by David Mason
Spring was nearing. Our time was very short, and we made all haste for the day of sailing. Our haste increased, when a fisherman brought in that which he had drawn with his net, out of the river.
It was taller than a man, but it was not a man. The armor that it wore was part of its hideous body, and its face, even decayed away as it was, was more than most could bear to look upon. Both its upper arms bore some sort of sting, like that of a wasp; its second pair of arms were huge and handlike, and it had great snapping jaws like a lobster’s claw in shape. But it was not merely an animal; it wore leather harness, on which hung odd tools of silvery metal, and its armor was painted in strange designs.
But the worst came when the thing was laid out on the quay, to be seen by any doubters among the folk, and one man, a worker in leather, looked more closely at the straps and pouches hung about it. He declared that he was certain; the leather was human skin. This thing used men’s hides as we use deer.
The warning that had floated down our river moved us more swiftly. Within days all was ready. Nine sailing ships of good size, twelve smaller, fishing ships, and my own Luck. Near seven hundred people were left of all Dorada. These filed aboard, somberly, with all that we could carry that might prove of value or use, and sat or stood on decks, looking their last at their doomed city. We would sail with the morning’s tide: most of the vessels lay out in the bay, but my Luck was still at quayside, last.
So busy had I been during those days that I had failed to notice missing faces. It was not till the last that I discovered Uncle Malvi was gone, and with him a dozen or so good men: news reached me by a messenger he sent. He said that he would ride to Granorek, empty now; that he would raise the drawbridge, fly forth his pennant, and hold this place, last fortress of Hostan, against any, man, devil, or earthgrub that chose to fight.
It was mad, but it was his way. There was nothing I could do. I could not pluck him out of Granorek, and nothing I could have said would change his way.
But then I found another missing. Some of the lesser priestesses, the handful that had survived plague, had come aboard the ships; one ship, particularly, was kept for those still sick with wounds. The plague, it seemed, had burned itself out, or been frozen off. The boy Marag Mik was there with those, a cripple still; and I had allowed his father, the chief Kakk Marag, to stay with him.
The missing numbered the few higher priestesses, two or three; and the high priestess herself, and the Maiden Samala. A messenger told me he had spoken with these; and they said they would remain, awaiting death in the Temple. That they could not leave, for the Goddess had not given them leave.
At first, I was of a mind to let them all stay, and die. I stood on my own deck, staring toward the empty town, and at the gleam of the Temple roof; I grew angrier as I watched.
What did I want with these? What use had I for madwomen, bent on death? Let the ant men chew the hard flesh of that high priestess; they’d find it untasty. Or nip the softer meat on that damnable young Samala, a better meal.
On the other hand, what right had she to hand the flesh over to be eaten when it was rightfully mine, at that? She might have determined to stay maiden, out of some mad vision, maybe from the Goddess or maybe merely from a woman’s whim. But I had not agreed to let her die, not in such a way. She had no right to die, damn it!
Out of such bent strands, woven with growing anger, I fashioned a really towering rage. I went ashore, armed, and strode toward the Temple through empty streets, fuming more hotly as I went.
They were all there, in the inner Temple, in a circle. I came in upon them, the four old women and the young one looking much alike in gray robes, before the altar of the Great Goddess. It is an empty altar, white and chaste; and men are forbidden there. But I clanked in upon them without a thought, and shouted aloud.
“What madness is this?”
The high priestess turned and stared at me. “Have you not gathered enough ills upon your house?” she asked coldly.
“You insist on staying here, to die, all of you?”
“If the Goddess wishes to defend us, she will,” she said. “We may not go.”
I glared from face to face. “Well, then. I cannot take you all, because I’m one man alone. And I know full well no other would aid me. Afraid of lugging you aboard… but I can manage one of you, at least. Now, which bag o’ bones shall it be?” I stared at all, and they returned my look, unmoved.
“Be careful,” said the high priestess. “Even when you think you defy the Goddess you do her will.”
I roared a laugh, “Lady Aunt, I do my will. Prince of Dorada I am, and Prince of Dorada of the Ships I will be, and there’s one will above the rest… mine! The Goddess gave me a Bride, and I’ve been fool enough to let the matter pass awhile, being busy with other matters.” My eye fixed on Samala, who grew pale but said nothing.
“So, I do not wish the Bride of a Prince to be eaten like a mutton chop,” I said, and seized Samala, slinging her across my armored shoulder like a sack. She gasped in terror, but did not struggle. I nodded to the priestesses. “Farewell, and thanks for this that your Goddess gave me. She’s ill-favored and quarrelsome, but what’s done is done, and I fear I must keep her. The rest of you are welcome, if you choose to come aboard; or stay, and wait for what comes.”
I turned, and walked away, the Bride dangling over my shoulder, probably an uncomfortable place with its iron studs, I lugged her thus, as far as the quay itself, where I swung her down, still holding her by a wrist.
She stared at me, her eyes wide, a slightly mad look in them; her mouth quivered, but she did not speak.
“I don’t wish to drag you aboard in such an unladylike grip,” I told her. “My men would feel it lacked dignity. Come now—walk with me, as you must.”
“You have your outland mistress on that ship,” she said, in a low voice. “I would not—”
“You would not?” I barked. “You would not this, and you would that! You’ll do as I say. And you’ll speak with respect of the Lady Isa, who is a woman, a real woman. While you’re a whining girl-child. Now, damn it, walk!” And I clamped my hand down on her wrist.
“No!” she said, and then I lost all control. I grasped her plaited hair at the nape with my other hand, retained her wrist, and marched her up on the plank, as one might march a drunken seaman back aboard. The guards at the gangway stared, in openmouthed wonder, till I opened my own mouth in a roar that shook the mainmast.
“Kneel, you!” I stood the girl on the deck. “This is the Princess Samala, who sails with us, and is second only to the Lady Isa in Dorada. Pay her all due respect, you hear?” And I laughed bitterly. “Now, a couple of you stow this baggage where she cannot harm herself, below with the other stores. Give her any food she wants, and if she gives trouble, give her a bucket or two of bilge to cool her down. Make ready for sailing; I’ve had a hard night’s work so far.”
And I dropped her wrist disdainfully, and went aft, where Isa awaited me.
Later, I heard the sounds of the windlass, and felt the slow movement of the ship, as we let go lines and moved outward to the bay, to join the rest. I could not bear to go on deck and look again at Astorin.
Instead I spread old scrolls upon the cabin table, and once more searched through what little was known about the shores eastward. Isa sat silently, in the shadows, watching me, knowing that I was troubled, and wise enough not to speak.
Five ships went west, toward the known lands: Meryon, Amazain, Brendan’s Isles, and farther. In these were the few hundred who would seek to settle among the cities and shore folk of the west. They carried with them all the goods and gold we could spare, to buy land or to set themselves in safe work; and most of the hired men at arms, and the troopers sent by the Count of the Shore, also sailed home with them. These I had paid well for their services, and dismissed.
But a few of them elected to remain with us. Among them was Caltus, who swore he would serve no other prince. And glad enough I was of his service, too
. Now we numbered eight ships in all, carrying five hundred fighting men, seamen, and women.
For many reasons—winds that were often against such voyages, lack of anything of value such as fishing grounds—the coasts eastward from Dorada were not well known. Beyond the eastern edges of Dorada, the mountains rose in higher and higher ranges, plunging into the sea in rugged crags and fiords, for many miles. The coast turned slowly north and east, with cragged islands here and there; old sailing directions grew vague about this point
One scroll alone, more than two hundred years old, gave further data.
“Beyond the third bay lieth a great hill, shaped like unto a man’s head wearing a flat hat. Curious indeed is the likeness thereof unto the face of an ancient man, which looketh out to sea. Nine miles north and east is the long narrow island, where dwell great evil birds, very foul of habit and of look. Also on this island is the habitation of sea robbers, who do contend with those evil birds for prey. It is said that the great birds are eaters of flesh, and may even sweep upon shipmen in their ships.”
A pretty thought, I said to myself, unrolling further.
“Thence, the channels lie north, to a degree east, but near the shore are many evil rocks, and such islands as lie to eastward are but crags, with neither water nor trees. Thus, two hundred miles, where the shore lies flat, and salt marshes are; here, there is a small bay, and a river of water, hard to see because of the marsh. We did send a boat to this river for water, which rowed near three miles in, until the water became fresh enough to fill our casks.”
I made a note of this; our water would be nearly gone by then if we found no other source.
“The marsh is full of serpents; also, small black men came upon the ship’s boat, in a canoe, and flung poisoned spears at the men, wounding one who afterward died a most painful death.
“Beyond the marshes, the shore is bare for many miles, and inland there are hills of sand; and after this, there is a place of very great trees, where there are springs and much game. But none dwell here, because of the beasts.
“Between the shore and the island to the eastward lies a channel many miles wide, which is full of many dolphins, and of fish of all kinds. That island, called the Isle of Dragons, is full of all manner of beasts, some not seen in any other place; as well as dragons, of great size and very dreadful. Upon that isle also dwell certain folk, who practice magic, and are very ill to deal with though fair to look upon. Here were slain a score of our crew, wherefore we turned south and westward once again.”
And that, I reflected, was as much as anyone would know of course. The Isle of Dragons, I recalled, was spoken of before; there had been the sorcerer whose tools I still possessed, so useful to me once. And on the land side, where the great trees and game were, might be a place to camp at least awhile. The beasts I thought we could deal with, in their time.
I rolled up the book and thrust it away, leaning back with a sigh.
“Kavin,” Isa said quietly.
“What is it, sweet?” I spoke, my back still to her.
“You are troubled.”
“More than enough, believe me,” I said.
“Some things can’t be any better, except with time.” she said. “I know what it is to lose one’s home-place.”
I knew she did; she could understand what I felt.
“You brought your—wife—aboard, Lord Prince,” she said, after a while. “If you desire, I will remove to another cabin.”
“What?” I swung about, to face her, books and papers falling about me; I started up, and went to her, putting my hands on her shoulders and drawing her upright.
“I have only one wife aboard, Isa,” I told her. “And she remains with me, here. I don’t know why I dragged that girl aboard, except for simple anger, because she crossed my will. And because my pride could not bear the notion… that one who, in law, was linked to me, should suffer such a fate. Also, pity, a little…”
Isa laughed. “You needn’t go on so, lord,” she said, her hands on my face. “I am not jealous. Believe me, I would feel no jealousy, even if you took her to wife in fact. I have what none other can have of you.” She stepped back a pace, and put her hands at her sides, looking most serious. “Lord Prince, I carry your son.”
I stared at her, all thoughts of other things gone.
“My—son?” I asked, foolishly.
“I am sure it will be a boy,” she said. “Women have ways of knowing.”
“My son,” I said again, and seized her, pressing her to me. “When… how long have you known?”
“Not long,” she said against my ear. “So you see, no cause for jealousy. No other of your women can have your first born, Prince Kavin of Dorada.”
“True enough.” I was flushed with pleasure in it.
“So…” Isa said thoughtfully, “perhaps you will need another wife, a man with your ways… I shall soon be much too big around for pleasure. Then, months and months you’ll be denied to me, while the boy’s weaning…”
The idea was not pleasant, not at that moment especially. I considered it, glumly, while Isa went on.
“I am not joking, my lord. Two wives are certainly not much, for a Prince of Dorada. You will most certainly find pleasure elsewhere, at times… I know men’s ways. I do not mind at all, believe me. Women are not as jealous as men think; we try to seem so, at times, to flatter. But you need no flattery, Kavin.”
“I need no second wife, either,” I said.
“She is yours, by your own law. Also, she is a woman, as I am, and if you do not take her, she’ll go to another. Your own law gives women such rights as that, does it not? And being a woman, she could not help but love you, as I do.”
“You,” I said, laughing. “You…”
“I am in earnest,” she said. “I have seen that lady, and I know what you do not. Her reasons for her foolishness, for one thing… and that she feels otherwise about you than you think.” She came closer to me, and drew me to her; looked into my eyes, her own eyes direct and honest. “If you love me, grant me this, Lord Prince. Take Samala.”
Somehow, I thought, I was forever making oath to do this and do that, whenever fate chanced to find more work for me. If my will was ever my own, I would be vastly surprised; and I was called a ruler! Ha!
But that night, I promised that I would take the wench as wife, when it seemed the time. I would have promised near anything, that night: to slay giants, or stand on my hands.
And with the tide’s flow, all our ships stood down the channels, and out to sea, where we parted company. The others bound west turned, before a fair wind, and were soon hull down on the sea’s edge. We tacked across the wind, making small headway, but always north and east, until we lost Dorada to sight, forever.
Seven
For many days we made little progress, sometimes losing way before strong contrary winds, sometimes making one mile in twenty, tacking always. My own Luck, with her rig, could have made far better time perhaps, but we would not lie too long out of sight of the slower and clumsier vessels of the fleet.
When at last we passed the final headland of the most mountainous coast, we found ourselves in calmer seas, where the winds changed for the better. But we also grew very short of water, having been longer about passage so far than I had expected. As we slowly moved along the coast, I scanned the rocky walls hopefully, to see if there were any places where a boat might land and seek water. I was not anxious to wait until we could make the river described in the ancient sailing directions; we were far too many, and we used too much. Also, the ships were slow, and we had women and children who could not bear thirst as well.
But still, I made no move to carry out Isa’s order, if I may call it that. She was quite in earnest, though; she spoke of it again, several times, and ultimately convinced me that she meant it. It even seemed by some magic means that our pillow talk reached the ear of Thuramon, who brought the subject up himself.
We had been playing chess, which he played well, but no
t as well as I, and I had chaffed him about a lost game, asking why he did not use his magic to win. He merely pulled his beard, staring at the board and shaking his head.
“No, Prince, chess is not subject to my art,” he said, resetting the pieces. “Oh, I could blind your eyes, and reset a piece… though even that you might notice. But then, where would be the pleasure? And in any case, chess, being a game from worlds in which iron reason holds sway, is not as much affected by magic, which lies in other ways of law…”
“Chess, too,” I said. “I would see something of these other worlds, from which nearly everything seems to come.”
“You may see them, Prince,” he said, darkly. He gazed at the board. “I think I’ll forego another game, for now. You’ll defeat me again, I see.”
“You foresee that?” I asked. “Then why play at all?”
“More reasons than one. Simple pleasure of the game, of course. And to see the way in which your mind grows, and how it reaches your desires. This game shows much about the one who plays it, Prince.”
“Can you not read such things, looking into my mind as you sometimes do with others?” I asked.
Thuramon leaned back, and stared at me.
“Lord Prince,” he said at last, “I could, with a mighty effort, see… a very little indeed, hardly worth the struggle. And I would be afraid to see too much. You are not a usual sort of man.”
“Compliments from my master wizard, few enough.”
“Why think it a compliment?” he asked wryly. “I said you were unusual. Lord Prince, you are most unusual, in ways I fear. I have watched you since your youth, and I have known…”
I regarded him, gray-bearded and with shadowed eyes, and not looking as fatly jolly as usual.
“Prince, most men obey the gods, whether they will or not, for most of their lives,” Thuramon said at last. “You do not. Your Goddess, there, is Luck, who is but another name for your own will. Sometimes… rarely, thanks be to our Goddess men like you are born, free of the laws that seem to bind ordinary men, free of that chain of guilts we seem to bear. Tell me this, Prince Kavin. You have done evil, as you know. Small evil, but evil. Do you feel any pangs?”