Stormtide. Den Patrick

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       CHAPTER ONE

       Steiner

      It was just before dawn; a prelude to the sun lay across the horizon like shimmering gold. The few clouds that scudded across the sky were a spectral white, travelling over a sea of deep and majestic blue. Steiner stood at the prow of the Watcher’s Wait in awe, adoring every second of the early morning. Cinderfell, his home of eighteen years, had always existed under a pall of permanent grey cloud. The winters promised grey snow and the spring gritty rain. There were few places more bleak in all of Nordvlast, few places more grim in the whole of Vinterkveld. But not so today. They were many leagues from Cinderfell and the dark red frigate sailed ever further south. Steiner basked under the blue skies, savouring the briny tang of the sea with every league travelled.

      ‘How far south are we?’ said a woman’s voice behind him.

      ‘Hoy there.’

      ‘Hoy there yourself,’ replied Kristofine. He’d left her sleeping below decks so he could enact his new morning ritual of greeting the sun. Kristofine drew close and her arms encircled his waist. She pressed her nose against his neck and made a small, contented noise. Steiner slipped an arm around her waist in return and gave thanks to Frøya that he was free.

      ‘How did you sleep?’ he asked. She made a face.

      ‘You’re all elbows and knees and you move around in your sleep. If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re still trying to escape from the island.’

      ‘No double beds on a ship like this.’

      ‘But very thin walls,’ she replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘Where are we today?’

      ‘We’re down by Svingettevei, I think,’ he replied. ‘Romola said we’d have to put in at Virag for supplies.’ He kissed the top of her head and looked out to sea once more. The gilt on the horizon took shape and became a sliver then a soft curve of brilliant gold. The sky took on all the colours of the forge, fading to indigo and darker still where the night persisted on the opposite horizon.

      ‘I’m surprised the food lasted this long,’ said Kristofine.

      Steiner ran a hand across his scalp. His hair, singed and burned away to nothing during his incarceration on Vladibogdan, had started to grow back. There was hard stubble on his jaw and the many scars across his face and arms were less livid against his pale skin.

      ‘I’ll be glad to get my feet on dry land after three weeks aboard,’ he said. ‘And I doubt I’m the only one.’

      ‘It’s so quiet,’ said Kristofine after a pause. Steiner nodded and smiled. The ship’s timbers creaked or groaned occasionally, and the waves met the hull with a hushed susurrus. Even the gulls, normally so raucous and loud, flew silently as if in reverence for the coming day.

      ‘That’s why I’ve started to come up here each morning,’ said Steiner. ‘To give thanks for my life and everything in it.’ He squeezed Kristofine tighter and her smile broadened.

      ‘You? Giving thanks to the goddesses?’

      ‘Don’t tell Kjellrunn or I’ll never hear the last of it.’

      Romola appeared on deck and approached the prow.

      ‘Strange to see young lovers aboard my ship,’ said the captain. ‘Usually it’s stolen cargo and dried-out jetsam, right.’

      The sometime-pirate, sometime-storyweaver wore her usual attire of a deerskin jerkin with matching knee-length boots. Her wrists were encircled by all manner of copper hoops, bright with verdigris, bangles of shining jet and polished ivory. Steiner wondered if all pirate captains were so flamboyant.

      ‘How are you this morning?’ asked Kristofine.

      ‘Concerned would be the word for it.’ Romola eyed the horizon.

      ‘Is Virag so terrible?’ asked Steiner.

      ‘No telling what we’ll find there,’ said the captain. Romola didn’t look at either of them, peering out to sea as if she might discern some clue of what awaited them once they went ashore.

      ‘We just need food,’ said Steiner. ‘We don’t have to stop for long.’

      ‘Clearly you’ve never restocked a ship’s stores,’ replied Romola, raising an eyebrow.

      ‘I overheard some of the novices talking last night,’ said Kristofine. Around two dozen novices had come with them from the academies of Vladibogdan, all students of the arcane. The Empire permitted children with witchsign to live only on the understanding that they would one day become Vigilants for its Holy Synod. The escaped children would be hunted to the very ends of Vinterkveld.

      ‘Some of the older children are talking about leaving,’ said Romola. ‘They want to find their way back to their families.’ The captain shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine that will work out well, but they won’t be told otherwise.’

      ‘But that’s not what’s bothering you,’ said Steiner.

      ‘When those children are caught the Empire will squeeze answers out of them, one way or another. And those answers will point back to me and my crew.’ Romola sighed. ‘But I can hardly keep them prisoner on my ship, can I?’

      ‘Tell me about Virag,’ said Steiner, keen to change the subject. He had no solution for Romola’s problem and felt an uncomfortable pang of responsibility hearing her mention her crew and the novices.

      ‘Virag is the capital city of Svingettevei. They’ve always maintained a more flexible relationship with the Empire than the other Scorched Republics. Officially there isn’t a garrison there but …’

      ‘There won’t be any troops,’ said Steiner. ‘Imperial troops only visit the Scorched Republics during an Invigilation.’

      Romola rolled her eyes and nudged Kristofine. ‘A few months on Vladibogdan and he’s an expert on the Empire.’

      Steiner had the good grace to cough and feel embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ The Scorched Republics clung to their sovereignty by the tiniest of margins, acquiescing to as few of the Empire’s demands as they dared.

      ‘Why don’t some of you go ashore before everyone else?’ said Kristofine. ‘That way you can scout ahead and see what’s waiting for us.’

      ‘She talks a lot of sense,’ said Romola. ‘You should make an honest woman of her, Steiner.’

      Steiner smiled and felt the heat of a blush at his cheeks. He squeezed Kristofine’s waist with one wiry arm. ‘All in good time. There’s a few things СКАЧАТЬ