by Roland Green
Perforce, the knight followed his lady and caught up with her as the two women stared at one another. Pirvan was reminded of two wolves deciding whether or not this was the time to fight for pack rank.
The silence was broken twice over, by Tarothin’s clearing his throat and by footsteps from behind, which turned out to belong to Jemar the Fair. The Black Robe turned her gaze on Pirvan, and he suddenly felt like a satyr faced with a woman ready to amuse herself with him.
Except that “amuse” would be the wrong word, if this woman had serious notions of bringing him to her by magic. Or by any other means, his reason added, noting the vast, dark eyes, and the gleaming, dark hair that framed everything.
I suppose once a year or so she meets a man too old or too young for her to try her wiles on. Otherwise she sees us all as prey, and that has given her bad habits.
Pirvan thanked all the gods of Krynn in a single comprehensive prayer of gratitude that Haimya was with him on this quest. Then he smiled.
“My lady. I am Sir Pirvan of Tiradot, and you may have heard of me as Pirvan the Wayward.” Then he thought, Which was not what I intended to say, and may give the lady ideas—not that she needs any help in such matters.
To Pirvan’s surprise, the woman’s smile was as grave as that of a white-robed cleric. “I am Rubina, Black Robe of Karthay. I found that what I serve and what your friend Tarothin serves are much the same. So, with the permission of Jemar the Fair, I am taking passage to Karthay aboard this ship, and as much farther as I can be useful.”
From Tarothin’s way of standing and looking at her, one of her uses was too plain to require comment. Pirvan and Haimya exchanged glances. This gave Jemar time to find his voice.
“I trust you will not presume to object to whom I may carry aboard my own ship?” It was not a question.
“Do I look like that big a fool?” Pirvan asked.
“No. A wise man as well as a knight, and the two are not always the same,” Rubina said.
Haimya giggled, which she did seldom, and which seemed to put Rubina out of countenance. The woman turned and, with regal grace, put an arm around Tarothin.
“Come, my friend. I think the wind is rising, and neither of us thrives on chills and coughs.”
When the deck was empty except for sailors carefully devoting themselves to their work, Haimya burst out laughing.
“What amuses you so, my lady?” Jemar asked.
“I was jealous at first. Then I saw that she had taken Tarothin for hers and was not seeking elsewhere. But she can hardly open her mouth to a man without saying something inviting. She must waste rather a lot of time better spent on other matters.”
Pirvan looked everywhere but at his wife, and was rewarded by her fingers slipping inside his tunic and tickling him in the short ribs. When he got his breath back, he turned to Jemar.
“Old friend, I trust your judgment, but is taking this Black Robe wise or necessary?”
“Tarothin thinks so, and I know from my own eyes and ears in Karthay that she has much influence in the towers there. Have your knights told you nothing about her?”
“Not even her name.”
“The knights will be well advised to talk more with the magic workers and less with one another in the coming years,” Jemar said.
“And we will be well advised to seek a warm cabin, out of this chilly wind,” Haimya said. This time Pirvan caught her hand before it reached inside his tunic, then lifted it to his lips and kissed the sword-calloused palm.
Chapter 8
Their cabin was small and sparsely furnished, and Pirvan realized that if their baggage ever did catch up with them, most of it would have to go into the hold. However, of most concern right now was that they were out of the wind and the rain, together, and alone.
They were just drifting off to sleep in a bunk barely large enough for one and distinctly cramped for two, when a fearful din from above jerked them both back to full wakefulness. To Pirvan it sounded as if the Servants of Silence might have followed them and were now trying to carry Windsword by boarding.
He leaped out of bed, snatched for his clothes and sword with one hand, and with the other tried to gather up decent garb and adequate weapons for Haimya. He ended by thrusting both of his legs into one leg of his breeches and falling on his face hard enough to cut his lip when he tried to leap for the ladder.
When he rose, all he could see of Haimya was bare shoulders, one bare arm holding a sword, and a face rapidly turning bright red from holding in laughter. About that time, Pirvan also recognized Kurulus’s voice, cheerfully reporting the arrival of everybody’s baggage and a few new hands.
Pirvan was curious about that last item, but not so curious that this time he failed to dress properly and appear on deck like a knight, complete to weapons and low boots. He nearly tripped again, over a line on which several sailors were hauling, but leaped over it as a chest he recognized as his and Haimya’s spare armor swung into view.
The clatter and clang of loading made conversation impossible; Pirvan went to the side to be out of the way. It was then that he saw Grimsoar One-Eye’s Sea Leopard close to port, and equally close to starboard a ship he didn’t know but which flew the Encuintras banner at two mastheads and the aftercastle. That, he supposed, was Kurulus’s ship.
And here came Kurulus himself, grinning rather like a kender who’s just made off with a whole crock of piping-hot biscuits and somebody’s wedding cake from a baker.
“All well?” Pirvan asked.
Kurulus laughed aloud. “Oh, we’ll be telling our grandchildren about this night. We got to the inn in fine style, hiring a few porters on the way with that purse of Jemar’s.
“It took more than the key to prove we had the right to enter your room. Also, a few of the servants seemed ready to slip out and tell someone—I’ll name no names—about us.
“So we had to climb the stairs as if the water were rising at our heels. We entered the chambers, picked up everything we could carry—”
“Not being too careful whether it belonged to us or the inn?” Pirvan interrupted.
“Sailors in a hurry don’t much care to read badges, if they can read at all. Anyway, we got clear, and with a little help from a carter we persuaded to go out of his way—”
“Did you steal his cart, or just force him to drive it down to the harbor?”
“Ask no questions and you’ll hear no sea stories,” Kurulus said, so piously that Pirvan burst out laughing.
“And then?”
“Well, the four of my lads who’d taken you down to Jemar’s boat then launched ours, and warned my own Thunderlaugh. We put our launch over the side, then hoisted anchor and drifted down to join you. I reckoned that three sea barbarian ships and the Encuintras flag is enough protection from anything the kingpriest is likely to send after us.
“If he whistles up the whole Istarian fleet, we’re fish food, but I’d wager all the wine aboard that he’ll do no such thing. There’s plenty in Istar who think virtue means honoring the gods instead of just a man who thinks he’s one.”
Drums began thudding, calling the hands to make sail, and Pirvan stepped aside as men swarmed toward the ratlines to go aloft and toward the sheets to work from the deck. Kurulus gave Pirvan a bone-crushing handshake, then swung over the side into his launch.
Lunitari was shining again, though veiled by clouds, and Pirvan saw, one by one, the sails shaken out and swelling with the wind. Then the drums and pipes beat for the capstan hands to raise anchor, and Pirvan himself ran forward to push on the bars, smoothed by many years of sailors’ hands.
It was not knight’s work, but at this moment Pirvan would have mucked out pigsties to speed his departure from Istar.
* * * * *
They had a slow but easy voyage to Karthay, with many fluky or contrary winds, but no storms. By the second day Haimya had her sea legs, and although she still looked pale, she could sway with the motion of the ship and lock one arm around the standing riggin
g as if she’d been at sea half her life.
They passed so far offshore of the Flower Rocks that Pirvan had to climb to the maintop to get a glimpse of them, dark and low above the sun-dappled water. There he, Haimya, and Tarothin had helped save Golden Cup, at the price of narrowly escaping drowning and a sea naga.
Now the sea sparkled and danced so that it was hard to believe it could hold anything dangerous. Rainbows of spray rose as the four ships sliced through the little waves, sails flapped and filled alternately with drum cracks, and gradually the coast of the Bay of Istar fell behind them.
Three days brought them into sight of the mountains beyond Karthay, without bringing any sign of pursuit. Pirvan wondered aloud at this, and his curiosity was hardly idle. He had much to do in Karthay, whether they went seeking the Minotaur’s outlaws or not. He could do it faster if he did not have to slip through the shadows of the city, to avoid its own rulers or the Servants of Silence.
Jemar tried to put him at ease. “To my mind, the danger of pursuit ended at the waterfront. The Istarian fleet’s mostly commanded by the merchant families. They’ll not take kindly to chasing a ship of House Encuintras.
“Nor will they be too happy over the Servants of Silence. Custom has been for the temple guards to stay in the temple precincts. Sending sworn killers roaming about the streets could bring down the kingpriest, or at least leave him with no power except to decide when he should go to the privy!”
Pirvan could only hope that Jemar was right. The sea barbarian chief believed in little except his own strength and shrewdness, for all that he professed to honor Habbakuk, Lord of Mariners. He did not know how corrupting it could be to tell a man that he is virtuous above all others.
At least the Knights of Solamnia required that one practice the virtues—and made their practice so demanding that one had no time to sit and think how wonderful one was. Without that discipline in their followers, the kingpriests were threatening to sow corruption in the name of virtue.
* * * * *
On the fourth day, they found themselves off an anchorage on the western shore of the bay. On the charts it bore the name “Istariku.” In a dialect so ancient that only a handful of scholars and clerics knew more than a few words of it, this meant “Eye of Istar.”
What that eye had been meant to watch in the days when the anchorage gained its name, no one knew. Today it plainly was meant to watch Karthay and the mouth of the bay, neither more than a day’s good sailing from the anchorage.
There were also ruins on the hills that suggested Istariku might once have been a considerable town, but of more interest to the travelers was a small village of tents on the shore. Also on the shore, drawn up on the beach, were a dozen light galleys, and anchored in deeper water were several heavier ships, some clearly merchant vessels, but others flying the banners of the Istarian fleet.
Kurulus volunteered to take his Thunderlaugh in to see if he could find buyers for some of his cargo. Even more important, he would seek out captains who might grow loose-tongued after enough wine.
“Everybody expects the worst of sea barbarians when it comes to a drinking bout,” he said. “They’ll have suspicion close to their hearts and their hands close to their steel. But House Encuintras will be my shield and my staff.”
Jemar could not but agree. He also could not help cautioning Kurulus not to presume too much on his house flag. “From what I have heard, old Josclyn Encuintras is not what he was, and may not be here to help us much longer.”
Kurulus lowered his voice so that only Jemar, Pirvan, and Haimya could hear him.
“That’s what he wants the world to think. I’d wager the price of one of those galleys that he’ll see out another ten years. He might even welcome a good brawl with the kingpriest while he’s young enough to enjoy it. He’ll enjoy even more finding out who in his house will kiss the kingpriest’s arse, and turning them into fish food.”
As Josclyn Encuintras would not see seventy again (Eskaia was the last child of his third wife and the only survivor out of four they had borne him), Kurulus’s tribute made Pirvan briefly jealous. At barely half the old man’s age, he thought as often of the pleasures of hearth and home as the honor of smiting foes.
But then, he had Haimya, which Josclyn Encuintras did not.
* * * * *
Kurulus took Thunderlaugh into Istariku at midmorning, while Jemar’s three ships began their beat offshore to Karthay. Kurulus might have departed sooner, save for an argument begun by Rubina, who thought that she might well learn much that was useful if allowed to accompany Kurulus.
Tarothin not only looked displeased but said more than he should have, in Pirvan’s opinion. Rubina looked displeased in return, but said nothing.
Jemar played peacemaker. “My lady, I doubt not that your power to make men babble exceeds that of the finest wine. Nor do I question your right to use whatever powers you see fit to loosen their tongues.” This last was said with a sharp look at Tarothin.
“But merely by going aboard Thunderlaugh you will reveal more than you learn. Our enemies will learn, sooner rather than later, that a Black Robe accompanies us, a Black Robe of Karthay. Consider that this might arouse suspicion enough to make some captain willing to defy the might of House Encuintras to make trouble for us.”
Rubina nodded slowly. “True enough. I am one of those weapons best brought out only at dire need. Also, the more help I can give Sir Pirvan in making the best use of his time in Karthay, the better for us all.”
Pirvan hoped she was referring to their plans to recruit mercenaries, with or without the help of the rulers of Karthay and the eyes and ears of the Solamnic Knights in the city.
The Black Robe then rose slightly on tiptoe and brushed her lips against Tarothin’s ear. “Also, I would be depriving myself of your company. It would take a greater prize than anything I could learn from the Istarians to make that worthwhile.”
Her tone almost oozed sincerity, and Pirvan understood clearly the impulse that he had read on the faces of a good many of his fellow voyagers:
Throw this wench overboard and her black bedgowns after her. Nothing she can do for us is worth listening to her in the meanwhile.
But a knight was sworn to both honor and prudence, and disposing of Rubina at this point in the quest would show neither. Also, they were going to need all the help they could obtain to muster enough men to carry out their plans.
So Rubina stood with Tarothin on the aftercastle of Windsword and waved farewell to Kurulus as he turned Thunderlaugh in toward the anchorage, from which boats were already putting out to greet him.
* * * * *
The Boatsteerer was a fair-sized inn of moderate comfort and with a discreet landlord, in the West Port quarter of Karthay. Even if the landlord had not had a reputation for discretion, according to the knights’ watcher in the city, he had prudence enough to develop that gift when dealing with Jemar the Fair.
The sea barbarian had never had the name of a bloody-handed killer for pleasure. He did have the name of one with a long memory for indiscretion or betrayal, and a short way of dealing with the indiscreet or treacherous when he caught up with them.
From a back room in the Boatsteerer, Pirvan and Jemar set out to recruit a band of warriors sufficiently numerous and redoubtable for their purposes. Haimya offered what help she could, but she was years past her sell-sword days, and more than a few of her old comrades were retired or dead, as were all but a few distant kin.
Grimsoar went about the streets, picking up the odd sailor or craftsman through his knowledge of both the seafarers and those who practiced night work, not to mention a few old friends from his days as a wrestler. He was also the one charged with procuring weapons, as the lords of Karthay might well grow uneasy if they saw the same men both recruiting soldiers and assembling armory.
Pirvan was not, to his dying day, sure whether Rubina helped or hindered. It took him equally long to forget one evening at the Boatsteerer, when Rubina chose to joi
n him and Jemar in discussing the hire of fifty men through one Birak Epron.
Epron was a sell-sword of some reputation, so short and wiry that one might suspect kender blood in him, save for the fact that at first he was about as talkative as one of the inn’s tables. He sat on his bench opposite the three questers, sipped from a single large cup of ale, answered questions with single words or grunts, and asked only two questions during the whole earlier part of the evening.
One was “What is the bounty on Waydol’s head?”
“That depends on how many other heads we bring in besides Waydol’s,” Pirvan said. “There are ten towers a man for everyone in the expedition that brings down Waydol, and much honor besides. If we bring down the rest of his band as well—why should generals with golden helmets to protect empty heads garner it all?”
“Because Aurhinius’s head is not empty,” Epron said, which was the longest speech he’d made thus far.
Pirvan decided that he would not again try to persuade a seasoned sell-sword that the quest would be easy.
The second question came later, and was “Have you healers with you?”
Rubina answered that, before either of the men could speak. “Of course we do. Any wizard of my stature can command healing spells, perhaps not of the highest order, but sufficient to keep alive many who would otherwise be dead.
“I am no follower of Mishakal, but if you will offer a pain to my healing, I think I will prove satisfactory.”
A cunning look came to Birak Epron’s face, and he found his tongue. “If you must lay hands on what most needs healing, this room is no place for it. It’s against my nature to remove my breeches save behind a closed door.”
“Then by all means let us repair to a room with a door that can be closed,” Rubina said. She rested a hand on Epron’s shoulder, and Pirvan would have sworn that he actually floated several fingers clear of the bench before his boots touched the floor.
