by Allan Cole
The Queen Witch placed the goblet down quite firmly, her eyes growing fierce. Her fabulous looks so intensified by the emotions roiling within that even Rhodes was stricken by his mother's beauty.
"But I promise you this, my son," she said. "Before this journey is done I will find a way either to nullify the power of the mural or use it to use it our own advantage."
Both Rhodes and Kalasariz were relieved to hear this. "Do you think we can continue the expedition with some hope of success?" the king asked.
"Without a doubt," Clayre said.
Then she waved at her gilded table, where the map was still pinned against the tiles by the four black candles. The replica of the Nepenthe now sitting a few hair's breadths from the coast of Aroborus.
"I can also report that our efforts were not completely unsuccessful," she said.
Rhodes looked carefully at the scene and gradually he detected slight movements in the ship. A little fluttering of the sails. An almost imperceptible pitch and roll of the hull. Then he realized that the ship was not quite touching the parchment of the map. And that it actually rested on seas so faint that a flicker of the eye would make them vanish.
"The last time," Clayre said, "my only mistake was that I tried to interfere. It was Jooli's fault, really.
Honestly, that girl could drive the most patient of people mad. Still, I shouldn't have tried to kill her.
That's what alerted Safar Timura to our presence."
Again, she raised the chalice and sipped. And she said, "I won't make that same mistake again. As you can see, I've got a very weak spell working for us now. One that's impossible for our enemies to detect and yet we'll still be able to follow them."
"That's certainly good to hear, mother," Rhodes said. "But don't we still have the problem of catching them? I mean, our delaying tactics didn't work, correct?"
Clayre smiled, her perfect features glowing with delight. "Actually, they worked quite well," she said.
"Naturally, it would've been nice if we could have ended the race quickly by killing them. On the other hand, we've accomplished the next best thing."
"Which is?" Rhodes asked.
The Queen Witch's lovely smile twisted into an ugly, gloating expression.
"Which is that they've lost that little bastard, Palimak," she said. "He fell off the ship and fools that they are, they're searching for him now."
She pointed at the miniature Nepenthe, which had moved half an inch down the coast of Aroborus.
"If the winds stay with us," she said, "we ought to catch them within a week!"
The prospect of victory excited Rhodes. But the hope that Palimak might be dead made him positively tingle.
But then Kalasariz spoke, his mental whispers dousing Rhodesa€™ joy as effectively as a large pail of cold water. He said, Remember, we need the boy's body. Just as we require Safar Timura's.
Otherwise you will not achieve your dream of taking their powers to overwhelm yourenemies-especially your mother.
The king's mouth went dry. He grabbed up the wine flask and drank down half its contents. His mother observed this with barely concealed disgust.
"But what if he has drowned, mother?" he asked, voice thinning with tension. "What if he fell into the sea and sank to the bottom? That'll do us no good!"
"Corpses don't sink, they float," she said. "And if he floats, I'll find him, never fear. And if he didn't drown…"
She paused, turning to gaze upon the Nepenthe with eyes as fierce as a demon's.
"If Palimak didn't drown," she said, picking up where she'd left off, "by the time I'm done with him he'll curse the gods he holds most holy for sparing him from the sea!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EEDA'S SECRET
Coralean had never felt so sick in his life. From the shelter of the bridge he could see the storm-driven waves boom under the Tegula, lifting her up, up, up, then dropping her down so far his stomach thought it had found a new home, lodged at the back of his throat.
Torrents of rain lashed the ship in a never-ending fury. Great seas burst over the sides, flooding the decks until they were waist-high and the men had to go about their duties with safety lines tied about their waists.
Captain Drakis checked the sails with a critical eye to make certain there was just enough canvas spread, but not too much. Then he studied the compass heading and nodded in satisfaction.
"She's right on course, me lord," he said. "Lucky thing we caught this storm. If she holds, we'll cut the lead that scurvy dog Rhodes has over us by half or more."
Coralean gulped back bile and forced a smile. "Surely the gods must love the name of Drakis," he said with false cheer. "Considering the bonus I'll be blessing you with when we overhaul the king."
"Aye, that be the truth, me lord," Drakis replied. "Luck's favored the Drakis family far back as even me granny can remember. Even when we was lubbers not one of us ever went hungry more'n a day or three.
"Just when we'd be down to thinkina€™ old boot leather'd make a lovely meal, the gods'd send along a drunk with a fat purse and a skinny neck, if ya know what I mean."
Coralean's stomach did a somersault that was only partially inspired by the heaving deck. Seasick as he was, his imagination seized on some poor sod staggering out of a tavern to spew his guts and having his throat cut by one of Drakisa€™ relatives.
I must be getting old, he thought, to let such flights of cutthroat fancy affect me. The Coralean fortune, after all, was not built by men who shrank at the idea of spilled blood. How many bandit heads have you cut off yourself to post on the caravan trail as a warning to others? And how many murderous competitors were buried by the trail after they tried to ambush you?
In all honesty he had to admit the difference between deaths caused through honest commerce and outright theft was slight. His mind started to wobble further down that disturbing path and he pulled himself up, realizing it was a by product of his illness. Besides, Drakis was looking at him, wondering why he hadn't answered.
"Coralean knows from personal experience what you mean, Captain," the caravan master replied. "In fact I was just reflecting on my youthful career as a raider. One day in particular stands out. It was when I won my first big stake into the caravan business. Why, we cut so many throats that day we…"
And he went on to spin a marvelous and detailed lie. Sick as he was, Coralean told such an artful tale of murder and deceit that the pirate captain's eyes shone with admiration. Believing himself fortunate to be admitted into the awesome presence of such a cold-hearted thief as the great Lord Coralean.
All of the captains and sailors in the fleet thought Coralean was not only as much a rogue as they were but was actually better than themselves at the craft of crime. And certainly far more cunning.
It was one of the ways he'd kept his hold over them. A steely grip he had to keep more secure than ever if he were to save Safar from being overtaken and ambushed at sea by Rhodes and his three stolen ships.
Coralean had not been fooled by the Hunanian king's ruse. A man who had won several fortunes by never underestimating his enemies, he'd not wasted one minute thinking Rhodesa€™ intentions were to use the ships to stage an attack on the Kyranian stronghold.
Which was what the Council of Elders had believed when he'd brought the news to them of the betrayal off the port of Xiap. They were all for rushing the army down to the beach where Rhodes was most likely to come ashore.
Fortunately, Safar's father, Khadji, quickly saw Coralean's logic. Especially after the caravan master revealed that their old enemy Kalasariz-who had once seized Kyrania with a horde of demons-had shown up in Syrapis and joined Rhodes.
Leaving Coralean to argue with the Council, Khadji had led a lighting raid on Hunan and brought back several captured officers. Rhode's men were as greedy as their king and all it took was a little creative bribery to get them to spill the details of his plan.
Immediately all opposition to Coralean's proposal to chase down the k
ing and rescue Safar and Palimak had collapsed.
Now he was only three or four days behind Rhodes. He had all nine remaining ships at his disposal, plus a large force of Kyranian soldiers spread through the fleet. All of them well-warned and alert to the possibility of another attempt at betrayal.
If even a single sailor showed mutinous intent, he'd be cut down and thrown over the side to the sharks.
The image of sharp teeth tearing into human flesh and blood-frothed water rose up in Coralean's mind and his belly staged another rebellion.
"Is somethina€™ wrong, me lord?" Drakis asked, concern in his voice and a gleam of something quite different in his eyes. "Are you feelina€™ under the weather this day?" He waved at the straining sails.
"It's only a little blow. Nothina€™ to set a real sailor's belly to quarrelin'."
The last thing Coralean wanted was a display of weakness in front of Drakis, the most respected of the pirate captains in the fleet. Especially a weakness of the seagoing variety.
"It's not my innards that are rebelling, captain," the caravan master lied. "As all men know, Coralean has a belly worthy of a cast-iron pot. Why, a fellow once tried to poison me with lye and I drank it down and called for more."
He gripped his forehead between mighty fingers and squeezed. "It's my poor head. I blame it on that keg of brandy my wife served me last night. I only drank a gallon or so for a nightcap before bed. Still, it seems to have given me a fierce headache."
He sighed. "The price of getting old, I warrant," he said. "I used to drink a whole keg without effect and sleep like a babe in his mother's arms."
Drakis was instantly and honestly sympathetic. Under the pirate's rules of manly behavior too much drink was a completely acceptable excuse for any number of things, up to and including taking an ax to your own family.
"It musta been a bad batch of brandy, me lord," he said. "Or maybe the keg was broached and some sea-water got in. Hells, I've gotten sick meself from that sort of thing!"
"It did taste a little salty," Coralean said, frowning.
Drakis nodded vigorously. "See, what'd I tell you? It's the brine that's makina€™ your head hurt!"
He placed a hand on one of Coralean's massive shoulders. "Whyn't you go below and take a rest, me lord?" he suggested. "I'll send you a keg of my own private reserve to help you sleep. Couple quarters of that, mixed with a little sugar, and you'll sleep like that babe you was talkina€™ about and wake up feelina€™ right as rain. That's my prescription."
Coralean grinned. "Thank you very much, Doctor Drakis," he jested. "I'll take your good advice and go below to my cabin."
Then, calling on his last reserves of willpower, he fought down another wave of seasickness and took his leave, reputation intact.
Eeda was waiting for Coralean when he entered the spacious cabin.
"Oh, my poor, dear lord husband," she said when she saw his pale face, "you don't have your sea legs under you yet, do you?"
The caravan master groaned, letting all pretense vanish. For reasons not quite clear to him yet, he felt more comfortable in Eeda's presence than in that of any of his other wives.
"I fear not, my pretty one," he admitted. "At this moment, your beloved bull, Coralean, feels more like a foundling calf, sick from wanting his mother."
"Here, my lord husband," she said, handing him a steaming goblet. "Drink this and you'll feel much better."
Coralean sniffed the fumes. It was brandy laced with fragrant spices. Still he hesitated, saying "I don't know if I can, little one," he said. "Even brandy may not sit well on this traitorous belly of mine."
Eeda put on a charming pout. "Oh, please trust me, lord husband," she said. "I used to make this for my father when he was feeling less than himself. And it always worked such wonders that he called it a miracle potion direct from the gods."
"I doubt if even a miracle can help me, sweetness" Coralean said. Then, moved by her pout, he relented, saying, "But I can refuse you nothing, pretty one. Although it might result in the God of Death, himself, paying a visit to carry poor Coralean away."
He drank the potion down, shuddering as it hit bottom and bounced several times. Then he smiled as the bouncing stopped and warmth and good cheer flooded through his body, banishing the sickness.
"Why, I feel better already," he said, surprised. He looked at the dregs in the cup. "What was in that marvelous elixir, my precious one?"
Eeda smiled prettily. "Oh, a little of this and a little of that," she said. "Along with a large dose of magic."
Then she gently pushed him to his bunk, unbuckling his belt and helping him with the fastenings of his clothing. A moment later he was seated and she pulled off his boots, then his breeches and shirt. Like a helpless child he submitted to her tender ministrations, letting her pull a sleeping gown over his head to cover his massive body.
He sighed blissfully. She'd even warmed the gown with a hot iron.
"You're not sorry you brought me with you, lord husband?" she asked as she pressed him down onto the bunk and pulled up the blanket.
"Even though it nearly caused a revolt in my harem out of jealousy," he said, "I've yet to regret my decision."
"And a wise decision it was, my lord husband," Eeda said. "Although your other wives are paragons of character and strength-and beauty, of course, since all your wives are perfection itself. Reflecting your good taste in women. But as it turned out, only I had the good fortune to be born blessed with the means of assisting you."
Coralean chuckled. "What a surprise that was," he said. "I never dreamed when I married you that you were a witch. Why didn't you tell me before?"
Eeda blushed. And somehow, although she was sitting on the bunk and her head was above his, she managed to look at him through lowered eyes, charming him through and through.
"Oh, I'm only a little witch, lord husband," she said. "Nothing to boast about. I can cure minor ailments, such as your sickness. And cast one or two spells that don't amount to much, but which you might find useful in your mission."
"Pardon, my sweetness," Coralean said, "but you didn't answer my question. I asked why you didn't tell me about this ability before-never mind your opinion of its worth."
Eeda hung her head. "You promise you won't be angry with me, lord husband?" she asked. "I couldn't bear it if I disturbed your serenity by being the cause of any irritation."
"How could I be angry with such a pretty thing as you?" Coralean said. "Go on-tell all. And I, Coralean, swear upon my children's souls that I won't become even slightly angry."
After a moment's hesitation, Eeda said, "Well, my lord husband, I was afraid if I said anything you wouldn't marry me. Most men are not so generous and forgiving of their wives. Just as most men would-dare I say it? — feel intimidated by having a wife who had powers they themselves did not possess."
"Bah!" the caravan master exclaimed. "Other men are not like Coralean." He thumped his big chest. "As all know, I have the strength and wisdom of many. How could I ever feel my manhood was being called into question by mere magic? Which, as you say, doesn't amount to much in any case."
"I must confess it is stronger than it was before," Eeda said. She patted her still-flat belly. "I think it's because I am with child. There are those who say a pregnant witch comes to possess abilities far above her normal state."
Coralean frowned. "Your delicate condition was one thing that almost made me decide against your request to accompany me," he said. "This is a perilous mission, there's no denying. But Coralean has faced such dangers before-too many times to enumerate. However, not once did I risk one of my wives.
Who are all dear to me. Why, Coralean holds his wives and children as his most precious possessions!"
Perhaps Coralean caught Eeda's quick flash of irritation at his description of his women and children as possessions. Or perhaps he only sensed it without consciously realizing. At any rate, he instinctively corrected himself.
"Not that a human being-at leas
t one not born or sold into slavery-can truly be called a possession," he said magnanimously. "A treasure, perhaps. But not a possession."
He smiled broadly, feeling good about himself. As if he'd given her a rare gift by all but admitting an error.
Eeda smiled as if in appreciation, but he noted the smile vanished a shade too quickly. She plucked at a loose thread on the blanket and he got the idea that she hadn't taken kindly to his admission.
Finally, she murmured, "You are most gracious, lord husband."
But she said it without feeling, as if speaking words she did not mean. And for the first time in his active career as husband and lover, Coralean became unsure of himself. What, pray, had he done to offend her?
Then, changing the subject, Eeda said, "I've nearly completed my project for you, lord husband. Are you still too ill or weary to examine it?"
"No, sweetness," he replied. "I'm feeling much better, thanks to your tender care-and your miracle potion, of course. Why, it's a wonder your father ever allowed a daughter as valued and useful as yourself to depart his household."
Another quick, cold smile and Eeda rose and went to the writing table to fetch back a piece of parchment. Coralean examined it with exaggerated interest, wondering how he could climb out of the hole he'd dug, instead of deepening it with every word he said.
The parchment had once contained only a dashed-off and highly inaccurate sketch of Safar's intended journey. Safar had drawn it absently while describing his plans to Coralean and Khadji just before he'd left. There were scratched-in mileage figures on the side-all guesses-meant mainly to help determine the type and quantity of the supplies Safar would need.
He'd thrown it away when the meeting was over, but Myrna, Safar's mother, had saved it as a souvenir-just as she saved all of her scholar son's cast-off scribblings.
She'd remembered it when Eeda had asked if there was something personal of Safar's she could have as an aid in casting a spell to locate his position. Armed with the sketch, Eeda had labored hard in the days that followed. Making many false starts, but gradually working out a magical method.
