I wore the clothing of a fisherman, my hammer and bagiroca inside a cart hanging with fresh fish, watching the ships arrive with the open speculation of any man interested in supplying the emperor’s fleet. Around me other fighters pretended to go about the daily business of the city, wearing the guises of peasants, merchants, and other folk. Not far off, Sondra wore a fancy gown and a hat streaming colorful scarves as she openly flirted with her second, the man dressed in a dapper fashion he’d otherwise never be caught dead in.
The walls of Keiost reared above us apparently undamaged—we’d coated the newer stones with dust and grime to make them match the rest—the gates invitingly open. We’d found one of Salvio’s flags and it flapped merrily in the wind, proclaiming the imperial governor to be in residence. A sharp eye would notice the absence of children, the elderly, and the infirm. Every single person in sight sported the hale physique of our most experienced warriors, even with no weapons in sight. I doubted Anure’s officers thought much about the composition of a real population, however.
Regardless, I hadn’t been about to risk anyone who wasn’t a fighter in this charade. They all hid deep inside the walls, defended by a well-armed and armored force out of sight.
I wheeled my cart toward the dock, holding up a nice fish as I maneuvered for the perfect position, picturing these ship captains and their officers with the faces of the guards exiled to Vurgmun with us. Those had softened in their own way, but like root vegetables badly stored, with callused skins and rotten centers. They’d grown accustomed to having total power over us. In the time it took them to assimilate that the balance had shifted, that their cowed prisoners had slipped their chains and seized the weapons—well, that had taken them entirely too long.
The flagship captain wasn’t entirely stupid. Before they docked, they sent volleys from the catapults on deck, slinging small rocks—not vurgsten—to clear the pier itself, then immediately deploying armed soldiers who ran down the gangplank or rappelled down the steep sides of the warship to wade ashore. My fighters pretended to panic, crying out their shock and pain as they yielded ground. I tossed my fish on the ground in apparent fear, pulling my hammer and bagiroca from the cart as I ducked behind it. Crouching there, I picked up one of the stones they’d shot at us, tucking it into my bagiroca. What they threw at me, I’d use against them.
The coastal breeze carried their shouts to one another, echoing across the deserted waterfront. They should be confused as hell. By the tenor of the questions and orders called, they seemed to be. The emperor’s soldiers formed a line along the pier, saluting as the captain—easily identifiable by the number of shiny embellishments adorning his fancy uniform—disembarked and conferred. As I’d hoped, he headed in my direction.
The volley of rocks had halted all activity, naturally, and now the people gathered near, feigning curiosity, their readiness palpable in the air as they positioned their hidden weapons. The captain needed only be unobservant and overconfident a few moments longer …
“You there!” he called to me.
“Yassir.” I peered out from behind the swinging fish, keeping my hammer hidden from view—and keeping my face averted. Once he got a good look at me, he’d know me for no one from around this part of the realm.
“Is all well here?” he demanded.
“Sir?” Just a little closer.
“We heard of an attack at Keiost.” He frowned at the walls and the flag snapping in the wind.
That moment gave me the opening I needed. With a roar to signal the others, I swung my rock hammer at the man’s head, splitting it like a melon before he finished his gasp of shock. Alert and ready, my people drove for the soldiers on the dock, taking the nearest by surprise. Shouts aboard the ship rang out, bodies flying overboard to bloody the water. The work of more of my people, who’d quietly swum out and climbed aboard the far side.
Keeping an eye on the ship uselessly blockading the mouth of the harbor, I bashed a path through the soldiers who’d taken up guard stations. Sondra led a charge of ululating female warriors in lovely gowns up the gangplank, cutting down Anure’s men too ingrained in traditional thinking to strike a woman.
I signaled to the battalions inside the gates, and several hundred more fighters joined us. Before the day had grown hot, we’d subdued both ships. The other ship had been taken with even fewer losses of life, having surrendered quickly to our two largest vessels, pinning it between them from inside and outside the harbor.
By evening, all had been offered the choice, going to either execution or detainment to test their submission. I didn’t trust any to travel with us—transferred loyalty tends not to stick all that well in close proximity to Anure—and barely agreed for them to remain at our backs.
I wouldn’t have, except most of the sailors and many of the infantry soldiers turned out to be slaves. We freed them, of course, and time would tell what kind of lives they’d find for themselves.
Another day to scour and resupply the ships—and to load our stores of vurgsten—and we set sail, though not with quite as many fighters as I’d hoped. We’d lost some in the battle of the waterfront—not many, but I begrudged every one—but I more begrudged the battalion Kara talked me into leaving behind to guard the city and its new immigrants.
Running cities takes far more work than conquering them. At least governing Keiost would fall to someone else now. I stood at the wheel of the flagship, not being useful as I knew nothing about sailing, but savoring the brief sense of freedom. “Send the message to Queen Euthalia,” I told Kara. “Let her know that Anure’s loyal commanders found no sign of rebellion and will be docking at Calanthe to enjoy the delights of the Isle of Flowers for some rest and relaxation.”
If only taking Calanthe would go that smoothly.
The prickle of unease in my bones told me it certainly wouldn’t.
13
By the time the alert arrived that the Slave King had eluded the ships Anure sent to destroy him, I had long since passed the point where I might’ve been surprised by the news.
In the nightmare scenes of violence, in the foggy acceptance of the dreamthink, I’d been fully expecting his arrival every day. My dreams had tumbled dense with ocean waves and swimming wolves, their chains dredging the bottom, turning the clear water to muck. Even the dreamthink had been barely enough for me to calm the sea again, to put all the blossoms back in their places.
In the bright light of day and verifiable reality, I hoped I was wrong, that the cursed rebel would never reach Calanthe. It turned out my heart hadn’t gone as cold and hard as I’d thought, because it tore me apart internally to be in the position of hoping Anure’s forces would win. But as much as I hated Anure and would love to see him brought down, I loved Calanthe more.
My father had said it long ago, and had been proved right countless times over: No one had the power to defeat Anure.
Tertulyn was painting my lips on a bright and beautiful morning when a servant girl delivered the message. Knowing immediately what news the missive brought, I held out a hand in wordless command. Calla, after a bare pause, handed it to me. I scanned it. They—quickly discerning my mood—hastily escorted away that morning’s Glory. Cursing inside my head, I read it again. How stupid did this Slave King think I was?