Perilous Seas (44 page)

“Perfectly.
It was solid gold also.”

“I
can see how that would help.” Lith’rian nodded. “I think it
will work in this case. We’re in a civilized spell at the moment in
Pandemia, when civil wars seem to be in poor taste.”

Rap
risked another step. “Then you don’t share Quip’s views on
the most appropriate outcome of my quest, your Omnipotence?”

The
warlock snorted. “His sense of the romantic is revolting. Gushy
sentiment! What would you expect from a dishwasher?” He lifted his face
skyward, staring at a circling seabird. He sighed. “No. I know a much
more romantic ending. “

“Tragic
or happy?”

The
elf sighed. “Too close to call. The balance trembles still. “

No
more answers, obviously.

“Still,
Rap, you did very well in diverting Allena straight here. “

No
need to ask why it had all been necessary. Elves liked things done in style,
never the easy, obvious way. “It was a wild trip, your Omnipotence.”

“You’re
going to have a wilder one. I’d estimated eight days was the absolute
minimum, twelve more likely, and you got here in nine. That will help. “

“Help,
my lord?”

“Time
is very short. Very! I can’t even take you to Valdorian to complete the
Sublime Defiance ritual, appropriate though that would be. Regretfully, the Rap’rian
who goes to Valdorian will be a facsimile, not the real you. Here comes your
transportation now.”

A
small boat was gliding across the blue mirror of the channel, heading for the
ship and pulling a lucent fan of ripples. Allena was tied up now, and both crew
and passengers were concentrating their attention on the far side of the deck.
Nobody seemed to notice the mysteriously speedy boat, although its sail was
flapping around chaotically as it came up against the slight breeze. It carried
three young elves, skinny golden boys wearing almost nothing. Two of them were
fighting for the tiller, but the boat was paying no attention to the rudder
anyway.

On
the other side of Allena’s deck, shrill shouting had broken out as some
of the passengers learned for the first time that they had been brought all the
way to Vislawn and not to Malfin. Filthy as a common sailor, wiping horny hands
on his pants,

Gathmor
came striding over. He stopped and frowned, as if he had forgotten why he had
come.

“Captain
Gathmor,” Lith’rian said pleasantly. “Bring a rope ladder
quickly.”

Gathmor
opened his mouth and then took another, harder look at the adolescent elf. “Aye,
sir!” he said, and ran.

Rap
drew a deep breath, not sure whether he even dared ask the question. “My
lord . . . Where is Inos?”

“In
Arakkaran.”

“Still?”

“Again.”

“Bright
Water said-” Rap began.

“If
you mean that night in the Gazebo, I know exactly what happened, and what was
said. Exactly. “

Rap
sensed a challenge. “You do? I mean ... Oh! Fire chick?”

Lith’rian’s
eyes danced in rainbow colors and he nodded. “You were the fire chick?”

“No,
but I used it. They have odd properties, dragons. Useful, sometimes. Couldn’t
let Bright Water go into that nest of tunnel rats without support. And you
mustn’t take anything she said then too literally. You do see why she
betrayed Inos to the mole though? “

Of
course elves liked dwarves no more than dwarves liked elves, and Rap sensed
unsteady footing ahead. “No, my lord.”

“It’s
perfectly simple,” Lith’rian said snappily. “We’re
stuck with that dweller-under-rocks as a warlock, but we can’t have him
thrashing around on his own, threatening everyone, so we have to educate him
into a few alliances. Allies can keep him under some sort of control, right? So
Bright Water offered him Olybino’s head on a plate, see? And the way that
nervous neatherder thinks, if you give him an opportunity, he at once suspects
it’s a trap and goes in the opposite direction. The same with Inos-Bright
Water said I’d stolen her from the Rasha woman, but of course Rasha was
merely hiding her from Olybino-the witch had predicted that, because only a
woman can forecast how a woman will think, so she was waiting ready to track
Inos-and that let her give the mole a chance to steal Inos away from me and
from Olybino’s sector and offer her to the imperor as a bribe for support
or else to reveal the supposed plot to Olybino and try to bribe him and either
way he’d think he had gained an ally, either East or Emshandar. Follow?”

“Er
... What went wrong?”

“Olybino
did, of course. Idiot! He cut the knot by telling Emshandar that Inos was dead,
so the plan unraveled. Then Inos herself went and escaped from the Rasha woman’s
votary, and he had to use so much power to get her back that Olybino’s
locals tracked him down and he captured her, only she wasn’t any value by
then except a negative value as an embarrassment. He didn’t kill her, so
now she’s back in Arakkaran. It’s all perfectly simple. “

Any
less simple and Rap’s head would fall off. “Yes, my lord.”

“She’s
in danger though,” Lith’rian said sternly, “in danger of
making a terrible mistake. You must warn her.”

“Me,
sir? I mean, your-”

“You.”
The warlock sighed. “Quip’ was right about some things, lad.
Arakkaran’s in East’s sector. I daren’t interfere. “

“But-”

“But
nothing. You’ve already met two of them-which would you say was crazier?
And the fourth, Olybino, is a fool, a pompous, frightened fool. He is being stupid,
but if I meddle in his affairs then he may get much stupider. Things are too
dangerously poised. I mustn’t give West a real ally!” He waved an
expressive hand in an inscrutable gesture.

Rap
said, “Oh! “ His hopes spiraled down into endless dark. How could
he help when a warlock daren’t?

“You
will have to do it,” Lith’rian said firmly. “Or try, at
least. I can give you help, but time is desperately short.”

“Yes,
my lord.”

Gathmor
came hurrying back with a bundle of dowel and hemp under his arm just as the
little boat slid to a stop directly below the watchers, its sail hanging limp.
The three youngsters gazed up with big expectant grins.

“Make
it fast, sailor,” the warlock said impatiently, and Gathmor began bending
the lines to a convenient cleat.

“What
exactly am I to do?” Rap asked, feeling both alarmed and suspicious. He
had never liked being rushed into things. “Do what the God told Inos to
do-trust in love!”

“Yes?”
Rap said noncommittally.

“And
go and remind her of those instructions! Minstrel, you can play one of these?”
Lith’rian held out a rack of silver tubes to Jalon, who had at some point
begun to take an interest in the proceedings. Where the pipes had come from,
Rap had no idea.

Jalon’s
dreamy blue eyes widened. “Of course. They’re faunish, but I’ve
used them. “

“Do
you know `Swiftly Comes the Dawn’?”

Jalon
pouted. “A Dwanishian melody on Sysassanoan panpipes?”

“Barbaric,
I admit.”

“But
I expect I can come close enough.”

“Good.
And `Rest, My Beloved’?”

“That’s
worse-but, yes.”

The
ladder clattered down the side, and the boys began scrambling up.

“We’re
going in that?” Gathmor protested. “Square sail? The mast’s
set too far forward. It’ll do nothing except run before the wind.”

The
warlock chuckled. “But this boat always has a following wind! Don’t
pull faces, sailor. Sometimes magic serves the Good. So you must steer and
Master Jalon must whistle the wind. `Comes the Dawn’ for more wind,
`Rest, My Beloved’ for less. Any questions?”

The
three boys tumbled over the side in fast succession, panting, grinning, and
clustering excitedly around Lith’rian. He flashed them a smile and
tousled their curls.

Rap
had been peering down at the bundles in the boat. “That long
package-swords? “

“Of
course.”

Rap
looked distrustfully at the warlock, the man who had given his daughter to a
gnome.

“I’m
an adept. I can learn to play those two tunes. I can certainly steer a boat.
The other two needn’t-”

“No!
No!” Lith’rian’s juvenile face took on the soulful expression
that Quip’ had favored. His eyes misted. “Don’t you see? The
three of you, hastening to Arakkaran . . . jotnar aiding a faun ... that’s
beautiful! That’s much more romantic than just one.”

“Course
it is.” Jalon tucked the panpipes in his belt and clambered over the
rail.

“Just
try and stop me,” said Gathmor with all his old menace. “Everything
we need is there ... er ... my lord?” Perhaps he still did not know who
the elf was, but he had recognized his authority.

“You’ll
find a chart in the big chest. There’s an inkblot on it, somewhere. That’s
you. “

The
sailor tried not to pull faces again.

“And,
Captain ... a prophecy. Veer south of the Keriths. If you go to the north you
wreak havoc on the shipping there, and if you try to go through The Gut, you
certainly run aground. You know about merfolk! Remember that, whatever else
they are, they are also madly jealous. The men have fast knives.”

“Troublemakers!”
Gathmor agreed. “Had ‘em around Durthing a few times. Always
brought bloodshed.” He followed Jalon down the ladder.

“The
Gods be with you, Master Rap,” the warlock said. “Waste no time.”

Still
feeling that he should be arguing, Rap took hold of the rail and swung up a
leg.

Gathmor
had the tiller already and the sail was spread. The tiny craft rocked as Rap
settled on the thwart amidship, next to Jalon, who grinned childishly and
raised the pipes to his lips. At the first haunting notes, a shadow of ripples
rushed over the waters, and the sail swelled.

“What’s
her name?” Gathmor demanded. He looked up to ask the elf, but already
there was open water spreading between the large craft and the small.

“Call
her the Queen of Krasnegar,” Rap said between his teeth.

“So
be it. May the Good go with her.”

A
stronger gust rocked the boat. Palms on the shore bent and thrashed.

Ripple?
The world steadied again at once.

That
one had been faint, but Rap had felt it-either because he was learning to, or
because the power had touched him personally. His arms and knees had turned
from gold to brown in front of his eyes. He gasped in agony, and then his shirt
burst open in a shower of buttons, his pants ripped across the seat. Jalon
stopped trilling on the panpipes to join Gathmor in great bellows of stupid,
raucous laughter. The boat rocked with their mirth. Idiots!

All
the same, it was with real relief that Rap inspected his own familiar faunish
face again, flat nose and goblin tattoos and all. It had never been much of a
face, but he was glad to have it back.

He
grinned at the very pink Jalon, and then at Gathmor. “Lay a course for
Arakkaran, Cap’n!”

“Aye,
sir! “

“Look!”
Jalon pointed.

Quip’rian
was waving from Allena’s deck. Beside him stood the elvish Rap-and Jalon,
and Gathmor. All four waved. Rap raised his hand in farewell, and then turned
his face to the sea.

Rushing
seas:

One
port, methought, alike they sought

One
purpose hold wher’er they fare;

O
bounding breeze, O rushing seas,

At
last, at last, unite them there.

Clough,
As Ships Becalmed

Female Of The Species

Morning
sun sparkled on the great harbor as Dawn Pearl crept slowly toward her berth.
Inos stood on deck with Azak on one side of her and Kade on the other, studying
all the bustle and the astonishing variety of shipping-very much as she had
wanted to study it that other morning, months ago, when she had been lumbered
with the odious baby Charak. Now she was much less interested, for the bright
hopes of that memorable day were tarnished. Spoiled! Crumbled to ruin. She
dared not look at Azak, for his feelings must be as dark as her own. They had
gambled and lost, and they still lacked even the tiny compensation of knowing
for certain who had won.

Even
the medley of scents was oddly familiar to Inos-the fish stinks of a harbor and
the flower scents of the city. She felt far more like a returning resident than
she would have expected, or wanted. The shining palace on the hill was a
derision, a marble jail waiting to take her back, a sarcophagus. She was draped
again in the despicable chaddar of humiliation, a recaptured fugitive.

“Look!”
Kade exclaimed. “On the dock. Isn’t that a reception party?”

It
was indeed, and Inos had detected it long before Kade had. Azak had probably
seen it even earlier, for he had the falcon vision of his race. Neither of them
had commented.

“Led
by Kar,” Azak murmured.

Inos
could not see that yet, but it would be a welcome sight for Azak. If the
devoted Kar still lived, then no other prince had seized the title of sultan.
And that thought made Inos realize that Azak must have feared for his life
since he learned Dawn Pearl’s true destination.

Who
had told him, or when, he had not said, but he had been released from the brig
as soon as the ship cleared Brogog, the last port before Arakkaran. Gaunt and
grim, he had spoken very little since. He was dressed again as a prince, all in
green: trousers, tunic, cloak, and turban. Inos did not know where he obtained
those. Likely they had been slipped aboard by Elkarath’s women, as it
must have been they who had smuggled the Zarkian costume for Inos and Kade into
the baggage. The whole cruel buffoonery had been very well planned.

Azak
had hardly spoken. She did not know how he felt about her now. Was he still in
love with her? She could not read his thoughts.

But
Azak was returning as sultan, and apparently his throne was still secure. His
lack of jewels and scimitar would be soon rectified if the efficient Kar was in
charge of the welcome.