The Dragon Revenant (37 page)

“I’d rather you were your own man, actually, but you’re welcome for the favor. Brother Merrano, now that we’re all here, perhaps we’d best shut these gates. I have a most peculiar, exotic, eerie, and generally bizarre tale to tell to your superior.”

“Your tales generally run along those lines, yes,” Merrano said, grinning. “That’s why we’re all so glad to see you again.”

As soon as he walked into the temple compound, Rhodry felt his black mood lift as palpably as if someone had stripped a wet cloak from his shoulders. Even when he glanced back to see Jill holding Salamander’s hand and talking privately with Gwin, he thought nothing more than that they were trying to decide what to do with the twenty-odd extra horses that his brother had insisted on keeping with them—and which were turning out to be a nuisance that he, for one, could have well done without. When the circle broke up, he called to Salamander.

“We’ve got them all tethered and tied. It should do for now.”

Salamander waved to him and, talking with Gwin, came strolling back inside with Jill following. Rhodry was alarmed at how tired she looked, with dark circles under her eyes and a stagger to her walk. A young priest who introduced himself as Brother Kwintanno had noticed her condition as well.

“The woman with you? Is she ill?”

“Just very tired. We’ve had a terrible long ride of it, getting here through the mountains.”

“Let’s get her to the guesthouse where you’ll all be staying, then, so she can get some sleep. Evan can talk enough for everybody, and he probably will.”

It took Rhodry a moment to realize that by Evan he meant Salamander. He also thought, and with some irritation, that he really should have remembered his brother’s actual name before this.

Although Jill tried to claim that she was perfectly well and not in the least tired, she kept her protests short and let Rhodry put his arm round her for support as they followed the priest through the maze of buildings and huts in the enormous compound. The guesthouse turned out to be a pleasant wooden building, whitewashed inside and out, with three rooms and a number of cots, chairs, and low tables scattered through them. In the central room there was even a shelf with some ten scrolls and a lectern nearby for reading them.

“You’ll have the place to yourself, this time of year,” Kwintanno said. “During the summer we have many guests, here on legal matters, mostly.” He went to a chest and began burrowing through its contents. “Yes, there are plenty of clean blankets. Take what you want. Later you can all visit our bathhouse if you so wish.”

“I do wish, and with all my heart,” Rhodry said. “Jill, you’d better sleep first.”

“Am I arguing with you, my love?” She sat down on the edge of a cot and yawned, rubbing her face with both hands. “One blanket will be plenty, my thanks.”

Kwintanno led Rhodry to one of the big longhouses he’d seen from the street and into a typical Bardekian reception room, its walls painted with scenes of godlike beings founding cities and handing over scrolls of laws to groveling humans. Up on the red-and-blue tiled dais, Salamander and Gwin were sitting cross-legged and talking—or rather, Salamander was talking—to an elderly man dressed in a long red robe. He was very old, his dark face lined and pouched, his curly hair pure white, but he sat straight and his black eyes were full of power.

“His Holiness, Takiton,” Kwintanno whispered. “Bow when you approach.”

Rhodry gladly made the head priest the lowest bow that he could manage and was rewarded with a smile and the wave of a wrinkled hand summoning him to the dais. He sat down a little behind Salamander and next to Gwin, who had the tight-lipped look of a man determined not to show his terror.

“Ah, Rhodry,” Takiton said, “your brother’s been telling me your sad tale.”

“Indeed, Your Holiness?” Since he and Salamander had discussed this story during the journey, he knew what he was supposed to say. “I humbly hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for breaking the holy laws of your islands.”

“Nicely spoken, but you weren’t the first and doubtless won’t be the last young man to gamble his freedom away. What bothers me is this forged bill of sale.” Takiton held up the by-now much crumpled bit of bark-paper to the light that came in the high windows. “Evan, you and I shall speak of this privately later. But we can start the legal procedure for freeing your brother from your ownership this very afternoon.”

“My thanks, Your Holiness,” Salamander said. “How long do you think everything will take?”

“Oh, some days, most probably. The archon has his way of doing things, and there are several public festivals in the offing, too, that must be properly attended to.”

When Rhodry looked Salamander’s way he saw him nod agreement with a bland smile, but Gwin went tenser than before, his hands knuckling white in his lap. Rhodry himself felt a cold stab of fear: their enemies were close behind them, and there they were, forced to sit in this temple and wait for them to catch up.

Day after day, night after night, the dweomer-wind blew steadily. In a symphony of creaking ropes and groaning sail the
Guaranteed Profit
ran as straight and true as a banker chasing a debt as she headed across the Southern Sea toward the port of Surat. After a few days of jesting about luck, both the sailors and the men Nevyn brought from Aberwyn had become unnaturally calm, going about their work without saying more than a few necessary words to their officers, but whispering among themselves when they thought no one could see them. Every now and then Nevyn caught some of them looking his way in a mixture of awe and sheer terror; he would always smile gently in return and ignore the way they made the sign of warding against witchcraft every time he met them head-on. Since the carrack was a small and narrow boat, their fingers must have ached from all the necessary crossing. As for Perryn, he never noticed the peculiar wind at all, merely lay in the hold and groaned between brief spans of sleep.

Toward the end of the second week Nevyn woke one morning to find seagulls wheeling and crying above the ship and strands of kelp streaming past her sides. Up at the bow Elaeno and the first mate were staring straight ahead and discussing what to do when they hit port. At the sight of Nevyn the first mate snapped to attention and went a bit pale.

“I imagine this wind is too strong for sailing into harbor,” Nevyn said.

“She is,” Elaeno said. “No doubt, though, she’ll slack off at the right moment. We’ll be in sight of land in about half a watch, say, and should make port in another half.”

“I’ll tend to things, then.”

With a muttered excuse the first mate fled.

“Are you ever going to be able to sign on a crew again?” Nevyn said. “Once this story gets round, I mean?”

“Good question. Well, I pay good wages, and I’ve always been known as a fair-minded man, so that should count for somewhat. Now, here, are you sure you want to make land at Surat? It’s one of the busiest ports in the islands, and most likely our enemies will be watching it.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. If they were me, they’d sneak ashore at some obscure port, so maybe we’ll fool them by marching right in. It matters naught, truly. They’ll know I’m here soon enough, no matter what I do.”

By noon Nevyn could see the white cliffs of Surtinna, rising sharp and clear in the brilliant light. He sat down on a crate in the bow, imaged the flaming pentagram, and called upon the Kings of the Air. In a gust and flurry of breeze they came, exuding graciousness, and remarked that he might bind the wind to his purposes once again, if he wished, to bring the Dragon of Aberwyn home to his people. From the bottom of his heart, Nevyn thanked them as one prince to another. In a few moments the wind slacked, and the dark stripe of squall that had followed them for days disappeared. As they turned round a headland and headed in, the wind dropped to an ordinary sea breeze, nicely brisk and blowing exactly as they might have wished, but an ordinary breeze nonetheless. Spread out behind its wide and shallow bay, Surat lay like an emerald on the white gold of a sandy beach. At the sight the sailors began to cheer in heartfelt relief.

Nevyn got up and started amidships to find Amyr waiting for him. The young warrior was grinning as if his face would split from it.

“You seem glad to be going ashore, lad,” Nevyn remarked.

“We all are, my lord, and I don’t mind telling you twice. We’ve got our gear all packed, too. I wanted to ask you, do you want the prisoner brought up from the hold?”

“The who? Oh, Perryn! I do at that, and my thanks. See if you can get him into a clean shirt, too, will you? I’m going below to change right now myself. Don’t forget: I’m now Lord Galrion, and you and the lads are the honor guard of a very important man. If we’re going to pull Gwerbret Rhodry out of this wretched mess, we all have to learn to lie like thieves.”

“Done, Lord Galrion.” Amyr made him a passable sweep of a bow. “Shall I send one of your humble servants to take charge of your baggage?”

“That’s the spirit, lad! And come to think of it, a little help would be welcome. The regent loaded me down with all sorts of fripperies.”

Among these fripperies were some beautifully made pieces of clothing and badges of rank: a shirt embroidered with the Dragons of Aberwyn, a pair of brigga in the rhan’s plaid, a new solid blue cloak with a jeweled ring-brooch decorated with dragons to clasp it shut. In a pair of graved silver message tubes he carried letters from the regent, and in a velvet-lined leather pouch all the coin that Lovyan could scrounge up on such short notice. There were also two small wooden caskets, containing respectively Aberwyn’s second-best set of silver goblets and the absolutely best silver-gilt soup tureen, pressed into hasty service as gifts for archons. Nevyn put on the clothes, hung the pouch of coin round his neck, and consigned the rest, along with his regular clothes and his mule packs full of herbs and medicines, to the man Amyr detailed for the job.

When he came back out on deck, Elaeno made a great show out of pretending not to recognize him, and all the sailors stared openmouthed at the captain for daring to tease a man who could command the wind.

“Lord Galrion, is it?” Elaeno said, bowing. “Well, my lord, we’re almost to land. Your honor guard and your tame stoat are already assembled in the stern.”

“My thanks, captain.” Nevyn was grinning. “Where do we go through customs? It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Surat.”

“Well, actually, I think customs are coming to us. Look out there. Isn’t that a packet boat?”

It was indeed, a slim little galley with its sail shipped and rowers at the oars. At the prow sat a gray-haired man with coppery skin and the two red triangles of Surat painted on one cheek to mark his official status. When they came alongside, Elaeno’s men threw down lines, and after a few precarious moments, the galley was safely lashed to the merchantman’s side. In spite of his gray hair, the official was an agile man; he judged his distance and leapt from one deck to the other with the grace of someone who’s spent his entire life on boats. Elaeno bowed; Nevyn bowed; the official bowed all round.

“I see by your pennant that you hail from Aberwyn, good sirs. How, by the Holy Stars themselves, did you ever manage the run across?”

“Luck,” Elaeno said. “And pressing need in the gwerbret’s service. May we berth?”

“By all means.” The official was squinting up at the mast head, where the silver and blue dragon flag was curling in the breeze. “I thought my eyes had given out on me when I saw that blazon, I really did. Well, captain, you’ll be able to dine out on this little tale all winter long.”

Since, by the time the ship was safely docked and the harbor dudes paid, it was too late to make a state visit to the archon, Nevyn, Perryn, and the honor guard all spent the night in a splendid inn as the official guests of the city of Surat. As soon as he wobbled off the gangplank onto the solid pier Perryn began to revive; by the time they reached the inn and were being shown to an enormous suite, he was positively cheerful. On his own initiative he took over the role of Nevyn’s valet, grabbing the councillor’s luggage from the more-than-willing warband and stowing it away after the innkeep, in a frenzy of pantomime and a flurry of his twenty Deverrian words, showed him the bedchamber and the wardrobe chests.

“Your poor servant seems to have been very seasick,” the innkeep remarked in Bardekian to Nevyn.

“Very. The seas are terrible this time of year.”

“Yes, they certainly are.” The man hesitated, practically squirming with curiosity, but he was too skilled at his host-craft to pry. “I shall send pitchers of wine, Lord Galrion. Uh, about your guards? Will the wine go right to their heads?”

“I shall make sure your property is safe in every respect, good sir.”

The innkeep bowed so low that he could have touched his toes, then scurried off.

At the evening meal not only did the other guests in the common room crowd round to ask polite yet eager questions about their marvelous ocean voyage, but some of the local merchants came in specially as well. To a town that lived by trading on the sea, their journey smacked of legend, the exploit of a hero, perhaps, from their own Dawntime. Fortunately, Nevyn could draw upon his sincere ignorance of things maritime to put them off.

“When we hired this captain, we were told he was the best in Orystinna, and apparently he is. There were times when I honestly thought we were doomed, but he always pulled us through. It’s him you should be buying drinks for, gentlemen, and asking your questions.”

He had no doubt that on the morrow, when Elaeno came on land, they’d be doing just that. He was also sure that the ship’s master could lie well enough to convince them that the voyage was as normal as a terrible crossing could be.

When Nevyn returned to his chamber, he found Perryn sitting on the edge of the usual dais in the reception chamber. In the light of the oil lamps the lord’s red hair gleamed, newly washed and coppery.

“They have splendid bathhouses here, Nevyn. A servant showed me where it was, and it felt ever so good to wash off the stink of that cursed ship.” He fixed the dweomermaster with a reproachful stare. “But, er, well, you might have told me we were coming all the blasted way to Bardek.”