Private Tales Run Swift, Run Silent

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran would have let out a sound of relief but he was afraid how far it might carry. He pushed the catboat further into the water as Gal nimbly vaulted in. He shoved it one last push before hopping in himself. He squinted into the black, careful not to look at the distant torches.

He was about to speak up about the strait when Gal did. His face was in silent wonder, she must have the night's own eyes to see in this. "Yeah" he breathed, shooting a nervous look skyward. You couldn't sail the seas without picking up some weather senses. He could even feel it in the air.

As if on cue, a lighting flash went off a mile away, the sound of the thunder coming a second or two later. It lit up the night, letting Ferran see perfectly for the first time.

He could make out the burnished armour, the shining spear tips, and the surprised expressions on the face of the Kasmetran patrol barely fifty yards away on a sandbar that hadn't been there when he'd sailed this a year ago. Ferran didn't even hesitate, he pulled the tiller towards him and ducked low.

Shouts sounded and javelins were flung blindly into the dark. Another flash of lighting split the sky and an arrow nearly took his ear off.

 

[Gal]

Gal followed suit and flattened herself against the side of the catboat, her fingers double-checking the rope around her middle out of nervous habit. Her coal eyes charted the outline of her companion in the darkness as they listened to the drums of the roiling storm.

“Keep—”

A javelin embedded itself in the opposite side of the boat, its slender haft trembling a mere inch from her cheek.

“Keep her steady and bear to starboard!” she hissed over the noise as she began wrenching the weapon out of the wood. She dipped its sharp point through the streak of wet blood on her forearm, then dragged two fingers across her lip in a silent prayer to the depths.

As they neared the sandbar Gal pivoted on her tiptoes, still crouching low as the boat bucked across the growing waves. The fast-paced cries of ‘Stéomaiti!’ could now be heard from the patrol, their leader urging them to spare the last of their javelins for the next flash of lightning.

It built like pressure in the back of her skull as she rose to her feet in one long, liquid motion, the whole of her body coiled like a serpent ready to strike. The skies cracked open again in perfect silence, and she sprang forward, lobbing the javelin true at their hornbearer.

The spearpoint stole the bellow from his powerful lungs, turning it into a weak squeak as the horn tumbled from his limp fingers and into the foam.

Gal dropped prone once again as the rest of the patrol went to return fire, crawling closer to Ferran across the bottom. She hadn’t been quite quick enough – a swift glance to the dancing torches at the top of the cliffs betrayed worry and commotion. Someone was coming to take a look.

“Can you take them alone on the sandbar, Elmahir?” she asked, turning her gaze to Ferran again. “I need to hide the boat before the next flash or we’re done for.”

And nobody could sail quite as fast as pirate with the sea in her blood.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran was too fired up to ignore her order. He did as told, trying to keep low and praying that he wasn't about to take an arrow or javelin to the back. Gal rose and flung her javelin as the lightning flashed. The horn blowing cut off with a strangled sound.

She dropped low and crawled towards him with surprising agility. "I'll have to" he said grimly. The whole blockade would know they were here soon. They might be able to handle this patrol but they'd be sunk before they got past the next crowd.

The boat scraped sand and Ferran flung himself over the side, fumbling for his sword. He'd always been a lazy student. He'd not had the patience for the years of study that some of the top bladesmasters in Cortos devoted to it. Two years of early mornings and sparring under the sun had been enough to render him somewhat competent which was typical for any bravo in any of the free cities. He'd always been fast and he'd a mild talent for knowing where to stick the sharp end.

The first peltast was nearly on him and Ferran sidestepped, sluggish on the wet sand. His free hand grabbed him by the cloak and Ferran made a calm cut, letting the body drop.

Three left but the sandbar was only wide enough for one at a time. The other torches were further up on the high point of the reef. Ferran drew a dagger with his free hand, he'd never been good at the style but the show might be enough to warn them off.

It was all in the show. He took a step forward but the hoplite there was warier. He held his shield and spear carefully, daring the smuggler to attack.

 

[Gal]

She took command of the catboat, turning hard to port until she was gliding parallel to the pile of dirt that had crossed their plans. There wasn’t much noise coming from the sandbar behind her, which was either very good or very bad. Being an optimist in all things, Gal chose to believe Ferran was cutting his merry way though the Kasmetran patrol instead of the other way around.

Not that she had a thought to spare to the situation at her back either way; the water was turning choppy fast, and if she didn’t get the boat under the precarious overhangs at the lip of the cliffs – without foundering it – they were both dead as soon as the next bolt of lightning turned night to day.

Unfurling the sail was too risky, and the oars just weren’t cutting it. Gal pinched her mouth and unsheathed her dagger again, hesitating only for a moment before she plunged it into the wine dark sea.

Ei hoʻomaikaʻi iaʻu me ka uikiuiki o ka iʻa.

He aha tau e homai ai ki ahau hei utu?

I ke koko o ke akua.

Rere.

Gal felt the knife shudder in her grasp, vibrating as if with quiet laughter, and then it mattered little that the seas were rising up and that rain was coming down; the catboat moved where she willed, as if propelled by an unseen force from below.

It paid not to spend too much time considering the details.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

The hoplite advanced, sticking to short stabs with the spear and keeping the shield up. Ferran backed up, not wanting to risk tangling up close. His jerkin might weather a slash or two but the spear would go right through him.

The storm seemed to be picking up around him. The rain was pelting down now and the wind raged. The hoplite misstepped on the wet sand and Ferran took his chance. He was on him in a flash and he pulled back with blood still on his blade.

He wasn't going to risk his luck and the surviving two seemed to be of similar mind. Ferran broke for the catboat, half jumping half falling over the side to land on Gal's legs.

 

[Gal]

His landing wasn’t exactly feline – the catboat near-to capsized with the force of a grown man tumbling over its side like a sack of particularly handsome potatoes.

“Cazz’,” she swore under her breath as hauled him the rest of the way. Between the rain and the spray of the angry sea, they were the both of them drenched through their linen clothes. The oily charcoal on their skin would hold for some time yet – though of course if a galleon caught them out in the open, they were so much fish feed either way.

Another flash flashed from the roiling clouds to the pitting waves, illuminating the horrors of the harbor: two galleons and twice as many brigantines, all of them anchored so close that a Mantessan whore would quote it higher on account of a double job.

Gal snorted as the peal of thunder rolled over the turbulent bay, reverberating through her bones. There were no arrows raining down on them yet, so the clifftop watches must’ve missed them hugging the rocks directly below them.

Just as well.

“Let’s haul arse, Elmahir,” she yelled into the wind and gestured towards the strait. “Work that tiller like it’s yer own cock, or we ain’t ever gettin’ out of here.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Gal helped haul him in though he wasn't sure whether it was just because she didn't want the boat capsizing on her. He was drenched through and the charcoal was coming off him in places. Shivering, he pulled himself up, holding onto the gunwale to stay steady.

"I hear you" he said through chattering teeth, moving to take the tiller while Gal focused on the sail. It'd be an ignominious end to have come this far through the blockade only to drown in sight of the harbour.

His stomach clenched as the boat ran down the slope of a wave. "We're coming in too fast!" They risked being dashed to bits against the rocks or the harbour wall. Ferran roared, pulling the tiller with all his might, it fought him like it was possessed.

 

[Gal]

Even after twenty years at sea, storms still brought down a primordial fear upon her. It was inevitable to quake at the knees, even if only a little, when waves as tall as trees crashed and foamed on the blackened rocks.

But riding that tempest… by the Gods, alive or dead, there was no exhilaration greater than taming nature herself, undaunted.

Terror sat in her gut – both their guts, likely – but they pressed on regardless. The strait was white when it ought to be black, the sea sending geysers of spray high enough to salt the moons. Gal grinned, wrestling with the lines to keep their sail from luffing in the fierce wind.

“Five points to starboard!” she roared over the break of the waves, throwing her arm out at the galleon on the other side of the strait. There were lamps moving onboard, and though the weather was too loud to hear any of their calls, it didn’t take an Elbian education to figure out what was going.

“I reckon going in fast is the only way we’re going in at all!”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

You had to respect the sea. She was a faithless lover but she could make you feel divine. Ferran had waltzed with her before and been to enough funerals of those who danced with her once too many. Even if he was going to die in the next moments then it was a good way to go.

"Five points starboard!" he repeated, wincing as spray lashed his face. He strained with the tiller, turning the catboat. They'd enough speed now that she was bouncing off the waves, almost skimming the water.

They had to go fast. Otherwise they'd be dashed to bits on the rocks either side of the harbour, the wind and current would drag them to their deaths. The catboat vaulted off a wave into air, landing a second later. He'd sailed these waters enough as a boy but never in weather like this.

 

[Gal]

The galleon was emerging against the black horizon, outlined with every new bolt that tore from the sky into the boiling sea.

Spirits, but it sent her heart plunging to the pit of her stomach to see all the men running about aboard. How many of those were sailors and how many trained marines?

Gal squeezed the gunwale of their tiny little catboat r and pulled her gaze back to more immediate concerns.

Like the strait.

The very, very narrow strait between the looming cliffs of the harbor and several sea stacks jutting out from the foam. All of them hewn from black stone, and drenched in the spray besides – a joy to navigate around in the midst of ink-black water and deep gray clouds.

If she’d not given her blood to see in the dark, they would’ve foundered before ever making the first sandbar.

And if the exposed rocks weren’t dangerous enough, there were also lurking shallows to account for, and the submerged outcrops besides.

And that’s why you needed to seduce/cajole/bribe a local pilot.

“What should I watch out for here, Elmahir?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"Traps!" he roared back, "They put stuff in the water during sieges. Works as well as a harbour chain". A wave rolled past, exposing a rock that had been submerged a second ago. Ferran missed it just barely. "And rocks or reefs!" he said, almost giddy with the near-collision.

They scraped over something solid. Ferran was going off of years of memory but even he'd have been sank if it weren't for her eyes. He let out a feral yell, seeming to laugh a bit at the storm. They'd defied it and the Kasmetran blockade. All to deliver a package from Mantessa.

Nothing left. They were home free. Ferran's laugh died in his throat at the final memory.

"Down!" he roared, diving forward himself. The catboat was small enough to pass under the harbour chain but it still tore half the mast off with it. Still speeding forward, the crippled boat limped into the calmness of the harbour, lurching towards the docks. The high walls and cliffs kept the worst of the storm at bay.

Lights moving and muffled shouts made him wince. "Best to not to touch any weapons your ladyship" he told her, sounding hoarse after the blockade run. "They might run us through before we get a chance to open our mouths".

He shuffled the rudder to slow them, using what little of the sail that was left to coast in towards a dock where a welcoming committee seemed to be gathering, all of them armed.

 

[Gal]

It was a tough final stretch, but between Ferran’s knowledge and her blood-bought sight, they limped into the harbor at last.

Spirits, but Gal had never been so glad to stand on solid ground again.

Well, near-to. They had one last obstacle to surmount – Baleri militia, all of them wild-eyed and brimming with pent-up anger. No wonder, neither. The Kasmetran navy had them under their boot for the better part of a month. Supplies were dwindling and everybody was on edge.

No stranger to tense situations herself, the nazrani of course knew exactly what to do.

She stepped aside, pointed a finger at Elmahir, and cobbled together the best of her Corteiş. “C’e lui qi e da Baleri.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

The halberds and crossbows were enough to sober Ferran up. They looked well used and he'd have been suspicious himself if two lunatics sailed through a storm and a blockade into the harbour. The Nazrani wisely stepped aside and let him do the talking.

"Servus" he said, trying to muster what little dignity he could even if he was sodden and still had lamp grease and dirt on his skin. "State your business" said one grey haired woman, her halberd held in both hands. A muted rank insignia was on her armour.

"I'm a son of Baleri come home" Ferran tried to grin but the humour seemed to be lost on those gathered. "My companion and I-" he indicated Gal hurriedly lest they try to put her back in the sea like she was a water demon "were contracted to run the blockade in Mantessa"

He took the silence as an invitation to go on, "The cargo-" he began, moving to step back towards the boat. He froze as two or three crossbows swung up on him. "The cargo will be viewed by us and your presence explained to the Contessa" the woman told him quite bluntly.

Guards stepped forward and Ferran reluctantly extended his hands "Trust me" he said in Common to Gal, trying to indicate it was best they go along with it.

Gal

 

[Gal]

She flashed a bright grin at Ferran as the watch encircled them and led the pair deeper into the quiet city. Was this part of her plan? Certainly not. They’d sailed past the extent of her plan back at the shoals.

Why crack your skull against rocks that no-one could map? In her wisdom, Gal rather relied on her quick hand and sharp wit to see her through the traitorous shallows of life.

Even as the sound of breaking waves faded away among the high houses, the thrum of the storm above them did not abate. The nazrani turned her face into the deluge and smiled as the whipping rain washed away the charcoal on her face. Rags notwithstanding, the pirate had every intention to look her best when they were made to kneel before the Contessa. It was not impossible, negotiating from your knees – just had to know which attributes to put forward.

Gal glanced down at her bosom and loosened the tight lacing of her tunic.

Leaning closer to Ferran then, the nazrani kept her voice quiet in the rain. “What’s she like?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran was lost in his own thoughts but the sight of Gal loosening her tunic snapped his mind back from reminiscing to suddenly seeing a bit more skin on display. A different set of memories started flowing through his head.

He dropped his voice as low as hers, "She's old, she's beautiful, and she's dangerous. Her husband was murdered by a jealous cousin, she had the entire familial sept in gibbets in the harbour". Their walk was taking them uphill now towards the citadel. "She's quick to anger but she has a sense of fairness and she's ruled the city for over five decades in one way or another".

His throat cleared, "Is...there a reason you've loosened your tunic?"

 

[Gal]

Unlike her companion, Gal hadn’t spent much time in Baleri, and certainly not in the Sky quarter they were entering now. She glanced up as they passed into the inner bailey, the flickering lanterns atop the walls the only sign of vigilant watchmen.

The city before them opened up into a large square, encompassed on both sides by looming buildings the nazrani could hardly spot for the sheets of rain pouring down from the raging clouds. The nazrani tore her gaze away from the wide open space and licked the salt off her lips as she glanced at Ferran again.

“Trying to make the best of a tight spot, Elmahir. You should try it sometime. Who knows...” she grinned, her white teeth glinting in the dark, “maybe she prefers your charms to mine.”

Whatever else she might’ve said on the topic died on her lips as they marched them up to an impressive palazzo at the far end of the square. Its towering door was flanked by delicate arcades of decorated pillars, the frieze running above them depicting some mythical battle that even Gal couldn’t make out in the storm.

Instead of the main gates, the guards shepherded the pair inside through the servant entrance. The graying captain murmured sharp orders to the milling night staff, but Gal only caught fragments of it – ‘bath’ and ‘cleaner rags’ among them.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran rolled his eyes, for a Cortosi, he could be quite prudish at times. Highly strung went without saying, he was Cortosi after all. He didn''t know how the nazrani could be so flippant at a time like this. Born and raised here, he was used to seeing heads on spikes when the Contessa was in bad form.

Gal knew enough to shut up when they neared the palace. They were steered in through the servants entrance. Ferran caught the quick dialect but he couldn't quite protest. Sailors tended to smell and neither himself or Gal had been the sweetest smelling before their run through the blockade.

Not that he protested at the sight of the baths. When a cold saltwater bath was the norm at sea, the sight of steaming hot water was an absolute delight. Ferran didn't need much encouragement to strip off and climb in. He was settling back before he remembered he was still a prisoner.

"Surely the Contessa will not wish to be disturbed" he tried with the guard captain. His slyness got nowhere "On the contrary, she's still awake". That got Ferran scrubbing a bit quicker.

 

[Gal]

While her companion did his best to slither out of the situation to no avail, Gal took care to wash the last of the tar off her skin. And the salt of the sea, the sweat of the taverns, and the stink of unwashed rags besides. She’d be a fool to turn down the offer of a hot bath on a cold day.

The clothes they brought them after were plain white linen, but they were warm and dry, which could not be said for the sad remains of their rags. Gal dressed swiftly, fastening the pants at her hips but leaving the tunic to billow as it may.

With an eyeroll she left Ferran to his modesty and directed her gaze at the graying captain and her men instead. The woman stared right back, steel eyes unblinking and her set jaw cut from flint.

Gal bounced her brows and cracked a smirk.

“Me pensi qe noi son’ pronti da vedir la Contessa adeş.”

The captain just snorted, then twirled her finger in the air for her guards to surround the pair of them again. Really, what were they going to do? Weaponless, guileless, artless?

It was not her preferred way to go if their honeyed words didn’t let them slip their invisible shackles here. Gal would much rather be whipped to the bottom of the sea by a wild tempest or a worthy adversary.

But clean, perfumed, and surrounded by expensive sculpture?

She would not complain.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

They weren't taken to the throne room and Ferran knew that much from memories of seeing it once as a boy. Large, draughty, it could have fitted a freighter. No, they were moving towards a more private audience chamber, one more suited for this time of night.

The Contessa of Baleri was seated with surprising lack of ceremony behind a desk in what appeared to be an office or drawing room. A pair of artificer spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose and she was bent over a pile of documents, reading them by lamplight.

Ferran felt the pressure on his shoulders and obediently knelt. Stamping something with her signet ring, the Contessa finally looked up, removing the eyeglasses and taking in the pair of them with a silence that dragged on. Grey haired since forty, she'd never followed the convention of dying her hair like other ladies of Cortos. A sharp angular face with intelligent eyes probed at them. She must have been nearly seventy now and yet there was still a beauty about her that made younger men tongue-tied.

"I appreciate the sentiment Gloria, but they're a little rougher looking than my usual tastes". Their escort stiffened but kept her voice level "They came through the blockade milady". Interest showed now in the face and she leaned forward a little on her desk. "Oh my my"

"Contessa-" Ferran began and one finger came up on her hand. "Speak, when spoken to boy". She let the silence drag out a little, waiting to see if either would interrupt. A smile spread slowly on her face, what she imagined was grandmotherly but was probably more reminiscent of a shark or wolf. "Now, are you both going to explain what's brought you to my realm in a time of war?" She looked at a dying candle "I think as much time as this candle has to explain should be sufficient before I decide to have your heads sent to the besiegers as spies"

 

[Gal]

Those black eyes took in everything as they were marched to the private chambers of the Contessa. Every door, every hallway that broke off the main, every narrow set of stairs, every statue and nook and cranny.

Just in case.

When the time came to kneel, Gal left her pride at the door and her jaw on the floor. The Contessa sure was… something. Her sea-green eyes cut right to the bone of them, past the calloused and perfumed flesh. She’d not felt this exposed under someone’s gaze in a long time.

Well. All the more reason to lie.

“Contessa,” Gal began, contorting her tongue to the very finest Corteiş, “we were hired by Qarantia Mantessant’, to deliver a package you have been expecting for weeks.” If only because the first two land-borne couriers had found an early grave by the side of the road with her knife in their neck.

“So we ran the Kasmetran blockade, and here we are.” She shrugged a single shoulder in her smug affect. As if this was a daily occurrence and the anchored galleys hadn’t foundered every last boat making the attempt during the long months of the embargo.

“Your guards took the package from us, but if you want it, it is yours.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

If anything made Ferran start, it was Gal managing to sound clearer than she ever had before. Oh the strong accent and stuff was still there but she was actually comprehensible this time. He wisely kept his mouth shut while the Contessa's attention swivelled onto the nazrani. She kept her face impassive until her last words.

"Hmph, well of course it's mine if I want it girl. Everything in this city is. I don't need you to tell me that. And you boy?"

Ferran gulped. "I'm a loyal son of the city Contessa. Only someone from here could steer a course through at night" The Contessa cut him off "Your accent tells me you're from here, as for loyal? Well I shall determine that". She let the silence drag on a few seconds.

She jerked her head at the guards, "Have this package brought to me" she ordered before settling back in her chair a little. "Do either of you want to guess why I've ruled here so long? No? Very well, I'll tell you. To get old, you have to be careful. Wary. So forgive me for being a little suspicious of two sea rats plucked from the harbour after running a blockade. Did you do this out of the goodness of your hearts?" sarcasm hung on the last sentence.

 

[Gal]

Gal suppressed her urge to snort, but it was a close thing.

“Certainly, Your Grace. The tolari from the Qarantia helped, though.”

The pirate did not mention that her ship was caught in the Baleri harbor with the rest; that they were bleeding hard-stolen money every week they couldn’t take back to the open seas. A small benefit of sailing under another captain instead of taking the mantle herself – no tall tales of her exploits that would follow (and precede) her from port to port. Gal played the game of anonymity and notoriety as well as any round of Trionfi in a tavern backroom along the coast.

“We can run the blockade again. For you, Your Grace. If you want.”

There were missives that were too important to risk a land courier – too many brigands and spies and patrols along the coast that could intercept a key message and plunge the city-states in yet another costly war.

The sea was often the only option.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

There might have been the ghost of a smile on the Contessa's lips but Ferran didn't dare mimic it. Even Gal choked back any momentary sense of amusement she might have had.

The older woman seemed to admire the honesty though. Gal wasn't some lady knight on a mission of virtue, cold solid coin had purchased her and that was a sentiment the contessa could understand, she knew what she was dealing with.

Gal's statement caught him by surprise as she made an offer to the contessa. "We...can?" he cut off as the contessa's gaze flickered to him before affirming it an octave deeper "That is to say, we can".

The contessa pondered a while longer, examining the flame of the candle. "Were I in your situation I would promise the moons and stars but you seem focused on more material objects. Doubtless you would require compensation for this too?"

 

[Gal]

The nazrani offered a small curtsy to the Contessa; to assent to the question and to gather her mask before it slipped under the pressure of a growing grin. They weren’t out of the deep waters yet. But by the Spirits, if they managed to fleece two cities with one blockade, Gal would laugh all the way back to Āina o Ka Lā.

“It’s a risky proposition, Your Grace. Especially now that we’ve already slipped them once. They’ll be keeping their eyes on a swivel.” Gal addressed the floor, her mind running like their catboat across the tempestuous waves earlier. “For the right… compensation, though, we could do something else for you.”

Her heart was lodged her throat, beating fast and deep like the war-drums of tribes on campaign. She licked her dry lips and lifted her coal-black gaze off the embroidered rug. “We can ruin the blockade.”

The Contessa threw back her blonde head with a long, rasping laugh. “You’ve a tongue on you, don’t you girl?” She pinned Gal with her viridian gaze, a thin veneer of mirth covering a predatory smile. “How could you possibly do something a seasoned cadre of veteran pilots and marines haven’t been able to? In two months of trying?”

“Your Grace,” the pirate begged off, stifling a grin, “the sharpest sword cannot kill a king hiding behind his castle walls. Two small drops of poison, however…”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran wasn't quite sure but somehow Gal had sidled her way in front of him to take over the negotiations. The Contessa was either amused by this new development or actually intrigued by a Nazrani that spoke reasonable (albeit accented) Cortosi (in a mangled mix of a dozen city dialects).

He nearly had his stomach drop out of him at her next words. Part of him knew they'd have to venture back out into it but it was one thing to commit to it and make it reality. Especially now he was warm, dry, and freshly bathed.

Gal showed the deft skill of a fencer as she responded with a swift riposte to the Contessa. Emboldened, Ferran joined in. "And she has a pilot who knows the shoals and reefs Your Grace" he said "A loyal son of the city".

He swallowed, his mouth dry. The Contessa regarded them silently, the seconds dragging out painfully. Her stony face broke into a short laugh again. "Oh what have I to lose? My second husband always said a gambler should know to quit when ahead but you two cards were never in my starting hand were you? Or playing pieces on my board for another analogy"