R. GARCIA Y ROBERTSON

DEATH IN LOVE

Sea Beggars
EROS GRIMACED, AS CUTE as only the God of Love can be, his gloved hand hovering over a glass box full of hissing adders. "M'Lady knows how I hate being a hero." 
Lady Kore nodded, all too aware of her page's limitations. Eros might be a demi-god, but he was young, flighty, and male, never pretending to be brave, or strong, or the least trustworthy. True godhead lay beyond his grasp. Still, he had his uses, and he was family -- Kore's first cousin. "No one expects heroics from you," she assured him. "Just stand alongside me looking sweet." 
Eros brightened visibly. "Or better yet, behind you?" 
"As you wish." She smiled at the idea of this strapping blond demigod, trying to find cover behind her tiny body. Lady Death was small, even for a woman. "Now I need another snake," she told him. "A big one." 
He hesitated, his gloved hand inches above the snakes, whose bright green scales gleamed like polished jade beads in the sunlit air. Perched atop Seagate's second-highest tower, the white marble serpentarium had tall glass windows overlooking the sparkling green Sound with its purple islands fading one into the other. Black ships rode at anchor below, their masts rising like a thick pine forest on the sea. "You could do this so much easier," Eros complained. 
"True," Kore admitted. She had grown up handling poisonous snakes, and at twelve she could lie still and naked in a bed of vipers, or kiss the nose of a striking cobra -- yet her handsome cousin-german had to get over his fear. "But handling snakes is good for you," she pointed out. 
"How so?" Sweat beaded on his cutely knit brow. 
"Snakes teach still attention," she explained. "And instant reaction, both qualities we shall shortly need. It would be better if you took off your gloves." 
Eros grimaced again. "You said that I need only look sweet," he reminded her. Drawing a deep breath, he snatched at the box. 
His hand came out holding an adder just behind the head. Staring in queasy arm's-length fascination, he brought the twisting snake slowly over to her, its tail lashing his mailed sleeve. With enemies at the gate, even Love wore armor. "Will this one do, pretty cousin?" 
"Perfect." Saying a swift protection spell, she reached past the fangs, taking the venomous snake in her bare hand. Shining brown-green scales felt cool and familiar between her fingers. Like most witches Lady Kore was left-handed, and her white sacrificial gown buttoned tightly from wrist to elbow with carved child-bone studs. Loose sleeves led to horrible mistakes. She carried the struggling snake to the milking table, intoning a sonorous chant adders found soothing. Spring sunlight streamed onto the tabletop, reflecting off a venom cup standing amid vials, powders, and potion rings. A flat throwing knife in a tooled leather scabbard lay at the end of a short strap, looking like a doll's sword and belt. Alongside it sat an apple. 
Holding up the snake, she spoke softly to the blunt hideous face, "I am sorry to scare you. We mean no harm, but we need your power, some of your innocent deadliness. I will try to do good with it." 
Beady eyes glared back at her, not at all mollified. Too bad. Kore knew how the snake felt, boxed in by enemies and beset for no reason. Black ships dotted the Sound below -- many more than were welcome -- and Seagate was besieged by men Kore did nothing to harm. Sea Beggars had descended on the Narrows, spreading woe in their wake. Kore knew the tall carrack in command, the Mermaid, infamous from here to the Far Isles. Two smaller carracks, Nymph and Tempest, watched over the seaward approaches to the Narrows. Row barges, barques, and light galleys led by the galeass Scorpion had cut Seagate off from the Sound. Any of these vessels would have been unwelcome; taken together they were a catastrophe. The Sea Beggars had captured the docks and water gate, and breeched the outer bailey. An attack on the inner ward had just been turned back -- leaving Kore no time to get this snake's permission. 
Hooking the adder's long fangs over the lip of the venom cup, she milked the poison glands with her fingertips. Twin gleaming threads of amber venom ran into the cup. Eros shuddered. "Moments like this make me glad I am a man." 
"Playing with snakes and poisons does not appeal to you?" 
"Not the least." 
"Come, you've been in battle. That cannot be much better. What is it like to stand in the front rank, thrusting your boarding pike at some hulking wild-eyed berserk trying to slash you in half?" 
"That is when I wish I was a woman," he replied primly. 
At least Love did not lie. When she had enough venom, she handed the adder back to Eros. "Here, find him a rat. But carefully, he still has plenty of bite." 
Eros took the serpent gingerly, fairly radiating caution. By the time he returned she had refilled her pearl venom ring, and had the viper's tongue in her hand. Touching the steel tip into the venom, she drew back on the stopper, watching as the amber liquid disappeared into the hollow steel shaft. When she had drained the cup, she picked up a pinch of cork and stuck it onto the needle sharp point, careful not to prick herself. Latching the silver stopper, she slid the viper's tongue under the crescent-moon comb in her hair. 
Wiping the cup out with her finger, she touched it to her own tongue, feeling the tingle of fresh venom. As Demi-Goddess of Death, she had venom in her blood, given to her in small doses ever since she was a child. She held her finger out to Eros. "Here, try some. It numbs the tongue." 
Eros shivered at the suggestion. "I will take M'Lady's word." 
She laughed, slipping potion rings onto her fingers. "Come, the Sea Beggars are waiting. You will shortly wish you were back juggling adders. Blindfolded." 
Her page bowed. "Without a doubt." Eros never deigned to hide his concern. Lady Kore liked that, hoping to tap that well-honed sense of self-preservation. Taking the flat throwing knife and scabbard from the table, she lifted her white sacrificial skirt, strapping the knife to her thigh. Eros looked on in grim amusement, "Does M'Lady need a hand.?" 
She smiled at the compliment. Cousin Eros could keep his hands to himself. Cousin or not, he was still a man, young, good-looking, and the God of Love, and from what her serving women said, very athletic in bed. But Kore had long ago given up playing under the blankets with boy cousins. Female descent and male ambition led naturally to ritual incest. Cousins married cousins, and sisters slept with brothers to keep family keeps and castles from passing to strangers. Eros had no sisters to seduce. If he wanted to claim any of the family holdings he must marry one of his cousins -- preferably Kore, or her little sister Persephone. Or face being a homeless deity. Having no sisters meant all his mother's holdings, even the castle Eros was raised in, would one day come to Kore, something Eros never forgot. 
Standing up, she let her skirt fall back down to her ankles. Stretching out her arms and fingers, she could feel the knife on her thigh, the rings on her fingers, and the silver viper's tongue in her hair. There was even a spring-loaded blade in her left boot. She shivered. Being decked from head to foot with blades and potions was not a pleasant sensation, but she was the Demi-Goddess of Death, Dark Daughter to the Goddess-on-Earth. Her own mortality was always before her, and she accepted her death, hoping only to have a daughter one day to raise in her place. Now she must go down to the breach to parley with the besiegers, where she could not count on chivalry to protect her, not from Sea Beggars. Witches were beyond the pale. No promise made to witches need be kept. No flags of truce need be honored. If the Sea Beggars seized her, they could sell her to some local landgraf for burning. Or throw her into the Sound with an anchor stone tied to her ankles. And no one could lift a hand to save her, not even dear cousin Eros who found her so pretty. 
So Kore must see to her own safety. She took the apple off the table, slipping it into a secret pocket, and saying to Eros, "Order the bowmen to hold their fire. Then meet me at the gate." Bowing obediently, he opened the big bronze door for her. Serving women waited outside the serpentarium, ready to help her into the stiff cloth-of-gold surcoat that fitted over her white gown. Kore's personal arms were embroidered on the front -- on a field gules, a vulture sable vorant a child -- a black vulture on a red field devouring a child. Too gaudy for ordinary wear, but perfect for greeting barbarians at the gate. 
Standing still, she let them dress her, knowing she was their hope and protection, the Dark Daughter that women turned to in the face of death. Word went swiftly through a keep full of women; everyone knew who came and went, what plans were made, what omens were told -- while constantly recasting their personal horoscopes. Right now all fortunes looked bleak. Already these women were virtual prisoners. As they worked, she touched each in turn, drawing their fear into her dark core. Some were much older than she, others heartbreakingly young; all were scared. If Sea Beggars sacked the keep, any woman who survived would see her life get worse -- far worse. To emphasize that point besiegers used women and children hostages in the last attack, driving them forward at spear point as human shields. It had not worked, but it showed what to expect. 
Yet their fear came from clinging to life, while she had given herself over to death, putting her in cool command. "Dinner must be served at the usual time," she reminded them, "not a jot later -- unless you hear from me. Understand? And no heavy cooked dishes. Cold meats. Smoked ham. Fish and cheeses, served with figs, apples, scones and salted butter. Is there any fresh herring to be had?" 
They shook their heads. "The herring fleet never arrived." And was not likely to. 
"Salt fish will have to do. And beer. Cold beer from the cistern, in big buckets." 
They grinned at that. 
"That's good. Be brave, bring beer, and all will be well. Dead or alive." They laughed at that too. No one could serve Death daily without developing a sense of humor. Liveried guards in her vulture crest saluted as she descended the spiral stairs and crossed the inner drawbridge leading to the gate. Eros met her at the outer portcullis, with a white satin sheet tied to a herald's gold staff. Heralds were sacrosanct, but-Kore saw he still had mail under his ermine and velvet surcoat, and doubtless a folding crossbow up his flowing sleeve. Having no scruples himself, Eros lacked faith in others. She asked, "Did you warn the archer?" 
"I told him to cover us. And if anyone fires at the wrong time, I promised to strangle him with his own bowstring." 
"I suppose that must do." She waited for the portcullis to rise. This inner gate was a miracle of military engineering, built around an inner drawbridge, with a portcullis at either end, and openings above allowing all manner of noxious substances to be poured over intruders. Narrow arrow slits with round firing ports at their bases covered her from three sides -- soldiers had an amusing name for these deadly stone slits w one referring to female anatomy. Though she learned it as a girl, no one now dared use it to her face. 
When the portcullis clanged to a stop overhead, Eros stuck his white flag out the gate, waved it energetically, then made an after-you motion. "Lead on, M'Lady." 
Even people who hated and despised her thought it must be fine to be Dark Daughter to the Goddess-on-Earth, Demi-Goddess of Death, Lady of Seagate, heiress to castles and keeps. And a witch as well. Perhaps it was, though Kore had nothing to judge it by, since this was the life she was given. Now she must prove her worth -- be Death incarnate, or share the fate of any hapless serf girl stoned for having the evil eye. Or for playing with snakes. 
She stepped out onto the stone flags of the inner ward, a flat triangle jutting from the base of the keep. Towering clouds topped the peaks to the west, and sunlight shone on the water around her. Eros followed her out, dutifully waving his flag. Seagate stood atop a rock spur ringed by water, separating the Narrows into two channels -- called the Gullet and the Windpipe. Stone bridges connected Seagate's inner ward to the adjacent headlands, but the main entrance was the water gate at the base of the rock, now in the hands of Sea Beggars. No ship could now pass the Narrows, nor approach the keep. Nor was there a friendly fleet big enough to break through to Seagate. 
Women and children cowered against the outer parapet, huddled just below the wall walk, staring wide-eyed at her, Death herself walking their way. These were the hostages the Sea Beggars had driven before them. Kore signed for the women to keep down. First task was to somehow get these innocents inside the keep -- but a general rush for safety would only provoke a massacre. Sea Beggars crouched just behind the battlements in the outer ward -- crossbows cocked, heads hidden, but still hoping the hostages would block up the keep's elaborate gate defenses. 
"Not a promising picture," Eros concluded. Kore nodded, seeing the open ward littered with bodies, surrounded by spent arrows and catapult balls. The body closest to her stirred, breathing, but unable to get up. Kore went down on one knee beside a Sea Beggar in a bright blue brigandine jacket studded with nailheads. A melon-sized catapult ball had crushed his leg; he also had a crossbow bolt in his boot and a couple of arrows in his armored jacket -- but those hardly counted. She doubted he even felt them. 
"Does it hurt?" she asked. 
The bearded pirate winced. "Like fire, M'Lady." 
"This will help." She told Eros, "Get out your horn and cup." Her herald produced a drinking horn, pouring water into the shallow cup that served as a cap. Opening a potion ring, she mixed in sleeping powder, then gave it to the man. He immediately downed the potion -- a wound like this produced a powerful thirst. Then he sank back, breathing softly. Sea Beggars did not flinch at being tended by a witch, happily taking whatever you had to offer -- and more. 
She went from body to body, saying a prayer each time. All the other Sea Beggars were beyond help, save for a beautiful blonde boy with a javelin clear through him. Hitting too low to kill outright, the iron spear tore through the boy's intestine, severed his spine and spilled buckets of blood w doing everything but killing him. That was left to Kore. Soothing the boy, she told Eros to give him water, then she drew the viper's tongue out of her hair, slipping off the cork. This was her most feared aspect, though it was merely the dark side of healing. Seeing him taste the water, she slid the needle into his neck, saying a prayer and pressing the stopper. She held his head, singing softly until he was dead. Mother-Lover-Destroyer, with him until the end. 
Women and children huddled below the wall walk, watching Death work up close. None of them were wounded. Horrified and frightened for sure, but not physically harmed -- so far. Archers atop the keep knew their business, shooting over the heads of the hostages, neatly dropping everything from crossbow bolts to catapult balls onto the Sea Beggars behind them, who now crouched behind makeshift barricades studded with arrows. 
She slid the viper's tongue back into her comb, having done what she could for the dead and wounded, turning her attention to the live and whole -- a much harder task. Head-sized stones landing on a man's leg made him much more manageable, piteously glad for a woman's touch. Hale and hearty Sea Beggars holding the outer ward were not so easy to please. Motioning for Eros to follow, she strode up to the breach the Sea Beggars had made by throwing a wooden footbridge over the gap between the outer and inner wards. Helmeted heads peeked up to take a look at her. Her white silk gown and scarlet surcoat were picked to draw attention meant to make her look more like a prize than a target. Saying a short protective spell, she stepped up onto the wall walk, an easy mark for any arrow, Eros's white flag waving behind her. 
Sea Beggars in steel helmets and studded jackets crouched at the far end of their short footbridge, which bristled with arrows. Boarding pikes poked across the gap. Rising onto her toes, Kore called out, "Hallo, the outer ward. Who calls at Seagate keep?" 
Slowly an unkempt captain in dented half armor rose to greet her. Under less trying circumstances he would have been handsome, with a strong hawklike face, a trim beard, and deep-set eyes -- but now he just looked haggard, like he had lost sleep, with a fresh cut over his eye, and an arrow hole in his salt-stained hose. Between them lay five yards of arrow-studded bridge, flung across the gap between the two wards, a forty-foot deep rock trench separating the inner and outer wards. Stepping up onto the footbridge in worn sea boots, the Sea Beggar doffed his steel pot-helm and managed a sweeping bow. "Stefan Ryschov of the Mermaid, at your service." 
"Lady Kore of Seagate," she replied, neglecting her other titles A right now this was the one that mattered. Last she heard the Mermaid was commanded by Le Suisse, but among Sea Beggars ownership is a sometime thing. She stepped up onto the bridge, putting them on the same level, asking, "Why have you come here, disturbing our peace?" 
"Because we have no choice, M'Lady. We are fleeing for our lives, and you were merely in the way. Believe me, we do not wish to be here, but this is our sole way into the Sound." 
Where they were thoroughly unwanted. She tactfully pretended they had a chance of getting in. "Ships enter and leave the Sound every day. You could have anchored here, asking leave to pass in civilized fashion." 
Captain Stefan scoffed at the notion. "And be wiped out while you listened to our pleas and sobs, in civilized fashion? No, M'Lady, we have women and children aboard our boats. We had to see them safe before settling down to talk." 
Admirable sentiments. It was hard to hate such a reasonable-sounding villain. She made a sign to Eros, signaling him to get ready. "What is this you fear so much." 
He smiled ruefully. "Something so terrible it has me knocking on Death's door." Not just knocking, but darn near breaking it in. She studied the 
brigand intently, trying to see the man behind the dented half-armor and stained hose. His men were afraid of her, literally cowering at Death's door. Even his Ensign barely poked the mermaid banner over the parapet. But handsome Captain Stefan Ryschov stood atop the breach, a target for the entire keep, boldly answering her back, trying to better see the curves behind her vulture surcoat, treating Death herself like a woman. Whatever this man ran from must be truly frightening. "What could be worse than Death?" 
"Black Sails." He said it softly, as though he feared they would hear. 
"Black Sails?" She, however, had never heard of them. 
He nodded, not liking to say the name again. 
She signaled with her hand, saying, "Suppliants at Death's door deserve to be fed." Eros dipped his truce flag twice, and smiling women flowing white dresses emerged from under the iron portcullis carrying smoked hams and baskets of figs and scones, along with bags of apples, tubs of butter, and big cool buckets of beer. Helmeted heads rose up along the far parapet, revealing smiles on haggard faces -- a ragged cheer came from the Sea Beggars. 
Women came bravely forward, holding the food in front of them, stepping around the bodies by the breach. Sea Beggars stood up, gesturing wildly, calling to the women, "Come here, Honey. Is that beer? Bring it, we have a horrible thirst." 
Encouraged, the women came right up to the breach, laughing and making a game of passing beer and food across the gap, throwing figs and scones over to the men, sticking hams on spear points, looping bucket ropes over their pikes so the beer would slide down the pike shafts to them. Kore stepped farther out onto the bridge, ignoring the dizzying drop, drawing the apple from her secret pocket, offering it to Captain Stefan. "Here. You too are a guest of Seagate." 
He did not take it, staring hard at her, not liking the way his men had dropped their guard to welcome her women. But he knew it was no use ordering them back. She stepped closer, still holding out the apple. "Afraid to eat from the hand of Death?" 
"You have used poison on one of my men already." He meant the dying boy. 
"He could be helped no other way." She took a bite of the apple, finding it cool and tart. Then she offered it again to him. "Your own case is not nearly so hopeless." 
"So you say." He took the apple, turned it in his hand, and bit where she had bit. That was Eros's signal. Shielded by the women joyously handing out food, he hustled the hostages across the inner ward and under the portcullis into the keep. Men at the breach were much too busy swilling beer and calling to the women to think of trying to stop them. Task one was a fait accompli, at the cost of turning her besiegers into dinner guests. 
To keep Stefan's attention on her, she asked, "Who are these Black Sails?" 
He took another bite of the apple, calmly accepting the loss of his hostages; after all, he now had her within easy reach. "They came from the east, from north of the Great Wall, killing and burning, emptying villages to make room for their cattle. Without warning they fell on the coastal cities, sacking Ustengrad and Zransky. Ustengrad resisted and they slaughtered everyone, even the dogs and cats. Zransky opened its gates in abject surrender, but they still killed everyone taller than a wagon wheel, saving only the children to sell as slaves." 
Ustengrad had its temple to her, so did Zransky; she appointed the head priestesses herself, loving competent women committed to care for the sick and dying. Kore said a silent prayer for their souls. "What of Tskova?" 
Captain Stefan waved his apple at his men in the outer ward, happily eating and drinking. "We are what is left of Tskova. Those you see here, and their families aboard ship. Our homes are gone, along with our livelihoods. We sailed across to Korland, thinking the broad sea reach would save us -- only to find them there ahead of us. Nordgorad and Lulavik were already in ashes, what survivors there were joined us, leaving nowhere to go but here. Or to the Far Isles." 
Nordgorad and Lulavik as well. Every seaport north of the Sound gone, swept away before she heard there was even trouble. She had celebrated Solstice in Lulavik less than a fortnight ago. "How is that possible?" 
"Hell alone knows, M'Lady." He very much meant it. She saw handsome Captain Stefan could barely comprehend how he came to be standing here, hundreds of leagues from home, a half-eaten apple in his hand, bargaining with a witch at Death's door. "Until now I had seen nothing like them. Black Sails worship only the wind which fills their sails, taking them where they want to go. Nothing stops them, not city walls, nor open sea. Fearing nothing, they give no quarter, falling out of nowhere like a steel typhoon, wiping the sea clean in their wake." 
She shook her head, barely believing this could happen without her knowing. She had heard sea tales aplenty of course, enough to know Captain Stefan was a cunning ruthless pirate, running for his life along with his women and children, and willing to throw men and ships against a stone fortress that had stood scores of sieges -- if he was not running from these "Black Sails" then it had to be from something equally bad. She asked, "Are they human?" That at least would give her an edge; she was still Demi-Goddess of Death. 
"Perhaps," Stefan shrugged armored shoulders. "They do not look like us, having leathery skin and slanted demon eyes. At Zransky they raped the younger women before slitting their throats. Does that make them more or less human?" 
She saw his point; but humans had human weaknesses, giving her some hope. Her women bid happy farewells to the men across the gap, blowing kisses and tossing the last of the apples, then skirting the bodies and heading for safety. Men clamored for them to stay, calling out endearments, reaching into the gap, begging, "Come finish the beer with us!" -- but making no concerted attempt to stop them. Only a shower of arrows could keep her women from reaching the keep, and that was out of the question -- no one wanted to turn the party back into a battle. 
Now she alone had to be extracted, standing on -- and blocking -- the makeshift bridge over the rock trench between the two wards. Keeping her gaze fixed on Captain Stefan, holding his attention, she asked, "What do you want?" 
He smiled insolently over the apple, flirting with Death for a moment. "To eat, to breathe, to make love to women. Beautiful ones if possible. Nothing that out of the ordinary." Then he nodded over his shoulder. "It is not what I want -- it is what the Black Sails want that matters. They will be here, sooner than you think." 
"How soon?" Less than an hour ago she did not know these Black Sails existed; now they might top the horizon at any moment. 
"We feared they might be here ahead of us, like at Nordgorad and Lulavik." 
"And now that you have beat them here?" 
"We have no time to waste." Captain Stefan deftly ticked off demands. "After sending our families to safety in the Sound, we can unite to defend the Narrows, doubling your garrison and adding a fleet of warships. Together we might have a chance to hold them off, a tiny one it is true, but a chance." 
How like a man. Breaks in her door, strews bodies on the inner ward, and instead of apologizing he wants to move in. Captain Stefan could use a lesson in humility. "Do you not fear to make a deal with Death?" 
He shrugged again. "Death we can bargain with, but not the Black Sails." 
Pity. But there would be no bargaining, not now anyway. Captain Stefan could keep what he had won, and not a jot more. She told him, "This most important message you have brought must be taken at once to my mother, the Goddess-on-Earth, if you are to find safe haven in the Sound." One very huge "if" -- absolutely no one in the Sound wanted Sea Beggars settling in -- she foresaw that without any spellcraft. "Until I return with her answer, make free with the outer ward, which is yours to use so long as you are here. Water and provisions will be provided from the castle cistern and stores. Your man with the broken leg should live -- if you lack a reliable bone-setter, I will provide, for you are my guests and under my protection." 
His grin returned, "But that is not near good enough. I need you to open up your keep, and give assurances." 
"You have my promise of protection," she reminded him. 
"Hardly reassuring," he retorted. 
"Alas, it is the best I have -- now I must consult with the Goddess-on-Earth. I look forward to seeing you again, for this has been most pleasant." Lifting her skirt, she turned and started back toward the inner ward, mindful of the arrows sticking in the bridge. 
Captain Stefan cried, "Stop!" 
She turned to him, arching an eyebrow. "What for?" 
"I did not give you leave to go." Stefan's men looked up, surprised to find things suddenly amiss. 
"Then pray give me leave, for I am going." She stepped down off the bridge and starting walking across the inner ward toward the gate. 
Again he shouted after her, "Stop! I must have access to your keep." 
She turned, smiling apologetically. "You have been excellent company and provided a most valuable warning -- putting me doubly in your debt -- but if this warning is to make a difference, I must go at once, for your benefit as much as anyone's." No one could say Death was not polite. 
"Wait!" he demanded. "My archers can cut you down before you get halfway to the gate." 
"Do what you will," she told him primly, turning her back on the bows. Death left all such decisions up to the living, taking each soul as it came. 
"Halt!" he shouted, angry to have given away his hostages for ham and beer. "I vow if you take another step, I shall have them fire." 
Thank Hecate she made a small target. She continued walking toward the gate, silent and implacable as her namesake. Let them shoot. Kore lived every moment of her life ready to die -- the only way for the Demi-Goddess of Death. How could she ask others to let go of their lives gratefully, if she was not always ready to give up her own? Secretly, however, she did not think Captain Stefan would have his men shoot; killing the one person who offered him shelter was not a good bet for a buccaneer. Completely out of character in fact. And it was doubly unlikely his archers would obey -- only a bold Sea Beggar would drink and eat at Death's door, then shoot his witch-hostess in the back. Sailors were far too superstitious. If Captain Stefan meant to kill her, he would have to do it himself. 
But he did not. When the portcullis rang down behind her, handsome Captain Stefan still stood at the breach, holding his half-eaten apple. 
Hawking
LADY KORE WENT hawking to be alone. The pastime's very nature insured privacy. As soon as she put on her fleece-lined hawking jacket over harem pants tucked into soft leather boots, and climbed past the palace dovecotes into the dimly lit mews, she entered a world of limitless freedom and exhilarating solitude, a world denied to everyone but falconers and their birds. And right now she needed solitude, to be alone with her problems, ordering her thoughts in private, before meeting with Mother. In Seagate under siege, everyone's eyes were on her. Women attended her waking needs, then watched over her while she slept. Dwarfs peered up at her. Stone gargoyles glared down. Guards gawked in silent fascination as she passed, knowing their life lay in her hands. In a crisis she was supposed to be as implacable and unfeeling as death itself, and dared not share her private fears with any of them, not even cute cousin Eros. 
Moreover, hawking was a woman's pastime, not as practical as needlepoint, nor as dangerous as childbirth, but not safe or frivolous either; a pastime where patient sensitivity counted for more than size and strength, where for once Kore's light weight and small frame were actual advantages. Hawking took infinite care, an even temper, and calm alert daring -- all qualities Kore needed to nurture. Big as a barn, and perched on the topmost tower of Seagate keep, the high gabled mews had tall double doors at each end. The mews-boy met her at the trap entrance, touching his forelock, asking, "Which bird does Your Highness wish ? Will it be Havoc?" 
Havoc was her favorite hawk, a huge purebred Barbary roc. "Make it Ripper," Kore decided, "the young griffhawk in training. We can both can use the exercise." Already things were simpler. 
Bowing, the boy hastened to obey, leading her to the griffhawk's perch. The smaller birds -- merlins, goshawks, gyrfalcons, peregrines and golden eagles -- had their roosts high up along the wall, with long ladders leading to them. The larger birds -- rocs, griffhawks, and giant condors had tall perches spaced along the floor, high enough to keep their sweeping tail feathers from touching the coarse clean sand. With a low whistle, Kore caught the griffhawk's attention, talking calmly and gently while the boy used a ladder to saddle the falcoform six times his size and weight. As she tightened the breast straps, Kore told the hawk what fun they would have. "This is a day for flying. Just you and me. Free as the air." 
Cocking her hooded head, the huge bird-of-prey looked fiercely back at Kore through the eye holes. A full-grown griffhawk stood ten feet at the shoulder, and could spear you with her talons, or take off your head with her great curved beak. Hawking was not a pastime for the timid. Or foolhardy. 
Which was why Kore hand-raised her hawks, never trusting a bird she did not know. Most birds in the mews were her nestlings, but only the griffhawks were native to Markovy, coming from beyond the Iron Wood, where they lived off steppe antelope and straying cattle. The giant condors were bred from a single pair, sent to the Goddess-on-Earth by a distant potentate. Rocs came from Far Barbary, where hillmen risked their lives climbing crags to steal their eggs. A single egg was worth a fortune, if the hatchling was female -- males were too small for flying, fit only for breeding and bringing down deer. Handfeeding her hawks from the time they hatched, Kore talked to them, and got them accustomed to her touch, taught them simple commands. As they grew older, she trained them to take the hood and empty saddle, and to follow a lure. Weight was added as they matured-- until the day when the hawk could carry her. "Come," she told Ripper, "'twill be an adventure." 
Climbing onto the hawk, she lay down on the saddle, strapping herself in and taking up the hood reins, telling the boy to untie the leash and open the great double doors. Flocks of pigeons from the dovecotes wheeled through the noon sky. The griffhawk followed them with her eye. Kore leaned forward, whispering, "Go." 
Spreading wings as long as catapult levers, the griffhawk sprang from her perch. Soaring out the double doors, she swooped low over the inner ward, gathering speed. Lying prone in the saddle, Kore felt the heart-pumping surge of takeoff. Women cooking on rooftops or hanging out wash looked up. Children waved. Walls flashed past, then sea and rocks rose to greet her. "Up, up." She shifted backward in the saddle, saying, "Lift and soar." 
Ripper obeyed, catching the updraft off the keep walls, soaring upward. As they rose, Kore pulled harder on the hood reins, banking to the right, to search for the broad standing wave where the prevailing west winds rose up over the eastern headland. Turning through a shallow three-quarter circle, she felt for the updraft, urging the hawk to go higher. Again the griffhawk obeyed. Young and new to the game, the hawk still enjoyed flight as much as Kore. Catching the wave of air breaking over the sea cliffs, they spiraled upward into morning sunlight. 
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Seagate falling away behind her, ringed by scattered rocks and white reefs, its twin bridges reaching out to the east and west headlands. Seagate divided the Narrows into the Gullet, and the narrower Windpipe; these two channels were the only passage between the Sound and the White Sea, an inlet of the Arctic Ocean that separated northern Markovy from the polar ice cap. Two massive underwater chains kept oceangoing ships from using either channel without permission -- but the Sea Beggars had slid their galleys, barques, zebecks and row barges over the chains into the shelter of the sound. Only their big seagoing carracks were blocked from entering. Nymph, Tempest, and the flagship Mermaid were moored in the mouth of the Gullet amid a half-dozen captured merchant ships, safe from wind and sea but unable to enter the Sound -- hopefully Captain Stefan was swinging in his hammock, taking his ease until she got back. 
But whatever devilment the Sea Beggar planned, she prayed it did not hatch until she returned, or there was bound to be yet more mayhem. Being Demi-Goddess of Death was not as soft as some folks imagined; accepting her own death did not make the death of others any easier. Mere mortals clung pitifully to life, like that boy in the inner ward, his guts speared and spine cut, his body useless, but still he sobbed at her breast, clutching her gown, wanting to live. And now whole cities full of them had been massacred. Or so the Sea Beggars said. Way too much depended on the doubtful word of a buccaneer and smuggler trying to bully his way into the Sound. For all she knew the Black Sails were just a sea story like sirens and lost Atlantis. Korland and the northern ports might be basking in the long warm days after solstice, enjoying peace and plenty while she was put into a panic by a smooth-talking pirate. 
Hoping handsome Captain Stefan was making a complete fool of her, she steered her hawk along the high eastern headland, riding the long wave of air curling over the mountain spine bordering the Sound. When the east shore sank down into rolling foothills, she turned inland toward the Iron Wood, catching the hot updraft off the black barren expanse of metal trees. Spiraling upward in this massive thermal, she took the griffhawk higher than any bird would ever go, until they were alone in the vast sea of air. Here was hawking at its most lonesome, woman and bird surrounded by miles of open sky. 
Saying a prayer to the winds, she turned Ripper back toward the cloud-wracked Sound, putting the hawk in a shallow stoop, gathering speed. By the time they broke through the clouds they were winging over water, with Fair Isle just ahead -- her mother's home, sanctuary to the Goddess-on-Earth. Lying under the Peace of the Goddess, Fair Isle had no guards, no garrison, and no edged weapons, unless you counted scythes and turnip knives. Tall natural cliffs forced all boats to land at a single small wharf, where people and cargo were lifted up the cliffs in oversized baskets. Otherwise Fair Isle was unapproachable, except by air. She brought her griffhawk down inside the temple precinct, landing in her mother's private garden, telling the startled nymphs to feed and care for her hawk. Death is always informal, arriving when and where she pleases. 
Ripper happily preened herself, pleased with her flight. Everyone else did Kore instant homage -- not as unnerving as you might imagine -- but she much preferred the informality of Seagate, where people wore her livery without dropping to their knees whenever she appeared. Open adoration showed how much these people feared her. Fair Isle lived on what her people grew, and on milk from their flocks -- all with very little discord. Any crimes or accusations were judged by the Goddess herself, under threat of banishment. Theft was rare, rape unheard of, and there had never been a killing of any sort. No one even ate meat, and the only animals slaughtered were goats fed to her griffhawks. Kore alone was allowed to bring weapons and killing to Fair Isle. 
Mother met her in the innermost sanctuary, a square court open to the sky, where they could kiss and hug, and talk in private -- though everyone knew the Dark Daughter had come unexpectedly, and everyone feared the worst. Mother wore her silver regalia, the cloth-of-silver gown, crescent moon headdress, and white polar bear cloak of the Goddess-on-Earth. Kore still had on her leather flying jacket, over harem pants and hawking boots, making her feel less like death incarnate, and more like a child, running in all disheveled and dressed for play, telling her Mother a terrible story. And her tale was terrible, sounding worse each time she told it. Eros at least was openly scornful -- claiming Sea Beggars would say anything for a chance to loot the Sound -- but that was male bravado, unwilling to admit to problems Love could not solve. On peaceful undefended Fair Isle, Captain Stefan's story sounded ten times worse. Mother was properly horrified, saying she had never heard of these Black Sails. "Cathayans speak of 'barbarians' north of the Great Wall, but claim they are of no account." 
Kore smiled grimly. "We are all no account barbarians to the Cathayans." 
"Exactly," Mother agreed -- though she never left Fair Isle, the Goddess-on-Earth had vast knowledge of people and places. "And Tskova has long been a troublesome nest of smugglers and privateers." Neither Sea Beggars nor Cathayans could normally be trusted. "Men will most likely call it a lie.... " 
"Eros already has," Kore told her. 
Mother nodded, "... meant to ease their way into the Sound." 
"So Eros said." 
"Cousin Eros is a valuable window into the male mind," Mother observed, "never deigning to hide his thoughts, no matter how prurient or self-interested. Yet he remains open to reason." That could hardly be said for the rest of the Sound's floating population of fisher clans, Norse traders, Flemish merchants, monks, sealers and the like -- loosely ruled by quarrelsome Markovite boyars farther south. Only fear of Kore and awe of the Goddess-on-Earth kept them in check, without making them the least bit trusting. Mother swiftly foresaw their reaction. "First they will deny the danger, thinking only of the Sea Beggars and their threat to the Sound." 
Kore agreed. "It would take gem-hard proof to convince them." Boyars and landgrafs were more likely to burn witches than listen to them. 
"And if we do convince them, they will want to fight," Mother pointed out. "First the Sea Beggars, then the Black Sails." Keeping Death awfully busy for the foreseeable future. Kore agreed that unreasoning denial followed by blind aggression were the most likely reactions. Even Captain Stefan knew better than that -- offering an immediate alliance against the Black Sails -- desperate enough to die defending someone else's home. "We can only hope the Sea Beggars are lying," Mother concluded. "If they are, and Seagate holds, then these buccaneers cannot get their big ships into the Sound -- keeping the combatants apart." 
With Seagate in between; Death did the dirty work, so Fair Isle could stay pure. "As long as there are no Black Sails," Kore pointed out. 
The Goddess-on-Earth eyed her intently. "Do you think these Black Sails are real?" 
Kore nodded, "Yes, I do." She wished it were not so, but she did. 
"Why so?" Mother asked. 
As Demi-Goddess of Death, Kore had a worst-case mentality that came from accepting the most terrible outcomes -- but that was not why she believed the Black Sails were real. "I could see it in Captain Stefan's eyes. He was not telling a sea tale; he was frightened. And he is a man not easily scared." 
Mother arched an eyebrow. "And is he handsome as well?" 
"Moderately so." Kore had no designs on Captain Stefan, no matter how handsome. Death must be a maiden, or a crone, never a mother. She could not both raise a child and be always ready to die. Someday she would give up her post to have children, but not now, not today, not with Sea Beggars in the Sound and Black Sails bearing down on her. "But good looks could not hide his fear. The Black Sails are real and dangerous. They may not be as bad as Captain Stefan says, but they are bad." 
"We must have more than a Sea Beggar's word on this," Mother pointed out. "And we must know more than he has told you. Who are these Black Sails? Where did they come here from? And why?" 
It was Kore's task to find out, since Death got all the difficult cases. To rest her griffhawk, she flew one of Mother's rocs back to Seagate. Bigger than griffhawks, rocs could be ridden sitting up, and the Goddess had a half dozen pairs in her mews, though only her daughters and granddaughters flew them. The giant birds lived by hunting deer and antelope on the mainland, observing Fair Isle's ban on killing for food. 
Skimming low over the shore, Kore caught the hot updraft off the Iron Wood, spiraling slowly upward, giving herself time to plan. She had to go to Korland herself to see if Nordgorad and Lulavik were really in ashes, and search for some sign of the mysterious Black Sails. But first she must keep the Sea Beggars from making mischief behind her back -- maybe even forge a truce with Captain Stefan. It was in the Sea Beggars' self-interest to confirm their story and scout the movements of the Black Sails, assuming they existed. Flocks of snow geese flew alongside her in big honking V formations, headed for summer feeding grounds on Korland. 
Riding the standing wave along the eastern ridgeline, she saw the black mass of Seagate ahead, silhouetted against the tarnished gold glow of a high latitude summer sunset. It had been a long, long day -- that began before dawn, with Sea Beggars bashing in the water gate and seizing the outer ward -- and she could use whatever rest the short night had to offer. 
No such luck. As she neared the keep she made out tiny black specks in the sunset glow, hanging about the Gullet Tower like wasps in amber. War kites. Instantly awake, she leaned forward, putting her roc into a stoop, flashing over the Windpipe to take a closer look. Damn, she could not leave for even half a day without some new disaster. Circling above the keep, she saw that the Sea Beggars had brought row barges towing war kites into the Gullet, anchoring just upwind of the Gullet Tower, which sat at the west end of the inner ward, serving as a gatehouse for the bridge spanning the Gullet. But that was not why the Sea Beggars had attacked the Gullet Tower; they picked it because the tower housed the mechanism working the chain guarding the Gullet. By taking the tower the Sea Beggars could bypass Seagate, bringing their big ships and merchant prizes straight into the Sound. 
Landing her roc on a wall walk out of range of the kites, she told the startled sentries to fetch Eros, "And have him bring my scythe!" 
Sentries dashed off to do her bidding, making her glad to be back where she was obeyed instead of worshipped. What should she make of this second Sea Beggar attack? Was it proof Captain Stefan had lied, merely seeking to loot the Sound? Or was he just desperate to escape the Black Sails? Either way, he must be turned back as quickly and cheaply as possible -- just to prove that force would not work. Then they could negotiate. She wished she had called for Havoc as well as her scythe, but there was no time to change rocs in mid-battle. 
Eros brought the scythe, a big beautiful one with a black handle and a long shining steel-alloy blade shaped like a sliver-thin moon. He had his own Love God's bow as well -- a gold-chased double crossbow with a telescopic sight. Handing over the scythe, he made his report, saying Sea Beggars had indeed anchored kite barges in the Sound. "They cleared the top of the Gullet Tower with arrow fire, then landed men from one of the box kites, who let clown a line to more men waiting on the seaward side of the tower. Luckily that is all they have taken, but they are trying to fight their way down to the chain mechanism. So as long as their kites fire down on us, we cannot mount a counterattack, or direct adequate fire on the tower." 
"How many kites?" she demanded, determined to do something before they lost the light. 
"Two big box kites, and a dozen smaller ones." Eros pulled a clip of six hypodermic quarrels from his belt, sliding it into the bow; springs in the clip fed the quarrels two at a time into the double bow, which was already bent. 
Kore grinned at him. "Make love not war?" 
"Naturally." Eros smiled back, closing the bolt, locking in the quarrels. 
She took off, again wishing she were aboard Havoc, urging her borrowed roc upward into the fading light, her scythe shining blood red in the sunset. Heading for the nearest kite line, she swooped down, picking a spot where she could not be fired on from the barges or by the archer lashed to the huge kite at the end of the line. As her hawk plunged past, she caught the silk line with her scythe, slicing it neatly. 
Half the line dropped down into the Gullet and the other half shot off as the man-kite was borne away downwind. She said a prayer for his soul. If he came down in water the fellow was a Sea Beggar and presumably could swim -- if not, Death had small sympathy for someone who made his living as a sniper. 
She cut a second line and a third, one by one getting rid of the kites along the west wall of the keep. Archers strapped to the kites and firing powerful recurve bows kept Eros and his men from advancing along the wall walk toward the Gullet Tower. As she severed a fourth line a spear flashed past her; looking up she saw a big four-story box kite with a basket beneath it. A windlass on a barge below was winding the box kite down, and two men in the basket were throwing heavy javelins at her, trying to spear her borrowed bird. 
Banking hard to avoid the next spear, she made a pass at the cable connecting the box kite to the barge, slashing as she flew by. But the box kite cable was too thick, and she nearly lost her scythe and her seat. Saved by her saddle strap, she put her roe in a stoop to gain speed, then flew back up along the wail, with black night wind rushing through her hair. Ahead she saw more silk kite lines to cut, standing taut in the last of the light. Eros and his men were on the wall walk, shouting and waving to her. She waved back with her scythe. Eros had his double bow out, aiming it her way -- which she could not understand. What was he trying to say? 
As she pondered her cousin's strange behavior, a heavy weight hit her from behind, knocking the wind out of her. Arms closed around her chest, and she lost her scythe, along with her grip on the reins. Seeing a flash of steel, she expected to feel a stab in the back, or a blade through her throat. Instead the knife cut her saddle strap, and her roc fell away. 
Feet kicking in empty air, she was no longer flying, but being held aloft by whoever had her -- if he let go, she would fall to the rocks below. Twisting about, she grabbed one of the kite straps, though the man showed no sign of releasing her. Looking up, she saw the huge rounded outline of the kite bowed by the evening wind, and beneath it a familiar face, grinning back at her. 
"Lady Death, we meet again." It was Stefan Ryschov, Captain of the Mermaid, lashed to a man-carrying kite and looking almighty pleased with himself. And rightly so. He had dipped his kite down as she sped past, catching her from behind -- a neat bit of maneuvering, showing Captain Stefan and the men on his barge were masters at kite flying -- putting her at his mercy. 
Almost. Turning in his arms, she braced a boot against the kite and grabbed his shoulder with her left hand, her killing hand. Her venom ring was inches from his neck. "Quit struggling," he told her, "or I will have to drop you." 
She could feel herself dropping already, rapidly being reeled down by the crew of the row barge -- veteran fishermen hauling in their catch. Her heart sank further with each turn of the winch. Men waited on the deck below to seize her; in minutes she would be in their hands, and killing a few of them first was not going to make her chances any better. 
Suddenly a golden crossbow quarrel hit her captor in the shoulder, seeming to sprout magically out of his bicep, inches from her face. His arms tightened convulsively, pulling her closer to him. She recognized one of Eros's arrows, with its needle thin point and hypodermic body, designed to deliver an injection on impact. For a dizzying moment she hung there, locked in Captain Stefan's arms, holding tight to the kite strap, staring at the little golden arrow. 
She felt a stab in her buttock, followed by the burning surge of an injection. Eros's second shot had hit her. She opened her mouth in protest, but before she could get a word out Captain Stefan leaned down, covering her mouth with his. He was kissing her, and in a moment, she was kissing him back. 
Black Sails
DAMN EROS and his arrows. She was in love, head-over-heels, crazy in love with the Sea Beggar busy carrying her off. Clinging to his whip-hard waist, she felt his hand on her back, pressing her harder to him, breast to chest, hip to groin. And all the time they kept kissing, exploring each other's mouths in midair. Exciting and intimate, thrilling even, with nothing beneath her but black air. Kore had never been in love before -not like this at least. Death was no blushing virgin, nor was she as experienced as people supposed, especially if you did not count kissing cousins. Few men pounded on Death's door demanding a date, and most that did had mixed motives, like handsome Captain Stefan here. 
Totally new to mating on the wing, she found her new soulmate surprisingly adept at it, feeling him reach around and roll down her pants, keeping their lips and bodies locked together. She felt the stab of pain as her hypodermic dart came out, falling down into the dark Gullet. His was still in his arm. Letting go of his lips, and the kite strap, she pulled the golden shaft from his bicep, dropping it after its mate. Then she kissed the wound it left, licking up blood and aphrodisiac. 
Deft as Captain Stefan might be aboard a kite, he could not get her harem pants down fast enough. They were still tangled around her knees when the barge deck slammed into her flying boots, nearly spilling her onto the wet wood. Fortunately sturdy Captain Stefan helped break her fall, as did the overloaded kite, snapping silk butterfly wings in a crash of splintering bamboo. Keeping her feet, she stepped sideways out of the wreckage, half-naked and totally disheveled, but shamelessly happy. Being Demi-Goddess of Death meant never having to blush. Her advent stunned the Sea Beggars around her. Rowers sat open-mouthed at their oars, and even the men who had wound her down stood frozen at the windlass, waiting to see what happened next. 
Shedding the remains of his war kite, Captain Stefan shouted to the amazed men at the windlass, "Up anchor!" Then he called to the startled rowers, "Back oars. Get us out of the Gullet while we still have the light." Stefan turned to a tall picturesque Sea Beggar wearing hip boots, silk pants, a steel breastplate and a green-turbaned helmet, telling the pirate, "Signal withdrawal. Two yellow rockets. Take your launch and see to the retreat. Keep the other kites aloft until our men clear the tower, then meet me back aboard the Mermaid." 
Bowing, the armored Sea Beggar disappeared over the side into a waiting launch. Captain Stefan turned back to her, bowing courteously. "Lady Death, welcome aboard the Salamander. If you will follow me." 
"Kore," she told him, pulling up her pants. Since they were going to be intimate, best to start out on a first name basis. "You can call me Kore." 
Captain Stefan's smile widened, looking very much like a man in love, who was about to get what he wanted. "Will M'Lady Kore come with me?" 
"Of course." She nodded amiably. He would get his way, because Kore was in love as well, horribly so. There was no fighting Eros's arrows. Stefan's approving smile sent sharp pangs of happiness shooting through her. Heavens, he was good-looking and amazingly bold, even for a pirate. And he was hers, every handsome ruthless inch of him, hers to have and to hold, to love and nurture, for as long as Eros's spell lasted. Warm feelings welled up within her. Death almost never got to be tender and maternal, unless you counted moments like this morning with that dying boy at the breach. 
He led her to a red silk tent at the rear of the row barge, lit from within by soft yellow lantern light. This crimson love nest was already occupied by three women and a handful of startled children, whom Captain Stefan immediately ordered to leave. Surprised but obedient, the women gathered up children and possessions, then left, taking the lantern with them, knowing she and Stefan would not be needing the light. Pushing children's dolls and women's things off the dark bed onto the deck, she realized this must be the barge master's tent, and his family was being kicked out to make room for her. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered except feeling Stefan's tense lean flesh against hers, forgetting all their fears and differences, forgetting everything but their shared desire. Stefan was vastly delighted to discover her thigh knife, "Must Lady Death drag weapons into bed?" 
"Who dragged whom here?" She had three more ways to kill him hidden about her naked body, but was way too busy to disarm completely -- any man who bedded Lady Death did it at his own risk. 
When desire was spent, she lay listening to his breathing, becoming slowly aware of the world beyond their bodies. Wet silk sheets smelled of sweat and sex. Waves lapped against the barge's black hull, gently rocking the bed. From outside she could hear the splash of oars, propelling them through the night. Men were moving on deck, talking in low tones, and a child cried fitfully, no doubt wanting her bed back. "Are you all right?" a voice asked. It was Stefan, awake and up on one elbow, warm and comforting in the darkness. 
"Absolutely wonderful," she murmured, slipping closer to his big hard body. How had she managed so long without love? It hardly seemed possible that she had survived without someone to care for her, to share her problems with. 
"Me too," Stefan admitted. "Who would have thought that bedding down with Death could be so marvelous?" 
Who indeed? Not even the demi-goddess herself, who was completely surprised to be so transported. She ran her finger over the naked curve of his chest, saying, "Blame it on cousin Eros." 
"Cousin Eros?" Stefan sounded surprised. 
"It was his dart I pulled from your arm." 
"What does that have to do with it? I have been in love with you from the first moment you stepped up onto the breach and asked for a parley, facing our arrows without flinching." 
"Is that why you did not have me shot?" She remembered her long walk to the keep portcullis, expecting that at any moment she might get a shaft in her back. 
"Of course." He pulled her tight against him, letting her feel his renewed excitement. "I wanted you here with me, like this, not all punctured with arrows. Together we can work miracles." 
"Let us hope so." She laughed. Love had given her new heart, but had not solved all her problems. 
"You shall see." Stefan brimmed with male self-confidence. "With my fleet and your fortress, we have half a chance against the Black Sails." 
She laughed lightly at that suggestion. Love had not made her take total leave of her senses. "I cannot just let you into Seagate." Into her body yes, but not her fortress keep. 
"Why not?" Stefan sounded wounded. "How can you not believe me? I swear I would not lie to you, in fact I have never lied to you; there has barely been time, since we only met this morning." 
"But I do believe you," she assured him. "Alas, every bit of evidence points to your telling the absolute truth." Even the borrowed bed she lay on, with its rag dolls and baby baskets, was added proof -- Sea Beggars would not bring their women and children into a night action unless they were desperately short of deck space, and frantic to break into the Sound. 
"Since you believe me, we should start at once," he suggested. "Your keep and my fleet gives us a fighting chance. What more can a man ask for?" 
"Women want a good deal more," she informed him, fearing they were headed for their first fight. "Men think that dying sword in hand somehow makes a difference -- it does not. Take Death's word for that. The dead are dead, believe me, I know. And it matters not if you go down boldly giving blow for blow, or blubbering for mercy on your knees.' 
Stefan sounded taken aback, asking, "What does matter?' 
"Life," she told him, sliding her bare body against his, knowing how best to avoid a fight, "living better and happier, while putting off dying as long as you can." 
"Strange thing for Death to say," Stefan observed, stirring with pleasure. 
"I am a strange sort of demi-goddess, one who must see these Black Sails for herself." 
"Whatever for?" 
"Because I must," she insisted, not used to giving anyone reasons, least of all some Sea Beggar in a borrowed bed. 
Stefan groaned. "Death, I see, is going to make a difficult mistress." 
"Absolutely." She kissed him, thinking the sooner Captain Stefan got used to that the better. 
Oars ceased splashing, and someone barked orders, followed by a hail from across the water, then a bump and a thump as the row barge came to rest against some bigger object. Bare feet beat on the deck boards. Stefan sat up, announcing, "This will be my flagship, the Mermaid." 
Helping Kore out of bed and back into her clothes, he led her out on deck. The Salamander was flush up against a high-sided carrack, a big black mass blotting out the stars, lit by torches on the quarter-deck and fire pots hanging from the forward yard ends. Stefan answered another hail from above, and torches moved to the main deck, illuminating the ladder. Climbing toward the light above, she could tell this was Stefan's ship, infused with his spirit, alert but informal, ready for anything, yet not afraid to look relaxed. He led her past the astonished deck watch, past sleeping families camped on the main deck, to his great cabin on the quarter-deck with its sweeping glassed-in stern galley, glittering oil lamps, and big canopied bed. Gilt and glass threw back the light, making the cabin seem to sparkle. Stefan spread his arms, asking, "What do you think?" 
She surveyed his opulent quarters, thinking of the families huddled in the hold. "Some Sea Beggars sleep better than others?" 
"Of course." Stefan pulled back the bed curtains to show off his broad feather bed. "What would be the use of being a Sea Beggar if there were no chance of improvement?" 
Waking next morning alone in Stefan's big canopy bed, she heard loud calls from the half deck above. Pushing back the fur coverlet, Kore spread the curtains and stared out the wide stern windows, seeing nothing but wave tops stretching toward the watery horizon. Then a broad gray shadow swept past the windows. 
Instantly she was out of bed, wrapped in silk sheets and stepping out onto the stern galley. Wet sea air greeted her, cool and salty. Stefan's mermaid flag snapped in the breeze above her, flying from the stern post. Seeing the big shadow wheel about, swinging back by the ship, she gave a falconer's cry. Havoc answered with a cry of her own, dropping low to skim over the wavetops astern of the ship. Her favorite roc had come looking for her, wearing a flying saddle, complete with a bow and quiver. Cousin Eros's work. 
Captain Stefan burst into his cabin, not looking the least surprised to find her standing in the open stern galley, wearing one of his bed sheets, talking with a huge roc. "So you know this bird?" 
"Certainly." She called for Havoc to come to her. Shouts erupted from the half deck above as a huge roc came down to rest on the long stern boom that supported the bonaventure stays, perched two stories above the water and peering into the stern galley. Havoc had come looking for her mistress, and was living up to her name. 
Stefan admired the giant falconiform. Hawking had an aura of the supernatural, and was as suspect as witch's flight, but he acted intrigued. "Is that the bird I plucked you from?" 
"No, that was a borrowed roc. Had it been on Havoc, you would never have gotten hold of me." 
Stefan laughed, though it was only the truth. Havoc was a wonder of nature, who would never have let some kite-flyer swoop down on her. Just having Havoc here restored the balance between her and Stefan. Eros's arrows kept them from harming each other -- but did not stop him from holding her captive. In fact he had excellent reasons to want her with him. Yet with Havoc here, Kore could leave anytime. She asked Stefan, "Will you come with us?" 
He looked from the roc to her. "With you? Where?" 
"North to Korland," she reminded him, "to hunt the Black Sails." 
Stefan rolled his eyes. "They will find us soon enough. Are you so in love with death that you must hurry it along?" 
"No, I am not the least in love with death," she replied primly. "I am Death. You are who I am in love with." 
"Which makes me the one in love with death." Stefan shook his head in dismay. "But I suppose I have known that all along." 
"Why else would you have come pounding on my door?" She kissed him, to show that having death for a mistress was not all danger and heartache. 
Stefan could not bear to see her head north alone, nor could they go on the Mermaid with her hold full of refugees, so he transferred his flag to a low sleek zebeck, the Sparrow, with lateen sails and seats for twenty oarsmen. Favored by smugglers and corsairs, the zebeck had no half deck, and no great cabin and stem galley, just a lean-to tent on the quarter-deck for the captain and his demi-goddess. Havoc rode on the grating deck, a rakish stern extension of the quarter-deck. Hugging the coast, they headed north, aiming for the Korland Strait. Kore meant to take a look in at Lulavik, at the southern end of the strait, where she had celebrated Solstice only a fortnight ago -- hoping against hope to find this was all a hoax. 
Four days north of the Narrows, she saw her first sign of the Black Sails. Sailors called from the masthead, pointing out a black speck low down to windward. Stefan put the tiller about to run straight downwind toward the tiny speck, while she took Havoc aloft to investigate. Eros had stocked the roc's saddlebag with fresh potions, and the arrows were drugged; tied to them was a note: 
Alas, these are not true love's arrows, and will only put you to sleep but mayhap you and your new bedmate will be needing some rest. 
Love 
Shredding the note, she dropped the pieces into the White Sea, then turned Havoc toward the speck downwind. As she approached the dot grew slowly in size, becoming a huge gas-inflated black parasail, floating along several hundred feet above the wave tops. Hanging from the gas-filled sail was a black boat-shaped hull, with a small cabin in the stem. Oddest of all, the boat hull had big iron-shod wagon wheels, looking utterly useless so high in the sky over water. Keeping clear of arrow range, she flew Havoc completely around the flying-boat, trying to see who was aboard. 
Apparently no one. Close up, the dangling boat hull looked abandoned, having the distinctive smell of death about it. Flocks of white-black arctic terns flew by, headed for summer feeding grounds. Kore coaxed her nervous roc into making a landing on the foredeck, but the bird's weight made the flying-boat dip, losing altitude alarmingly. Ocean rushed up to greet her. 
Seeing ballast bags lining the rail she slit several open with her thigh knife, and sand tumbled into the sea, bringing their fall to a halt. Happy not to be crashing into the wave tops, she surveyed the flying-boat's bamboo deck, finding it virtually empty, just some stray rope ends, the ballast bags, and a dozen arrow quivers lashed to the rails. She sniffed the air, finding the death smell came from the small cabin. Inside was the crew, three of them lying on their mats wrapped in blankets, still wearing gray tunics faced with fur and blue cavalry pants. But for the smell they might have been sleeping. 
Here was where Lady Death earned her name. Kneeling on the bamboo, she said a short prayer for their souls, then stripped their bodies bare, going over every inch of skin, searching for a cause of death. They were short wry men with weather-beaten oriental faces, who had all died within a day of each other, several days ago. None of them had bodily wounds, aside from old scars long healed; one had broken his leg as a boy, and the other two had old arrow wounds. None showed clear signs of poisoning. All were alarmingly thin, but not starved, and they all had tiny red blisters on their bodies, mostly on the hands, face, back, and forearms. Two were badly pocked, but the other had hardly any blisters at all. Seeing he was wearing a ring, she pulled it off and found a solid red band of pustules. Weird but not unheard of. Examining the ring, she noted it had Cathayan characters, then slipped it back on the man's finger. He had been the first to die, and the ring had probably killed him -- but it was not up to Death to judge, the ring might have been important to him. 
Aside from clothes, money, and weapons, they had scant personal effects, a wind shrine, simple jewelry, paper lanterns, leather water bottles, fishing line and hooks, needles and thread, rice, millet, sesame oil, sulfur matches, a cooking pot and several cups, one carved from a human skull. And not a scrap of writing. No orders, no letters from home, no favorite poems or recipes. No prayer strips or religious texts. Not even someone's initials carved on a sword or cup. All signs that the Black Sails were illiterate. There was a messenger pigeon cote on the stern, but it was empty. 
Having searched the entire boat, she collected all the burnables, including underclothes, chopsticks and some Cathayan paper money; piling them against the cabin wall, she doused the whole mess with cooking oil, lit a paper lantern and tossed it on top, starting a brisk fire. Going back on deck, she released the sand ballast, sending the flying-boat soaring upward. She made sure she was taking nothing from the burning ship, as she climbed back onto Havoc and took off. While she glided back down toward the Sparrow, she watched the flying-boat drift off downwind, dwindling as it got higher. When the flames reached the inflated sail, the gas inside exploded, leaving a black blotch in the sky while the burning hull plummeted toward the sea trailing a plume of smoke. 
Alone with Stefan in the yellow-striped quarter-deck tent, she told him about the flying-boat, asking if it matched the ones used by the Black Sails. Stefan said it did. "The big black sail is filled with a light gas that keeps the boats afloat. By adjusting the trim of the boat and the pitch of the sails they glide great distances downwind. Tethered to a fixed line they can rain death on any fortress or cities. Black Sails are implacable, having no writing nor philosophy, worshipping only the wind in their sails. Cathay feared they would cross the Great Wall. Now they have come our way instead." 
It sounded ghastly, even to Death. "What are the wheels for?" 
"When the winds are wrong, or there is no flying to be done, the sails are deflated and the hulls are hauled along behind the Black Sail's yurts." 
"There is worse," she admitted. "These Black Sails died the Red Death." 
"Yikes." He stepped back, taking his hands from her. "Great Goddess in Hell, the Red Death! Do you mean smallpox?" 
She acknowledged his compliment, the Goddess Hell being one of her ancient names, hardly used nowadays except in oaths. "Sometimes it is tough to tell the poxes apart, but the deadlier ones are my specialty, and there is scant doubt." 
"And I thought Black Sails were the worst we would find." Stefan did a worried turn around the tent, never having wanted to come north in the first place. "Let the men hear this and it will be mutiny." 
"Do not worry, I am immune and not a carrier." She showed him the vaccination scar on her arm. "And you cannot get Red Death from a roc." 
"My men are not likely to believe you," he pointed out. 
When faced with smallpox, even the word of Death herself was not good enough. "So we must be silent," she told him. "But there can be no landfall now. Havoc and I will have to do the scouting." 
Standing out to sea, Stefan made for the Korland Strait by dead reckoning, hiding behind the curve of the Earth. When they got close enough, Kore took Havoc aloft for her look in at Lulavikj as feared, she found the little port city at the southern tip of Korland destroyed. Turning north she followed the east coast of Korland, the great island separating the White Sea from the Arctic Ocean. Fishing villages and sealing camps had vanished, replaced by nomad yurts and cattle brought over from the mainland. Farther up the strait she spotted a big ship sheltering in a Korland cove. Dipping down to investigate, she found a prosperous broad-beamed merchant ship anchored placidly amid the plague and devastation. Strange behavior, which she promptly reported to Stefan on the Sparrow's quarter-deck. 
"Damned odd," was Stefan's response. "Why a merchant ship, when there is no one to do business with but the Black Sails and the Red Death?" 
It did sound daft. Stefan suggested it was some corsair's prize, fancifully hoping a fellow pirate had gotten lucky. She pointed out there were no other ships around to have captured her. "And what pirate would leave a valuable prize where the Black Sails could fall on it?" 
"Not a wise one," Stefan admitted, asking her to describe the ship. 
"It looked Cathayan," she decided, "broad-beamed, blunt-bowed, with steep tumble home to the sides, and at least five masts. Strangest of all, there was a tiny cabin atop the main mast, not a crow's nest, but a little bamboo house with a basket hoist to supply it. Very curious. I must have a closer look, when the crew is asleep." 
"Is that wise?" Stefan wondered, with worry in his voice. Worry for her, which was terribly touching. She was not accustomed to people fearing for her -- just being afraid of her. 
"Maybe not wise," she admitted, "but necessary. So far this ship is the only thing that does not fit, making it worth a closer look. When facing disaster, look for anything that points in a different direction." 
"If you say so." Stefan deferred to her superior knowledge of death and disaster. 
She flew over Korland to come down on the cove from the north, seeing the sun set on nomad yurts and herds. Black Sails had crossed in force, bringing not just their flying-boats, but their flocks and families as well -- a whole nomad horde out of nowhere was now jammed onto the subarctic island, living heaven knew how. They could not stay here long without starving, and they had crossed the Korland Strait, so water would not stop them; they could come swarming down onto the Sound as soon as a north wind blew. Thankfully winds had been steady from the east, which would blow them to the Far Isles, or even Finland. But that could hardly last. When the sun set she turned south, feeling her way down the dark coast, guided by the white line of breakers and the sound of the surf. Stefan had described the approach in detail, being intimate with every nook and cove in the South Korland coast. Too bad he could not be here. 
Finally she saw a light ahead, dim and flickering, but it did not go out. She flew toward it, until Havoc suddenly had to swerve to keep from hitting it. Looming out of the night was the ship, and the light was a paper lantern in the little bamboo house atop the masthead. Landing Havoc on the mainyard, she sat silently in the roc's flying saddle, looking through the window of the little bamboo house, seeing a single silk-lined room where a black-haired young woman dressed in white sat reading from a scroll. Strange, but perhaps to be expected. Death could not help but see the dark side. 
Dismounting, she made her way along the mainyard to the window, seeing nothing of the boat below but lights on the bow and stern. Making sure the young reader was alone, she slipped inside, shocking the occupant senseless. Death does not come calling every night, not silently through a window several stories high, carrying a hypodermic bow. Before the startled young woman could cry out, Kore nocked an arrow. "Be silent, I only want to talk and look. Do you know who I am?" 
Nodding, the woman sat rigid, holding her scroll in her lap, hands still, not knowing it was only a sleep arrow. Long black hair hung all the way to her hips, and her dark eyes were wide and staring. 
"Then you know your life is at stake. Whose ship is this?" 
"The Karakhan's." By that the woman meant the ruler of Black Cathay, the land of tea and spices that lay beyond the Great Wall. Which put this ship far from home, having come by way of Korea and the Arctic Sea. "We are carrying the Karakhan's ambassador to Korland." 
"And what are you called?" Kore asked. 
Staring down at her lap, the woman answered softly in a southernsounding accent, "Autumn Rose." 
"Always?" Kote asked. "Did you have a different name as a child?" 
"I was called Ah Toy." 
"Cantonese?" That explained the southern accent. "Do you belong to the Karakhan as well?" 
Autumn Rose nodded yes to both. Too thin and withdrawn to be a courtesan, she seemed of scholarly bent, sitting with an open roll of poetry in her lap. Kore recognized T'ang dynasty script; Li Po, an excellent choice, amusing and insightful, perfect for passing the time. More scrolls poked from neat little pigeonholes. Why would the Karakhan send this female scholar on an Arctic expedition? "What are you doing so far from Cathay?" 
Autumn Rose smilied slightly, saying, "I am a gift for the Black Sail Khan, who is in Korland." 
Why not jade earrings? Or a silver pagoda tea set? Both would be more useful than this frail poet. She told Autumn Rose to stand, and when the woman did, she ordered her to strip, "I must see what the Black Sail Khan is getting." 
Pursing her lips, Autumn Rose objected, the night was cold, and none of this is necessary .... 
Kore nodded at the invisible boat below. "And no one is going to shinny up the main mast in the middle of the night to save you from Death's arrows." This woman was kept high on the masthead for a reason. "Obey and I promise to leave you alive. Give me trouble, and I will be inspecting your body." 
Without further protest Autumn Rose stepped out of her white robe, then shed her undergarments, standing naked, hands at her side. Taking the paper lantern, Kore went over the woman, telling her when to lift her arms and spread her legs, looking for pock marks, or scabs, or the little white scars left when the scabs fell off. She found none of them, just smooth skin, pale from seldom seeing the sun. Finishing with the woman's face, she asked, "Have you ever had the pox?" 
"No, never." Autumn Rose shook her head decisively. 
"But it was in your village." 
"When I was a girl," the woman admitted. "And again when I was grown." 
"But the second time it mainly took children." 
"How did you know?" Autumn Rose asked. 
"I know the disease." And she had seen enough. "When will you be presented to the Black Sail Khan?" 
"When the Khan is ready to have me. His highness is hunting, and I am but his humble gift, to be taken at his majesty's leisure." 
Humble and more. She slipped back out the window, leaving Autumn Rose to dress alone, making her way to Havoc's perch on the mainyard, telling her roc to return to the Sparrow. There she told Stefan, "I must speak with the Khan of the Black Sails." 
"There are better ways to commit suicide," Stefan suggested. "Just as sure and not near so painful." 
"Perhaps, but this is the one I have chosen." 
"How can you even find the Khan? Korland is big, and the nomad camps are bound to be scattered around the island to get the best grazing." 
"I hear he is hunting. Where is there game to be found in Korland?' 
Stefan snorted, "At this time of year? Only on the north of the island, away from the ports." 
"Then there is where we must head for." North Korland was a great rolling sweep of grass and tundra, sprinkled with wildflowers and virtually treeless, aside from dwarf willows that lived as ground plants. Taking advantage of a south wind, Stefan steered north through the straits, hugging the Korland coast, using his smuggler training to see without being seen. The Khan's great hunt made no attempt to hide; all of North Korland was being scoured by a huge line of horse archers stretching across the island, backed by flying-boats tethered to trains of wagons. Every beast and bird was being driven toward the northernmost tip of Korland using fireworks, blunted arrows and padded lances. Herds of elk and reindeer, ground squirrels, geese, swans, lynx, lemmings, wolves, and arctic foxes, were all jammed into a broad peninsula, pinned in on three sides by the sea, and blocked on the landward side by thickening lines of cavalry. Trapped animals ran back and forth between the horsemen and the shore, unable to escape or find shelter. Frantic wolves and foxes ignored their normal prey, too frightened to hunt. So far none had been harmed, since the honor of the first kill always went to the Khan. 
"Here is your chance," Stefan told her, standing safely out to sea. "I have seen these nomad hunts. Tonight they will light a line of fires to keep the animals from escaping, then at dawn the Khan will go in alone to make the first kills. Until then not a weapon will be fired, not even at your roc. It is lese majeste to kill before the Khan -- even to save his life." 
Kore nodded. "Any Khan that cannot cope with trapped beasts, or a woman on a bird, hardly deserves the title." 
"Exactly." Stefan nodded. "And believe me, Black Sails take such things seriously." 
Over-seriously one might say; having destroyed or driven off Korland's human population, they were now going after the animals, right down to the ground quirrels and grass voles. At dawn Kore had Havoc aloft, riding the wave of air where the sea breeze rolled over a headland, waiting for the Khan to enter the killing ground. Reindeer huddled on the headland, along with a lone elk, eyed by a polar bear on the beach still hoping to turn calamity into a free meal. When the line of armored cavalry parted, the Black Sail Khan strode bow-in-hand straight for the beach and the polar bear, ignoring startled arctic hares and snow geese. 
Kore brought Havoc down on a bare stretch of beach, right between the two most dangerous northern predators, feeling extra small and happy to be atop a roc. Seeing her alight, the man nocked an arrow and bent his bow, taking a defensive stance, while the polar bear dived into the Korland strait, striking out for the mainland. No free meals today. She did not bother with sleep arrows, since the last thing she wanted was a fight, calling out in Cathayan, "Do you know who I am?" 
His highness nodded tersely, looking very much like the men in the flying-boat, only better fed, with fat on his body and sleek oiled hair. He wore fur-lined boots, lacquered armor, and a grim smile, and though he was only average height, that might be tall for a Tartar. "You are Lady Death who dwells by the Western Sea. We know no human gods, worshipping only the winds." 
"But you do know Death. It was the Red Death that brought you here to Korland." 
"Yes," he admitted, relaxing the pull on his heavy recurve bow. "The Red Death's reach proved longer than we supposed, so now we have put the sea between us and the pox." 
"It will do you no good," she warned. 
"We shall see," replied the Khan blandly. 
"You shall die," she assured him. "Believe in me or not, but you will not escape this pox, because it is carried by people." 
His majesty nodded. "Before any clan or family comes over to Korland they must spend a month apart on the mainland, proving they are pox free." 
"Nevertheless you will die." With some people it paid to be relentless. 
Arching an eyebrow, the Khan asked, "Then there is nothing we can do?" 
"Put yourself in Death's hands," she suggested, getting an outright laugh from the Khan, dry and mirthless. Ignoring his levity, she insisted, "I am your only hope. People call me Kote, and Korland is my country. You have come to me, and I am the only one who can save you from the Red Death." She had flown all this way for a reason; apparently this was it. 
"How?" The Khan of the Black Sails looked skeptical. 
"Certainly not for free." No one believed in a cure that cost nothing. 
Keeping his bow nocked, the Khan asked warily, "What do you want to free us from the Red Death?" 
"If I free you from the pox, you must promise to abandon all of Korland." She swung her arm to indicate the surrounding shore, where frightened lemmings scurried about the rocks, nerving themselves for the suicide leap into the sea. Big ground-dwelling bustards bobbed about the beach, never having flown over water and not liking the thought. "This lone island will not support your herds and people. Right now you are destroying half the animals in a summer single hunt. What will you eat when winter comes and the grass is gone? Can you and your herds live on moss and lichens?" 
"We know that," complained the Khan. "We saw at once this island was too small even after we destroyed the settlements and drove away the people. Only the pox keeps us off the mainland." 
"Exactly. So if I free you from the pox, you must abandon Korland, returning it completely to the original inhabitants." 
"It shall be theirs," the Khan agreed, "as we will not be needing it." 
"And the people you have driven from the mainland must be allowed to settle here." Stefan's Sea Beggars needed somewhere to live. His highness shrugged. "Where they go matters not." 
"And you must free all local children taken as slaves," she added. 
"Death drives a hard bargin," the Black Sail Khan observed. 
Kote smiled. "I have a reputation to uphold." 
"So be it," the Khan declared. "Save us from the pox and you will have Korland back, and whatever slaves we have taken here." 
"Then I will give you the secret of the Red Death. Smallpox is not caused by bad water, or evil spirits, it is a living entity, passing from person to person by contact, or through the breath. Breathing through cloth masks can actually slow the spread. It lives mainly in people, and less often in animals; in fact the pox cannot survive long outside a person, though it may live for a time in corpses, and on things that recently came from the sick, or dead. Where did the disease first hit you?" 
"In the Inner Lands along the Great Wall. We fled westward onto the steppe, but the pox seemed to follow us, though we abandoned our sick and dying. And not just the sick but their families as well, and any who had spent time with them; we were utterly ruthless." 
No doubt. Yet ruthlessness had failed for once. She told him about finding the flying-boat, and the corpse with the Cathayan ring on his finger. "The Cathayans are seeing you do not escape the pox. Fearing your flying-boats, they are using the disease to drive you away from the Great Wall. Right now an embassy is waiting for you to finish your hunt, and on their ship is a carrier named Autumn Rose, who will bring the disease to Korland, hopefully putting it right in your yurt." 
"How can this woman carry the pox?" the Black Sail asked suspiciously. "Would it not kill her?" 
"What you see as the disease, the fever, the blisters, the scarring, is not really the smallpox, it is your body fighting the disease. Some people -- like me -- are immune to the disease. My body easily destroys the pox, so I can sup with the sick and dying, without even breaking a sweat." 
"How lucky for you," observed the Khan. 
"Luck had nothing to do with it. My immunity was given to me as a girl when I trained to be demi-goddess. Other people are carriers; the disease lives in them without killing them, and their bodies do not fight it. Autumn Rose has no pocks or scars, yet she can give the disease to others, so the Cathayans keep her in a tiny room atop the masthead." 
"Until she can be given to me." The Khan of the Black Sails shook his head. "They told me she was so beautiful she had to be kept safe from the sailors." 
"No, the sailors were being kept safe from her." Kore thought of the frail scholar reading poetry in her little room. "Death is not always great and terrible. Sometimes it appears meek and mild, or even pretty." 
"Like yourself." The Khan of the Black Sails relaxed his bow, slipping the arrow back into his quiver. Then he bowed his head, saying, "Lady Death, you have saved me and my family from terrible fates." 
As terrible as the fates of Ustengrad, Zransky, Nordgorad, and Lulavik? Not likely. Men like him made her hate the living. Still she took it as a compliment, saying, "There is more. Luckily for you, my immunity can be reproduced." She showed him the scar on her arm. "I can show you how to produce the immunity; a harmless form of the disease may be gotten from cattle -- called cow pox. Those who are given cow pox never get smallpox." 
"That seems like a miracle." The Khan was a man of action, not medicine, more accustomed to spreading death than curing it. 
"Yet here I am." She rose in her roc saddle. "Living proof the immunity works." Complete willingness to risk death always imparted the ring of truth. 
Bowing his head, the Khan who knelt only to the winds thanked her. "You have given my people life when even the winds could not save us. We are a scrupulous people, and you have given much, asking for little in return. This is wise, for we are now in your debt. And to have the good will of the Black Sails is no small thing." 
"Fine." She modestly accepted his thanks. "Now release all these animals." 
"These animals? But why?" The Black Sail Khan looked as bewildered as the lemmings at his feet. 
"They are also original inhabitants," she pointed out. "Free to live here unmolested by you." 
His smile returned. "Death too may be scrupulous, it seems." She could see the Khan was pleased; the more painful the cure, the more the patient believed, and the Black Sail Khan needed to believe. If she was lying, he faced very unappetizing choices. 
But she was not lying, not about smallpox at least, and in less than a month she was headed home in triumph aboard the Sparrow, running down the Korland Strait before a brisk northwest wind. Halfway down the strait, they passed the Cathayan ship hove to in a high-walled mainland cove, waiting out the wind, which had to veer more to the west before they could head home to Cathay. Seeing the ship, she told Stefan she still had one more task. "Make it a short one," he advised. "This wind worries me." 
"Why?" she asked. "It is fair for home." 
"Too fair." Stefan seemed determined to fear something--survivor's syndrome -- Kote had seen before, when so many die that the living feel guilty, foreseeing their own deaths. 
Urging Havoc into the air, she flew across to the Cathayan ship, creating a commotion when she landed on the mainyard. Leaping off her roc, she fairly ran along the yardarm to the window. Autumn Rose was there, scroll in hand, looking astonished. Kote told her, "I am heading south to safety. There is a place for you there, and a cure for your condition. Come, live, and be with people, otherwise I fear you will soon die." 
Autumn Rose spun about and started grabbing scrolls. "Not too many," Kote advised. "I have a fine library, including Li Po and Tu Fu." Nocking her bow with a sleep arrow, she kept an eye on the ship below, but the crew just stared back in horror, watching Death drop out of the sky to carry off their prisoner-cum-plague-case on the back of a giant bird of prey. Hardly an auspicious omen. 
Autumn Rose emerged with an armful of scrolls, and Kote hustled her along the mainyard and onto the roc. Two small women on one big roc would be hard; fortunately the Sparrow lay downwind, and if need be she could always dump the scrolls. Catching the wave of wind rolling over the southern headland, she worked back and forth to gain altitude. Looking back, she saw black shadows lifting off from Korland, the last of the Black Sails headed for the mainland. Yurts and herds had already been ferried across the straits, but the flying-boats had stayed behind, awaiting a favorable wind -- until now. 
At the top of the climb, she watched as the flying-boats swept low over the straits, headed for the cove where the Cathayans were sheltered. She saw what Stefan meant about the wind being too favorable; it was blowing from just the right quarter to let the flying-boats leave Korland, and keep the Cathayans penned in the straits, unable to escape into the Arctic Sea. Just the wind Black Sail shamans would pray for. Coming in low and in a line ahead, the flying-boats made masthead level attacks, each releasing a single big round ball at the ship below. Then the lightened flying-boat would soar upward, passing easily over the south headland, so close she saw the crews wave and smile. 
Half the missiles missed, plunging harmlessly into the water alongside the ship, but the half that hit exploded in great balls of fire. She had seen these bombs back at the Black Sail camp, big glass balls filled with naphtha, and within each ball was a bottle of oxidizer -- so when the bomb hit, ball and bottle shattered, mixing the contents and igniting the naphtha. By the time a dozen had hit, the Cathayan ship was aflame from stem to stem. Succeeding Black Sails dropped ballast instead, saving their naphtha balls for another time -- while Autumn Rose wept for her scrolls. 
With the wind at her back, Havoc bore her double load straight to the Sparrow, and Kote was finally home free. The Sparrow's crew were the first ones inoculated -- to show suspicious Black Sails that the serum made from cow pox was safe -- so there was no need to cage Autumn Rose on the masthead, and for the first time in years the scholar walked freely among other people, making up in part for the loss of her scrolls. 
Running back down toward Seagate, with Stefan beside her, Kote felt torn. High summer was here, the short season when everyone got ready for winter, and Stefan's Sea Beggars would be resettling Nordgorad and Lulavik. Shrines must be rededicated, and priestesses appointed, and there were many dead to pray over. Yet when summer was gone, where would she winter? At Seagate of course, but would Stefan be with her? Not if he was settled in Korland. Life was becoming far more complex than death had ever been. Hopefully, she could convince Stefan to winter the Mermaid at Seagate, where stores were ample, giving Korland fewer mouths to feed -- but it was hard to have to count on someone else's wishes. And children by him would mean added wishes to consider. Death was an accomplished abortionist -- in complete control of her body -- but she wanted children, especially children with Stefan. Eros was to blame for all this, Eros and his arrows. 
She got her chance to give Eros his dressing down when they arrived triumphantly at Seagate, announcing the return of Korland, and the retreat of the Black Sails. Calling her wayward cousin in for a private audience in her presence chamber, she upbraided him for daring to shoot her with one of his arrows. 
"It was all I could do," Eros protested. "You were facing certain capture, probable rape, and imminent execution; I had to shoot him to protect you. Since that made rape even more likely, I had to shoot you too." 
Turning it into consensual sex. Eros was nothing if not neat. "Damn you, what if I have children by him?" 
"Mad because you might no longer be Miss Iron Drawers, Maiden Goddess of Death?" 
"Demi-Goddess," she corrected her smiling cousin. 
"Look, you have nailed this Death Goddess role, no one will ever do it better, but now you need to move to something new, like raising your replacement." Eros pursed his cupid's bow lips. "Having children is not so bad. So you might have to train Persephone to be Dark Daughter -- what of it? You would still be Lady of Seagate, while Persephone would love the task, and could surely use the training. Start her out easy, make her Killer of Children, then let her work her way up." 
"You have always had eyes for Persephone," she observed. 
"Love smiles on everyone," Eros replied blandly. "So you cannot be both Death and Mother at the same time -- things could be way worse. Look at me, I must go about seducing lovely innocent maidens and begetting beautiful bastards. No one ever asked if I wanted to, it is just expected of Love. Yet do you see me complain?" 
"Thou art an inspiration to us all." She could see the interview going nowhere; as usual everything was up to her. 
"Naturally," Eros beamed happily. "Love is all you need."