Redemption (Book 6) (11 page)

Kara waited a moment for the response that didn’t come. She pushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face. “You promised to teach me to read, and I would teach you to pick locks.”

“Yes,” said Maklavir dully. “I remember.”

“Things got complicated quickly,” said Kara with a note of sadness in her voice. “We found the Soulbinder and then there was Vorten, and—” Her voice choked off, and a flash of pain and sharp memory appeared in her eyes.

Maklavir put a hand on her arm. “I know,” he said softly, the first truly genuine words he had spoken in the conversation.

“Well,” said Kara again. “We have time now. Joseph is so sick he can barely get out of his bunk, and I thought....” She held out the book to Maklavir. “Well, I thought we could try. That you could teach me to read, I mean.” She gave an embarrassed smile. “As long as you promise not to breathe a word of it to Joseph. And I’ll find a lock for you, show you some of the basics.”

Maklavir got a sudden, sick look on his face. His eyes dropped down to the ground. “Kara, I—”

“I’ll make sure we split the time fifty-fifty,” said Kara with a small laugh. “I wouldn’t want you to—”

“The thing is, Kara,” interrupted Maklavir, “I just can’t—” he paused, uncertain how to continue. “That is to say, I don’t really have—”

The words drifted off into hanging space.

“Right,” said Kara after a moment. “Well, that was stupid of me.” She stood up from the crate quickly, ducking her head. “Of course you have things to do.” She took the book back.

Maklavir started to rise. “Look, Kara, I—”

“No,” said Kara quickly. “You don’t have to say anything, Maklavir. Really you don’t.” She gave a smile that didn’t quite hide the hurt in her eyes. “I—it was dumb of me. I shouldn’t have asked.” She turned her head quickly away. “Good luck with those trousers. I hope that you get them patched.”

Maklavir put the pants down. “Kara—”

She gave a quick shake of her head and another broad smile. “I’ll let you get back to it, then.” She turned for the stairs that led back up to the deck.

Maklavir grabbed her arms and pulled her back around.

Kara stared at him for a moment, surprised.

“Look,” said Maklavir in a low voice. “You’re right. I
have
been avoiding you. Joseph too. And I’ve been hiding down here in this dark, rat-infested hold. It’s just that I—” He choked on the last words, and quickly looked down at the deck.

“Maklavir,” said Kara softly. She took his hands off her arms and clutched his hands in her own. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yes,” said Maklavir with a sad, strange smile. “I...know that I can tell you anything as a brother telling a sister.”

Kara cocked her head slightly.

“I’m working through some things,” Maklavir said. He didn’t meet Kara’s eyes. “Some...emotional garbage. It’s nothing, really. I just need some time. And space.”

Kara glanced around them. “And that’s why you’re down in the hold of the ship?”

Maklavir nodded. “That’s why I’m down in the hold of the ship.”

For a moment neither of them said anything.

Kara leaned forward and gave Maklavir a quick kiss on the cheek.

The diplomat burned red. He still didn’t meet her eyes.

“I understand,” Kara said. She squeezed his hands. “And if you need to talk, you know where I am.”

Maklavir nodded, but didn’t reply.

Kara turned for the stairs.

Maklavir sank back down onto the crate. He looked down ruefully at the half-patched trousers.

Kara stopped and turned. “Maklavir?”

He glanced up.

“I—” the redhead paused. Her cheeks flushed pink. “I never did say thank you. For what you did, I mean. Back in Vorten.” She tottered a bit as the ship rolled suddenly. “Joseph told me that you...well, that you left a lot behind. A house, servants, a job as a barrister and diplomat.” She braced herself against one of the wooden beams. “Veritas, even.”

“Ah, yes,” said Maklavir with a melancholy smile. “I do miss that horse. Hopefully he has a good new owner now.”

“And all of it for me.”

Maklavir looked her directly in the eyes. “And I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, Kara.”

She blushed even deeper, nodded, then headed for the stairs.

Maklavir picked up the trousers again with a sigh.

The ship suddenly lurched to the left. There was a series of shouts from above deck.

Maklavir looked up quizzically. “What the devil?” He stood, folding the trousers up and heading for the stairs.

The deck was a rush of activity. Sailors scrambled up and down the rigging, and the merchant captain shouted out a stream of orders interlaced with curses from the quarterdeck.

Kara stood off to one side, her red hair tossing and blowing in the wind.

Maklavir looked over at her. “What on Zanthora is happening here?” He looked up at the sky. “Is there a storm brewing?”

Kara braced her feet as the vessel turned even harder through the choppy water. “I don’t know. No one’s answered any of my questions.”

“Well,” said Maklavir under his breath, “we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He turned and headed up the stairs to the quarterdeck.

“Maklavir, wait—” Kara called out behind him.

He ignored her and stepped up beside the helm.

The merchant ship’s captain, an older man with a weather-stained jacket and lopsided cap, was handling the wheel himself. He gave Maklavir an irritated look. “What do you think you’re doing? All passengers need to clear off the deck—”

“Now look here,” said Maklavir in his most imperious voice. He grabbed his feathered cap with one hand, holding it snug on his head in the strong wind. “I think you owe me an explanation. Why are we turning?” He glanced down at the compass fixed near the wheel. “I may not have gotten top marks in geography, but I know which direction Redemption is, and we’re headed the wrong way.”

“You stupid landlubber,” the captain fumed. “You want an explanation?” He thrust a calloused finger off to the right. “There’s your reason.”

Maklavir turned around.

A ship was just visible on the horizon. It seemed to be coming right at them.

Maklavir raised his hand over his eyes, still holding onto his cap with the other. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “Well, I’m afraid that I don’t really—”

“Tuldor’s blessed whiskers!” the captain cursed. “Are you blind as well as stupid? Look again.”

Confused, Maklavir tried to make out what he was looking at.

That’s when he noticed a black flag streaming out from the approaching ship’s mast.

“You need me to spell it out for you?” The captain wheezed. “
Pirates
.”

“You’re out of uniform.” Olan gave a quick glance over the buff coat and militia uniform that Kendril was wearing. “Or is it even your uniform any longer?”

Kendril swept his gaze over the five Ghostwalkers in the room before him.

Tomas gave an embarrassed nod towards him.

Kendril looked at the chestnut-haired woman, and the slouching man against the wall. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting all your cronies, Olan.”

The Ghostwalker commander jerked a thumb at the woman. “Yvonne, Staff specialization.” He slung his thumb over towards the blonde-haired man. “Renaald, Sword specialization.”

“Well, well,” said Kendril drily. “You’ve got one of each, it seems.”

Olan turned his cold gaze back on Kendril. “Now answer my question. Where’s your uniform?”

“Actually,” said Kendril in a dangerously soft voice, “I think I’ll be the one to ask questions in my own fort. What are you doing here?”

Tomas stepped away from the wall. “
What are we doing here
? Come on, Kendril, you can’t be that obtuse.”

Callen looked down at the table, and refused to meet Kendril’s eyes.

Olan continued to glare right at Kendril, as if his gaze would burn right through him.

Renaald eyed Kendril callously, like a falcon studying a mouse.

Yvonne folded her hands on the table in front of her. “You have not contacted anyone in the Order for more than four weeks, Kendril. All attempts at communication with you have gone unanswered.”

Kendril flicked a glance at the only woman in the room. She could have been pretty, except for the cruel scar that marred her face and twisted her mouth into a perpetual frown. She reminded him of a young Madris. Disturbingly so.

And that was no doubt why Olan had brought her along.

“So now,” said Olan again, his arms still folded tightly together. “Where is your uniform?”

Kendril looked back at Olan. “While you’re here, Olan, you can use the proper address when speaking to me. Either
general
or
my lord
will do.”

Tomas covered his mouth with his gloved hand. He looked down at the floor.

Olan gave a slow shake of his head. “Great Eru. You’ve really gone off the deep end, haven’t you Kendril?” His eyes glinted steel. “You’re a soldier. A member of the Order of Ghostwalkers. And, I might add, under
my
command.”

“Funny,” said Kendril. He tossed his gloves onto the nearest table and looked around the mess hall. “That’s not how it looks from where I’m standing.”

“You’ve gone rogue long enough,” said Olan. His voice was strained. His jaw twitched ever so slightly. “You’re coming back to Archangel.”

Kendril lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“You’re being reassigned.” Olan took a deep breath. “Up to Santaren. And from now on you’ll be working under Renaald here.” He tipped his head towards the man who lounged against the wall.

The room was quiet for a moment.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Olan,” said Kendril evenly. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Olan lifted his head. “You made a solemn vow, Kendril. An oath to this Order.”

Kendril didn’t respond. His eyes flicked back and forth between Olan and Renaald, who was watching him intently.

Yvonne looked up at Kendril. Her hands were still folded on the table in front of her. “I must remind you, my lord—”

Olan looked down sharply at the woman.

“—that your penance has not yet been paid. You have not received pardon in the eyes of the Order, or of Eru.”

Kendril glanced down, meeting the young woman’s gaze. “That may be true of the Order,” he said in a low voice. “But I suspect Eru the One can keep His own counsel on such matters.”

Renaald stepped quickly away from the wall. A flash of metal came from underneath his black cloak.

“I’m not
asking
you,” Olan said. He unfolded his arms. “This is a direct order, Kendril. From a superior officer.”

Kendril looked Olan directly in the eyes. “I’m needed here, in Redemption.”

Olan’s mouth curled into a snarl. “You think I bloody care? We’re battling the followers of the Seteru across all of Rothland, for Eru’s sake. In the grand scheme of things, Redemption is
nothing
.”

“Redemption is my home,” said Kendril. His voice was low and measured. “And if I leave, it will fall to the Jombards.”

“This place
was
your home, my lord,” said Yvonne. She glanced over at Renaald, as if imparting something to the man with her eyes. “But now you are a Ghostwalker. The things of your past are dead to you, just as they are to us.”

Kendril paused for a moment, his eyes darting from one person to another in the room. “Then I guess I’m no longer a Ghostwalker,” he said.

Olan gave a long, predatory smile. “You heard it from his own lips. He’s broken his oath. Turned his back on the Order.”

Kendril didn’t respond. He kept half an eye on Renaald to his right.

“My lord,” said Yvonne into the hush of the room, “you understand the seriousness of what you’re saying?”

Kendril nodded. “I do.” He looked over the Ghostwalkers. “You speak of the Despair as if it was just in Rothland. It’s not. It’s
here
, in Jothland, lurking at the borders of Redemption and threatening to spill into the entire civilized world.” His eyes flashed angrily. “I can stop it. I
have
to stop it, but I can’t do it as a Ghostwalker. I have to do it as a general, a leader of men, a war captain.” He stopped, and glanced down at his worn buff coat. “I have to do it as Lord Ravenbrook.”

“Even if that means losing your redemption, Kendril?” asked Yvonne quietly.

Kendril looked over at her. “If I have to choose which Redemption to sacrifice,” he said through gritted teeth, “then I’ll choose my own.”

“You think being a Ghostwalker is like joining a social club?” Olan’s face was flushed with anger. “You don’t get to just leave whenever you want. You made a commitment,
a vow
, before the rest of us and Eru.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “This isn’t just you leaving, Kendril. This is treason. And our Order has punishments for treason.”

Renaald’s hand darted to the hilt of a long rapier that was half-hidden under his cloak. He kept his beady eyes fixed firmly on Kendril.

Kendril didn’t move. He seemed strangely relaxed. His hands still hung at his side, an eternity away from the flintlock pistols at his belt.

Yvonne gave Olan a warning glance. “
Commander
—”

“Shut up,” Olan snarled at her. “I’m in command here, not you.” He shifted his eyes back to Kendril. Anger and ruthlessness simmered equally in his dark pupils. “Well, Kendril? Last chance. Are you submitting to my order or are you proving yourself a traitor?”

Kendril actually smiled. “You really are an idiot, Olan. You always have been.”

Olan took a menacing step forward. He put a hand on his sword. “
Last chance
.”

Callen got up from the table and backed against the wall.

Tomas swallowed. He stepped back. One of his hands was on the hilt of his sheathed dagger.

Yvonne sat placidly, her hands still folded in front of her.

Renaald stood ready to move, his whole body coiled like a snake about to strike.

Kendril still didn’t move. “Go stuff yourself, Olan.”

Renaald drew his long rapier and leapt forward.

Olan went for his own sword with a growl.