Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (66 page)

 
          
"Then
destroy it if you can," the spaewife told him, told them all. "That
thing opens gateways to abomination."

 
          
"That
is our quest," he heard Katya say. "To find it that it may be
destroyed."

 
          
"Then
I wish you well," Ellhyn said. "I will offer to Burash, that he aid
you. I think you will need such aid, for you are not the only ones who seek
this thing."

 
          
"Who
else?" asked Katya.

 
          
"I
cannot tell," the spaewife answered. "The darkness hid them."

 
          
Varent
for one, he thought, if he somehow knows we have found him out; perhaps
Anomius, if he lives. Perhaps others, and that the case, we better sailing
north to Tezin- dar. He moved to rise, surprised by the weakness of his legs,
his swimming head, Bracht's arm a welcome prop.

 
          
"My
thanks for what you saw," he murmured, bowing.

 
          
Ellhyn
smiled, a wan expression. "I think you go to your deaths," she said,
her dark eyes enfolding them all three, "but you go with true companions and
I wish you sue- cess/
⁷

 
          
He
nodded, turning, feeling Katya close on his right, and smiled at her, this time
true warmth in the expression.

 
          
"You
stand ready to sail?"

 
          
She
ducked her head, smiling back.

 
          
"On
the tide. Or sooner, if we must."

 
          
"Sooner,
I think," he said, and gently removed Bracht's arm,
finding
his own feet as they
paced slowly down the corridor, into the heat and light of the jungle-scented
afternoon. "As soon we may."

 
          
Katya
nodded, accepting the stones Jirrhun offered, passing the cord of his over his
bowed head.

 
          
They
walked toward the harbor, hands ever close to their swords, for now
Kharasul seemed a place of danger, the threat of the Chaipaku joined by that
darkness of which Ellhyn had spoken. The very air seemed thicker now, as if the
wind that blew across the Ty River bore hint of menace. Calandryll examined the
faces of the passersby, wondering if their expressions, some bland, others
curious, hid darker feelings, wondering if those eyes that met his recognized
him and marked him as victim. He quickened his step, the Vanu warboat a refuge
now, an escape from assassin's vengeance and sorcerous retribution alike. He
glanced at the stone, relieved to see it dull, and braced his shoulders,
finding renewed determination.

 
          
Dera,
but Reba had spoken truth when she foretold his traveling. There would be no
return to Lysse now, no delivery of the Arcanum into Varent's hands, but a
journey to Vanu, that land no less fabled than Tezin-dar. To Gessyth first,
then into the swamps to find the legendary city, take the book and bring it to
the holy men of Vanu, that they might destroy it. Varent—Rhythamun—should not
have it! Not while he lived: before that liar should set hands on it, he would
lay down his life.

 
          
He
realized that fewer people thronged the streets and saw that they approached
the harbor, passing down a narrow alley, its farther exit marked by the blue
mingling of sea and sky. The afternoon was advanced now, the sun far out over
the western ocean, shadows lengthening as they emerged from the passage and
strode purposefully across the cobbles of the wharf, the air loud with the
clatter of marching men and the cries of the gulls disturbed by such activity.
The craft anchored in the estuary ran down like grains in a sand clock, fewer
now than had ridden the waves at noon, another departing even as they watched,
only three Lyssian vessels remaining, and far fewer of the Kand warboats. Soon,
he thought, there would be none, and grinned, thankful for Katya's presence.

 
          
She
brought a silver whistle from inside her shirt as they reached the water's
edge, raising the little instrument to her lips to emit three shrill blasts
that brought a flurry of activity to the boat. A dinghy was lowered, manned by
two tall men, their sweeps propelling the craft to the wharf. An officer—a
lictor by the badge on his puggaree—looked toward them, his face thoughtful as
he recognized their intention, and barked an order that formed a squad of six
pikemen about him.

 
          
Dinghy
and soldiers reached them at the same time, the lictor raising an imperious
hand, bidding them halt. Calandryll eased his blade in the scabbard, unwilling
to be thwarted now.

 
          
"You
have permission to leave?"

 
          
"We
need none." Katya's tone was brusque, prompting the officer to frown.
"My boat is out of Vanu; my companions from Cuan na'For and Lysse. Thus we
are not subject to seizure."

 
          
The
lictor's frown deepened. He said, "All who anchor in Kharasul's harbor are
subject to the Tyrant and the laws of
Kandahar
."

 
          
"Indeed,"
Katya agreed, "but not to impression into his navy." •

 
          
The
lictor shrugged, studying the warboat with speculative eyes before returning
his gaze to the woman. "You command a fine vessel," he announced,
"Such as could find use against the Fayne rebels. I think you had best delay
your departure whilst I inquire of the praetor, whether we have need of the
boat."

 
          
Calandryll
said, "I am Calandryll den Karynth, son of the Domm of Secca in
Lysse," drawing himself up to his full height, seeking the tone his father
used in dealings with functionaries, "and I have commissioned this boat to
bring me home. I have urgent business and I would not be delayed."

 
          
The
lictor eyed him for a moment, then shaped a doubtful bow. "You will
forgive me ... my lord .. .but you do not look much like a domm's son, and we
have need of sound warboats."

 
          
Calandryll
affected the impatience his brother found so natural, returning the officer's
dubious stare with cold gaze. "I travel incognito," he snapped,
"but I assure you neither my father or the Tyrant will thank you for
delay.”

 
          
An
element of confusion entered the lictor's frown and he cleared his throat.
Calandryll said, "You have need of warboats? Then take those corsairs out
there—at least that would leave our sea-lanes safer."

 
          
"I
..." The lictor cleared his throat again, "I think I had best ask the
praetor's judgment."

 
          
"I
think you had best prepare to find yourself stripped of your command,"
Calandryll barked. "Secca does not take kindly to minor officers hindering
her ambassadors. The Tyrant shall hear of this!"

 
          
The
lictor took an involuntary step back, for the moment lost for words. Calandryll
seized the advantage, beckoning Bracht and Katya.

 
          
"Come,
we've delayed long enough."

 
          
He
went down the steps and clambered into the dinghy. Katya followed and then
Bracht; the lictor stared at them, face flushed, then shook his head and spun
on his heel. Calandryll breathed a sigh of relief as he led his men back across
the wharf. "Dera!" he murmured, "I thought us lost then."

 
          
"We've
still to clear the anchorage," Katya said.

 
          
He
nodded, watching the sleek lines of the warboat grow as the dinghy drew
steadily closer.

 
          
The
oarsmen rowed in silence, tall, slim men, much like Katya in appearance, but
muscular, tunics stretched across their shoulders, their near-white hair cut
short at the nape, broad-bladed knives sheathed on their belts. More waited to
bring them on board, the dinghy rapidly hauled up, the fore and stem anchors
already stowed, the great sweeps running out on Katya's word, the prow turning
south as the helmsman swung his tiller and the war-boat moved, darkly majestic,
toward the open sea.

 
          
Katya
led the way to the stem, that raised some little way above the central planking
that divided the rowing benches, overshadowed by the curling dragon's tail that
formed solid mounting for the tiller. On board, the craft seemed larger than it
had appeared, viewed from the poop of the
Sea Dancer,
with storage space
between the benches and small cabins at bow and stem. Katya spoke with the helmsman
in a language neither Calandryll or Bracht could understand, and he ducked his
head, smiling broadly at the two newcomers.

 
          
In
accented Lyssian, he said, "So you're the one who near sank us. I thought
we must find the bottom when you brought that maelstrom against us."

 
          
"This
is Tekkan," Katya informed them. "It was he who saved us then."

 
          
"More
luck than I," Tekkan smiled, and turned to his task.

 
          
He
was clearly skilled, the warboat gliding smooth between the larger merchantmen,
driven by the rhythmic sweeping of the oars. The rowers needed no time beat, it
seemed, for there was no dram master to maintain their stroke, only Tekkan
shouting from his vantage point, and a man posted to the prow to warn of
obstacles the helmsman might miss. Thirty oarsmen, Calandryll counted, fifteen
to each side, and all with pale gold or near-white hair, their bare backs
tanned, lighter than the Kands or Bracht, and all their eyes grey like Katya's
or a blue so pale as to seem mesmeric. They chanted as they worked, not loud,
but in perfect unison, their voices melodic, the song strange, unlike any he
had heard. And among them sat women; the archers, he presumed, tall as the men,
but their hair .was longer, tailed or wound up in knots. Beside each station,
against the bulwarks, hung a round shield, hide-covered against the salt spray,
and beneath each bench was a locker. The central deck overhung the benches
enough that hammocks might be slung there, sheltered somewhat from the
elements, and there he saw equipment, sheathed swords and the shapes of wrapped
bows, filled quivers, and axes of unfamiliar design. The Vanu folk were well
furnished for the quest and he felt his rekindled confidence mount as the boat
moved rapidly past Kharasul, starting to buck a little as the incoming tide met
the outwash of the Shemme.

 
          
He
heard Bracht groan and turned to see the Kern clinging resolutely to the
taffrail, face paling, his eyes fixed on the open sea ahead, filled with
apprehension.

 
          
"What
ails you?" asked Katya, moving to his side.

 
          
"That."
Bracht jerked his cnin to indicate the ocean, groaning afresh as the warboat
lurched and he clutched the rail as if his life depended on it. Katya chuckled,
setting a hand on his shoulder. "Come," she said, "I've cure for
that below."

 
          
Warily
he let go his hold, staggering as the boat shifted again, clutching at her for
want of other support, his arms about her so that for a moment they stood
pressed tight together. Calandryll saw Tekkan cast a swift and not entirely
approving glance in their direction, and then Katya disengaged herself, an
unfathomable expression in her grey eyes as she took Bracht's arm and led him
from the raised deck. Calandryll followed, seeing that low doorways were cut to
either side of the ladder, Katya opening the left and motioning Bracht inside.

 
          
It
was cramped with three bodies filling the space, a single bunk against the
stem, a narrow window above and a cupboard beneath, another built into the
partitioning wall, and a third, open and filled with charts, facing that. Katya
brought out a flask and a silver cup, glancing inquiringly at Calandryll, who
shook his head, smiling, and said, "I've sea legs. Bracht is more
accustomed to a horse."

 
          
"Would
that we might ride to Gessyth," the freesword moaned. "We folk of
Cuan na'For are not made for the