Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (61 page)

 
          
"I
was ... impressed," Bracht admitted, unabashed. "Cuan n'For has its
share of warrior women, but I've not seen her like. Nor is she of the
clans."

 
          
"Neither
from Lysse," said Calandryll, "and certainly not a Kand. Might she be
Jesseryte?"

 
          
"Those
folk are small and dark and ugly," Bracht informed him. "I know not
from where she comes."

 
          
"Perhaps
from beyond the Borrhun-maj," Calandryll said, vaguely irritated by the
Kem's tone. It seemed to him that Bracht hankered almost to encounter the
woman, "Perhaps from Vanu."

 
          
"Then
she would be a goddess." Bracht laughed. "Certainly she's the look of
a goddess."

 
          
"A
moment since she was a hound; you elevate her fast."

 
          
Peevishly,
he tossed his boots aside, set his sheathed sword besiae the bed. Bracht
chuckled, smiling at him.

 
          
"I
give her just due, no more. Should she seek to thwart us I'll fight her as I
would any man. But I admit she intrigues me. And you must admit that she is
somewhat fairer than most who've sought to halt us."

 
          
That
was indisputable: Calandryll thought of Anomius's homely features and nodded, a
smile stealing across his lips.

 
          
"That
I must admit."

 
          
"Then
we're agreed," Bracht said. "And come noon we'll seek this boat
Xanthese offers and—our gods willing—leave her behind."

 
          
They
composed themselves for sleep then, lightly, with blades at their sides, aware
that the game's pace quickened and departure from Kharasul grew momentarily
more vital. Tne room was no less stifling, the air dense , with the jungle
odors and those of the streets, the shutters not holding out all the insects that
swarmed the night, sufficient entering that Calandryll found slumber hard as
they buzzed about his head. He drifted, thinking himself back on the dinghy,
floating down the Shemme, then once again on the
Sea Dancer,
that
recollection bringing the woman's face before the eyes of his drowsing mind.
She was lovely; but she was also an obstacle, another player in their
world-shattering game. In sleep he found himself tom between admiration for her
beauty and regret that she had not drowned when the maelstrom took her boat.

 
          
He
woke thick-headed from the ale he had drunk and the narcotic fumes inhaled,
eyes heavy from poor sleep. Bracht, more accustomed to taverns and shallow
slumber, was in both better condition and mood when they rose, suggesting that
they avail themselves of the bath before taking food. Water and a tisane
recommended by the landlord restored him somewhat, and after eating they
lounged about the inn awaiting the approach of noon and their meeting with the
mysterious Xanthese.

 
          
"Surely,"
Calandryll suggested, "did he intend treachery he would not arrange to
meet us in the day."

 
          
"Perhaps."
Bracht toyed with a mug of wine. "It would seem so, but then perhaps he
seeks to allay our suspicions."

 
          
“Do
you trust no one?" asked Calandryll, eliciting a cheerful smile from the
Kem, who shook his head and said, “Few. Very few."

 
          
Calandryll
thought to speak of Varent then, and touched the red stone at his throat, its
cold surface reminding him of their agreement so that he held silence, letting
his thoughts wander as they idled the morning away. Whether Varent played some
devious game, as Bracht believed, or was true, as remained his opinion, he set
aside in the face of more immediate concerns. If Xanthese's offer was sound and
not some trap, then likely they had the means to reach Gessyth soon within
their grasp. That was the paramount thing: to quit Kharasul, leaving Anomius—if
he lived—and any other hunters behind. Wizards and woman, both. To gain the
coast of Gessyth and strike inland for Tezin-dar. Without, he reminded himself,
falling victim to cutthroat pirates. That would be difficult: likely they would
need to sleep turn and turn about, one always on watch; but he could see no
other way with honest sailors taken by the Tyrant or awaiting the shifting of
the winds. They had come this far, he told himself, against odds he would have
thought a while ago insurmountable. They had eluded the woman once and he had
survived attack by a Chaipaku; he had rescued Bracht from Philomen's jail and
they had survived capture by Sathoman ek'Hennem; they had escaped the clutches
of Anomius and evaded seizure by the Tyrant's sorcerers: surely they must now
succeed in departing this city. And if the woman sought to take them, let her
beware. Let treacherous corsairs beware! They dealt not with some soft Lyssian
prince warded by a hired man, but with two hardened swordsmen—he would find
Tezin- dar and broach the defenses of the city; bring out the Arcanum and
return to Lysse in triumph.

 
          
Perhaps
then, he thought, he would compose a volume describing his travels. A work to
rival Medith and Sar- nium, bound in the finest hide, with a transcription of
Orwen's map, and others. That would be a fine ending to this adventure. It did
not occur to him that Nadama featured not at all in these contemplations.

 
          
“You
seem pleased."

 
          
Bracht's
voice woke him from the reverie and he blushed, grinning his embarrassment.

 
          
"I
thought that we near the ending of this quest," he said.

 
          
"The
ending?" Bracht shook his head. "We've a way yet to go before we
speak of endings, and I suspect the hardest part lies ahead."

 
          
The
flight of fancy fell soundly to earth and Calandryll nodded solemnly,
embarrassed afresh by the reminder that some part of him remained, as his
brother had so contemptuously declared, a dreamer. Then, briefly, he was
reminded of Secca, of Tobias wed to Nadama, she now, perhaps, bearing an heir,
and he frowned; then smiled as he realized the memory brought no pain. Indeed,
it lifted a weight, for if Nadama should carry Tobias's child, then Secca had
an heir and his brother no further cause to send the Chaipaku against him. He
turned to his comrade and asked, "Do we find Xanthese soon?"

 
          
Bracht
looked to the window, assessing the position of the sun, and nodded.

 
          
"Noon's
an hour off, but aye—let's find this tavern and see how the land lies."

 
          
The
Peacock was situated only a few streets away, in an alley linking the tavern
quarter with the harbor. It seemed salubrious enough, fresh sawdust on the
floor and clean mugs hung behind the serving counter. Its clientele was a
mixture of sailors, merchants and soldiers, those latter reassuring Bracht and
Calandryll, their presence rendering treachery, at this juncture at least,
unlikely. They called for wine and found a table by the inner wall from which
they could watch the door. As the harbor bell tolled noon Xanthese entered.

 
          
He
paused, squinting, and saw them across the common room, nodding a greeting as
he approached.

 
          
"Good
day, sirs." He settled himself on a chair facing them, smiling as a third
glass was brought and Calandryll poured him wine. "Your health—and success
to your venture. Whatever it may be."

 
          
"You
have news for us?" Bracht asked.

 
          
The
scarred man winked, downing a generous measure of the wine and smacking his lips
appreciatively before replying.

 
          
"I
do, sirs; and good news. A captain of my acquaintance—a reliable man—is willing
to take you north. For a suitable reward."

 
          
"How
much?" asked Bracht.

 
          
"Ah,
sirs, there remains the small matter of my own fee." Xanthese's smile
became apologetic. "It is customary in these affairs."

 
          
"How
much?" Bracht repeated.

 
          
"Ten
varre."

 
          
Bracht
glanced at Calandryll and ducked his head. Calandryll brought coins from his
satchel, pushing them across the table.

 
          
"My
thanks, good sirs," Xanthese said, the coins disappearing beneath his
tunic. "As for the captain, he asks five hundred. For that he guarantees
you passage to Gessyth, and your return."

 
          
"He'll
wait for us?" Bracht was suspicious.

 
          
Xanthese
nodded enthusiastically. "Should he remain here ..." He lowered his
voice, glancing toward the soldiers in their scarlet puggarees, "Well,
he'll find his craft taken for less and him no say in it. And every chance of
disaster should the Fayne lord raise a navy. He'd sooner stand off Gessyth's
coast than that."

 
          
Bracht
nodded. Calandryll asked, "What guarantee do we have of his honesty? How
shall we know he'll not rob us once at sea?"

 
          
"Sirs!"
the little man declared, his disfigured face assuming an expression of hurt.
"I give you my word he's an honest sailor, with no thought of such
treachery."

 
          
"Even
so," Bracht said.

 
          
"I
see that you are cautious men," Xanthese murmured, "and I cannot
blame you for that. May I suggest a solution to this doubt? There are traders
in this city of Kharasul renowned for their honesty—I believe I can persuade my
captain to accept a token payment whilst you leave the remainder with a
merchant, the balance to be paid on your safe return. Would such resolve your
misgivings?"

 
          
He
studied them as they exchanged glances. Calandryll said, "It seems a
reasonable answer." Bracht ducked his head in agreement and Xanthese
beamed afresh.

 
          
"Sirs,
to further prove the honesty of our arrangement I shall leave you to find a
merchant with whom to deposit your coin." He raised his hands as if they
protested, shak
ing
his
head vigorously. "I'll not give you a name. No— ask of some other and know
that Xanthese does not lie."

 
          
"So
we shall," Bracht said. "Now, how is this captain called and where do
we find him?"

 
          
The
scar-faced man leaned closer across the table, lowering his voice again as
though afraid the soldiery might leam of their transaction.

 
          
"He
is called Menophus ek'Lannharan and his boat the
Sea Queen.
He awaits
you even now, at the harbor."

 
          
"When
can he sail?" Calandryll asked.

 
          
"On
the tide, do you wish it," replied Xanthese. "He'd as soon be gone as
wait anchored for the lictor to claim his service."

 
          
"And
what boat does he command?"

 
          
"A
warboat," Xanthese said, "a swift warboat. With sturdy oarsmen to
fight the wind and sail aplenty to ride her back."

 
          
"And
the lictor will allow him to sail?"

 
          
Xanthese
grinned, conspiratorial now. "Need the lictor know? Come with me and I'll
effect introduction. Then, doubtless, you'll wish to settle matters with a
trader. That done, Menophus stands at your command and you can be out of
Kharasul harbor before the sun sets."

 
          
Calandryll
looked to Bracht for confirmation: the freesword smiled briefly. Calandryll
said, "So be it. Let's meet this captain."

 
          
"As
you bid, good sirs."

 
          
Xanthese
rose, draining his cup, and led the way out the door.