The Coldest Sea Page 17

  Roaring, the bear braked its rush. Vinsen had a moment to realize how useless the knife was against a creature that stood twice the height of a man. Then it pivoted, turning on him.

  Sheill snapped at its other side. The bear spun and reared up. One huge paw, tipped with spikes longer than his fingers, lashed out and the dog fell back. A rock struck the bear’s shoulder. Vinsen never knew who had thrown it, only that it came from behind the great column of stone, and all it did was make the enraged bear aware of other enemies.

  The bear dropped to all fours and loped at the shapes huddled behind the column.

  Vinsen froze. Whoever was holding the other lantern scattered with the rest of them, shadows reeling across the walls. Sheill backed away, barking, but the bear paid her no attention.

  Holy Unity, how am I supposed to kill that? All he had besides his knife was a grappling-iron, equally useless against a beast of that size. As the men bolted in all directions, he looked around desperately and glanced up. Nothing but icicles glimmered down at him.

  But he knew what to do. Only one chance.

  “Jak!” He shoved his knife back into its sheath. “Your net!”

  Jak hurled it with such force that it unfolded as it flew through the air and nearly ensnared Vinsen as it came down. He snatched it just in time, held it out ready in both hands and bolted forward. The long ropes at the corners of the net dragged on either side of him.

  The bear started to turn. Vinsen flung the net with all his strength, and a huge paw raked out at him. If not for the net, it might have torn his arm open to the bone; as it was, the blow knocked him sprawling. Pain overtook shock, and he clenched his teeth, rolling over as he gripped his useless left arm. Blood welled hot between his fingers.

  “Tie it!” he shouted over the dog’s barks, and two of the men leaped for the ropes. The others kept the bear distracted with a steady barrage of rocks. The bear’s roar nearly deafened him. Ice rained down from the roof, splintering where it struck the ground. Vinsen staggered up and someone was at his side, supporting him.

  It was Maggie, and relief gave him the strength he needed. Holding on to her, he turned, just as Micull knotted the ropes around the huge stone column.

  The bear struggled and flailed, trying to claw the ropes away. Three legs protruded through the meshes of the net, which were sunk tight in fur-swathed muscle, and as the fourth paw came down, it lunged at Micull. The net didn’t permit it much flexibility, but as he turned to run, he slipped and went down. The bear was on him at once.

  “Get away!” Vinsen shouted. “Into the tunnel!”

  The bear’s jaws closed around Micull’s head, and when it shook its muzzle hard, ripples raced beneath its thick fur all the way to its shoulders. Letting Micull’s body drop, it turned towards the sound of Vinsen’s voice. Everyone except Maggie and the dog had obeyed him and was in the tunnel. Now.

  He caught up a stone, planted his legs and flung it. His aim was good, and the rock struck the side of the bear’s mouth, mashing lips to teeth. Roaring wildly, the bear lunged at him.

  Ropes snapped taut. In the near-darkness, he couldn’t see the stone column cracking, but he heard it.

  “Sheill!” he called out, and the dog darted past him so fast she nearly tripped him up. The bear charged again, throwing its weight against the restraining ropes, and that time the splitting sound echoed from all around the cavern. Vinsen pushed Maggie towards the tunnel and hurried after her, but stopped in his tracks.

  “The stretcher—” He turned, though nothing was visible.

  “It’s too late!” Maggie grabbed his injured arm, and the agony made him sway on his feet. That was enough for her to drag him into the tunnel, moments before the cavern’s roof crashed down behind them.

  Once the dust had cleared and the cavern was silent, Vinsen sent two of the men back inside and they both returned quickly to let him know it was safe. Brander bandaged his arm, though despite the pain, Vinsen couldn’t risk taking laudanum. Sheill’s torn shoulder was wrapped as well, and he gave her the last bit of cheese before he led the way back into the cavern.

  He saw the stars first, hanging far higher above them than the icicles had been, spread out on the night sky. Though when he lowered his gaze to what had become a great cairn, he remembered Dannel beneath it. That the man wasn’t likely to have known what was happening was little consolation.

  One huge paw emerged from the pile of broken rock and ice that glittered in the light of the single lantern, but when he drew his knife with his good hand and jabbed the paw, there was no response. Thank the Unity. He sheathed the knife and, despite the cold now pouring in from above, had to wipe his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve.

  Half of the crumbled stalagmite jutted up from the rubble, and he told his two scouts they could use it to reach the surface. “We’re going to rest,” he said when he saw the looks on the men’s faces—though to their credit, no one disagreed with the order. “But first, we’ll make certain there are no Bleakhaveners on the surface nearby.”

  The sooner that was done, the sooner they could sleep, so the scouts climbed up, though Vinsen kept everyone away from the broken edges of the roof to be certain the scouts’ own weight wouldn’t bring any more of it down. Snow sifted into the hollow. With the immediate threat gone, the sweat on his body felt chilled, and he would have done anything for a fire, a steaming bath and a meal straight from the oven.

  A good night’s rest would be enough, he told himself when the men lowered themselves back down from ropes and told him nothing was in sight except more snow and humped hills of ice. That was still better than any number of Bleakhaveners, and once it was daylight, they could all climb back out.

  “Well done,” he said. The rest of them had blocked the mouth of the tunnel up with broken rock, so it would be safe—relatively speaking—for them to sleep in the cavern. Reluctantly, he agreed to Jak’s request that they light a fire, but ordered them to make it a small one, which wouldn’t give off any more smoke than the wind could scatter.

  One or two of the men had coal in their packs, and while that was igniting he carried out the funeral services for Dannel and Micull. Unity, don’t let me lose any more of them, he thought as he said the words, but the Unity seemed far away at this point.

  The mood of his remaining crew seemed to match his own, and they sat around the fire in silence as Briam hung a brass pot of snow over the tiny blaze. Vinsen had an apple he’d been saving, but he didn’t feel hungry, so he gave Maggie half of it and put the rest in a pocket. Then he set up a schedule of watches while the men untied bedrolls and shook out blankets around the fire.

  They put the lantern out, to save oil, and the only light in the cavern was the red smolder of the coals. Vinsen lay down with his pack as a pillow and Maggie curled up on his right side, where he could put his good arm around her. She kept her battered flute case close on her other side, he noticed, before she tossed her fur cloak over their bodies and pulled his blanket up around them both.

  For the first time that night, he relaxed. He might even have slept if she hadn’t snuggled closer, shifting as though trying to hollow out a place in the bedroll for her body, which brought her rubbing up against him. She slid her arm around his waist, and seemed ready to throw her leg over both of his as well.

  “Stop wiggling,” he whispered.

  “I’m trying to get warm. Can I put my hand under your shirt?”

  “If it’ll make you settle down, all r—Unity. A starfish just crawled up here and froze to death.”

  She smiled and stopped those distracting little movements. Good though it felt to lie there holding her, he would have done anything to put her back on land.

  “Do you regret coming with me?” he said quietly.

  “No.” Spreading her fingers in a way that raised the hair on his skin—and not from chill—she tucked her chin against his shoulder. T
he faint scent of apples was on her breath.

  “I can’t promise you anything better than what they got. Dannel and Micull and—”

  “I didn’t ask you to. Not much of this has been your choice either.” She sighed. “And I don’t mind it so much here, compared to those tunnels. I hated those dark enclosed spaces.”

  The stars snuffed out. In his memory, Vinsen sat with his back to the wall, smelling earth and stored carrots around him, but the darkness was so infinite he might have been buried alive. It was very quiet, and he tried to breathe silently too. Although he didn’t mind spiders—they couldn’t do anything to hurt him—rats were different. He wanted to hear them if they were anywhere near.

  It had been a long time since he’d thought of the root cellar, and he clenched the fingers of his left hand. His lacerated arm throbbed in response, and vivid though the vision was, it fell apart under the pain. Thankfully, Maggie hadn’t stirred or spoken, so she had no idea what she’d inadvertently reminded him of. He was safe—well, back in the cavern, but that felt safer.

  Letting his fingers open, he rested his cheek on her soft curls. That felt good, almost as good as knowing she’d come so far to be with him. No, he corrected himself, to help his crew in their mission, but he couldn’t help feeling—well, less alone. He’d cared about Sabryna and they had been happy enough during his infrequent shore leaves as he worked his way up through the ranks, but she wouldn’t have come on any voyage with him. She got seasick on a river crossing. He wondered what she would have made of the cabins on Fallstar.

  That made him think of the man Maggie had meant to marry. Vinsen didn’t know the bastard’s name, but the face was almost as distinct in his mind’s eye as the root cellar had been. Good-looking in a sleek, well-cared-for way, like a pedigree cat. Charming and personable, because the Unity was like the finest of wines, so it had to be likewise poured from the finest of vessels. And if not actually rich, then at least well-off. A shame he isn’t here instead of Maggie. He wouldn’t last five minutes.

  “Would you still marry him?” he said. “If he came to you in Lyrance?”

  He could have kicked himself when her body tensed, but it was too late; he’d been so preoccupied that he’d spoken without thinking. Maggie raised her head and Vinsen braced himself as he met her gaze.

  “Is that any of your concern?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but there wasn’t much she could say in response; the last thing she’d want to talk about was what he felt for her. Against his chest, her fingers drew together into a fist before she gave him one last glare and lay back down.

  “If he regretted what he’d done,” she said evenly, “then yes. I would. I believe in forgiving mistakes, if the people who made them are genuinely sorry.”

  There are some mistakes decent men don’t make in the first place, Vinsen thought but knew better than to say. Maggie hesitated, then went on as her hand flattened out.

  “And he can give me a good life,” she said.

  She hadn’t said she loved him. Vinsen might have taken some hope from that, but what she had said made him feel as though all the broken stone in the cavern was piled over him, immovable and heavy as a world.

  “Because he’s going to be a Voice of the Unity,” he said.

  “Yes.” She paused. “Vinsen, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Is it that important to you, to live in Skybeyond?”

  She turned her head enough to prop her chin in the hollow of his shoulder, resting her face there while she watched him. “Vinsen, I’m a musician. That’s what I want to do with my life. I don’t need Skybeyond, but if I have to choose between that and a hovel—I mean, a home with floors to be scrubbed and meals to be cooked before I can practice… Well, which would you prefer?”

  A hovel. She’d caught herself and backtracked, but he’d heard her only too well. Was that what she thought of his ship? Vinsen recognized the surge of fierce protectiveness, because he’d felt the same for Mistral once. A fine time to grow closer to Fallstar, now that his last voyage was over and he wasn’t likely to see the ship again, but the involuntary response didn’t obscure the truth. A hovel. Yes, compared to what Maggie was used to. She wasn’t some dockside girl plying her wares; she was a well-to-do woman from a respected family, all but groomed for Skybeyond herself.

  He closed his eyes, but he could still see her. Wearing a gown of rich deep silk, she sat in a great hall, and sunlight from the wide windows gleamed off the harp she played. What could he offer her instead of that? A future setting rat traps on Fallstar?

  Of course she’d marry a man who could and would give her something better.

  “Of course I’d choose Skybeyond.” It took an effort, but he spoke as if deciding whether he wanted honey or dripping on his bread. “You’re quite right.”

  Her gaze searched his face, but even if the waning embers allowed her to see anything that would betray him, she didn’t reply, and he was bitterly grateful she was too kind to question him further. Too kind or too well bred. She was suited to Skybeyond, stylish and poised; it was as obvious as the lace-edged place settings on the covered crate.

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll leave by dawn.”

  She obeyed, nestling her head against his shoulder. The light from the coals died down, but under the fur and blanket, he was warm.

  On the surface, at least. Below that, he didn’t know.

  Or care.

  Greoc Rund knelt on the highest level of the stepped pedestal and thought, as he often did those days, of ordering a chair placed there. A throne. He could order his servants to build one or he could shape one out of whatever he chose; that would certainly be more comfortable than his current position. He was past fifty and his knees felt a good decade older.

  Except a throne, much as he would have appreciated one, would break with tradition. Even the Eldred knelt. In the presence of the Faith, they abased themselves to show they were as much the servants of the people as the people were the tools of the Faith. If he ordered a throne taken up the seven steps to the bare marble surface, it would look either arrogant or as though he had embraced otherland customs or both.

  Not for much longer. Thick furs helped to cushion him when he took his place to govern his people or to gather their Faith, but once they had a ship, he need no longer place himself in a position that was uncomfortable at best and degrading at worst.

  Ruay knelt on the second step as she made her report. Greoc listened, though she didn’t tell him anything he wasn’t aware of already. There was no urgency, since he’d trapped the Denalaits into the hollows the previous day, so he’d allowed her time to rest and recover before she came before him.

  Not that she needed it. Other than a bruise on her jaw, she didn’t seem to have been beaten, let alone tortured. And if the Denalaits had done either, he would have expected her to keep her mouth shut regardless.

  What displeased him was the matter of where she knelt. That was the step of warning, one below his guards who held the step of protection, but Ruay should have been doing a great deal more than just warning him of people who were likely dead by now anyway, no thanks to her.

  “Then the ground opened up and swallowed them.” Finishing her tale, she bowed her head. “By the Faith, I have returned to serve you.”

  “I believe you could have served me better on that ship.”

  Ruay raised her head. “Eldred?”

  Greoc stared down at her. “As a scout, you are unequaled, but until now, I have never known you to be content with simply doing what was required of you. I believed you would weaken the Denalait defenses from within, such that the ship would fall to Artek when he attacked it.”

  “I…could not.” Blaze darkening, she rose and backed away. Not even to the first step, the step of supplication, but to the sunken border around the pedestal, the space no one so m
uch as put a foot in, let alone occupied. That was the step of shame. She knelt there, as far from him as possible, clearly waiting for his decision.

  “Nevertheless, you have returned to us.” Greoc smiled, let her start to do the same, and went on. “Some were not so fortunate.”

  That jolted her, and her head went lower. “Eldred, I don’t ask your forgiveness.” Her voice shook only a little. “I will do whatever is necessary to earn it.”

  “Then you will go back to that ship and claim it in my name.”

  She looked up at that. “How many of us might I take?”

  “You won’t need more than a dozen. The crew will be dead by then.”

  “They had enough food, El… You sent the Faith against them?”

  If there had been any lower steps, Greoc would have had her thrown down them. Only the Eldred had the ability to gather the Faith, which meant they had the right to use the Faith against the enemies of Bleakhaven. He also drew on the Faith to protect the fortress and to keep everyone from freezing to death, so he’d made more use of it in months than the rest of the Eldred combined would have done for years in Bleakhaven.

  All that put him at great risk of exhausting the source of the Faith, but he was well aware of it. And from time to time, he thought of the apocryphal writings in the Eldred’s archives which hinted at what might be done as a last resort, under such desperate circumstances. Hopefully he would never have to make such a…a sacrifice, but the fact was that he knew exactly what he was doing. Ruay didn’t, and it wasn’t her place to judge his decisions anyway.

  “What choice did I have, when both you and Artek failed us?” he said. “Go and prepare for your final duty to—”

  The great doors which led to the entrance hall opened. The warden at the door made way for a scout, who ignored Ruay as he went past her. Lifting a foot over the sunken border of shame, he climbed to the second step and knelt there.