Part 20 (2/2)

Sol was now his Blader, commanding him and forty-nine other soldiers. The man, Gallan Park, was Sol's Side. In or out of battle, it was Gallan's responsibilty to be Sol's ears and eyes, and to take his place should he fall. It was the closest of relations.h.i.+ps in the Spike's structure, and the two men had a brotherly trust for each other. Such was often the way with soldiers.

And Lechmy Borle had become his wife.

Sol stood at the s.h.i.+p's rail and looked ahead of them across the sea. The waters were wild and high, spray stinging, waves undulating like the Forsaken Sea's angry, flexing muscles. This was not Sol's first time on a s.h.i.+p, but it was his first time on these waters. They were even more violent than he had expected, and a third of his men were laid up below decks, vomiting and groaning as they prayed that Venthia would return to take them away. Reports from other s.h.i.+ps in the fleet told of similar scenes.

He focused on the horizon, though it was lost in mist. Then he closed his eyes. His own sickness rose, but it was willpower alone that drove it down. It would not be proper to be seen puking his dinner up across the deck in front of his men. Their Blader, he must always be stronger than them all.

Please let this storm abate, he thought. Venthia, touch these waters and calm them, just for me. Or I might just curl up and f.u.c.king die. But Venthia had forsaken this ocean. Sol felt far from the Fade here, and that made him naked.

He leaned against the railing and groaned softly, and it was Leki who gave him comfort. He looked down at the sea cras.h.i.+ng explosively against the hull and smiled, because Leki would love this. She would revel in the salt.w.a.ter smell and its stinging touch, and soon he would see her again.

Someone approached him from behind. He did not hear or smell them, but he knew they were there. He squinted slightly and sensed their mood a queasy, but calm. No ill intent. A shadow flickered against the railing beside him, cast by the hesitant sun, and he recognised his Side.

'Gallan,' he said, turning.

'Blader Merry.' Gallan raised a fist to his brow.

'You can drop the formalities,' Sol said. 'They're for the training grounds and ceremonial marches, not the battlefield.'

'I wasn't aware we were at war.' Gallan's voice was light with humour.

'A third of the men on every s.h.i.+p are incapacitated and you think this isn't a fight?'

Gallan rolled his eyes. 'It stinks down there.'

'You're not feeling sick yourself?'

'No,' Gallan said, but his gaze flickered past Sol to the sea beyond.

'I am,' Sol said. 'If this cursed s.h.i.+p had a private corner I'd puke up my insides three times over.'

'By the Fade, me too,' Gallan said, somewhat relieved. 'My legs and guts aren't built for the sea.'

'Only another day,' Sol said.

'That's why I came. To let you know a racking has been received.'

'Leki?'

Gallan nodded. His embarra.s.sment was always evident when her name came up. 'They're transcribing now; should be ready by midnight.'

'Thank you,' Sol said. 'Will you watch over the transcribing and bring it to me as soon as it's ready?'

'Of course.' Gallan touched his forehead again, smiled, turned and walked back across the deck. Sol knew how unsettled Gallan was by the two rackers they had on board a blind women, young and beautiful and mad, who were sometimes almost not there when the air of their cabin was awash with shoot dust. Sol knew that to see them one always had to look from the corner of the eye. He knew also that their talent was a science, though one unknown by most. But Gallan was a simple soul. To him the rackers stank of the unknown, were part of Arcanum, and were best left alone.

Sol enjoyed his Side's discomfort. They were good friends, but the history between them kept a level of subtle tension alive, and their friends.h.i.+p constantly alert.

The Blader decided to take another tour of the wars.h.i.+p. He would not be able to sleep now that he knew a racking message had been received, and he had to find a way to kill time until the racker had transcribed. Leki had been gone from him for over twenty days, and to see words muttered by her own sweet mouth, racked by her smooth, webbed hand, would calm his stormy seas.

He paused outside the s.h.i.+p's rear hold wherein the Fader priests waited and offered a brief prayer to the seven G.o.ds of the Fade. They were on a mission for those G.o.ds, and Sol felt their influence as he prayed. Though absent from the seas they sailed, Venthia sought to calm his tumultuous waters, those angry tides inside. Sh.o.r.e breathed with him. Flaze stoked the fires of his soul, whose heat and flames would burn bright as this journey moved on. Astradus promised solid land beneath him soon, Lillium gave his life meaning with the shadow of his death, and Fresilia waited for him deeper in the s.h.i.+p, in those weapons of war he would inspect once more after this brief visit. Heuthen, G.o.d of consciousness, oversaw his perceptions of the world and informed his faith. It was Heuthen who stole away most whenever Sol dispatched an enemy, and his weapon belt held over a hundred notches.

Sol took a deep breath to silence his whispered prayers, then knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately, as if the priests had been expecting his visit. He entered, the door was closed behind him, and for a while he was the centre of attention. His skin crawled with their gazes. He bowed his head slightly, then noticed the three Spike generals at the far side of the hold.

They didn't tell me, Sol thought. A brief flush of anger increased his heartbeat and throbbed in his ears, but he did his best not to show it. Blader he might be, but he had always been trained to know his place.

'Blader Merry,' one of the priests said. She wore the heavy woollen garments favoured by most younger Fader priests, eschewing the more ceremonial robes worn by older members of the order. Her jacket was well cut, her trousers tucked into fine boots, and a bound leather belt held her jacket closed around her narrow waist. She might have once been attractive, but frequent fasting had given her young face an aged hue, and her eyes were sunken, cheeks drawn. 'Another honour this stormy night. We've just welcomed a visit from the generals.'

'So I see,' Sol said, wincing inwardly. Petulance was even worse than anger.

'Forgive us,' General Cove said, standing and walking around the hold's perimeter. There were three covered objects at its centre, each the size of a rec.u.mbent s.h.i.+re. Three Fade priests sat around these objects, heads bowed, praying, paying no attention to the exchange. 'We came to visit briefly with the Engines, and I ...' He waved a hand, as if dismissing his own apology. 'I saw no point in troubling you with our movements.'

Sol was in charge of the wars.h.i.+p. Its captain sailed it and governed the crew, but it was a military charge, an attack s.h.i.+p, and bearing Sol and the forty-nine men of his Blade a as well as the Engines and their attendant priests and Arcanum technicians a was its purpose. It was not the general's flags.h.i.+p. Sol should have been informed of all visitors.

'It's a pleasure to see you,' Sol said, saluting.

'The Engines are safe, as you see,' the priest said. She stood close to Sol's right side, her hand held out and almost holding his arm. 'Secured to the floor, protected, and given homage.'

'All as it should be,' Sol said, smiling and nodding. His gaze was drawn again and again to the covered Engines. He now knew the history of these things' predecessors, deployed to destroy Skythe's insane and false G.o.d. He had felt honoured being told the true story only days before, and shocked that the history he had always believed a that the Skythians had destroyed themselves with diseases plucked from Outer lands and weaponised a was to camouflage the awful truth. But such new knowledge also unsettled him. If such a truth could be withheld, and imparted to him only when necessary ... then what value did that truth hold? Some nights since, he had lain awake, his mind wandering, outlandish tales now possibly holding their own sheen of accuracy. He'd heard the tavern rumours, just like everyone a that the Alderians were the aggressors in the ancient war, not the Skythians and their false G.o.d. And many times in the past it had been his job to put down these rumours when they had started to spread. More than one man or woman had died beneath his blade, their version of history truer than his own, yet more forbidden.

But his was not to question why.

'There's been a racking message received,' Sol said, and he saw in the general's eyes that he already knew.

'Yes, from Lechmy Borle,' General Cove said. 'You must be as keen to hear it as us.'

'Yes, General.' His relations.h.i.+p with Leki was frowned upon, even with her being part of Arcanum. Sol sometimes wondered how closely they were both watched.

'Let's pray it's the news we are hoping for.'

'General?'

'Landing points. And perhaps news of their false G.o.d.'

'Aeon,' Sol said, noticing the priest's eyes flicker with distaste. That pleased him. His beliefs were solid, but he had always found Fade priests so righteous and superior.

General Cove was two decades older than Sol, his face scarred from battle, experienced in putting down Outer insurrections on the south of Alderia and something of a legend among young Spike soldiers. But to Sol he had become more of a politician than a soldier when he became a general. A trained and proficient fighter, his battles were conducted now behind closed doors, lies their tactics, hidden purposes their aims. Sol fervently hoped that he would never crave such a position when his years wore on, or be faced with accepting the same.

'You have a purpose here, Blader Merry?' One of the other generals had spoken, but Sol was not sure which. It was dark in their corner, air hazed with spiced smoke.

'Simply the Engines,' he said.

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