They turned onto the street, mist or magic—Calandryll was not sure which—muffling the hoofbeats, the avenue shrouded, the mansion soon lost in the swirling brume. Neither spoke as they traversed the city, as if the weight of their mission stilled their tongues, the enormity of what they attempted become more real now the journey was begun. Calandryll thought of Reba's prophecy, so far come true: he had lost Nadama but gained two comrades, and he would, soon, travel far.
Over water.
Beware the water.
"Dera!" he groaned. "I'd forgotten that."
"What?" Bracht looked up from his own musing.
"The spaewife warned of water—I'd planned to sacrifice to Burash."
Bracht shrugged. "Perhaps the Kand boat carries an altar."
"Perhaps." Calandryll fingered the red stone nervously. "I hope so."
He looked to the carriage windows, seeing only the mist, cut here and there with the faint glow of lanterns as folk rose, hearing a dog bark, smelling the moist, salt- tainted air.
"There'll be temples enough in Kandahar," Bracht said.
"Still, I wish I'd remembered."
He turned to watch the shapes of buildings drift by, obscured by the fog, mysterious, the roadway empty, the sun not yet even a promise. Droplets hung like jewels on the budding leaves of trees, and when they crossed a park the greensward shone a ghostly silver, phosphorescent in the eerie light. He realized they had reached the city wall when the carriage halted and soldiers came like wraiths out of the obscurity. Darth exchanged a few words; a document was examined. Calandryll heard Varent's name mentioned, then a postern was opened and the carriage trundled through a tunnel lit red by torches.
The familiar sound of surf breaking against stone told him they moved along the mole. A breeze stirred off the sea, the smell of salt stronger, mingled with the harbor odors of tar and wet rope and fish. The mist began to break, masts visible, bobbing on the tide, and the bulwarks of ships, creaking at their moorings as though waking and anxious to sail. The carriage halted again and Darth sprang down.
"The Sea Dancer lies there."
He pointed to a dark bulk that seemed to hang suspended in the swirling grey, three masts standing tall, sails slapping fitfully in the rising breeze.
Calandryll and Bracht descended to the slippery cobbles, their baggage on their shoulders.
"My horse," the Kern turned to Darth, "Should I not return, he's yours."
"My thanks." The man nodded. "Dera guide you."
"Ahrd is my god," the Kern said.
Darth shrugged.
Calandryll said, "A favor?" and Darth ducked his head.
He brought a varre from his satchel; passed the coin to the man. "Make sacrifice to Burash. Ask that he look with favor on our journey." He would have preferred to attend the matter himself, but this might do.
"As you wish," Darth said, then turned as a bulky figure came toward them.
"Are you my passengers?"
His voice was harsh, the Lyssian he spoke shaped by the tongue of Kandahar. He was short and fat, his girth accentuated by the heavy green cape he clutched about him, black-bearded, a golden hoop hung from either ear, a white cloth wound about his head.
"You are Rahamman ek'Jemm?" Calandryll asked.
"Ship's master Rahamman ek'Jemm," the Kand corrected. "You'll address me as captain whilst aboard my vessel.
"We're your passengers," Bracht said. "Captain."
Ek'Jemm granted, studying them as though calculating their weight, then nodded.
"Come on board. The tide's on the turn and I'd be gone."
Without further ado he spun about and strode away. Calandryll saw that he walked with a rolling gait. He moved to follow,- realized that Bracht hesitated and glanced at the mercenary. The freesword appeared nervous, reluctant to climb the gangplank revealed by the clearing mist.
"I've never been on a ship," he muttered.
Calandryll suppressed a laugh: in this at least he had an advantage.
"You'll grow used to it soon enough," he promised.
"Burash rot you! Do you come on board or do I sail without you?"
The captain's voice boomed from above and Calandryll beckoned his companion. Bracht sighed noisily and began to climb the gangplank.
Rahamman ek'Jemm met them at the head, gesturing sternward. "Wait there. I've a tide to catch, so you stay out of the way." It seemed an afterthought to add, "You share a cabin, but that I'll show you later."
He bustled off, his gait no longer odd, better suited to the swaying deck than their own landlubbers' walk, bellowing orders as he went. Calandryll led the way aft, past busy sailors galvanized to action by their captain's roaring, and found a place beneath the high poop. He dropped his baggage and settled himself against the planking, Bracht at his side.
The Sea Dancer was a sizable craft of typical Kand design, wide-bellied, with poop and forecastle overlooking the main deck, arbalests mounted on both. Her three masts carried square sails that rose now to the accompaniment of ek'Jemm's shouting, filling as they caught the wind and the vessel turned ponderously from the harbor. Instantly her swaying was more pronounced and Calandryll heard Bracht groan, turning to see the Kem pale beneath his tan.
"Seasickness passes," he advised cheerfully, refusing to allow the mercenary's discomfort to dampen his own growing enthusiasm.
Bracht's only response was a heartfelt sigh and Calandryll climbed to his feet to watch Aldarin disappear behind them.
The city was still hung with tatters of mist, but now the walls were visible, rising out of the grey, the sky beyond brightening as the sun approached the horizon. At the farther end of the river valley a band of reddish gold stretched from hillside to hillside, surmounted by a growing swath of blue that extended itself as he watched, spreading out to swallow the grey. Then pure brilliance shone down the length of the Alda as the sun came up, driving off the last vestiges of fog to bathe the city in golden light. He turned, looking ahead, and saw the moon low on the western horizon, the sky there still dark, but brightening as day overtook the world. Soon the sky was blue, long ribbons of pristine white cloud strung out high overhead by the same wind that carried them toward Kandahar, and he felt excitement grip him: now the quest was truly begun.
A moan from Bracht tore him from his observation and he saw the Kem rise awkwardly, stumbling to the bulwarks to hang over the surging ocean, shoulders heaving as he emptied his breakfast into the waves.
"Landlubber." Rahamman ek'Jemm's harsh voice rang contemptuous in his ear. "What is he, a Kem?"
Calandryll nodded.
"You're not afflicted?" the captain demanded.
"No." He shook his head. "I've sailed before, though not on so grand a vessel."
That seemed to please the Kand, for his plump face creased in a brief smile and he nodded approvingly.
"The old Sea Dancer's a stout craft, sure enough. What've you used? Those little toys you Lyssians call boats?"
He thought of the small craft he had sailed in Secca s harbor and said, "Dinghies. A caravel, once."
Ek'Jemm snorted. "Coastal craft. You need a ship with heart to cross the Narrow Sea." He stabbed a finger in Bracht's direction. "When he's empty I'll have a man show you your cabins."
"Thank you," Calandryll said. "Do you carry an altar to Burash, Captain?"
The Kand showed surprise, green eyes narrowing until they were almost hidden in the fleshy folds of his face.
"You're a Dera-lover if you're from Lysse. And you're no seaman—why d'you want to sacrifice to Burash?"
"I travel over water, and the sea's his domain."
The explanation was sound enough: the Kand nodded, gesturing at the ocean. "We need no altars when he's all around us. The ocean's his temple."
Calandryll nodded. "Are there forms I need observe? What might he accept?"
"The priests have rituals," ek'Jemm rumbled, "but Burash'll hear you if he's in the mood to listen, and there's no priest on board. The sacrifice? What's p
recious to you? Give him something precious."
Calandryll thought for a moment. A book would be precious to him, but he had none with him; the map, the red stone, they were too precious to give up. He might need his sword. "Might this be accepted?" he asked, drawing the signet from his ring finger.
Ek'Jemm shrugged: Calandryll decided the ring must do. He walked to the rail, standing upwind from the heaving Bracht, hand extended over the waves.
"Hear me, Burash," he murmured. "I ask that you favor this journey. We travel your domain and I ask that you grant us safe passage over all your waters."
He opened his hand, the ring glittering as it fell to the waves. He hoped it was enough—it was all he could do.
He turned away, finding Bracht's eyes on him. The Kem's face was tinted with a greenish hue and he sucked air as though he thought each breath might be his last. Calandryll anticipated criticism, but all Bracht said was, "Does that buy me respite from this malaise? Ahrd, but I'd not thought sea travel could be so foul."
Calandryll was about to reply, but the mercenary turned away, hanging over the rail again, racked.
"I've a nostrum might help," ek'Jemm announced, calmly studying the Kem, "ana I'll have a bucket placed in your cabin."
"Thank you," Calandryll answered on behalf of his comrade: Bracht was in no condition to speak.
The captain grunted a reply and left them, climbing the companionway to the poop deck. The Sea Dancer gathered speed, the deck pitching and rolling as she gained the open sea, her sails bellying, the masthead pennants snapping briskly. Sea gulls wheeled overhead, an aerial escort, their shrill cries cutting through the steady slap of water against her prow and the steady ramble of the wind-filled canvas. Calandryll clutched a stay, bracing against the roll, hair streaming in the breeze. He was exhilarated: there was a pure excitement to sea travel that stretched his mouth in an eager smile as he felt salt spray dash his face and filled his lungs with air tangy with ozone.
He looked to where Bracht hung miserable over the rail and saw that the Kem's stomach was empty, his retching dry now. Too much of that could damage his insides, and ek'Jemm had made no mention of carrying a ship's healer: he set a hand to Bracht's shoulder.
"We'd best go below. You'll feel better in your bunk." Bracht nodded dumbly and Calandryll said, "Wait here," leaving him to climb the companionway.
Rahamman ek'Jemm stood straddle-legged behind the wheel, a seaman at his side ready to take the helm. The captain had shed his cape and stood in portly splendor of yellow and black, the tails of his headdress fluttering. He glanced at Calandryll with vague irritation, as though passengers were not welcome in this lofty place.
"I'd see my comrade to his bunk," Calandryll said.
Ek'Jemm nodded and bellowed, "Mehemmed!"
Calandryll felt his sleeve tugged and turned on the ladder to find a shirtless youth of about his own age clambering unceremoniously past him. A dark brown face glanced curiously his way, flashing a toothy grin, and the Kand sprang onto the poop.
"Captain?"
"Show this one and his puking friend to their cabin. And make sure they've got a bucket."
Mehemmed ducked his head and turned toward Calandryll, who said, "You promised a nostrum, too, Captain."
Rahamman ek'Jemm frowned, taken aback.
"You understand the tongue of Kandahar?"
"And speak it," Calandryll replied in the same language.
Ek'Jemm snorted and said, "When you've shown our passengers to their cabin, go to mine and bring them the blue bottle from my medicine chest. Three drops in a little water, morning, noon, and night."
This latter was directed at Calandryll, who smiled his thanks and descended to the deck, Mehemmed close behind.
They fetched Bracht from the rail and helped him across to the hatchway. Calandryll stooped to collect their gear and Mehemmed eased the pale-faced Kem down into the bowels of the ship. The air was musty and Calandryll was pleased to find their cabin had a port: he opened it as Mehemmed settled Bracht on the bunk below.
"I'll bring the nostrum and the bucket," Mehemmed promised.
"Oh, Ahrd preserve me," Bracht moaned. "Had I known it would be like this .. ."
"Best hope the sea stays this calm," Mehemmed grinned, and ducked through the low hatchway.
Calandryll tossed their gear onto the second bunk and looked around. The cabin was small, the two bunks occupying most of its space, storage lockers beneath them and a narrow aisle between. The ceiling was low enough, he had to stoop and he sat, tom between amusement and sympathy for Bracht's condition.
Mehemmed returned with a bucket and a small flask of blue glass, a carafe and a beaker. He filled the beaker and carefully measured three drops from the flask into the water, handing the remedy to Bracht. The Kem drank it and grimaced.
"It tastes foul," Mehemmed chuckled. "But it'll cure you."
"Unless I die first," Bracht moaned, and fell back.
"He'd best eat," the Kand youth advised, "I'll fetch you something."
He brought a plate of bread and cold pork: Bracht glanced at it once, shook his head, and turned away.
"He needs something in his stomach." Mehemmed looked to Calandryll for support. "Shall you feed him?"
Calandryll nodded and took the plate. The Kand seemed reluctant to leave, lingering by the door with a curious expression on his narrow face.
"He's your bodyguard?" he asked.
It was the simplest explanation: Calandryll nodded.
"And who are you?"
"My name is Calandryll."
He thought it best not to give his family name, for fear his father had sent word of some kind to Aldarin: there might be a reward for his return.
"You're a merchant?"
They had discussed this with Varent, deciding that their journey should be explained away as a trade mission, he an emissary sent to establish business links with the merchants of Kandahar, Bracht his bodyguard: he said as much.
Mehemmed grinned: “He's a poor bodyguard if you're to travel by sea. You'd have done better to hire a Kand. Burash put salt in our blood."
"He's capable enough," Calandryll replied defensively. "At least on land."
"Then best hope no corsairs cross our path," the youth declared cheerfully, and left them.
Calandryll stowed their gear and settled to persuading Bracht to eat. The Kern succeeded in swallowing a few mouthfuls before he pushed the plate away and bent over the bucket.
"We should've ridden overland," he groaned when he was done.
"That would take months," Calandryll protested. "We'd need to cross half Lysse, then swing south through Eyl. And then the Shann Desert would lie before us. This way, we'll tread dry land in Mhemt'yi in little more than a week.”
"A week!" Bracht mumbled. "Shall I live so long?"
"You'll survive," Calandryll promised.
Bracht moaned again and turned his face to the wall.
In a while he slept and Calandryll left him to go back on deck. The Sea Dancer moved at a brisk pace, the coastline of Lysse fading to stem, lost in the fusion of sea and sky. The wind blew steady from the northeast and ek'Jemm had set all his canvas to take full advantage of the blow. Whatever cargo he carried back to Kandahar provided solid ballast, for the ship sat low in the water, that thought provoking a grin as Calandryll wondered how Bracht might have fared had the vessel sailed with empty holds, riding high and rolling like a wave-tossed cork. He did his best to stay out of the sailors' way, although his natural curiosity prompted him to inspect the craft as much as possible and he roamed the deck and lower levels until a gong informed him that food was served.
He ate on deck with the crew, Rahamman ek'Jemm dining alone on the poop, and found himself the object of curious glances, though only Mehemmed made any attempt at conversation, that mostly a string of questions about the cities of Lysse. He realized that these men spent the larger part of their lives on the water, plying the trade routes between Kandahar and his homeland or the c
oast of the great peninsula. The food was simple after the luxurious fare of Varent's mansion, but he enjoyed it, his appetite sharp, and when he was done carried a platter below to Bracht. The freesword was awake again, accepting a further dose of the nostrum and even holding down a few mouthfuls of beef, though his humor was not improved and when he declared himself unable to eat more Calandryll left him to sleep.
He went back on deck, wishing he had been able to bring at least one book with him, for boredom threatened as the crew went about their duties, too busy to spare time for a passenger, and he realized that the crossing likely meant days of enforced idleness. He fetched his sword from the cabin and engaged in the exercises Bracht had taught him, ignoring the embarrassment induced by the crew's obvious amusement as he slashed and cut the empty air.
Then his practice was interrupted by Mehemmed.
"The captain wants you," the youth announced. "Quick."
Curious, Callandryll sheathed his blade and climbed to the poop. Ek'Jemm had given the wheel to his helmsman and stood beside the stem arbalest, a spyglass raised.
"Lord Varent said you act as his emissary," he declared. "That you travel to Mherut'yi on merchant's business."
"Yes," Calandryll agreed.
"To negotiate contracts," the captain said.
"Yes."
Calandryll wondered what disturbed the Kand seaman.
"Secret business."
"Yes."
"Might you have rivals in this venture? Might they know of your departure?"
Calandryll stared at the man's plump face, an ugly suspicion dawning. He shrugged: "Perhaps. Why?"
Ek'Jemm handed him the spyglass and pointed astern.
"You see it?"
He peered down the leather-bound tube, the lenses producing a blurred magnification that at first defeated his inexperienced eye. Then he focused on a dark shape resting low in the water, the image growing clearer as he concentrated. A single mast supported a square sail, the prow curving high, carved in semblance of some ocean creature; the body of the craft low and lean. It had a rakish look, as if designed for speed.
"That craft has the lines of a warboat," ek'Jemm announced. "It seems corsairs follow us."
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