Perilous Seas (32 page)

Centurion
Imopopi kept his glittering gaze on Inos. “Did you say ‘Har Nogar,’
mistress?”

Inos
nodded vigorously. Elkarath’s hand moved to a row of leather bags, and
closed on one of them with a faint clink that caught the centurion’s
attention at once.

“Mistress
Hathark and her aunt will likely wish to see something of the town today,”
the mage remarked innocently. “Possibly visit the markets. I wonder, as
she is a stranger here, whether an escort might be advisable?” The bag
moved a handsbreadth closer to the legionary.

His
anger faded as reluctantly as a summer sunset. “We brook no trouble on
the streets in Ullacarn, but I can understand how well-born ladies feel happier
with personal protection. I shall gladly assign some men to escort them.”

The
bag moved the rest of the way and clinked again as it was removed by a strong
military hand. Imopopi turned back to Inos. “Enjoy your visit, ma’am.
Don’t believe everything you hear. And certainly don’t repeat it.”
With a final glare of warning, he saluted, spun around, and stamped away as if
he were patrolling a siege line.

Inos
was left quivering, wishing she had a chair. Aghast at her own timidity-and
appalled at the thought that her experience with the pixies might have broken
her nerve forever-she leaned both hands on the table. “What provoked
that?” she shrilled.

Elkarath
shrugged. “Ullacarn is a snakepit of rumors. Obviously you stepped on one
of them. “

“Krasnegar?
An Imperial defeat at Krasnegar?”

“That
would seem to be likely. Did you hear anything, Skarash?”

Skarash
stroked imaginary lint from an immaculate lace cuff. “Not much,
Grandsire, only that a legion was jumped by goblins while returning from a
courtesy visit to a flyspeck place no one had ever heard of before. Courtesy
visit? I like that a lot! Half the men were cut to pieces, or worse. There is
talk of prisoners enjoying traditional goblin hospitality. Nothing more than
that. “

His
uncle nodded and looked in the general direction of Inos. “Avoid the
subject when talking to soldiers, I suggest.” He reached for a massive
ledger, ancient and tattered.

“Obviously.
It wasn’t a full legion, though,”

“Almost
half of one. Rumors always exaggerate. Certainly bad enough. And defeat by
goblins . . .” He opened the book, but Inos thought he was chuckling
silently. “No wonder the bronze bullies don’t like to discuss it.”

Her
head was spinning. Four cohorts savaged by goblins? The forestfolk had always
been treacherous, but never warlike. Now the warlock of the east had suffered a
shattering blow. Where did that leave her? Would he seek revenge on the
goblins? Had the legionaries been driven out of Krasnegar by Kalkor and his
jotnar, or had they fled voluntarily?

And
there was another matter”I am truly going on to Hub?”

The
old man nodded, dipping his quill in a silver inkwell. “Her Majesty has
so decreed.”

“So!
So I’ve been sold? She’s made her deal with Olybino, and now all
that remains is to deliver the goods?”

“Not
at all. You are still her Majesty’s guest. Enjoy, your stay in Ullacarn,
it will be brief. “

His
eyes! She wanted to see his eyes!

“I
can’t imagine why she would be sending me to Hub, then! “

“I
didn’t question. But if you can’t, then perhaps others may be less
likely to?” The old man’s voice had sharpened half a tone, but he
placidly ran a finger up a page as if counting.

“You
mean I was hidden in the desert, and now I’m going to be hidden on the
road to Hub ... least likely place to look? And when the contract is finally
signed, I’ll be-”

“Draw
your own conclusions. Meanwhile I have work to do. “

“And
Azak? Is he going back to Arakkaran, or coming with me, or will you leave him
rotting-”

“He
goes with you.” The plump finger stopped on the numbers, but the old man
did not look up. “Your cabins are reserved on Dawn Pearl, which sails in
three days. It was to Hub you were headed, was it not? Well, to Hub you are
going.”

“I
wish to see him! “

“Of
course. By all means. Just one friend calling on another, I assume? Skarash
will take you.” Elkarath reached into the folds of his scarlet robe, then
dropped a rusty key on the table. “You may give him this.”

“No
parole?”

He
sighed crossly. “None at all. You will find no better ship than Dawn
Pearl, and certainly none leaving sooner. Begone! “ Confused and
suspicious, Inos watched Skarash take up the key, and then allowed him to usher
her back to the steps. A horde of clerks and menials took this as their chance
to rush forward and consult the merchant. Inos was left to ponder her fate. Why
should Rasha send her to Hub? Stranger yet, why should she send Azak? It might
be all a deception.

She,
at least, was going to have a military escort, which would not make escape any
easier. Had Elkarath deliberately arranged the little scene with the angry
centurion?

There
had been something odd-something very odd-about Imopopi. Just thinking of him
gave Inos crawly feelings. She needed to talk with Azak. Him, at least, she
could trust.

“Odd
people, elves,” Ishist said, and his voice echoed away into the black
hollow ahead.

There
was a sinister note in that remark, somehow. Or perhaps it was just that Rap
was feeling jumpy, marching through the bowels of the earth with a sorcerer.

“They
live a long time?” he said hastily, unable to think of any comment more
intelligent.

“They
don’t, actually. They just don’t show their age like other people.”

The
oppressive silence returned, broken only by the gentle pad of footsteps and the
whispered swish of long robes. Nothing but sorcery could have carved a tunnel
so smooth and regular, and so astonishingly long. “Thraine’s
Wormhole,” the gnome had called it, with a private chuckle at some
obscure historical joke. It sloped downward, never steeply and sometimes almost
imperceptibly; but it held a steady bearing just west of north as if bored by a
homing bee. It was dry and empty and musty-smelling; he had mentioned earlier
that decades might pass without it being used. It was understandably dark and
quiet.

“Odd
people,” he repeated. He walked boldly into the blackness with Rap at his
side. A spectral glow at their heels provided light for Gathmor and Darad, who
were following closely, and the dark closed in behind. The light was faintly
pink, had no detectable source, cast no shadows.

Ishist
had sent Sagorn away. Apparently he preferred Darad to any of the others,
perhaps because he did not put on airs. Darad was just a brutal killer, and
proud of it.

“Odd
in what way?” Rap asked then.

“All
sorts of ways, lad. What they’ll tell you is that every elf belongs to a
clan, and owes all his loyalty to his clan. Each clan owns a tree, or the tree
owns them, maybe. And each clan has a chief. Sound simple?”

“No.
Sky trees?” Rap’s deeper voice echoed even more than the gnome’s.
He could not detect the surface now. A whole mountain seemed to lie above,
pressing down relentlessly.

“Of
course.” Ishist was barefoot; the others were shod in elven boots of
leather soft as gossamer. Their tread was spookily soft.

“And
it’s more complicated?” Rap asked, sending rumbles down the long
tube.

“Nothing
is ever simple around elves. It doesn’t help that they never tell
nonelves anything. Clans have alliances and feuds, which they don’t talk
about, which seem to come and go like the tide. There are subclans and
overclans. A clan may have more than one tree, and more than one clan may have
rights in one tree. Any clan may have more than one chief-a chief for justice,
a chief for wisdom, a chief for war, a chief for law ... Gods know how they’re
chosen or how it all works, if it does.” He fell silent for a few paces,
then added, “But historically the elves have held off the imps better
than almost anyone, except the dwarves, so I suppose it must work after a
fashion.”

“Anthropophagi?”

“Ah,
yes. I’d forgotten the anthropophagi-I wonder how many imps they manage
to eat in an average year? The merfolk have their little ways, too. Anyway,
that’s elves. If there’s a complicated way to do something, an elf
will find it; especially if it looks pretty or sounds good. The clan’s
the important thing. Even if an elf’s family’s lived within the
Impire for generations, he’ll still regard himself as belonging to one
particular clan, one especial tree, although most clans control several trees.
He may well have other, personal loyalties and allegiances within his clan. “

Rap
wondered why he was being given the lecture, but he supposed he would find out
soon enough-either the little gnome would come to the point, or events would.
He blinked a few times, before realizing that the speck in his eye was actually
a gleam of light a long way ahead. His farsight told him that the hillside
above was back within his range, and dropping steeply.

“This
comes out not far from the fence,” Ishist said, changing the subject. “About
a league. And about another league beyond that is the imperial highway from
Puldarn to Noom. Straight as an arrow. Imps have no sense of artistry at all.
So the elves say.”

“It
must be a very busy highway. “ Rap was not experienced with crowds on the
scale of the Impire. The thought of big cities made him nervous.

“Lords,
yes! All the traffic between the Dragon Sea and Home Water goes along it. It
ought to be farther from the fence. My pets sense the metal going by and howl
like dogs. They go mad when the annual tax train passes. You taking your two
friends with you?”

“Er
... their decision. “

“I
think you should.”

“But
one of them has a word of power, and Warlock Lith-”

“True,
but he can get that one out of you anyway,” Ishist said callously. “If
he has to damage someone, I suspect his sense of artistry would be more
impressed by a well-matched sequential set than an oversize faun with goblin
tattoos.”

That
sounded like a threat. Despite the gnome’s apparent friendliness, he was
dangerous; very dangerous and very unpredictable. His comically disgusting
appearance concealed not only great occult power, but also a mind of deadly
sharpness. His ways of thinking were as alien as the dragons’. Rap could
not imagine what many years of tending those monsters might do to a man, and he
did not know how a gnome would have thought in the first place. Who ever talked
with gnomes to find out?

The
speck was a visible circle of light now. The air felt damper, and cooler.

“They
can come with me if they wish-or not, if they wish,” Rap said stubbornly.
Then he realized that Ishist could just change his friends’ minds if he
thought it a good idea. With sorcerers, as with elves, nothing was ever simple.

The
tunnel ended abruptly in a small natural cave. Weeping gray sky and wet
greenery were framed in the entrance arch, its ragged edges blurred by moss and
fern. A steady vertical rain was soaking the hills as if willing to do so for
weeks, hissing on rocks and mud, drumming on leaves. The four men stood under
the lip of the cavern and peered out. Water dribbled and splashed everywhere,
even dripping from the roof.

Gathmor
uttered a long sigh of satisfaction. “Glad to see daylight,” he
muttered. “Don’t like caves.”

Darad
grunted agreement, and Rap wondered if dislike of caves was a jotunn
characteristic. He did not care for them either.

Ishist
looked up at Gathmor. “West on the highway’ll take you to Puldarn.
If you’re heading home, that is.”

The
sailor gnawed his silver mustache for a moment, then spoke to Rap over the
gnome’s head. “You meet Kalkor again?”

“That’s
the prophecy.”

His
pale eyes narrowed icily. “I’ll stay aboard, then.”

“Thanks,
Cap’n.”

“East
to Noom,” the sorcerer said. “First Tithro, then Noom. There you
choose-overland to Hub, or sail to Ilrane. Valdorian’s in the west, near
the coast, which is handy for you. “ Ilrane!

Eastward?
Closer to Zark? No, that wasn’t it ...

Rap
realized that the sorcerer was eyeing him with a very curious expression. “Sir?”

“You
having a premonition?” asked the gnome, scratching busily.

“I’m
not sure.” The idea of going to Ilrane had certainly stirred something in
Rap, something encouraging. He remembered he’d felt a twinge when Ishist
had first suggested a visit to Lith’rian. He’d even felt traces of
... whatever it was ... when he arrived at Warth Redoubt. And whatever it was,
it seemed to be getting stronger every time. Was that practice?

Ishist
still wore a puzzled pout. “Adepts don’t usually ... O’
course, geniuses don’t usually have farsight ... New, is it?” Rap
nodded uneasily. “My mother was said to be a seer.” The gnome
shrugged. “Possible, then. Fauns have a reputation for trusting their own
feelings, don’t they?” He chuckled to himself. “And I’m
not doing it to you. You’ll find it rarely comes to order, but when it
does you can trust it. Now, which is it to be? Hub or Ilrane?”

“How
far?” Rap asked.

The
gnome closed his eyes for a moment, as if consulting a mental map; perhaps he
was farseeing a real chart. “A bit over four hundred leagues in either
case.”

“Water’s
faster! “ Gathmor said quickly, and even Darad nodded as he struggled to
keep up with the conversation.

“Not
if you catch a ride on a stage,” Ishist said.

Ilrane
still felt right. Rap could walk ten leagues a day, maybe more on an Imperial
highway. That was still more than a month to Hub, even if nothing went wrong.
Water was faster and safer. “How do I get on a ship, though?”

“Steal
a boat,” Gathmor said impatiently.