"You had done better to have listened to him, Captain," the freesword said quickly, casting a warning glance in Calandryll's direction.
Ek'Jemm nodded dumbly, eyeing them with a newfound respect that bordered on open fear. Calandryll looked at Bracht with eyes widened by amazement; the Kern winked. The wind still blew, no longer a gale, but strong enough. Ek'Jemm asked wonderingly, "Are you a mage?"
Calandryll caught Bracht's eye and shrugged.
"Would you have him demonstrate again?" asked the mercenary.
The Kand swallowed and shook his head.
"That was sufficient. Why did you not tell me?"
"I prefer to travel incognito," Calandryll extemporized: it was not, entirely, a lie.
"Had I known, I would not have ... Forgive me ... Lord Varent made no mention of it... I could not know."
Calandryll found that he enjoyed the man's discomfort: it was some small recompense for his imprisonment. "I would not have it published abroad," he said. "And I trust you will hold your tongue—see that your men keep it to themselves, too."
It was a slender hope: to ask a crew that had just witnessed so miraculous an event to remain silent was ... as unlikely as the maelstrom or the gale, he decided. Nonetheless, ek'Jemm nodded enthusiastically.
"As you command."
"We are merely two passengers traveling to Kandahar on private business," Calandryll said. "No more than that—you understand?"
"Aye. Indeed, aye!" Ek'Jemm's head bobbed vigorously, threatening to dislodge his headdress. "Two passengers. Quite."
"Good. And now we shall leave you."
He grinned at Bracht and led the way down to the deck. The sailors still avoided them, but now it was out of respect, as if they feared the unleashing of further magicks, and they found a place amidships where they might speak privately. Calandryll was suiprised to see anger and suspicion in the Kem's eyes. His amusement at ek'Jemm's newfound humility evaporated, replaced by confusion.
"How did you do that?" Bracht demanded harshly. "Are you a mage? Have you hidden that talent from me?"
"Dera, no!" he answered. "I have no more idea than you how it happened. I touched the stone and the sea boiled—I know no more than that."
Bracht stared at him for a while. "Your word on it?" he asked at last.
"My word," Calandryll promised. "I am no wizard, if that's what you fear."
"Then how?" Bracht frowned, his innate distrust of sorcery writ clear.
Calandryll shrugged helplessly.
"I was about to speak the incantation—as you suggested!—and I saw the sea boil. Dera, Bracht! if I was a wizard I'd have used magic to persuade ek'Jemm against handing us over. Or sunk that warboat before it reached us. I'd have used my own magic to flee Secca! I understand this no better than you."
"But you touched the stone," the Kern persisted.
"To hide," Calandryll answered, "only that."
"Then how was the magic worked?" The freesword's anger was diminished somewhat, but suspicion still grated in his voice. He fixed Calandryll with a hard blue stare.
Calandryll thought for a moment, then said, tentatively, "Lord Varent spoke of my possessing the ability to work magic—do you not remember when he first gave me the stone?—so perhaps, in moments of danger, some power is released. But how, I cannot say. I sought only to ecome invisible as we agreed."
"Varent taught you how to become invisible," Bracht said, "Nothing more."
"And the only spell I know is the one he taught us," Calandryll said earnestly, "I swear it. Perhaps the magic of the stone reacted with Azumandias's magic. I swear I know not how it happened."
"Was Azumandias on that warboat?" Bracht's eyes narrowed. "Who was that woman?"
"Lord Varent said Azumandias is a man. Who the woman might be, I have no idea."
Calandryll spread his hands, indicating incomprehension. Bracht stared at him thoughtfully.
"If Varent uses us, perhaps Azumandias uses the woman."
"Perhaps," Calandryll agreed, "and if so, she's far behind us now. Or sunk."
Bracht nodded. Then: "But why use the woman? Varent's excuse for our employment was the fear of discovery, that Azumandias might uncover his plan. Azumandias needs no. such delicacy."
"Dera!" Calandryll shook his head. "I've no better notion than you why he should. But surely he must—she was no ordinary corsair: she knew we were on board; asked ek'Jemm to hand us over. Who else would send her? She must be the agent of Azumandias."
"Likely she is," Bracht agreed, "and followed us out of Aldarin. But still I do not understand why Azumandias himself does not pursue us."
"Nor I," said Calandryll. "Save that Lord Varent holds him in Lysse by some means."
Bracht's fingers drummed briefly on the falchion's hilt as he ducked ms head. "Perhaps," he allowed.
"At least we escaped her," said Calandryll.
'Through use of sorcery." The Kem's face grew dark again. "I've no love of magic."
"You were the one suggested I employ such means!" Calandryll protested.
Bracht shrugged, and grinned as he recognized his own inconsistency. "As a last resort," he said. "To save you from a watery death."
"Whatever the reason, it saved us all."
"Aye, there's that," the Kem admitted, his grin becoming a full-fledged smile. "And ek'Jemm accords us more respect now. But still I wonder who the woman was."
"Likely we'll never know," Calandryll said.
He was wrong, but then, basking in the relief of their escape, he could not know that both their destinies were inextricably linked with the mysterious woman.
9
Twilight hung a curtain of soft, velvet blue over the coastline of Kandahar as the Dancer entered the harbor at Mherut'yi. The sun was dropped behind the barrier of the central mountains, the rimrock marked by a swath of fiery orange, and the sky to the east darkened with the advancement of night. The town huddled low along the flat shore, obscure save for random pinpricks of brilliance that cut through the drapery of the dusk where lanterns burned in scattered windows. Calandryll, accustomed to the walled cities of Lysse, was surprised to see no fortifications other than a fortalice illuminated by the beacons that flared along the mole protecting the anchorage, no ramparts or watchtowers, or any other sign of defensive construction. He had known that Mherut'yi was no metropolis, but the settlement he saw as they drifted past the mole was tiny by the standards of Secca or Aldarin, little more than an outpost on the edge of the Shann Desert. He heard Rahamman ek'Jemm shout orders and anchors splashed at bow and stem, the merchantman easing leisurely to a halt and swaying gently at her moorings. The favorable wind that had carried them steadily across the Narrow Sea since the encounter with the warboat straggled briefly with the breeze off the desert and gave up, tne masthead pennants hanging listless, the ship creaking softly. With that cessation of movement the air grew hot and dry, redolent of the sand that spread wide to the north. Calandryll paid the captain and, Bracht close behind, followed him down a ladder to the boat that came out to meet them.
"You have lodgings?" the Kand inquired as they were rowed to the dock. "I can recommend a decent inn—the Sailor's Rest has clean beds and sets a fair table."
"Thank you."
Calandryll glanced at Bracht, who frowned a silent negative and stared ashore as if entranced with the prospect of once again finding himself on dry land.
"I stay there myself when I'm in Mherut'yi," said ek'Jemm, affable to the point of deference since witnessing Calandryll's apparent display of magical talent. "I can promise you the finest quarters available."
Calandryll nodded absently. He had no intention of using the inn: better, he and Bracht had decided, to conceal their tracks from the start. Ek'Jemm went ashore alone only to clear his vessel with the harbor authorities,- once that formality was dispensed, his crew would come off, and within the hour they would be talking about their adventures. Before long, word of the two mysterious travelers would be out on the waterfront, and
soon spread through the town. They would find some discreet hostelry to spend the night and in the morning purchase horses and take the Tyrant's road inland to Nhur-jabal.
"Thank you," he repeated, "but we have ... plans."
Ek'Jemm shrugged, plump features tom between the desire to please and curiosity.
"As you wish. Your business is in Mherut'yi? Or elsewhere? I sail for Ghombalar with the morning tide should that be convenient."
Bracht spoke from the bow without turning his head. "Our business is private, Captain. And we'd have it remain so."
The Kand's face stiffened at the rebuke, then reformed an obsequious smile.
"Of course. You can rely on me.."
Bracht grunted. Calandryll said, "The contracts we negotiate on Lord Varent's behalf are delicate, Captain. The fewer who know of our arrival, the better."
"Yes, of course." Ek'Jemm nodded eagerly. "I understand."
Calandryll suppressed a smile and watched the dockside loom from the shadows.
The boatman sprang to the wharf, mooring the dinghy, and they climbed stone steps to the quayside. Bracht sighed as he trod solid ground again, turning as a squad of soldiers in leathery armor marched from the nearby fortalice.
"Allow me," murmured ek'Jemm, pushing past to present himself to the officer in command. "They know me here."
"I am Rahamman ek'Jemm, master of the merchant ship Sea Dancer," he declared formally, "en route to Ghombalar with a cargo of Aldan wine. These gentlemen took passage with me. They come to negotiate trade agreements on behalf of Lord Varent den Tarl of Aldarin."
The officer took the papers ek'Jemm offered and gave them a cursory glance before turning his gaze on Calandryll and Bracht. He was tall and thin, his face dark beneath a scarlet puggaree wound about a conical helm. He wore a breastplate and greaves of hard red leather, and a curved sword was sheathed at his side. His men carried hooked pikes.
"You are?"
Calandryll recalled the protocol demanded when greeting a minor functionary: he ducked his head briefly, hands spread, asuming a businesslike manner.
"I am Calandryll, factor to Lord Varent. This is my bodyguard."
The officer glanced at Bracht, then returned his attention to ek'Jemm.
"You vouch for them?"
"Most certainly," said the captain.
The officer eyed them with bored disinterest and nodded. "Very well, you may go."
"Thank you." Calandryll bowed again, and smiled in ek'Jemm's direction. "Our thanks, Captain. I'll recommend Lord Varent use you again."
"Thank you," beamed the Kand, bowing deeply. "And remember—should you decide to favor the Sailor's Rest you need only mention my name."
Calandryll nodded and led the way past the soldiers, mildly confused by a footing that no longer rolled and shifted beneath him. Ahead lay a barrier of pale stone warehouses. Indeed, it seemed that Mherut'yi was built exclusively of the same yellowish stone, save for the docks and the mole and the fortalice, which were of harder-looking grey stone. The buildings were low, with shallow, shingled roofs, their windows shuttered against the oppressive wind, set square on to a geometric pattern of right-angled dirt streets. The lights they had seen as they approached were hidden now and they wandered for a little while among the warehouses before emerging on a plaza where stunted trees stood dusty at the center, their arrival greeted by a desultory yapping from five lean- flanked dogs stretched beneath the trees. The lanterns and the sounds of music coming from the surrounding buildings suggested they had found Mherut'yi's taverns, and the few folk they saw were mostly sailors or fishermen from their dress, studying the travelers incuriously, as though foreigners were no strangers here. There was no sign that the town mounted any watch patrols and the streets were lampless: they decided to inquire in a tavern about hostelries.
The place they chose was called The Mermaid and had sawdust on the floor and sweet-smelling smoke hanging thick in the air, drifting from numerous pipes to hang beneath the low ceiling in a haze of swirling blue, the smokers smiling indolently as the narcotic took effect. Several gaudily dressed women, their hair and necks and wrists heavy with beaten gold jewelery, eyed them speculatively as they approached the plank counter, reminding Calandryll of the doxy whose irritation had first brought him to Bracht's attention.
The Kern, too, was reminded, because he grinned and murmured, "This time pick your company more carefully."
Calandryll's only answer was a shamefaced smile.
"Friends, what's your pleasure?"
The innkeeper was stouter than ek'Jemm, but taller, his scalp glistening sweatily through a thin layer of oiled black hair. He wiped thick-fingered hands on a bright yellow shirt, displaying stained teeth as he beamed, using the pidgin tongue called the Envah that was the lingua franca of the Narrow Sea.
"Ale," said Bracht in the same dialect. "And information."
The man nodded and drew two pots of dark beer. Calandryll noticed that the pots were fashioned of the same leathery material as the soldiers' armor. He guessed it was swamp dragon hide.
"This'll cut the dust." The innkeeper slapped foam from the pots. "The gaheen's started blowing, and that makes a man thirsty."
Calandryll realized he spoke of the hot, dry wind coming off the Shann. Both Medith and Samium mentioned that in spring northern Kandahar was plagued with the gaheen. He sipped the ale: it was warm.
"You're not Kands," the man declared amiably. "What are you? From Lysse?"
Calandryll nodded. Bracht said, "Cuan na'For."
"Kern?" the innkeeper's smile grew wider. "We don't see many Kerns here. You merchants?"
Bracht grunted an affirmative and asked, "Where's a good place to stay?"
"Depends what you want," the man shrugged.
"Clean sheets. No bugs."
"One thing about the gaheen, it kills the bugs," the innkeeper chuckled. "Gives us other problems, but it does kill the bugs. Now—someplace to sleep. You have money?"
Bracht nodded. The man pursed his lips and said, "Mother Raimi's got soft beds, and she's a devil for washing. Good cook, too. Tell her Hammadrar sent you. You'll find her place three streets across and one left. The Sign of the Peacock. You want another pot?"
Bracht shook his head and Calandryll saw that he had emptied his mug: he swallowed his own ale and set the pot down.
"Remember—tell her Hammadrar sent you," the innkeeper called as they walked out.
The wind was stronger as they recrossed the plaza, and very dry, tingling on their skin, skirling dust along the narrow streets in miniature whirlwinds. Calandryll spat grit, a passage from Medith springing to mind: "The gaheen (the 'devil wind') is said to drive men mad, and certainly it is a most irritating breeze, bringing as it does, a material taste of the Shann Desert. Fortunately, it afflicts only the northern parts of Kandahar."
Well, before long they would be riding inland, hopefully away from the gaheen, and so far they had encountered no madmen. Nonetheless, he was grateful when the bulk of buildings checked the prickly gusting.
They left the taverns behind and passed a series of shuttered emporiums, the streets empty, ghostlike as full dark fell. Then lights showed ahead, brighter as they turned into the street described by Hammadrar. Here, signs clattered listlessly, advertising beds and food and baths. They saw one bearing an ornate depiction of a peacock, the paint dulled beneath a layering of dust, and went inside.
The windows were shuttered and glass-encased lamps burned on the walls of a sizable room, its floor spread with gaily patterned carpets, empty chairs and tables along the walls, a small counter to one side. As the door swung shut behind them a bell tinkled and a bead curtain hung across an entrance behind the counter was thrust aside to reveal a small, very dark woman dressed in a robe of startling vermilion and cyan. In contrast to her tanned skin, her hair was silver, held in a net of fine gold mesh.
"Welcome to the Sign of the Peacock," she said. Her voice was thin and high, birdlike. "I'm Mother Raimi."
; Calandryll bowed politely and said, "Hammadrar recommended you to us."
Mother Raimi nodded and asked, "You want rooms?"
"If you have them."
Trilling laughter answered him. "All you want," she chortled. "With the gaheen blowing, Mherut'yi's empty. You can take your pick."
He translated for Bracht and the woman switched to the coastal argot.
"A room apiece and dinner will cost you one var each. A bath, fifty decimi."
"We'll take it," he said.
"Good. Follow me."
She disappeared through the curtain, reemerging from a side door to beckon them into a long corridor running the length of the building.
"Dining room. Baths." She swung her head to indicate the facilities, each movement jangling the necklace she wore. "I'll give you rooms at the back—they're the quietest."
Such consideration seemed unnecessary, given the sleepy atmosphere of the town, but she showed them to chambers facing one another across the corridor, announcing that baths would be drawn and dinner served when they were ready. Unlike Hammadrar, she showed no interest in their origins or their purpose in Mherut'yi, merely opening each door and fetching a lantern from the hall to ignite those inside. Calandryll smiled his thanks and examined his quarters.
After the cramped cabin on the Sea Dancer, the room seemed spacious. A carpet that was only slightly worn covered most of the floor, the windows were shuttered and the lantern cast long shadows over the wide bed. Beside it stood a small table with a ewer, a chest of drawers on the other side, a wardrobe against one wall. The air smelled vaguely musty. "Not been used in a while," Mother Raimi explained, "and with the gaheen blowing it's best to keep the shutters closed." She bustled off. He tossed his baggage on the bed and sat down, wondering if all the towns of Kandahar were as dry and dusty and dull as Mherut'yi.
A knock and Mother Raimi's shrill voice announced that their baths were ready and he joined Bracht in the corridor, his sword and the satchel in his arms. He was pleased to see that the Kem took the same precautions, his falchion on his waist. They followed the woman to the bathroom, where a single vast tub filled the air with stCcim.
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