Perilous Seas (5 page)

But
even Inos had heard of the Accursed Place. It had a romantic name.

As
Elkarath’s caravan had drawn near the foothills of the Progiste Range,
she had heard more of it. Azak had spoken of Thume a few times, as they ate
their evening meal outside the tent. To him it was a place of annoying mystery,
an untidy tangle in the military logic of Pandemia-a hazard when Zark wished to
invade the Impire, an unreliable defense when the Impire attacked Zark. The
local women in their bathhouses and bazaars had spoken of Thume with hushed
voices and stretched eyes, muttering tales of ancestors who had wandered too
far into the mountains and been Seen No More. To them it was a place of dread.

Ulien’quith
had been warlock of the south, and a sorcerer of renown, cut from the cloth of
such legendary masters as Thraine, and Ojilotho. Ulien’, it was said, had
sought to become supreme, to overthrow the Protocol and dominate the Council of
Four. He had been balked, repudiated, and cast out. He had fled to Thume; the
other wardens had appointed another South, and had pursued him to wreak
vengeance. The resulting War of the Five Warlocks had continued for thirty
years.

To
be exact, there had then been three warlocks and two witches, and the war
should rightwise have been called the War of the Five Wardens-a point Inos had
made forcibly to Master Poraganu-but Five Warlocks was how it was known.

Even
before that disaster, Thume had always been a cockpit. Trapped between imps and
djinns, between the gnomes of Guwash and the merfolk of the Keriths, it had
been doomed to eternal struggle. Its two long coasts had doubtless brought
double trouble from jotnar raiders also. The native race, the pixies, had been
looted, raped, massacred, and enslaved without respite since before the coming
of the Gods.

The
War of the Five Warlocks had been merely the final catastrophe. Fire and
earthquake, storm and monsters, bronzeclad armies and rampaging hordes-all had
struck at Thume, or at one another. Death and destruction had swept back and
forth with no clear victory for anyone. Not being bound by the Protocol, Ulien’quith
and his unknown allies had resisted even the legions, dragons, and jotunn
raiders that were normally immune to the ravages of sorcery. He had destroyed
them, or turned them on their nominal masters and their allies. For thirty
years. At the end of that time, seemingly, everyone just stopped fighting and
went home.

Not
the least of the irritations of history in Inos’s view was that it so
often failed to end its stories tidily.

No
one ever went back, said the legends. There was nobody there now, nothing left
to fight over. Solitary travelers returned reporting an empty land, forest and
game in abundance.

Or
else they did not return.

Intruding
armies either passed through unmolested or mysteriously disappeared. Attempts
to colonize the empty land never prospered, the settlers fleeing in
inexplicable terror or just vanishing without trace.

No
one had seen a pixie in almost a thousand years.

Princess
Kadolan of Krasnegar was concerned.

With
her comfortable girth wrapped in a couple of towels, she sat on a rather lumpy
cushion in a very hot and overcrowded bathhouse and listened politely to the
troubles of a Bloody Phlegm on one side and a Hardened Liver on the other.

She
was not especially worried that this remote mountain hamlet was reputedly the
worst nest of cutthroats in all Zark. Whatever evil might be planned, it was
not going to occur in the village women’s bathhouse, and almost certainly
not until after the caravan’s departure the next day.

She
was not even troubled at the moment over the mysterious Sheik Elkarath, who
might or might not be a servant of the sorceress Rasha. Either way, his
lifelong immunity to the dangers of the Gauntlet merely confirmed her previous
suspicions that he was a sorcerer. The second danger canceled out the first.

No,
Kade was apprehensive about Inosolan, who was clearly plotting something. Inos
was always more of a leaper than a looker. Kadolan had learned to be prepared
for the worst when her niece was in this mood, and the worst in this situation
might be very bad. Inos resented restraint of any kind, and she was probably
scheming some way to make the first danger cancel out the second.

Every
evening, after serving their menfolk’s meal, the womenfolk of Zark headed
for their local bathhouse. There they shed their all-enveloping robes and veils
and lounged around in comfort upon cushions set on ancient floors of tile or
clay. They talked of their children, their health, their husbands, and their
husbands’ problems. Often they played thali. In some places the women’s
bathhouse was little better than a shack over a mud pit,. but the larger,
better houses were well equipped for socializing and recreation.

The
men, of course, would similarly gather at their own establishment, and talk of
serious matters: trade and politics, health and poverty ... horses, dogs,
camels, and women. Visitors were always welcome. In the sparsely settled
Interior, the caravans were prized as much for news and gossip as for their
trade goods. The drab lives of the inhabitants held few excitements.

The
bathhouse at the Oasis of Tall Cranes was as spacious and comfortable as any,
but the population was large, and at least a hundred women and girls were
crowded around in the dimness. The massive walls had kept out the worst of the
day’s heat, but they took a long time to cool, and the windows were so
heavily shuttered that the room had become headachingly stuffy. Lamps smoked
and sputtered, insects buzzed, and voices droned. Babies snuffled and whimpered
in a dark corner.

Bloody
Phlegm was again explaining the difficulty she had in sleeping at all now,
growing hoarse as she tried to drown out details of Hardened Liver’s grandmother’s
guaranteed physic. Kadolan nodded and smiled, or frowned as required, and
meanwhile she tried to keep an eye on Inosolan.

Inosolan
sat in a group of younger wives in a relatively bright corner, under a patch of
lamplight. She was still combing out her hair, a stream of moonlight in the
gloom. The upper half of her face had darkened in the desert glare, a trait
inherited from her jotunn ancestors; without her veil she looked as if she were
wearing a mask.

Of
course there had been the usual questions earlier, provoked by her green eyes,
Kadolan’s blue eyes, and their pale skins. Tonight Inosolan had stayed
with the simplest explanation-jotunn blood in the family, too far back for
details. The local ladies had sighed understandingly. Some nights Inosolan went
into lurid particulars involving longships, or she might invent elvish
ancestors instead. After an especially hard day, she was capable of including
both elves and rape, in highly unlikely combinations.

The
Tall Cranes bathhouse was acceptable. The women, Kade noticed, were better
dressed than most. There was no ostentatious flaunting of jewelry, but the
negligees and even towels were of fine stuff. Of course the oasis lay only
three days or so from a great city, and should not be compared with some hamlet
in the middle of the desert. On the other hand, there was no local industry to
account for the prosperity, as Azak had wryly pointed out only that evening.

Thoughts
of the sultan made Kadolan realize that she had not heard him mentioned in the
bathhouse. He was a noticeable man and lionslayers were romantic figures.
Almost invariably on other evenings, some of the younger women had directed
wistful queries about him to his supposed wife. The women of Tall Cranes had
not. That discretion might have pleased Inosolan, but it was an ominous break
with routine.

But
so far Inosolan herself had done nothing out of the ordinary. There had been no
further mention of the mysterious favor she had requested earlier. Bedtime was
approaching. The younger women were already dressing, preparing to leave when
impatient husbands would arrive and lead them home to perform their final
duties of the day.

Hardened
Liver was occupied now in supervising a pedicure being administered by one of
her granddaughters. Bloody Phlegm had drifted off to sleep in the middle of her
complaints about insomnia. Kade struggled to her feet; she donned her sandals
and wrapped herself in her chaddar. Then she wandered across to join the
younger group.

Inosolan
glanced up and smiled rather tightly.

As
Kade sat down, she was startled by the first thunderous bang on the door.

Inosolan
yawned.

One
of the girls went to open the peephole flap, and then turned to call out names.
The women indicated either hurried away at once, or jumped up and started
pulling on their robes. They were all locals. The visitors began preparing
themselves also, for if the village men were coming to take their wives home,
then the merchants, camel drivers, and guards would be arriving shortly. Kade
herself suppressed an enormous yawn as she saw Inosolan turn to catch the
expectant eye of Jarthia, Fourth’s young wife. So here it came, whatever
it was.

Jarthia
emptied a bag of thali tokens onto the floor. “Anyone care for a quick
game before bedtime?”

Some
of the villagers paused in their dressing, tempted.

“I
should love a throw or two,” Inosolan trilled. Kade stiffened in
astonishment, having warned her niece months ago that Jarthia used marked
tiles.

“Me,
too,” Kade said loyally. “But I forgot to-”

“I
can lend you some, dear,” Inosolan said, and produced a clinking bag,
which for a moment bewildered Kade totally. Then she recalled Inosolan taking
Azak aside after the evening meal. What possible reason could Inosolan have
given for needing money in a place like this? But Azak likely would not have
argued. He was infatuated by Inosolan. Dangerously infatuated. By the sound of
it, that bag contained a small fortune.

In
moments play had started. The game was childishly easy, the only skill required
being a good memory, to recall tokens’ values while they were turned
facedown. Jarthia’s set was very old, scratched and stained by long use,
and much craft.

Kade
stifled another yawn. The hour was late, and she was very tired. Desert air
seemed to have that effect on her. Plus old age, of course.

She
yawned again.

At
first she managed to hold her own in the game, struggling to note and remember
the illicit markings on the tiles. But the light was dim, her eyes were not
what they had been, and oh, but she was sleepy! She had never enjoyed gambling,
an entirely stupid pastime. Soon she was losing disastrously. Inosolan was
doing even worse.

So
was Jarthia-and the more she lost, the higher she raised the stakes.

Fuzzily
Kade tried to work out the plot, for obviously there must be a plot. Azak’s
gold was disappearing at a scandalous rate. Of course the village women could
not stop the game while they were ahead and doing so well-that was mere good
manners. Soon the girl posted by the door was calling more names, and the
players were excusing themselves to go and whisper urgently to their husbands
outside, and then return to the circle. Kade and Inosolan yawned and fought their
weariness, and watched the small fortune grow steadily smaller.

“Mistress
Jarthia?”

Jarthia
rose and went to the door. Predictably, Fourth would refuse nothing to his
delectable, son-bearing young wife. After a brief muttering, Jarthia hurried
back to rejoin the play.

Kade
yawned again, then snapped awake ... So that was it! “Mistress Hathark?”

Inosolan
shot a guilty glance at her aunt from under sleepsoaked eyelids, then heaved
herself to her feet. She was visibly dragging as she went to the door. But
certainly Azak would cooperate also, because he had duties to perform while the
encampment bedded down, with no marital joys to look forward to.

In
a moment Inosolan came stumbling back, yawning. “He says we may stay
while Jarthia does,” she told Kade seriously, “and Fourth will
escort us.”

The
game continued; the stakes increased. Kade squirmed as she saw how much this
escapade was costing. What on earth was Inosolan hoping to accomplish? As the
room emptied it seemed to grow larger, and eerie echoes developed in the
shadowed corners. Soon only half a dozen players remained, the three locals all
twittering excitedly over their astonishing good fortune. Inosolan passed her
aunt more “loans.” Kade yawned shamelessly, and struggled to stay
awake, and fought against logical inner voices that told her not to be silly,
she was too old for this and she certainly ought to insist on going off to bed,
and they had a long way to go the next day ...

But
another, very tiny, inner voice was whispering that she surely wasn’t as
old as that, and the hour was far from late by Kinvale standards, and Inosolan
must surely have something serious in mind if she was throwing away money like
this. Somehow Kade battled on, against brain-numbing exhaustion, losing
ridiculously and watching Inosolan doing little better. The dim room swayed;
her head lolled; her eyes blurred. She did not see a signal pass, but there
must have been one, for Jarthia suddenly went on the offensive. The money began
to move inexorably in her direction, and the chuckling and joking of the locals
became rarer, then stopped altogether, as their gains dwindled.

Soon
it would be over, Kade thought with relief. Soon Jarthia would have all the
coins in the room, and then the gamblers must call it a night.

And
suddenly the pressure eased ... returned ... faded altogether. The world came
back into terrifying focus.

Kade
glanced up in horror and saw triumph blaze up on Inosolan’s face.

Hospitality
was a duty to the God of Travelers. Violence within Tall Cranes itself was
extremely unlikely-Azak had said so at supper. He had then ruined the
reassurance by pointing out how few men were present in the village. The rest,
he had suggested cheerfully, might well be preparing an ambush for the morrow,
at some respectable distance.