“They’re on foot!” Nheal informed his men. “And about half an hour ahead of us! Sergeant Brellon, check what’s left of the tavern. The rest of you with me!” The thunder of hooves made the ground tremble, even in the stable, as the Defenders rode off in pursuit of their quarry.
“Sir!” Mandah called as the Defender turned away to join his Company. Tarja bit back an exasperated sigh.
“No, lass, your secret’s safe with me,” the Defender chuckled. “Good luck to you. To you and Robbie.”
Tarja raised an arm in salute as Mandah pulled the skirts off his face, threw herself down again, and resumed kissing him fervently. She did not stop until she was certain the Defenders had left the stable.
There were three boats docked at Reddingdale’s small wooden jetty that jutted out bravely into the dark waters of the mighty Glass River. The river was broad and deep but riddled with tricky currents that could lure the unwary into disaster. No one sailed the Glass River at night by choice. Lanterns bobbed in the darkness, their reflection poking holes in the black glass of the river’s surface. Mandah motioned Tarja and R’shiel to silence as they waited in the alley beside the chandler’s store for the Defender on guard to march to the far end of his beat. As soon as his back was turned, they ran in a low crouch toward the boats.
The first two boats were Medalonian barges, with distinctive shallow drafts designed for navigating the tributaries of the Glass River. The third boat, tied up at the far end of the jetty, was Fardohnyan. It was to this boat that Mandah led them. As they jumped aboard, Tarja noted with surprise that the sky was beginning to lighten. They had spent all night working their way toward the docks with the young heathen woman. She had said barely a word in that time, motioning them to follow with hand signals or a look. Since climbing off him in the stable and unselfconsciously lacing her blouse, ignoring R’shiel’s speculative gaze, she had been all business. Tarja found himself somewhat bemused by the young woman. And more than a little angry at her. She had extracted a promise from him that he had never wanted to make and showed no remorse at all for the way she had gone about it.
As they landed in a crouch on the boat, a big blond-bearded Fardohnyan appeared. “We almost sailed without you,” he told Mandah. “Who are they?”
“Friends,” Mandah assured the captain. “Tarja, R’shiel, this is Captain Drendik of the
The Fardohnyan offered Tarja his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Maera’s blessing on you, friend,” he said.
“And you,” Tarja replied. It did not surprise him that the Fardohnyan worshipped the River Goddess, but he was a little surprised to find him actively helping the Medalonian heathens.
“It will be light soon,” Drendik warned, “and I’d like to be away from here before it occurs to those red- coated fancy boys to search my boat. You three get below and tell Brak and those good-for-nothing brothers of mine to get up here. We’ll be out into the current before they realize it.”
Mandah stood on her toes and kissed Drendik’s cheek. “May Jelanna bless you with many more sons, Drendik.”
“Jelanna has been too kind already,” he complained. “Now get below.”
Mandah led them down a companionway to a narrow passage that Tarja was almost too tall to stand upright in. They followed her through the gloom to a door at the end of the passage, which she opened without knocking. The cabin was full of people, crowded around a small table, many of them from the inn.
Ghari flew off the narrow bunk as they stepped inside and hugged Mandah with relief.
“You made it!” he cried, unnecessarily. “And you brought them!”
“A little unwillingly, perhaps,” Mandah said. “But they have agreed to help us. Captain, R’shiel, this is my younger brother Ghari, and this is Padric, Jam, Aldernon, Meron, and Hari.” The young men around the table studied him warily, all except Padric, who looked old enough to be the grandfather of the others. He seemed openly hostile. “And of course, this is Gazil and Aber, the captain’s brothers,” she said, indicating the two Fardohnyans who stood leaning against the bulkhead. “And you must be Brak,” she added to the man who stood next to the door, his faded blue eyes watching them guardedly. “Drendik wants you up top.”
The two sailors, both younger and more slender versions of the captain and the tall crewman, pushed past them into the passage.
“How do we know we can trust them?” Hari asked Mandah as soon as the sailors had left.
“I gave my word,” Tarja replied.
“Do you think the word of a Defender, especially one who has already betrayed his oath to his own kind, is supposed to reassure us?” Padric asked.
“I don’t particularly care what you think, old man. I said I would help you and I will, as much as I’m able. But don’t try converting us to your cause or assigning noble motives where there are none. Mandah helped us, and we will help her in return. That is all.”
“Spoken like the professional killer he is,” Jam scoffed. “Why do we need him?”
“Because,” R’shiel answered, her voice steely with determination, “properly organized, you could bring down Joyhinia Tenragan and the Sisters of the Blade.”
Silence descended on the shocked heathens at her words.
It was Ghari who recovered first. “We could even restore Medalon to the old ways.”
Tarja stared at R’shiel. He opened his mouth to object, to deny that he had promised to do anything of the kind. He could show them how to defend themselves. Teach them the laws that defined the Defender’s actions. Warn them of the tactics the Defenders would use against them. But he had not agreed to topple the Sisterhood. He certainly had not agreed to restore Medalon to heathen worship. The expression on R’shiel’s face was savage. She had nursed her anger all through winter, he knew, letting it smolder while she pretended she didn’t care. These pagans had offered her a chance to even the score, to hurt Joyhinia on an unprecedented scale. She grabbed it with both hands.
“It’s time the First Sister learned a little about suffering.”
The heathens glanced at each other, taken back by her ferocity. Tarja looked at her with concern. She had no care for the heathens or their cause. R’shiel just wanted to pay back twenty years of lies and manipulation. She wanted revenge.
chapter 19
After Mandah sent them up to help Drendik cast off, Brak went forward to untie the mooring ropes on the prow. This was not the first time Drendik had helped fugitive heathens since Brak had joined his crew. Between that and the smuggling the Fardohnyan indulged in, it was a miracle he had the time or the space for legitimate trade. Nevertheless, these last two who had come on board worried Brak. They were not the usual dispossessed pagans Drendik aided, frightened and grateful for any assistance. This pair was dangerous – the First Sister’s errant offspring with a price on their heads and the entire Defender Corps on their heels. Their mere presence was a threat to them all.
Brak was still hauling in the thick rope, worrying about the new passengers, when the River Goddess suddenly appeared, draped over a bale of Bordertown wool. Her expression, Brak supposed, was meant to be seductive and alluring. Unfortunately, on Maera, it tended to have the opposite effect.
One of the drawbacks of being a god, Brak privately thought, even a Primal God, was that one was inevitably forced to assume the characteristics that one’s worshippers attributed to you. Only the very powerful gods, like Kalianah, the Goddess of Love, Zegarnald, the God of War, Dacendaran, the God of Thieves, or the Sea God, Kaelarn, were strong enough to assume any form they chose. Most were doomed to appear in the aspect their believers wanted to see, and Maera was no exception. Consequently, the Goddess of the Glass River was half- woman, half-fish, but not in the elegant manner of a mermaid. Rather, she sprouted a spiny dorsal fin down her back, small unblinking silver eyes, webbed hands and feet, and gills that made her appear to have numerous chins. She smiled her version of a smile at him, rather pleased that she had caught him off guard.
