The Sleeping Dragon

by Joel Rosenberg

  Chapter Eight

  "Welcome to Pandathaway . . ."

  That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees —Those dying generations—at their song. The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.

  —William Butler Yeats

  Ahira frowned up at Doria as she clung to the rigging a couple of yards above his head, the wind whipping her hair, rippling her robes.

  "You should see this, Ahira. Pandathaway is . . . beautiful."

  He shrugged. "I'll wait until we see it close up. Probably has warts, just like everything else." Besides, while his night vision was much better than any human's, a dwarf's eyes were not built for looking across a sun-spattered sea.

  She stiffened. "There's a ship—it's coming toward us, fast—"

  "Shi-ip," the lookout at the top of the forward mast called out. "Just a hair off starboard, captain."

  Avair Ganness chuckled. "Nothing to fear, Lady. It's just the guideboat." He raised his voice. "Drop all sails. Helmsman, bring us about. Secure all weapons—we've made it again." He glared at the dwarf. "Although I'd want more than a few bows and swords before I'd sail into Lundeport again." He considered it for a moment. "Perhaps you'd care to reimburse me for that?"

  Ahira let his hands rest on his battleaxe's hilt.

  Ganness shrugged. "Then again, perhaps not. Do you always leave such friends behind you as you did in Lund's territory?"

  Ahira scowled at him. "Shouldn't you be doing something nautical?"

  Ganness laughed, reaching out a hand, then thought better of it, letting his arm drop by his side. "It would waste my time and effort. That's what the guideboat is for, to bring us in."

  "You can't do it?" Doria asked, lowering herself carefully to the slowly rolling deck.

  "I wouldn't want to try. Can you see—no, you'd have to know what to look for." With an easy familiarity, he put an arm around her shoulder, a blunt finger pointing shoreward. "See that . . . darkening in the water . . . right . . ." his finger wavered, then stiffened—"there."

  "Yes?"

  "It's a sparling, metal-tipped, it is—lead, I think—sunk solidly into the bottom, canted outward. There's thousands of them in the harbor; they'd gut the Pride and sink us, were I foolish enough to try to dock without a guideboat." He leaned against the forward mast, idly twirling the end of his pigtail around his fingers. "Can you imagine what a prize Pandathaway would be for pirates? Not that it'd be easy to take, but the Guilds' Council doesn't like to take chances. Particularly the wizards—they want Pandathaway to be absolutely safe for them. Anyone trying to sail into the harbor without a guideboat is asking to die." A crooked grin flickered across his dark face. "Besides, it's another way for the Council to make a few extra gold. Not that they need it."

  Ahira looked up. "What are you talking about?"

  Ganness chuckled. "Oh—this is your first time in Pandathaway. You'll see." He walked over to the railing as the guideboat braked smoothly, then swung around so that its high, broad stern was a scant few yards from the port side of the Ganness' Pride.

  Hakim coughed discreetly behind him. Ahira turned.

  "How the hell is that thing moving?" The thief's brow wrinkled as he looked at the smaller, stubby craft. "I don't see any oarports—and if there's a mast and sail, they're both invisible."

  As crewmen slid a gangplank from the guideboat to the Pride, Ahira moved to the rail. Under the water, dark shapes crowded around the guideboat's tubby hull. He blinked twice, then squinted, trying to make out their forms; could they be—

  "Silkies," Hakim breathed. "They've got silkies chained to the hull."

  Joining them at the rail, Andrea frowned. "Silkies?"

  Ahira nodded. "Silkies—sort of were-seals. Except in seal form, they're big—about the size of sea lions. In our world, they're mythical; probably the myth came about the same way dugongs were thought of as mermaids." Or maybe not. And maybe mermaids weren't as mythical as he'd always thought. Slippage between the universe wasn't limited to humans; and it could happen in both directions.

  Both ends of the plank were made fast, as the guideboat's crew gathered on deck: fifty or so humans in heavy, center-ridged breastplates, their bows strung and arrows nocked, although the bowstrings weren't drawn, and the arrows weren't quite pointed at the Ganness' Pride. From the stern of the guideboat, a tall, slender man in a silvery tunic stepped lightly across the gangplank, not bothering to touch its low rails as he made his way quickly to the rail of the Pride, then dropped lightly to the deck. He was followed by two hulking swordsmen, who made their way across more carefully, walking in a half-stoop, hands clinging to the gangplank's railing.

  Ganness walked up to the slim man and bowed deeply.

  Andrea shook her head. "I wouldn't want to just bounce across, not while wearing that much metal. If he'd missed, he would have sunk like a stone."

  Barak—no, he said to call him Karl—Karl snorted. "He's an elf. See the ears? There's as much chance of his missing a jump as there is of you—"

  Ahira cut him off. "Enough." He turned to Hakim. "How do they manage to keep the silkies chained? Seems to me all they'd have to do is revert to human, and slip out of the collar, no?"

  Hakim nodded knowledgeably, as though to say, Anything to keep those two from going at each other, eh? "I can think of a couple of ways. For one thing, say the transformation takes a few minutes—any of those archers could put enough bolts into it, when it's in human form, to be a fine example to the others."

  "A couple of ways, you said?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Maybe some of the silkies have wives, husbands, or children. Don't think I'm going to like these people a whole lot."

  Particularly if they find out what your specialty really is.

  Karl's fingers whitened on the hilt of his sword, as a slick black shape broke the surface and gasped a lungful of air. Then it dove sharply, its chain whipping behind it.

  Ahira tried to seem casual as he put a hand on Karl's arm. "What's bothering you?"

  "This." He pointed his chin at the guideboat. "I've half a mind—"

  "Exactly." At best. "We don't buck local customs." Ahira forced a chuckle. "What were you thinking of—diving overboard, sword in hand? This your week to play Abe Lincoln?"

  Karl cracked a weak smile. "More like a human pincushion."

  "Right." He jerked a thumb at Ganness and the elf, who were quietly examining a series of parchment sheets, almost certainly cargo manifests. "I read this as a customs inspection. You?"

  A nod. "And it looks like he's done."

  The elf favored Ganness with a brief smile, clapped him condescendingly on the shoulder, and walked aft toward where Ahira and the others stood near their rucksacks.

  "Greetings," he said airily in Erendra, then tossed his head, the tips of his ears momentarily peeking out of his neck-length blond hair. He was strangely thin, as though he were a normal man—except for the ears—who had been stretched, or distorted in a funhouse mirror. "I am Airvhan ip Melhrood, the delegate of the Guilds' Council of glorious Pandathaway." His words came quickly, as though this were a set speech, down to the adjective. "I will need your names and occupations, so that I may assess your entry tariffs. You may, of course, decline to state your business here, in which case the maximum tariff will be levied." He sneered at Karl. "You needn't bother; you're a warrior, no?"

  Karl took a step forward. "You have something against warriors?"

  The elf's two guards moved quickly; they took up positions behind Airvhan, hands on their swordhilts. Over on the guideboat, fifty bows swung into line.

  "Stand easy, Karl," Ahira snapped.

  Karl stepped back. The elf chuckled, shaking his head, then leaned against the railing, supporting himself on spread-fingered hands. He nodded lightly; the guards and bowmen relaxed. "Personally, or professional
ly?" Airvhan responded to Karl's question as though there had been no interruption. "Not that it matters; it is the policy of the Council to allow free entry to warriors, provided they agree to participate in the Games." He shrugged. "Not that we need to enforce that; you professional killers seem eager enough to win large purses at little risk." Raising a slim eyebrow, he smiled. "I take it you claim to be a swordsman. A true master of the blade, no doubt."

  Ahira never saw Karl move. One moment, the big man was just standing there, his scabbarded sword in his hand.

  And the next, the tip of his blade had snicked out a chip of wood from the railing, from between the middle and ring fingers of the elf's left hand.

  As the guards went for their own weapons, Karl slapped their hands with the flat of his sword, then returned it to its scabbard, all in one smooth motion. He leaned it against the mast, then folded his arms across his chest.

  "So I claim." He stroked at his beard. "Hakim, here, is even better. He taught me everything I know. He would have gotten both fingers, instead of missing, as I did. Try him?"

  Airvhan glared at his two guards, as they stood sheepishly, swords half drawn. He held up a shaky hand, "No need. No need at all, friend . . . ?"

  "Karl. And yes, I know of the Games. Hakim, Ahira, and I will be happy to attend."

  The elf nodded, fidgeting. Ahira suppressed a chuckle, as Airvhan moved away from the rail; it seemed that the elf was eager to finish.

  But it didn't take much to suppress laughter; Ahira followed the elf's gaze sideways, to the deck of the guideboat. Had Karl been just a touch slower, they might all well have found themselves filled with arrows.

  Airvhan spoke quickly. "And I take it that the others of you are two wizards and a cleric? That-will-be-a-total-of-three-gold-pieces-and-seven-silver-if-you-please." Clearly, the elf had no desire to spend any more time than necessary standing next to a human crazy enough to risk becoming a pincushion in order to make a point.

  But Karl's action hadn't been wise. Not at all. A bit of discipline was in order. "Pay the nice elf, Karl."

  "You sure, Ahira?"

  "Certain." The dwarf kept his face serious. "I'm sure that friend Airvhan is eager to get back to his boat." And antagonizing a customs official further didn't make any sense. "And I, for one, have no desire to spend any more time in the hot sun. I take it we will find good taverns near the docks?"

  Airvhan nodded quickly. "Quite good. All the inns in Pandathaway are superb, friend Ahira. Much wine. Good wine." Cautiously, he held out a palm, keeping it near his body.

  Karl lumbered over to him, smiled at the guards . . . and paid.

  * * *

  Karl and the rest followed Ahira into a sidestreet off the docks. The street opened into a cobblestone courtyard, surrounded by two-story buildings, white marble houses curved to accommodate the courtyard, and the fountain in its center.

  The stones were hard under Karl's sandals, and his legs had grown used to the rolling of the Pride; he was glad when Ahira called a halt.

  Karl dropped his rucksack and leaned his sword against the fountain's rim, taking a moment to smile at the two dolphin sculptures spouting water into the breeze. He smiled as he wiped the spray from his face; the dolphins seemed to smile back as they stood, frozen in midleap. "I like that."

  The dwarf scowled. "Business first. Then, if there's time, you can rubberneck all you want."

  Doria spoke up. "That's unfair, Ahira. We've got time." She smiled at Karl. "Plenty of time."

  Walter took a knife from the sheath at his hip and flipped it end over end, catching it absently as its hilt thunked into his palm. "Matter of fact, I think friend Karl is owed a thank-you." His mouth quirked into a smile; he took two more, juggling all three knives in a steady, effortless flickering of steel. "Without that diversion, I wouldn't have been able to pass as a warrior. A juggler, maybe," he said, picking the knives one by one out of the air and replacing them in their sheaths, "but not a swordsman." He patted at his scimitar. "I can't use this damn thing worth shit." He stood. "But you're right. Let's find ourselves a place to stay, then go exploring."

  "Exploring?" Aristobulus hissed. "What we have to do is find the Great Library, and—"

  "How about getting something to eat?"

  Karl quashed his own resentment at the way the dwarf had snapped at him. "Everybody, shut up. Ahira's in charge, and he's talking."

  Ahira rewarded him with a puzzled nod. "Fine. But first of all, what is this about games? I don't remember you telling me anything about it. Them."

  "Whatever." But the dwarf was right. He hadn't said anything about the Games. Karl scratched at his ribs. But why think about all that now?—what he really needed was a bath and some sleep, on safe, dry, unmoving land.

  No, don't let yourself get lazy now. He hadn't remembered, not until the elf had mentioned the Games. It was the same problem he'd been having, ever since they landed on this side. Memories of things he'd known back home were irregular, elusive. When he could remember something, it was reliable; but it was much easier to think like Barak, be the swordsman—

  No. "Sorry . . . I didn't remember."

  "Wonderful." Andy-Andy glared at him. "And what else don't you remember?"

  He forced himself to ignore her and spoke to Ahira. "If it's as Deighton said, then the Council likes to encourage the best warriors to stay around, to stay in Pandathaway. Some are hired for the local . . . police force; helps to keep the city a nice place to be. As for the rest, well, having the best around keeps up Pandathaway's reputation as the place to buy or hire anything, anybody.

  "For wizards or clerics, there's no problem: There's always good-paying work. Besides, there's a bunch of churches and magical guilds, who pretty much run the city—so guild members get a stipend from the Council when they're out of work. It's easy to do that—hey! I forgot all about the prices." Information, images crowded his mind. Deighton had shown him a listing. A night's stay in a relatively low-cost tavern would run more than two pieces of gold. A good bottle of wine would cost ten, twelve silvers. And it was a full—" It'll cost us at least a gold piece—each—just to get into the Library. And that won't include . . ." He curled his fists in frustration. What wouldn't it include? It was just on the edge of his mind.

  But he couldn't think of it. That was—

  "Easy, Karl." Andy-Andy held his arm, then visibly remembered she wasn't speaking to him. She turned away.

  "Relax." Walter smiled at him. "You were telling us how they manage to keep mercenaries around."

  "Right. Since there isn't much work here, they put on Games. If you're good enough, you can support yourself in the once-a-tenday ones, if only just barely. But in the Seasonals, you can make a killing." He smiled. "So to speak. You can't get much more than bruised; the contact events use blunt, wooden weapons."

  "Wonderful." Ahira spat on the cobblestones. "Do you think we have to waste our time on these Games, or can we just hit the Library, buy what we need, and get out?"

  "I don't know." Karl shrugged. "What's our total worth?"

  Ahira turned to Aristobulus. "Give me your best guess."

  The wizard's eyes went vague. "Assuming standard rates of exchange . . . maybe two thousand gold." He shook his head slowly. "And from what Hakim—"

  "Walter."

  "—said about Lundeyll, that would have been almost enough to have bought the whole town, back there."

  "So what?" Ahira turned to Walter. "We're here now. How far away do you guess the Gate is?"

  "Mmmm, it's got to be some distance; Frann only knew that it was east of Pandathaway, and he's from here. I don't know; maybe we have enough, if we don't spend too much money on room and board while we're here."

  Karl snorted. "Two thousand? That isn't a lot; Lucius paid five hundred just for one horse. We need six."

  "Five and a pony," Ahira snapped. "Fine. Here's what we have to do." He extended a blunt finger. "One, find a place to stay, at least for the night. Two"—another finger—"get
to the Great Library, find out where the Gate is, figure out how we'll need to equip ourselves in order to get there."

  "Which wouldn't be a problem," Karl said thoughtfully, looking at Aristobulus, "if somebody hadn't blown up the box with all the goodies."

  "Shut up. Three, we need to know what the situation is here, find out how to raise the money we'll need. Which also means we'll need to know when the next Games are—is."

  "Whatever." Karl nodded. "We might be able to do well enough in the tendays, if we're good enough." He fondled the hilt of his sword. I bet I am.

  "Don't." Walter didn't look at him.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't be sure you're good enough."

  "Damn you, just because I got a bit sloppy, that first time—"

  "It isn't that. Think it out." The thief's expression proclaimed that Karl wasn't going to like it. "We're all G-Class or so, right?"

  "Right, but if that corresponds to the way things work—"

  "As it seems to, then you think we're pretty much up there, right?"

  Karl thought as hard as he could, If you don't stop reading my mind, I'm going to break some bones, making sure that his face showed what he was thinking.

  "Well," Walter went on, "we aren't pretty much up there if they've got the best warriors in this world in Pandathaway, are we? We might be big fishes in—"

  Karl smiled and held up a hand. It had been a long time since he'd been able to outthink Walter. "You think it out. Look, what would a really high-level fighter do? Go around looking for work? Hell, no. They gather followers, claim some land—either dragging in peasants to farm it, or using locals. There's not going to be a whole lot of folks as good as we are—as good as I am—who are still wandering around, trying to build a name. Maybe we'll have to deal with a local champion or two, but not more than that. Right?"

  "Not bad, Karl. Not bad at all."

  Ahira rapped his axehilt on the fountain's rim. "Enough. I came up with three things we have to do; anybody else have a fourth?"

  "No."

  "Uh-uh."

  "I don't."