by Giles Carwyn
Mikal winced. “This could be ugly.”
“Foul, toad-nosed buffoon!” The ponytailed duelist cried in return, standing on tiptoes as he pointed downward at the shorter man. He seemed a bit steadier on his feet, but his speech slurred. “It is Fessa who denies you the luck of the Waveborn, sir, not loaded dice. The lies dribbling from your shark’s smile will transform your sword arm into a sluggish swirl of flotsam. Your ugly face betrays the rot of your soul, and the seagulls throw white globs of contempt at you. A shaft of lightning should smite you for your foul lies, but my blade shall have to suffice.”
Mikal looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “Um, he has the edge. I think…”
“Have at you!” The short duelist yelled, charging for his sword. Ponytail lurched forward, going for his own blade. The short duelist slipped in front of his sword and bounced onto his butt. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, but he recovered, yanked his bent sword from the deck, and spun about in time to receive Ponytail’s salute.
“To the gulls I express my sorrow
As they taste your foul carcass on the morrow.”
A few whoops went up from the crowd just as the short duelist slashed wildly at Ponytail, and shouted:
“The sorrow to express is my own
I think your carcass they’ll leave alone.”
The crowd started laughing as the two men hammered each other with a flurry of badly aimed blows.
The shorter man finally fell down, giggling too hard to get up.
“You…” Ponytail huffed, paused, and almost laughed. A boo rose from the back of the crowd. Another echoed it. Trying to keep a straight face, Ponytail said:
“Uh…the seagulls will circle your bloodstained body
Your sword work is lousy, and your verse is shoddy.”
Mikal stifled a laugh, shaking his head.
“When does it stop?” Shara asked, wincing.
The short man clambered back to his feet, shouting:
“Your gulls are for fools.
I’ll…carve you with my tool.”
Another boo went up from the crowd, and this time was joined by many others.
“Go for a swim!” someone shouted.
“Hit him with your breath!” another joined in.
Ponytail flicked a glance at the crowd, but Short seemed oblivious. He focused his bloodshot eyes on the other man, and the two of them went at it again.
A cascade of boos drowned out the fight.
Three young men broke from the crowd, grabbing the combatants’ arms. The entire circle collapsed as the spectators ran forward. The duelists were pulled away from each other, bellowing as their swords were taken away.
“I almost had him!” Short yelled, ending in a laugh.
“You hack,” Ponytail shouted back. “I had the better of you from the beginning!” The duelists were raised up on shoulders and passed hand to hand to the edge of the ship, where the crowd tossed them into the water.
Mikal was beside himself with laughter. He leaned over, shaking and holding his stomach with one hand.
“That’s it?” Shara asked. “That’s all there is to the world-famous Summer Seas duelists?”
“That’s it, my lady,” Mikal managed to say through his laughter. “You’ve seen the ugly truth. We are not a nation of duelists with a drinking problem; we are a nation of drunks with a dueling problem.”
The Waveborn dispersed, seeking other entertainment. Shara and Mikal stayed on their perch, and she watched the two combatants floundering in the water. Ponytail tried to climb back into the boat, but Short grabbed him and yanked him back.
“What about the sharks?” she asked.
“Don’t worry,” Mikal said. “Sharks find bad poetry as unappetizing as we do. Why eat a lousy poet when you could eat garbage?”
“I must admit I was expecting a bit more from my first duel after Lord Reignholtz described them with such religious fervor.”
Mikal shrugged. “Lord Reignholtz holds the soul of the Summer Seas in his heart. And it’s a good thing he does, because no one else would bother. The rest of us are much more concerned with our bellies and balls than our hearts and souls.”
“So you say that Reignholtz’s talk of nobility is nothing but a farce, a pleasant fable to justify his privileged position?”
“Milady!” Mikal opened his mouth in mock indignation. “Are you saying you are not a true believer? Haven’t these last few days at sea washed the foul dust of land-bound cynicism from between your lovely toes?”
Shara kissed him. “You are very pretty when you’re avoiding the subject, but you are still avoiding the subject. Do you support Reignholtz? Would you fight for him if it came to that?”
Mikal shrugged again. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“You certainly are.” She started to kiss him again, but pulled away when he leaned forward to meet her. “And a fiendish avoider of questions.”
He smiled. “For a woman so easy to satisfy, you are devilishly hard to please.”
“Not if you give me what I want,” she said, leaning in for another kiss.
He didn’t take the bait this time. “Very well, once again I will give the lady what she wants. In my heart of hearts I steadfastly believe that Salice Mick was the greatest man who ever lived…” He paused dramatically. “Just not quite for the reasons Reignholtz chooses to believe. It’s true that the glorious Captain Mick gave us the gift of the Eternal Summer, but the man was a drunken sot by all accounts, a philanderer, and a gambler down to his bones. The main reason he fought King Ard was to keep his ship from being commandeered to transport troops. I tend to believe that his glorious ‘five hundred years of peace’ was a bit of an afterthought, something that just popped into his mind after he’d taken his fatal wound. Nothing like imminent death to spur poetic improvisation.”
“Then your Eternal Summer is nothing more than a grand mistake, a dramatic gesture from a dying drunk?”
“What rules the Summer Seas if not dramatic gestures?”
“The clever and the strong, just like any other place in the world.”
Chuckling, Mikal shrugged. “Perhaps, but there is power in truth and weakness in lies, regardless of the speaker’s intentions. Mick’s words touched the crowd’s heart that day. They still touch our hearts. Five hundred years of peace is no accident. Or, rather, it was an endless string of perfect accidents.”
“What do you mean?”
“At first, the idea of charting the course of a nation based on fops spewing rhyme and swinging swords seems like madness. But there is genius hidden in that madness. Resolving conflicts by way of endearing and long-winded posturing makes it practically impossible for us to accomplish anything. And if we can’t accomplish anything, we can’t accomplish anything particularly unjust, tyrannical, or vile. For the past five hundred years we have just bobbed along in a state of blissful ineptitude that has made it impossible for us to war against each other, or organize ourselves sufficiently to mount a war anywhere else. Thus, the Eternal Summer continues, and we remain civilized. We do not oppress ourselves or anyone else.”
“Except for the Physendrians,” she said.
“Ah.” He winked. “That is why Reignholtz has worked himself into a religious fervor, and why our dear Captain Lawdon’s skirts are twisted into a bunch.”
A trumpet sounded, and they both turned toward the sound. The crowd hushed.
“Is there always another drama to follow the previous ones?” Shara asked.
“The true festival has not even begun,” Mikal said.
A tall thin man dressed smartly in black and gold stepped onto the deck of their ship and announced in a loud voice. “I present Lord Vinghelt, Prince of the Summer Seas, Master of Vingheld, Governor of the Summer Deserts, and beloved of Fessa of the Deep.”
An entourage of Waveborn dressed in gold and black crossed the planks, fanning out as the Summer Prince arrived.
Vinghelt was in his late forties or early f
ifties with a smattering of gray in his meticulously trimmed beard. His clothes were tailored from black-and-gold silk, and he wore a blade so encrusted with jewels that it was certainly just for show. He was flanked by two swordsmen who had the easy stride and well-trained eyes of their trade. Everyone made room for the lord as he passed through the crowd, greeting all comers with a hearty handshake and magnanimous smile.
“My fellow Waveborn, I have just returned from the Summer Deserts, where our brave lads and lasses strive to bring peace. They do the goddess’s work, and we should all be very proud of them.”
Cheers and shouts rose from the crowd. Vinghelt smiled and nodded, then finally raised his hands. The cacophony quieted some, and he continued. “It is a blessing to return to see the loyal faces of my countrymen. The Summer Deserts are slowly walking into the light of our dear Fessa, but there is nothing like being home!”
The crowd applauded heartily, and the lord waited for it to die down before continuing.
“I would like to invite you all to share in the goddess’s bounty aboard Glory of Summer. My humble chefs have prepared a never-ending banquet for any who would share a cup of Ardish Red with the heroes of Summer and welcome them back to the waves of their birth.”
A deafening cheer rose from the crowd, and Vinghelt’s supporters started a chant.
“Long live the prince!”
Vinghelt smiled tolerantly for everyone and began to greet individuals in the crowd.
“Ardish Red for all,” Mikal said to Shara. “Now there’s an extravagant gesture. Beware that you don’t grab a bottle of Physendrian Red by mistake when you pull from Vinghelt’s wine cellar.”
“Physendrian Red?”
“Blood, my dulcet dear. Where do you think Vinghelt gets the gold to lavish such expensive gifts upon the Waveborn?”
“So this Vinghelt is a man who is not above using whatever resources his fingers can touch, is he?”
“Oh yes. His fingers also found their way under the skirts of a very old, very rich widow. The excitement must have been too much for the poor dear. She was dead within a month, and the next thing you know, he is Lord Vinghelt, Master of Vingheld.”
“How convenient.” She felt her ire rising, but she put it down. This was not her problem. At Lawdon’s request, she would probe Vinghelt, but it didn’t really matter to her who ruled in the Summer Cities.
“Shall we then?” she asked.
“Shall we what?”
“Join the party.”
He smiled. “Yes, of course. Why not? Let us drink with the enemy.”
“He’s Reignholtz’s enemy,” Shara said. “Not mine.”
“Ah…I see. You are a lover, not a fighter?”
“Exactly.”
CHAPTER 13
Shara studied Lord Vinghelt as he moved through the crowd greeting each person by name like long-lost friends. If a man like Reignholtz hated and feared the prince, Shara wanted to know why.
The man was tall and slender, with a thin neck, a chiseled jaw, and a natural smile. Brophy could take him down with a single punch, she thought.
She frowned and banished the Brother of Autumn from her mind.
Vinghelt’s step was sure and strong, just graceful enough to be dignified. Every movement and gesture seemed to shout, “I am one of you. One of the people. A true Summerman.”
His clothing was finely made, but far less outrageous than Mikal’s. Vinghelt’s muted attire was somewhat conspicuous in the colorful menagerie assembled on the Floating Palace. His bearing and attire projected sober restraint, but turbulent emotions leaked from him as they did from any normal person.
He paused for a moment to speak with a grossly fat man who was cloaked and cowled in a black robe. Shara could not see the man’s face, but his hands were a shocking white. An albino? He struggled with almost every step, shuffling awkwardly across the deck. As he paused for a short rest, he looked up, and Shara got a glimpse of his white face and red eyes.
Her breath faltered for an instant at the contact. The fat albino smiled at her, and a rush of heat raced through her body.
She turned back to Mikal and drained her wineglass. “Shall we then?”
“Shall we what?”
“Introduce ourselves.”
Mikal shrugged, and Shara led him through the crowd toward the Summer Prince.
Vinghelt was busy chatting with several people only a few yards away, but he noticed Shara out of the corner of his eye as she drew closer. At the perfect moment, as the crowd parted to create a momentary aisle between Vinghelt and Shara, he caught her gaze.
Oh, well done, she thought.
The prince strode forward flanked by his bodyguards. The two swordsmen looked everywhere but forward, but Shara knew their attention was intensely focused on Mikal and his Zelani consort.
Vinghelt stopped just in front of her and Mikal. His slender build made him seem taller at a distance. The man’s nose was straight and sharp as a knife, and his smile was something you’d expect from a long-lost friend. One day, Shara thought, I shall have to study the magic in a person’s charisma. If there was such a thing, Vinghelt had an ocean of it.
He bowed to her. “Shara-lani, dearest cousin of the north, you cannot know how happy it made me to hear of your arrival. You honor Fessa’s waves by your presence.”
“The honor is mine, Lord Vinghelt,” she said, giving a curtsy as modest as her short skirt would allow. “I have heard so much about you.”
“I urge you not to listen to the rumors. Some are quite exaggerated.”
“Most rumors are.”
“You are kind to say so.” He turned to Mikal. “Lord Heidvell, you have done the Summer Seas a great service by bringing such an eminent guest to our humble Floating Palace.”
“She hijacked me,” he said, grinning.
“Ah.” Vinghelt glanced at Shara. “I’m sure she would do the same to any of us. Only a blind man could resist such a radiant beauty. Speaking of beauty, tell me, Lord Heidvell, how is your lovely mother?”
“Going a bit senile, I’m afraid, but still utterly devoted to you.”
Vinghelt only paused long enough to blink, then turned to Shara.
“Dear Shara-lani, I would consider it an honor if you and Lord Heidvell agreed to be my guests on the Glory of Summer. I hate to think of you lodging so far from the heart of the Floating Palace.”
“What a delightful offer. I am honored.”
“Excellent,” Vinghelt replied. “I will be expecting you; it will give us more time to discuss our mutual passions.”
“Mikal, dear, would you refresh my glass?” she asked, offering him the goblet. She gave Vinghelt her other arm. Mikal stood stunned for a moment, then snatched her cup and left.
Vinghelt led her toward the ship’s rail while his bodyguards hovered discreetly behind them. “You and Mikal are an interesting pair,” he said.
“He keeps me entertained.”
“Yes.” Vinghelt nodded, giving her a knowing smile. “I, too, enjoyed my youth. If you linger in the Summer Seas long enough, you will hear the stories. But great men live in the present.”
“I heartily agree,” Shara said, giving him a sly smile.
“The goddess taught me that lesson,” Vinghelt continued, eating up her smile. “When she extended her hand to me, I grasped it without hesitation. All fear and doubt fled from me, never to return.”
“I have heard you are a man of great faith.”
“No, I am a man of great respect. Faith is a belief not based on fact. I have seen the divine with my own eyes.”
“I have no doubt.”
He grinned. “We are very alike, you and I. In fact, there is something in particular that we share. I too have some knowledge of the mystical.”
“I had not heard that, my lord.”
“Indeed. It runs strongly in my blood. I have made an extensive study of the lost arts in my travels. I have already passed through the second gate of several paths, but alas, Zelani is
not a discipline I have been able to study.”
“That is an unfortunate oversight, but I’m sure it could be remedied.” She smiled at the prince, matching her breath to his. His emotions washed over her, desperate desires mixed with primal terror.
“Tell me,” she said, leaning just close enough for the side of her breast to brush his arm. “Which of the ancient disciplines have you studied?”
He glanced around briefly before meeting her gaze with a relaxed smile that seemed impossible considering the thunderous beating of his heart. “I started along the path of the Necani, but I have branched out into Hyptani and Lowani, which I believe are where my true talents lay.”
“Really, and you have passed the second gate in all three?”
“Oh, yes, I eventually hope to walk all eight paths.”
“All ten, you mean?”
Shara’s gaze fell upon Brezelle, who was working her way through the revelers.
“Of course I meant all ten,” Vinghelt corrected himself with a smile.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord,” Shara said with a curtsy. “Would you please excuse me? I must visit with young Lady Reignholtz.”
Vinghelt looked over his shoulder and spotted Brezelle. “Ah. Well, of course. I have duties to which I must attend, as well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I look forward to future conversations,” Vinghelt said. “As soon as possible. In fact, I would be honored if you would attend an intimate gathering I am having tomorrow night on Glory of Summer.”
“It sounds divine, my lord. I will see you there.” She gave him a winsome look and moved past him.
Leaving the prince staring at her back, she made her way through the crowd toward Brezelle. The young lady was radiant, and Shara wondered if she hadn’t stolen a moment or two with the young man who’d serenaded her.
Mikal slid in smoothly next to Shara and matched her stride. “Where’s your new prince?” he asked, handing her the drink she’d asked for. “Have you made him a god so soon?”
“Don’t be jealous,” Shara said with a smile. “It doesn’t suit you.”
