The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [1]
He gripped the arms of the chair, readying himself to head for the eyrie, when Rehada stirred. He paused, wondering what her mood would be now that the day had come.
She turned over, her dark eyes focusing on him slowly. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “Will you see her?”
Nikandr shook his head. “I doubt she will brave the weather.”
Rehada paused. “Is she so frail?”
“Frail?” The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Nyet. The Vostromans are not frail. But I fear she looks upon this marriage in the same manner as I.”
“And how is that?”
“Have I not told you?” he chided.
“Tell me again.”
He stood and took a step toward the door. “As an unwelcome obligation.”
She leaned on one elbow. The covers draped over her waist, accentuating the bow of her hip, the lines of her thighs. A mole marked her left breast, just above the nipple. Anyone else might think there was little emotion inside her, but Nikandr knew the signs. She was hurt.
He glanced up at the window and the brightening sky. He could, perhaps, justify a short delay.
He was nearly ready to go to her when his stomach clenched. That painful, familiar feeling had returned, and it was all he could do to mask it from Rehada.
It was a scene they’d played out a handful of times already. She studied him, confused but unwilling to voice her concerns when he was so clearly unwilling to share. Words of explanation nearly slipped from his mouth, but as he’d done so many times before, he remained silent. This was not something he could share with her. Not yet.
“Go,” she said, turning away from him and lying down. “And give your bride a kiss for me.”
The pain was growing worse—perhaps a sign from the ancients. Either way, he was late.
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, and though he left without another word, the scent of her jasmine hair haunted him throughout the cold and empty streets.
As his pony crested the snow-covered hill, Nikandr squinted from the reflection of the morning sun. The walrus tusk cartridges on the bandolier across his chest clacked as he shifted position in the saddle. Although the wind was brisk and bitter, it had been a long ride and he had long since grown accustomed to it.
The road ahead lay empty—a change from the previous hour, which had brought a score of wagons and coaches heading in the opposite direction toward Volgorod. He could not yet see the eyrie on its high cliff, but its presence could be felt. A dozen ships, waiting for their berth, held position among the burly white clouds. The ships bore goods or dignitaries, or both, in anticipation of the coming Council. Most would return home immediately in hopes of flying the circuit again before Council finished three weeks hence, but some—those whose homes were too distant or whose master’s only purpose was to treat with the gathered royalty—would remain for the duration.
As Nikandr continued down the slope, a massive galleon belonging to the Duchy of Mirkotsk climbed and arced northward, passing high overhead. Four masts were affixed in each of the primary directions: starward, landward, seaward, and windward, sixteen in all. It was a large ship, difficult to pilot, but that was no excuse for the way it was heeling to its windward side. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called like a gull, wishing it safe journey. Moments later, several of the men hanging among the lower rigging waved.
Soon the eyrie came into view. It lay at the edge of the sea, affixed to a towering gray cliff that separated the dark waters from the steady rise of the hills beyond. From this distance the five long quays built into the face of the cliff looked like natural stone ledges, but he knew that each had been built painstakingly by Aramahn stone masons over the course of a decade. The quays each held twelve stout perches that were supported by graceful sweeps of stone as they extended outward from the cliff; they were used to moor, lade, and unlade the windships. The eyrie was—as troubling as it sometimes seemed—the heart of commerce for Khalakovo, the goods it brought the life blood.