Northern Storm ac-2

  Northern Storm

  ( Aldabreshin Compass - 2 )

  Juliet E. Mckenna

  The Aldabreshin Archipelago has been ravaged by war, its fragile alliances sundered by new enemies, enemies wielding forbidden elemental magic and spreading terror throughout the scattered southern realm. Warlord Daish Kheda has vowed to reclaim his people's land but in the process loses his own kingdom, is exiled from his family and is forced to journey north to seek answers. The wizard Dev has pledged to assist Daish, hungry to discover the secrets of this powerful dark magic. This causes turmoil among Dev's northern countrymen, leading to a political battle where strength in magic is key to the highest rank of all.

  Northern Storm

  (The second book in the Aldabreshin Compass series)

  Juliet E McKenna

  For Ernie and Betty,

  for all they do to ease my working life

  and all they do to enrich our sons’ lives.

  Chapter One

  What does this sunrise bring, beyond another day of trying to read all the faces turned to me? What omens might there be as to whether or not I’ll meet whatever challenges are set before me before sunset? Will I fail? Who will I fail—myself or these people who never foresaw that I would become their ruler? Idly rubbing a hand over his close-trimmed beard, he glanced from side to side to see if any portent offered itself in any arc of the compass, firstly in the pale skies of the early morning, the clouds iridescent as mother-of-pearl. Dropping his gaze, he studied the indigo waters broken by ruffles of foam and mysterious swirls of lighter blue. The waters rose and fell as gently as a sleeping child’s chest. No sign of any sea serpent lurking in the channels between coral and sand. No whale rising unexpectedly from the distant deeps further out. No detritus floating in our path as portent of good or ill. There are no omens that I can see. The future is as bare of signs to guide me as the empty ocean.

  A dutiful voice interrupted his fruitless survey.

  ‘We’re nearly there, my lord Chazen Kheda,’ the helmsman announced, sitting alert on his stool on the raised platform at the stern of the little galley. One brown hand rested on the steering oar, his dark eyes fixed on the man standing in the prow. The ship’s master kept an alert watch for reefs and skenies beneath the waves, his dun cotton tunic and trousers flattened against his muscular body by the breeze. In the belly of the ship, the rowers bent and hauled and sent the Yellow Serpent speeding through the water, three men to a bench, each with his own long oar lashed to its thole-pin. With the crew of the warlord’s vessel drawn from the most practised oarsmen, they barely needed the regular drone of the piper’s flute amidships to keep their strokes even, making light of pulling the long, lithe vessel against the wind.

  ‘We’re in good time, as always.’ Kheda eased his shoulders beneath the weight of his chain-mail hauberk and adjusted the silk scarf around his neck before raising his voice so that the rowers on the open deck below could hear him. ‘The Yellow Serpent has served me well throughout this voyage.’ As I have served this domain, I hope. But this voyage is all but over and I will have a whole new set of challenges to meet when I return to what I suppose I must call my home now.

  ‘Seen any omens for our day?’ A man whose bald head barely topped Kheda’s shoulder held out a round brass and steel helmet with a chain-mail veil hanging down to protect the wearer’s neck and shoulders. Diamonds around the gold brow band spat defiant fire back at the strengthening sun.

  ‘I won’t want that till we land.’ Kheda relished the breeze brushing his short-cropped, tightly curled hair as he kept his eyes on the rapidly approaching drifts of foam that ringed the few scraps of sandy land in the midst of the reefs and sandbanks. Sparkling beaches circled dense clumps of midar shrub pierced here and there with stands of nut palms. The trees waved exuberant fronds of lush new growth, still drawing on the water hoarded by the earth since the drenching of last year’s rains.

  ‘The final outposts of your domain, my lord Chazen Kheda, before the countless islands of the

  Aldabreshin Archipelago yield to the boundless southern ocean.’ The shorter man’s tone was faintly mocking.

  Not so boundless, Dev.’ Kheda shot a glare at him. We know all too well there must be land beyond the horizon to spawn our enemies.’

  Dev affected not to see Kheda’s irritation as he adjusted the broad brass-studded belt around his sturdy waist, armour jingling softly as he shifted his bare feet on the smooth planking. His hauberk was plain, wholly made from polished steel rings, in contrast to Kheda’s which boasted a diamond pattern of brazen links and engraved metal plates inset to protect his vitals from piercing arrows or murderous sword-thrusts. The fine leather of the warlord’s belt was invisible beneath golden plaques embossed with intricate sprays of canthira leaves.

  ‘Have there been omens of battle ahead, my lord?’ the helmsman asked with alarm. Do you think some new wave of invaders will come to support those still trapped in the western isles?’

  Kheda smiled easily to calm the mariner’s fears. ‘There’s been no such sign.’

  Fool. Watch what you say. These men of Chazen haven’t known and trusted you since your birth or theirs. You cannot rely on them to read your words aright, or keep them to themselves as those of Daish would have done.

  ‘We will throw the last sorry remnants of those savages into the sea soon enough. Let the currents carry their bloated corpses back to wash up and warn their kin against quitting their own shores again.’ As he continued in the same confident tone, Kheda waved one hand airily and the uncut emerald on the heavy silver ring he wore glowed vividly in the brilliant light.

  ‘We’ll be getting back to clearing out the last of the invaders, will we, as soon as we’ve completed this interminable tour of every last rock and reef?’ Dev demanded abruptly.

  Kheda glanced at him, face stern. ‘Dev, as a barbarian,

  I’ll allow you more leeway than I would any true-born Archipelagan, but use that tone to me again and I will have you flogged. Better yet, I will do it myself.’

  Do you remember what I told you? That one of my father Daish Reik’s precepts of leadership was never make a threat you’re not prepared to carry out? You can be sure that’s no idle warning, barbarian.

  He looked into Dev’s dark eyes but couldn’t read anything there. No matter. The barbarian looked away first.

  ‘My lord, if you please, where’s the Mist DoveV The helmsman was still gazing resolutely over the heads of the rowers on their serried benches towards the Yellow Serpent’s burly shipmaster on the prow platform. A flurry of foam blew up over the prow as the knife edge of the brass-sheathed ram sliced through the waves.

  ‘Staying well clear.’ Kheda looked back astern to see the heavy trireme that had accompanied them slowing in the more open waters, oars idling. The weapons and armour of the fighting men aboard glinted in the sun.

  And if by some mischance I have failed to note any portent of some new assault by the savages, we have steel and hatred to use against them. But let’s not tempt the future with such thoughts. There’s been no sign of any new invasion. You had better turn your attention to what awaits you here, and whatever portents for your rule of this domain that’ll be set out for all to see.

  Shallow enough to negotiate the encircling corals, the light galley headed towards the largest of the scatter of low islands. The ragged fronds of the tallest trees were stirring in the rising breeze and the channels between the islands were thronged with little boats.

  ‘So where exactly are the pearl beds?’ Dev studied the shipmasters raising their sails, the divers busy on deck checking the weighted ropes that would take them down to the sea bed and the lifelines that should ensure they would survive to enjoy the fru
its of their labours. Lookouts on each boat sharpened broad-bladed shark spears and viciously barbed gaff hooks.

  ‘They shift from year to year.’ Kheda watched the youths and young girls trading their sweat and muscle for the right to learn the skills of diver and sailor. Some were wading out to the skiffs carrying food and water on their hearts; others were stowing the stacks of baskets waiting to bring the year’s greatest bounty up from the deep.

  And sometimes the pearl oysters vanish altogether. What manner of omen would that be?

  The tremor that ran through Kheda had nothing to do with the surge beneath his feet as the Yellow Serpent’s rowers bent over their oars. Pearl skiffs scattered as the galley headed towards a wide beach where a veritable village had been thrown up. Huts built from woven panels of palm fronds were roughly thatched with bundles of coarse grass tied with tangling vines. The greenery was barely faded but Kheda knew it wouldn’t be long before the punishing sun parched roofs and walls to a yellowy brown. Then the pearl harvest will be over and the huts will be left to the sand lizards and the sooty shrews hunting sickle snakes and scorpions. The pearl gulls and coral fishers will plunder the roofs for their own nests and prey on unwary shrews to feed their young. The dry season will bleach these huts to frail straw and the rainy season’s storms will rip them apart. There’ll be barely a sign that there was anything here when the last full moons of the year ahead of us will summon the divers to search the reefs for the shifting pearl beds.

  I wonder if I will be here to see next year’s harvest.

  The wind shifted, bringing a startling stench. ‘Saedrin save me!’ Dev barely reached the stern before he lost his breakfast noisily over the rail.

  Kheda exchanged a rueful grin with the helmsman, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. ‘You always tell yourself it can’t be as bad as you remember.’ And perhaps that’s a sign: to concentrate on the here and now rather than indulging in idle speculations about future paths.

  ‘Then you realise it’s worse.’ The helmsman’s weather-beaten brown face grimaced as he hauled on the steering oar in response to a signal from the shipmaster.

  The rowers pulled on their oars with a will, even those gagging on their own nausea. The Yellow Serpent accelerated past the bare sandy reef that was the source of the stink. Masked with swathes of cotton cloth, one of the few men ashore waved. Another was more concerned with throwing an old dry shell at a gull darting down from the cloud of birds wheeling above, squawking their outrage as mats of woven palm fronds frustrated their efforts to plunder the vast tubs the men were guarding. Emerald finches and dusky gnatcatchers swooped unopposed, gorging on the red-eyed flies that hung around the tubs in smoky swarms.

  As the Yellow Serpent passed the reeking islet and the breeze brought clean, salt-scented air, Kheda dipped a cup of water from a lidded barrel lashed to the light galley’s rearmost signal mast. He passed it to Dev, who was still leaning over the stern, pale beneath his coppery tan.

  ‘You people can’t just open your oysters with a sharp knife and dig out the pearls?’ Dev swilled water around his mouth and spat sourly over the rail.

  Not when we want every pearl, right down to the seed and dust pearls.’ Kheda watched the water turning from mysterious green to crystal clarity over the brilliant sands as the shipmaster skilfully guided the vessel into the shallows. ‘The only way to get those is to let maggots strip the oysters clean.’

  ‘We’re sailing west again after this?’ the barbarian growled beneath his breath.

  No, back to the residence. I told you.’ Kheda shot the scowling Dev a warning look, his voice low and rapid. ‘After all they’ve suffered in the last year, these people need the reassurance of correct observance of every ritual. As warlord, I have to be there when the new-year stars come into alignment. It’s my duty to read the skies for the domain and give judgement on any other portent.’

  ‘What portents do you think they will bring you? Lizards caught in bizarre places?’ Dev mocked. ‘Or patterns imagined in a pot of beans?’

  ‘Just keep your mouth shut on your ignorance.’ Kheda didn’t hide his contempt.

  ‘Some new year it’ll be, without so much as a sniff of liquor,’ Dev muttered, sipping at his water with distaste. ‘What then?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Kheda smiled thinly. ‘In the omens of the heavenly and the earthly compasses.’

  He left Dev and went to stand beside the helmsman’s chair. The rowers had slowed, listening for the shipmaster’s shouts of command and the piper’s signals. Some glanced up at the stern platform with discreet curiosity. Kheda kept his face impassive as he made a covert survey of the crew’s bearded faces.

  They’re as curious as everyone else to see what kind of pearl harvest will mark the turn of my first year as unexpected lord of this Chazen domain. And I can see a measure of private anticipation, naturally, in their hopes that serving the warlord in person will win them some share in the bounty.

  What can they see in you? Very little, hopefully. ‘Show no more emotion than a statue of the finest marble’ that’s what your father used to say. Because people looking at a statue see in it what they want to see more often than not.

  to see my rule sanctioned by the best possible omens?

  ‘I’ve brought swords and archers to keep your harvest safe,’ Kheda called out to the pearl skiffs. ‘Carry water to my ships to refill their barrels, if you please.’

  Leaving behind a robust chorus of earnest assurances, the rowing boat soon reached the shallows. The boatman shipped his oars and jumped lithely over the side, grabbing for the bow rope to begin hauling the boat up on to the drier sand.

  ‘This will do.’ Kheda raised a hand, inclining his head courteously to the boatman as he got out. ‘Make yourself known to my slave before we leave.’ The cool ruffles of surf around his shins were refreshing after the sun-baked wood of the galley’s deck beneath his bare feet. ‘Remember that boatman and give him a few pearls,’ he said quietly to Dev as they walked up the beach.

  Naturally, my lord,’ murmured Dev with a touch of sarcasm. ‘A memory for faces is essential in my proper trade.’

  Kheda’s spine stiffened despite himself. Before he could find a reprimand for the barbarian„ a handful of men advanced down the beach towards them, leaving more waiting in a respectful half-circle where the white coral sands gave way to dusty soil and sparse coils of parched, grey midar stems. Dev had been walking a pace behind Kheda on his open side, one hand resting lightly on the twin hilts thrust through his double-looped sword belt. As the islanders approached, the barbarian moved swiftly to stand between the warlord and these newcomers, stony faced, until Kheda gave him the nod to stand aside, his smile one of nicely calculated superiority.

  You can feign this much of a true body slave’s duties at least.

  The leader of the delegation bowed low. The bold yellow cloth of his simply cut cotton tunic and trousers was rich with embroidery mimicking turtleshell. He had a darker complexion than his companions and the more tightly curled hair of a hill-dweller, showing that blood from some larger domain had mingled with his more local ancestry. ‘My lord Chazen Kheda.’

  ‘Borha.’ Kheda smiled widely to conceal how much that new title still grated on his ears. Get used to it, fool. You’re not Daish Kheda, nor ever will be again.

  ‘I see you’ve brought plenty of strong arms to reap the pearl harvest,’ Kheda continued smoothly.

  ‘We left plenty of men to continue our rebuilding.’ The man beamed with pleasure at being recognised but fingered a white crab-shell talisman on a cord around his neck, betraying an unconscious anxiety. ‘I know—we’ve just come from Salgaru. Your village is certainly prospering, and all the others besides.’ Kheda widened his smile and looked beyond Borha to include all the waiting men in his approval. One of the others spoke up. ‘Will you take some refreshment while we wait for our fishermen to return, my lord?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kheda walked on up the beach and the islanders moved
to either side, giving Dev a respectful distance. A few had darker skin and curly hair like Borha. More had the rich brown complexion and straighter hair prevalent in these southerly reaches. All wore crisp new cottons in reds, blues and yellows decorated with skilful embroidery. Some bore vivid butterflies across their shoulders or patterns echoing any one of the myriad bright birds that graced the bigger islands. Other decorations recalled the intricate traceries of thorn coral or the spirals of seashells. A couple wore bracelets of twisted silver wire and one boasted a chain of gold lozenge links around his neck. Most wore more simple talismans—a plaited wristband of the silky fibres from a tandra seed pod or a string of polished ironwood beams. All the men wore daggers at their hips, but Kheda and Dev were the only ones with swords.

  They’re all so careful to match my pace exactly, with the same diffidence I’ve seen throughout this voyage around the domain. They bow and simper and answer all my questions, barely asking any of their own.

  This is obviously how they treated Chazen Saril. But Saril’s dead and gone. These people must learn how different a ruler I am.

  Kheda headed for a temporary pavilion set up among the palm huts. Polished berale wood supported azure cotton embroidered with fan-shaped midar leaves shading a bank of plump indigo cushions. Hopeful maidens in simple silk dresses of yellow and white that flattered the warm bronze of their bare arms and faces stood holding beaten brass plates laden with dainties. Idling uncon-vincingly among the crude huts, men and women clad in sober unbleached cotton eyed the spectacle.

  ‘Please, join me.’ Kheda swept a hand around to include all the spokesmen in his invitation.

  Dev was already moving to take a tray of goblets from a girl who had found time to weave crimson striol-vine flowers into her glossy black curls. He surprised her into a giggle with a mischievous wink before offering the salver deftly to Kheda, eyes dutifully downcast.