he continually reveal everything he did to her, despite his professed lack of trust, and yet withhold what seemed to be a small detail.
She narrowed her eyes again. There was something going on here. Samir had plans, for sure. He’d said as much to her; and they appeared to involve his designs on rule in Lassos, which she could heartily understand. But he was using her somehow and it infuriated her that she could see that and could feel it happening, but had no idea how it was happening.
Well she’d been thinking too and it was time for the lady Asima, former consort of the King of Pelasia, to begin working her way back to power. For some time since being taken from Ghassan’s ship, she had pondered on her best course of action once she returned to the mainland. When the Wind of God had disappeared beneath the waves, it had taken most of her belongings with it. She had saved the most important and the most valuable items about her person, yet with diminished funds it would be all the more difficult to set herself up as an eligible widow, beautiful and young, to trap a high lord of the Pelasian court.
But now funds would be largely irrelevant. Samir had used her as part of some plan she could not fathom, and a plan that was clearly still in progress, but it would never come to fruition.
Asima smiled inwardly as the true value of her situation dawned on her.
Lords and officials, both Imperial and Pelasian, would practically deify her if she could deliver them Samir into captivity. Moreover she had seen Lassos; knew its occupants, its layout and military strength, and even the secret method of navigation through the reefs. When she reached M’Dahz with Samir and that knowledge, she would find herself in probably the strongest bargaining position of her life.
She realised that she was smiling openly as she noticed Samir watching her with interest.
“Something funny Asima?”
She laughed lightly.
“Care to share with me how you chased those ships off?” she asked with a cheeky grin.
“I think I’ll hold on to that for a while. Never know when I might need a little trick or two of my own.”
“Then yes, there is something funny, but I alone shall laugh at it.”
Samir shrugged.
“As you wish. For now, however, I think you ought to go below and catch up on a bit more sleep. The moon’s almost down and dawn won’t be far off. I’ll want you fully alert and ready to lend a hand when daylight strikes.”
Asima shook her head.
“I haul ropes for no one, Samir.”
“Ha. I realise that. In the morning, the Empress will be barely recognisable and we’ll have Imperial clothing, colours and name. You will be a wealthy passenger on her way to M’Dahz; it’s basically true anyway, but I need you to play the noblewoman. Some of the people we will be dealing with in the ports on the way are more inclined to give us favourable deals if they think it will curry favour with a courtier of note.”
Asima nodded thoughtfully.
“Then I shall need to be attired and addressed appropriately, of course.”
“Of course. So get some rest. For the next couple of weeks, you are a rich passenger on board the Spirit of Redemption.”
In which Ghassan goes home
It had been a strange journey, Ghassan sighed, as he stepped down from the Pelasian daram; strange but quick. From their initial beaching near Eagle Rock, they had found the local Pelasian fishermen to be extremely helpful and accommodating. The first three days had seen the sailors escorted by one fisherman or another between islands, the locals going out of their way to help and delivering the refugees to their destination before going about their ordinary daily business.
Then, on the fourth day, they had all been surprised to see the next settlement in the chain that led them home. Arhab was somewhat different from the other fishing towns and villages they had seen. This was a new settlement, only a few years old and purpose-built as a shipyard for the navy of the local Satrap, whom they learned was a man named Khalad, and who shared the dual distinctions of being the controller of the most land at the Pelasian court, ruling a sizeable portion of the coast as well as the entire archipelago, while also holding the exalted position of commander of the Royal fleet at Akkad.
In the spirit of cooperation between the two governments, the Pelasian admiral in command of the Arhab shipyard immediately had one of their newest daram put at the disposal of Ghassan and his men, to ferry them wherever they wished to go.
While the repeated aid of helpful fishermen had brought them a surprising distance in only three days, the powerful military daram of the Pelasian navy was capable of astounding speed. Ghassan had almost forgotten the awful situation into which they were heading as he spent the next two days strolling around the ship and investigating it; comparing it to his own lost vessel. If anything, this new Pelasian warship would be faster than his had been, though less effective in direct battle. He was suitably impressed by both ship and crew and had found that he was beginning to enjoy himself a little for a time.
Then, however, real life had impressed itself on him once more this morning when he had been called up on deck by the captain, to see the smudge that was M’Dahz on the horizon.
He had gathered his men on deck and given them his instructions. While the crew settled in to wait in one of the military bunkhouses of the docks, he would report to the local governor. They had finally docked mid-morning and, with no small amount of trepidation, Ghassan had descended the gang plank.
M’Dahz hadn’t seemed to change much. It had done, when he had been growing up, though. What he’d remembered from his childhood as a happy, noisy, busy place had become quiet, depressed and almost dead in the years of the rule of Ma’ahd. He’d been sure M’Dahz had changed fully, never to recover.
Yet in the short time the town had been once more controlled by the factors of the Empire, the failing settlement had experienced a rebirth. Clearly hope had never died and, with the removal of the oppressive ruler, M’Dahz had begun to flower once more. People who had fled to Calphoris and lived had returned, as had traders from the desert and overseas. The port bustled and was filled with voices in a dozen accents. Bright carpets and hangings were in evidence in the streets once more and many of the buildings had been given a fresh coat of white.
And yet all this positive attitude that seemed to flood out of the very stone of M’Dahz could do little to lighten Ghassan’s mood. Taking a deep breath, he turned and cast one long look at his crew, some of whom had been veteran sailors on board the Wind of God when he had come aboard as a boy. He couldn’t fight off the impression that he had failed them all.
With a sigh, he strode through the organised chaos of the dock, between coiled ropes, lobster pots, crates and junk, toward the main street that climbed the hill to the top of the town. Even with his uniform dirty and torn and showing signs of the awful events it had witnessed, the people of M’Dahz parted as he passed, many nodding their respect to him, an act that merely heightened his unhappiness.
He passed through the main square where they had burned Pelasian flags so long ago, crossing diagonally and continuing up the slope as it steepened. The searing sun was hidden in these streets by the age old means of stringing blankets and rugs across between the upper storeys.
His heart sank like an anchor in the sea of his soul as he reached the end of the long street and strode out at a military march into the plaza before the governor’s compound. Despite their childhood vow to climb the roofs of these buildings, Ghassan had never stepped foot inside the compound yet, the closest being when he had collected Asima a week or more ago. Even then, he’d only spent an hour or two in the town.
The thought of his childhood friend… love?… Darkened his mood further if that were at all possible. Grinding his teeth, he approached the gate. Two white-uniformed guards stepped forward, their spears and shields reflecting the brilliant sunlight and creating random spots of dazzling white that danced around the shadows as they moved.
“Captain Ghassan of the Wind of God to see the governor.”
“You have an appointment?” asked one of the soldiers, his northern accent thick.
