Perilous Seas (14 page)

“I’d
like to explore a little farther north before the tide turns, sir. If you don’t
mind.”

Gathmor
grunted uncooperatively.

“I
thought I caught a glimpse of the minstrel jumping,” Rap said with
complete untruth, “but if you think it’s too dangerous-”

“We
can risk it. Get in, then.”

The
canoe was an absurdly awkward thing, constantly shipping water, but it was
better than swimming or walking. Just around the next headland, Rap’s
farsight detected Jalon stretched out on a small patch of sand. He was unhurt,
and effusively grateful for being rescued. The prophecy had passed its test and
the trio was now complete.

The
tide began to ebb, and soon the clumsy dugout was whirling southward,
perilously overloaded. Jalon had deliberately followed the other captives over
Blood Wave’s side, which was a surprising act of courage or desperation
from him. Although he had already guessed that this deserted countryside must
be Dragon Reach, he did not seem to connect it with the vision in the magic
casement. Any of the other four would have done so, but Jalon was notoriously
impractical. When the dragon appeared, he would call Sagorn and the prophecy
would be fulfilled, the hidden ending revealed.

Gathmor
did not know of the prophecy, and his sole intent now was to be revenged on
Kalkor. Dragons held no interest for him.

So
Rap was the only one who could see what was going to happen. He had his own
ambitions, and it felt like his turn to be ruthless for a change.

Ever
since the night encounter with Bright Water’s fire chick in the Gazebo,
he had known that his mastery over animals could control dragons. Neither
Sagorn nor any of his four alternates knew that, not having been there, and Rap
could see how this situation might be. used in the near future to extract
certain information. He would have to fake enough terror to deceive Sagorn.

That
might be the tricky part, for of course he would be in no real danger.

The
little hamlet had no name. Its people were mostly old or middle age, with few
young adults and even fewer children. They were a varied lot, as Gathmor had
predicted: hulking trolls, tall jotnar, squat imps, and a couple of male fauns
like shorter, slighter versions of Rap himself, plus people of obvious mixed
blood. He was curious to farsee one of the women being hustled away by two men
as the strangers arrived. They put her in the farthest shack and stayed there
with her, as if guarding.

Among
the adults, men far outnumbered women, and many of both bore ownership brands
to prove that slavery still lingered in the outer reaches of the Impire. All
seemed bitter and listless-from sickness, perhaps, or poor diet, or just
excessive toil. Everyone and everywhere stank of fish.

On
the edge of the firelight, the naked castaways were challenged, and came to a
halt before a bristle of spears and axes, tight-clutched in male hands and
backed by the glint of angry, distrustful eyes in shadowed faces.

Gathmor
told his story, or the parts that mattered, and for an uneasy few minutes after
that Rap was acutely aware of numbers and the utter lack of law. Only brute
force reigned here in the wilds. He saw the poverty and emaciation; he smelled
the resentment. Who was he to come begging at such a door?

Then
a woman called out from behind the ring of men, “Bring you metal,
strangers?”

“No
metal!” Gathmor said. “We have nothing, as you can see.”

“Be
welcome then.”

With
no argument, but certainly without enthusiasm, the men accepted her decision
and lowered their weapons. Clothes were passed forward, and the visitors
brought into the group.

Thus
Rap soon found himself joining a single great circle, cross-legged around the
central fire. The fare thrust upon him was sparse, fish and roasted roots, but
he felt guilty at accepting even that, hungry though he was. His meager portion
was larger than any other in sight, and he could see the gaunt children
huddling behind their elders and peering out at the newcomers with sullen awe.
He thought they needed the food more than he did.

The
buildings on the edge of the firelight were ramshackle hovels of driftwood and
wicker; sparks and smoke drifted up into indistinct overhanging boughs, and
somewhere the stream made excited chatter on its way to the sea. The night was
heavy and sticky and rife with insects. In the distance, surf boomed an
endless, mindless, changeless knell.

Across
from Rap, Gathmor sat beside the hamlet’s wise woman, an ancient half
troll named Nagg. She was undoubtedly the ugliest person Rap had ever seen, a
giantess of haggard skin and crooked bones, scanty of tooth and hair. Gathmor
and Jalon had done a poor job of concealing their mirth at the idea of a wise
troll, but Rap suspected that much cunning might lurk behind that nightmare
parody of a face. On Stormdancer he had prized Ballast as a friend and one of
the best men aboard; in Durthing he had concluded that the trolls were rarely
as stupid as they often pretended. It had been Nagg alone who had chosen to
admit Gathmor and his companions; the villagers had accepted her decision at
once, as if her judgment could be trusted.

She
nodded and clucked and drooled while Gathmor explained how he must hasten on to
Puldarn to warn the Imperial navy of the raider, but in his efforts to seem
friendly, he became pompous. “We shall not tell of meeting you,” he
said. “We shall not report this village.”

Nagg
screeched with merriment even as she stuffed her mouth full of fish. “Tell
all you want, jotunn,” she mumbled. “You’ve seen the marks
here. Some have been here long enough.” She pulled her rags aside to show
her own shoulder. “Was only a child when I left the Impire: Long, long
ago, sailor. Legions don’t chase runaways into Dragon Reach-right? “
she appealed to the others, and they hooted and laughed. “Lots more like
us along the coast, too. Here and there. “

Gathmor
flinched as she patted his thigh.

“Gold
tastes best,” she said, “but bronze near as good, they say. Nothing
hots up a dragon more’n a well-armored warrior. It’ll waste half a
country partying after.” She cackled and chewed some more.

And
so the talk inevitably turned to the dragons, and metal. The villagers
themselves possessed no metal at all; they scraped their narrow living from the
miserous land with tools of wood and stone. Knives of fractured dragon glass
were sharp enough to shave with, although they soon lost their edge. To raise
crops the women turned the sod with wooden plows pulled by men or other women.
Men speared or netted fish, children scrounged roots and berries from the
woodlands. To Rap it was the life of a brute, worse than anything any sane
slaveowner would inflict on his stock, but the fisherfolk seemed to think
freedom alone worth something, and themselves better off for it. He could not
visualize a past bad enough to be worse than their present.

Yes,
dragons came over once in a while, Nagg admitted placidly, but rarely
threatened unless they sensed metal. In her life she could recall only two
attacks. You could see them dance in the dawn sky almost any morning if you
looked-oftentimes one or two, rarely a whole blaze of them. They would not fly
over water, not usually.

“Gold
is what draws them most?” Rap asked his neighbor, an elderly,
crooked-tooth faun named something like Shyo S’sinap.

The
old man nodded so vigorously that his scraggy neck and straggly beard flapped. “Wonn’ll
find a gold ring at ten leagues, so’s said.”

Gathmor
described Blood Wave’s cargo, and his audience reacted with stark
disbelief. That much gold should have fetched worms from all over Dragon Reach.
The drakes did fly over water sometimes, and a shipful of gold would be ample
excuse. Kalkor’s luck was apparently effective even against dragons, Rap
thought.

Just
a couple of good handfuls might do it, Shyo opined solemnly.

Rap
chuckled around the chunk of coconut he was gnawing. “You don’t
have any handfuls handy, though?”

The
old man screwed up his wrinkles in a smile, letting firelight scroll shadows on
his leathery brown face. “Did once. ‘Bout thirty years ago, I
expect.” He noted Rap’s doubt with satisfaction and snickered. “Used
to work in the gold mines!”

Rap
glanced at the faded numbers burned into the bony shoulder. Then he looked at
the old faun’s protruding ribs, his furry faun legs, thin as a spider’s.
He glanced around the dilapidated hovels at the edge of the dark. “And
this is better?”

“Freedom,
lad!”

“You
can’t eat freedom. Freedom doesn’t keep you warm of a night, or
heal your children’s-”

“Ever
seen a man worked to death as an example to his mates?” the old man
asked, wheezing softly. “Ever watched your best friend die of shock after
he’d been gelded?”

Rap
shook his head. He’d spoken rashly.

The
faun bared the skewed yellow pegs in his mouth. “Or get Nagg to tell you
how it feels to be kept as breeding stock, raising mongrel quarry boys. Harkor,
there ... The bones in his back are fused. See the slope of his shoulders? That’s
what slave work does.”

“How
about the others, then? Not all of you were slaves.”

“No.
Srapa, there? Killed a man who raped her. He was of a good family. Hers wasn’t,
so she had to run. Real beauty, she was, when she got here. “ The old man
sighed, shaking his head. He stopped his pointing and just stared at the fire
for a moment.

“Gave
me a son once. Was going to look like me when ... He died. We got thieves here,
o’course. Honesty’s easier when you’re not hungry, for some
reason. Widows. Unwanted concubines and embarrassing bastards. Mutineers? We
have several mutineers. A spiteful centurion’s worse than a bad slave
boss, lad, ‘cause he needn’t worry about what you cost his master. “

Rap
wiped his forehead and wished he could ease back from the heat of the fire; but
that would seem as if he were moving away from the smelly old man. “You’ve
got a merwoman here, too?”

“Evil
rend me! How’s you know that? You planning on staying?”

“No.
“

Shyo
scowled. “That’s the only way you’ll get a share.”

“I
didn’t mean that! “ Rap shouted, louder than he meant. “Sure
you didn’t?” The old man looked angry and suspicious.

“All
I meant was why would a merwoman be here?”

“Same
reason as any of us, of course! She stays because the outside’s worse.
She came by chance, but she stays ‘cause it’s better. “

“What
sort of chance?” Rap’s mouth asked the question before he could
stop it. It was none of his business. He had never seen a mermaid before and he
was naturally curious. This one wasn’t young, but the way she was
cavorting with her guards in the most distant shack suggested that the old
stories had a lot of truth in them.

“She
was shipwrecked. She and her man.”

“Merman?”

“Course.”

“And
what-”

“Couple
o’ husbands knifed him the first night. “

“It’s
true, then?”

“Course.”
Suddenly Shyo cackled. “Did you never hear about the legions’ last
try at invading the Keriths, back in Emthar’s reign? Not the first time,
of course, but some bright tribune dreamed up the idea that they might make it
stick if they took along enough camp followers, but o’ course what
happened was exactly the opposite, and. . .”

Rap
had heard versions of the story in Durthing, and didn’t care to hear any
more. It was a standard tale whenever the conversation turned to the
irresistible attractions of merfolk. Then he realized that Gathmor was again
questioning old Nagg, and arguing at her answers. Growing steadily sleepier and
sleepier, he struggled to follow the conversation. The castaways could walk to
Puldarn easy, she said. Three days maybe; far enough to get hungry, not far
enough to starve. Gathmor inquired cautiously about the sea route. Very
dangerous, Nagg assured him. The tides of the Dragon Sea were notorious. Very
rocky coast. No, he and his friends should walk.

Of
course they were going to walk, Rap thought drowsily. The casement had said so.

Can’t
walk on bare feet, Gathmor insisted. Three days in the sun with no food and
little water ... and eventually Nagg promised to provide clothes.

Robes,
Rap thought, yawning. Black, green, and brown. They would be plain wear, Nagg
said, just gowns of the coarse stuff the women made, but they’d keep out
sun and wind and thorns.

Rap
wondered if the robes, when they appeared, would trigger Jalon’s memories
of the casement-Jalon’s memories of Sagom’s memories. He wished
Gathmor could sound a little more grateful. These poor fisherfolk had no need
to give the strangers as much as a smile. The jotnar would have meant little to
them, for they had nothing to lose except their lives, and Rap wasn’t
sure he would care very much about life if he had to spend it here. Yawn! His
mind wandered away to the merwoman and her two fortunate guards. Still at it!
... He scolded himself for prying and forced his attention back to the
negotiations.

At
long last Gathmor solemnly thanked Nagg for her offer of the shoes and clothes,
and promised that he and his companions would set off at first light, so as not
to waste any of the cool hours. And the weather was so fine, they would sleep
outdoors here.

Even
the outdoors smelled bad enough, Rap thought. Those heaps of drying seaweed
over there would make good bedding, the villagers said.

Right
now a bank of shingle would make good bedding. The kelp, when he was led to it,
proved to be springy and less smelly than he had feared. It crackled and popped
in his ears when he moved, but he was not expecting to move much.

He
closed his eyes and indulged in one last-long-slow-yawn. And was asleep.