Perilous Seas (34 page)

“Please,
Sire?” Skarash begged. “One word?”

“I
can spare you a few minutes, I suppose.”

“Sire,
there are Imperial legions in Ullacarn-”

“There
are always ... Go on! “

Words
spurted from Skarash: “Far more troops than I have ever seen, Sire! This
is the tenth time I have visited Ullacarn, and I have not seen this before. I
arrived not long before you did, Sire, and I haven’t had time to
investigate properly, but the entire XXth Legion came in last month, and now
the van of the XXXIlnd is arriving. It’s said the emir is under house
arrest, and there is talk of rebellion in Garpoon and the Impire is behind it.”

“God
of Torment!”

“And
the IVth Fleet is in port.”

Azak
looked to Inos, and then changed his mind and addressed the worried-looking
Skarash. “You swear this?”

“Aye,
Sire! May the Good spurn my soul!”

“Your
grandfather put you up to it?”

“No,
Sire. I doubt if he even knows. He hasn’t been out yet. I mean, I rode
into town with the caravan. He ... well, you know. “

Azak
grunted and pulled his knees up, clattering rust flakes off his fetters. He
leaned his arms on them, and then put his chin on his arms, saying nothing,
staring at the lanterns.

“They’ll
strike Garpoon first, won’t they?” Skarash whispered. “Then
round the coast ... one at a time ... city by city?”

Azak
shot a glance at him. “Merchants deal in strategy now? “ But there
was amusement in his voice.

“Ji-Gon’s
last campaign-I learned it in school. And the Widow War began that way, didn’t
it?”

“Yes,
it did, Master Skarash. You can’t move an army across the desert, so they
always come by the coast, one way or the other. Usually from the north, but
they have tried the south, too, at times.”

“And
we djinns never unite until it’s too late! Why wait for them to chew us
up? Get back to Arakkaran, Sire, and raise the black banner yourself, while
there is still time!”

“God
of Slaughter! “ Azak shook his head in wonder, staring at the lanterns. “It
doesn’t make sense! They can’t move supplies over the Qoble Range
in winter. They might come across Thume again ... the elves’ll never let
them through Ilrane. Maybe the Keriths? They may be going to try the Keriths
again! “

“I
don’t know, Sire! I’m only a trader. “

Azak
grunted. “They might take Garpoon now, and make their big move in the
spring . . .” He groaned. “What are his terms?”

“None,
your Majesty!” Skarash began twisting the key, but the lock proved
stubborn. “You are released. No parole.”

“What!”
Azak looked up at Inos.

Her
neck was growing stiff under the low ceiling. “It’s true. He says
we’re going to Hub! He has bought passage for us. We sail in three days.”

Azak
grunted with astonishment and stared at her, not heeding as the lock squealed
and opened. Skarash unwrapped the chain from the sultan’s ankle.

Then
Azak looked down, and rubbed it. “I am grateful, Master Skarash! Mayhap
we can talk later? Meanwhile, I could surely use a bath. “

“At
once, Sire!” Skarash was on his feet and out the door already with a
lantern. His footsteps died away, then loud hinges wailed in the distance. Azak
snorted. “Didn’t wait for formal dismissal, did he? Weak on
etiquette!”

“What
else is he weak on? I’ve never heard him speak like that, and he was
playing imp dandy all the way here.” Imp lover.

“Skarash?
Bah! He’s a mimic, the man of a thousand masks. I’ve watched him
trading. He’ll make a great merchant. He shows what you want to see, says
what you want to hear. “ Kisses you when you want to be kissed.

So
Skarash could never be trusted. Did Inos have any allies at all? She took the
lantern and backed out of the tiny cell. Azak followed, then straightened to
his full height with a groan of relief. He rubbed his back.

Reconciliation!
She said, “Azak, I did not use occult power on you! I swear it. “

He
peered down at her for a moment, then shook his head sadly. “No. If you
had, it would have faded, wouldn’t it? Unless you’re a full
sorceress it would have gone away in the night?”

“Yes.
“

“It
didn’t! I am still quite hopelessly in love with you.” That, to her
surprise, was a huge relief. Perhaps she also had wondered. Perhaps she was
starting to return his love. Perhaps that was why he had chosen to spend the
night in the cellar. She turned away quickly and headed for the stair, hoping
she could find a route out of the labyrinth.

“I
shall be glad to see daylight again,” Azak growled behind her. “I
don’t like caves ... but what is this tale of sailing to the Impire?”

“I
don’t know. It’s what Elkarath says. It may be just a lie, to keep
us from trying to escape.”

“Or
Rasha may have sold us both to Olybino. You to be puppet queen of Krasnegar, me
to be returned to Zark as traitor. “

“Traitor?”
She stopped and looked up at him. “You?”

His
expression was bleak. “You heard Skarash. It is coming, as we suspected.
Always when the Impire invades, we djinns unite and throw them out again. If we
did it sooner we could keep them out, but we always do it eventually.
Eventually a supreme leader raises the black banner. I am the obvious
candidate. “

“Er
... of course. “

“And
if the warlock of the east has laid a loyalty spell on me?”

She
nodded, horrified once again at the dark workings of sorcery. Azak might be in
greater danger than she was.

She
started up the stairs, with her shadow dancing on the wall beside her. “You
should take Skarash’s advice. Find a ship bound for Arakkaran as soon as
you can. “

They
were through the door at the top before Azak said, “No. I shall stay with
you. I care more for you than I do for Zark, or Arakkaran, or anything.”

Again
she halted and spun around to look at him in wonder. “This is madness!”

“Yes.
But love always is, isn’t it?”

“Your
kingdom? Your sons?”

“I
would give away my kingdom forever if I could just kiss you just once.”

She
could find no answer to that.

To
the seas again:

I
must go down to the seas again,

to
the lonely sea and the sky,

And
all I ask is a tall ship

and
a star to steer her by.

Masefield,
Sea-Fever

They Also Serve

With
rain dribbling down his neck and only two hours of daylight left to reach
Puldarn, Ulynago thumped the reins and bellowed at his team. Ahead of him the
ancient highway ran like a beam of gray light through the black woods, straight
for the notch in the trees on the ridge ahead. Had he been able to see back
over the load, the view behind would have been just about identical; traffic
was almost nonexistent in this weather. He’d met none since Thin Bridge,
just outside Tithro.

On
the bench at his side, Iggo slumped and nodded, two-thirds asleep. No man ought
to be able to sleep in such a downpour, but Iggo wasn’t very much awake
at the best of times.

In
Puldarn there was hot food and beer and a certain wellpadded waitress. Ulynago
was a man of simple tastes.

Until
four years ago, he’d been a legionary. He’d seen no real fighting,
but he’d cut up a few rebellious gnomes in his time. Revolting gnomes,
the legions called them-gnomes were always revolting. Joke! Good sport, though,
gnomes. He’d struggled his way up to centurion near the end of his term.
Then there had been better opportunities. He’d retired with a lot more
than his official requital, enough to buy his wheels and hooves, back home in
South Pithmot where he’d been raised. And he’d hired as swamper,
Iggo who was big and stupid--stupid enough once to tackle a drunken troll and a
lot stupider afterward. An ideal helpep, who couldn’t always remember
when he’d been paid. So everything was just as the Gods ordered, except
for this Evil-take-it rain. Ulynago hoped the wet wouldn’t get into his
wheat, good northern wheat that had come all the way from Shimlundok, destined
for rich folks’ fine bread. The damp would do it no good, and him no
good, therefore. The merchants would try to chew him down on the price.

With
no warning, he forgot the wheat. He had a different I problem-the horses
breaking step, trying to slow to a walk. What the Evil? The wagon rocked. He
yelled and pulled out his whip. He cracked it. It made no difference. Something
had spooked them, they were fighting the weight, all on the wrong feet. The rig
twisted. Hastily he grabbed the brake. Iggo lurched forward and awoke with a
bellow of oaths.

“Shut
up and get the blades!” Ulynago yelled. “Wha’s’matter?”

With
a few lurid additions, Ulynago explained that he didn’t know. The rig
clattered to a halt. The horses stood and steamed in the wet, but all calm as
jelly pudding. Silence. What the Evil?

Ulynago
thumped reins again. Ears twitched ... nothing more. God of Madness! The horses
were all staring at the trees just ahead. He felt the hairs on his spine rise.
Who would hijack a load of wheat? Of course he did have eighteen gold crowns in
his moneybelt. If men were behind this, what had they done to his team?

He
rose and peered back over the load at the highway behind-bare rock, shining in
the wet, running straight and empty as far as he could see in the rain mist. He
didn’t like these parts. Too close to dragon country, but one whiff of dragon
would have put the team in Puldarn by now. Not dragons.

A
man stalked out of the trees ahead and headed for the rig. With a roar, Ulynago
tried to rouse the team again, and again nothing happened. Grinding out a
mixture of army oaths and teamster technicalities, he shook water off his hat,
took up his sword, and jumped down. Then he saw that the newcomer was only an
elf. The tightness in his gut eased a lot-he could handle elves. Only one? Iggo’s
boots thumped down on the other side of the wagon.

Ulynago
headed for the elf. He certainly was no threatunarmed, just a kid in fancy blue
and green, all soaked and smeared with grass stains. Hard to tell with elves,
so he might be older. He was striding ... elves usually pranced. Odd sort of
elf.

They
met beside the lead pair, with the point of Ulynago’s sword at the brat’s
midriff.

“Who
the Evil are you? What you do to my team?”

“I’m
truly sorry about this,” the kid said, looking at him with eyes that
sparkled green and blue like his clothes. He was ignoring the blade.

“Sorry
about what?”

“This.”

Lying
flat on his back, Ulynago could feel the rain falling straight into his eyes.
The sky was full of wildly gyrating trees. He thought back to when something
like a ballista had impacted the point of his chin, all of five or six seconds
ago. He was still holding his sword. No one had ever gotten by his guard like
that before. No helmet. His head had hit the stones . . . God of Torment!

Somewhere
Iggo yelled, just once. Then a clatter of metal struck the roadway, and a
muffled thump.

An
elf? A skinny, good-for nothing, yellow-bellied, pantywaist elf? Then other
voices ... There were more of them. Sounded like jotnar. Ulynago tried to rise,
and everything went very black.

Some
time later he discovered he was lying under the wagon, out of the rain, with
the bench cushion under his head. Iggo was beside him, snoring. The highwaymen
were long gone.

He
wondered why jotnar would have sent an elf.

And
to the end of his days Ulynago never understood why they’d taken only
three of his horses and only one of the eighteen gold crowns in his moneybelt.

‘Twas
the fourth hour of the night, and things were heating up in the Mainbrace
Saloon. Bithbal could hear the threat notes under the mind-wrenching roar of
conversation. He could smell anger through the fog of oil fumes and yeast. Even
the dim flicker of lamplight was enough to show the shiny red faces starting to
change color, and some deep primitive sense of battle was crawling over his
skin like ants, telling him the time was near for action. He fingered the sap
in his belt. All those blond jotunn heads shining in the gloom-how many would
he bloody tonight?

Bithbal
was twenty-two, tow-haired and big, even for a jotunn. He’d skipped ship
here in Noom when he’d discovered what a bouncer could earn. The chance
to fight every bleeding night and even get paid for it had been irresistible,
sheer jotunn rapture. After six months, he was a veteran. He’d swallowed
his pride enough to take up using a blackjack when the odds got impossible
otherwise, and he’d had the front of his pants armored. He’d been
hurt and healed and been hurt again almost daily, but he’d never bounced
less than eight in a single night’s work, even when his arm was broken,
and his record was thirtyseven. He loved his work.

Now
he thought he might just have time to sell one more round of beer. He headed
for the cage and thrust in the money he’d collected for the last lot,
watching to make certain it went in his tally pot so he’d get his share
of the take. Then he hung a dozen horseshoes of sausage over his elbow, hefted
a full tray of steins, and went weaving off into the roar and the dark and the
crowd. With hard-earned skill he held the tray high on his sore left hand,
whipping off the beer and taking money with his right. There was no wasted
conversation in that din, and no one had smiled seriously for some time.

Checking
faces as he went, he felt a tightness growing in him, a thrill of pure joy
somewhere down around his bladder. Yes, it would be a bone grinder tonight.
There was a good sprinkling of imps for tinder, and the jotnar were well up to
standard. He’d learned to spot difficult ones, and tonight they were all
over the room. He’d never seen so many obvious hard cases. Oddly, it
usually wasn’t the real toughs that raised the anchor, but once they got
going they soon became the survivors, so they were the ones he had to remove
afterward, before they started on the furniture. The furniture was solid
bronze, all bolted to the flagstones, but sailors enjoyed a challenge.