The Dragonstone
Page 29
Yet he had heard of the Jutlander queen who seemed to be searching for a lover. And since he had never bedded a queen before, much less one as rich as she, he thought to try his hand at this game as well. Oh certainly there were whispered rumors of lovers apast, as well as rumors of her strange penchants—unbelievable tales concerning dogs and horses and other beasts—yet he himself had had lovers aplenty, and his own inclinations were sometimes exceptional, and the tales cuckolded lovers spread concerning him were just as palpably false.
And so he came to Königinstadt with but a simple plan: to make love to the queen. Little did he know what he bargained for.
It took less than a week for him to be invited to sing before the queen, and less than a candlemark afterward she took him to her bed.
Completely exhausted by her recurrent demands, he slept as would the dead, and when he awoke he had a silver collar ’round his neck and a silver chain linked to the bracelet she wore.
Then, one night in the afterglow of lovemaking, in a whispered lover’s confidence, he discovered why she was called mad: she tenderly told him that her previous hundreds of paramours had been sacrificed one after another when they had ceased to satisfy. She had personally burned each one alive amid a glorious show of grief, Gudrun weeping and calling out her father’s name over and again as each of her fancy men screamed in agony while flesh was seared from bones and life was burnt away.
Yet at last she believed she had found her eternal lover, for surely Delon could and would see to her every carnal need.
Delon was horrified, and he nearly failed her at that moment, but he knew of more than one way to pleasure a woman, to the queen’s delight.
As to Delon, his every need, his every want was catered to. Except for giving him his liberty, he could not have asked for more—food, wine, clothing, luxury, everything he desired. Yet he would have given it all simply to be free.
And he knew not how long he could continue to pleasure her to her satisfaction, how long he would continue to live.
* * *
“…then you four came and saved me.” Delon fell silent, his tale told, what there was of it.
Aiko growled, “Why didn’t you simply kill her and escape?”
Delon shook his head. “I don’t know. It seemed to me that I was powerless to do anything. I was simply her thrall.”
Arin frowned, then she looked at the chain and neckband dangling from Delon’s hands. She canted her head and attempted to
Delon touched the polished obsidian stone on its slender golden chain. “This one I’ll keep. But the other…?”
“Destroy it,” said Aiko.
Egil objected. “Nay. If it compels docility, we may ultimately have a use for it on our quest.”
Arin looked from one to the other but said nought.
* * *
Southerly they fared, angling slightly eastward, aiming for the Straits of Kistan. For twelve days they plied the ocean, moving into warmer waters. At times the wind was with them; at other times they had to tack into the breeze; at times it failed altogether for short periods. And it rained again on two of the days—stiff gusts blowing sweeping brooms of falling water across the rolling surface of the sea. And during this time they saw no evidence of Jutlander ships, though they did pass a Gelender ketch heading northward toward home, and a Gothonian packet bearing westerly; neither ship came close enough to hail. Twelve days along this course they fared, and on the twelfth day a waning half moon fled before the sun across the sky. Night fell, and when mid of night came, in the confined space of the decking, Arin chanted and stepped out of the ancient Dylvana rite celebrating the autumnal equinox, Aiko matched her every move, Egil and Delon mirroring, and even Alos followed part of the way.
* * *
On the eve of the sixteenth day, they sighted the Straits of Kistan and maneuvered the Brise northeasterly, toward the shallow waters along the coast of Vancha. They hoped to hug the shoreline and escape the notice of the Rovers of Kistan, whether or not these pirates yet blocked the way. For if the Rovers still picketed the opening into the Avagon Sea, then a small sloop following the shoreline might slip past them unnoticed. But even if the Rovers’ blockade was broken, still the picaroons plied the straits, boarding ships, pillaging, raping, murdering, then hieing back to the safe havens of the jungle island of Kistan.
And so, through the gap and into the sapphirine waters of the Avagon Sea they fared, sailing the shallows of Vancha. Five days passed, and they saw none of the crimson lateen sails of the swift dhows of the Kistanian Rovers.
On the thirtieth day of September, in the noontide, they made port in Castilla on the southern flank of Vancha. As they sailed in among the ships anchored in the sheltered bay, they passed an Arbalinian craft, her hull blackened by the scars of fire, one of her masts broken, a hole in her hull near the waterline. Aboard this vessel, men labored to repair the damage and refit the ship. Some of these men were swathed in bandages.
“What ho?” cried Delon through cupped hands.
“Rovers” came the terse reply.
Delon turned. “It’s a wonder they survived.”
“No,” replied Egil. “The Rovers pillage and rape, and slay most of those who resist. Sometimes they take captives for ransom; sometimes they take the ships for ransom, too; sometimes they sink them out of spite; but on the whole they set badly damaged crafts free.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, so that they can be refitted and raided again.”
“Damn Rovers,” spat Alos, glancing back at the damaged ship now aft.
Egil stared aft as well and nodded in agreement. “Damned Rovers,” he echoed.
Arin fixed Egil with her hazel gaze. “Why dost thou curse them, chier? Is that not what Fjordlander raiders also do: pillage the property of others; mayhap rape the women of the conquered; slay most of those who resist; take captives for ransom; take property for ransom, too; at times destroy things out of spite; but on the whole leave enough behind so that in subsequent years, other raids can be just as successful?”
Egil looked at her, his one blue eye glittering. “Aye, love. I have done all those things you name, and perhaps others as well. But as I pledged on the heights of the fjord where I was born: I shall raid no more. Let it begin with me, I said, and so did I mean.”
Arin reached out and took his hand in hers and pulled him down beside her and kissed him. Egil smiled and stroked her hair and said, “But of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t steal a peacock now and again.”
Arin laughed. “Borrow, chier, borrow.”
* * *
Two days later, with the ship resupplied and with both Delon and Alos outfitted in clothing suitable for the sea—except for Delon’s iridescent belt with its large, ornate buckle, which the bard wore as a gaudy reminder of an ambition not well conceived—they set sail on the final leg to the city of Pendwyr, the Brise yet hugging the coastal waters of Vancha, for although the High King’s fleet had broken the blockade, Rovers yet plundered some ships plying the straits. In less than a sevenday they were well clear of the northern Straits of Kistan, and they set out on a northeasterly course, now faring across the indigo depths of the Avagon Sea. The wind held, though it rained now and then. Yet onward they sailed, the realms of Hoven and then Jugo unseen beyond the northern horizon.
Three weeks into October they fared through waters muddied by the vast outflow of the mighty River Argon and by sundown they came upon the coast of Pellar. In the late candlemarks of the third day after, under starlit skies they sailed into Hile Bay, the harbor ringed ’round by sheer cliffs, towering upward a hundred feet. As they fared toward the anchorage, on the high precipice above twinkled the lights of a city, its buildings ranging along the lengthy, steep-sided headland sheltering the bay.
They
had come to Pendwyr at last, the place where they hoped to find a ferret in a High King’s cage.
CHAPTER 43
After securing the Brise in a slip assigned by the harbormaster, Arin and her companions made their way up the steep cliff-side road to the headland above, Alos wheezing and complaining all the way, the old man stopping at intervals to rest and catch his wind.
“I should have stayed at one of the dockside inns,” Alos declared.
“Ha!” barked Aiko. “At a dockside tavern, you mean.”
Alos stuck out his chin. “Inn. Tavern. What do you care? You’ve no claim on me. When you get what you’ve come for and are on your way to who knows where, I’ll not be with you. I’m free at last and no longer part of this madness, dragging me over the oceans of the world and stealing peacocks and chopping off parts of queens. You’ve no claim, y’ hear?”
Aiko growled, but Arin sighed, and the old man would not meet her eyes. Delon hefted the oldster’s gear, and Egil said, “Let’s go.”
They came in among buildings of stone and tile and brick; the only wood in sight was that of brightly painted doors. They made their way into the city and, after asking about, procured rooms in the Blue Moon, an inn overlooking the bay below.
Following hot baths and a hot meal they took to their beds, and when morning came Alos was gone.
* * *
“Gone?” asked Egil. “Gone where?”
Delon shrugged and gestured out beyond the windows of the common room, where an early morning fog curled up across the headland and through the streets of Pendwyr. “I don’t know. His bed had been slept in, but when I awoke he wasn’t there. His goods are gone as well.”
Egil gazed at Aiko, but the yellow warrior merely stared back, her face impassive. Then he turned to Arin. “Fear not, love, we can always find him and cast him aboard the ship.”
Arin looked away from the fire in the nearby hearth, the blaze driving the damp chill away from the room. “Nay, chier, let be.” She glanced at Delon, then back to Egil. “To do such to Alos would be no better than clamping an iron collar ’round his neck.”
Egil took a deep breath then let it out. “As you will, love. As you will.”
A serving girl came to the table bearing a great platter heaped with eggs and rashers of bacon and biscuits and honey and a pot of freshly brewed tea. Delon took it upon himself to serve them all, shoveling food onto each of their trenchers and filling their mugs with hot drink.
As they dug in, Egil peered ’round the table. “I suppose our next move is to go to the caer and look for the High King’s cage, eh?”
Delon set his mug aside. “Perhaps it isn’t at the caer at all. Perhaps there’s a garden of beasts elsewhere.”
“It may be that King Bleys doesn’t keep ferrets at all,” said Aiko.
Delon cocked an eyebrow.
Aiko shrugged. “Perhaps the ferret in the High King’s cage is a person, just as you were a mad monarch’s rutting peacock.”
“If I am indeed the peacock of the rede and it’s not that preening bird in her garden,” said Delon.
“Hmm,” mused Egil. “Regardless as to whether or no you are the peacock—though I think in fact you are— still Aiko may be right: the ferret could be a person, too. If so, then the High King’s cage could be the caer itself or a dungeon within the caer or—”
“Or the city jail,” interjected Delon.
“Could be a brig on a ship,” added Egil.
“My songs would have it be a remote tower…with a princess locked away in a chamber at the top.” Delon grinned.
Egil looked at Delon. “Does the caer have a tower?”
Delon shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tower or dungeon: I don’t know. I’ve not been here before.”
Egil turned to Arin. The Dylvana had stopped eating and was again staring fixedly into the fire. “Are you well, love?” he asked.
Arin looked at him and sighed. “Nought. I can see nought in the flames. I have had no visions since the one concerning the green stone. Could I but
Egil reached out and laid his hand atop hers.
“Wild magic,” said Arin. “That’s what Dalavar called it: wild magic. It comes at its own beck, and I can do nought to make it occur.” She sighed and stroked his fingers, then freed her hand and took up her knife and began cutting a strip of bacon.
“Well,” said Egil, “I say we need visit the caer and see what there is to see concerning the High King’s cage, and discover what we can about the ferret, whoever or whatever it may be.”
“The jail, too,” added Delon. He scooped up a spoonful of egg and biscuit and stuffed it all into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Finally he took a great gulp of hot tea and said, “If the High King has a ship of his own, we ought to see if anyone is in the brig.”
Arin set aside her knife. “It is so frustrating: all is clouded in mystery. We know not if the ferret in the High King’s cage is even in Pendwyr. Yet, there is this: if Aiko is the cat who fell from grace, and if Egil is the one-eye in dark water—recall, we have four one-eyes to select from, three with Alos gone—and if Delon is the mad monarch’s rutting peacock rather than the bird we left behind, then we are stumbling along the correct path regardless of being blind. And so, we must search Pendwyr for the ferret. Whether or no we truly find what we seek is left up to Fortune’s whims—and may She turn Her smiling face our way. Even so, even if we leave here with the ferret, then we must seek the cursed keeper of faith in the maze, and we have no inkling as to where to look for whoever or whatever that might be. More than that I cannot say.”
Aiko reached for a biscuit. “Forget not the statue in the hedge, Dara; the keeper of faith in the maze might yet turn out to be the one-handed queen.”
Delon laughed, then sobered as his eyes flew wide. “Say, we’re not going to go back for her, are we?”
“If we do,” replied Aiko, slicing the biscuit with her trencher knife, “then perhaps I’ll bring her along as the queen with no head.”
Arin held a hand palm out. “If she is the keeper of faith, then I would think we need her alive to complete the quest.”
The corners of Aiko’s mouth turned down. “Then when this quest is over…” She drew a finger across her throat. As if contemplating Gudrun’s demise, Aiko smiled and calmly spooned honey over the cut biscuit halves.
Arin shook her head. “’Tis the ferret we are after at the moment and not the keeper of faith.”
Egil said, “Surely the ferret is here in Pellar and not elsewhere. I mean, where else would Bleys keep a cage?”
All eyes turned to Delon, and he shrugged. “I hear he has a fortress in Rian. Challerain Keep, I believe.”
Aiko groaned, then asked, “Where is this Challerain Keep?”
Delon shrugged. “I’ve not been there.”
“Rian itself lies along the Boreal Sea,” said Egil. “As to the keep, it must be inland, for it’s not along the coast. In any event, it’s far north from here.”
“Would we had known when we were sailing that ocean,” said Aiko. “It might have saved us a trip.”
They ate in silence for a while, and then Egil said, “Look, ere we go haring off to Challerain, let us first search this city. Perhaps, as Arin says, Fortune will turn Her smiling face our way.”
Arin looked up from her trencher. “We can only hope.”
* * *
As they stepped through the doorway of the Blue Moon and into the cobbled street, Egil said, “Well, I talked to the innkeeper, and the only High King’s cages he knew of were the kennels where Bleys keeps his hounds and the mews where he keeps his hunting birds. The caer has no dungeons, as far as he knows, but there is a city jail—at the moment filled with cutpurses and thieves and captured Rovers awaiting execution. It seems that when the High King’s fleet broke the blockade, he brought back Rover captains to make examp
les of. They’re to be hanged at sundown.”
“Huah,” grunted Delon. “Hangings will not stop the Rovers. They come from a nation of pirates: Kistan—its myriad jungle coves providing shelter for the picaroons.”
“Ah, well, that’s neither here nor there,” said Egil. “Our concern is altogether different.” He turned to Arin. “Shall we?”
They set out for the caer.
* * *
As the fog burned away with the coming of the morning sun, they passed through a city made primarily of stone and brick and tile, and of stucco and clay, the buildings for the most part joined to one another, though here and there were stand-alone structures. Narrow streets and alleyways twisted this way and that, the cobblestones of variegated color. Shops occupied many first floors, with dwellings above. Glass windows displayed merchandise, the handiwork of crafters and artisans: milliners, copper smiths, potters, jewelers, weavers, tanners, cobblers, coopers, clothiers, tailors, seamstresses, furniture makers, and the like.
Delon paused at the window of one of the stores. “I need outfit myself with a good set of leathers. Likely I’ll need such ere this venture is done.”
Aiko cast an askance eye his way. “Will you insist they match your belt? If so, I have a feather for your hat.” Delon grinned as Aiko giggled behind her hand, while Egil guffawed aloud. Arin merely smiled, then tugged Egil onward, the other two following.