Perilous Seas (4 page)

Jarthia
sat back and studied her visitor with unblinking red eyes. “The
lionslayer insists. He is a very demanding husband.”

Inos
doubted that. “Oh, that’s good . . . but not quite what I meant.
Actually, I was more concerned about thali . . . if you had thought of playing
thali this evening?”

Thali
was a popular women’s game. Inos had played it at Kinvale a few times.

Jarthia
was the caravan’s lady champion. Her hot gaze flashed briefly over the
buildings on the far side of the pond and then returned to Inos. “Possibly.”
The women of Tall Cranes would certainly have more valuables to lose than those
of more honest settlements.

“Oh,
good. My aunt and I might like to join in, for a change.”

“Mistress
Phattas and yourself are always welcome. “ Jarthia’s voice was
becoming quite sinister with suspicion.

“Yes.
Well . . . what I had in mind . . . actually . . .”

Inos
really ought to have planned how best to say this. “What I had in mind
actually was . . . was gambling, and . . . er, cheating?”

Favor
the deceit:

When
I consider life, ‘tis all a cheat;

Yet,
fool with hope, men favour the deceit;

Trust
on, and think tomorrow will repay:

Tomorrow’s
falser than the former day.

Dryden,
Aureng-Zebe

Piety Nor Wit

Away
from the fire there was moonlight, and even a few stars. There were many other
fires twinkling around Durthing, their smoke drifting up vaguely in the
moonlight. Moonlight was gleaming also on some very brawny clouds banked up in
the west, but if there was wind, it did not penetrate the little valley.

And
there was no sound! That was the eeriest thing of all. Ogi could hear nothing
but the irregular slither of his own boots on the slope and his own panting. If
Kani had not been imagining things, then every throat in the settlement should
be in full chorus, every cook pot clamoring the alarm.

He
had thought briefly of going for Uala and the kids, but either he didn’t
think he could move them out fast enough, or else his damnable impish curiosity
had gotten the better of him. He was following Rap to the moot-stow.

If
there was going to be a massacre, it would start there. The moot-stow was where
the men met to talk and drink and fight. If the Rap-Grindrog match occurred, it
would be held at the moot-stow. Homing Durthing vessels always docked first in
Finrain to unload cargo or passengers, and they always loaded beer. So the
night after a ship returned was always rowdy. The crew itself would be in a
mood for blood after weeks at sea. So would everyone else when the beer ran
out. The moot-stow was an open square of packed clay by the shore with a raised
bank around three sides; on that grew the only large trees left in the valley,
giving shade and rain cover, serving when necessary as grandstands.

On
nights when no ship had docked, there was music and dancing there, with
lanterns hung in the trees. When there was beer, then a bonfire blazed in the
middle, so a man could see what he was doing. Those nights the women stayed
home. Sea Eagle and Petrel had both beached that day.

Soon
Ogi saw the flicker of the bonfire and the shapes of men standing on the nearer
bank under the trees. He sensed other men running in from other directions. But
still he heard no sound.

There
was no law in Durthing-except maybe one. If it had ever been passed by the
Senate and the People’s Assembly in Hub, or signed by some long-dead
imperor, then no copy of the original survived. The jotnar would not have
accepted a written law anyway, but there was an unwritten law, and the Imperial
army had standing orders.

The
only jotunn settlements tolerated within the Impire were unarmed jotunn
settlements. The lictor at Finrain kept spies in Durthing, and any attempt to
collect weapons would have brought the entire XXIIIrd Legion marching in, five
thousand strong. The jotnar pretended not to know that. They themselves
outlawed weapons, they said, so that quarrels would be settled by more manly
means-with fists and boots. And teeth. Or rocks and tree branches. Daggers were
permissible sometimes, but swords were for cowards.

And
every law had its exceptions. The senior jotunn in Durthing was Brual,
unofficial mayor. He was aging now, but he was Nordland-born, and he kept the
disorder within some limits with the aid of his five sons, of whom Gathmor was
the youngest. Ogi was fairly sure that Brual must have a few swords tucked away
somewhere.

Never
enough! Not if Kani had truly seen what he had claimed. Not if that second boat
had borne an orca emblem on its sail.

An
orca was a killer whale, but it meant more than that in Nordland. It meant a
thane’s ship-raiders.

Gasping
and sweating, Ogi came reeling up the bank and recklessly pushed his way
through the line of blond, bare-chested sailors standing in ghostly silence,
watching what was happening in the moot-stow.

The
wide space was almost empty, except for the fire and Brual himself, flanked by
the only two of his sons who were in port at the moment, Rathkrun and Gathmor.
Brual had an ax and his sons bore swords. Their shadows stretched long on the
ground behind them.

Three
strangers were striding up from the sea jotnar, of course, recognizable by
their pale skin. They wore metal helmets and leather breeches and boots. They
seemed to be unarmed.

But
far behind them, an unfamiliar longship glimmered in the darkness on the placid
waters of the bay, and men were wading ashore and lining up along the beach.
Seeing no glint of weapons, Ogi decided that they also were unarmed. They must
be, because their round shields still hung along the low side of that sinister
boat. They wore helmets, though.

One
group of waders was carrying a hogshead, and another had already been set on
the sand. The ship had anchored, not beached; that was ominous. Yet the barrels
suggested gifts, and might be a hopeful sign.

The
entire male population of Durthing was there. It seemed to be holding its
breath.

The
three strangers stopped at a safe distance, and the night silence grew deeper
and heavier, as if even the sea and the crickets had stopped to listen. Fear
drifted though the trees like an invisible fog.

“What
ship?” That was Brual, loud and harsh.

The
stranger in the middle stepped forward one pace from his companions. He was
tall and young and muscular. He was cleanshaven, while they were heavily
bearded.

“Blood
Wave. And I am her master, Salthan, son of Ridkrol. “

“What
is your business, Captain?” Brual’s voice was strong, but curiously
flat.

“Who
asks?” Salthan was quieter, and he seemed completely at ease, although he
was much closer to the ax and the swords than he was to his own crew.

“I
am Brual, son of Gathrun. These are my sons.”

Salthan
put his fists on his hips and the gesture blazed with arrogance. “We came
in peace, Brual, son of Gathrun, but your manner is beginning to irk me. We
brought some beer to share with you, to exchange, perhaps, for some traditional
jotunnish hospitality? “

Silence
fell again. Nobody moved. Perhaps Brual was thinking. Perhaps he was already
admitting disaster.

Then
a man broke out of the crowd around the edges and ran a few steps forward and
stopped, ill lit by the blaze of the bonfire. Almost alone in the whole crowd,
he was dark-haired.

“He
lies! “ the newcomer shouted. “His name is not Salthan! He is
Kalkor, the thane of Gark.”

The
entire male population of Durthing seemed to draw breath in the same instant.
Ogi heard a low moan, and realized that it came from himself.

When
the faun picked a quarrel, he picked a good one.

The
stranger let the tension grow until Ogi wanted to scream. Then he said the
inevitable: “Who calls me a liar?”

It
was Gathmor who answered, without turning his head to look.

“He
is a thrall. If you would answer the charge, then answer it to me, who owns
hire. “

“That’s
not true!” Rap yelled shrilly. “You freed me!” And he went
stalking forward defiantly until he stood at Gathmor’s side.

Kalkor--for
Ogi had no doubts at all that the faun had spoken the truth, however he knew
it, and this was the most notorious raider on the four oceans-Kalkor seemed
more amused than ever.

“Is
this a three-way dispute, then? Both of you call me a liar, but he also calls
you one, Son-of-Brual? Do we settle it in some sort of order, or in one big
free-for-all?”

“You
answer it to me.” Gathmor had not taken his eyes off Kalkor. He was
ignoring the crazy faun beside him, but Rap leaned close to his ear, as if
whispering something important.

Ogi
tore his attention from the main action and looked seaward. About fifty of the
half-naked giants had come ashore now and were standing, watching. Firelight
gleamed on their beards and flashed from their helmets. They were shifting,
though, gradually edging in around the two hogsheads, and Ogi was suddenly
frantic to know what really was in those barrels. Rap would know, and that must
have been what he had just whispered to Gathmor, but Gathmor might already have
guessed what Ogi was starting to fear.

He
thought of Uala and the children and realized that he had never been more
terrified in his life. Women and children could not run fast enough.

“I
will take the thrall and consider the debt paid,” Kalkor said. Even at
that distance, Ogi somehow sensed the arrogant smile on the killer’s
face.

Trust
me?

“What
brings you to Durthing, Thane?” Gathmor demanded. His father seemed to be
leaving it to him.

Kalkor
cocked his head. “You repeat the challenge? I come for many reasons. My
business is varied. I am mostly anxious to see how the summer sailors fare. “

A
low noise like a groan swept through the watching crowd. The jotnar of Nordland
despised those who dwelt in the gentle southern lands. Their jotunn blood would
bring them no better treatment from a Nordland raider than an imp could expect,
or a faun, or anybody. The bloodlust might even burn hotter against them,
fanned by contempt.

Ogi
started praying-for a squadron of the Imperial navy, or a couple of cohorts
from the XXIIIrd Legion.

“You
have seen. Now go in peace.” Gathmor’s voice held none of the
bottled anger that Ogi had heard many times in the past, just before some
errant sailor was beaten bloody. Something was keeping it in check. Gathmor had
a wife and children, also.

“But
I came for that faun. And I will also enlist a pilot who knows the Nogids, as
my course lies westward.”

Again
the watchers seemed to breathe in unison, and this time the sound was certainly
a sigh. The thane was offering terms. “He won’t dare sail tonight, “
whispered a voice near to Ogi’s shoulder. He glanced around and
recognized one of Petrel’s crew.

“Why
not?” asked another whisper.

“There’s
a mother-and-father of a blow brewing out there, or I’m no sailor. “

Ogi
wiped his ribs where the sweat ran; now he recognized the urgent, muggy feel in
the air. He should have noticed sooner. But if Kalkor dared not leave, then
equally he could linger without worry that there might be Imperial ships out
hunting for any reported orca.

Brual
reached out a hand to stay his son, and Gathmor struck it away.

“I
know the Nogids as well as any man. “

A
very long silence this time-Kalkor certainly had a sense of drama. Then he
gestured toward his ship.

Gathmor
rammed his sword into the ground and released it. He said something to the faun
beside him and the two of them began to walk. Brual and Rathkrun stood where
they were.

A
strange whimper rose from the watchers, a most unjotunnish sound. They were
ashamed. Their leaders had given up without a fight. And they were afraid!
Hundreds of jotnar, every one of them a terror, men who would kill in a blind
mad rage, or hurl themselves at fighters twice their size, men who would brave
the worst the sea could throw at them without hesitationthey were all chilled
to stony terror by that arrogant young thane. In the face of certain death they
were no better than imps, Ogi thought bitterly. But they knew what raiders did
to men, to children, to women, and they had no weapons. Kalkor did.

Gathmor
and Rap reached the waiting raiders, and the line opened to let them through.
They waded out into the water, heading for Blood Wave. Kalkor said nothing, and
did not move. Nor did anyone. The whole island might have been frozen, except
for the two men wading out into the warm waters of the bay. Then they reached
the ship, caught handholds, and simultaneously swung themselves up and over the
side.

Faintly
over the water came the sound of two hard blows, and a grunt.

Kalkor
bowed ironically and turned. He and his two companions began to walk seaward.

It
had always been inevitable.

Brual
and Rathkrun leaped forward simultaneously, raising their weapons. The barrels
were hurled over, spilling axes that flashed in the light of the moon. Kalkor
and his two henchmen swung around to meet the attack. Brual struck one, but
Kalkor himself somehow stepped around Rathkrun’s thrust, felled him with
a punch too fast for the eye to follow, and flattened Brual with a kick. Then
the raiders had their weapons in hand, and they charged.

The
jotnar of Durthing fled screaming.

By
morning, the settlement was only a memory.

Thume,
the Accursed Place ... The War of the Five Warlocks ...

History
had never been one of Inos’s interests. Throughout her childhood she had
rejected history with a passion second only to the fanatic fervor with which
she had spurned mathematics. Her long-suffering tutor, Master Poraganu, had
learned to temper their mutual excursions into history to a tolerable minimum.