Calandryll lowered the glass and faced the captain, his heart beating dully. "Do the corsairs sail so early?" he asked.
"No." The Kand shook his head. "Mine is the first craft to make the spring crossing. And no pirate vessel came after. That warboat set sail from Lysse."
"Perhaps it lay in wait."
Calandryll hoped the captain would agree: if not, the vessel was likely sent by Azumandias. Might carry the warlock on board. But Rahamman ek'Jemm disappointed him. He shook his head again and said, "No. It sailed from Lysse. I think it chases you."
Calandryll passed the spyglass back.
"What will you do?"
"Pray to Burash we can outran her. If not, fight. Or..."
He paused studying Calandryll speculatively.
"Or?"
"Give them what they want," ek'Jemm said calmly. "I'll not lose my ship for one hundred varre."
8
“You made a bargain!” Calandryll stared at the man, aware that outrage—or trepidation, he was not sure which—lent his protest a shrill edge. He cleared his throat, self-consciously deepening his voice. "You undertook to bring us safe to Kandahar."
Ek'Jemm ducked his head in the direction of the war-boat, without the spyglass no more than a speck on the blue horizon.
"I undertook to carry two passengers to Mherut'yi. There was no mention of pursuit."
Calandryll clutched the hilt of his sword, wondering if he should draw the weapon: set the point to the Kand's throat and insist he fight if necessary. He dismissed the impulse as senseless: were Bracht with him they might bring it off, but even were the mercenary fit enough to back him they would still face all of ek'Jemm's crew; and their pursuers. He thought of offering a bonus, but dismissed that, too. The funds Varent had provided were needed to get them to Gessyth: without them, they would be stranded in a foreign land. And what coin he did carry was scarcely sufficient to compensate ek'Jemm for the risking of his vessel. And if the captain knew how much they carried, he might take it for himself. It seemed diplomacy was his only resort.
"Lord Varent would take it ill should you deliver us into the hands of his enemies," he said, doing his best to make his voice coolly threatening. "You'd likely find yourself banned from Aldarin harbor."
The Kand studied him for a moment, lips pursed, then said, "How should Lord Varent find out?"
"He'd know," said Calandryll. "My word on it."
Ek'Jemm chuckled, glancing astern.
"You've nerve enough, I'll grant you that. And there's time in hand to make such decisions—that sea wolf's fast, but she'll not catch us for a day or two if this wind holds. Perhaps we can outdistance her. If not, well. . . I'll decide then."
"It would be worth your while to fight," Calandryll promised rashly. "Lord Varent would reward you well."
Ek'Jemm nodded. "Perhaps. But what good a reward if I lie with Burash?"
Calandryll could think of no appropriate answer and the Kand chuckled again, humorlessly. "You see my dilemma? I've a boat and crew to think of. Best pray we can outrun her."
Calandryll grimaced, turning to stare aft. The sky was darkening, the sun already touching the western horizon, and the warboat was lost in the obfuscation.
"The Sea Dancer’s fleet enough," ek'Jemm said, a trifle more kindly, "perhaps we can lose her in the night. Perhaps our arbalests will put her off."
He patted the great crossbow affectionately, then turned Dack to the wheel.
"Now clear my deck. Keep out of my crew's way— we've some sailing to do,- and light no lanterns."
Dismissed, Calandryll climbed from the poop, returning to the cabin, where Bracht lay sleeping. The freesword stirred as he entered, a dark shape in the shadowy interior. Calandryll set the bucket down, cursing as he rose to bump his head against the low ceiling.
"Is tnere no lantern?" asked the Kern.
"We run without lights," Calandryll said, and explained the situation.
"Azumandias?" Bracht grunted. "Did Varent's magic not conceal our tracks, then?"
He seemed almost pleased at the prospect of such failure, as if it justified his distrust of magic. Calandryll shrugged, the gesture unseen in the darkness, and found the nostrum, administering a further dose. Bracht drank the potion and swung his feet to the floor, groaning. He was clearly too weak to fight and Calandryll pushed him back.
"There's nothing you can do," he advised. "Ek'Jemm says it will take the warboat a day or two to catch us if the wind holds, and we might lose her in the night. Better that you rest."
The Kern sighed and fell back across the bunk. "If we'd gone horseback, like civilized folk ..."
Mehemmed's face appeared in the hatchway then, nostrils wrinkling as he smelled the cabin. "I've brought you food," he said in thickly accented Lyssian. "Open the port and I'll fetch something to clear the stink."
He set two platters down and disappeared, returning moments later with sticks of incense. He set them about the cabin and stmck a spark from a tinderbox, lighting them. They gave off no glow, but sweet-scented smoke drifted from the tips, mingling with the fresh sea air to overwhelm the sour odor of Bracht's vomit.
"That's better," the Kand youth declared, grinning. "How d'you feel?"
"Nervous," Bracht grunted.
Mehemmed chuckled. "It's exciting isn't it? I've sailed with the captain five voyages now and we've never been chased."
Calandryll stared at him, noticing that he wore a long dagger sheathed in his sash, surprised by his enthusiasm.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked.
"I suppose so." Mehemmed shrugged. "But it's still exciting. I doubt the warboat can catch us, anyway—we're running under full sail and the captain thinks the wind will hold for a while. Likely we'll lose the warboat tonight."
His optimism was cheering, but misplaced.
The next morning, while Bracht still slept, Calandryll made for the poop deck. Rahamman ek'Jemm stood by the wheel as though he had stood there all night, and would stand there throughout the voyage, though now a wide-bladed sword was belted on his sizable waist. His green eyes narrowed as Calandryll appeared.
"It's still there." He stabbed a thumb to the northeast. Calandryll squinted into the glare and saw nothing.
"Here." Ek'Jemm thrust the spyglass toward him
"She's hull down on the skyline. We've kept distance, no iqflre."
^Calandryll took the glass and raised it to his eye, wine- ing as the new risen sun was magnified, traversing the horizon until he located the dark square of sail. It seemed to him the Kand was pessimistic: surely the warboat had fallen back a little?
"If we can only hold distance we must reach Mherut'yi before she closes," he said.
"If this wind holds," ek'Jemm nodded, "but only if it holds. I smell a change coming, and that sea wolf carries oars—which gives her an advantage if we've no wind."
Calandryll gestured at the arbalest. "If they must use oars, can you not cripple them?"
The Kand shrugged. "If we're lucky, but a warboat's hard to stop. You'd best hope Burash accepted that offering you made."
"Yes," he agreed, and went in search of breakfast.
He carried two plates to the cabin, finding Bracht awake, measuring the nostrum into a beaker of stale water.
"I feel recovered," the freesword declared. "We must obtain more of this when we sail for Gessyth."
He seemed closer to his old self. The greenish pallor that had colored his face was faded and his eyes were brighter. Calandryll saw that the bucket stood empty, and when he set the plates down, Bracht took one without demur. He tossed the slab of salted pork out through the window, but ate the bread and cheese. Better still, he kept it down, and when he was finished, declared his intention of going on deck.
Almost immediately he faltered, looking wildly round for something to clutch as the Dancer rolled beneath his feet. Calandryll took his arm and helped him to the rail, which he held firmly, bracing himself against the swaying planks.
"Ahrd knows,
" he muttered grimly, "this is no way for a man to travel."
Calandryll grinned, delighted that his comrade regained his composure.
"Now," said Bracht, "I'd see this boat that chases us."
Ek'Jemm was irritated by their presence, but passed the Kem his spyglass, smiling maliciously as Bracht tottered uncomfortably to the arbalest, steadying himself against the crossbow as he peered through the glass.
"So that's a warboat," he murmured. "What's that carved on the bow?"
"The bow?" Calandryll snatched the glass from his hands. "You can see the bow?"
He adjusted his weight, compensating for the pitch of the deck, and saw the slender craft had gained on them. It no longer lay hull down below the horizon, but was closer, the dragon's head prow clearly visible.
"Give me the glass."
Ek'Jemm's harsh voice rang in his ear and he passed the telescope to the Kand. The man stood for long moments with the leather tube pressed to his eye, then grunted, turning to peer up at his sails.
"Burash rot them," he muttered. "It's as I feared."
"The wind drops," Calandryll told Bracht. "And the warboat carries oars."
Bracht followed the captain's gaze and nodded, glancing at Calandryll, who in turn stared at the sails. It seemed that in the time they had emerged from their cabin and climbed to the poop the wind had lessened. It still blew, but the Sea Dancer lost headway. Ek'Jemm bellowed orders and seamen clambered aloft, adjusting the canvas. The captain mouthed a curse and ordered his helm brought over. The vessel swung slightly to starboard, the sails filling again. Ek'Jemm said, "Go below."
"We'd not be handed over like cattle for the slaughtering," said Bracht, his free hand set about the falchion's hilt.
"I think," said the captain, "that if you draw that sword you'll fall down."
As if to emphasize his point, he barked a further command in his own language and the Sea Dancer swung to port, her deck canting. Calandryll braced against the roll and kept his footing. Bracht shouted and lost his hold on the arbalest, falling to the deck and sliding across the planks to fetch up against the taffrail. Ek'Jemm chuckled; Bracht hauled himself upright. His pallor had returned and Calandryll realized that he was less recovered from the malaise than his actions suggested. Willpower had brought him to the poop and it was determination that now blazed furiously from the dulled tan of his face as he drew the sword.
It seemed to amuse ek'Jemm: a thick-lipped smile creased his plump cheeks and he nodded as if in appreciation of the Kem's courage. Then Calandryll saw him gesture with his left hand and the helmsman turned the wheel a trifle more. It was only a small adjustment in the great hoop's revolution, but it tilted the deck at an even greater angle. Calandryll himself staggered, arms flailing as he struggled to retain his balance; Bracht was flung hard against the rail, almost losing his blade as he teetered, close to toppling over into the waves. Calandryll slithered across the deck to snatch a handful of his leather shirt and drag the freesword back to safety. Close up, the Kem's tan was once again tinted with green, his forehead and upper lip glistening with a fine sheen of feverish sweat. The two sailors manning the arbalest came nimbly across the planks, wide, curve-bladed swords in their hands.
Bracht turned to face them, tearing loose of Calandryll's grip, and found himself sliding backwards again.
"No doubt a freesword like you could carve both my fellows on land," ek'Jemm said, "But you stand on the deck of my craft and here you don't stand a chance. Now sheath that Burash-damned blade!"
Calandryll saw that it was useless to protest or fight: he nodded to Bracht, reaching out to steady the Kem.
Reluctantly—and not without difficulty—Bracht slid the falchion into its scabbard. Ek'Jemm spoke to the helmsman and the Sea Dancer righted, the deck flattening again. Calandryll and Bracht stood shoulder to shoulder against the taffrail, facing the two armed sailors. Ek'Jemm shouted and two more swordsmen came scurrying up the companionway.
"Under the sea laws of Kandahar I could hang you for that," said the captain, "but I won't. I admire your courage, if not your stupidity. Now go below."
Four weapons gave threatening weight to his command: Calandryll and Bracht had little chance but to obey.
The four sailors prodded them down the ladder and back into the bowels of the ship. The cabin door banged shut and they heard a bolt slide home. Bracht flung himself furiously onto his bunk, his pallor hidden beneath a dark flush of anger. Calandryll bent across him to peer from the window. The angle of the Sea Dancer's course afforded him sight of the pursuing warboat. It was closer now, no longer a speck but a distinct shape, visible to the naked eye: he wondered how long it would take to catch them. He fell onto his own bunk, staring at Bracht.
The Kern lay with his hands folded across his stomach, eyes fixed on the boards above, his hawkish features set in harsh lines. Calandryll said, "There was nothing else we could do. He'd have ordered us killed had we refused."
Bracht snorted and rolled on his side, presenting his back to Calandryll. The younger man opened his mouth to speak again, but then thought better of it, holding silent as he stretched out, staring helplessly at the planks above him: there seemed nothing they could do save wait; that, and hope.
The day passed slowly. The Sea Dancer altered course from time to time, tacking in forlorn hope of using the steadily decreasing wind, the warboat intermittently visible, still some distance off, but clearly narrowing the gap between the two vessels. Around noon a silent Mehemmed brought them food and fresh water, and Bracht took more of the nostrum. Calandryll wished he had a book, but contented himself with a careful study of the map.
"You waste your time," Bracht said, irritable.
"Perhaps," Calandryll returned, himself irked by his comrade's sullen attitude, "Perhaps not."
Bracht rose on one elbow to peer from the window. "It's closer," he said. "Before long it'll overhaul us and that fat coward will hand us over."
Calandryll set the map aside, kneeling on Bracht's bunk to study the warboat. It was, indeed, closer: he could see the black rectangle of the sail, like the vessel of his dream, clear against the blue of the afternoon sky, the sleek hull below, curving up to the figurehead.
"It's a sea dragon," he murmured.
"What?" Bracht frowned.
"The prow—it's carved in the shape of a sea dragon."
Bracht grunted.
"If he does," Calandryll said softly, "I'll toss the satchel overboard. The coin it holds is weighty enough to sink it—at least Azumandias won't get the map."
"He'll have us instead," Bracht said.
"So?"
Calandryll regained his bunk as the Dancer turned, fighting the fear the Kem's flat statement roused; affecting calm.
"So you've studied the chart," Bracht said, "and doubtless it's fixed in that scholar's mind of yours. And Azumandias is a warlock—of great power, Varent said. Do you not think he'll use magic to leech the knowledge from you?"
Calandryll swallowed hard: that possibility had not occurred to him. He licked his lips nervously. There were sages claimed that a man's mind retained all he saw, all he read; that every experience of his life was kept within some indefinable mental receptacle. And he had done his best to memorize the chart. If the sages—if Bracht—were right, then Azumandias would draw out that knowledge: he could not resist magic.
He nodded, steeling himself, and said, "Then I must go down with it."
Bracht stared at him.
"That's a thing said easier than it's done."
"Azumandias must not gain the chart," he said fiercely. "He must not find the way to Tez. He'll likely kill us, anyway. That, or something worse. I'd sooner drown than let him raise the Mad God."
"Noble sentiments," Bracht murmured, and for a moment Calandryll wondered if he mocked, "but perhaps there's another way."
"What? We're prisoners here, unarmed. What other way is there?"
"The stone," Bracht said, "and Varent's spell."
Caland
ryll frowned, shaking his head.
"What good invisibility?"
"If ek'Jemm proposes to hand us over, he'll likely have us brought on deck. The ... poop's? ... the most likely place—from there we'll be in clear sight. Use the stone and disappear! Hide. This tub's large enough a man who can't be seen should be able to hide."
"And you?"
Bracht shrugged, white teeth exposed in a cold gnn.
"I'm a Kem freesword hired to escort you. I can't read; I've not studied the map. What can I tell Azumandias, save what he already knows?"
"He'll kill you," Calandryll said.
"Probably, but it appears I face death whichever way I turn."
"He'll know," Calandryll protested. "He'll know there's magic afoot."
Again Bracht shrugged.
"But perhaps he'll not be able to find you. Who knows? Perhaps he'll send ek'Jemm to the bottom and you'll drown anyway. Perhaps he'll choose to let the ship go— hope to hunt you down in Kandahar. It seems the only chance we have."
"I have," Calandryll corrected.
"The only chance to prevent Azumandias laying hands on the chart, then. It's worth taking."
Calandryll nodded; reluctantly.
"Yes."
"Be ready," said the Kem, and stretched back on the bunk, closing his eyes.
Calandryll fingered the red stone at his throat. It was cold to the touch and when he raised it he saw only a glassy ovoid like an overlarge, crimson teardrop, a hint of flame faint within its depths. He tucked it back beneath his shirt and folded the map back inside the satchel as he pondered Bracht's suggestion. It was a desperate plan— and one, it seemed to him, that had little chance of success—but it was, as the Kem had pointed out, the only one they had alternative to his suicide. Perhaps he would be able to hide on the Sea Dancer, and if Azumandias wanted the map, the warlock was unlikely to risk sending it down with a sinking ship. But could he evade the wizard's magic? Would the spell Varent had taught him conceal him from occult investigation? That he could not know until the time came.
He studied Bracht, abruptly melancholy. It seemed the mercenary was prepared to die, leaving him a chance to live, to continue their mission, and the thought of going on without the blunt-spoken freesword depressed him. For all Bracht's doubts, for all his mistrust of Varent, he had come to like the Kem. He truly believed the man was one of the comrades foretold by Reba. He sighed, remembering the spaewife's warning that water offered danger: had he sacrificed properly to Burash, might they have avoided this impasse? Was it his omission had brought them to this point? He sighed again and stretched out on the bunk, the satchel for a pillow.
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