slight Hilurin of about eighteen with the characteristic black hair, black eyes, and very fair skin of the Old Tribes—looked up at Liall and affected a casual air.

  “I can see this is going to be a long journey. Now, how far is it?” he asked his companion, a towering Northman with icy blue eyes and hair like snow.

  Liall frowned. His dark, angular face was the color of amber and he had sharp cheekbones that gave him a forbidding aspect. “You will be put ashore to the north above Morturii, where you should be safe from the Byzan army. You know enough of the language and customs to get by.”

  Scarlet shrugged. Liall did not sound very convincing, and in any case, it was useless to argue right now. The mariners were watching them with hostility and he had no wish to create a scene that might draw more of their attention. He gave Liall a smile. “You didn't answer me.”

  “Rshan na Ostre is a four-month journey by sea.”

  Scarlet thumped Liall hard on the arm. “That’s not even a real place!”

  Liall laughed, perhaps in sheer surprise. It was hard to tell with him. “What do you mean, not real?”

  “It’s a fairytale. Scaja used to tell me about it when I was no bigger than that barrel there. The Land of Demons, where the Shining Ones live,” Scarlet scoffed. “Rshan! Do you take me for a fool?”

  Liall was holding his aching arm and chuckling, and Scarlet felt a twinge of guilt for hitting him. The bravos had beaten Liall thoroughly in the Volkovoi alleyway where Scarlet had found him. He did not know why Liall had been attacked, but he was sure it had something to do with his life before he became an atya of Kasiri bandits.

  “I assure you, it is no fairy tale. And it is not called the Land of Demons, but the Land of Darkness, or Night. The words are the same in Sinha, you see. And the commoners in Byzantur just call it Norl Udur, the North Kingdom.”

  “The North Kingdom is not Rshan,” Scarlet said, his patience slipping. He spoke very clearly, as if to the village want-wit. “It couldn't be.”

  “And just why not? Because you do not believe in Rshan, it cannot exist? That’s very arrogant, little Byzan. Even for you.”

  Scarlet scowled. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re a Shining One.” He waved his hand dismissively, highly annoyed. “Forget it, you great ox. If you don’t want to tell me the truth, just shut up.”

  Liall laughed harder as the thin rain gathered strength and became a downpour. And then, to Scarlet’s everlasting surprise, Liall seized him, drew him into those big arms, and kissed him passionately. Scarlet went rigid in shock, tense at the sudden feel of strong arms wrapped around him and—oh, Deva!—Liall’s mouth on his. Then all his muscles seemed to melt and he moaned and before he quite knew what he was doing, he was kissing Liall back. He sank against Liall’s body as the damp wind pulled at their hair and clothes.

  Liall broke the kiss suddenly, leaving Scarlet a little dizzy.

  “I will always tell you the truth,” Liall whispered, his face buried in Scarlet’s jet-black hair. Scarlet felt the tremor in Liall’s body and marveled. Am I doing this to him? Couldn't be. His mind buzzed with new questions. It was all too much: the near-fatal episode with Cadan and his soldiers on the road; the narrow escape from the bravos; his dizzying leap from the docks to land on the deck of the Rshani brigantine after Liall had stoutly refused to let him aboard. Now, Liall was hugging him like a lost love. It made his head spin.

  Liall’s arms tightened hard for a moment. “Sunya,” he added, very low.

  “Sunya,” Scarlet repeated. “What does that mean?”

  Liall cleared his throat and let him go, and Scarlet watched in puzzled amazement as the tall Northman stared out over the waves. Liall seemed to be struggling for control, but over what, Scarlet did not know.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I...” Liall cast a nervous look over his shoulder at the Rshani crew that hovered just out of earshot, casting dark looks at their way. He took Scarlet’s arm. “It is the name for the pole star in Rshan, a light to steer by. Come.” He straightened and seemed to shake off his momentary lapse. “Let us get you out of sight.”

  Scarlet marked again the intense dislike of the crew as they made their way down the ship, the way they glared at him as if he were a rat on deck. He need not fear mere robbery from them, he surmised, and resolved to stay near to Liall in case one of them decided to pitch him overboard when Liall was not looking.

  The crew seemed to sincerely loathe foreigners, which was a pity because he was curious as a cat about them: such large men, so strange-looking, such pale hair and bronzed skin, and such a mighty vessel. Where could they have come from? It had to be Norl Udur, whatever Liall claimed. He wondered where their home port was and where they sailed on their journey, and fought down a surge of frustration at not being able to ask.

  Even if you dared ask, he thought, you don’t speak their language. He resolved to badger Liall to teach him some on the voyage, which was not going to end immediately north of Morturii.

  The Ostre Sul's unsmiling quartermaster met them amidships and led them to a small cabin attached beneath the quarterdeck and the captain’s quarters. Like most of the sailors—mariners, Liall called them—the quartermaster wore long leather breeches, oiled to keep water out, and a loose, mid sleeved woolen shirt that seemed to wrap around his waist several times. Scarlet was surprised to see that they wore boots and did not go barefoot as did most sailors he had seen, but winter was coming and he could understand them not wanting cold toes. Their boots
were odd: soft-soled like slippers and reaching up over their knees, where they were then turned down like the brim of a hat. Most of the mariners had bronzed skin and long, pale hair that they wore bound tight in a single braid down their backs, but a few had shorter hair like Liall, and one young mariner wore his hair flowing loose. Scarlet thought the style handsome but impractical for a life at sea, and thought the mariner vain. He was also disturbed that the young mariner appeared to slide into hating him so easily. All he had done was leap from the distance from the harbor to the deck of the brigantine and stand at Liall’s side, and that seemingly was enough to make the unknown young mariner despise him.

  They reached a paneled door below the quarterdeck on the port side and the quartermaster bowed to Liall before leaving them. The cabin was small, but nevertheless both cleaner and bigger than the room they had just vacated above the taberna in Volkovoi. The raw pine paneling of the walls was scrubbed clean, and there was a wide bunk (free of lice, Scarlet checked), and a large cedar chest with a generous supply of padded quilts and thick woolen blankets. Small brass candle lamps hung from the ceiling and one wall. A single porthole, about the size of a plate, opened on the port side. The glass was not uneven and wavy like Byzan glass would have been, but smooth to the touch and clear. There was also a small charcoal brazier attached to an iron pedestal sunk deeply into the wooden planks of the floor. For heat, Scarlet supposed. He fiddled with it a moment and discovered the slitted breathers could be closed and locked to be fireproof, which he supposed might be a necessity in rough water. In truth, Scarlet was simply avoiding looking at Liall. Liall would want to know how Cadan died, and Scarlet’s role in it. That was something the pedlar dreaded talking about.

  Predictably, Liall started in right away. He dropped his traveling packs on the floor and sank down on the bunk. “So you killed Cadan. Not intentional, you say. How did that occur?”

  Scarlet took a deep breath and related the story: saying farewell to Shansi and Annaya in Nantua, how he was making for Ankar on his own when Cadan and his soldiers caught him on the Common Road to Patra, and how Cadan had revealed that a bounty had been placed on Liall’s head,

  “They were probably ordered to watch the roads for you. At any rate, I was alone and his men were no better or more honorable than he was, I could see that, and...” Scarlet trailed off, not wanting to say what had happened next.

  “Tell me,” Liall pressed.

  Liall sat and listened, his mouth flattened into a grim line, as Scarlet related the details of what followed. Scarlet told him about the beating, and how he had been terrified of death, and then the instant of fate that he never expected, when Deva herself spoke to him and helped him escape. Why he should have been worth of the notice of the goddess still baffled Scarlet. Who was he but a common pedlar?

  “There was a moment when they were careless,” Scarlet said, knowing he could not explain how he had called out to Deva or in what manner the goddess had answered him. “I got my hands on my dagger—the dagger you gave me, Liall—and pushed it into Cadan’s throat. Then I ran.”

  “Like a deer, leaving the others alive to tell whatever lies they wished about his death,” Liall stated flatly.

  Scarlet stared at him. What did Liall expect, that he should have slain them all? He began to say that it was pure chance that the soldiers would let down their guard, that he had his leg bent at the knee, that they in their arrogance did not bother to search him and that his new dagger had been so well-concealed in the top of his boot. But he could not say this without renouncing what Deva had given him, and he could not tell Liall the truth. Liall did not believe in gods.

  “I... it’s like you said,” Scarlet mumbled miserably. “I’m no warrior. I ran.”

  Liall watched him for several moments, unspeaking. “An ambush,” he decided, bringing his hand down on his knee as if pronouncing a verdict. “Those soldiers would have hurt you badly, if not killed you outright. They would have sold you to the Minh at least. You did the right thing.”

  “I know that,” Scarlet replied irritably. “My older brother was taken by the Minh when he was a boy. You don’t need to lesson me.”

  It irked him that Liall appeared to be passing judgment, even if the Kasiri had found him innocent. Also, he did not want Liall to know how much it bothered him to kill Cadan. Yes, the pig deserved it, but he still hated how the death made him feel.

  Liall looked mildly stunned. “Your brother? I did not know.” The matter appeared to trouble him greatly. “What was his name?”

  “Gedda,” Scarlet said, adding hastily; “But it happened a long time ago, before I remember.”

  “Oh.” Liall paused, thinking. “So... you were telling the truth last night. Your arrival in Volkovoi had nothing to do with me? I suppose going into the Bledlands was out of the question for you?”

  Scarlet shrugged and grabbed one of the packs to start rearranging things. “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  Scarlet allowed himself a moment of exasperation. “Deva, you can be dense sometimes! I had enough trouble keeping myself fed with a whole skin on my back in a land that supposedly has law and rule and decent roads. How well do you think I’d fare in the Bled? And, not entirely beside the point, I don’t know how to do anything that the Bledlanders consider useful, like raiding or robbing, so they’d only think I was good for one thing. The same thing you thought I was good for when we met.”

  Liall's gaze flickered.

  “I thought I’d take my chances across the Channel,” Scarlet went on. “It seemed like the only choice at the time.”

  “Where did you plan to go?” Liall growled. “There are very few Hilurin in Khet. You would stick out like a raven in a flock of doves. If the Flower Prince put a bounty on you, you would be captured very quickly there.”

  “I know. I thought... maybe beyond the Salt Lands?” Scarlet knew he sounded ridiculous even before the words were out, and his voice became snappish. “What else could I do? There’s only so many points to the compass. It was either sail to Arbyss or travel east where the Minh would have taken me for their slave or stay where I was and hang.”

  “You forgot north.”

  “I’m going north!” he snarled.

  A ghost of a smile touched Liall’s face, and Scarlet averted his gaze. He feared he would lose his temper even more and say something truly unwise.

  He examined the room critically. “Only one bed,” he said needlessly. It had a large bunk suited to the crew’s size, with a thick, feather-stuffed mattress covering the rope frame. He remembered the embrace he had shared with Liall in the inn and wondered if Liall would now want more from him. The thought did not frighten him as it would once have.

  Liall shrugged. Apparently, the solitary bunk was no surprise. “And this probably the best they have.”

  “I’ll take the floor,” Scarlet volunteered selflessly.

  Liall snorted. “Do not be a fool. What else are beds for, but to keep the chill of the ground or the deck from reaching a man’s bones? And it is going to get very cold, red-coat: colder than you can imagine. You would have lung fever within a week if you were going further than Ankar with me. No, we will both sleep in the bed.”

  It was the sensible choice, and Scarlet was no longer opposed to being close to Liall. “But the crew will think—”

  “What, that you’re my slut? They already think that.”

  He was appalled. “They never.”

  Liall shook his head, sighing. “My uninformed pedlar, however unfair or arrogant you think me, I assure you, my people are much worse. Living in Byzantur has mellowed me somewhat and disabused me of several bigotries. Listen then, and learn; even a short voyage on this ship will be very hard for you. Rshani do not care for outsiders. In fact, they hold contempt for anyone not of their blood and heritage, for the whole world, perhaps. No Rshani takes a lenilyn, an outlander, as a friend. Lenilyn are good to serve, only. Therefore, they will think you my servant, or rather, they see your
youth and how pretty your face is and assume what is only natural to assume.”

  Scarlet's knuckles turned white as he gripped the leather pack. “That I’m a whore.”

  Liall’s face was closed, as if he were holding back a secret, but Scarlet was not shrewd enough to riddle what it was.

  “Yes.”

  Yes, and you must swallow it, lad, for what else can you do? Prove them wrong? What use? Whore or servant or friend, you'll still be nothing to them.

  It was Scaja’s wisdom in his head. Scarlet ached with missing his father, but he decided that the best way to honor Scaja’s memory was not to add shame to embarrassment. He got to his feet, squared his shoulders and began to drag items from the pack and place them around the cabin. There was a small table, also bolted to the floor, with a strange, raised rim on its surface. The rim would prevent any items from sliding off in rough seas. Rather clever, when one thought about it. Another low chest with a heavy lid had been provided, and Scarlet began stowing their belongings in there.

  “I don’t care what the crew thinks,” he said coldly. “As for myself, I think they could use a bath. Several.”

  Liall slapped his leg, chuckling. “Mariners are mariners, whether Rshani or Hilurin. They all stink.”

  “This is one mariner who is not going to stink,” Scarlet declared. “Not with all this water around us.”

  “It is only water for now. It turns to ice when we leave the Channel and join the northern waters, which you will not see.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Liall chuckled again and stretched out on the bunk, placing his Morturii knives within reach on the floor. His boots stuck out only a little at the end, so it was a large bunk indeed. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around him and sighed.

  “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute,” he said, then yawned. “Wake me if anyone knocks. And do not venture outside the cabin.”

  Scarlet opened his mouth to object, and then reasoned that he had made enough objections for one morning. He would save some for later. Liall was watching him, one pale blue eye still open to see what he would do.