Perilous Seas (42 page)

“So
Krasnegar was an annoying problem for him. It was easier to find a solution
without Inos, maybe, so he ... simplified it?”

Sagorn
laughed mockingly.

It
sounded weak even to Rap, but he persisted. “A young queen in distress,
and legionaries had already died to help her, and Emshandar wanted to give her
kingdom away to the thane, but the senators might have-”

“Wishful
thinking!” And yet--”The imperor may have been lying!” Yes!
said premonition. Closer! Closer! Or was that only wishful thinking also? Oh,
Inos!

“Your
optimism is as far beyond belief as your claims of knowledge,” Sagorn
said. “Why would the wardens support such a falsehood? Tell me what you
learned in Milflor. “ He was tortured by curiosity, and trying not to
show it.

Taking
pity on him, Rap began to tell him of the night he had met Bright Water and
Warlock Zinixo, and the strange events in the Gazebo in Milflor. Talking was a
welcome distraction. He told it all-how the two wardens had foreseen Little
Chicken, how they had plotted against Olybino, how he had observed Inos in the
occult mirror, and how he had tried to warn her.

By
the time he had done, the officers and a handful of passengers were into their
third course in the dining room, shadows were squirreling madly around the
cabin, and he was shouting over the noise of the storm. Sagorn was a most
unlikely jotunn, but he ignored the fearsome weather in true jotunn fashion,
listening enraptly.

“You
think she heeded your admonition and escaped?” he demanded doubtfully at
the end.

“I
don’t know. I hope so.”

“It
seems unlikely she would have succeeded. And I find your touching beliefs even
harder to swallow now. I should prefer to surmise that there was a struggle
over her, and she was a casualty in the dispute. Or she tried to escape as you
suggested and met with misfortune. The wardens told the imperor.”

Rap’s
heart sank.

“We
do not have enough information,” Sagorn conceded. “Whatever we
conclude must be a cobweb of speculation.” Rap sadly agreed with that.
His hope sounded like a very thin whistling beside a very large graveyard. And
yet his premonition was insisting that Inos was not dead.

“Lith’rian
will certainly know.”

“Let
us hope you live to see him!” Sagorn was holding the side of his bunk now
to avoid being tipped out as the ship pitched. “Does your farsight detect
land anywhere?”

“None,”
Rap said soothingly. “Lots of sea out there.”

The
masts were almost bare of canvas, every rib and beam was creaking under the
strain. Head to the wind, Allena was holding her station so far as he could
tell, but the old man was right to be scared. Rap let him ramble, not listening
to the nervous chitchat, idly nagging at himself to go and eat while there was
still food to be had, yet letting his mind pursue its own researches ...

Suddenly
he had it. The picture he wanted flashed up from his memory, fresh-painted,
clear in every detail as if he were again staring over an elf’s shoulder.

He
jumped up, and lurched across to the door. “What’s the matter?”
Sagorn demanded.

Rap
grabbed the handle with injured fingers, and a hot jab of pain distracted him.
But his farsight was far out ahead of him, searching ... He met resistance,
insisted, was repulsed ...

He
stumbled back and slithered awkwardly to his knees. Nauseated, he put his face
in his hands.

“Seasick,
Master Rap? Not enough jotunn in you?”

It
was a moment before Rap could reply. He licked his lips, swallowed twice. Then
he lied, “Just a twinge.”

“Eschew
the pork, I suggest.”

But
Rap had recognized the familiar touch of an aversion spell. If he told the old
man the truth about the storm, the news would only frighten him more. This
weather had been summoned.

Inos
was still alive!

Or
else Little Chicken was.

When
Rap awoke to a chill gray dawn, he found Allena still hove to in an unrelenting
gale. As he set off in search of breakfast, his farsight was detecting sharp
edges to the south, decorated with foam and spray. He concluded that he would
have to do something about those.

An
hour or two later, Gathmor went reeling aft in search of his companions. He had
spent the entire night with the officers, joyfully swapping yarns and summing
up potential partners for recreational mayhem at a later date. He threw open the
door and lurched into Rap’s cabin.

Jalon
was stretched out on the bed, idly tuning a lute he’d borrowed from an
unconscious elf. Since eating a hearty dinner the previous night, Jalon had
shown no impatience to call back Sagorn, or Andor. Although he was unassertive
toward people, he had treated wind and waves with total contempt. Either the
fury of the storm left him unmoved, or he had not really noticed it.

Rap
was sitting in one of the two well-padded chairs, with his feet up on the
other. He removed those feet and waved for Gathmor to sit down.

“You
know what that crazy skipper’s doing?” Gathmor snarled.

“Hoisting
more sail?”

“How’d
you know?”

“Oh,
I suggested it to him,” Rap said, smirking. Not yet knowing how effective
his mastery was, he had not been sure how long the compulsion would hold after
he parted from the captain, but apparently it had held long enough. Andor’s
range was about an hour, he recalled.

Gathmor
collapsed on the chair. “God of Storms! Why? We’ll be dismasted or
laid on our beam ends. “

Rap
waved a thumb. “Rocks thataway.”

The
sailor scowled. “I mean, why would he listen to you, a prissy landlubber
elf?”

Rap
shrugged. “We were having breakfast, and Captain Prakker happened to
remark he’d never seen an elf on his feet in anything other than dead
calm. One thing led to another.”

“More
canvas in this weather?”

“I
persuaded him it was worth a try.”

The
sailor scowled blackly, recognizing that he was in the presence of the occult.

“She’ll
make good time in this, won’t she?” Rap said. “If she stays
afloat, that is. Skipper says Malfin’s straight upwind, but we can tack.
And if you’d care for a wager, Cap’n, I’ll lay odds we won’t
see Malfin on this trip.”

Gathmor
scowled. “I don’t bet against you, not ever. But Prakker’ll
just heave to again as soon as he’s clear of Noom Bay. “

“Sure
you don’t want to bet?” Rap said cheerfully.

He
glanced over at the minstrel, who was quietly fingering out a tune and
frowning.

“You’ve
been to Ilrane, haven’t you?”

Jalon
shrugged without looking up. “Andor mostly. I was just there a few hours.”

“Tell
me about the sky trees.”

“Andor
told you once,” Jalon said, still twanging quietly. “But you’ve
got the artist’s eye and the poet’s tongue.” Even Darad might
have seen through such thick-buttered flat tery, but Jalon didn’t. He
laid the lute beside him, put his hands under his flaxen head, and stared up at
the beams. For a long minute he was silent, then he sighed. “They’re
glorious, utterly breathtaking. Like crystal artichokes.”

Gathmor
rolled his eyes at Rap and made a scornful noise. Jalon had once admitted to
Rap that he was part elf, and this seemed a logical time to mention the fact
again, but he didn’t. He might have forgotten having done so already, or
he might be reluctant to inform Gathmor. “No, truly. They’re not
really trees, they’re some sort of mineral growth.”

“How
big?” Rap asked.

“Huge.
Lots are a league high, some of them more than that, with their tops all
covered in snow. Valdobyt Prime was said to be so high there wasn’t
enough air at the top of it to breathe. It got knocked down by some sorcerer or
other thousands of years ago. I’d give you a ballad or two about it if I
could fix this E string. “

“Artichokes?”
Rap said. “A league high? Come on, be serious! “

“Should
have been able to see ‘em from Kith,” Gathmor snorted, equally
disbelieving. But Jalon was lost in remembered bliss.

“Oftentimes
the clouds hide them. It can take days to climb up from the ground to where you
want to be.. That’s how I got called-Andor was exhausted. I would never’ve
left, I think, except that his hosts knew him and not me; never mind that
tale... Each leaf is sort of like a hand. Think of hundreds of crystalline
hands all sprouting from a common trunk, except you can’t see much of the
trunk itself. There’s usually a little lake in the palm, and the fingers
feather ‘way out and up, into branches of crystals, and they branch more,
and finally make petals like a mist of stained glass and butterfly wings in the
distance. All day the sun strikes through them in all the colors you can
imagine and a few you can’t, and the clouds float by in pearly fires.”

“Where
do the people live?” Gathmor said, always practical. “They build
houses around the lakes, or higher on the slopes, in among the trees. There’s
real trees and grass, and flowers of course. Can’t have elves without
flowers around! Little fields. Each leaf is a separate village. You go from one
to the other up long ladders or in tunnels winding up through the rock. The sky
trees are the most beautiful thing in the world,” Jalon said with unusual
firmness. “No wonder elves love beauty so much.”

Gathmor
rubbed his eyes. “I think I’ll catch some sleep.” Rap hid a
smile. “Good idea. Any chance you could borrow a cape and a hat for me,
Cap’n?” He would have to spend time up on deck to hold the skipper
on course. Already he thought he could detect the wind being altered to react
to the ship’s new course.

If
all else failed, he would just have to explain to the master that the warlock
of the south wanted him, Rap, delivered to Ilrane as soon as possible; but he
thought Lith’rain might regard that as cheating. Presumably he was not
going to all this trouble just to steal Rap’s word of power, so Rap must
have some interest or value, and just maybe that meant he was a pawn in the
Krasnegar struggle, and in that case the game was still on, and Inos was still
alive.

This
rationalization was a tapestry of moonbeams, but it was enough to keep him from
brooding, except when he remembered he was trying to outguess a man who had
married his daughter to a gnome.

Or
when he wondered if the unseen hand belonged to Bright Water, needing Rap in
order to fulfill Little Chicken’s destiny. Lith’rian was the witch’s
ally.

Nevertheless,
Rap would guide the ship to Vislawn as best he could. The rest of the time he
would lounge in his wonderful cabin. He had eaten a very fine breakfast. Never
before in his life had he lived in luxury like this.

And
he had a whole new pastime to savor. With his new eidetic memory, he could call
up detailed pictures of Inos from their childhood together-Inos riding, Inos
running, dancing, laughing, playing, running. Next to actually having her
there, it was the best thing he could imagine.

It
was at some undefined time during the second day that Inos opened her eyes to
find Kade standing over her, regarding her with concern, white hair tousled
around wind-flushed face. Beyond the scuppers lay blue sky and sea and white
birds-and waves. Inos closed her eyes again swiftly.

“I
was hoping . . .” Kade said softly. “The wind has died almost
completely.”

“So
have I.”

Kade
was not to be discouraged. “I did bring a little-”

“If
you mention food or drink or . . . yecgh! . . . soup . . . I will start all
over again,” Inos said firmly. She heard a faint sigh and a fainter clink
of china.

Then
vague noises suggested a chair being pulled up. She opened her eyes just as
Kade sat down beside the bed. “Please, Aunt? Leave me. Maybe tomorrow?”

But
Kade was descended from a long line of kings, and at times she could be
implacably stubborn. Regrettably this looked like being one of those times.

“There
is something you should know,” she said firmly. “Tell me then.”
Get it over with.

“I
did try to tell Azak, but I was not allowed near him.” How would he be
doing, down in the bilge? Azak swore that he loved the sea, and yet djinns were
usually reluctant sailors. Inos wondered how Gnome Quarters smelled, and
instantly wished she hadn’t. She grunted noncommittally. She had too many
worries of her own. He was a big boy and could look after himself.

“So
I’m going to tell you,” Kade said firmly. “This ship is not
going to Angot. “

Inos
turned her head quickly on the pillow-too quickly. “It’s not?”

“Not
when it’s heading south it isn’t! I may be old but I’m not
stupid.” Princess Kadolan very rarely lost her temper. This must be one
of those times, also.

“You’re
not old,” Inos said automatically as she tried to comprehend the stunning
news.

“Despite
the calm sea and gentle breezes, this is not the Sea of Sorrows. We’re in
Kerith Passage.”

“Then
where are we going?”

“I
have spent the last day and a half trying to find out! The crew and the
officers are being extremely unhelpful. Frainish doesn’t know-she was
told she was going to Qoble-and I seem to be the only passenger capable of
maintaining an upright posture.”

“Arakkaran?”
Inos whispered. It would have to be Arakkaran.

“Arakkaran,
yes. I just visited the cabin of an elderly priest. He didn’t want any
fish chowder, either, but he did admit that he’s on his way to Githarn,
and expects the ship to call at Torkag, Brogog, and Arakkaran.”

Seasickness
did not promote clear thinking, any thinking. The planks in the ceiling had a
very wavy grain pattern, and if Inos looked at them for very long, the waves
started rippling. Don’t look, stupid!

“You
are still convinced that your centurion was the warlock?” Kade demanded.