The Return of Kavin (8 page)

“I’ve trouble thinking of the matter of his cook,” Zamor said. “In Numori, a monkey makes a fine dinner, too, but not in quite the same way.”

Hugon laughed, and leaned back. He stared around the big room, and suddenly sat up in his chair, with an exclamation.

“Oho, a lute?”
 He stood up and went to where the instrument leaned against a wall, picked it up and turned it around admiringly. “A fine one, too…” Hugon plucked a string. 
“Though not in tune.
 La, la…” He tried the pegs, turning them up.

Under the table, Fraak had been sitting quietly, nibbling on bones that both men had been giving him as they ate. Now he walked out, on his short legs, and lifted his snout at the sound of the lute string.

“Eee!” the dragonet said, and emitted a pipe-note.

“Perfect!” Hugon said, and matched the note with a string. He twanged another, and then a third, tuning them to Fraak’s piping scale.

“You’ve the makings of a duet, there,” Zamor observed. Hugon ran his fingers across the strings, and found a tune, uncertainly at first, and then with masterly skill. Fraak puffed a jet of smoke, and began to emit flute sounds in perfect counterpoint to the strings.

“Fine,” Zamor said, lifting himself on an elbow to listen. 
“Oh, very fine,” and grinned.

“Of my own composition,” Hugon told him, running a rapid series of notes on the lute as he spoke. He grinned down at Fraak. “But never with such accompaniment before.”

He played again, a rippling tune, and sang in a clear high voice.

“Beware of love, and from her hide,

Make prayer her arrows miss you,

And if a lass should kiss you,

Flee swiftly from her side…

For love but leads to sorrow…

And joy will be but grief,

Yet I shall yet still play love’s fool,

And then be wise, tomorrow…”

He stopped, and Zamor opened his eyes; Gwynna stood in the door, and her green eyes were brilliantly awake again, and angry.

“A musician, as well as a thief and pirate,” she commented acidly. “Gods send me the pleasure of hearing you sing on a rack, some day. Now, will you tell me, where I am, and what filthy trickery’s been played on me?”

Hugon grinned at her. “Why, we are guests of the warlock,” he said mildly. “And trickery… well, you must admit our way was less disturbing to your dignity than if I’d been forced to lug you here, crammed in a sack like a piglet for market day.”

Her glare was withering, but he paid no attention. “There will be fine clothes in that room I left you in,” he went on. “And I recommend the food most highly. Otherwise, lady, you may find things dull for a while, but I’ll make as much haste as I can to finish our dealings.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Then, you’re still about this lunatic scheme to ask for ransom for me?” she said slowly. He nodded, and twanged a string. She spoke, “Well, then, I’d best help you, since you haven’t the wit to set about it properly yourself. Bring me pen and paper, and I’ll write a letter to the stewards of my estates in Mazain, ordering them to send whatever sum your greed requires.”

Hugon chuckled. “But lady, I’d thought that possibly I might offer the High King of Meryon a part in this auction. His wealth is considerable…” Hugon grinned maliciously, “And I’ve heard his feeling concerning you is strong.”

“You would do that?” she said in a low voice. “Let me go back… to be spat on by my kinsmen. Before I lose my head…”

“It seems a dismal notion,” Hugon agreed. “But I’m a loyal vassal of the High King, alas. 
And a poor man, too.
 Now, just how much… in gold, to make the reckoning easier… would you say was fair?”

She uttered a remarkably crude word, and whirled out of the room. Hugon put the lute against the wall and stood up.

“Business calls,” he said to Zamor. “I’ll go to the docks again, and see if any ship sails soon for Mazain that can bear the lady’s letter. There will be many ships going north to Meryon, of course, so I’ll write my own letter to the High King’s presence later.”

There were ships lying in the port whose destination would be the Empire and the imperial city itself; Hugon, asking along the quays, found them without difficulty. Also, a round Grothan trader ship was loading cargo for the north, and a message for distant Meryon might be easily sent with that. But Hugon, puzzling at his own dilatory thoughts, did not go back to write those messages, or to take the Lady Gwynna’s letter either. Instead, he walked slowly, along one street and down another, jingling a handful of coins that he had conveniently found in the room in Thuramon’s house.

He took one out and twirled it thoughtfully, looking at it. It bore the head of the current king of Koremon, Garth; Hugon remembered that this land had an odd tradition of having two brother kings, one a temporal monarch, and the other some sort of advisor, bearing the title of Dragon’s Friend… whatever that meant. Garth, it appeared, was the temporal lord; a man of middle age, said to be a good king as kings go. The image on the coin flattered him, Hugon did not doubt.

Hugon was conducting a prolonged and fruitless inner debate as he walked. An inner voice kept exhorting him, with a rather nauseatingly proper tone, and constant references to honor. Hugon noticed a sharp resemblance in the voice to that of his late father; the old man had held equally firm views on what was right and what was wrong, and what a Kerrin did or did not do.

A Kerrin, it seemed, did not hold women to ransom. While it might be perfectly correct to ambush a male enemy, and, if he survived one’s first assault, to drop him in a dungeon until such time as his relations delivered him… one didn’t do that with women.

But, Hugon argued with the voice… the lady was a traitoress, and also other things like as not. 
And properly seized, in fair combat, too.
 And rich, while Hugon himself had seldom owned much more than the few coins he jingled now. Her ransom would purchase much, Hugon thought. 
A few good horses, for example, and possibly a fine cloak or two, among other things.
 And since she now held her late lord’s wealth by right, she would never miss a few bags of gold at all. Didn’t that make a difference, Hugon inquired, silently.

It did not, the other voice answered smugly.

“Aaah,” Hugon said aloud, and paused to watch an interesting sight. Through a wide tavern window he saw 
a half
 dozen men, seamen from their looks, crowding about a wooden table where mugs and bottles stood. One of them shook his closed hand above his head, calling upon the gods, and spun a pair of dice on the wood.

Well, now, Hugon thought. If I’m to do without the lady’s ransom, I’d best set about continuing to earn my living in the ways I’m used to. These seamen had the air of men recently paid, and trusting lads, too, he thought; and he turned into the tavern, whistling a tune softly.

Much later he emerged, rolling slightly as he walked; and now there were gold pieces among the silver ones in his pouch, and a good many more of the silver ones. He was not entirely sober, but not drunk either, not by his own standards in such matters.

Also, he had still been unable to make up his mind about the matter of the Lady Gwynna. If he returned to the house of Thuramon, he 
realized,
 he would have to make some sort of decision; else, that infuriating nagging conscience would begin its smug discourse again. Hugon grunted, and turned toward streets that seemed more promisingly vulgar.

Still later, long after sundown, Hugon sprawled on a wide bed that was well rumpled, playing idly with a long black braid that belonged to his companion in the bed. She giggled sleepily; he yawned, and reached for a wine jar beside the bed. He was now somewhat drunker than he had been, he noticed, but not nearly drunk enough; he chuckled, and lifted the jar to his lips.

At that moment, a thunderous knock shook the door; the girl beside him shrieked and sat up, and Hugon dropped the wine jar, swinging his legs nimbly to the floor and reaching for his garments and his sword.

“Your husband, of course,” Hugon said, backing toward a window. The girl screamed again, and the door shook a second time as he found the window’s catch and opened it.

“Somehow, I find this too familiar,” Hugon grunted, glancing down into the street. The door gave way, and a large and angry man charged in, barely missing Hugon with a wild swing; but Hugon was already half over the window ledge by then.

Hugon passed a squatting ape-servant at the entrance to the guest rooms, who grinned cheerfully at him as he went by. The dwarfish creature was obviously there to prevent Gwynna’s exit, as Thuramon had promised.

Beyond, curiously shaped lamps burned with a yellow light, but the archways of the rooms were darkened. Hugon swayed a little as he studied the various doorways, trying to remember which 
was the one
 assigned to him. He scratched his head, selected one at random, and moved into the shadowed room, blundering into a low table with a grunt of pain.

There was a flare of light, and a lamp came into full flowering; Gwynna sat up in bed, glaring at him.

“It’s not enough, is it?” she asked, icily. “You must add rape to your other foul impositions upon me? You fatherless sewer worm, I’d submit to one of those dwarf apes before I’d let you lay your scabby hand on me…” At which point she threw some object, whose nature Hugon could not make out; whatever it was, it shattered, with a loud noise, on his forehead.

Gwynna seemed to find the effect pleasing; through a haze, Hugon saw her searching for another missile. He backed out, in some haste, and collided with Zamor, who laughed.

“You’ve been about the town, haven’t you?” Zamor grunted, sniffing.

“I have,” Hugon said, with owlish solemnity. 
“Been seeking truth.
 Considering 
things, that
 I have.” He rubbed his forehead. “Mother of All, that’s a woman, there!”

Gwynna, holding a robe about her, came to the room door; she stood glaring, and there was the glitter of a pair of scissors in her hand.

“Try it again, peasant,” she invited him. “A little 
closer,
 and I’ll geld you with these.”

“Don’t doubt you would…” Hugon said, and laughed. “But take my word… was a mistake. No such intentions. 
Can’t tell one room from another.”

“You’re drunk, too,” she said, more calmly.

“Not too… drunk,” Hugon said. 
“Or just drunk enough.
 I… find it necessary to… change m’plans. With my brother Zamor’s consent… seeing that we’re, ah, partners in the matter so to speak… I hereby give you leave to go. No ransom, no rewards.”

Zamor, beside him, grinned. “I’d prefer it, brother,” he said. “The enterprise sounded like much work and little reward, in the end. By all means, let the lady go her way.”

Gwynna stared at both of them, eyes wide and puzzled; for a long time she was silent.

Then, “You’re speaking truth?”

“As I always do,” Hugon said grandly. 
“With a few necessary exceptions.”

“You’re free to go anywhere you like,” Zamor explained, with a broader grin. 
“Back to your home in Mazain, if you choose.”

Gwynna’s expression was oddly panic-stricken; her hand went to her mouth.

“Why?” she said, in a low voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve had trouble with what, for lack of a better word, I’ll call my conscience,” Hugon explained, and hiccuped. “I beg you, lady, don’t trouble me for long explanations just now.”

“An attack of what’s called honor,” Zamor told her. “I’ve noticed that it doesn’t last too long in white men. You’d best take your luck and be off to Mazain, girl, before either of us regrets this.”

“Mazain?” she said, low voiced. “I… hate the place. And I cannot go back to Armadoc… never again.”

She stood for another moment, staring at the two of them; then turned and vanished into her own room.

Fraak put his head around the door of another room, and peered at the two men in the hall; he uttered a sleepy sound, questioningly.

Hugon hiccuped again, and turned toward his room. Zamor watched him go, and chuckled once more as Hugon disappeared within.

“You were serious, then,” Gwynna said.

The three sat at a great table in the high-ceilinged dining hall of Thuramon’s house; a late morning sun slanted through narrow windows overhead, and the ape servants moved in and out, bearing breakfast.

“Yes, I was,” Hugon told her. He rubbed his forehead, where a blue bruise showed. “I’ll forgive you this, too,” he said. “I must have seemed a trifle ominous last night.”

She gave an unexpectedly open laugh. “I did suspect you’d grown impatient,” she said. “And I’ve an odd distaste for being raped.”

“So,” Hugon said, and thrust a bit of meat about his plate, staring down at it abstractedly. “Then, if you’ve a mind to, you’ll find a merchant ship in harbor… a sound-looking craft, if smelly. 
Called the Waterbird or something equally unfitting, if I remember it rightly.
 Her master told me she would sail for the imperial city within another day or two; you may be back upon your own lands in hardly any time at all.”

She stared at him for a long time; then her lips curved in a strained smile, and she shook her head slowly.

“How little you know of my… friends!” she said quietly. “Hugon, you weren’t long in the city of Mazain, were you? No, not long enough to know those folk, I think.” Gwynna was silent for a moment, 
then
 she shrugged. “I… ask your pardon, for many things I’ve said to you.”

The two men looked at her, amazed; Zamor grunted, and Hugon slapped his own head, hard.

“I’m in a warlock’s house, and illusions are as thick as fleas would be in a common man’s hall,” Hugon said, faintly. “I wouldn’t dare repeat what I thought I heard just now.”

She shook her head. “I asked your pardon,” she said again. “I called you false, among other things. I’m the false one, sir Hugon. If you had continued with your notions of ransom, you’d have discovered that, soon enough.” She picked up a glass, and sipped slowly; set it down. “I knew, when you first spoke of ransom back aboard the 
galley, that
 you would see to my safety until you gained that ransom. 
Otherwise…
 I’d be skewered and slain, as the other women aboard were slain. Then, later, I spoke to you as I did… because… oh, for several reasons. But I never admitted the largest matter.” She paused, and then, “There will be no ransom, I think. 
Not from Mazain, at least.”