Stormtide. Den Patrick

or defecating.

      ‘Privacy?’ Steiner raised an eyebrow and nodded as a slow smile crossed his face. ‘That sounds very fine. Think I’m long overdue for some privacy.’

      The call went up from the crow’s nest that land had been sighted and the ship came alive with people from below decks. Steiner watched them all arrive from the prow of the blood-red frigate. A gang of novices arrived on deck first, seven in number and no older than thirteen summers. Their faces were bright with excitement, and a babble of questions and speculation filled the air. The last few weeks had put some meat on the children’s bones but they still resembled windswept scarecrows. Steiner wondered if their families missed them, or if their loved ones were ashamed to have had the stain of witchsign sully their history.

      ‘What’s troubling you?’ asked Kristofine, noting the frown on his brow.

      ‘Just wondering what welcome those children will get when they return home. If any.’

      ‘It’s not just the parents that are a worry, either.’ Kristofine turned her eyes back to the water. ‘The whole town takes against you.’

      Marek emerged from his cabin and made his way across the deck to catch his son in a rough embrace. Steiner returned it with fierce smile.

      ‘We’ve been on this ship for three weeks now,’ said the blacksmith. He took a step back and took in the sight of his son once more. ‘And every morning I can’t quite believe we got you back.’

      Steiner looked at his father’s scarred hands, so much like his own, with burns and blemishes stark against the pale skin.

      ‘There’s a lot that’s hard to believe about the last few months,’ agreed Steiner. ‘Best not to question it. Just be grateful.’

      Marek laughed and raised his eyebrows at Kristofine. ‘Seems my son is growing up to be a warrior philosopher.’

      ‘Philosophy is fine,’ said Kristofine. ‘It’s the warrior part that bothers me. I’d rather he didn’t rush off and get himself killed. I have need of him.’

      ‘I think he’ll be yours for a good while yet,’ said Marek. ‘But for now it’s for the best you stay with Kjellrunn once we take to the road.’

      Kristofine narrowed her eyes but said nothing and Marek failed to notice her silent disagreement as Kimi Enkhtuya arrived on deck. Marozvolk followed close behind. She still wore her Vigilant’s garb, but had eschewed the snarling wolf-faced mask. The two women of Yamal were distinguished by their dark skin and tightly plaited hair – so different to most of the pale-skinned crew and the many novices. Kimi eyed Steiner across the throng of bodies and nodded, but no expression crossed her face. She did not approach and Steiner felt the distance between them keenly. Kimi held hands with little Maxim, leading the boy to a place at the railing where they might watch Svingettevei slide into view. He was olive-skinned and might have passed for Spriggani at first glance, but a profusion of dark curls hinted at a Shanisrond heritage. Steiner felt a pang of something. Jealousy perhaps? Maxim and Steiner had kept an eye out for one another on Vladibogdan but now the boy had fallen in with the Yamali princess. Steiner couldn’t say he blamed him. There was a soft buzz of excitement from prow to stern as everyone waited to catch their first glimpse of Virag.

      ‘How are things between you and her highness?’ asked Marek quietly, shooting a concerned look at Kimi.

      ‘I think she’s avoiding me.’ Steiner turned away and looked across the sea. ‘She took a big risk in giving me the Ashen Torment. It must be a hard decision to live with.’ Steiner released a long sigh.

      ‘Hard to imagine such an artefact could exist,’ said Marek. ‘Hard to believe in a simple carving with all that power to bind the spirits of the dead.’

      ‘And command them,’ added Steiner, his voice a whisper. Kristofine squeezed his hand.

      ‘You did the right thing when you destroyed it.’ Kristofine had been full of questions about Vladibogdan, of course. Telling her about the Ashen Torment had been difficult. He’d woken in the middle of the night more than once in the last three weeks, haunted by the remnants of a dream. It was always the same. He had not escaped the battle in Academy Square but had died instead, becoming a cinderwraith bound to the island, bound to toil in service to the Empire for all eternity as the Vigilants watched over him from behind their masks. Steiner blinked away the nightmare and turned his eyes towards Kimi.

      ‘I promised her I’d find a way to stop the Empire harming the Yamali people, but I’m just one man and that promise is a far heavier weight than I ever thought.’

      ‘We’ll figure something out,’ replied Kristofine.

      ‘That we will,’ agreed Marek. ‘I’m all done with a life lived quietly. It’s time to take the fight to the Empire.’

      The ship edged ever closer to the white and jagged cliffs of Svingettevei. Every league they sailed brought wider smiles and greater laughter.

      ‘Here he is,’ announced a gravelly voice from behind them. ‘The dragon rider of Nordvlast, if you can believe such a thing!’ Tief clapped Steiner on the shoulder and nodded to Kristofine and Marek. Tief was a Spriggani in his forties, his dark hair touched with grey. He wore patched trousers with a threadbare smock. A thick strap of leather crossed his body from shoulder to hip, festooned with tools and knives.

      ‘The dragon riding was a one-time thing,’ replied Steiner with a laugh. ‘And I’m glad to keep it that way.’

      Sundra and Taiga joined them on deck moments after Tief’s arrival. The women spent a few moments greeting Marek and Kristofine warmly, which is to say Taiga was warm while Sundra merely greeted them. No one could accuse the high priestess of Frejna of being overly friendly. Sundra was attired in her usual black, the colours of her priesthood, while Taiga wore her customary green. Tief set about fixing his pipe for a smoke and Steiner felt a pleasant rush of relief that his friends had escaped their fate on Vladibogdan.

      ‘Do the bones still whisper my name?’ Steiner asked the high priestess, a small smile on his lips. Sundra looked at him from the corner of her eye and pursed her lips.

      ‘I have not communed with my goddess of late,’ she said. ‘And you would do well not to mock my methods of divination.’

      ‘I didn’t mean to mock,’ replied Steiner. ‘But if the goddess or her high priestess have any advice in the coming weeks …’ He let the request go unspoken, afraid he might reveal just how daunting he found the endeavour.

      ‘You’re a good boy, Steiner.’ Sundra’s usual severe demeanour softened and she patted him on the shoulder. ‘Not a Spriggani boy but no one is perfect.’ Steiner chuckled and ran a calloused palm over the long stubble on his jaw.

      ‘I’ve not been a child for a while now.’

      ‘You all look like children from where I stand,’ replied Sundra. There was a quietness to her words that almost hid the pang of sadness. Steiner was suddenly aware of the high priestess’s papery skin. The usual olive hue, so common to the Spriggani people, carried a hint of grey that had nothing to do with the forges of Vladibogdan. Her hair was run through with strands of dull silver, while her eyes, usually so quick and piercing, were heavy-lidded with a great weariness. Steiner offered her his arm.

      ‘The sooner we get you back on land the better.’

      ‘You’ll get no complaints from me,’ said Sundra, linking her arm with his. ‘Though I’d prefer Shanisrond to Svingettevei. Or Yamal for that matter.’

      ‘I’ll speak to the captain,’ replied Steiner. He cast his eye across the deck, over pirates and novices, pale-skinned and dark. It was hard to imagine where such a disparate gathering might settle in peace, if such a thing could be found.

       CHAPTER TWO