Linden saw what he meant. As Starfare's Gem approached the piers and levees at the foot of the town, she discerned more clearly the scores of ships there, the bustling activity of the docks. In the Harbour-some at the piers, some at berths around the Sandwall-were a variety of warships: huge penteconters; triremes with iron prows for ramming; galleasses armed with catapults. But their presence seemed to have no effect on the plethora of other vessels which crowded the place. Brigantines, windjammers, sloops, merchantmen of every description teemed at the piers, creating a forest of masts and spars against the busy background of the town. Any distrust which afflicted Bhrathairealm had no influence upon the vitality of its commerce.
And the air was full of birds. Gulls, crows, and cormorants wheeled and squalled over the masts, among the spars, perching on the roofs of Bhrathairain, feeding on the spillage and detritus of the ships. Hawks and kites circled watchfully over both town and Harbour. Bhrathairealm must have been thriving indeed, if it could feast so many loud scavengers.
Linden was glad to see them. Perhaps they were neither clean nor gay; but they were alive. And they lent support to the Harbour’s reputation as a welcoming port.
When the dromond drew close enough to hear the hubbub of the docks, a skiff came shooting out into the open water. Four swarthy men stroked the boat swiftly toward the Giantship; a fifth stood in the stern. Before the skiff was within clear hail, this individual began gesticulating purposefully at Starfare's Gem.
Linden's perplexity must have shown on her face, for Pitchwife replied with a low chuckle, “Doubtless he seeks to guide us to a berth which may accommodate a ship of our draught.”
She soon saw that her companion was right. When Honninscrave obeyed the Bhrathair's gestures, the skiff swung ahead of the Giantship and pulled back toward the docks. By following, Honninscrave shortly brought Starfare's Gem to a deep levee between jutting piers.
Dockworkers waited there to help the ship to its berth. However, they quickly learned that they could do little for the dromond. The hawsers which were thrown to the piers were too massive for them to handle effectively. As Giants disembarked to secure their vessel, the Bhrathair moved back in astonishment and observed the great stone craft from the head of the levee. Shortly, a crowd gathered around them-other dockworkers, sailors from nearby ships, merchants and townspeople who had never seen a Giantship.
Linden studied them with interest while they watched the dromond. Most of their exclamations were in tongues she did not know. They were people of every hue and form; and their apparel ranged from habiliments as plain as those which Sunder and Hollian had worn to exotic regalia, woven of silk and taffeta in bright colours, which would have suited a sultan. An occasional sailor-perhaps the captain of a vessel, or its owner-was luxuriously caparisoned. But primarily the bravado of raiment belonged to the Bhrathair themselves. They were unquestionably prosperous. And prosperity had given them a taste for ostentation.
Then a stirring passed through the crowd as a man breasted his way out onto the pier. He was as swarthy as the men who had rowed the skiff, but his clothing indicated higher rank. He wore a tunic and trousers of a rich black material which shone like satin; his belt had been woven of a vivid silvery metal; and at his right shoulder was pinned a silver cockade like a badge of office. He strode forward as if to show the throng that a ship the size of Starfare's Gem could not daunt him, then stopped below the afterdeck and waited with a glower of impatience for the invitation and the means to come aboard.
At Honninscrave's order, a ladder was set for the black-clad personage. With Pitchwife, Linden moved closer to the ladder. The First and Seadreamer had joined the Master there, and Brinn had brought Covenant up from his cabin. Cail stood behind Linden's left shoulder; Ceer and Hergrom were nearby. Only Vain and Findail chose to ignore the arrival of the Bhrathair.
A moment later, the man climbed through the railing to stand before the assembled company. “I am the Harbour Captain,” he said without preamble. He had a guttural voice which was exaggerated in Linden's ears by the fact that he was not speaking his native language. “You must have my grant in order to berth or do trade here. Give me first your names and the name of your ship.”
Honninscrave glanced at the First; but she did not step forward. To the Harbour Captain, he said evenly, “This vessel is the dromond Starfare's Gem. I am its Master, Grimmand Honninscrave.”
The official made a note on a wax tablet he carried. “And these others?”
Honninscrave stiffened at the man's tone. “They are Giants, and the friends of Giants.” Then he added, “In times past, the Giants were deemed allies among the Bhrathair.”
“In times past,” the Harbour Captain retorted with a direct glare, “the world was not what it is. My duty cares nothing for dead alliances. If you do not deal openly with me, my judgment will be weighed against you.”
The First's eyes gnashed with ready anger; but her hand gripped an empty scabbard, and she held herself still. Swallowing his vexation with an effort, Honninscrave named his companions.
The Bhrathair wrote officiously on his tablet. “Very well,” he said as he finished. “What is your cargo?”
“Cargo?” echoed Honninscrave darkly. “We have no cargo.”
“None?” the Harbour Captain snapped in sudden indignation. “Have you not come to do trade with us?”
The Master folded his arms across his massive chest. “No.”
“Then you are mad. What is your purpose?”
“Your eyes will tell you our purpose.” The Giant's voice grated like boulders rubbing together. “We have suffered severe harm in a great storm. We come seeking stone with which to work repairs and replenishment for our stores.”
“Paugh!” spat the Bhrathair. “You are ignorant, Giant-or a fool.” He spoke like the heat, as if his temper had been formed by the constant oppression of the desert sun. “We are the Bhrathair, not some peasant folk you may intimidate with your bulk. We live on the verge of the Great Desert, and our lives are exigent. What comfort we possess, we gain from trade. I grant nothing when I am offered nothing in return. If you have no cargo, you must purchase what you desire by some other coin. If you lack such coin, you must depart. That is my word.”
Honninscrave held himself still; but he looked ready for any peril. “And if we do not choose to depart? Should you seek combat from us, you will learn to your cost that two-score Giants are not blithely beaten.”
The Harbour Captain did not hesitate; his confidence in his office was complete. "If you choose neither payment nor departure, your ship will be destroyed before nightfall. No man or woman here will lift hand against you. You will be free to go ashore, thieve all you desire. And while you do so, five galleasses with catapults will batter your ship with such stones and exploding fires that it will fall to rubble where it sits."
For a moment, the Master of Starfare's Gem did not respond. Linden feared that he had no response, that she had made a fatal mistake in choosing to come here. No one moved or spoke.
Overhead, a few birds flitted downward to investigate the dromond, then scaled away again.
Quietly, Honninscrave said, “Sevinhand.” His voice carried to the Anchormaster on the wheeldeck. “Secure the dromond for assault. Prepare to forage supplies and depart. Galewrath.” The Storesmaster stood nearby. “Take this Harbour Captain.” At once, she stepped forward, clamped one huge fist around the Bhrathair's neck. “He is swift to call down harm upon the needy. Let him share whatever harm we suffer.”
“Fools!” The official tried to rage, but the indignity of Galewrath's grasp made him look apoplectic and wild. “There is no wind! You are trapped until the evening breeze!”
“Then you are likewise snared,” replied Honninscrave evenly. “For the while, we will content ourselves by teaching your Harbour to comprehend the wrath of Giants. Our friendship was not lightly given in the need of the Bhrathair against the Sandgorgons. You will learn that our enmity may not be lightly borne.”
Commotion broke out among the onlookers around the levee. Instinctively, Linden swung around to see if they meant to attack the dromond.
In a moment, she perceived that their activity was not a threat. Rather, the throng was being roughly parted by five men on horseback.
Riding destriers as black as midnight, the five forced their way forward. They were clearly soldiers. Over their black shirts and leggings, they wore breastplates and greaves of a silverine metal; and they had quivers and crossbows at their backs, short swords at their sides, shields on their arms. As they broke out of the crowd, they stretched their mounts into a gallop down the pier, then reined sharply to a halt at the dromond's ladder.
Four of them remained astride their horses; the fifth, who wore an emblem like a black sun in the centre of his breastplate, dismounted swiftly and leaped at the ladder. Quickly, he gained the afterdeck. Ceer, Hergrom, and the Giants poised themselves; but the soldier did not challenge them. He cast a glance of appraisal around the deck, then turned on the official half dangling in Galewrath's grip and began to shout at him.
The soldier spoke a brackish language which Linden did not understand-the native tongue of the Bhrathair. The Harbour Captain's replies were somewhat choked by Galewrath's fist; but he seemed to be defending himself. At the same time, Pitchwife gave Linden's shoulder a gentle nudge. When she looked at him, he winked deliberately. With a start, she remembered the Giantish gift of tongues-and remembered to keep it secret. The rest of the Giants remained expressionless.
After a yell which made the Harbour Captain appear especially crestfallen, the soldier faced Honninscrave and the First. “Your pardon,” he said. “The Harbour Captain's duty is clear, but he comprehends it narrowly”-the venom of his tone was directed at the official-“and understands little else at all. I am Rire Grist, Caitiffin of the gaddhi's Horse. The coming of your ship was seen in the Sandhold, and I was sent to give welcome. Alas, I was delayed in the crowded streets and did not arrive in time to prevent misapprehension.”
Before Honninscrave could speak, the Caitiffin went on, “You may release this duty-proud man. He understands now that you must be given every aid in his grant, for the sake of the old friendship of the Giants, and also in the name of the gaddhi's will. I am certain that all your wants will be answered promptly-and courteously,” he added over his shoulder to the Harbour Captain. “Will you not free him?”
“In a moment,” Honninscrave rumbled. “It would please me to hear you speak further concerning the gaddhi's will toward us.”
“Assuredly,” replied Rire Grist with a bow. “Rant Absolain, gaddhi of Bhrathairealm, wishes you well. He desires that you be granted the fullest welcome of your need. And he asks those among you who may be spared from the labour of your ship to be his guests in the Sandhold. Neither he nor his Kemper, Kasreyn of the Gyre, have known Giants, and both are anxious to rectify their lack.”
“You speak hospitably,” Honninscrave's tone was noncommittal. “But you will understand that our confidence has been somewhat daunted. Grant a moment for consultation with my friends.”
“Your vessel is your own,” responded the Caitiffin easily. He seemed adept at smoothing the path of the gaddhi's will. “I do not presume to hasten you.”
“That is well.” A hard humour had returned to Honninscrave's eyes. “The Giants are not a hasty people.” With a bow like an ironic mimesis of courtesy, he moved away toward the wheeldeck.
Linden followed Honninscrave with the First, Seadreamer, and Pitchwife. Cail accompanied her; Brinn brought Covenant. Ascending to the wheeldeck, they gathered around Shipsheartthew, where they were safely beyond earshot of Rire Grist.
At once, Honninscrave dropped the role he had taken in front of the Bhrathair, resumed his accustomed deference to the First. In a soft voice, he asked her, “What think you?”
“I mislike it,” she growled. “This welcome is altogether too propitious. A people who must have the gaddhi's express command ere they will grant aid to the simple fact of sea-harm are somewhat unscrupling for my taste.”
“Yet have we choice in the matter?” inquired Pitchwife. “A welcome so strangely given may also be strangely rescinded. It is manifest that we require this gaddhi's goodwill. Surely we will forfeit that goodwill, should we refuse his proffer.”
“Aye,” the First retorted. “And we will forfeit it also if we set one foot or word amiss in that donjon, the Sandhold. There our freedom will be as frail as the courtesy of Bhrathairealm.”
She and Honninscrave looked at Seadreamer, asking him for the advice of the Earth-Sight. But he shook his head; he had no guidance to offer them.
Then all their attention was focused on Linden. She had not spoken since the arrival of the Harbour Captain. The hot sunlight seemed to cast a haze like an omen of incapacity over her thoughts. The Sandhold loomed over Bhrathairain- an image in stone of the gyring power which had created Sandgorgons Doom. Intuitions for which she had no name told her that the gaddhi and his Kemper represented both hazard and opportunity. She had to struggle against a growing inner confusion in order to meet the eyes of the Giants.
With an effort, she asked, “What did that Caitiffin say to the Harbour Captain?”
Slowly, Honninscrave replied, “Its purport was no other than the words he addressed to us-a strong reproof for trespass upon the gaddhi's will to welcome us. Yet his vehemence itself suggests another intent. In some way, this welcome is not merely eager. It is urgent. I suspect that Rire Grist has been commanded not to fail.”
Linden looked away. She had been hoping for some clearer revelation. Dully, she murmured, “We've already made this decision-when we chose to come here in the first place.” Her attention kept slipping away toward the Sandhold. Immense powers lay hidden within those blank walls. And powers were answers.
The Giants regarded each other again. When the First nodded grimly, Honninscrave straightened his shoulders and turned to Sevinhand. “Anchormaster,” he said quietly, “I leave Starfare's Gem in your hands. Ward it well. Our first requirement is the safety of the Giantship. Our second, stone for Pitchwife's wiving. Our third, replenishment of our stores. And you must contrive means to send warning of any peril. If you judge it needful, you must flee this Harbour. Do not scruple to abandon us. We will essay to rejoin you beyond the Spikes.”
Sevinhand accepted the command. His lean and weathered face showed no hesitance. Risk and decision were congenial to him because they distracted him from his old melancholy.
“I will remain with Starfare's Gem,” Pitchwife said. He looked uncomfortable at the idea. He did not like to leave the First's side. “I must begin my wiving. And at need Sevinhand will spare me to convey messages to the Sandhold.”
Again the First nodded. Honninscrave gave Pitchwife's shoulder a quick slap of comradeship, then faced toward the afterdeck. In a clear voice, he said, “Storesmaster, you may release the Harbour Captain. We will accept the gaddhi's gracious hospitality.”
Above the ships, the crows and gulls went on calling as if they were ravenous.
Fourteen: The Sandhold
LINDEN followed Honninscrave, the First, and Seadreamer down from the wheeldeck to rejoin the Caitiffin. She was trying to decide whether or not she should make an effort to prevent Brinn from taking Covenant to the Sandhold. She was instinctively leery of that place. But the haze on her thoughts blurred her thinking. And she did not want to be parted from him. He looked so vulnerable in his slack emptiness that she yearned to stand between him and any danger. Also, she was better able than anyone else to keep watch over his condition.
The Harbour Captain had already escaped over the side of the dromond, his dignity in disarray, Rire Grist delivered himself of several graceful assurances concerning the gaddhi Rant Absolain's pleasure at the company's acceptance of his welcome; and Honninscrave responded with his own grave politesse. But Linden did not listen to either of them. She was watching Vain and Findail.
They approached the gathering t
ogether as if they were intimately familiar with each other. However, Vain's ambiguous blackness formed an acute contrast to Findail's pale flesh, his creamy raiment and expression of habitual misery. The erosion of his face seemed to have worsened since Linden had last looked at him; and his yellow eyes conveyed a constant wince, as though Vain's presence were a nagging pain to him.
Clearly, they both intended to accompany her and Covenant to the Sandhold.
But if Rire Grist felt any surprise at the strangeness of these two beings, he did not show it. Including them in his courtesies, he started back down to the pier. The Giants made ready to follow him. The First gave Pitchwife a brief intent farewell, then swung over the side after the Caitiffin. Honninscrave and Seadreamer went next.
Supporting Covenant between them, Brinn and Hergrom paused at the railing as if to give Linden a chance to speak. But she had nothing to say. The lucidity oozed from her thoughts like the sweat darkening the hair at her temples, Brinn shrugged slightly; and the Haruchai lowered Covenant past the rail into Seadreamer's waiting grasp.
For a moment longer, she hesitated, trying to recover some clarity. Her percipience read something covert in Rire Grist: his aura tasted of subtle ambition and purposive misdirection. Yet he did not appear evil. His emanations lacked the acid scent of malice. Then why was she so uneasy?
She had expected Vain and Findail to follow Covenant at once; but instead they were waiting for her. Vain's orbs revealed nothing, perhaps saw nothing. And Findail did not look at her; he seemed reluctant to confront her penetration.
Their silent attendance impelled her into motion. Walking awkwardly to the rail, she set her feet on the rungs of the ladder and let her weight pull her down to the pier.
When she joined the company, the other four soldiers dismounted, and the Caitiffin offered their destriers to her and her immediate companions. At once, Brinn swung up behind one of the saddles. Then Hergrom lifted Covenant to sit between Brinn's arms. Ceer and Hergrom each took a mount, leaving one for Linden and Cail. Now she did not let herself hesitate. These beasts were far smaller and less threatening than the Coursers of the Clave. Though she had no experience as a horsewoman, she put a foot in the near stirrup, grasped the pommel with both hands, and climbed into the seat. In an instant, Cail was sitting behind her.
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