The Return of Kavin (20 page)

Sharamash snickered, and rocked back and forth on his heels, studying her.

“Perhaps the Lord of Night would grant you life if you came to his temple and bowed before him,” Sharamash said in a tone that was, possibly, inviting. “Many of my court have come, and sometimes he has granted a prayer or two. And the rituals are most interesting, my lady.”

“I have heard so,” Gwynna said, with a coy look. Interesting, he calls it, she thought. Last time it was said that the Emperor himself and all the other worshippers were dancing about in a circle, naked and slashing away at each other with whips. Now, whips I don’t care for, at all, Gwynna thought. And besides, she remembered, the Emperor had abruptly decided that an unfortunate courtier had been too enthusiastic with those whips; the man had been abruptly placed in a new and fatal role.

“I shall most certainly consider your Majesty’s kind suggestion,” Gwynna said. “Though I have so little free time, I fear… my poor husband’s affairs, his estates, all in such a
muddle,
I must spend many hours trying to make some order in them. And since those terrible rebels took away much of the lands of the estate as well…”

“Ah, but there’s no need to worry your head about all that, lady,” Sharamash said.
“No, not at all.
Paravaz keeps telling me that the rebels are at our gates, but he cannot see that it will not matter. The Lord of Night will come forth, soon, and all that…” He snapped his fingers expressively. “They will be swept away!”

The afternoon sunlight seemed suddenly colder there in the magnificent gardens; Gwynna looked at the Emperor, and slowly the conviction came to her…

…
it
was true. Something not quite human was there in the man, something that was daily less human.
God or demon, but not man.

The headland rose out of the sea’s rim, distantly ahead of the Turtle’s prow, like a giant ship’s prow itself. The crewman on watch nodded, with a satisfied grunt.

“Poor old Garph could’ve done no better, good sir,” he told Hugon. “There’s the Grothai cape, and Grotha port the other side of it.” The man glanced at the patched sails. “We’ll come round, handily. Before sunset, if the gods will. Then we’ll all have time for sleep, at least.”

There had been so few men left alive, at the last, that even with Hugon and Zamor’s help, the clumsy old ship had been hard to work. The survivors were weary, and gloomy, though they knew their luck in being alive. And to Hugon and the others of his party, Grotha was a poor substitute for their original destination; nearly as many miles of sea still separated them from Mazain as there had been when they started.

Hugon knew Grotha well; and it was possible, he thought, that there might be those in Grotha who still knew Hugon. He sincerely hoped that there were none such; but it had not been too long since he had sought knowledge there, among the famed scholars who taught in the ancient schools of Grotha.

Unfortunately, there were many sorts of knowledge, and Hugon had sought to delve in fields in which no degrees were granted, the burgess’s daughter being one such field. A girl of expensive tastes, too, as he remembered her; he had promised her a necklace, and a necklace was what he brought her, obtained at some difficulty and danger. Highwaymen were customarily displayed, swinging odorously in their chains, along the west road out of Grotha town, as Hugon remembered all too clearly. Even now, the thought chilled him a little.

Strange that he could no longer remember the name of the girl, though she’d been
a nicely shaped, high-colored lass
. Not as slim as the Lady Gwynna, of course, Hugon thought critically.

The Golden Turtle came up the wide channel and round the seawall, into Grotha’s wharves; with the late tide, as the crewman had predicted. There was much conversation with the officers of the port; they bore a somewhat curious feeling toward a battered old ship that arrived without cargo, with only a handful of crew still alive, and the signs of battle upon her. Yet, when Thuramon had judiciously let a few coins drop into the right places, the inquisitiveness waned. After all, other ships had lately come in, with wild tales of the turmoils going on southward, and some ships expected had never come at all.

The Turtle would be sold, for whatever she could bring, and her price distributed to the surviving crewmen. The late captain had no heirs, it seemed. That disposed of, the next problem would be to find a way to reach Mazain, across the Middle Sea, and that problem seemed insoluble indeed.

All four, Thuramon, Zamor, Hugon, and Kavin, sat in a quayside public house, under the flickering lamps, after fruitless hours of search along the quays. No, not until the Middle Sea was safe again, was the repeated verdict of a dozen captains; not for gold in any quantities.

The public house was well-filled, many out-of-work seamen among the patrons. These sat, grumbling, telling strange tales, sometimes wandering oft in search of rumored berths to be had on coasters or on the river trade. Some of them found Fraak a mighty wonder, and came to where the dragonet sat curled on Hugon’s shoulder, to admire him. This Fraak enjoyed enormously; and even more he enjoyed the bits of fish and ripe sausage they brought him, eating the gifts swiftly and repaying the donors with small fire-spectacles and smoke rings.

After Fraak had finished an especially garlic-laden bit, Hugon sniffed meaningfully at the dragonet’s pointed snout.

“Gods, Fraak, you’ll be able to slay a man soon with that breath,” he said. “And I’ll swear you’ve gained half again your own weight, this night.”

“Oookh,” Fraak said, softly, and closed his eyes.

“A handsome beast,” a voice said behind Hugon, and he turned in his seat to look at the speaker.

There was something slightly familiar about the man; a tall, dark man with a spade beard, dressed most elegantly in scarlet and silver and wearing a sword. Then Hugon placed the familiar look; the man was a Mazainian, in dress and accent. Zamor, across the table, saw the look of the newcomer too, and sat, stone faced.

But Thuramon did not seem at all disconcerted; he looked up and smiled, stroking his silver beard.

“Greetings, Lord Admiral Farzakk,” Thuramon said. “Will you sit, sir?”

The Mazainian stared at Thuramon, and his face grew tight.

“You are a sorcerer,” he said, low voiced.

“I have some knowledge of the Art, yes,” Thuramon said. “But it needed no magic to know your name and face. I saw it once, long ago. And I have learned that you have been proscribed as a rebel by the Emperor.”

The tall man sat down between Hugon and Thuramon, leaning closely toward the magician.

“I would prefer no loud words, sir,” he said. “I am not known here, fortunately.”

Thuramon nodded.

“There was a certain acquaintance of mine,” Farzakk said, staring at Fraak.
“A lord Barazan, who had purchased just such a beast as this, at a ridiculously high price, but a year or so ago.
But he was drowned, I’ve heard, and doubtless the beast went also.”

“Doubtless,” Hugon said, calmly.

“If a man had slain that Barazan,” Farzakk said, “I would bear that man no ill will at all. I considered that lord an arrogant and overbearing fool; and he would have been my enemy today, if he had lived. He would most certainly have gone on serving that madman who calls himself Emperor.”

“I believe that Barazan drowned by mere accident,” Hugon said, calmly. “Not by any man’s hand.”

The other glanced at him, and teeth shone in a grin.

“Then I owe no one thanks,” Farzakk said. “Indeed.” He looked from one face to another, Kavin’s, Zamor’s, and Thuramon again.

“A man came to me and said there were travelers who would go to the Imperial City,” Farzakk said.
“A rare thing, just now.
By another odd chance, it happens that I have been seeking just such intrepid travelers to… ah, do me a small service,” He smiled.

“A service,” Thuramon said, thoughtfully. “And for what pay?”

“Well, now,” Farzakk said, “If those same men desired to reach Mazain at all, I might be able to aid them greatly there. I could, for example, find them a small swift ship that might land them somewhere in the north, past the Narrow Sea. From there, it would be easy enough to make their way to the city, since the place is not yet encircled.”

“Not… yet,” Thuramon echoed, drawing his hand down his beard. “Has the rebellion gone so far, then?”

“
All of the
south is lost to the Emperor,” Farzakk said. “Now, if the madman were cut off from both the sea and the
northern
provinces…” He shrugged. “But of course, the whole fleet of the Mazainian force is out at sea. It would take much force to break through that wooden wall. Many ships…” He paused, and gazed at Thuramon. “Perhaps… even a little of the Art itself.”

“If I were myself a sorcerer of skill,” Thuramon said, serenely, “and my lord will notice… I said if… I would much
advise
against the use of the Art in war. I have heard that magic is sometimes used so, in desperate cases. But plain steel slays as certainly as any
spell,
and a man at arms demands a small enough price for his work. But the price of magic is very high, and a man may pay, again and again.”

Farzakk stared at him, with a strange look. Then, after a moment, he spoke.

“I see.”

Kavin, who had been listening with a grim look, said, “Do you, sir? You’re fortunate. I myself learned the truth of what the old man says, once… but it was an expensive lesson.”

Thuramon chuckled. He looked at Farzakk.

“So, apart from whatever weak aid my Art might give you… none, probably… what other service did you have in mind?”

Farzakk spoke very low.

“There may be certain ships,” he said, obliquely.
“A few being made ready here and elsewhere.
Or even such ships as are now in the service of a certain king, who might bear a grudge of some standing against the Emperor. If many ships drove, all together, against the fleets of Mazain in the Middle Sea, a breach might be made. What might follow is in the hands of the gods, of course, but the city could be encircled; it might be that the king I mentioned might feel it worthwhile to send his own men to the rebellion’s aid, also.”

The High King of Meryon, then, Hugon thought.
A grudge, indeed; hate
, since that betrayal and slaughter at Armadoc. Yet, a
king borne
on the shoulders of wild mountain barons and restive lords, who would not strike too rashly lest he fall himself. Rebellions were mischancy affairs, Hugon thought. Till the High King knew how the dice would fall, he would be the enemy of neither side, openly, though men like Farzakk might build and arm fleets in full sight, in the King’s own lands.

“Then, should that small swift ship you spoke of bear a small party to the other shore,” Thuramon said, “to Mazain itself, as it might be… what would you like in return?”

Farzakk’s eyes suddenly grew wild though he kept a calm face.

“There
is
a woman and a boy,” he said. “The boy is the son of a rebel lord. He never wedded the woman, in proper form… he had no time, and she was not of high blood in any case. But the boy is… his. They dwell in Mazain. The woman was… she is a weaver, and keeps a shop, close by the Fountains, in the Street of Three Lanterns. Her name is Elanak, and the boy is called Zaraz. She is a handsome woman, pale with black hair…” He stopped.

“What would you have us do with your son, then?” Thuramon asked.

“Yes,” Farzakk said. “He is mine.
And the woman, too.
I’d have had her to wife, if I had dared oppose custom… but enough. If I’d wedded her, she’d be slain by now, as the madman’s done to all who are related to any rebel. He does not know of her, I think. But she must go out of the city. She must!”

Thuramon nodded.

“Simple enough,” he said.

“Is it, then?” Farzakk said, wryly. “Wait till you try. I desired her to flee with me six months ago, and she… oh, but she’s a stubborn woman, that one. Spoke of her workshop, the five weavers there, and work agreed upon; put off the leaving, again and again. But now it may be too late, unless she is made to go, soon.”

“The Emperor knows nothing of her,” Thuramon said.

“He may discover her relations with me,” Farzakk said. “But there’s another matter, too. Mazain will soon be under siege; a city, starving perhaps, and later to be looted and burned, it may be.”

All at that table knew what the black-bearded man meant.
A city under siege… a place of doom, often enough.

“We have business in the Imperial City,” Thuramon said. “If we could reach it, quickly… why, I’m sure I can speak most persuasively with this woman Elanak. Aid her to make haste in leaving, it may be.” He pulled his white beard, and a glint appeared in his eye. “For such uses as that, I may use my Art freely. You’ll remember, Hugon, I gave you a certain crystal toy to silence another woman?”

Hugon grinned. The pendant was still in his pouch.

“I may have use for it again,” Hugon said.

Farzakk came to his feet. “Good,” he said. “I did not set a time, concerning that fleet I spoke of. I was not sure of you, then. But now I must tell you… we are ready, and have been these last ten days. The ships waited only for the wind’s
change, that
comes every year about this time. So, you understand, you sail at once if you accept my bargain.”

“Ugh,” Hugon said. “I’d hoped to spend one night in a bed that didn’t move save when I caused it to. A proper bed…” He gazed gloomily at a round-formed innkeeper’s girl, who passed through the crowded room bearing a tray of mugs, swaying as she went. He sighed deeply and with feeling. “Well, then… away.” He
thrust back
his bench, and rose, draining the mug that had been sitting before him.

“Oooh,” Fraak fluted, on his shoulder, opening a golden eye. “Aaah,” on a lower note, and closed the eye again. Fraak, Hugon thought, could sleep soundly in an earthquake if he chose to.

The person called Gann walked with long, steady strides down a winding trail that clung to a mountain side. He no longer wore the battle armor he had rebuilt back in that ruined valley; the coppery metal was bundled on the back of the wooly beast that followed close upon his heels. He was wrapped in a thick, hooded cloak of gray wool, though he had already learned that he did not really care whether he was cold or warm. Yet, the thin snow blew about him as he went, and the temperature was low; this body might not yet be overdriven. There was still the pain, too, the pain that never left. That did not change, no matter whether the air was warm or cold.