“With luck, they can bring her in,” said Radiz. “If they
sink, it will be the sea god’s fault, not ours.”
Even at his young age, Sturm found that hard to
believe.
The stern of the SEA RAVEN was covered by a luxurious
pavilion. Walls of rosewood and cedar rose from the oak
deck. Overhead was a cloth of gold canopy, and tinkling
brass chimes hung from ivory ridge posts inside.
Artavash swept in and bade Lady Ilys and Sturm to sit.
She unbuckled her armor and tossed the segments in an
ebony chest whose hasp and hinges were of silver. A
steward appeared, dressed in red velvet vest and billowing
silk pantaloons.
“Wine, Dubai,” Artavash said. She scratched her sides
where the armor chafed, just like Sturm’s father always had,
and settled onto a heap of plush pillows.
Sturm strained his neck taking in the opulence of the
pavilion. When Dubai returned with a silver ewer and three
goblets, he had to ask, “Is this your ship, Lady?”
“Mine? No. It belongs to the Lord of the Sea. I’m not
even its captain; Sir Radiz sees to our progress over the
water.”
The steward poured three measures of dark red wine.
Artavash sipped, nodded, and allowed Dubai to offer the
other two goblets to Lady Ilys and Sturm. Sturm’s mother
refused for the both of them.
“You offend my hospitality,” Artavash said darkly.
“I would prefer to be recognized as a prisoner, rather
than a guest,” Lady Ilys said. Artavash sent the wine to
Mistress Carin. She too declined to drink.
“Pah! Why are you northerners so haughty? Could your
noble Order of knights prevent the Cataclysm? Has your
devotion to Paladine brought you glory? You mystify me.
Wealth and power belong to the strong. If you cling to your
outdated ideals, you will all vanish like the ancient deities
you serve.” Artavash took a long drink, then waved for
Dubai to refill her cup.
“What is to become of us?” asked Lady Ilys.
“That is for the Lord of the Sea to decide.”
“We cannot be ransomed. Lord Brightblade will not pay
one copper to you.”
“Your knight’s money means nothing to my master.
Gold runs from his fingertips, and his tears are purest
silver.”
“If not for vulgar money, why did you take us?” Lady
Ilys demanded.
Artavash leaned back, reaching out to idly stroke
Sturm’s hair. “My master will have a use for you, never
fear.”
Another measure of wine disappeared down Artavash’s
throat. Dubai filled her goblet automatically.
“If you do not drink with me, I shall finish the wine
alone,” she said.
“Drunkenness is a common fault of barbarians,” said
Lady Ilys.
Artavash glared and flung the silver cup at Sturm’s
mother. Lady Ilys closed her eyes but did not cower. The
goblet hit the rosewood panel behind them, and wine
splattered over them like scarlet rain. A single drop ran to
the corner of Sturm’s mouth. It tasted sweet and hot.
“I will not be insulted on my own ship!” Artavash
declared. “Guard! Guard!” Two armed Kernaffi entered the
front flap. “Escort this LADY and her servant to a cabin
below. Put a watch on the door.” She stood, to get the
benefit of her commanding height. “Now, begone!”
Lady Ilys rose and put out a hand to her son. Sturm rose
also, defiant.
“He will remain,” said Artavash. Sturm could feel the
tension between the two strong-willed women. This time his
mother did not press her point, and instead, drew him close
and kissed his forehead.
“Be wise,” she said in a confidential voice. “And
remember who and what you are.”
Artavash sent the steward out so she and Sturm would
be alone. “You are a brave boy,” she said. “You might have
been killed on the roundship, yet you defended your mother
and friends courageously.”
“Tomorrow is too late to be brave, my father says,”
Sturm replied.
“Hmm, just so. Your father is a wise man. Is he a great
warrior as well?”
“He is a Solamnic Knight.” That said it all.
Artavash held out her hand. “Come, sit by me. I wish to
know you better.” Sturm half-knelt in the pile of cushions