Wars of Light and Shadow #03 - Warhosts of Vastmark by Janny Wurts

Author:Janny Wurts [Wurts, Janny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-12-22T04:58:40+00:00

CHAPTER 6. Ostermere

Twenty-five days before the hour appointed for Talith’s ransom, the fishing smack Royal Freedom tacked a barTried Her passage up the shores of the westlands had been rough, battered through the last weeks by squall lines. In salt-crusted stays and sprung caulking, in peeled paint and tattered sails, she showed the rough wear the angry sea could mete out as she reached the end of her voyage.

Mewed up in a hold still redolent of mackerel, and tired of salt meat and green cheese, Lady Talith knelt on damp blankets and combed her fingers through the dirty, cropped ends of her hair. By nightfall, she would be free. She could find a room at an inn, and ask for hot food and soak out her itches in a bath. To be clean again, to walk on plank floors that did not heave at each step; anticipation made her want to sing aloud.

Laced through the taint of tar off the ships’ rigging, fugitive gusts through the hatch wafted tantalizing scents of baking bread. She picked out heavy incense, and the ripe, earthy smell of dry land.

Through the slosh of rank water in the bilges, she drank in the sounds of a harborside beyond view.

The indignant slang of fishermen vying for right of way wove through the wind-snatched cries of hawkers, each with his baskets of salt crabs, or trinkets, or ripe cherries, ferried between ships in oared lighters.

Los Mar was a worldly port built at the junction of a land route.

Although the settlement had been but a fishing village at the time of the high king’s downfall, when the royal port of Telmandir downcoast had been overset into ruin, the caravan trade brought in wealth. The city had libraries and scholars, and learned men from across the continent knew the beauty of its illuminated manuscripts.

A woman alone should have no trouble hiring horses and an escort, and finding suitable lodging at an inn.

The Freedom’s patched canvas at last rattled slack. When the splash of her anchor dragged the rode smoking through the hawse, Talith savored her triumph. She had bested the Master of Shadow. By her own design she would see herself restored to her husband’s side at Ostermere.

A thump sounded topside. The hatch cracked and the burly seaman who captained the Freedom slithered down the ladder into the closed space of the hold. ”Princess,” he greeted, and gave a small bow, ”we’re secure in the harbor of Los Mar.”

”Well done.” Talith dug under her blankets and drew out her cache of jewels. ”With my thanks, take the payment I promised.”

The sailhand cupped the silk pouch in a callused hand, picked open the drawstring, and peered inside. He gave an admiring whistle. ”My lady,” he said, ”the price is by far too generous.”

Before she could protest, he upended the hoard. Rubies, sapphires, citrines and pearls spilled in a tumbling swath across the rude ticking of her berth. The uneven flare of the tallow lamp nicked sparks out of dimness, each stone a fleck of colored fire as the seaman stirred through the collection.

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