The Dragonstone (55 page)

*   *   *

After another day of fruitless discussion, at last Egil sighed and looked across at Arin. “I suppose we’ll just have to attempt it on our own, Dara. I mean, Alos is determined he’s not going back.” Egil turned to the oldster. “You’ll have to tell us all you know about the town and the cove, especially about the way to get past the Serpent’s Fangs.”

The seven sat in long shadows at evening meal on the veranda, the last of the sun nearly sunk, the western sky orange, the eastern deep violet.

“Can’t we make anchor elsewhere and go in overland?” asked Delon.

“That’s a damnfool suggestion,” barked Alos.

Ferret reached out and took Delon’s hand and glared at the oldster.

But Alos ignored her and stabbed a finger at the bard. “Didn’t you listen when I said the whole coast is fanged in that region? For decades of miles upshore and down it’ll pierce any hull, sink any ship whose captain is fool enough to sail nigh.”

Arin also reached out and took a hand—Alos’s. “We cannot and will not force thee to guide us safely past the shoals. Yet heed, I deem that this is why thou art a one-eye
in dark water, for this is thy hidden purpose in the rede. And without thee, we shall fail.”

Alos looked down at the small hand gripping his, and then at the Dylvana. With his chin atremble he opened his mouth to say something, but at that very moment,
Khûri
Ustâz strode quickly onto the porch and, staying in the shadows and glancing left and right, hissed, “Burel!”

Burel looked up, but before he could say aught, Ustâz said, “The Fists of Rakka, they’re coming to get you and your
kalb w nafs,
Lady Aiko. Blasphemers, they name you both. They come to punish you, to batter you to death in the public square.”

Aiko growled and leapt to her feet. “If they want a fight, they’ll get it,” she sissed through gritted teeth, then turned to Burel and snapped, “Swords,” and started for her room, all others springing to their feet to follow, all but Arin and Alos, the Dylvana standing and calling out “Wait!” while the old man shrank down in his seat.

They turned and looked at Arin. She pointed at Burel and declared, “We have what we came for—the cursed keeper of faith in the maze. The Fists of Rakka can wait.”

Now Arin turned to the ‘
âlim.
“How soon will they be here?”

“A candlemark. Two at most,” he replied.

“Then I say we get to the ship and leave.”

Aiko growled in protest, but Burel said, “She is right—the green stone comes before all.” He stepped to
Khûri
Ustâz and embraced him. “Thank you for warning us. Now you must go, else they will find you here.”

As Burel stepped back from the ‘
âlim,
Egil looked at Alos still cowering in his chair and asked, “What about you, Alos?”

Before the old man could reply, Ustâz said, “The Fists will kill anyone left behind.”

“Eep!” squealed Alos, and jumped to his feet. Then he whined at Aiko, “This is all your fault! Dragging me off on a damnfool—”

“Aru shizukana!”
Aiko spat, and spun on her heel and headed for her room.

*   *   *

They collected their weapons and clothing, and Egil settled the innkeeper’s bill. Then, with Aiko and Burel bringing up the rear, and with Alos squeaking in fear in the lead, they hied along the streets in the dusk, pressing through the throngs for the docks, Alos’s trembling voice crying out, “Make way! Make way!” At last they came down to the river proper, its yellow-orange waters black in the oncoming night. Reaching the wharves where the
Brise
was moored, Alos scrambled over the wales to the tiller, all the while hissing, “Hurry, hurry,” as the others clambered aboard. Egil and Delon began raising the sails, while Aiko and Ferret cast off. Even as they pushed away to be carried downcurrent, in the yellow light of street lanterns men in dark robes could be seen striding through the crowd, the masses parting before them as they marched toward the jetties. Yet the sloop was well away ere the Fists of Rakka reached the abandoned slip. Finding it empty, they milled about in thwarted frustration, tulwars and scimitars slashing the remnants of the twilight air while the men called down curses upon the blasphemers and all their ilk. And even innocent believers drew back into the darkness and out of sight of these tyrannical followers of yet another intolerant one true way.

*   *   *

Tacking by the light of the glimmering stars, in twelve candlemarks they reached the wide lower part of the River Ennîl. The tide began to flow against them as they tacked and hauled through the estuarial waters, and it took awhile ere they crossed the marge into the bay. Behind them a waning half moon slid above the horizon, adding its light to the gleam of the stars.

Finally the sloop reached deeper waters, where it could make good headway, and Alos brought the
Brise
around from her northwesterly heading to beat into the eye of the wind, her overall course now westerly.

After a while, Arin said, “Where shall we drop thee off, Alos?”

The oldster looked long at her, sighing and shaking his head. At last he said, “Not anywhere in these waters, but somewhere else instead. Somewhere after you’ve escaped Kistan.”

“Escaped Kis—?”

“I’m a bedamned fool for pledging this, but I’ll sail you past the shoals at Serpent Cove.” He raised a trembling hand to his forehead to wipe away sudden sweat, and his voice quavered as he added, “I’ll take you there and get you back out.”

“You mean you’ll go with us?” blurted Delon.

“Masani?”
Aiko’s eyes flew wide.

The oldster stuck out his chin and glared at the Ryodoan. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Even so, he was gasping as if he couldn’t get enough to breathe.

“But I won’t go ashore to fight no Mage. And if you get caught, I’ll not stay around. But if we sail out of there together, you can drop me off at the first friendly port, for then I’ll be quit of this damnfool venture, you hear?”

“Well and good,” cried Egil. “Let’s give him a cheer.”

And as Delon and Ferret and Burel and Egil and even Aiko sounded three
hip, hip, hurrahs,
Arin reached over and took the frightened old man’s hand and simply said, “I thank thee.”

Still trembling, Alos leaned back against the stern thwart. As if suddenly aware that all eyes were still upon him, he glared at the sails and snapped, “What are you, a bunch of lubbers? Look at those sails and the lubberly sheets. Trim up, you hear me, trim up.”

Delon began singing as he and Egil adjusted the sails and cleated the sheets, and Ferret and Aiko coiled the spare, Burel lending a hand. But Arin slid over to the oldster and pointed to a guiding star as she put an arm about his yet quaking shoulders.

And thus did
Brise
sail away from Sarain by the light of a silver half moon.

T
hrough deep waters indigo blue fared the
Brise
on her southwesterly course, the little ship tacking on long, long beats against the winds blowing west to east across the wide Avagon Sea. As before, the companions took turns sailing the ship, with Delon and Ferret and Alos crewing from dawn till dusk, while Burel joined with Aiko and Arin and Egil to sail the seas at night. A crew at a time, they also took turns sleeping in the cabin below, there being but four bunks in all. Still, there was considerable overlap between one crew coming on watch and the other crew taking leave, and during these times—unless it was raining—by unspoken consent the cabin was ceded for lovers’ trysts, while those left on deck relaxed.

*   *   *

At the mid of night of the winter solstice, in the restricted confines of the sloop, Arin began chanting and stepping out the Elven rite hallowing the turn of the sun, with Delon and Egil guiding Burel through the steps, while Arin and Aiko guided Ferai. They were lost in the ritual and in Arin’s chant when the silver half moon arose and cast its argent light aglance across the celebrants.

Below in the cabin Alos was awakened by the canticle and the pace of gliding steps. He listened for a while, but the rhythmic cadence soon lulled him back to sleep.

*   *   *

Six days later in early morn they sighted the Island of Gjeen, and for the next three days they rounded its southern flank. As the island disappeared over the horizon astern, Egil looked up from the charts. “Sabra,” he proclaimed. “We’ll head for Sabra to reprovision.”

Delon glanced at the map. “The city at the edge of the Karoo?”

Egil nodded.

“Hmm, wasn’t that one of the places where the Jutlanders might go to look for us?”

Egil grunted. “Aye. But that was two months back. I think that they would have come and gone by now.”

“Jutlanders?” asked Burel, frowning. Then he looked at Aiko and his face brightened. “Ah, Queen Gudrun’s hounds, eh?”

Aiko nodded, her gaze impassive, but she said nought.

Alos sighed. “I wouldn’t want to meet up with them again.”

Delon laughed. “Alos, old man, you were passed-out drunk both times.”

Alos bristled. “Nevertheless!”

Egil held up a hand. “Look, we’ll sail into the mouth of the port, and if we see a Dragonship we’ll sail right back out. I think we’ve enough water to get us to Khalísh.”

“Khalísh?” Delon leaned over and gazed again at the chart.

“Here, in Hyree,” said Egil, pointing.

“Oh. Hyree. I’d rather not, if we have a choice, for they’re almost as bad as the Kistanians.”

*   *   *

At high noon on the sixth day of January they sailed into the harbor at Sabra, the curve of the city before them baking in the sun.

They discovered from the harbormaster that not only was there no Dragonship in port, none had been seen for a number of years, and that one but briefly.

With Aiko and Arin and Ferai’s faces covered in veils, they pressed through the throngs and took rooms at the Crescent and Star, a modest inn on the slopes above the bay. From their balconies and to the south, and far beyond the city walls, they could see the great arc of the erg, the sands of the mighty Karoo shimmering in the heat. Yet this vast desert was not on their minds, but a serpentine cove instead.

*   *   *

“All right,” said Alos, pointing at the sketch he had drawn. “Here’s the fangs. See these three? They’re the guide-rocks. We zigzag through all the other fangs this way”—on the parchment his finger scritched south-southwest, then jinked north-northwest, then scraped southwest—“we pass the first guide-rock close to larboard while running toward the second, jibing ’round the second one starboard tight, then running straight for the third one, taking it close to larboard, and then swing true southwest and into the throat of the snake.”

“How do we single out the three guide-rocks?” asked Egil.

“The first two are taller than the other fangs”—Alos pointed—“the first tall one is somewhere out here on the edge, while the second is down ’round here among the other rocks. The third one, about here, is, um, marbled with white veins.” He looked up at Egil. “See, it’s simple, once you know.”

Aiko, not taking her eyes from the map, asked, “Where is the town?”

“Just beyond the first bend. Out of sight.”

Now the Ryodoan glanced up, first at Egil and then to Alos. “And Ordrune’s tower?”

“I didn’t see no tower,” said Alos, scratching among the long hairs of his scraggly white beard. “Just the town, though the cove itself slithers way beyond—deep into the jungle for miles. We didn’t go past the town.”

“And the entrance to the cove,” asked Burel, “is it warded?”

“They keep a daywatch,” said Alos. “Sounded the alarm when we escaped. But as to a nightwatch, I don’t know. There was some talk that the Rovers scavenge ships that founder on the rocks, and that’s why they keep a watch on the entrance. As to the truth of it, I cannot say.”

“I would think they keep a watch to warn of the King’s fleet, and they hide the town for the very same reason,” said Aiko.

“When is the best time to take the
Brise
in?” asked Egil.

“High noon, so I can see how to maneuver,” replied Alos.

“No, Alos,” said Aiko. “In the dark of night to avoid the watch.”

“But I won’t be able to see,” snapped the oldster.

“How about dusk instead?” asked Ferret. “No, wait. If we can see to sail in, then the warders can see us, as well.”

“Indeed,” said Arin, “and unless we have a ruse we can successfully carry out, we must slip in unseen.”

“We won’t make it past those fangs if I’m blind,” said Alos.

“I will be thine eyes, Alos,” said Arin. “I see quite well by starlight alone.”

“What about a ruse?” asked Delon. “Any ideas?”

“Does anyone speak Kistanian?” asked Ferret.

All shook their heads,
No.

“Then a ruse is not likely to succeed. Besides, an Elf, a Ryodoan, and five white northerners do not look at all like Kistanians.”

“I could stain myself as did my father,” said Burel, “but I cannot speak the tongue.” He frowned, then said, “Perhaps I could go in as a deaf mute.”

“But we couldn’t all stain our skins and pretend to be deaf mutes,” said Ferret. “I mean, it would be beyond credibility.”

Silence fell, and after a moment, “How about Hyranian? Anyone speak it?” asked Delon. “They’re allies, I hear.”

Again all shook their heads.

“Then for the moment I would think a ruse is out,” said Delon. He turned to Alos. “And you say that the shore is fanged like this for miles?”

“Fifty, sixty, eighty miles in either direction,” replied the oldster.

Aiko looked across at Egil. “For the moment, let us presuppose that we have won past the fangs. If so, then I would think we next find the tower.”

Egil nodded. “And reach the chamber atop and get the scroll. That will not be easy, for the walls are well warded.” Egil turned the parchment over and sketched as much as he knew of the layout of Ordrune’s fortress.

As he drew, Ferret asked, “What if we don’t find the tower? It might not be in Serpent Cove, you know.”

Before Egil could answer, Aiko said, “Then one by one
we take prisoners from the town until we discover someone who knows its whereabouts.”