Perilous Seas (9 page)

“You
promised he would be mine!” Darad bellowed.

“Did
I?” Kalkor waited for a moment, and then repeated, “Did I?”
in a slightly more pointed tone.

“Yes!
You said he would be mine. You gave him to me! A gift to me! “

“I
don’t remember. Are you sure?”

Kalkor
had not raised his voice any more than necessary to let it be heard over the
wind, and his calm, steady smile did not vary by a twinkle, except when rain or
spray blew in his face. Darad likely had little more intelligence than a
starving dog and no compunctions at all about anyone else’s life or
death. Yet apparently his own fate still mattered to him, for he flinched
before Kalkor’s unspoken threat.

“Well
... I thought so, sir. Must’ve misunderstood you.”

“You
do that quite often, Wolf. Don’t you?”

Incredibly,
the ogre cringed even further. “No, sir I mean, aye, sir ... I mean I’ll
not do it anymore, sir.”

“I
certainly wouldn’t advise it.”

Darad
hesitated, lips moving, and then growled, “But you remember this, Thane:
He’s a liar! He’ll lie to you.”

“I
don’t think so.”

The
giant hesitated, puzzled, knowing he had been dismissed and yet unwilling to go
away and leave Rap babbling of sorcerers and Sagorn and Thinal and Andor and
Jalon. Had he really expected Kalkor to kidnap Rap for him from a jotunn
settlement, and then never want to know why?

“He’s
mad, too. Imagines things.”

“Darad,”
Kalkor said in the same conversational tone as before, “it is my custom
to present gifts to my guests when they depart. Would you care to choose
something now? Something heavy?”

The
monster took a moment to work that out, and then his eyes turned toward the
ranks of green hills marching at the ship. “North for Pandemia,”
Kalkor said, “but I can’t give you any clearer directions, because
I don’t know.”

Darad
turned and rushed off downhill, along the gangway. The blue fires came back to
look at Rap. The quiet smile almost seemed to want to share amusement; but that
would be a dangerous assumption to make.

“I
see I have more questions to ask than I thought I had. His stupidity is
disgusting. Now ... Have you ever seen one of these?”

The
thane reached behind him and produced a gruesome artifact that Rap had not
noticed tucked in there. The handle was a wooden cylinder, short and polished,
possibly even smoothed by long use. Attached to one end were many fine chains,
each about as long as a man’s arm. They looked as if they might have been
dipped in black mud, and dark pellets still clung to the tiny links.

Rap
could only shake his head. His voice had failed him. He licked salt from his
lips.

“This
one’s of dwarvish make, I think, but the imps use them in their jails.
They use them on their troops, too. Now I find that absurd! If a man doesn’t
measure up, kill him and find another-why mess around? Yes, this is an impish
punishment. Jotnar don’t use such barbarities. “ The gull-wing eyebrows
rose inquiringly.

“No,
sir.”

Kalkor
beamed. “Wrong! Aye, sir! Sometimes wanton cruelty is useful. One has a
reputation to maintain, after all. It’s messy, though, and best done
ashore. Find a suitable tree, tie the subject up by his wrists ... The men take
turns. The one who kills him wins. I have yet to see a man survive more than
twenty-two lashes, but he was a quite elderly bishop who didn’t want to
part with a minor treasure he had hidden away, so you might do better. Five
strokes would ruin a man for life, I thinkapplied with enthusiasm, the chains
will cut to the bone, you do understand?”

“Aye,
sir.”

“So,
faun, I am going to ask some questions, and you are going to answer. I am very
good at detecting lies, and every lie earns you one stroke with the cat-o’-nine-tails.
Behave yourself and I won’t hurt you. I may kill you, but it will be
quick. Now, are we clear on the rules? “

“Aye,
sir. Sir ... may I have a drink of water?”

“No.
First question: Who is king of Krasnegar?”

“There
isn’t one. Holindarn is dead.”

Kalkor
nodded, as if pleased-as if Rap was confirming Darad’s news. Kalkor had
not known, so obviously Foronod’s letter had never reached him.

Had
the factor guessed what he was inviting into Krasnegar? Or had he seen Kalkor
as inevitable and just wanted to get on his good side as soon as possible? All
Kalkor’s sides were bad. Rap’s feet were starting to throb worse
than his hands.

“Second
question: Describe Inosolan.”

Rap
took a deep breath and weighed the agony of being flayed against the probability
that nothing he could possibly say could ever make any difference ... but his
mouth had started speaking already. Cowardice had a thousand disguises and if
it called itself exhaustion and weakness and exposure and don’t-matteranyway,
cowardice it was still. Nevertheless, he was not man enough to stop himself
talking.

“Somewhere
between an imp and a jotunn in height. Hair gold ... darker gold than ... well,
that man sewing the boot? About that shade. Green eyes. Slim. She rides and-”

“I’m
only interested in her body. Is she beautiful?”

“Aye,
sir.”

“Face
me while you’re speaking. Show me how big her breasts are. Mm. I like
them bigger. Is she a virgin?”

“I
don’t know!” Rap almost managed a shout.

Kalkor
chuckled softly, the sharp sapphire fires never leaving Rap’s face. “You
have occult farsight, don’t you?”

“Me,
sir? No, sir.”

“That’s
one, Rap! I warned you! One stroke. Can you control it, turn it on and off at
will?”

“Sometimes,”
Rap muttered. Darad had the brains of a herring. He had talked far too much for
his own purposes. Like Gathmor, Kalkor would never willingly part with a seer.

“It’s
not easy, is it? So you’re discreet? Do you love her?”

“Inos?
Love her? Me? I was ... No, of course not!”

“That’s
two. “

“Two
what?” Rap snarled. The pain of those chains could never be worse than
the pain now pounding in his hands as the blood came back. And his feet . . .
Oh, Gods! . . . his feet . . .

“Two
lies, two strokes.” Kalkor waved the whip gently, letting the chains
swing like a pendulum, jingling.

In
his sudden, utter shock, Rap forgot the torment in his hands and feet. “No!
I was a stableb-” Oh, Gods! Love Inos? Kalkor shook his head wonderingly.
“You didn’t know? You hadn’t realized! How sweet! My heart
bleeds, my gorge rises. Rap, I’ll take back that `two’! I haven’t
felt so moved since the praetor of Clastral offered me his daughters. But let’s
be quite clear on this. You lust after Inosolan?”

Rap
nodded, too shattered to speak. How had he dared? So that was why he had this
crazy dream of finding his way to her side-to be a lover, not just a servant?
She had kissed him once, and then let him return the favor. They had held
hands. Puppy love! Hopeless love. It was unthinkable-she was a queen and he was
a churl. He had been deceiving himself all this time. Gods, Gods!

And
that was why he had been so disturbed when he had seen a man coming out of her
tent in the looking glass vision. He had been jealous! Fool! Fool! Fool!

And
Kalkor was watching him with amused contempt as if he could read all this appalling
revelation unwinding in Rap’s mind.

“More
than you lust after any other woman?”

“Aye,
sir. “ By the Powers, it was true!

“Well,
that is a recommendation, but I don’t know how reliable a faun’s
taste would be. Where is she now?”

“I
don’t know.”

The
bright-blue eyes seemed to grow even brighter as Kalkor frowned, regarding Rap
carefully. He waited while the ship topped another spume-swept crest, then he
probed with care: “Roughly?”

“Probably
in Zark, sir. A sorceress abducted her, and she was a djinn.”

The
thane was surprised. “Truly? I really thought the Wolf had gotten his
head banged once too often! How did you know my name?”

“Saw
you ... in the ... magic casement. “ Rap had to force the words out. The
pain was knotting him now and getting worse. His arms and legs would have been
a torment by themselves, but he was barely noticing them over what his
extremities were doing to him.

“Do
you know where in Zark she is?”

“Arakkaran,
sir.”

“That’s
two now, Rap! The truth?”

Struggling
to concentrate, barely managing to speak instead of just scream, Rap said, “The
sorceress said she came from Arakkaran.”

“But
you don’t think Inosolan is in Arakkaran. Why not?” Shocked, and
hurting too much to plan any convincing lies, Rap blurted out a confused
account of his meeting with Bright Water and Zinixo, and how the wardens had
all been trying to steal Inos away from the sorceress and one another. He
expected the thane to throw him overboard for spinning such a yarn-and it would
have been a blissful release-but Kalkor, amazingly, seemed to believe him.

The
questions thudded home like arrows, Rap croaked out answers in a blur. Describe
Milflor harbor ... how many men in the Krasnegarian army ... He shaved the
truth as much as he could manage, until Kalkor shook his head gently and said, “We’re
up to five, Rap. I thought I’d warn you. We’re looking at real
damage now, I’m afraid. Next question . . .”

His
instinct for truth and falsehood seemed to be infallible, although Rap’s
face was so battered that it must be very hard to read, and often the wind
whipped the words from his lips. The penalty count was up to “Nine!”
before Rap abandoned any further efforts to deceive. Thereafter he just let his
tongue babble. He didn’t care anymore. The pain in his hands and feet was
driving him mad. If he had the strength, he’d climb over the ship’s
side and drown himself.

He
must have fainted, because afterward he remembered speaking while lying flat,
his bruised cheek against the cold wet planks. Later he sensed two enormous
dirty feet right in front of his nose. From them young Vurjuk sprouted like a
spare mast.

“.
. . clean him up,” Kalkor was saying. “Can you trawl him on a rope
without killing him?”

“Can
try, sir.”

“Well,
make it brief and find him some clothes afterward, because I would prefer that
he live awhile yet. “

“A
flogging match?” Vurjuk’s voice rang with boyish eagerness.

Thane
Kalkor did not answer impertinent questions; the look in his eye was enough to
make the kid bleat, “Aye, sir! “ and jump to obey orders.

Stripped,
trawled, dried, clothed, watered, and fed, Rap discovered to his surprise that
he was still alive, although he wished he wasn’t. He was still incapable
of walking, but he crawled aft to where Gathmor lay, and gave him a drink. Then
he dragged over a battle-ax, which was the only sharp thing within reasonable
distance, and found even that hard to hold in hands so grotesquely swollen. The
jotnar must have noticed what he was doing but they did not interfere. By the
time the last of Gathmor’s bonds parted, Rap was so weary that he was
capable of nothing more. He fell asleep where he was, in much the same place he
had been before.

Rap
was kicked awake and told to report to the thane. Reeling and stumbling, he
hurried aft, confused by the ship’s new motion. Falling was inevitable in
his state, but he managed to make all his impacts on inanimate things-oars,
benches, tubs. To land on a sleeping jotunn might cost him half his teeth. The
sun was just rising into a blue and promising sky. The wind was strong, but no
longer dangerous, and Blood Wave was surging northward over the last remnants
of the storm swell. Even the creak of wood and rope had taken on a more cheerful
note. Perhaps today he might get dry for the first time since Durthing? Then he
reached the stern and sank to his knees before the throne, where Kalkor was
just making himself comfortable.

For
a few minutes Rap was ignored as the thane rummaged in a leather bag, looking
for something. All over the boat, men were stirring, rising, stretching,
scratching, cursing.

“Roll
that up.” The thane’s gesture indicated his hammock, so Rap rose
and attended to the hammock. He could not straighten under the low headroom,
but in his condition he had very little desire to. He was as shaky and weak as
a sick kitten, staggering with every pitch and roll.

He
tucked hammock and blanket on top of the mountain of loot, but before he could
kneel-or just fall-down again, Kalkor held out a hand to him. Rap stared at its
burden in dumb incomprehension, and then looked into the jotunn’s
arrogant blue contempt.

“You
lose a finger for every nick. “

It
was without question a razor. Still gaping, Rap took it, opened it, and found
the finest steel blade he had ever seen, obviously dwarvish. He tried the edge;
before he felt anything, his thumb was oozing fine specks of blood.

“Idiot!
“ Kalkor said. “Well, you know the rules. Get busy.” Rap’s
hands were still stiff and swollen, and if they had not been shaking before,
then they certainly were now. He moved near to the chair and tried to steady
his head against the overhead beams-had he been a fraction taller he could have
rested his shoulders against them instead. He was stooped over Kalkor, and much
too close for comfort or even for easy work. The thane was offering his face
... and neck.

Why
shouldn’t Rap just cut his throat?

Kalkor’s
sky-blue eyes gleamed. He knew what Rap was thinking, and he smiled up at him
as fondly as a lover. When he spoke his voice was very soft. “Don’t
even be tempted.”

To
dry-shave a man on a leaping, heaving boat in a state of shivering weakness
when the slightest knick would bring mutilation-for Kalkor’s threats
would never be idle-that was a totally impossible task. The very prospect
brought sweat leaping out all over Rap’s body. It was utterly,
completely, insanely impossible! As well ask him to fly to Zark.