Perilous Seas (41 page)

“So
what happened in Krasnegar after the imps left?” Rap had heard Bright
Water tell of the goblin raids, months ago, and the rest did not interest him.

The
light was failing swiftly now. Sagorn was nearly invisible to Rap’s eyes,
but farsight said he shrugged. “Who knows?”

“The
wardens, of course.”

“Quite.
But you are the only mundane I have ever heard of who goes around chatting with
warlocks and witches as an everyday affair. Of course you’re not a
mundane, are you? “ Again the hurt and envy showed for a moment. Sagorn
considered that he, not Rap, deserved to be the adept.

“And
what are the imperor’s plans?”

The
crabby old jotunn detested being questioned and would normally have turned
stubborn then. Probably Rap was using mastery whether he liked it or not,
because he got an answer. “Warm soup and a soft bed, I imagine.”

Rap
studied the familiar cynical sneer and said, “Bad news?”

“Emshandar’s
health is failing rapidly, it seems. Pity! He was a good man . . . relatively
speaking. He will be missed.” Sagorn scowled, as if regretting this
admission of sympathy. “But the Impire goes on regardless. His advisors
have found a solution, of course.”

“Tell!”

Reluctantly
the old man came to the point. “Rumor-and it is only rumor-says that the
Privy Secretariat has put out feelers to Nordland. “

“Compromise?”

“Of
course. Ironically, it seems that neither side has ever spared much thought for
Krasnegar in the past. Might that be some lingering trace of Inisso’s
work, do you suppose? The Impire’s bureaucrats have always just assumed
it to be some sort of client state or protectorate; the thanes seemed to have
looked on it as jotunn territory. It was never worth a raid by either side,
anyway. It has some commercial value, because of the trading, but it is still not
worth a war. “

“If
everyone agrees to behave logically.”

Sagorn
shrugged, as if unwilling to admit that Rap himself could be so logical. “The
Impire’s proposal is thought to be this: Duke Angilki shall be recognized
as king, but stay where he is, measuring carpet and hanging drapes as usual.
The actual authority will be in the hands of a viceroy, ruling in his name.”

“Kalkor,
I suppose?”

The
old man waved a frail white hand. “Whoever is nominated-meaning chosen-by
the thanes’ moot. It could be Kalkor if he wants it, but why would he?
Possibly even a local, like Foronod. In effect, the Impire is saying that
Nordland can have Krasnegar in all but name. It may rule as long as it doesn’t
claim a victory. The chart makers will still color it Imperial ... And please
don’t kill any more people than you have to, or you’ll curtail our
supply of fur collars.”

So
Inos would be dispossessed?

“The
wardens must have approved this proposal?”

“Certainly.
Only Olybino could have held back the legions from a full invasion of goblin
territory. That is not on the table. “ Inos bereft of her kingdom would
no longer be a queen and ... Rap recoiled in horror from the thoughts that lay
along that road. Were she not a queen she would be free to marry a hostler, or
a common sailor. What sort of selfish monster was he? He would not even
consider the possibility. Meanwhile, there was the problem of what Sagorn was
hiding. He was gloating, so it had to be bad news.

Stewards
were approaching, working their way along the corridor with a rack of lighted
lanterns, knocking on doors to offer them, together with respectful warnings
about the dangers of fire on a ship.

Overhead,
the sailors were again shortening sail, while the timbers and cables groaned
with the strain of the sudden storm. Certainly the captain would have never
left port had he foreseen such roaring weather. Again Rap felt a crawly sense
of premonition, as if he were overlooking something obvious.

Now
the stewards had reached the cabin, two youngsters finely attired in white livery.
As the taller of the two raised knuckles to tap, Rap turned and opened the
door. He held out a hand for one of the little lanterns, and said a premature “Thanks!”

The
fair-haired boy offering it just froze, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at
Rap as if at something emerging from a graveyard by night. His already
light-skinned face turned pale as parchment. His equally blond companion seemed
equally dumbfounded.

Amused,
Rap put a finger to his lips. “Sh!” he said. “I’m a
jotunn in disguise. Don’t tell anyone.”

The
boys blushed scarlet. The first quickly passed over the lamp, and the other
found enough voice to say, “Will you be dining this evening, sir?”

Polite
male jotnar? What was the world coming to?

But
Rap had some prison hollows to fill yet. “I shall certainly be dining,
and my friend here, also. What’s on the menu?” Exchanging renewed
glances of amazement, the stewards rattled off a list of dishes that made his
mouth water. Stormdancer had never been like this.

“Sounds
good,” he said. “If I asked for a double helping of the broiled
pork, done rare and extra greasy, I imagine the chef could oblige?”
Chuckling, he closed the door on them, still thunderstruck. He hung the lantern
on a hook in the beams, where it swung crazily.

Sagorn
was smiling sourly at the foolery. “The first-class dining room? What do
you know of the gentry’s table manners?”

“I
think those should lie within the powers of an adept. “ Rap had eyes; he
could copy what he saw done.

Finding
that life standing up was becoming too strenuous, he stepped across to Andor’s
sea chest and sat down. The sly old scholar was certainly hiding something. It
was time to do some prying.

“Tell
me about Lith’rian.” He saw at once that his guess was wrong-the
old man answered without hesitation.

“Phaw!
He succeeded to the blue throne in the first year of Emthar’s reign,
sixty-eight years ago. Almost nothing is known of his background, but he is
said to have been born on Valdojif, not on Valdorian itself. The Clan’
jifs are a sept of the Clan’rians, the senior clan in the Eol Gens. He is
naturally a hero to elves in general, and the Clan’rians in particular.
He is High War Chief, a post of extreme honor, rarely granted, and equivalent
to overlord of the whole gens-not that such honors are worth much to a warlock,
I suppose. His age is unknown, and of course inestimable, as he is both a
sorcerer and elvish, but it seems that he was chosen by Umthrum herself as her
successor, and she told him her words on her deathbed, so I would guess he was
around eighteen or twenty then-”

“Why
would you guess that?”

Sagorn
snorted. “Most sorcerers and sorceresses turn strange as they grow older,
and Umthrum was at least two hundred. She was also a merwoman.”

“Oh.”

“I
see.”

“.
. . selected from all races, and noted for their-”

“I
understand!” Rap insisted, feeling distaste that had nothing to do with
seasickness. “How do you remember so much?” The old man sneered. “Training
and practice, of course. I have an eidetic memory-I can recall a visual image
of anything I have ever seen, or any page I have ever read. I should have
thought that such an ability would lie within the powers of an adept. “

“Would
it, though?” Rap had not thought of that, and again felt a small tremor
of premonition. No, a thrill of premonition. Somehow that scrap of information
was important, and he was certainly overlooking something. An adept could
master any human skill-why not memory? He had best go to his own cabin and do
some thinking. And these uncanny premonitions ... were they a sign of a developing
foresight talent? Or only imagination?

His
mother had been a seer.

He
still had not discovered what ill tidings Sagorn was hoarding. “Do you
think the warlock will aid me?”

“I
have no idea. “ The old man’s manner implied that he did not intend
to find out, either.

“How
long until I reach Valdorian? “

Sagorn
shot a worried glance up at the window glass. Water was dribbling in around the
edges. “If you can predict even where we shall be tomorrow, you are much
more than an adept. You must know Allena’s schedule. Malfin-”

“I
know we are not expected in Vislawn for at least four weeks. I almost wish I’d
not listened to Ishist’s crazy ideas. I could have walked to Hub a lot
sooner. “

Sagorn
bared his teeth in contempt. “So you may not have been quite the free
agent you hoped? See why you should consult me before undertaking such rash
actions?”

Once
Rap would have felt anger at the old man’s jibes. Now he was merely
saddened by the petty spite that bred them.

“I
understood that a serf could not walk up to the door of a warlock’s
palace and demand to see him. “

“I
have friends in Hub who could have arranged an audience.”

“Quickly?”

“Maybe
not right away,” the scholar admitted. “So this way may be quicker
in the end?”

Sagorn
nodded reluctantly. “Oh, once you reach Erane, you will be rushed to
Valdorian. I have no doubt of that. The finest procrastinators in the world are
Dwanishian customs officials, but elves run a close second, and they dislike
strangers wandering around Ilrane. An elf who has uttered the Sublime Defiance,
though-he’s a matter of state! You’ll be shipped like ice,
posthaste. “

“So
how long?”

Sagorn
shrugged. “Sixty leagues, maybe. A hard day’s ride on good horses. “

Sixty
leagues in a day? While Rap was digesting that astonishing scrap of information,
Sagorn rose stiffly to his feet. Balancing unsteadily, he closed the deadlight
over the scupper. “The question may be moot, you know. We are hove to
now, but we cannot have left Noom Bay yet. Our situation is perilous.” He
sat down again, probably more heavily than he had intended.

Evidently
he was enough of a jotunn to recognize the dangers of a lee shore.

A
steward reeled along the passage, jangling a dinner bell. “I do not think
I shall essay the journey to the dining room,” Sagorn muttered. “And
Andor would have no appetite. Jalon, perhaps, would appreciate a good meal, and
the crew knows none of us by sight . . . “

“I
still hanker after that roast pork,” Rap said. Time to go, and therefore
time for a direct offensive. “I am curious about your motives, Doctor.
And your friends’. Andor and Jalon and Darad all shook my hand. Each of
them agreed to help my quest in return for my promise of help afterward. You
and Thinal I have not asked yet. But I was very surprised to see Andor embark
on this ship. Fidelity is not Andor’s favorite sport.”

The
old man flushed. “He harbors delusions of weaseling your word of power
out of you somewhere on the journey.” Rap shook his head.

The
sage scowled. “We may not accompany you all the way to Vislawn. The
schedule calls for stops at Malfin and Dal Petr and-”

“No.
Andor is not overendowed with courage, either. He would not risk any sea voyage
without very good reason, and he would run a thousand leagues to stay away from
a warlock. Must I conclude that Ishist bound all five of you with a compulsion
to accompany me to Lith’rian?”

Sagorn
paled. “Certainly not!”

“Then
the obvious question is, what else did your friend in Noom tell you?”

Sagorn
snarled, baring yellow teeth. “You are growing too smart for your own
good, young man! Here it is, then. Inosolan is dead!”

No!

Cognizant
of his own face, Rap was certain he had shown no reaction, and Sagorn’s
obvious disappointment confirmed that. “Who says so?” Rap asked
stonily. No! No! No! “Emshandar. He so informed the Senate when he
advised it of the Krasnegar matter.”

“And
who told the imperor?”

“I
don’t know.”

Sagom
was not lying. His unnamed friend would have had no reason to lie. Months ago,
on the night when Rap had seen Inos somewhere in the desert of Zark, at least
three of the wardens had known where she was, and at least two of them had been
planning to snatch her away. If Hub thought she was dead, then something had
gone wrong ... Rap fought against a screaming sense of despair, but he thought
his premonition was helping him. Something in this tale rang false. “I
don’t believe it.”

Sagorn’s
book began to move. He grabbed for it too late, and it slid swiftly to the end
of the bunk. Losing interest, he leaned back and sneered at Rap.

“As
you grow older and wiser, you will discover that one’s first reaction to
distressing events is often one of rejection. The mind just refuses to believe,
at first, and the emotions rule. But this news is hardly unexpected. In a day
or so, you will come to accept it. “

“And
then?”

“And
then you will see that your quest has been terminated. It has become
impossible. Under the agreement you made with the others, you are morally bound
to help us now. I call on you to share the second word with us.”

Rap
said nothing, thinking furiously.

Sagorn
frowned. “True, that was not spelled out exactly. My associates failed to
establish reasonable terms with you. But you are certainly under an ethical
obligation. “ He was not nearly so confident as he was trying to appear,
but Andor’s decision to board the ship was now explicable.

Ishist
had told Rap to trust his premontions. “I don’t believe it,”
he repeated stubbornly.

“Faugh!
You are being childish! She may have died the very night the sorceress
abducted--”

“She
was alive when we were in Milflor. “

“How
do you know that?” roared Sagorn. “Never mind! I want to know who
told the imperor.”

“Then
go to Hub and ask him!”

“Who
holds the power? Him or the Senate?”

Sagorn’s
eyes narrowed. “Ten years ago-even five years ago-Emshandar could make
the senators dance jigs in their nightgowns. These days ... who knows?”