Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(5)

A tiny orange glow at the raised stern deck marked a lit brazier. Kyle stepped down into the longship, edged along the narrow seating of the oarsmen up on to the central raised walkway, and climbed the seven slim steps that led to the open stern deck. The mate followed all the way.

Here Kyle found two men, one old and one young, each wrapped in furs against the chill of the passing winter, roasting titbits of meat on skewers over the brazier.

The older one, a great boar of a man with a thick black head of curly hair and beard to match, eyed him while he licked his fingers clean, one at a time. His dark face carried the scars of decades of fighting and exposure to sun and wind. The younger’s face was smooth and pale; Kyle hazarded a guess that he had been to sea rarely if at all. The lad glanced from his elder, his father perhaps, to the mate, then to Kyle, and back round again.

‘You are this foreigner speaking of lands to the east?’ the elder rumbled.

‘I am.’

‘I am Tulan Orbed, Master of the Lady’s Luck.’ He waved a great paw to the lad. ‘This here is my nephew, Reuth.’

‘Kyle.’

‘The black storm-cloud behind you is Storval, First Mate.’

‘We’ve met.’

‘Ha! I intuit from your tone that you certainly have. So gloomy is he we name him Black Storval.’ He urged Kyle to him. ‘Come, come. Set yourself at ease. We see so few foreigners here. Tell us of the world beyond Fist. You have seen these distant shores to the east?’

Kyle was rather taken aback to meet such a cosmopolitan attitude. He sat easily enough, but to one side, so as not to put his back to the ill-tempered mate. Tulan chuckled at this, and winked. Then, peering up sharply, he said, ‘Another horn and more ale, Storval.’

The man scowled even more but he ground out a nod. ‘Aye, captain.’ He thumped down the stairs.

Tulan extended a wood skewer to Kyle, who took it and jabbed a scrap of meat that he then held over the glowing brazier coals. ‘I have seen them.’

The captain’s gaze flicked to his nephew. ‘Indeed. And does this land have a name?’

‘It does. The southern lands are known to some as Bael. The northern some name …’ and here he paused, wondering whether to mention the damned ill-omened name at all. But he ploughed on, thinking, wind toss it, no one from Korel would know it anyway: ‘… Assail.’ The captain eyed his nephew once more. But the lad was watching Kyle. A faintly amused smile pulled at his mouth. They know this already, he realized. They just wanted to see if I’d lie about that name. ‘Anything else?’

‘Where were you there? A port? Did you land?’

Kyle nodded while he ate his sizzling cut of meat. Storval returned, set down a third drinking horn and a fat skin. Kyle used the skewer to pick his teeth. ‘A city on the east coast. Kurzan.’

Again, Tulan eyed his nephew, who nodded.

Kyle turned to the unprepossessing pale blotchy-faced lad and looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been there?’

He blushed furiously, his face almost glowing, and shook his head.

‘Reuth’s a scholar,’ Tulan explained. ‘But a particular kind of scholar. I paid a fortune to send him to poke through dusty records in Jasston and Jourilan. Isn’t that so, Reuth?’

The lad nodded vigorously.

Tulan picked up the skin and squeezed a stream of ale into the horn. He offered it to Kyle. ‘His passion is cartography. Know you this line of knowledge?’

Kyle accepted the horn, nodding. ‘Charts and maps.’

‘Indeed. He is only happy when bent over dusty sheets.’ The captain glanced to his nephew. ‘Quite the secret horde of charts they have in Jourilan, confiscated from every vessel that ever landed or wrecked itself upon the coast. Isn’t that so, Reuth?’

The lad leaned forward, all eagerness. ‘Yes. And you, sir, your accent is not Malazan, sir. Where are you from? Is it Seven Cities?’

The captain raised a paw as if to backhand the lad. ‘Not now, dammit to the Lady’s grave!’ Reuth flinched away. ‘Apologies,’ Tulan growled. ‘The lad has spent too much time among scrolls and records and not enough time crewing among men – some of whom may not look kindly upon questions regarding their past.’

Kyle gave the young man a reassuring smile. ‘I welcome curiosity. I find it … refreshing.’

Tulan grunted a laugh. ‘No doubt you do here along these shores!’ He wiped his greasy hands on his furs. ‘Now to business. How many days to cross – by your estimate?’

‘Due east of here? A fortnight at the least, I should think. With favourable winds.’

Again the captain eyed his nephew, who answered with a curt nod of approval. ‘Good, good. Such a crossing is as nothing for us of Mare.’

Yet none of you have ventured it, Kyle reflected. On the other hand, perhaps some had … they’d simply never returned. He sipped the ale and found it even worse than he’d anticipated; he grimaced. ‘And is your goal – pure exploration?’

Tulan guffawed anew. His toothy grin was conspiratorial and he hunched forward, lowering his voice. ‘Come now, friend. That you seek these eastern lands proves you’ve heard the rumours.’

‘Rumours?’

The big man sat back and frowned behind his greasy beard. ‘No need to play things so close. We of Mare are traders, sea-scavengers. Aye, I’ll even admit it openly here upon the deck of my own good ship … marauders and raiders. No need to pretend with me.’