Marinus rose and left without another word. Seto sat back on the cot, resting his head in his hands a moment. Sons of mongrels, they would not take everything. He would find a way to thwart them. He would find help – he would take one of them, possess one of the Tonitora and stride forth from the palace. Locate Flir and Luik.

  Smash the Ecsoli to pieces.

  He lifted Chelona from the floor beside the bed, a rueful smile as he stared into her eyes. “A foolish little fancy, no?”

  You need more allies, little Oseto.

  He nearly dropped the Greatmask. “True, My Lady. Would that I had them.”

  There is a way to buy one amongst the Ecsoli.

  “Truly?”

  Corvus. The squabbling over fair division of the spoils of war escalates, yet he does not know that the Silver Wave and the Boar conspire to sack his ship when he leaves.

  “Those that stay do not want him to take his stolen bones home.”

  Indeed. Fool the Boar, he should not have Read you while thinking upon his plans. Go to Corvus and strike a bargain – your freedom for your knowledge.

  “A grand notion. I would take one of the Tonitora?”

  You are not practised enough to ‘borrow’ any who possess a mask.

  “Then one of my guards it shall be.”

  Feign sleep.

  He lay across the cot and took a deep breath.

  Remember, try not to be surprised as you do not wish to stand out.

  A shift followed – as if he’d been pulled from his body and placed into a transparent world. No cold chill in the stone beneath him, no brightness to the lamp in the hall.

  Both Tonitora stood by his door, sharing no words.

  Again, Chelona pushed him into the giant. Again, Seto’s shoulders were now broad and his skin like stone. The same longing was evident – he pushed it away, lest it distract him. He murmured something to his fellow about needing to relieve himself and headed along the corridor, achieving a smoother gait quickly this time.

  Well done, Little Oseto.

  He passed no-one in the corridors, striding between lamps. His path took him down staircases and along quieter passages, guided by a soft nudge or twist of his torso from Chelona, as if she directed his bones.

  And doubtless she did.

  He would not risk the Ways, not all passages would be possible with the Tonitora’s large frame, but Chelona knew where Corvus had taken rooms. The guest wing, ground floor closest to the wall – windows that faced the stretching lawns, which would now be waterlogged and growing wilder.

  Seto stopped at the door and knocked.

  Movement from within. A Tonitora answered, his expression not welcoming. “Yes?”

  “I wish to speak with Corvus,” Seto said.

  A grunt. “Lord Corvus.”

  “Lord Corvus, yes. It is urgent.”

  The large man glanced over his shoulder. “Lord Corvus, it’s one of Marinus’ men to see you.”

  “Send him in.”

  The giant stepped aside. Seto entered, crossing the heavy rugs – dyed unfamiliar patterns, appearing as serpent-like plant life – and stopped before Corvus. The Ecsoli wore no cloak and no mask, though his breastplate was in place, his heavy brow drawn in concentration where he sat in the thin sunlight, back to the window. A dish full of water rested on a table before him. When he moved a gauntleted hand over the surface, colours moved – a crimson pushing toward blue.

  “Yes?” The man did not look up.

  Seto kept his voice low. “I have a sensitive message.”

  “Continue.”

  He glanced around the room. Only Corvus and his servant. Were the rest of his people at the harbour? Watching his peers? “Marinus and the Boar will betray you.”

  The Greatmask lifted. “What?”

  “He will sack your ship when you sneak from the harbour two nights hence. He knows.”

  Corvus stood and Seto found himself immobilised. “If that is true, why would you reveal it?”

  “Because I want to escape. I want us to come to an understanding. My freedom for what more I can share.”

  He sighed. “Your credibility is in question, considering who holds your family.”

  “Greatmask Chelona is my credibility.”

  Silence.

  “Repeat your claim.”

  “You are speaking with King Oseto of the Anaskari. I have...borrowed this Tonitora in order to speak with you unseen.”

  Corvus laughed, though he shook his head. “You are bold.”

  “Will you help me?”

  The Ecsoli began to pace. “I would like to know how your Greatmask has discovered something my own has overlooked.”

  Tell him I am older, Chelona instructed.

  “Chelona is older.”

  Corvus continued to pace. “Hmmm...very well. Your conditions?”

  “When I and my advisors are beyond the palace I will reveal more of what Chelona has discovered. I can help you escape.”

  Corvus glanced to his servant. The giant shrugged. The Ecsoli folded his arms and turned to the rain-spattered window. Seto waited. Was the man communicating with his mask? Confirming, probing Seto’s story? After a time, Seto helped himself to a chair.

  Finally, the Ecsoli faced him.

  “Tonight I will see you. I need time to step up my departure. You wish to retrieve your Second?”

  “And the healer Mayla. She stays nearby.”

  “I cannot promise either, but I will try, King Oseto.”

  Seto rose. “Do try. You will need my knowledge to escape – even leaving early.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Until later, Corvus.” Seto directed his vessel’s body out of the room and back along the corridors. A draught cut along one of passages – how easily the winter wind sneaked into the palace here. During better times he’d have asked Solicci to organise repairs.

  As if he needed another reason to escape and extract vengeance on Marinus.

  Ahead, a lamp flickered out.

  He slowed.

  The next lamp along the wall grew dark. Seto put his back against the wall. What treachery was afoot? In the darkness there was no sound but his own breath. Or the Tonitora’s breath. His large hand wrapped around the handle of the sickle belted at his waist.

  Beware. Chelona’s voice rang in his head.

  He leaped along the wall but pain still lanced down his side – yet it was a step removed, like a vibration running through a door. The blood that trickled down his torso did not sting. Yet he still growled as he spun into a crouch, his voice deep.

  A shape moved, barely visible against the faint glow from a distant lamp. Not as large as one of the Tonitora. Seto drove the giant forward, staying low and swinging the sickle. The swish of cloth as someone leaped back.

  Blinding pain followed.

  And then he was back on the cot, breathing hard but free of pain.

  “What happened?”

  The Tonitora was attacked by a pair of Ecsoli. His death sent you back here, once your host dies you are returned.

  An attack? Why? Was there more discord amongst the Houses? “Was I attacked, or was Marinus’ servant attacked?”

  Perhaps Corvus sought to ensure the Tonitora bore no traces of your visit, should his bones be read.

  “Can they not still be read, even though the poor giant is dead?”

  If one is swift enough something as temporary and ephemeral as Possession may be detected within a corpse.

  “Would Corvus risk that? Even now, hasn’t he brought attention upon himself, killing Marinus’ servant so near his own quarters?”

  A silence. These young masks are fickle; they have passed through so many hands! Her voice bore frustration. I wonder...yes. Leo or ‘Lion’ in modern Anaskari. An old rival of Casa Mare, I gather. Hoping to deepen the rift between Mare and Corvus. Working independent of Wave or Boar, I believe. Marinus would do well to reassess the greed of his ‘comrade.’

  Seto shook his head as he rose to seek water. How many Houses from the Old Land were vying for power? Which meant vying for bones. Worse than the Anaskar Houses. Marinus and his plans to betray Corvus, Leo and his plans to undermine Corvus in order to pit them against one another and weaken Marinus, no doubt. What of the Boar? Was it a true ally to Marinus and his House of the Sea?

  Or a snake?

  Either way – maybe Seto could use such knowledge. Pit one against the other. He sat and tented his fingers.

  Chapter 20.

  The subtle rocking of The Hawk at dock was barely enough to test the lamp. More light poured in through the lattice of windows behind the Captain Melosi. The man emptied tobacco leaves into his pipe, taking a moment to draw the pungent scent. He offered Notch a second pipe, this one carved of bone to resemble a bear, but Notch declined.

  “Tell me more about ‘later’ then, Notch.”

  Notch emptied jewels onto the desk, holding several back for himself and Mitola. “If this is enough for my sword, I’ll pay for the rest of my belongings once I break the king from the palace. He has access to a wide range of resources.”

  “As it turns out, I may wish for more than gold.”

  “If there is something you seek, Seto will be able to provide.”

  “How is he with miracles?” Melosi stood and crossed the room, pausing by a wardrobe chest bolted to the wall. He produced a key and unlocked the door, lifting something free and turning back. A long sword in a worn scabbard lay across his hands. “I want to leave, Notch. Can he arrange that?”

  Father’s sword.

  He rose, accepting the blade. The grip was just as aged as the scabbard but the very grooves fit his hand; years of sweat, grime and even blood had soaked within. Through the Glass War, through the siege on the Jin-Dakiv border and countless other battles, he’d not lost it. And before that, the blade had been a faithful companion in the wars his father fought. Notch hefted the sword. Seamless, as if they’d never been separated. The balance was true. He twisted the blade in the lamplight. Its edges had been sharpened.

  “Someone was offering Captain Honal a fair sum for it.”

  Notch nodded. “Father told me it was forged in the old land with techniques passed down for generations but now lost.” He heaved a glad sigh. “This sword carried me through the Glass War.” Or, if honesty were at stake – Raff, Luik and Flir carried him through – and out of it.

  “Then I am happy to reunite you with it. I feel the same about the Hawk.” He took his seat again, then opened a drawer, handing over Notch’s signet ring with its mountain peak.

  “Thank you.”

  He grinned. “Now, to return to my question?”

  “If anyone is able, Seto can free your ship.” Notch said. “And I will help, once I have him safe.”

  “Still planning on doing that all by yourself?”

  “The Lord Protector and his daughter should be here too. That’s two Greatmasks.”

  “Two against hundreds, then. Good. I’ll be out of the harbour before the day’s end.”

  “Better than no masks.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Put faith in us, Captain.” Notch grinned. “You have no-one else.”

  He barked a short laugh. “That’s true enough. Very well, Notch. Go and free our king, I’ll be waiting for you here.”

  “You’re confident you can break the blockade?” Notch asked. The line of Ecsoli ships in the harbour were heavy-looking, three masts, but they didn’t have to be agile – not while they were packed with Greatmasks.

  Melosi grinned. “I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve,” he said. “Just bring back the king and the Lord Protector and we’ll make a show of it.”

  “Count on me.” He paused. “Did you witness the invasion?”

  “No. We were too late but I’m glad for it. Passed more than a few ships – at a distance, mind, on the way in. If there were that many of those blasted blue-cloaked bone-thieves here throwing buildings around, I’m glad I missed it.”

  “Anything else I need to know? What about the giants?”

  “Called Gigansi. Most of them like the sickle – I saw one cut a man clean in half. In half, like a damn stalk of corn.” He scratched at his beard, tiny bird skulls clinking. “They do what the Ecsoli tell them, which is mostly ‘carry bone to our ships’ it seems.”

  “Is there a resistance?”

  He snorted. “Not that I’ve seen. There’s a bit of whispering about your War Hero friends, but I haven’t seen much. Only been here two days.”

  “So Flir and Luik survived?”

  “Seems to be the case.”

  Relief rushed through his limbs. Getting back and then into Anaskar hadn’t left a lot of room to confront the fear that his friends hadn’t survived. Yet he’d carried the tension anyway, it seemed. Time to visit the Harper, that’s where they’d be. And it was where Sofia would take Danillo, if they’d returned safely. At the least, Mitola would be waiting for him.

  “Thank you, Captain. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Aye.”

  Notch left the cabin, heading for the ladder and climbing back to the bright deck. He blinked a moment at the white winter sky before moving back toward the gangway, where he passed a young man in a simple smock. Notch paused. Was the lad familiar somehow? Something about the way his hair fell across his eyes. Notch shrugged.

  Maybe he’d seen the sailor on the wharves once before.

  This time the two Ecsoli didn’t stop him and he entered the Lower Tier and hurried up the quiet streets. Despite Mitola’s claim of Ecsoli wanting people to continue living their day to day lives under the new rule, he passed few citizens on the cobblestones.

  A beggar limping quickly for an alley and a pair of labourers who walked with dark expressions, muttering about finding work, now that the harbour was effectively closed. The only thing to be loaded, they said, was ‘damnable bones’ and the giants took that work.

  Notch turned into a new street – wide, lined with taverns, only one door open and few customers within. One of the shops had even pulled its sign down. A cold breeze picked up, biting at his hands and throat. A man in a deep blue robe sat on the corner, black gloves covering his hands where they cradled his head.

  A Sea-Priest.

  “Are you well?” Notch asked.

  The man lifted his head. Dried blood ran down his face from a cut on his scalp. “I don’t know.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was on my way back to the temple.” He shook his head. “Something just hit me. A rock, I think it was.”

  Notch frowned.

  “I think someone mistook me for one of the invaders,” he said.

  “Do you need help?”

  He stood. “No, thank you. I can find the way – I only hope there’s a temple left.”

  “It survived the acor attacks?”

  “Yes, but between the strange thefts from below and what the Ecsoli have taken things are grim.” He glanced toward the harbour. “Ana, forgive me for my doubts.” He made to leave but Notch caught his arm. Below? Did the priest mean the aqueducts? Were there more creatures – or simply thieves? He did call them strange.

  “Sorry, Father. What did you mean, strange thefts from below?”

  “Yes. Someone or something has been stealing our dead, right from our preparation chambers beneath the temple.”

  “What?”

  “For those who cannot arrange pyres we prepare the dead –”

  “That I know, Father,” he said, keeping his voice gentle – or so he hoped. “But when you say from below, do you mean beneath the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Creatures? Or man?”

  He spread his hands. “It is hard to surmise. Perhaps fell creatures – we never see them. Forgive me but I must return now.”

  More trouble, just what Anaskar needed. “I understand. And I hope your temple fares better soon,” he said, and hurried along the street, lengthening his stride and heading for the distant wall of the Second Tier.

  By the time he reached the broken remains of the Antico Gate, he was breathing a little hard and his leg was aching again. Not enough time to heal after Efran – even with Gelehn’s help. Or perhaps he was continuing to wear out? Sliding toward old age? Nothing he could do about that. Notch turned toward the Harper. Had he missed Mitola? Would Flir or Luik be there?

  At the inn, which bore little evidence of damage, Notch knocked on the stout door and waited.

  “Who wants to enter the Queen’s Harper?” A wary voice called through the wood.

  “Notch.”

  There was a moment’s pause and then the door opened to reveal a man in black tunic and pants, one of Seto’s men, though Notch couldn’t recall his name.

  “Welcome back to what’s left of Anaskar,” the fellow said with a smile, revealing a missing tooth. Ah, Ciano was his name.

  “At least the Harper is standing,” he said.

  “True enough. Flir’s out but she left a message with Pevin in case you arrived.”

  “Then she is alive?”

  Ciano grinned. “Don’t be so surprised.”

  Notch chuckled as he crossed the common room, exchanging nods with a few more folk he recognised. Of course she was alive – Flir was the most indestructible person in the city, in any city. At the head of the stairs, Ciano called his name. “I nearly forgot. A caravan guard dropped off a sword and other possessions for you. I had to pay him; he was going to leave with them seeing as you weren’t here. They’re in the basement.”

  Notch thanked him as he produced two gems. “Hope this will cover it?”

  “It will.”

  He headed to the basement where he was met by a Renovar man, who paced the room, circling a table and chairs.

  “Pevin?”

  The man stopped. His grey clothing was more tattered and his shaved hair had grown out somewhat in the weeks Notch had been gone.

  “Notch, welcome home.”

  “Good to see you survived.”

  “And you,” he said, more than politeness in his tone.

  “Do know where Flir is?”

  “She is searching the Tier for signs of Luik.” He produced a letter. “There is also this, which she wrote some time ago.”

 

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