Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

24. The Devils' Pact

26th of Uirra, Continued

"My crew were to be hanged yesterday morning..." NaVarre's words trailed off when Arramy aimed a dark glare at him. "You got them out of Wychending," NaVarre murmured, then frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"I had a feeling they would come in handy."

"Prove it," NaVarre said abruptly, sitting back in his chair. "Prove that all my men are here, and that you haven't mistreated them."

Without a word, Arramy pushed himself off the table, went striding over to the door and yanked it open.

NaVarre's First Mate came stumbling into the room as though someone outside had given him a bit of a shove. He had no hat, and his coat was dirty, but he didn't appear to be any the worse for wear as he came to a halt, saw NaVarre, and went bug-eyed. "Sir!" he cried in Illyrian, "I thought ya were dead when they dragged y'off... Are ya well, sir? They're not treatin' ya poor, are they?"

Arramy planted one large hand on Finch's shoulder, bringing him up short several feet shy of reaching NaVarre.

Finch glowered and yanked his coat out of Arramy's grip, but didn't approach any further, turning to ask quietly, "Captain? Are ya well?"

NaVarre was sitting perfectly still, eyes wide. It seemed the great, heartless Bloody Fox had a soft spot after all. He swallowed hard before answering, his voice throaty, "I am well. How many men are with you?"

"All but young Uiri, sir. The lad could'na bear the thought o' bein' tortured. Slit 'is wrists wi' 'is own shackles when we got ta Wychending."

"Ah." NaVarre bowed his head a fraction. "That's a pity. He was a fine lad... And the rest?"

"I've kept 'em fightin' fit, sir," the First Mate said, pride making him stand a little taller. "An'... we're waitin' your orders."

The sly way he said it made me glance at Arramy. Not many mainlanders spoke Illyrian. Did he? It didn't matter, though, because Arramy brought an end to the conversation, forcibly wheeling the First Mate around by the back of his collar, propelling him toward the door and delivering him to whoever was standing watch out in the Bridge.

Silence descended as Arramy returned to lean against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest, mouth set in a firm line.

NaVarre's swagger evaporated when the door closed behind the First Mate, and he looked so relieved I thought he might actually weep. Then he pulled his bravado back on like a mask. "If I tell you what you want to know," he said in Altyran, "Will you release them and allow them to leave on the Angpixen unharmed?"

Arramy's jaw tensed, but he nodded. Once.

NaVarre studied the captain for a beat longer, but Arramy didn't falter. "This is insane..." NaVarre muttered. "I have gone... insane..." Then he closed his eyes, a mirthless smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Alright. You've got yourself a deal, Captain."

"What's your connection to Arrix Warring's operation?" Arramy asked, blunt as a rock.

That made NaVarre burst out laughing. "See, you don't even know what questions to ask. You think this is about a smuggling ring?" His laughter died and he shook his head. "We weren't smuggling anything. We were intercepting slave shipments. That's what we thought we would find on the Persephyrre. Warring gave the signal and I —"

Arramy raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with doubt. "Slave shipments."

"Yes!" NaVarre sparked. "Slave shipments. As in, the illegal shipment of persons who do not wish to be shipped by persons who have paid money to purchase said shipped persons."