Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(27)
THE HANDYMAN
All the way back north, Evan refused to argue when Destin offered one reason after another as to why it was a bad idea for Evan to come along to the wetlands. Evan was busy grappling with the problem of finding a reliable crew. After three days on the water, he’d determined that it would require at least five hands for a blue-water crossing; at least three times that to crew Destiny as a privateer.
The challenge would be to find a crew that couldn’t be bought off. The knowledge that the empress was still actively hunting him changed everything. He did not relish the notion of being delivered to Celesgarde in his own ship. He wasn’t so concerned about the crossing to Baston Bay. It would be there and back, with little opportunity for harborside gossip. But when he began sailing the Desert Coast, and raiding in the wetlands, it would be only a matter of time before he came to the empress’s attention, especially if he became known as a stormcaster.
He still hoped that Destin might return to Carthis with him after accomplishing his mission in Arden. Destin’s nuanced magery might offer a way to ensure a loyal crew. Together, he and Destin could meet any challenge, stand against any enemy.
He tried not to think of the possibility that their mission might fail. If they couldn’t defeat a wetland general, what chance would they have against the empress?
More importantly, the cottage in Tarvos had been closer to a home than anything Evan had experienced before, and Destin and Frances had become a surrogate family. An ember of hope still burned inside him—the hope that they could look forward to a future together.
When Destiny sailed back into the harbor at Tarvos, the sun was setting on their third day. On the way in, they passed an unfamiliar three-masted schooner, moored far out in the harbor, where the water was deepest. She flew no colors, but carried a full complement of guns.
Destin rested his forearms on the stern railing, squinting against the sunlight gilding the tops of the Guardians. “Do you recognize that ship?”
“No,” Evan said, “but she looks like a wetlander.”
Not many wetland ships came and went at Tarvos these days, since Carthian pirates made the journey perilous. This ship, however, looked like she could fend off most any challenge.
The harbor area was oddly deserted when they tied up at their mooring. Usually, the arrival of any ship brought a handful of people down to the wharf, some intent on commerce, others merely curious. Several jolly boats were tied up at Kadar’s public docks.
They quickly unloaded their few personal belongings, meaning to come back with the wagon for the rest. As they walked up the hill, away from the harbor, Evan looked back. He saw sailors swarming over the schooner’s decks, as if they were preparing to get under way.
When they rounded the point, the cottage came into view. It was dark—no lights in the windows.
“Frances should be home by now,” Evan said. “Right?”
“Before now,” Destin said, frowning. “Maybe she left a note inside.”
They walked to the porch, between the beds of flowers that Frances had planted, and found the door slightly ajar.
Breaker growled, hackles raised, but that was nothing unusual.
“Wait,” Destin said, raising his hand. He stood listening for a long moment, then shrugged, pushed the door open, and walked in, with Evan right behind him.
Before Evan’s eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, he heard the door slam shut behind them. All around the main room, lanterns were unhooded, flooding the room with light, practically blinding him.
“Where have you been, Corporal?” somebody said in a low, raspy voice. “Weren’t you afraid that your mother would be worried?”
Destin must have recognized the voice, because he turned deathly pale. He spun round, scanning the room. Frances wasn’t there, but red-brown stains that hadn’t been there before were spattered across the tile floor.
“Don’t waste your time, Corporal. The bitch is waiting for us aboard ship. I think she’ll live.”
The man speaking was thickset and barrel-chested, a wetland mage with a flattened nose and a bristle of hair. He was dressed in a brown uniform that carried no emblem of rank. His arms were so muscular that they hung out from his sides like thick branches on a spreading tree.
It was—it had to be—Destin’s father, General Karn. But it wasn’t just him. A dozen men lined the room’s perimeter, similarly dressed, their hands on their weapons, as if looking for a chance to use them.
Grabbing up the fire poker, Destin charged toward his father. But before he’d gone three steps, he was surrounded by soldiers, who pinioned his arms. The poker hit the wood floor with a thud.
Evan thrust out his hand, reaching for lightning, though unsure how that demand would be answered. Something smashed down on the back of his head and he ended up sprawled on his face on the floor, stunned. Karn gestured to his men, and two of them hauled Evan to his feet.
The general looked the pair of them up and down. “Too bad,” he said. “Two mages, and we only brought one collar.” He gestured toward Destin. While two soldiers fastened a wide silver collar around Destin’s neck, the general reached into Evan’s neckline, apparently searching for an amulet. He came up with the pendant. He ripped it away, breaking the chain, and tossed it into the corner.
If this keeps happening, Evan thought, I’ll need to find a stronger chain.