At last Bewchard paused, laughing good-humoured-ly.
"Well, fellow citizens of Narleen," he shouted. "I must tell you, I see, or you shall not let us pass. Aye, we sank Valjon's ship ..."
There was a gasp from the crowd and then silence.
Bewchard sprang up onto a packing case and raised his arms.
"We sank Valjon's ship, the River Wind—but it would have likely escaped us altogether had it not been for my two companions here."
D'Averc glanced at Hawkmoon in embarrassment.
The citizens stared at the two in surprise, as if unable to believe that two such ragged starvelings could be anything but lowly slaves.
"These two are your heroes, not I," Bewchard continued. "Single-handed they resisted the whole pirate crew, killed Ganak, Valjon's lieutenant, and made the ship easy prey to our attack. Then they scuttled the River Wind!"
There was a great cheer now from the crowd.
"Know their names, citizens of Narleen. Remember them as friends of this city and deny them nothing.
They are Dorian Hawkmoon of the Black Jewel and Huillam D'Averc. You have not seen braver souls nor finer swordsmen!"
Hawkmoon was genuinely embarrassed by all this and frowned up at Bewchard, trying to signal that he should stop.
"And what of Valjon?" called a member of the crowd. "Is he dead?"
"He escaped us," Bewchard replied regretfully. "He ran like a rat. But we shall have his head one day."
"Or he yours, Bewchard!" The speaker was a richly dressed man who had pushed forward. "All you have done is anger him! For years I paid my river taxes to Valjon's men and they let me ply the river in peace. Now you and your like say 'Pay no taxes' and I do not—but I know no peace these days, cannot sleep without fear of what Valjon will do. Valjon is bound to retaliate. And it might not be only you on whom he takes his vengeance! What of the rest of us—those who want peace of mind and not glory? You endanger us all!"
Bewchard laughed. "It was you, Veroneeg, if I'm not mistaken, who first began to complain about the pirates, said you could not stand the high levies they demanded, supported us when we formed the league to fight Valjon. Well, Veroneeg, we are fighting him, and it is hard, but we shall win, never fear!"
The crowd cheered again, but this time the cheer was a little more ragged and the people were beginning to disperse.
"Valjon will take his vengeance, Bewchard," Veroneeg repeated. "Your days are numbered. There are rumours that the Pirate Lords are gathering their strength, that they have only been playing with us up to now. They could raze Narleen if they wished!"
"Destroy the source of their livelihood! That would be foolish of them!" Bewchard shrugged as if to dismiss the middle-aged merchant.
"Foolish, perhaps—as foolish as your actions," wheezed Veroneeg. "But make them hate us enough and their hatred might cause them to forget that it is we who feed them!"
Bewchard smiled and shook his head. "You should retire, Veroneeg. The rigours of merchant life are too much for you."
The crowd had almost completely vanished now and there were looks of anxiety on many of the faces which only lately had been cheering the heroes.
Bewchard jumped down from the box and put his arms around his companions' shoulders. "Come, my friends, let's listen no longer to poor old Veroneeg. He would make any triumph sour with his gloomy prat-tling. Let's to my mansion and see if we can find you raiment more befitting gentlemen—then, tomorrow, we can go about the city and buy new outfits for you both!"
He led them through the teeming streets of Narleen, streets that wound an apparently logic-less course, that were narrow and smelling of a million mingled odors, that were crowded with sailors and swordsmen and merchants and quay workers, old women, pretty girls, stallkeepers selling their wares and riders picking their way among those on foot. He led them over the cobbles, up a steep hill and out into a square with one side clear of houses. And there was the sea.
Bewchard paused for a moment to stare at the sea; It sparkled in the sunlight.
D'Averc gestured toward it. "You trade beyond that ocean?"
Bewchard unpinned his heavy cloak and threw it over his arm. He opened the collar of his shirt and shook his head, smiling. "Nobody knows what lies beyond the sea—probably nothing. No, we trade along the coast for about two or three hundred miles in each direction. This area is thick with rich cities that did not suffer too badly the effects of the Tragic Millenium."
"I see. And what do you call this continent? Is it, as we suspect, Asiacommunista?"
Bewchard frowned. "I have not heard it called that, though I'm no scholar. I have heard it called variously
'Yarshai', 'Amarehk' and 'Nishtay'." He shrugged. "I am not even sure where it lies in relation to the legendary continents said to exist elsewhere in the world..."
"Amarehk!" Hawkmoon exclaimed. "But I had always thought it the legendary home of superhuman creatures ..."
"And I had thought the Runestaff in Asiacommunista!" D'Averc laughed. "It does not do, friend Hawkmoon, to place too much faith in legends! Perhaps, after all, the Runestaff does not exist!"
Hawkmoon nodded. "Perhaps."
Bewchard was frowning. "The Runestaff—legends—what do you speak of, gentlemen?"
"A point this scholar we mentioned made," D'Averc said hastily. "It would be boring to explain."
Bewchard shrugged. "I hate to be bored, my friends,"
he said diplomatically, and led them on through the streets.
They were now beyond the trading part of the city and on a hill in which the houses were much richer and less crowded together. High walls surrounded gardens that could be seen to contain flowering trees and fountains.
It was outside the gates of one such walled house that Bewchard at last stopped.
"Welcome to my mansion, my good friends." He rapped on the gate.
A covered grille was opened and eyes peered at them. Then the gate was pulled wide and a servant bowed to Bewchard. "Welcome home, master. Was the voyage successful? Your sister awaits you."
"Very successful, Per! Aha—so Jeleana is here to greet us. You will like Jeleana, my friends!"
Chapter Seven - THE BLAZE
JELEANA WAS BEAUTIFUL, a young, raven-haired girl with a vivacious manner that instantly captivated D'Averc. At dinner that night he fluted with her and was delighted when she cheerfully responded.
Bewchard smiled to see them play so wittily, but Hawkmoon found it hard to watch them, for he was reminded painfully of his own Yisselda, his wife who waited for him thousands of miles across the sea and perhaps hundreds of years across tune (for he had no way of knowing if the crystal rings had brought him only through space).
Bewchard seemed to detect a melancholy look in Hawkmoon's eye and sought to cheer him up with jokes and anecdotes concerning some of his lighter and more amusing encounters while fighting the pirates of Starvel.
Hawkmoon responded bravely, but he still could not rid his mind of thoughts of his beloved girl, Count Brass's daughter, and how she fared.
Had Taragorm perfected his machines for travelling through time? Had Meliadus found another means of reaching Castle Brass?
The more the evening wore on, the less able Hawkmoon was to continue a light conversation. At length he rose and bowed politely. "I do apologise, Captain Bewchard," he murmured, "but I am very weary. The time spent in the galley—the fighting today ..."
Jeleana Bewchard and Huillam D'Averc did not notice him rise, for they were engrossed with one another.
Bewchard stood up quickly, a look of concern on his handsome face. "Of course. I apologise, Master Hawkmoon, for my thoughtlessness ..."
Hawkmoon smiled wanly. "You have not been thoughtless, captain. Your hospitality is magnificent. However..."
Bewchard's hand made a movement toward the bell pull, but before he could summon a servant there came a sudden banging on the door. "Enter!" Bewchard commanded.
The servant who had admitted them to the garden ea
rlier that day stood panting in the doorway. "Captain Bewchard! There is a fire at the quayside—a ship is burning."
"A ship? Which ship?"
"Your ship, captain—the one you came home in today!"
Instantly Bewchard was making for the door, Hawkmoon and D'Averc following rapidly behind him, Jeleana behind them.
"A carriage, Per," he ordered. "Hurry, man!"
Within moments an enclosed carriage drawn by four horses was brought round to the front of the house and Bewchard climbed in, waiting impatiently for Hawkmoon and D'Averc to join Mm. Jeleana tried to enter, but he shook his head. "No, Jeleana. We do not know what is happening on the quays. Wait here!"
Then they were off, bumping over the cobbles at an alarming rate, making for the dockside.
The narrow streets were lit with torches stuck in brackets attached to the sides of houses and the carriage flung a black shadow on the walls as it passed, bumping and crashing through the streets.
At last the quayside was reached, illuminated by more than torches, for in the harbour a schooner blazed. Everywhere was confusion as masters of ves-sels arrived to bully their men aboard their own craft and move them away from Bewchard's schooner, for fear that they, too, would be set afire.
Bewchard leapt from the carriage, closely followed by Hawkmoon and D'Averc. He ran for the quayside, elbowing his way through the crowd, but once by the water he paused and hung his head.
"It's hopeless," he murmured in despair. "She's gone. This could only have been Valjon's work . . ."
Veroneeg, his face sweating and red in the glare from the burning ship, burst from the crowd. "You see, Bewchard—Valjon is taking his vengeance! I warned you!"
They turned at the sound of galloping hooves, saw a rider rein in his horse close by. "Bewchard!" the man cried. "Pahl Bewchard who claims to have sunk the River Wind!"
Bewchard looked up. "I am Bewchard. Who are you?"
The rider was clad in bizarre finery and in his left hand he clutched a scroll which he brandished. "I am Valjon's man—his messenger!" He threw the scroll toward Bewchard who let it lie where it had fallen.
"What is it?" Bewchard said between gritted teeth.
"It is a bill, Bewchard. A bill for fifty men and forty slaves, for a ship and all furnishings, plus twenty-five thousand smaygars' worth of treasure. Valjon, too, can play the merchant game!"
Bewchard glared at the messenger. The light from the blazing ship sent shadows flickering across his face. He spurned the scroll with his foot, kicking it into the debris-filled water.
"You seek to frighten me with this melodrama, I see!" he said firmly. "Well, tell Valjon I do not intend to pay his bill and that I am not frightened. Tell him—if he wishes to 'play the merchant game'—that he and his greedy ancestors owe the people of Narleen considerably more than the amount on his bill. I will continue to reclaim that debt."
The rider opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind, spat on the cobbles and wheeled his horse about, galloping away into the darkness.
"He will kill you now, Bewchard," said Veroneeg almost triumphantly. "He will kill you. I hope he realises that not all of us are as foolish as you!"
"And I hope that we are not all as foolish as you, Veroneeg," answered Bewchard contemptuously. "If Valjon is threatening me, it means that I have succeeded—partially at least—in unnerving him!"
He stalked toward his carriage and stood aside while Hawkmoon and D'Averc climbed in. Then he entered, slammed the door and tapped with the hilt of his sword on the roof, signalling the driver to return to the mansion.
"Are you sure that Valjon is as weak as you suggest?" Hawkmoon asked hesitantly.
Bewchard smiled at him grimly.
"I am sure that he is stronger than I suggest—stronger perhaps than Veroneeg thinks. My own opinion is that Valjon is still somewhat surprised that we have had the temerity to attack his ship as we did today, that he has not yet marshalled all his resources. But it would not do to tell Veroneeg that, would it, my friend."
Hawkmoon looked at Bewchard admiringly. "You have much courage, captain."
"Desperation, possibly, friend Hawkmoon."
Hawkmoon nodded. "I know what you mean I think.".
The rest of the return journey was made in thoughtful silence.
At the mansion the garden gate was open and they drove straight into the drive. At the mam door, to the house Jeleana awaited them pale-faced.
"Are you unharmed, Pahl?" she asked as he descended from the carriage.
"Of course," replied Bewchard. "You seem unduly frightened, Jeleana."
She turned and walked back into the house, back in-to the dining room where their supper still lay on the table.
"It—it was not the burning ship that made me thus,"
she told him trembling. She looked at her brother, then at D'Averc, lastly at Hawkmoon. Her eyes were wide.
"We had a visitor while you were gone."
"A visitor? Who was it?" Bewchard asked, putting his arm around her shaking shoulders.
"He—he came alone..." she began.
"And what is so remarkable about a visitor coming alone? Where is he now?"
"It was Valjon, Pahl—Lord Valjon of Starvel himself. He . .." she put her hand to her face. "He stroked my face—he looked at me from those bleak, inhuman eyes of his, he spoke in that voice ..."
"And what did he say?" Hawkmoon asked suddenly, his tone grim. "What did he say, Lady Jeleana?"
Again her eyes went from one to the other, to return to Hawkmoon.
"He said that he is merely playing with Pahl, that he is too proud to spend all his time and strength in pursuing a vendetta against him, that, unless Pahl pro-claims in the city square tomorrow that he will cease bothering the Pirate Lords, Pahl will be punished in a way that will be suitable to his particular misdemeanor.
He said that he expects to hear that the proclamation has been made by midday tomorrow."
Bewchard frowned. "He came here, to my own house, to display his contempt for me, I suppose. The burning of the ship was just a demonstration—and a diversion to get me to the quayside. He spoke to you, Jeleana, to show that he can reach my nearest and most beloved whenever he chooses." Bewchard sighed. "There is no question now that he not only threatens my life, but the lives of those close to me. It is a trick that I should have expected—did half-expect, yet..."
He looked up at Hawkmoon, his eyes suddenly tired.
"Perhaps I have been a fool, after all, Master Hawkmoon. Perhaps Veroneeg was right. I cannot fight Valjon—not while he fights from the security of Starvel. I have no weapons such as those he employs against me!"
"I cannot advise you," said Hawkmoon quietly. "But I can offer you my services—and D'Averc's here—in your struggle, should you wish to continue it."
Bewchard looked directly into Hawkmoon's face then and he laughed, straightening his shoulders.
"You do not advise me, Dorian Hawkmoon of the Black Jewel, but you do indicate to me what I should think of myself if I refused the aid of two such swordsmen as yourself. Aye—I'll fight on. Indeed, tomorrow I shall spend relaxing, ignoring Valjon's warning. You, Jeleana, I will have guarded here. I will send for our father and ask him to bring his guards to protect you.
Hawkmoon, D'Averc and myself—why—we'll shop tomorrow." He indicated the borrowed clothes that the two men wore. "I promised you new suits—and a good sheath, I think, Master Hawkmoon, for your borrowed sword—Valjon's sword. We will be casual tomorrow.
We will show Valjon—and, more important, the people of this city—that we are not frightened by Valjon's threats."
D'Averc nodded soberly. "It is the only way, I think, if the spirit of your fellow citizens is not to be destroyed," he said. "Then, even if you die, you die a hero—and inspire those who follow you."
"I hope I do not die," Bewchard smiled, "for I have a great love for life. Still, we shall see, my friends."
Chapter Eight - THE WALLS OF STARVEL
NEXT DAY DAWNED as hot as the previous day and Pahl Bewchard sauntered out with his friends.
As they moved through the streets of Narleen, it was plain that many already knew of Valjon's ultimatum and were wondering what Bewchard would do.
Bewchard did nothing. Nothing but smile at all he met, kiss the hands of a few ladies, greet a couple of acquaintances, leading Hawkmoon and D'Averc toward the centre of the town where he had recommended a good outfitter.
That the outfitter's shop was barely a stone's throw from the walls of Starvel suited Bewchard's purpose.
"After midday," he said, "we shall visit the outfitter's. But before then we will take lunch at a tavern I can vouch for. It lies close to the central square and many of our leading citizens drink there. We shall be seen to be relaxed and untroubled. We will talk of small things and not mention Valjon's threats at all, no matter how many efforts are made to bring the subject up."
"You are asking a great deal, Captain Bewchard," D'Averc pointed out.
"Perhaps," Bewchard answered, "but I have a feeling that much hangs on this day's events—more than I understand at this moment. I am gambling on those events—for it could be that the day could mean victory or defeat for me."
Hawkmoon nodded but made no comment. He too, sensed something in the air and could not question Bewchard's instinct.
The tavern was visited, food eaten, wine drunk, and they pretended not to notice that they were the centre of attention, cleverly avoiding all attempts to quiz them on what they intended to do about Valjon's ultimatum.
The hour of noon came and went and Bewchard sat and chatted with his friends for a further hour before rising, putting down his wine cup and saying, "Now, gentlemen, this outfitter I mentioned ..."
The streets were unusually lacking in crowds as they walked casually through them, getting closer and closer to the middle of the city. But there were many curtains that moved as they passed, many faces seen at windows, and Bewchard grinned, as if relishing the situation.
"We are the only actors on the stage today, my friends," he said. "We must play our parts well."
Then at last Hawkmoon saw his first glimpse of the walls of Starvel. They rose above the rooftops, white and proud and enigmatic, seemingly without gates.
The History of the Runestaff Page 43