Perilous Seas (37 page)

Imopopi
ignored her complaint, directing his attention to the far side of the circle,
where the legionaries now moved apart to admit the portly Elkarath, glowering
like a thunderstorm.

“He
was one of my guards, Centurion.”

Imopopi
released his painful hold on Inos, leaving white bracelets that slowly flamed
red.

“Was,
Master?”

Elkarath
shrugged. “He may not be any longer. May I inquire?”

The
centurion folded his thick arms. “He ventured where he was not supposed
to.”

“He
appears to have suffered for it.”

“He
is lucky to be alive. You want him, or shall I dispose of him elsewhere?”

Still
scowling, Elkarath glanced around the ring of armored men. Then he shrugged
again. “I suppose I can take him in until he recovers. Is the matter
closed?”

“There
will be a fine.”

Elkarath
sighed. “Five imperials, I expect?”

“And
damages of ten more. “

The
sheik pouted, then nodded resignedly.

“Plus
a bond for future good behavior ... say, another twenty? “

Now
the old man glared, ready to rebel. “He still has some wages due, but he
is not heir to an emir’s ransom! I may summon a litter and have the fool
taken within? “

Imopopi
nodded, satisfied. Most of his men were openly smirking as they calculated
their share of that neat extortion. Elkarath turned to growl instructions. In
the center of the gathering, the cause of it all twitched and groaned, and then
became still again.

Idiot!
Had he thought the imps would allow a djinn to go spying around their barracks,
or naval base? Served him right! Of course Elkarath could cure his injuries, if
he dared exert his powers within Ullacarn itself.

“A
friend of yours, Mistress Hathark?”

Inos
jumped, and turned to the sinister centurion at her side. Why sinister?
Familiar? Not the face, the face was totally strange.

The
voice?

The
eyes! Recognition struck her like a fist.

She
reeled back, and cannoned into a nearby legionary, who felt as solid as a stone
pillar. He chuckled and steadied her and continued to hold her as she stared at
Imopopi.

“Something
wrong?” Mockery danced in the centurion’s hard face.

“I
think we have met before,” Inos said, and her voice was a croak. Olybino!
The warlock himself. He had grabbed her wrist earlier because she had been
about to lay a hand on Azak and would have been burned by the curse. He knew!
She squirmed, and the man behind her tightened his grip. But her eyes stayed
locked on the centurion.

“Yesterday?”
He knew! He knew she knew! He meant her to know.

“Before
that, sir!” Inos pushed away offending hands and the young man at her
back sighed loudly. Soldiers chuckled. Imopopi looked around his men and then
leered. “I don’t recall. How could I forget such a lovely face?
Were we in the dark, perchance? Or were there other things visible to distract
me?”

The
legionaries barked with laughter. Inos felt her cheeks flame red as a djinn’s.

“Perhaps
it is I who am mistaken, Centurion.”

Imopopi
considered her, his head on one side. “Perhaps. But we could discuss the
matter elsewhere. At length.”

“No
... er ... no! “ She tried to back away and was again gripped firmly by
the man behind her. She squirmed, and he squeezed warningly, tethering her to
bear his leader’s baiting.

The
warlock licked his lips and stepped closer. “You are enjoying your stay
in beautiful Ullacarn, mistress? Or are you too impatient to be on your way to
Hub?”

Oh,
Gods! It was so obvious now why she was going to Hub! Why he would send her by
ship instead of by sorcery was a mystery, but she knew now why she was going.

She
shook her head and managed to say “I am enjoying my stay, sir. “

“We
could make it more enjoyable for you, I’m sure.” Imopopi glanced
around the group, and his men laughed obediently. He was playing to two
audiences at once, and enjoying it.

Two
husky warehousemen had arrived with a stretcher, and Elkarath close behind
them. Inos caught a glimpse of Skarash peering at her over shoulders, and his
face had paled to a sickly salmon shade. So Skarash knew! He had not known the
previous day. That must be why he had been so jumpy--because he had discovered
that there was a warlock involved.

She
glanced back to meet the terrible mockery in Olybino’s eyes.

“You
should have gone to Hub sooner, ma’am.” The first time we met.

Inos
swallowed a few times and then found her voice. “My aunt was unable to
accompany me sooner, sir.”

“Unfortunate!”
The warlock shrugged. “Well, I bid you a safe journey, Mistress Hathark.”
Reverting to his pretense of being Centurion Imopopi, he nodded to the man
holding Inos to release her and turned to accept a heavy bag from Elkarath.
Hugging herself, Inos backed away into the crowd, her knees still knocking with
terror.

And
just in case she had any doubts, the warlock had cured her headache. It had
gone completely.

Male
hands were lifting Azak onto the litter. Azak had been given a lesson, and a
warning. Escape would be impossible now.

All
Inos could do in Ullacarn was to wait for a ship to take her away.

Chains
rattled and Gathmor opened his eyes, or tried to. He groaned and licked his
lips. “Rap?”

“I’m
here,” Rap said calmly, jingling fetters in his ear. The two of them were
jammed into a very small box. “You have a broken finger bone and you’ve
lost a tooth. Your nose looks as if it will straighten all right. The rest is
bruises, and cuts-you got those when the chandelier came down.”

“You?”

“Broke
a few bones in my hand and cracked a couple of ribs.” No need to mention
that they seemed to be mending very quickly.

Gathmor
tried to move, and groaned louder. After a moment he said softly, “That
was a very fine little fracas.” Remembering the devastation, Rap
shuddered. “Then I wouldn’t like to experience a big one. “

“Who
would have thought that imps could be so much sport? “

“Numbers
and motivation, I suppose.”

“Darad?”

“Not
present. “ Probably Darad had called Thinal at the end, or possibly
Andor, and he had then escaped in the confusion caused by the fire.

Again
Gathmor groaned. He tried to sit up and thought better of it. “I can’t
see.”

“There’s
not much light, and you wouldn’t see too well, with those shiners you’ve
got. We’re in a cell. About gnome size, so it’s a little snug.
Three sides stone, one side timber.”

“Smells
like gnome, too.” Gathmor smiled, or tried to. “Better than Blood
Wave, anyway. This is becoming a habit, me waking up like this. But that was a
very satisfactory bumping. Do you happen to know the final score?”

“No!”
Rap bit back some angry remarks.

The
cell was two floors belowground, and one of a hundred or so similar cells, all
overcrowded with men and chains. The air was a foul, dead brew that had not
been changed in centuries.

Gathmor
gritted his teeth and sat up noisily. He leaned back against the wall, wincing
as he tried to straighten his legs.

“I
think we’ve got a visitor coming,” Rap said. Jailers went by
outside all the time, but now an elf was being escorted down the stairs at the
end of the corridor, and Rap was the only elf in the cells. In a moment light
flickered in the judas hole, and bolts grated.

Rap
moved his knees aside to make room as the newcomer ducked into the cell and
stopped, blind. The door boomed shut behind him and he flinched. He was slight,
yet he could not straighten under the roof, and overall he seemed so like an
adolescent that he might even be one. His clothes had a very homemade look to
them, his golden curls needed trimming, but his fingernails were neat and
clean.

“Rap’rian?”
he said warily, peering straight ahead. “That’s me,” said Rap
at his feet.

The
visitor jumped and banged his head. “I’m Quip’rian.” He
choked and slapped a hand over his mouth. “I think I’m going to
throw up. “

“I
shall certainly kill you if you do,” said Gathmor. Another shock. “Who?
There’s more of you in here?”

“My
associate, Captain Gathmor.”

“A
jotunn? They locked you up with a jotunn? How can you stand this place?”

“I
don’t have much alternative,” Rap said, beginning to feel better
already. “Your name-Quip’rian?-we’re related?”

“I
doubt ... I’m an Aliel, cadet branch of the penultimate Offiniol sept.
You?”

“No.
“ Rap was even further out of his depth than he’d thought.

For
a moment the conversation failed. The youth reached out and felt for the walls.
His face twisted in horror when he realized how small the kennel was.

“Master
Rap’rian? “ he whispered. “Are you crazy? Will you plead
insanity?”

“No.
Would I be any better off if I did?”

“They
might just cut your head off.”

That
classed as better off? “I did it right, didn’t I?” Quip’rian
shut his eyes and shuddered. “You can’t believe that! “

“Well,
it came unstuck later,” Rap admitted. “But I said the formula-`I
spit on Valdonilth!’ That was right, wasn’t it? And then I slapped
his face. I didn’t hit very hard. And the old boy said whatever it was he
was supposed to say: `Foul varlet’ and so on. He did it rather well, I
thought, as he couldn’t have been expecting anything like that. And then
I said, `I kneel in the shadow of Lith’rian.’ That was all that was
supposed to happen, I thought.”

The
real elf wiped his streaming forehead. “How should I know? Nobody does
things like that nowadays! If you’d picked anyone but Lord Phiel’,
he probably wouldn’t have had a clue what you were raving about. I know I
wouldn’t.”

Rap
grunted noncommittally. When the silence became oppressive, he said, “Who’re
you? How do you get involved.”

“I
was the nearest male kin when you challenged.”

“How
old are you?”

“Fifteen.
I’m a trainee waiter! I was clearing plates off the next table.” He
seemed ready to weep.

“And
what does the nearest male kinsman have to do?”

“You
mean you don’t know all this? You utter the Sublime Defiance and you don’t
know how it works?”

Rap
thought a few unkind thoughts about Sorcerer Ishist and his sense of humor. “Tell
me.”

Quip’rian’s
lip trembled. “You’re really asking me? I only know what they’ve
been babbling upstairs. I have to be your escort. I have to accompany you to
Valdorian, if you get to go.” Rap’s insides lurched. “You
mean there’s some doubt?”

“Doubt?”
the elf yelled. “The lictor himself has a broken arm! The hall was
wrecked, utterly wrecked! No one’s died yet, but eight legionaries were
injured, and two or three dozen civilians. Poor Master Arth’quith had a
fit. It was awful, just awful! There’s an almighty argument going on
upstairs. It’s going to cost millions!”

Gathmor
sighed happily.

Rap
scanned and eventually discovered a meeting in progress on the third floor. He
could not hear the words, but the ten or so men up there were doing a lot of
arm-waving.

“Well,
I admit the fight wasn’t part of the plan,” he said sadly. “I
was told-I mean, I intended-to find an important elf with other elf witnesses.
I didn’t realize that imp witnesses might not understand what was going
on. I should have chosen a time when there were only elves present. I’m
truly sorry, because of course no elf would have spoiled a solemn ceremony like
that by trying to hit me with a bottle.” It had been a sorry blow, and
Rap had dodged easily, but . . . “My friends thought I was in danger, you
see.”

Gathmor
and Darad had come to his rescue like twin avalanches.

Quip’rian
sniffled. “Well, the lictor himself was there. He was hurt, and his wife
went into labor, and half his guests are still hospitalized. “

Now
Rap began to grasp the enormity of the problem. “And he doesn’t
recognize ancient elvish customs?”

“They
don’t apply within the Impire. “

“No.
I see.”

“He
says he’ll bypass normal procedure with a summary edict-to save time,
because you’re so obviously guilty.”

“And
then?”

The
boy moaned. “You’re going to be flogged to death in Emshandar Plaza
at noon. The notices are being posted. “ Rap recalled Kalkor’s
odious cat-o’-nine-tails and his throat felt as if it were being
squeezed. “And my friend here?”

“Him
first, you second.”

“Then
what’s the argument about?”

“Lord
Phiel’nilth says his clan honor is involved. He’s delighted! No one’s
uttered the Sublime Defiance in three hundred years, he says. He wants to go
through with the whole ritual.”

Nothing
was ever simple where elves were concerned, Rap remembered. “Can he swing
that?” he asked hopefully.

For
a moment the kid just wrung his hands. Then he whispered, “If they can
find the lictor’s price. “ He was looking sicker by the minute.
What sort of a fifteen-year-old was he?

“I’d
have thought,” Rap said, “that the chance of a free trip to IIrane
would appeal to you. Better than dirty dishes, surely?” Quip’rian
shuddered convulsively. “Go on a ship? “

“No?
Well, cheer up! They may flay me yet, and then you can polish all the glasses
in Noom in celebration. “

“Don’t
mock me!” the elf snapped, showing a little spark at last. “I didn’t
ask for this.”

“True!
I’m sorry,” Rap said, and meant it. “I suppose I’m just
trying to whistle up some courage. Will the lictor blink?”

“How
should I know? I’m a nothing ... But that way the damage would be paid
for. I think some important people like that idea. “

In
Milflor Rap had cost Gathmor forty-six imperials. He was going to be
considerably more expensive this time. “Who pays for all this?”