by Roland Green
Perhaps also the mate’s order was to be obeyed whoever might be embarrassed-and why was he so concerned about embarrassing Haimya? He had little control over whether she was in love with him or not, but he’d be cursed if he would, out of sheer carelessness, slip into being in love with her!
Eskaia came onto it as Haimya reached deck, wearing a gray cloak over a cream-colored traveling gown. Red boots and the cuffs of blue trousers peeped out from under the gown-garb that would have scandalized everyone at a temple feast, but eminently practical for bobbing across Karthay’s harbors in a barge that certainly had wet bilges and might take in more water on the way.
“I have been invited aboard the bannership of the harbor guard,” Eskaia said. “I must have an escort. Garb and arm yourselves appropriately.”
“My lady-” began Haimya, then Eskaia riveted her to the deck with a glare.
Pirvan took a deep breath. “My lady. I mean no insult to either you or the harbor guard, but your safety aboard the ship is something to think upon.”
“Pirvan, are you and Haimya not fit to meet even small dangers?” Eskaia said. If she was jesting, there was nothing in her blue eyes or soft voice to tell Pirvan.
“Small dangers, yes.” Emboldened by Pirvan, Haimya had found her voice. “But a shipful of Karthayans might under some circumstances not be a small danger.”
“You dare-” the guard’s officer began.
“Yes,” Haimya said calmly, though her hand was close to the hilt of her dagger. “My mother was Karthayan. I know that any man has his price. Although, to do you justice, your price would be high, and for any great crime, you could not be bought.”
The officer closed his mouth, apparently unsure whether he was being praised or not. Then he sighed. “Would it be well enough if I and a few others remained aboard here, while you saw-while you went aboard the bannership?”
“Yes,” Eskaia said, before Haimya could reply again. Her tone and face dared any of Golden Cup’s people to so much as think Tarothin’s name. “I will arrange for proper hospitality, though our work must continue.”
“We would not stop it if we could,” the officer said.
That last remark had Haimya and Pirvan exchanging looks as they went below to dress and arm. They didn’t dare speak, but Haimya’s face showed the same question that was running through Pirvan’s: The guard is blowing both fair and stormy at once, like a day in Crinispus.
Why?
Chapter 10
“A dragon,” Jemar the Fair said.
Pirvan could not think of a proper description for the sea barbarian chief’s tone of voice or the expression on his weathered face. Putting aside that futile enterprise, he studied the man himself.
Jemar was half a head taller than Pirvan, and broad in proportion, without any of that breadth being fat. He had gained his name reasonably enough: by sea barbarian standards his skin, the color of tarberry tea mixed with fresh cream, was much lighter than average. His beard and hair (worn in a long plait gathered with three silver rings) were dark brown, with tints that in one light seemed coppery, in another amber.
He wore a snug vest that was more openings than leather, and equally tight blue trousers, flared over the tops of soft leather boots. A belt of some leather Pirvan had never seen but would have been ready to steal without asking questions supported a curved sword and a short thrusting dagger. He wore no jewelry except the braid rings and a single earring, a golden circle holding a ruby the size of a baby’s thumb.
Jemar would have made a notable standing on the block in a slave market. Garbed as he was and sitting in a chair elaborately carved with coral flowers and fish, he was dazzling. He even outshone the rack of jeweled weapons (gifts or prizes of war?) and ornaments of carved and polished coral in a dozen shades from a garish red to a lavender so subtle that it was almost white.
At least he seemed to be dazzling Haimya. She could hardly keep her eyes off him, and it seemed to Pirvan that her breathing had quickened.
Pirvan also knew that he had no right to be jealous. Gerik Ginfrayson did, perhaps, but Haimya would talk to him, so that they could settle it between them in their own good time. For himself, Pirvan could only hope that Haimya would not notice the tightness of his mouth or how his fists had clenched.
“A copper dragon,” Lady Eskaia corrected. She was sitting on a folding stool, but one large enough for three people, set with ivory, and half surrounded by a folding silk screen. On the screen was one magnificent seascape and two portrayals of sea barbarian warriors in battle with creatures that Pirvan sincerely hoped were long gone from the oceans of Krynn.
“So it is a good dragon,” Jemar said. “That is some consolation, if not much.”
He stood up and began to pace back and forth. In three places the cabin beams were too low to let him pass without stopping, but he never hit his head. He seemed to have a spine as flexible as a cat’s, or the ability to shrink his height at will, like a shapechanger.
Both women were staring at him like children at a cartload of candied fruits. Pirvan would have liked to stare at the ceiling until the women came to their senses. He preferred not to offend Jemar.
Finally Jemar stopped pacing. “Lady Eskaia, your house has always had a name for honor. This day you have added much to it. The six men of mine that the guards were holding hostage have all been returned as promised. How binding is your oath to transport this dragon out of Karthay?”
Lady Eskaia told him. She fumbled over some of the terms, and Pirvan saw Haimya fighting not to help her. He also wished Tarothin were here, even if the wizard had not been allowed aboard the guard bannership.
Jemar sat down again. “Tell me-No, wait. Let me have some wine and cakes brought in, and then you can tell me what happened aboard the bannership. Leave nothing out, please, because I must put this matter before my council of captains if we are to help you.”
Then he laughed, because all three of his guests were staring at one another in confusion. It was a laugh without malice or cruelty, most agreeable to hear for one who had heard far too much of the other kind of laughter.
Indeed, Pirvan could not help joining in. Then Eskaia threw back her head and trilled like a bird (Pirvan felt a great desire to hear her sing).
At last, Haimya could not hold in her laughter. But she was the first to stop, and when she did, she stared at Jemar as if he’d suddenly turned into a sea dragon.
“Did you say you’d help us?” she asked.
Jemar almost choked, then nodded. “If my captains agree, and for that you must tell me of your meeting aboard the bannership.”
“After the wine, Jemar,” Eskaia said, wiping her eyes. “After the wine, good and fair captain, we can talk of anything you wish to hear.”
Unseen by either Eskaia or Jemar, Haimya’s eyes met Pirvan’s.
If she thinks to charm him thus, she plays for high stakes, her gaze seemed to say.
* * * * *
“Our journey by barge from Golden Cup to the bannership took a while,” Eskaia began. “The mist seemed to delight in thickening in front of us. Fortunately we all have our sea legs, and apart from the mist, the weather was moderate.”
Pirvan wondered how long Jemar’s patience would last, if Eskaia told everything so elaborately. So far he seemed intent on every word, or was it on the lady’s large brown eyes? She was not exactly flirting with him, but she was certainly gazing at him as if his every feature was of profound interest to her.
Looked at in that manner, Pirvan decided that he, too, would be prepared to tolerate a long-winded story.
“Once aboard the bannership, we were taken to the captain’s cabin. I do not know whether the guards with us were intended to honor, protect, or command us.”
Pirvan expected that Eskaia would then go on to describe each guardsman and the details of their clothing and weapons. She controlled herself, describing in great detail only the officers. The thief saw Jemar nodding slowly; apparently he recognized some of the officers f
rom Eskaia’s description. What he would do with that knowledge, Pirvan had no idea.
“In the captain’s cabin was a high officer of the guards, as well as a man in the garb of a priest of Paladine,” Eskaia continued. “I will consider that he was truly as he seemed. Even the lords of Karthay are not so lost to fear of the gods that they will use false priests.”
Jemar smiled thinly. “You would be surprised at what the lords of Karthay can do if they see in it profit or a chance to annoy their enemies. But I agree-neither comes from offending Paladine. Pray continue.”
“Very well. The captain explained that six men from the ships of Jemar the Fair had been arrested and confined. The charge was aiding evasion of port duties, fees, fines, charges, and so on. I am sure you have learned more about the situation of the six from the men themselves, so I will not weary you with what I could only guess at the time.”
“Thank you.” Pirvan listened carefully, but could not detect the slightest note of sarcasm in the sea barbarian’s solid bass voice.
“Then the priest spoke. He said that all might be well and everyone might be pleased if Golden Cup could perform a certain service, to Karthay and to all humanity. I asked him what that service was. It seemed to me that it might be carrying enemies of the rulers into exile, which would be suitable if we received provisions and were allowed time to prepare the ship for additional passengers.”
“The Karthayans seldom bother with exile,” Jemar said. “If one offends the lords enough to be unwelcome in the city, one is usually sent much farther than the next country.”
“That I did not know, and having no idea what they wished, I decided not to guess,” Eskaia said. Pirvan definitely heard a faint chiding note in her voice. Jemar barely missed being old enough to be her father-he had to be well into his thirties. But she seemed ready to address him as though he were a child who had spilled jam on his best clothes.
Pirvan hoped that Jemar would continue to be as easy of temper as he had been so far.
“He said that in the lands of Karthay there had been found a copper dragon, some time in Zeboim. They could not tell its age or sex, but it seemed injured, and it either would not or could not speak. All their knowledge of dragons told them little more than they could see with their own eyes.
“Meanwhile, rumors of the dragon were beginning to spread in the city and its lands. Some persons ill-disposed toward the lords of the city said that the dragon was a sign. A sign of the coming fall of the lords and a new rule of justice in Karthay.”
“There are always fools with more wind than wits,” Jemar said. “Perhaps a few more in Karthay than elsewhere, but no city is free of them.”
“I know little of Karthay save what has concerned House Encuintras,” Eskaia said. “I daresay you are right.”
“I asked why they were telling us this. They said that they proposed a bargain. If we would take the dragon aboard Golden Cup, transport him to a distant land, and release him there, they would permit us to complete our repairs and replenish our supplies. They would also release Jemar’s six men.
“I said that I wished proof of the dragon’s existence. The priest said that it was not in the city. I said that if it was not in the city, we would need to complete repairs and so on before we sailed to take it aboard.
“The priest and the captain spoke together privately for a few moments. Then the priest said that he would show us the dragon. If that was not enough, he would take trusted persons from our ranks to see it.
“I told him to show us the dragon. He conjured up its image. I believe that it was the image of something real, for one could walk around it and view it from all sides. Also, I recognized Mount Frygol in the background.
“I said that if our captain said the ship could safely carry the dragon, we would take it aboard, after we finished our repairs. The captain said that if we waited until then, he would have to send ships of the harbor guard with us until we had the dragon aboard.
“I said that I understood his reasons. But if he wished us to sail under such a badge of his distrust, he must release the six men of Jemar the Fair at once. Nothing else would be accomplished until he had done this. It seemed to me that taking hostages from the innocent is not something that should be allowed. Istarian hands are not clean of this, but I wished that mine be-”
Jemar held up a hand, then rose, walked to Eskaia, and kissed her gently on the forehead. She trembled. For a moment Pirvan thought that she was going to raise her head, open her mouth, and return the kiss much less formally.
But Jemar was backing away and sitting down again. He now sat with one leg thrown over the other, and a distant look in his eyes. Then the distant look vanished, and both feet came down with a thump on the red and yellow Istarian carpet.
“You have done better than you know,” he said. “My lady, I am more grateful than speech allows me to express. I do not speak only of my six men, either, though I imagine every one of them will be even more ready to kiss you than I-though one of them, as I recall, is a woman.”
“She may kiss me, too,” Eskaia said sturdily. “But, good captain, you repay me poorly for dispelling mysteries by adding more. Do you know more of this matter of a dragon than you have hinted?”
Jemar’s jaw quivered but didn’t quite drop. Then he nodded.
“I ask you to believe that I have not spread the nature of your voyage abroad. But-you are sailing for the Crater Gulf, are you not?”
Eskaia was beyond speech but not beyond a jerk of the head.
“I thought as much. Then it seems to me that you have been done a great favor, or indeed done yourself one, by agreeing to take the copper dragon aboard Golden Cup.”
“The captain still has his doubts,” Eskaia pointed out.
“I will try to ease them. I will even put some of my men aboard your ship-not enough to seize it, but enough to aid you with the dragon. Also, if you are going to sail for the dragon with harbor guard galleys about you, I cannot send ships with you. The Karthayans would find ways of provoking a fight, and no good would come of that.
“But I will need trustworthy witnesses from my own men, of what happens when you take the dragon aboard. If I can send them, there is no limit on the help you may ask of me.”
Eskaia’s voice was brisk. “That is very generous of you, fair Jemar, but I think you still leave something unsaid. Pray say it, or you are asking me to buy a pony disguised as a horse. My house did not reach its present position by making such bargains.”
Jemar held out his hands in what looked to Pirvan remarkably like supplication. “I meant neither fraud nor disrespect. It is merely that I can offer you little firm knowledge in return for your admirable account, only tales and rumors and rumors of tales.”
“These often give enough warning of dangers that those who listen are better armed to face them,” Eskaia said. She grinned, showing all her dimples and this time definitely making play with her eyes. “If that is not a quotation from some ancient scholar, I will claim it myself.”
“One need not be a scholar to be wise,” Jemar replied, returning the grin. “Now, as pleasant as it is to exchange praises until the wine runs out, let me tell you of what is about among seafarers in the matter of dragons.”
It took even longer for Jemar to tell his tale than for Eskaia to tell hers. Jemar did not have so many details to put in, though. He took his time explaining how reliable each tale or rumor might be, so that his listeners could judge for themselves.
It seemed that there had been, for two years, rumors that the chief of the Crater Gulf pirates, a man named Synsaga, had a renegade mage in his service. Renegades were almost always evil, and never better than neutral. So if that was true, all by itself it was enough to cause concern.
Meanwhile, other rumors had begun to accumulate. Sailors (even other pirates) commonly gave the Crater Gulf a wide berth. But ships passing as much as fifty miles out at sea had sighted something large and black in the air, usually high up but sometimes low enough
that features could be made out, features that matched the ancient descriptions of black dragons. They were creatures of evil, creatures of Takhisis, creatures no man wanted to see out and about again-for that would mean the dragonsleep was crumbling and good and evil alike would soon be unleashing their winged giants upon the world.
“It seems to me that there is a less frightening explanation,” Eskaia put in. “Suppose, by some quirk of his spells, this renegade had broken the sleep of a single black dragon? Then, according to what I have learned, the balance is destroyed. A good dragon is needed to restore that balance. Suppose our copper dragon is the one, and the priest of Paladine knows it, even if he did not awaken the dragon himself?”
“You reason like a cleric yourself,” Jemar said. The admiration in his voice was unconcealed.
Eskaia smiled. “Thank you. I have certainly read some of the books-the ones open to all-that form the common knowledge of clerics. The concept of the balance is in books that must be intended for children.”
“Some children are wiser than others,” Jemar said. “And you are no child.”
Pirvan was not sure he liked Jemar’s tone when he spoke those words. Haimya definitely did not; he could now read her subtler moods in her face. At least it would be Haimya who had the unpleasant task of explaining to Eskaia the folly of leading a man such as Jemar on in that fashion.
“I hope not,” Eskaia said. “Them I trust that we can rely on your aid?”
“As I said, what I can promise is small, until my captains have met in council and sworn to follow me in this. But there will certainly be men of mine, good fighters all, aboard Golden Cup when she sails for the dragon.”
After that, the rest was ceremonial chat, more wine and cakes, and a return to Golden Cup. With all the supplies loaded and most put to use, there was little work for now, and there had been more wine than Pirvan was accustomed to drinking with so little food at this time of day.
