by David Drake
"Yes, we're all right," Ilna said, finally answering the chanteyman's question. "I'm ready to go on, though. I very much doubt either Merota or I will be able to sleep for some time to come."
The girl hugged Ilna tightly. Her throat worked, but she couldn't get words out and instead nodded her agreement.
Six barges travelled together in the bright sunshine, their square sails plump from the following breeze. There was little to choose among individual elements of the Boats, but Sharina thought the Tailwind, owned by Jem and three of his brothers, was a little larger than the Columbine; a little newer; and a great deal dirtier.
"When we land in Klestis," said Bantrus, standing with her and Dalar in the bow, "we'll go straight to Palace Square and declare the Boats' independence from Prince Mykon. The people will join us, and the movement will spread along the whole south coast of Cordin!"
The youth's forceful delivery was disconcerting, though Sharina realized that Bantrus was trying to convince himself by sounding certain. Dalar, less used to the way humans tricked themselves into disastrous errors or perhaps just less sensitive than Sharina, said, "Why will the people join you, Master Bantrus?"
Jem had been talking with his brothers near the helm of the barge. Now he and a pair of slightly older siblings came forward along the gunwales, skirting the stacks of earthenware vessels netted down on the center of the deck.
"What?" Bantrus said, frowning with unconscious anger at having his fantasy probed. "Well, you'll be with us, of course, messengers from the Gods. And Klestis needs the Boats, all the islands do. All they need is a spark to, well, show people the path to their own salvation."
Jem and his brothers joined them. One of the barges, not so heavily laden as the others because its cargo was wickerwork, had drawn a bowshot ahead of the rest. Two others were lashed together some distance behind, and the remaining pair were closing with the Tailwind.
While the barges were a motley assortment as to cargo--the pair approaching were a dram shop and a brothel, if Sharina read the signs correctly--none of the folk on their decks was older than his mid-twenties. Apart from two flashily-dressed women on the brothel, all of them were males as well.
"Tiglath's coming alongside," one of Jem's brothers said, nodding to the tavern vessel. Bunting fluttered from a net drawn between the mast truck and poles fore and aft. A canvas awning on a pole framework sheltered the deck. Three men were trimming the sail. A fourth, black-bearded and squatly powerful, manned the steering oar.
"Better get the fenders out," Bantrus muttered. "I think he tries to stave in other boats so that they'll give him landside space in harbor out of proper order."
Deliberately to avoid talking further about the Boats' future, Sharina said, "Here, I'll help with that. These are the fenders?"
The doughnuts of woven coir on the railings could scarcely be anything else, but it was proper to ask. She'd gripped one and was loosing the clove hitch that held it to a stanchion before Jem could say, "Oh, you needn't do that...."
"No need of those, little lady," called the black-bearded man in coincidental parallel. "You'll never meet a man as smooth as me--when I want to be!"
Sharina looked up, judging the other barge's line. That wasn't hard: the closing speed would have seemed sluggish to a ewe. She hung three fenders along the gunwale at the points the vessels were most likely to come in contact, hoping she kept her expression neutral when she looked at the black-bearded man.
He barked a harsh laugh, then said, "Make ready, Tailwind, I'm coming aboard."
"Aye, Tiglath," the eldest of Jem's brothers said sourly. "So you are."
The tavern barge coasted against the Tailwind with no more thump than Sharina's heel coming down when she was walking. If so skillful a helmsman regularly crunched into other vessels, it was indeed deliberate bullying.
"Doccon, take the helm!" Tiglath ordered. Without waiting for a crewman to replace him at the tiller, he hopped to the Tailwind carrying a line. Another of his fellows tossed a line from the bow to Jem, who bound it off to a stanchion without comment.
The brothel vessel bumped up on the tavern's port side. There were three men aboard her, all of them husky and sharing facial features with one of the women. They kept a flat-eyed silence as they lashed their barge to Tiglath's.
"We'll make better time separate, Tiglath," Bantrus said as the black-bearded man sauntered forward.
"We're not in such a hurry, I think," Tiglath said. "Klestis isn't going anywhere, and the prince isn't going to chase us down, is he? I thought I'd get a better look at the visitors the Gods have sent us."
He reached out, giving every indication of planning to chuck Sharina under the chin. She jerked away, angered but not surprised. She'd met Tiglath's sort before, among the guards and badgers at the Sheep Fair. The wealthy drovers and traders were generally more sophisticated, if not necessarily different at heart.
"I'm Sharina os-Reise," she said in a ringing voice. "I'm a traveller, not the messenger of any God."
Dalar stepped between her and Tiglath. His weights hung from short lengths of chain, but he wasn't spinning them.
"And this is my friend Dalar," Sharina continued smoothly. "Also a traveller."
"I am honored that Sharina calls me her friend," said the bird. "But I am her champion as well, Master Tiglath. Her bodyguard."
Tiglath put his hands on his hips, leaned backwards, and laughed even louder than before. "My, such a pretty lady deserves something better for her body than it be guarded by a walking feather-duster!" he said. "But I'm impressed. I had a crow that talked, but he wasn't near as good as you."
Sharina gripped a backstay overhead for support, then flipped herself lithely to the other side of the deck. Her feet didn't touch the chest-high rank of cargo. Dalar dipped his head twice in Tiglath's direction--the gesture looked like a human's nod, but Sharina suspected there was more to it than that. He somersaulted over the cargo without the help of his hands.
Tiglath glanced at them. His expression was blended of surprise and anger.
"Look, Tiglath," said Bantrus. "If you've got something to say, say it and cast off. We've got enough facing us without you making trouble."
"Now, that's just what I wanted to talk to you about, boy," the black-bearded man said. He swaggered forward, forcing Bantrus to retreat if he wanted to avoid contact. Jem was trying to back his friend, but Jem's three brothers were in a tight group in the Tailwind's stern. "Who is it died and made you Commodore of the Boats, hey? I think it's time we decide just who's in charge of this show now that we're on our own."
"My money's on you, Tiglath!" a brothel crewman said. He slammed a knotted cudgel into the palm of his other hand. "My money and this!"
"Are you crazy, Tiglath?" Bantrus said. "Save your fighting for Prince Mykon!"
Tiglath extended his left index finger and jabbed Bantrus in the center of the chest. "Now there you go, little fella," Tiglath said. "Calling people crazy just because they don't believe you're God. Now, I said that I'm the leader. If you think something else, then you can fight me. Is that clear enough?"
"I am not one of the Gods either, Master Tiglath," Dalar said. He hopped to the ridge of cargo, landing with delicate precision on a five-bushel storage jar which was in turn packed with finer ware. "Nor do I wish to lead your heroic band. But I will fight you, if you feel the need to fight."
Tiglath glared at the bird with a molten expression. Dalar began to spin his weights, moving his stubby arms alternately and letting out another hand's-breadth of chain with each shimmering circuit.
"This isn't any business of yours!" Bantrus cried in startled irritation.
Sharina looked from Dalar to Tiglath. Oh, yes, I know the type, she thought. Aloud, facing Bantrus, she said, "Yes, it is--because Dalar is my bodyguard. I have a notion of where Master Tiglath believes my place in the new order would be."
"You've got that right, little lady!" Tiglath brayed. Sharina's comment had probably decided him to go ahead ope
nly with what she was sure would be his certain intention whether he admitted it or not.
"Boss, those spinners...," warned one of Tiglath's crewmen.
Tiglath spread his arms wide, his empty palms turned up. "Sure, I'll fight you, bird," he said. He jerked his thumb toward his own vessel. "Bare hands, and on the Horn of Plenty. The awning'll keep the sun out of our eyes."
The awning would prevent Dalar from making his splendid vertical leaps. Sharina's face didn't change, but her eyes flicked across the tavern boat, absorbing its features. She'd expected the fight to take place on land....
"Otherwise," Tiglath added with the smile of a man about to start carving dinner, "you can fight us all. Right, boys?"
The crewmen--Tiglath's and the men from the brothel--cheered or snarled, depending on their individual temperament. All of them held clubs or tools that could be used as clubs. The Pewle knife concealed beneath Sharina's cape dragged at her, demanding to be drawn.
No. Not yet.
"Yes, I accept your terms," Dalar said equably. He snatched the spinning weights into his palms, brought his hands together, and tossed the weapon in a coil to Sharina without seeming to look in her direction.
She caught it left-handed; the chain clinked faintly as she closed her fingers around the bundle. The ruddy bronze was heavier than she'd subconsciously expected.
"Wix, Twenus!" Jem called desperately to his brothers. "Talla! We can't let this happen!"
"Jem, you've done enough last night and today," the eldest said. "Done too much, I'm beginning to think, you and Mistress Brasca's boy. Now shut up and come here with us!"
Dalar pointed to the men backing Tiglath. "Only ourselves on the Horn of Plenty. That is correct?"
"Yeah, get back aboard the Sweet Goddess," Tiglath said with a careless gesture. He gave Jem's brothers a hard look. "And you lot stay this side of my gunwale, too, you hear? Although if clever-pants here--"
He prodded at Bantrus again. The youth jumped back in time to avoid the probing finger.
"--wants to join in, I wouldn't mind taking care of him at the same time. Of course, then we'll have to decide which of 'em we want to stew for dinner, won't we, boys?"
Sharina sidled toward the bow of the Tailwind. Bantrus was alone amidships; Jem had gone to the stern with his brothers, as they'd demanded. Bantrus saw Sharina move. He might have joined her but her cold glare fixed him in place, even more miserable than before.
The laughing crewmen backed onto the brothel. Diccon paused to hook a wineskin out of the low deckhouse near the stern.
Tiglath jumped to the center of the Horn of Plenty and flexed his muscles again. He was a large man by the standards of the Boats and would rate as a strong man anywhere. "Coming, bird?" he shouted. Dalar was half his weight, or less.
Dalar hopped to the Horn of Plenty's gunwale and wobbled there like a mockingbird on a twig. He thrust his short arms behind him like balance poles. Tiglath roared and swung right-handed at the bird's lower abdomen while his left arm guarded his face against a beak thrust.
Dalar kicked Tiglath's fist, twisting the bully sunwise and flinging his arm up into the awning. Blood spotted the canvas.
Dalar stepped down lightly from the ankle-high railing. He raised his beak and caroled a fluting cry like nothing Sharina had heard from him before. There was blood on his claws.
Tiglath backed and circled, crouching slightly now. He touched his right hand with his left, probing gently for broken bones. He was an experienced fighter and no coward; this wasn't the first time he'd been hurt in a brawl. His fingers dripped on the decking, but the number of small blood vessels in the hands meant a wound there was going to look bad no matter what.
"Now I will eat your liver!" Tiglath said, spreading his fingers to grasp. He lunged with his arms stretched forward to protect his face.
Dalar kicked flat-footed from the deck. His legs were longer than Tiglath's arms. The main claw whacked Tiglath's forehead so hard that the bully turned a backwards somersault. His beard flared into a black ruff as blood sprayed from the gash at his hairline.
Dalar hooted musically again. His arms were folded across his chest; he'd been so sure of his timing that he hadn't bothered spreading them to fend off Tiglath's clutching hands.
The bird pranced, taking tiny steps, then kicking high. His physical display was even more insulting than his calls. The men aboard the Tailwind were cheering while those on the brothel had fallen silent. Diccon kneaded the wineskin like a throat, unaware of the liquid spurting onto his tunic.
Tiglath got his arms under him and raised his face from the deck. Blood from his scalp blinded one eye and gummed his beard.
"Do you yield, Champion of the Horn of Plenty?" Dalar shrilled. "Do you yield to my master Sharina os-Reise?"
"By the Sister I do n--" Tiglath said in a voice clotted with rage. He lurched into a kneeling position.
Dalar kicked him in the face. Bones crunched. Tiglath's torso hit the mast and bounced forward again, leaving the bully doubled over as though taking a seated bow.
Doccon let out an inarticulate cry and sprang onto the Horn of Plenty, grappling with Dalar from behind. The bird bent at the waist with acrobatic suddenness, flipping Doccon over his back. The thug hit the deck face-first.
"Dalar!" Sharina shouted as her hands came out from beneath her cloak swinging the Pewle knife. The bird leaped to the Tailwind with the grace of a curvetting swallow.
The men from the brothel and the two remaining members of Tiglath's crew jumped aboard the Horn of Plenty. Their man had lost the duel; they intended to win the brawl that followed.
Sharina's heavy blade sheared the post and both stays supporting the bow end of the awning. Falling ropes, canvas, and the brails that stiffened the fabric netted Tiglath's followers like so many fish in a weir.
Dalar, hooting and crowing like a whole chorus of cockerels, hopped back aboard the tavern barge. Every time a man tried to rise, the bird sprang onto the hump in the canvas. For some seconds his clawed feet danced swiftly; then the activity beneath the awning subsided to squirming and muted groans.
The women on the Sweet Goddess watched in amazement. The one with a family resemblance to the men running the barge began to cackle with high-pitched hilarity.
"Master Dalar!" Bantrus cried. "Master Dalar, stop that! You've won, don't you see?"
Dalar stepped back aboard the Tailwind and uncrossed his arms for the first time since the fight--could you call it a fight?--began. Sharina laid the bundle of weights and chain back in her champion's palm.
Dalar bowed to the four brothers around the barge's tiller, then faced Bantrus. "It may be that men understand war differently from my people, young human," he said. "Or it may be that I understand war and you do not."
The bird looked disdainfully toward the shambles aboard the Horn of Plenty. A man who'd crawled to the far railing poked his head out from under the canvas. He was anonymous, his features masked by his own blood. He saw Dalar looking and hid himself again.
"If you think that a fight with such bandits is over before they are plucked and hanged by their toes," the bird continued, "so be it. This place is yours; it is not for me to decide."
"He isn't serious, is he?" said one of Jem's brothers. "I don't like to hear things like that even as a joke."
Dalar's head rotated to stare at the man who'd spoken. The speaker flinched back. Dalar nodded, then faced Bantrus again. The youth looked queasy.
"So be it," the bird repeated. "But my master Sharina and I will not go to battle with you again, because you choose to fight the same battles twice when you need not."
"Let's get the lines loose," Sharina said quietly. The big knife trembled, shimmering with sunlight reflected from the polished blade. She sheathed the weapon carefully, using both hands.
"Yes," Bantrus whispered. He bent and cast off the line before him while Jem did the same for the other. "I think that's a good idea. We'll put you ashore in Klestis."
The barges
began to drift apart. Injured men aboard the Horn of Plenty were crawling into the light with dazed expressions.
"Young humans?" Dalar said in a tone like that of a trumpet. "I will not tell you your business. But it is my belief that Prince Mykon and your Master Tiglath understand war in the same way as I do; and if you do not, you would be wise not to go to war with either of them."
As a coda, the bird kicked high with his right foot, then his left. The toes of both were bright with blood.
Chapter Nineteen
"Please," said Colva, placing her hands in Garric's as she stood with him and Liane beside the River Beltis, "I'm still shivering."
Colva now wore a pair of tunics cut for women--they fell to just above and below mid-calf, instead of being knee-length as a man would wear--and a cloak, bought for her from a peddler who'd been lucky not to have his barrow overturned when Waldron's troops charged toward the stables and their prince. The garments were used, but they were of excellent quality and thick. Despite proper clothing and the warm evening, Colva's hands were icy.
Garric shook his hands free. "Tell us who we're facing," he said brusquely. From the corner of his eye he saw Liane relax minutely.
The Royal Astrologer stood beside the waterclock he and his assistants had erected on the bank, calibrating it with a portable sundial while there was still light enough to throw the gnomon's shadow crisply across the inscribed lines. He saw Garric glance in his direction and called in a self-important voice, "Twelve minutes to full sunset, your majesty."
Waldron and his officers were marshalling the available troops on the riverbank both up- and downstream. The bridge was already a shimmer of azure highlights above the water, but it wouldn't become sufficiently solid for ordinary humans to cross until the sun went down. Twelve minutes....
Garric had four battalions of the pike-armed phalanx, two battalions of skirmishers with bundles of light javelins, and two more of heavy infantry with swords, short spears, and full armor. He didn't have the faintest notion of whether they'd be enough for the army they'd face when they crossed the bridge.