Perilous Seas (47 page)

“Not
bad,” he yelled, knowing that the wind might steal away his words before
they reached back to the tiller. “Be a brute to heat in winter.”

The
headlands slipped away on either hand as the Queen of Krasnegar raced into the
harbor. There could be no doubt where this was, for the blot on the chart now
lay directly on the name of Arakkaran. If Inos was living in that incredible
palace, that shining wonder of domes and towers and spires, then she must be
finding it very comfortable. Rap thought briefly of jungle and galley benches,
of jotunn raiders and dragons and the nightmare journey now ending, and he felt
an absurd twinge of envy.

Idiot!
Where did stableboys live like queens? Nowhere. Never. And he had seen her in a
tent, anyway.

Now
the voyage was over, the time for action was at hand. He turned to Jalon, who
was spread limp on the gratings amidships, covered with a length of salt-caked
canvas. That was the only place aboard where anyone could even hope to sleep,
where the boat’s unending mad leapings would not shake a man’s
teeth out and bounce him until he was black and blue all over. A true storm
raised a great swell, but the occult local squall that powered the Queen had
lacked enough fetch to change the existing waves much, so the sea had remained
relatively calm. Shrouded in flying spume, the boat had skipped and bounded
over the crests in a strange unholy motion, all the way from Vislawn. “Belay
the wind, pilot!” Rap shouted.

Red-eyed
and haggard, Jalon fumbled for the pipes. He had worn them on a thong around
his neck ever since Gathmor had asked what would happen if they fell overboard.

“I
hope I remember the tune!”

“If
you don’t, we’re going to wreck a lot of shipping!” Queen and
her rigging were seemingly indestructible, but other craft were not. All over
the bay, frightened men were hauling in sail as the freak storm roared in from
the Spring Sea, turning silver water to lead and blowing a fog of spray. No one
would notice one small unfamiliar boat in this sudden turmoil. The minstrel
began piping the gentle strains of “Rest, My Beloved,” and the wind
faltered, then began to subside. Jalon had played that song only once on the
journey, after Rap’s nagging had led him to summon a typhoon so hectic
that both crew and cargo had been in danger of being hurled overboard.

Rap
ducked under the sail and knelt on the baggage in the bow, being tossed up and
down and soaked by spray. He had not been dry in two weeks. He peered anxiously
at the huge city ahead. His plans were vague in the extreme-find Inos, yes, but
how? The palace alone was bigger than all of Krasnegar, or Durthing. Arakkaran
was twice the size of Noom or Finrain, the only real cities he knew. He saw
much shipping tied up along the waterfront, but less activity than he would
have expected in the streets. The hour was too late for siesta and too early
for serious drinking.

And
this was not the Impire. The laws and those who made them might frown on
visitors with no credentials and no patron. There would be jotnar aplenty in a
port of this size, but a faun would be a rarity, and an oversized faun with
goblin tattoos round his eyes was a conspicuous freak.

The
boat settled lower in the water as the wind continued to drop. For the first
time in two weeks the haze lifted, and the Queen sailed in clear sunlight. Rap
crawled back below the sail, to find Jalon stripping off his clothes.

“You’ll
not be wanting me, Rap?” he asked apologetically. “You can manage
the pipes if you need them?”

“Of
course. “

“Darad?
“

“Yes,
I think so. And, Jalon-thanks worlds!” Rap thumped the slim minstrel on
the shoulder and won a grin. Once again, as in Dragon Reach, Jalon had revealed
surprising tenacity. He could have departed at any time, just by wishing, yet
he had stayed to endure two weeks of vicious battering and sleeplessness, cold
and wet and salt sores, danger and boredom. He might not be a pureblood jotunn,
but even Gathmor now conceded he was made of the right stuff.

“My
pleasure! “ The minstrel smiled through his stubble, wincing at the salt
cracks in his lips. “I’m planning a romantic ballad about you, Rap,
for the elves. And a saga for imps. Maybe a battle song for jotnar?”

“I
hope not!”

“Don’t
be surprised! Go with the Good.” Jalon shook Rap’s hand, and the
Queen of Krasnegar wallowed as Darad’s great bulk replaced him. A whiff
of spray blew over the naked giant and he roared like a sea lion in springtime.
“Might have dressed me first!” he complained, and spread his
wolflike leer.

“Welcome
aboard! Your clothes are in there.” Rap pointed at a bundle. He turned to
the red-eyed, bristle-faced Gathmor. “See anything odd about this town,
Cap’n?”

Gathmor
narrowed his eyes and stared. “Like what?”

“Bunting?
Streets quiet?”

“Public
holiday?” Gathmor said, nodding. “Maybe. Celebration?”

Rap
felt a twinge of premonition. He glanced at the bundle of swords.

“What
we do now, sir?” Darad was busily hauling on pants vast enough to furnish
the sails of a galleon. So far the boat’s cargo had supplied everything
her crew had needed, down to the last needle. Obviously Lith’rian must
have perfect foresight, and Rap worried constantly over what else the warlock
might have foreseen-some event too close to call.

“I
think we dock.” Rap pondered. Yes, he was learning to trust these twinges
of his, this evidence of his adepthood. “And then... then I think you two
stay and guard the boat. I’ll go ashore and ask someone what all the
flags are for.”

Inos
had been ready for hours, or so it seemed. Her gown was heavy and hot; she had
wandered out on the balcony-to be alone, to enjoy the cool breezes, to stare
down unseeing at the jeweled city and the blue enamel of the harbor. How
brightly colors glowed under a tropic sun! How black the shadows. How very black.

Yet
today the hard edges were softened by a curious and inexplicable mist, through
which she saw another city-a smaller, drabber, shabby town under a grayer sky,
by a harbor that most of the year was a white plain. She still had not quite
adjusted to the certainty that she would never return there, although that
possibility had been obvious ever since the sorceress stole her away. The good
folk of Krasnegar might never know what had happened to their princess. And she
might never learn what had happened to them.

May
they find happiness. May I.

A
swirl of dust in her face brought her back to harsh reality. Palm fronds
thrashed and danced; something tugged at her veils. As if to match her mood, a
sudden squall had blown in from the Spring Sea, turning the lucent bay an
umbral shade and shooing all the little boats before it like frightened
ducklings. Inos circled carefully and swept back into the room.

It
must be almost time for her to go down. The Gut would be here any minute,
Prince Gutturaz who was to escort the bride. He was Azak’s oldest
surviving brother, and a portly man.

Organizing
a wedding in Zark had turned out to be quite easy. Inos had merely told Kar
what she wanted, and Kar had done as he pleased. Then Azak had ordered it all
changed. Finally Rasha had rearranged the whole plan. Not difficult at all.

Almost
the only decisions Inos had been allowed to make for herself had concerned her
gown, and those choices had been held to within extremely narrow limits,
decreed by tradition. Now she was swathed in enough lace to drape every window
in Krasnegar, enough pearls to ransom a warlock. Pearls were a Zarkian symbol
of virginity. She wondered if the oysters believed that.

She
paused to scowl at herself in one of the innumerable mirrors that had infested
her apartment, crowding it like a bazaar-hanging mirrors, freestanding mirrors,
square, round, and oval mirrors. There she was, scowling everywhere, the human
iceberg. At the moment she still had her veils raised, but when they were down
she could not be distinguished from an iceberg, not even by experts. The room
was packed with icebergs. She could have left her hair in curlers and painted
her face blue and no one would ever notice under all this.

“Ah,
there you are, my dear,” said a familiar voice. “You look charming.”

Inos
preferred not to turn around in case she tangled her train, so she located a
Kade reflection and spoke to that.

“I
do not look charming! I do not look at all! If we left this gown on the
dressmaker’s dummy, and wheeled that into the hall instead of me, then I
think the iman could marry it to Azak without anyone noticing.”

Kade
fluttered, and for a moment Inos thought she was going to suggest that they do
just that, but Kade would never be so unkind. Instead she said, “Well,
every land has its own ways, dear. And weddings are always very traditional. “
With a satisfied nod at this insight, she turned away to consult a mirror,
smiling politely to her reflection as if thinking it needed reassurance also.

Kade
was almost invisible herself, bundled in rolls of a heavy gold cloth that did
not suit her complexion; it must also be even hotter and heavier than Inos’s
wedding gown. Only the lower part of her face would be veiled for the ceremony,
as mature male Arakkaranians could apparently be trusted not to riot at the
sight of Kade’s eyes.

She
thought Inos was making a terrible mistake. She had said so when Inos had told
her the news, a week ago.

Hot
words then; cold words ever since.

Even
now, Kade was visibly fretting, unhappy about the match, unwilling to upset
Inos on her wedding day, aware that it was too late to stop the avalanche
anyway-every word of that was written in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

Inos
contrived to turn around without knotting herself. “Do you remember
Agimoonoo?”

Kade
blinked and then said, “Yes?” uncertainly.

“It
was just after I arrived at Kinvale. She announced her engagement to that fat
customs official. Remember?”

“Yes.
I remember.”

“I
said some nasty things, as I recall. That he was odious and sneaky. That she
didn’t love him. That she was only marrying him for his money and because
her mother was insisting. “ Inos smiled. “That was before you
taught me to be more discreet, Aunt. But at least I just said them to you, not
to anyone else. “

Kade
bit her lip. “What about her?”

“You
told me that she would learn to love him. That unless a man was a real horror,
a woman could learn to live with him and be happy, and often love had to come
later. “

A
sickly little smile appeared on Kade’s lips and vanished like a melting
snowflake. “I may have said something like that. But--”

“And
in this case, the God told me to trust in love. What Azak did for me-has been
doing for me . . . he is doing for me. For love. “ She had seen Azak only
twice, and briefly, in the past week. Both meetings had been very public and
formal, and the two of them had hardly spoken to each other. His face had been
unreadable, stern and wooden. The sacrifice he was making for her was a strange
and cruel one, but no less a sacrifice for that. “No man enjoys losing,
Aunt. Abject surrender is hard for anyone. From a proud man like Azak it almost
ranks as a miracle! It proves his love, don’t you see? We must trust in
love. “

Inos
had been repeating that sentiment for a week now-to Kade by day and to herself
by night-so she must really believe it. Mustn’t she?

Kade
nodded, slightly pink. “I wish you both all happiness, my dear.”
She meant it; she did not expect it.

At
the height of their quarrel, Kade had said some very painful things, but Inos
would forgive them and forget them. Today she could not hold a grievance
against anyone, for today was her wedding day. Today she was to be happy. Wasn’t
she?

Every
girl must feel nervous on her wedding day. Every bride must know this feeling
of a lump of ice in her belly.

She
had not told Kade about the sculleries. Rasha had been serious in her threats,
and only Azak’s surrender had stopped her from carrying them out. The
sculleries alone made the marriage inevitable, to save Kade from being worked
to a quick death scrubbing out acres of stone floors.

Unthinkable.

Ladylike
banter? “A rather brief betrothal, Aunt.”

“Yes,
dear?”

“But
longer than my last one, I believe.”

“A
great improvement. As I recall, we hadn’t opened the wine to toast your
engagement before you were lining up in front of the bishop.”

“And
then Rap-” Inos shrugged. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere.
But if Rap had not burst in and stopped the wedding, what would have happened
then?

“I
still feel that perhaps there has been too much haste in . . . “ Kade
trailed into silence, and in that hall of mirrors it was impossible to tell
whether she had stopped because of Inos’s expression, or because what she
was about to say was much too late now, or because a dozen black-clad Zanas had
suddenly appeared. Zana had mysteriously returned to the palace the day after
Inos did, and had again taken charge of the royal guests’ comforts.
Without Zana, today would have collapsed into chaos long since.

“His
Largeness is here?” Inos moved hands expansively. Zana nodded, eyes
atwinkle. With deft fingers she pulled down the veils to make Inos respectable.
Inos peered out at the world through a mist of fine lace, seeing icebergs in
all directions.

Suddenly
the mirrors had a new reflection to play with as the massive green form of
grizzled Prince Gutturaz filled the doorway, swaying stiffly forward in a bow.
He advanced three paces and bowed again. Then two lines of excited young pages
came sweeping into sight from behind his eclipsing bulk.

Chattering
and giggling, the boys headed for Inos and their allotted places. Most of them
were very small, but all twelve were princes, clad in green, come to bear the
bride’s train to their father’s wedding.