Daughter of Blood by Helen Lowe Page A

the far end of the wharf. The tall black prow rose above the dock like a swan’s neck, although unlike the ships of Haarth it was not carved into any shape of beast, bird, or mythic creature. Once Kalan came right up to it, he saw that the ship’s name, Che’Ryl-g-Raham , was indeed the same as that of its navigator. Was it the same for all ships and navigators? he wondered. At the same time, he noted the eyes painted on either side of the black prow. The lines were drawn in sea-green, indigo, and silver to resemble the dawn eyes of Terennin, the far-seeing god, but when Kalan looked away from them to study the rest of the vessel, he found that he was being observed in return.
    The watcher, a woman in a sleeveless, sea-green tunic and leggings, was standing on the fo’c’sle deck with one hand resting against the ship’s prow. She had lines about her eyes but otherwise her face was smooth, and her head was shaven, which made it difficult to place her age. A fine silver chain,hung with charms, shone against one ankle, and silver bracelets twisted up her arms. More silver gleamed in her ears, but like the weatherworker she kept her gaze fixed on a point somewhere past Kalan’s shoulder. He felt the spider’s crawl across his skin again, but inclined his head as courtesy demanded. “Honor on you and on your House.”
    She did not reply, just continued to stare. Madder shifted, trying to turn as footsteps sounded behind them. Turning himself, Kalan saw one of Che’Ryl-g-Raham’s marines, who stopped clear of the horses. “Temorn.” The newcomer indicated himself, before his gaze lifted to the woman by the prow. “She won’t speak to you,” he said. “Best if you stand clear, Khar of Blood, until you’ve been accepted as a passenger.”
    If I’m accepted, Kalan thought. The marine’s look was neutral as he took up position by the gang ramp, but his manner, while not unfriendly, made it clear that he was serious about Kalan leaving. Neither he nor the woman on the fo’c’sle deck spoke or moved again, but Kalan felt their eyes at his back for the length of the quay. The female marine watched him from the ship chandler’s door, nodding as he passed, but she did not speak either, and although the ale drinkers glanced around, none showed any further interest.
    The tangle of godowns at the town end of the quay was quiet, and Kalan guessed that the urchins must have gone to ground. Once clear of the quay, he swung into Madder’s saddle, checking the roan’s sly attempt to nip a passerby who brushed too close. Now that the adrenaline from the wharf confrontation was subsiding, he realized that the swaying sensation had dissipated as well and decided he could wait to eat, after all. When he paused at an intersection close by the Anchor to let a bustle of apprentices and warehouse clerks pass, his attention was caught by a temple down the side lane. The frontage was constricted, comprising little more than a narrow portico with a weathered door, and the stone facing was so worn that even his keen sight could not make out what god it was dedicated to. The statue niches to either side of the door were empty, too, although the obscure location suggested a shrine to the Haarth deity, Karn.
    Except the people here will say Kan, Kalan reminded himself, as they do on the River. Thinking of the dark god, however he was named, put him in mind of Malian, who had followed Kan when she served as an adept in the Shadow Band of Ar. “What are you doing now?” he thought, while knowing there was little chance the mindspeech would reach her at such a distance. “Did you find the sword, I wonder? And will it lead you to Yorindesarinen’s shield more readily than Nhenir led you to her blade? ”
    He had been angry with her when he left Caer Argent, believing she had held out the illusion of choice about his return to the Wall, when her