by Rod Fisher
Chapter Fourteen
THE SUN-EAGLE was tacking out of the bay as Bargonast brought the pinnace skittering through the surf and onto the beach. He heaved the prow higher on the sand and watched the yacht slide out of sight around the headland. Further down the beach a thread of water plummeted from the heights. It splashed and feathered down the cliff spraying momentary rainbows into the sunlight.
He slung the water skin from the pinnace over his shoulder and worked his way to the pool at the base of the waterfall. When the skin was filled with the cold sweet water he started back.
A rocky point dividing the beach obstructed his view of the boat. As he rounded the point he saw a figure shoving the pinnace into the water. He dropped the water skin and sprinted.
The man stealing the boat was a stocky Maijad. He was engrossed in his efforts to turn the boat so that its bow faced the incoming waves.
Bargonast's attack was a complete surprise. He ran silently across the sand and vaulted onto the back of the native, riding him into the water. The man was a head shorter than Bargonast, but his naked wet skin was slippery. He slid from under the big man's attack and almost twisted free.
Bargonast managed to hang on, and before the Maijad could splash ashore, he crushed him down by sheer weight; he got a grip on his black mane and shoved his head under water. The islander struggled to no avail while the cold eyes of his bearded nemesis watched the contortions of his face just under the surface.
Their tussle gave the pinnace a push into deeper water. Bargonast could see out of the corner of his eye that it was moving away rapidly. He made a quick decision to release the Maijad and save the boat. He caught the drifting pinnace in time and hauled it back to the beach.
The native was on his hands and knees trying to cough the salt water from his lungs. Bargonast rolled him on his back and held the point of his sword at his chest. The man met his gaze with unflinching eyes, showing no fear of his impending fate. Bargonast restrained the impulse to bloody his blade.
"I can kill you," he told the native.
The Maijad did not answer.
"Do you understand Antillian?"
"Yes."
"Why should I not kill you?"
The man shrugged and watched Bargonast with intense round eyes.
"I don't like the way you stink, and you were stealing my boat."
"This place...not for me." The prone man spoke with a sibilant accent. "I am not dead; I am not mukko; I must leave."
"Why are you here? Maijads are said to fear this island."
"I am Hundar. I am a...chief." The word 'chief' was squeezed through clenched jaws, not an easy title for the native to announce from such an ignoble position. "I was mukko; I was brought here to die. Garan'l has spared me. I am well. I am no more mukko. I should not be here."
Bargonast considered the humbled chief. "I don't know what you are talking about. I could take you away from here...or I could kill you." Hundar didn't answer. "Perhaps you would help me make friends with your people if I spare your life."
Hundar's face lit up. "Yes, yes. I take you to village. All my people be pleased if you bring Hundar back!"
"Try to trick me," Bargonast threatened, "and I will cut off your nose and your ears!" He twirled the point of his sword on the man's chest for emphasis, creating a medallion of blood.
Hundar winced, but his expression showed that his pride was hurt. "You have promise of Maijad chief!" His tone left nothing to add.
Bargonast sheathed his sword. "So then...we travel together. You will find the water skin back by the rocks. Go get it. I'll ready the boat."
With the water aboard and Hundar at the oars, Bargonast pushed the little craft into the incoming waves. With one last shove, he propelled his bulk up over the transom to a clumsy tumble on to the stern seat. They rowed out of the bay and raised the sail. Far ahead, the Sun-Eagle was a distant speck standing away to the east of the second island. The combination of wind and waves constituted ideal sailing conditions for a little ship like the Sun-Eagle. For the pinnace, however, the stretch between islands was a carnival ride. They took repeated showers of spray over the gunwales as the boat met the sea's challenge. Hundar, in his element, grinned with pleasure and bailed with alacrity.
As the day progressed the Sun-Eagle lengthened its lead and disappeared. It was evening when the odd companions reached the second island. Hundar guided them into a sheltered cove where he went over the side and reappeared with oysters for their supper. They stayed the night in the cove, and when the morning sun disturbed their sleep they set sail again, intending to complete their passage to the northernmost island and the chief's village. As they emerged from the cove they were surprised by the colorful spectacle of a Dagran war galley pulling through the morning mists around the headland. The long sweeps swung and dipped in naval precision, pushing the shark's head prow through a dapple of foam.
Bargonast saw the familiar bulk of Stet-Arnak standing at the break of the quarterdeck. He stood up and bellowed a greeting, flapping his arms for attention. The priest acknowledged his signal with a peremptory wave. The galley veered towards them. A command rang across its decks. The oarsmen brought their sweeps to a holding position, while the vessel's momentum closed the gap. Bargonast caught the throw line that came snaking through the air and pulled the pinnace to the side of the war ship.
He told Hundar to stay in the boat and clambered up the side where Stet-Arnak's porky face peered over the rail.
"What are you doing here? Do you have the Qalandor?" The Dag kept his voice low for Bargonast's ears only.
"I don't have the Qalandor, Lordship, but I know where it is hidden. The islander in the boat," Bargonast inclined his head in Hundar's direction, "will take me to his village. I will need the confidence of his people to gain access to the Qalandor."
"Where is the Qalandor?" the priest insisted.
"You will have to trust me further." Bargonast stood with his arms akimbo, self-assured of his value to the other man. "If you interfere," he warned, ,you will never see it again!"
Stet-Arnak glowered. "Keep in mind, Priest-bane, that our terms established the reward for your success. You may trust me when I say to you that the penalty for failure will be equally extravagant!"
"Let me do this my way and there will be no failure."
"What is your plan?"
"The man in the boat is a chief. He has promised to help me. I will take him to his village and gain the confidence of his people. Follow us, but at a distance. A show of force will ruin everything. Lay offshore tonight, and tomorrow I, Bargonast, will bring you the Qalandor. You may count on it!"
"You are a clown, Bargonast, and your stupid bragging does not impress me. If you like the way your skin fits your body you had best not fail." His eyes narrowed. "You had best not fail!" he emphasized.
Bargonast placed his clenched fist over his heart, the Dagran salute, delivering it more from old habit than courtesy.
