The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales

by L. Sprague De Camp

  He staggered to the poop where Ruaz held the lever that operated the yoke that connected the two steering-paddles, and asked: "What happens when you wish to sail back from the mainland to Amferé and the wind is against you? Do you row?"

  "You wait and pray to your favorite sea-god. In this sea the wind blows from the west four days out of five, so you must wait for the fifth day. I've sat in port at Sederado a month awaiting a fair wind."

  "That sounds tedious. What if some other sea-captain is praying for the wind to blow in the opposite direction?"

  Ruaz's shoulders and eyebrows went up in a great shrug. Vakar looked past the poop towards Amferé, now fast dropping out of sight behind the bulge of the ocean. He felt a lump rise in his throat and wiped away a tear. Then for a long time he stared at the water. Though normally nervous and impatient, quickly bored by inactivity, he found that he could watch the soothing sight of the endless series of crests riding by.

  But something nagged him, filling him with a vague feeling of incongruity and unease. In the late afternoon they skirted a mountainous coast.

  "Meropia," said Captain Ruaz.

  By nightfall Sret had recovered enough to eat. Afterwards Vakar, though monstrously sleepy, got little sleep because of the moonlight, the motion, and the ship-noises. Next day they left Meropia behind in the afternoon and sailed eastward over the empty sea. Ruaz explained:

  "We don't see other ships because we're the first out of Amferé after the winter layup. We're taking a chance on a late storm to get higher prices in Gadaira before the competition arrives."

  Vakar wondered at his continuing unease until the sight of Sret chatting with Ruaz gave him a clue. He remembered Sret's saying to Nyeron he'd be back sooner than expected. Why? Did he think that Vakar would lose heart and turn back, or get killed in a brawl? Or ...

  Vakar felt like kicking himself for not having seen it sooner. Kuros, acting in concordance with the Gorgons, could have sent Sret along to murder him and then go home with a story of how his master had been eaten by a monster. Sret had spoken to Nyeron in Hesperian in ignorance of the fact that Vakar knew that tongue. Vakar fingered his hilt and glanced narrowly to where Sret huddled under his cloak, the hood pulled up over his head, swapping jokes with the captain. He thought of walking up to the fellow and striking off his head. Still, he might be wrong in his suspicions, and at best the killing would be embarrassing to explain.

  Vakar wondered whether to take Fual into his confidence. He asked:

  "Fual, who is Sret? I never knew him before this journey."

  Fual shrugged. "I think he's part Lotri, but I never knew him either."

  If true, that made it unlikely that both Sret and Fual were in on the plot. After the evening meal Vakar told Fual that they should keep watch-and-watch through the night in case of foul play. Fual looked startled and produced a handsome silver-inlaid dagger.

  "Ha!" said Vakar. "Where did you get that? You stole it at Nyeron's! I ought to beat you ... But perhaps 'tis a lucky theft for once. Go to sleep while I take the first watch."

  Shortly before midnight Vakar was aroused by Fual's shaking him. The valet whispered:

  "You were right, sir. They're gathered aft, whispering."

  Vakar rolled over and peered aft from the bow where he and Fual lay. Before the lower edge of the sail he could see the whispering knot of men in the light of the just-risen gibbous moon.

  He slowly drew his sword and whispered to Fual: "Get your knife ready. Keep close to me and cover my back."

  His shield was still in the duffelbag, but for fighting on an unsteady deck one needed a free hand to grab things.

  "You—you're going to attack six men?" quavered Fual.

  "Lyr's barnacles! Should I wait for them to cut my throat?"

  "But six—"

  "Our only hope is to rush them. If it makes you any happier I'm frightened too, but I prefer a small chance to none."

  Fual's teeth chattered. Vakar inched caterpillarlike along the deck aft hoping to get close enough to overhear before the crew noticed him. As he neared the mast he found that he could make out the separate figures. Sret was talking in low tones to Ruaz, who turned a leaf-shaped broadsword this way and that so that the moon glimmered dully upon it. Sret was saying:

  "... not an experienced fighter, though he's been in brushes with hill-robbers. But he's young and no giant; one quick rush while he sleeps ..."

  "Come on," breathed Vakar, rolling to his feet.

  -

  IV. – QUEEN PORFIA

  Vakar ducked under the lower yard and ran towards the group. With a shout the sailors leaped apart, drawing knives. Vakar bore down upon the nearest, feinted once, and ran the man through. The man's scream pierced the rising clamor. As Vakar stepped back to pull out his blade he glanced over his shoulder. Fual had hardly finished ducking under the sail.

  Damn the coward! thought Vakar, setting his teeth. As his victim fell he faced Ruaz, Sret, and two sailors, plus one other on the poop steering. Sret and Ruaz were shouting: "Forward! Kill him! Get in close! Rush him!" Vakar leaped over the body on deck, slashing right and left. His sword clanged against Ruaz's blade and bit flesh and bone, and then he was through them. As he whirled to face them again, his back to the poop, he saw that they were all still on their feet. As Fual finally came closer, a sailor turned and closed with him rather than face the sword. Now the twain were staggering about in a deadly waltz, each gripping the other's wrist.

  The three facing Vakar closed, Ruaz in the middle. Vakar cut and thrust at the captain, who parried while Sret and the other sailor closed in from the sides. Vakar, wishing he had a light rapier against these agile unarmored foes, had to leap back until he backed into the high step up to the poop and almost fell.

  They came on. Vakar slashed wildly, only his superior length of blade keeping them from finishing him. He could not quite reach them, for if he moved far enough towards any one the others would get him in the back. They moved on the swaying deck with catlike ease while he reeled and staggered. One got close enough to send a stab home, but the point failed to pierce Vakar's leather jack.

  A shout came from behind: the steersman encouraging his mates. Vakar wondered what a ship would do without a man at the helm. He leaped back up on to the poop, turning as he did so, and swung a mighty blow at the sailor. The sharp bronze sheared through the man's neck. The head thumped to the deck, rolled off the poop, and continued its bloody course forward towards the mast while the spouting body collapsed beneath the steering-yoke.

  Vakar turned to face his three antagonists on the main deck, but as they confronted each other the Dyra slewed to starboard and heeled far to port so that water poured over the port rail.

  Vakar found himself sliding down the steep deck towards the black water. He threw up his free hand and snatched at the night air for support—and to his infinite relief caught a mast-stay. As the ship continued to heel, Vakar found his feet dangling over the water while he gripped the stay in a death-grasp.

  He glanced forward in time to see a figure that he took for Sret go over the side into the smother of foam while the others, sprawling or sitting on the deck, snatched at the ropes and each other for purchase.

  As the wind spilled out of the sail the Dyra began to right herself. When his feet were firmly on the slanting deck again, Vakar let go his stay to creep forward on knees and knuckles. Captain Ruaz was also on all fours, grouping for his sword. Vakar rose as he neared the captain and brought his sword down on his head. Down went Ruaz.

  One sailor clung to the rail, which was just emerging from the water. Vakar struck at the gripping hand, missed, and struck again. This time the edge hit home and the seaman disappeared.

  Up forward Fual lay upon the deck, holding the mast with his arms while his antagonist, the remaining sailor, clutched Fual's legs to keep from going over the side with the roll of the ship. Only a few heart-beats had elapsed since the ship had started to right herself and roll in the opposite direction. V
akar ran forward and, as the sailor rose crying a word that might have meant "mercy," he struck. The man threw up an arm, yelped as the blade bit into the bone, and an instant later collapsed with a split skull.

  Fual started to rise, then clutched the mast as the ship rolled in the other direction. Vakar, staggering over to the starboard rail, cried:

  "How do you straighten this damned thing out?"

  "The steering-lever," said Fual. "You—you keep the ship's—that is—"

  Without waiting for more explicit directions, Vakar, the next time the ship righted herself, bounded aft and seized the lever-arm. He hung on until the wind caught the sail and the Dyra began to pick up way on her former course. When she was straightened out and running free again, Vakar examined the steering-mechanism. He experimented so that the ship yawed wildly until he got the hang of steering. Fual said:

  "My lord, I've never seen anything like the way you slew those four men! Just one—two—three—four, like that!"

  "Luck," growled Vakar. "Must we always sail exactly with the wind?"

  "No, I think one can sail at a small angle to it, or sailors would never reach home."

  "I wish I knew whither we were headed. What land did Ruaz expect to sight next?"

  "I don't know, sir. I believe Eruthea and Ogugia and Elusion lie somewhere ahead of us."

  "In what order?"

  "That I don't know."

  "I once met the present Queen of Ogugia; a gangling child, but she'd be a grown woman now."

  "Has Ogugia a king, sir?"

  "Had; Porfia married a Lord Vancho, who was said to have been an amiable nonentity. He died of some pox, and as the Hesperian throne descends in the female line she'd still be queen."

  "What sort of place is it?"

  "Ogugia? I know little, save that it's called the Isle of Philosophers. I've always wished to ask those sages some simple questions, say about the origin of life and the immortality of soul and so on. Oh, Fual! Since you're no more mariner than I, throw these bodies overboard."

  "Including this one without his head, sir?" said Fual with such a pronounced grimace of distaste that Vakar could see it in the moonlight.

  "Especially that one. They clutter the deck."

  Fual went to work, first stripping each corpse. When he had finished he came back to the poop with Ruaz's broadsword, which he had found in the scuppers, saying:

  "May I carry this, sir? If we're to meet such perils we can't be too well armed."

  "Surely, surely." Vakar turned the helm over to Fual while he straightened the kinks out of his own sword and smoothed down the nicks in the blade with his pocket-hone.

  Towards morning Vakar sighted another land ahead and said: "Let's follow this coast around to the right until we come to a port."

  "What will you do with the ship, sir?"

  "I hadn't thought." Vakar looked around. "If somebody sees the blood they'll make trouble. Clean it up, will you?"

  "And then what?" said Fual, hunting for rags.

  "How does one sell a ship?"

  "One finds a merchant who wishes to buy. Unless somebody recognizes it as belonging to Mateng of Po."

  "How could we disguise it? When you finish with the blood, see if you can remove that image of Lyr at the stern."

  Thus about noon a somewhat altered Dyra came in sight of a harbor full of tubby merchantmen and rakish fifty-oared war-galleys, with a fair city lying behind it. Vakar said:

  "How do we steer this ship into the harbor without the wind at our backs?"

  "I think one lowers tire sail and rows in."

  "And how—oh, I see! One unties that rope that runs from the upper whatever-you-call-it, that long stick, and lowers it until it rests upon the bottom one."

  He meant the upper and lower yards, for the ship had yards at both the top and bottom edges of the sail. A tackle of ropes confined the sail and kept it from spilling over the deck when lowered. Vakar steered the ship as far into the port as it would go. Then Fual unhitched the halyard, but, as the upper yard and the sail were heavier that he, they sank down into their tackle hoisting the little Aremorian into the air. The spectacle so doubled Vakar up with mirth that, despite Fual's yells, it was some time before he came forward to pull his servant back down to the deck.

  They got out the sweeps and pushed the ship shoreward. It was a long row for only two cars, and Vakar, though his hands were hard from weapon-practice, had begun to develop blisters before they reached the shore. Along the waterfront men were unloading ships and hauling their cargoes away in ox-drawn sledges and truckle-carts. As the Dyra neared the quay a small knot of loafers gathered to gaup: dark men smaller than those of Poseidonis. Vakar said:

  "Get ready to leap ashore with the stern-rope."

  As they drifted against the quay, Vakar sprang ashore with the painter and belayed the rope to one of the row of posts, while Fual did likewise astern. Vakar caught the eye of the nearest loafer and called in Hesperian:

  "What place is this?"

  "Sederado, the capital of Ogugia."

  Vakar said to Fual: "Let's hope Queen Porfia remembers me ... I know! As we can't drag this whole cargo with us, I might jog her memory with a portion of it and dispose her to help us on the next leg of our journey. Ho, you people! I wish four strong porters to carry a load to the palace. Fual, pick the four and make an arrangement with them for their wage. You with the nose! Is copper mined in Ogugia?"

  "Yes," said the man addressed.

  "Do you have mammoths or bison?"

  "No mammoths, though there are a few bison in the royal park."

  Vakar turned back to Fual. "Ivory is the thing she'll best appreciate. Help me get these hatch-covers off."

  In a few minutes Vakar had his porters fined up, each with a great curling mammoth-tusk over one shoulder. He was about to order them to march when he noticed that the people on the quay were staring seaward.

  Vakar saw another ship drawing up to the adjacent wharfage-space: a low black thirty-oared galley, much larger than the Dyra with a crew of a dozen besides the rowers and three' passengers. The ship had a beak of bronze jutting out at the waterline forward, and (like all ships) a pair of eyes painted on the bow so that, sailors believed, she could see her way. No device or insigne, like the mermaid of Ogugia or the octopus of Gorgonia, variegated her plain brown sail, nor did any pennant or banderole betray her origin.

  One of the passengers was a man of medium height with a small round cap perched on his shaven poll, a small pointed gray beard, and a loose robe to his ankles. The other two, who wore no clothes, were not really human. One was a pigmy about four feet high with huge membranous ears like those of an elephant in miniature, and covered all over with short golden-brown fur. The other was eight feet tall with a low-browed apish countenance and coarse black hair all over. He carried a great brass-bound club over one stooping shoulder while his other arm embraced a large wooden chest with bronze clamps.

  "By all the gods, what are those?" said Vakar. "Some kind of satyrs? The large one looks like the giant in the Lay of Zormé:

  "Grimly glowering and fearsomely fanged

  The monster menaced the vulnerable virgin ... "Eh?"

  Fual said: "The larger I don't know, but the smaller is a Coranian."

  "A what?"

  "A native of the northern isle of Corania. It's said they can hear any word uttered for miles around."

  The second ship tied up as their own had done, and its people climbed ashore and set out in various directions. Vakar said:

  "We can't wait around all day; I'm for the palace. You stay here to dispose of the stuff ..."

  Just then the shaven-headed man pushed through the spectators towards Vakar. After him came the giant ape-man and the Coranian.

  "You are for the palace, sir?" said the man in strongly accented Hesperian. "Perhaps you will permit me to go with you, for my errand takes me thither also and I am not familiar with Sederado. And while I have never met you, something tells me I ought to
know you. My name is Qasigan."

  -

  "And whom have I the honor of addressing?" said Qasigan, smiling pleasantly as he fell into step beside Vakar. His leathery skin was even darker than Vakar's, and his broad head bore a round blunt-featured face. He stooped slightly and shuffled rather than walked.