Faery Lands Forlorn

by Dave Duncan

  "What are you suggesting?" Her voice came out much too shrill.

  "That when we go before the wardens to ask for justice, we go as man and wife. My curse lifted, your throne restored. I will relinquish Arakkaran for the woman I love."

  Love? How to explain the problem tactfully? There wasn't any tactful way. Despite the chill of the wailing wind, she was sweating. "Love? Azak, Rasha's curse has deprived you of—"

  He squeezed so hard that she yelped. His eyes seemed to flash in the dusk. His red beard bristled.

  "Do you think I don't know the difference? Of course I need a woman. Desperately! I burn for the touch of a woman, my hands on her body, her flesh against mine. But what I feel for you is something else, something more, something I have never known till now. It is love! It is as the impish poets say, both joy and agony together. I can think of nothing else. I have eyes only for you. I am miserable except when I am with you. I will do anything, just to see you smile. This has never happened to me before."

  Probably it had never happened because any other woman he had ever wanted had been his for the taking. Why had Inos not seen that this might happen? She had worried that she had no hold over Azak. Now she had too much of a hold over him. Love spurned could turn to hatred.

  "I have never met a woman like you, Inos!" He was almost shouting. "That day you rode Evil, I could not believe it. I had not known a woman could behave like that. Your courage, your spirit—" He released her shoulders. "Why do you think I came?"

  "Wh-what?"

  "To tell the wardens that there is a sorceress in Zark?" He sneered. "Do you think I could not have trusted Kar with that message?"

  "I . . ." Inos was speechless.

  "And do you think I would have trusted Kar with you?"

  Why had she not seen that? Blind, foolish, stupid—

  Azak sank down on one knee. "Inosolan, my beloved, will you marry me?"

  She muttered prayers to all the Gods. When had Azak last knelt to anyone? What would he do if she refused? His intensity terrified her. He was a killer. He was capable of anything. She might learn to love a hard man, a fighter, but only if he had some gentleness in him somewhere. And some respect for her womanhood. Azak had neither. A djinn? Who would reign in Krasnegar—the queen or her husband?

  Azak's arrogance had no limits at all. He knew he was the ultimate male. He would never understand a woman refusing such a mate.

  "Azak, when I marry, I must not jump into . . . I mean . . . Oh, Azak! Please stand up."

  Reluctantly he rose, towering over her again.

  Trust in love! the God had told her.

  It was crazy, but it was also horribly logical. Azak was a perfect solution to Krasnegar's problem. After all the trouble with legionaries, and perhaps with jotnar, the city would need a firmer rule than Holindarn's. The ideal monarch would be strong, impartial, and experienced. Azak was all of those. Gods!

  Think, woman, think!

  "Azak, there are too many things we don't know! Krasnegar may have been seized by Kalkor, or taken over by the Impire, or razed and butchered. The wardens may not want to help." He started to speak and she shouted, "You expect me to marry a man who can't even touch me? Who can't kiss me, or hold my hand?"

  He groaned, as if in pain. "A promise—"

  "No! You are being unfair."

  "Tell me that you care, then."

  Not looking at him, Inos said, "I admire you. I am very grateful for all your help, and I promise I will think very hard about this. Anything more . . . I need time to think. Please, Azak?"

  He sighed, and shivered.

  "I shall start spitting ice soon. Let's go down," she said.

  "Yes."

  He took her by the hand, and they started down the slope.

  There were weeks and months of desert ahead of her and Azak would be at her side all the way.

  She did not love Azak ak'Azakar. Not now.

  Could she learn to do so? Or could he persuade her? She had watched wooing done at Kinvale, she had seen maiden won against long odds. Hearts could be won, or won over. Love Azak? She did not think she had ever known love, not real love. Maybe if . . . but he had only been a stableboy. What would Foronod and Yaltauri have said to a stableboy! None of the eligible young men at Kinvale . . . Andor had been a delusion.

  In a daze, Inos stumbled at Azak's side as they descended the rubbly slope, back to the tents.

  What greater proof of love had any man ever offered a woman? He would relinquish Arakkaran for her, leave his homeland, his throne, his unbounded wealth and unlimited power . . . for her! How could any woman refuse such a love?

  Trust in love! the God had said, and at last she understood that cryptic edict.

  The God had been speaking of Azak, and Azak's love.

  Wilderness were paradise:

  A book of Verses underneath the Bough,

  A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou,

  Beside me singing in the Wilderness—

  Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

  Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§12, 1879)

  TWELVE

  Take the cash

  1

  "Think the Old Man's going to drop anchor?" Ogi whispered, his imp's nosiness making him twitch like a dog scenting rats. The captain had just gone by.

  "Likely," Kani mumbled with his mouth full. "He looks almost as old as Rap, here."

  They and a group of others were seated along the gangway, eating sausage and biscuit with their knees up and their backs against the cabins. Some were off duty; some, like Rap, were still too sick to work. On the benches before them, healthier men were rowing their hearts out, timing their stroke to the brutal swell for which Dyre Channel was famous.

  The air was warm and still and muggy, with a thin drizzle keeping everything soaked, and clouds hanging just above the masthead. Even in the shelter of the awnings, water dripped everywhere. The storm had blown itself out before it smashed Stormdancer into the iron toes of the Mosweeps, but Rap had not been dry since he came back aboard; nor had anyone else. By nightfall they would reach Thuli Pan.

  Rap was going to live. He was as weak as a sick chicken, still prone to sudden spasms of fever and ague, but definitely recovering. Some of the crew were in even worse shape, and everyone agreed that there was a sickness aboard, because no one wanted to admit to being felled by mere thirst and exhaustion; or even near drowning, as in Rap's case. No one had died. Most were on the mend.

  And Rap had just been insulted, so he must give a suitable reply. He spoke around a wad of half-chewed sausage. "Kani . . . if I wasn't eating, I'd feed your guts to the gulls."

  The sailors considered the threat and decided it was adequate.

  "Do it as soon as we get to Durthing," Ogi suggested. "He needs it. Four days now, maybe?"

  "Five, more like," Ballast said in his guttural troll voice.

  Kani wiped a glitter of rain off his silver mustache. "More. Number One says he's going to lay over a day or two in Thuli."

  Everyone groaned. Rap ate in contented silence, knowing that someone would start explaining something to him shortly.

  Kani did. "Some of the passengers may quit there. Can't say I'd blame them after this trip. That means looking for replacements, but most folk'd rather sail than go by galley, 'cept through the Nogids, see? Either way, we go on to Finrain. On Kith, see? We drop the rest there and carry on to Durthing."

  Everyone sighed happily and began boasting of certain unbelievable experiences the female population of Durthing wanted, needed, and would soon receive.

  "Good spot, Durthing," Ogi said, speaking only to Rap. "It's just a village. Not even a jetty there. We'll haul up on the beach and refit. Make momma happy, do some brawling, a bit of gardening. Durthing's all sailors. I'm almost the only imp there. Jotnar, and a few trolls, mostly."

  Kani claimed to be pure jotunn, but he snooped and chattered like an imp. "And the Impire doesn't bother us," he said firmly. "No chains there! No clanking le
gionaries. Nice little spot. We can find you a girl. Hey, fellows—who do we fix Rap up with?"

  Names were mentioned, and evidently became more and more unlikely, for each new one brought louder merriment. Even a couple of rowers joined in, calling out suggestions.

  Rap just ate and smiled and tried not to remember that Durthing was on Kith, and Kith was another island. He wondered if he might possibly escape during the layover in Thuli, then decided he was too weak to walk to the edge of town. Any town, no matter how small.

  His romantic future was soon forgotten, and talk returned to the captain's probable retirement. "The Old Man does drop anchor," Kani said, "then we put up Gathmor?"

  Everyone agreed to that, and the argument broke out about a new first mate, and other promotions.

  Ogi, though, turned again to Rap. "This one's been rough! None of us can recall a worse trip." He dropped his voice as if being careful not to give offense—any imp who lived and worked with a shipful of jotnar would soon learn caution. "We'll all be glad to see home this time; but in a month or so, we'll be ready to go again. It's a good life if you can stand these —" His voice dropped to a whisper, "— blue-eyed maniacs. A week or two at sea, over to Faerie and back. Week or two onshore. Usually it's dull as gutting fish, but the money's good. Five years, a man can buy a farm and a wife. And you're quick, lad. With that and your farsight you might even make an officer. You're half jotunn, after all."

  Rap mumbled noncommittally. He was sure now that escape from this Durthing place would turn out to be harder than it sounded, but he wasn't going to raise suspicion by asking. He leaned across Kani and Verg to grab another sausage. Build his strength up.

  "Hey!" Ballast boomed. The talk had changed subject yet again. "The Mosweeps are the greatest mountains in all of Pandemia!"

  "Greatest bilge!" Kani mumbled, rubbing crumbs out of his mustache.

  "Yeah—how would you know?" asked Ogi. "You've never seen 'em!"

  "Nobody's ever seen them!"

  "Not even Rap can see them!"

  That remark won a brief guffaw all round. Rap just grinned. He was a seer, and they didn't mind! The matter was not usually mentioned, because sailors had a superstition against talking about magic, but they all knew about his power, obviously. Unlike the timid townsfolk of Krasnegar, these hardy sailors did not care that he could peer through walls or clothes. They had no privacy on board, anyway, so why did it matter? That discovery had touched him deeply. He was also something of a hero, which was another deliriously pleasant feeling. These tough seafolk had accepted him as one of themselves, and his freakish abilities didn't count against him at all.

  It was a long time since he'd been one of a group.

  He had friends again.

  Someone whistled, and all eyes turned. "Rap!" shouted a voice. "Report to Number One."

  Rap's insides lurched nervously. He handed the rest of his sausage to Ballast and scrambled to his feet. The sudden move made his head spin, and he had to steady himself against the cabin wall. Then he began making his way forward, cursing his wobbling knees. As he emerged from the shelter of the awnings, the rain felt like ice on his heated face. His fever was coming back.

  Gathmor and Gnurr were waiting in the bow. The captain was slumped against the rail, looking haggard and about as ill as Rap was feeling. The mate was standing with feet apart, arms folded, glowering.

  Rap came to a halt before him, spreading his own feet wide to balance on the tipping deck. "Sir?"

  The deadly fog-gray eyes drilled through him. "Feeling better?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Ready to pull your oar next watch?"

  Rap's heart cringed at the thought, and he was afraid his shivering might be showing, but again he said, "Aye, sir."

  The mate grunted. His silver hair was streaked down over his face almost to his walrus moustache. The ship pitched and rolled while he just stared. Then he began to unfasten his jerkin.

  "You disobeyed an order."

  Rap flinched. "Aye, sir."

  "Look at me when I speak to you."

  Rap looked up, although he didn't need to. Gnurr had his eyes half closed and did not seem to be paying much attention.

  Gathmor hauled off the jerkin and dropped it on the desk, leaving himself bare-chested in the drizzle. "When a man does that," he said, biting the words, "I usually throw him overboard. Look at me!"

  "Aye, sir."

  "You believe me?"

  Rap swallowed and said, "Yes, I do, sir." Jotnar often started quietly and then talked themselves up into manic frenzy. He could remember his friends Kratharkran and Verantor almost killing each other a few times as kids, and he'd lost his own temper once or twice, before he was old enough to control it. He wished he was in better shape to handle this, not so weak and shaky.

  "Rarely, on a first offense, I just beat him until he's purple all over."

  Why else would he strip down in the rain? "Aye, sir."

  "Sometimes I do both."

  Rap gave him the same reply. The sailor gripped the rail on either side of him. Muscles swelled and his knuckles showed white. He chewed his mustache for a moment.

  "The tide was ebbing, dawn was coming, and it was raining. But you thought you knew better."

  "I thought—"

  "You're not supposed to think!"

  "No, sir."

  Pause. "And that line you caught was left there to keep her head to the wind. Not for you. I almost didn't have it pulled in."

  "No, sir."

  Another pause. The jotunn was breathing hard, shivering with fury. "Well? You got nothing to say? You disobeyed a direct order. That's mutiny, sailor! And you won't give me any reason why I shouldn't pulp you?"

  "No, sir."

  "No appeal for mercy?"

  Rap had been studying the sodden planks again, but at that demand he looked up, met Gathmor's eye squarely, and said, "No." He knew that things were very dicey now, but he also knew jotnar, and to show his fear would be a fatal mistake. Then he found enough spit to add, "No excuses!" But all his insides were silently screaming, Yes!

  "Evil take you!" For a moment Gathmor's lips tightened, turning pure white. "You could mention that you saved the ship again, later. That would help."

  Rap felt a thin tremor of relief. "I won't beg, sir."

  The mate seemed to take that as a challenge. His eyes narrowed, and Rap braced for the attack.

  Then the captain seemed to waken. "Belay that!" he said quietly. "Quit hassling the boy! You're just mad because the whole crew started talking back." He turned dull eyes on Rap and pursed his lips in a hint of a smile. "Did you know that?"

  "Sir?" Rap said blankly. He'd never spoken with Gnurr before.

  "They didn't want to leave you."

  Rap blinked stupidly, trying to comprehend an absurdity. The sailors had wanted to wait around for him when a million angry anthropophagi were about to descend on them?

  Gathmor scowled. "I suppose no one else heard . . . All right! But if you ever tell a soul—anyone at all, mind!—I'll kill you. I swear."

  "Aye, I mean no—sir."

  "Not a word! But as long as no one knows you flouted that order, I'll overlook it. Just this once."

  "Thank you, sir. It won't happen again."

  "No, it won't."

  Suddenly the old captain laughed. "I told you he wouldn't scare easy!"

  Gathmor grunted. "No, he didn't." He bent to retrieve his jerkin. Wth sudden anger, Rap realized that they'd been playing with him. Had Gathmor really been about to start a fight, he would have turned pale as ice, and he hadn't. They'd been testing.

  For a long minute Stormdancer rolled and pitched, while the mate fastened buttons. Then he thrust aside his sodden hair with his fingers and sort of smiled. "But you did well. I said you'd be a free man. That stands."

  He leaned back beside Gnurr, elbows on the drippy rail. Behind them the sea rolled in great gray hills and valleys. For a moment the two jotnar studied the greatly relieved faun.
<
br />   The captain doubled over, racked by a spell of coughing. Then he straightened again, annoyed by his weakness. "It's not going to be much of a voyage, this one," he said hoarsely. "For one thing, it just about killed us. And it would have, but for you."

  "Aye . . . I mean, I did what I could, sir."

  "And for another, Number One blew all our profit on buying a couple of thralls. Thought he'd gone crazy."

  "So did I," Gathmor growled sourly. "Forty-six imperials! Can't think what got into me."

  Andor had, of course. Andor could make most people do anything. Rap scanned briefly, but Andor was not aboard. Darad was snoozing on his bunk, facedown. His back was healing.

  Then the figure penetrated Rap's throbbing head. "Forty-six imperials?"

  Gathmor scowled. "For you and your meaty friend. But it was worth it in the end."

  "Er . . . thank you, sir." Forty-six imperials? Rap had never thought he'd be worth that much money, not to anyone. Even allowing half for Little Chicken . . . twenty-three?

  "You like the life, don't you?"

  "Aye, sir," Rap said politely—and truthfully.

  Gathmor forced a thin smile and held out a horny hand to shake. "Welcome to the crew, sailor."

  He seemed to mean well, he hardly squeezed at all.

  Then the significance of that little ritual drove a spike of horror into Rap's conscience. Did the mate think he was promising to stay on, as one of Stormdancer's hands? What about his quest for Inos? Had he just given his word to the sailor?

  And if Rap was forced to settle down as a crewman, living in this Durthing place, then what would Little Chicken say? Or do? What happened to the goblin's destiny then, and how would he go about kidnapping—

  Huh?

  Rap scanned the ship again, men stared in shock at Gathmor. "The goblin?"

  The mate scowled. "You mean you didn't know? He went after you."

  Little Chicken? "He did?" Rap felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

  "When I ordered the men to float the ship, your buddy was the first to argue. I almost ran him through. Then he went tearing off, looking for you."