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horizon he asked the captain for work. The brig sailed short-handed. He owned
nothing but the clothes on his back, and these were sadly tattered; come
winter, he had no desire to rely on Tath-agres for silvers to buy a cloak and
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a good pair of boots.
Four weeks of labor in the rigging fleshed out Emien's starved frame, and the
sound sleep of exhaustion gradually eased his harried nerves. Happiest when
his mind was absorbed with the simple tasks of seamanship, the boy brooded
little. By the time the black battlements of Cliffhaven hove into sight to the
northeast, he wished the voyage had not ended so quickly.
The mate bawled out orders to furl sail. Emien swung him-self aloft with an
oddly reluctant heart. As the anchor cleaved the blue waters of the harbor,
the boy felt as if his contentment sank with it. The last time he had viewed
these shores, Taen had been alive and no burden of murder weighted his
con-science.
Now his desire for revenge against Anskiere was complicated by an insatiable
yearning for power.
The mate shouted and the deck crew swayed a longboat out. An officer waited to
escort the strongbox containing the Kiel-mark's tribute ashore. Emien slung
himself off the mizzen yard and descended the ratlines, certain Tathagres
would summon him.
But the longboat departed with no word from her. Puzzled, Emien sought his
mistress. He knocked at the door of her cabin, half fearful she would turn him
away with his question un-answered. But she greeted him pleasantly, and after
one glance at his expression, volunteered her intentions without his
need-ing to ask.
"Go to the captain. Release yourself from service and collect what coin you've
earned. Then report back to me. We shall go ashore after sundown, for I've no
desire to involve myself with the Kielmark. If we are to succeed against
Anskiere, our plans must be carefully laid."
The sun was low in the west by the time Emien returned.
Busy with other complaints, the captain had been slow to attend the details of
his dismissal and the brig's purser was unavail-able until the water barrels
and stores were replenished. But silver in his pocket made the boy feel less
vulnerable, should his mistress be displeased by his delay.
Emien arrived at her cabin breathless. Tathagres admitted him without
complaint, a preoccupied expression on her face. Her earlier garb was replaced
by tunic and hose of unrelieved black. Except for the gold torque, she had
stripped herself of jewelry, and her bright hair was knotted under a scarf at
the nape of her neck.
"I have clothing for you." She waved absently in the di-rection of the berth.
"See whether it fits."
Emien squeezed past, overwhelmingly aware of her in the tight confines of the
cabin. Set on edge by his involuntary response, he forced himself to
concentrate on the items laid out on the berth. Spread on the mattress were
two cloaks, a tunic, and a pair of hose. The garments seemed right. Reluctant
to undress before Tathagres, Emien looked up, but the intensity of her mood
robbed him of all protest. In silence he turned his back and peeled off his
ragged shirt.
"The clothes fit," he announced after an interval. He swung around, boyishly
embarrassed, but his mistress paid no heed. She sat before the cabin's small
writing desk with her hands clenched in her lap.
Emien took an uncertain step toward her. "Tathagres? The tunic fits just
fine."
But his mistress remained unresponsive as a stone statue. Disturbed, the boy
moved closer. He peered over her shoulder, and saw that sorcery engaged her
attention. Hair prickled on the back of his neck and his hands clenched
reflexively into fists. On the desk lay what appeared to be a feather. But
closer scrutiny yielded another view superimposed over the first. Above the
scarred surface of the desktop, Emien viewed the living image of a cliff side
bound by tiered prisms of ice. Gulls wheeled above the heights, their cries
faint and plaintive above the boom of the breakers which smoked spray across a
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shoreline of jagged rocks.
Emien gasped and started back, bruising his elbow painfully against the
bulkhead. Tathagres roused at the noise. Absorbed by her own thoughts, she sat
silently while Emien rubbed his arm. When she did speak, her words seemed
intended for someone else.
"What has he done?"
Perplexed, she shook her head, then focused on Emien, as though aware of him
for the first time. "We shall find out, I suppose, when we get ashore. Do the
clothes fit?"
The boy nodded, decidedly ill at ease. Seldom had he seen Tathagres unsure of
herself. Yet if her confidence was shaken, she rallied swiftly.
"Boy, to all appearances, Anskiere has set a seal of ice across the mouth of
the cavern which imprisons the frostwargs. All attempts to trace his location
end at that same barrier. I am certain he cannot have left
Cliffhaven. But finding him may prove more difficult than I expected. We must
be cautious." She laced
her fingers together so tightly the knuckles turned white. "Should we fall
into the Kielmark's hands, reveal noth-ing. The man may be formidably powerful
but he cannot deter me. If you keep your silence, you shall be safe."
Tathagres looked up, and the lack of emotion in her violet eyes chilled the
marrow of Emien's bones.
"But should you betray my trust, you'll wish your mother had never lived to
give you birth."
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