Dragon's Bluff

by Mary H. Herbert

  On the fifth day, the Silver Fox and his Force escorted another Khur caravan into Flotsam. The captain disappeared the moment the caravan hove into sight, but the populace turned out to greet the wagons and to visit the market where the Khurs unloaded their wares. This caravan originated in Khuri-Khan and carried predominantly Khurish goods: rugs, dried figs, olives, saddles, lengths of beautifully woven fabrics, pottery with the traditional blue motifs, and silver jewelry from the mountains. Lucy and her deputies had their hands full keeping the drunks in line, curbing the acquisitive tendencies of the kender, and ensuring that everyone followed the rules of the market.

  To make matters more complicated, the Dark Knights returned.

  Lucy saw them at the edge of the crowded market, riding their horses slowly along the perimeter. Knight Officer Venturin rode at the head of the Talon on a night-dark horse, her visage as grim and dark as her steed. None of the Knights wore armor in the heat of the day, but all were heavily armed and clad in leather cuirasses. The people in the crowded street made way before them.

  The Knight officer seemed to be looking for someone, and Lucy did not need a crystal ball to figure out who. Quickly, she pulled off the turban and thrust it into Challie’s arms. “Take this and get out of sight,” she hissed.

  The dwarf barely had time to dodge behind a laden wagon before the Dark Knight spotted Lucy, wrenched her horse around, and rode it into the busy market irrespective of the people and goods underfoot. Lucy hurried to meet them, hoping to cut them off before they caused too much damage. Taking her cue from her last meeting with the Talon leader, she bowed low before Knight Officer Venturin.

  Venturin’s mouth twisted into its habitual sneer. “I see you are still playing your charade of sheriff.”

  “Yes, Knight Officer.” Lucy kept her eyes on the ground. She felt such an intense desire to plaster this Knight with one of those flaming potatoes that she was relieved she did not have one. The temptation would have been too hard to resist.

  The Knight made no move to dismount. She sat on her horse, and her eyes swept the faces of the people around them. Most of the market-goers moved away to avoid the Knights, while those close by studiously ignored them and maintained masks of occupied innocence. Knight Officer Venturin snorted, a sound short and unpleasant, and turned back to the woman standing in front of her. “We are looking for a man, a half-elf to be exact.”

  Lucy shrugged. “There are several of that blood around here.”

  The Dark Knight spurred her horse forward until she forced Lucy back against a cart. Drawing her sword, she leaned past the horse’s neck and shoved the point at Lucy’s throat. “Don’t be stupid,” she suggested in cold tones. “I am looking for the leader of the resistance in this area. He is tall, fair-haired, and goes by the name of Lysandros. I have heard from my sources that he has a liking for you.”

  Lucy could not hide a start of surprise. She guessed the half-elf harbored feelings for her of some kind, but to realize the Knights of Neraka knew about it alarmed her.

  Venturin chuckled. “So it is true, to some extent at least. I will keep that in mind. Meanwhile, little sheriff, remember this: There is a price on his head. You can profit from that knowledge or suffer. The penalty for aiding a fugitive is death.”

  Lucy could only nod. The black horse fidgeted under his tight rein, bringing his hooves very close to her feet. His hot breath fanned her face, and his heavy muzzle was only inches away from her nose. The edge of the cart pressed painfully into her back.

  Venturin laughed and jabbed the tip of her sword just enough to pierce the skin on Lucy’s neck, then she backed the horse several steps. “If Lysandros shows his face in this town, just hoist a flag from your city hall. My spies will see it and send me word. It is worth your miserable little life to obey.”

  Lucy bowed again without saying a word. Wheeling their horses, the Dark Knights rode out of the marketplace and back to the road. “Challie!” Lucy called. “Find Pease and have him tell the kender to keep an eye on those Knights. I want to know where they go and when they leave town.” Challie nodded, tossed the turban back to her, then hurried away to find Pease.

  The tension slowly eased, and the noise and bustle of the market resumed. People crowded around Lucy, talking to each other and congratulating her for avoiding trouble with the Dark Knights.

  “You’d better hoist that flag,” a hoarse voice murmured in her ear.

  Her brows lowered, she turned to the speaker and saw a bearded man in fisherman’s clothes standing close behind her. Fish scales clung like iridescent raindrops to his arms and stained leather apron, and his clothes stank of fish and bait. It wasn’t until she lifted her gaze to his pale blue eyes and saw the laughter in their depths that she realized who he was: Lysandros.

  “She said, ‘If Lysandros shows his face in this town …’ ” Lucy replied tartly. “Well, I don’t see Lysandros’s face, only the ugly mug of a fisherman who presumes to give advice to the Sheriff of Flotsam.”

  “Well spoken, Sheriff,” drawled the fisherman. “Cripes, but you’re a cool one around that Knight.”

  Lucy sniffed her disdain. “She’s just lucky I didn’t have a potato handy.”

  Lysandros grinned at her for a moment, then he sobered and remarked, “I heard what she said.”

  “The fact that someone close enough to you to know your feelings is reporting to the Dark Knights bothers me.”

  “Not the fact that I hold deep feelings for you?” he asked.

  The even tone of his voice made her uncomfortable, for she could not tell if he was joking or totally serious. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and said, “I hope those feelings are like mine, the affection for a good friend.”

  He stared into the green depths of her gaze and saw the unshakable truth of her words. She offered nothing more. He nodded once and turned away before she could recognize the disappointment in his heart. Perhaps, considering the future, that was for the best. He took a step back from her. “A very good friend,” he agreed. “So stay out of the path of those Knights, if you can.”

  “You, too,” she replied. “And watch your back.”

  He moved to go, changed his mind, and turned back. “What would you say to having pies and cider with a friend tonight? Same place?”

  She lifted the turban to her head and set it in place. Lysandros noted with satisfaction that the symbiotic creature turned a pale shade of blue, a contented color. It wasn’t a hot, passionate red, but it was better than, say, a fiery orange or an angry black. Lucy tucked her thumbs into her belt and assumed a slouching pose. “I’d have to say yes. See you at dusk.” She swaggered off into the crowd to meet the next crisis.

  Captain Fox watched her until her blue-clad figure was lost in the throng.

  Ulin and Notwen began their search for Lucy’s father shortly after midday. They had slept late despite the heat and the noise in the village, and when they woke, they were ravenous. After a breakfast of bland chowder and watery ale, they made a careful inquiry about Kethril Torkay.

  The innkeeper looked at them askance. “Sure, most people around these parts know Kethril. Most people live to regret it.”

  “As have I,” Ulin replied heavily. “I must repay a debt of gambling. However, I cannot pay him, if I do not know where he is.”

  A laugh burst from the old innkeeper. “If you say so, boy. I would tell you if I knew. He has stiffed me on a debt, but truth is, no one’s seen Kethril around here for some months. Rumor is he’s dead.” He nodded toward the door. “You can try some of the other places. Maybe you’ll be lucky.”

  Notwen and Ulin trudged outside. They paused in the warm sunlight while Ulin drew the Truth-see glasses out of his pocket. He hesitated a moment, staring at the fine wire and pink lenses. He knew they should work. They had been crafted in the Fourth Age with magic granted by the gods, magic that was still reliable even after the departure of the gods. But he hesitated, torn by an illogical reluctance and a sense of foolishness. O
ne reason he had come to this region was to look for artifacts—so why did he have a powerful desire to crumple these spectacles and hurl them into the bay? It wasn’t the spectacles’ fault his magic no longer functioned. Ulin sighed and forced his feelings aside. If this Kethril was as clever as everyone thought, he and Notwen would need all the advantages they could garner. He put the glasses on.

  If the spectacles worked, it was not immediately apparent. The rose lenses did nothing to improve the squalor and decrepit condition of the town, nor did they reveal anything out of the ordinary. What he saw, Ulin decided, was what he got.

  He and Notwen decided to start their inquiries in the taverns and gaming houses along the ramshackle waterfront then work their way through the brothels and shops of the back streets. The first tavern they visited was built into the hold of one the old ships. A ramp led up to a door cut in the hull, and inside tables and a bar had been set up on the lower deck. The place was nearly empty, and the few customers at the bar were a mean-looking, surly lot. If they knew anything about Kethril, they were in no mood to tell.

  Notwen and Ulin moved on. At the next establishment, the name of Kethril Torkay brought an instant reaction from one of the patrons.

  “That conniving son of a jackal!” a powerful-looking Khur barbarian shouted. “He cheated me! I will have his tongue! His hands! His eyes will decorate my dagger!”

  “Yes,” Ulin said patiently, “but do you know where he is? We were told he was dead.”

  “Dead!” The barbarian slammed his mug on the table. “Not that we have heard. Hey, Kalim, have you seen that whoreson Kethril?”

  The person he addressed raised his head from the bar and gazed blearily at nothing in particular before shaking his head and dropping it back on the bar.

  The Khur stamped to Ulin, his expression bellicose and very inebriated. “If you find him, tell me. I have vowed to slit his throat.”

  “Stand in line,” Ulin muttered. He led the drunken Khur back to his table with promises of instant notification should Kethril Torkay be found. After depositing the man in a chair, Ulin hurried out with Notwen.

  They tried several more taverns with equal success until they reached the end of the small waterfront. From there they followed a different path past several run-down houses and a dilapidated shop to the next establishment: a gaming house made of mud bricks and stucco.

  The owner, a tall red-haired woman of middle age, met them at the door and welcomed them inside. The shaded interior was cool after the humid heat outdoors, and fans, turned by several children, helped keep the air moving. Customers obviously appreciated the house’s amenities, for the tables were nearly full of patrons playing everything from dice and khas to Bounty Hunter and Dragon’s Bluff. Serving maids bustled around the tables serving beverages and snacks.

  “What interests you today, gentlemen?” the red-haired owner inquired. “We offer dice, cards, khas, games of chance, games of skill …”

  Something about the woman prompted Ulin to drop his story of an unpaid gambling debt and try something closer to the truth. “A game of Hide and Seek,” Ulin answered. “We are looking for someone who was reported dead. His family is very concerned.”

  She considered them for a long moment then held up a hand, its fingers encrusted with rings. “Perhaps you would like a water reading? Through the oracle glass certain things can be foretold. Loved ones can be located.”

  Ulin and Notwen glanced at each other, interest on both their faces. Ulin had never seen an oracle glass, although he’d heard of them. He was intrigued to see how one worked.

  The fortune-teller led them to a separate room enclosed with carved screens and hung with purple cloth. She sat them both in chairs beside a round table and took a seat herself. A clap of her beringed hands brought a young girl to her side. “Bring water, and be sure you filter it three times. It must be pure.” She leaned back in her high back chair and studied the man and the gnome as the girl hurried away. “A curious partnership,” she said softly. Her fingers drummed on the armrest. “No. Do not talk. Let me read you for myself.” Her voice was husky and curiously soothing. Red-gold lashes framed her deep-brown eyes and matched the color of her hair piled on top of her head.

  She reached under the table and brought out a perfectly round glass bowl, clear and nearly flawless, and set it on a three-legged stand in front of her. As soon as the girl returned with a pitcher of water, she took the pitcher and poured its contents into the bowl. The girl quickly withdrew, and the three were left in silence.

  Ulin sat still, his fingers steepled, his face devoid of any feeling or reaction. Notwen fidgeted in his chair, hoping for a closer look at the oracle glass. So far, all either of them could see was clear water.

  The woman hummed to herself, her eyes on the glass, her hands flat on the table. She appeared to be deep in concentration on the interior of the bowl. “Young man,” she intoned at last. “You are more than you seem. You have lost much, yet your heart is strong. You are seeking … how intriguing. I see a dragon, a gold dragon. It carries you, but it weeps.”

  Ulin’s fingers closed around each other in a grip so tight his knuckles turned white. “Is there more?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Can you tell me where he is?”

  “No,” she said. “The oracle glass cannot be perfectly controlled. I only interpret those images that form. Let me try another.” She stirred up the water with a glass rod and waited for a new image. “Who else are you looking for? Perhaps a name?”

  “Kethril Torkay.”

  The fortune-teller clapped a hand over the glass and stared at her two customers. “Why are you looking for him?” she demanded.

  “For the reason I told you. His family received a letter informing them of his death. They just want to know the truth.”

  She relaxed slightly, and her hand moved from the bowl. “I see truth in your eyes. Besides, that lying knave did mention a wife and children somewhere. I thought he was just lying to get out of marrying me.” She smiled then, revealing large white teeth and a dimple on her powdered cheek. “This reading is free.” She stared back into the water. “I do not see a grave. There is a hole of some sort, an excavation perhaps, but no grave. He is in it, very much alive, moving boxes I think.”

  Ulin pursed his lips, thinking about what she said. “Are these images of the past or the future?”

  “Could be either. The oracle glass does not interpret time as we do.”

  “So Kethril may be alive?”

  “Probably.”

  “Where do we find him?”

  The woman shook her head. “That I cannot say. He has not been here for months. If he had visited me, he probably would be dead.”

  Ulin snorted a laugh. “He certainly knows how to make friends.”

  “That’s the problem. He does. He is the most charming, delectable man who ever crossed my threshold.” She sighed eloquently. “Also the most self-centered, untruthful, conniving rogue who ever set foot in Dead Pirate’s Cove, and that’s saying a great deal.” She tapped a fingernail on the glass and gazed thoughtfully at the tiny rings that spread across the water. “There is one possibility. He is an inveterate gambler. If he is still in the area, he could be sneaking over to the Golden Carp. It’s a riverboat used as a gaming tavern upriver. They move it whenever they feel the itch, so it could be anywhere along the river between here and Four Horse, where the river gets too shallow for boats. Maybe ten miles upstream.”

  Ulin dropped a steel coin on the table. “Take it anyway, and thank you.”

  Notwen bounced on his seat. “But what about me?”

  She smiled at him. “Ah, I almost forgot. The gnome with the inventive mind.” She peered into her glass again. “You have a good friend here. I think he will save your life.” She shot a look at Notwen over the glass. “But beware a red dragon.”

  Notwen barely heard her. He climbed up in his chair and peered over the glass. “What do you see? How do you summon these images? Is the power in you,
the water, or the glass?”

  The fortune-teller waggled a finger at him. “Oh, no. That’s giving away my secrets.” She lifted her glass away from his inquisitive hands. “Suffice to know that my images are reliable. It is up to you to find their worth.”

  Ulin pulled Notwen away from the table and plopped him on the floor. They offered their thanks to the red-haired woman and made their way to the next establishment. For the rest of the day they talked to the citizens of Dead Pirate’s Cove, but no one could give them any more information on Kethril. The man had vanished from the settlement four months ago and not even the few people who called him friend knew where he was.

  With only the sketchy information from the red-haired woman, Ulin and Notwen returned to the Loathly Dragon hungry, tired, and dispirited. They rested that night and early the next morning, they made their back to the Second Thoughts. Under the amused scrutiny of a dozen witnesses, they poled the boat backward until they could turn her toward the river, then they lit the boiler and got underway. Slowly, they steamed toward the mouth of the river.

  The particular advantages of a shallow-drafted, broad-bottomed boat and a paddle wheel soon became apparent in the silt-filled waters of the river. The boat wove a tortuous route through the saltmarsh, past sandbars, mud flats, and banks of waving marsh grass. In many places the water was shallow even in high tide and barely passable with the paddle boat. A deep-keeled sailboat would never have made the passage.

  Ulin steered the small boat while Notwen kept the boiler hot and the engine working. They made several wrong turns and had to work their way back to the main current, and twice Ulin had to jump out and pull armfuls of weed, dead grass, and muck from the blades of the paddle so it could turn without too much stress on the cogs and the engine. In spite of the extra miles, the Second Thoughts left the marsh behind shortly before nightfall and chugged slowly up the meandering river.