Her recent long ordeal on camels, Inos decided, had given her a very sentimental view of horses. Camels' gait was a sickening sway, and her joints grew stiff with the unnatural posture. Camels were stupid and bad-tempered and smelly.

But after three days on a mule she discovered she was looking back on both camels and horses with nostalgia. Mules bounced. They raised blisters in unmentionable places. They were stupid and bad-tempered and smelly. The absurd Zarkian robe she wore had never been designed for riding, while her primitive saddle had been stuffed with flints.

After three nights on the bare ground at ever-greater alt.i.tudes, she remembered the tents in the desert with much greater affection than she had expected, but a lady never complained, as her aunt had taught her, and if poor old Kade was managing to look on the bright sidea"and she stubbornly wasa"then her much younger niece must strive to do much better. Azak expected courage in royalty. So Inos smiled and smiled, and cracked jokes, and once in a while actually deceived herself, as well. This was, after all, a great adventure. All the rest of her life she would be able to silence a whole dinner table with the simple words, "When I was in Thume . . ."

The escape seemed to be working. Elkarath had not appeared in their path with a roar of thunder. The brigands of Tall Cranes had not come in pursuit, seeking vengeance. Perhaps they believed their own stories of uncanny horrors preying upon travelers rash enough to venture into Thume, but those horrors had not materialized, either.

The scenery was remarkable, she told herself firmly through chattering teeth.

The gloom-filled forest was redolent with arboreal mystery. Or something. Big trees, anyway. Creepy, haunted.

The ruins had been spectaculara"vast tumbled towers and walls of unthinkable antiquity, hidden in forest, beetling over chasms, half buried in silt in the tree-choked valleys. What cities had these been? Who were their brave warriors and fair queens? How long since children had laughed in the deserted courts or horses had plied the empty streets? Now only the wind moved, in blank doorways and crazy staring windows, whispering forgotten names in tongues unknown.

And she was with Azak. Azak was a problem, but he was also a superb protector, and in his strange guise of lover, he had turned out to be extremely good company. Very rarely now did he send shivers of distaste down her spine as he had done sometimes in Arakkaran when he raged at the princes. He was courteous and considerate, and at times even fun. He had a quite astonishing sense of humor, although it was unpredictable, as if it were something he had suppressed in his childhood as unworthy and was now trying to rediscover. And to be wooed by a giant young sultan was certainly a powerful aid to a girl's selfesteem.

Azak as traveling companiona"fine. As defender in the wildsa"also fine. But Azak in Krasnegar? Azak as husband? Could this really be the love the G.o.d had promised Inos? She must trust in love, They had said. She was inclined to believe now that Azak was, incredibly, truly in love with her. He certainly displayed all the symptoms. She must trust the G.o.d, then. She must not listen to the insidious tremors of doubt she felt when she tried to think of Azak ruling the prosaic merchants of Krasnegar.

She tried not to think of Krasnegar at all, especially in the gloomy dark of night. She slept badly, missing Elkarath's sleep spell, and even missing the straw pallets of caravan life. Those had seemed very uncomfortable at first, but a single blanket on bare ground was much worse. So her nights were filled with restless turnings and gloomy thoughts.

Krasnegar, more than likely, had no further need of her now. The wardens would have settled the matter somehow, and there had never been anything Inos could have done to honor the promise she had given her father. So what now, Inosolan?

Had the G.o.d been telling her she was destined to love a barbarian and live as sultana of Arakkaran?

The idea of a sultana riding out to hunt in Arakkaran was almost as difficult to grasp as the idea of Azak contentedly spearing white bears in a polar night . . . Well, she must trust in love, as the G.o.d had directed.

And trust Azak.

At times the mountain road was a paved highway, snaking through the eerily deserted valleys, its ancient blocks heaved and moved by roots and landslides. At other times there was no visible path at all, and then progress became unbearably slow.

But the third day brought the explorers to the barren crest of the pa.s.s, a gravelly desert scrolled with strange patterns of rocks and overlooked by magnificent ice-sheathed mountains. Inos thought she would remember the wind there, more than anything.

Late that third day they began descending along a made road, old and battered but still mostly pa.s.sable, twisting steeply down a dark and gloomy gorge into the unknown lands of Thume.

Where are you roaming: O mistress mine! where are you roaming?

Oh stay and hear; your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low.

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

FOUR.

Battles long ago

1.

Jalon's ordeal on Blood Wave lasted for three days. He sang and played until he was hoa.r.s.e and his fingers bled, and every second song had to be the "Battle Song of Durthing." Soon Rap knew it as well as Jalon did. He detested every note and every word, hating the callous mockery of honest sailors cruelly murdered; he mourned their wives and children even more. G.o.ds forgive me!

The minstrel obviously wearied of it, also. He tried to vary it, but the crew insisted on the original version. They did accept one minor changea"at about the fortieth rendition, Jalon performed the final verse in a perfect mimicry of young Vurjuk's squeaky treble. He would never have dared mock any of the others like that, but they all found this embellishment of the climax even funnier, and thereafter it had always to be done that way. Vurjuk glowered dangerously, and then reluctantly accepted it and pretended to like it. Apparently mimicry was yet another facet of Jalon's occult genius.

Several times Rap was ordered aft to answer more questions from Kalkor. He tried to deflect danger away from Inos and Krasnegar as well as he could, but the thane detected every deviation from strict truth, no matter how slight. Steadily the toll mounted until Rap was being promised thirty-two strokes from the cat-o'-nine-tails.

He shruggeda"which was hard to do convincingly while kneeling at a man's feeta"and he tried to put some of his contempt into his still-puffy eyes. "That's a death sentence, then?" Kalkor looked amused. "I never bluff, lad."

"Then why should I answer any more of your questions? You're going to kill me in about as nasty a way as you can find." The white eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You underrate my imagination! Besides, I never said you'd have to take all thirty-two strokes at the same time. We can spread them outa"one or two a day. You can make a career out of it." The blue-blue eyes glinted. "A seer deserves some consideration."

A truly brave man ought to prefer dying on the first handy tree, rather than be conscripted into a pack of jotunn raiders. "Thirty-two and counting," Kalkor said. "Next question . . ."

On one topic only could Rap deceive the sharp-witted thane, and there he had no choice. As soon as the questions drew near to the importance of Faerie and the source of magic, Rap's tongue would run away with him and he would start lying like a vagrant horse trader. Those lies Kalkor seemingly accepted, however fantastic they seemed to the man telling them, but of course they sprang from sorcery, the forbiddance laid upon Rap by Oothiana. He could not tell that secret if he tried.

Except for those interrogations, Rap was completely ignored, and so was Gathmor. The sailor was recovering his physical strength, but his mind seemed to have snapped under the strain of captivity, or else from the loss of his ship and family. Dulleyed and morose, he spent hours curled up, ignoring everything, not even replying to questions. The prisoners were given food and water, but only if they begged for them on their knees. Gathmor either could not or would not do such a thing, so Rap had to beg for two, begging being better than hunger and thirst. If he hoped to live beyond the next landfall, he must hope to escape, and for escape he would need his strengtha"so he told himself as he groveled, but the sustenance he gained thereby seemed strangely tasteless.

The wind faltered, recovered, veered southerly, then westerly, yet it never failed enough for Kalkor to order rowing; it never again became a full gale. And on the third afternoon, at about the fiftieth repet.i.tion of Jalon's battle song, the lookout spied land.

Like Andor's and unlike Rap's, Kalkor's word of power seemed to bring him luck. His ship was bearing down on an unknown lee sh.o.r.e in a spanking wind, but his course brought him within sight of exactly what he wanted, an isolated village.

The land was green, hilly and wooded, if not as lush as Faerie or Kith. Within the stretches of forest, too, lay many stretches of open gra.s.sland and even barren rock, which Rap found puzzling. By and large, though, the country seemed fertilea"why was it not more populated?

And when Blood Wave was close enough for sharp eyes and farsight to make out details, there was a river mouth coming up ahead, and a cl.u.s.ter of small cottages. None of the buildings could possibly be a barracks, and if there were boats, they must be small. So this was no Imperial outpost with a naval squadron or a garrison, and those were all that raiders need fear.

The jotnar took out their axes for more sharpening, and demanded the most spirited songs the minstrel knew; they began talking themselves up into bloodl.u.s.t. Rap found the process horrible and in some perverse way fascinating. The pirates never paused to consider that a tiny fraction of the wealth their vessel carried would buy them all the food and shelter they could usethe idea of a peaceful visit never entered their minds. They bragged of how they would kill and kill, rape and rape. They challenged each other to fiendish contests in atrocity. Before long they were so aroused that they could hardly contain themselves. Their eyes rolled in their heads, and some were drooling like imbeciles. Many stripped naked as if even their usual scanty clothing might somehow restrain their actions. And yet this was the crew that had lined up in solid silent discipline along the beach at Durthinga"small wonder that the raiders of Nordland were the terror of Pandemia.

Suddenly the minstrel was ordered to cease, although he had been barely audible over the manic babble anyway. Kalkor was up on the half deck beside the helmsman, roaring orders through a trumpet. Men leaped to their benches and the oars were run out. Rap and Gathmor, who had been huddling in the bow, making themselves inconspicuous amid the madness, were ordered aft. Amidships they pa.s.sed Jalon as he staggered forward, ashen pale under his sunburn, sucking swollen, bleeding fingers.

The sail was furled in the bunt; the c.o.xswain began piping a stroke.

Now Rap received the job offer he had been expecting all along. Kalkor stepped to the edge of the tiny half deck and stared down at him with contempt gleaming in too-blue eyes. "Well, faun? I was told you were pilot on that floating brothel your friend ran?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then let us see how you manage a longship. Up here with you. And if you prove yourself useful, I may decide to postpone the flogging for a while. Some of it, anyway."

Seeing no viable alternative, Rap clambered up the little ladder to join the thane and his helmsman on the p.o.o.p.

"And youa"whatever your name isa"" Kalkor said to the scowling Gathmor. "Cast an eye at that sh.o.r.e and tell me where we are."

Gathmor was pale and sullen, not the man Rap had known. No jotunn should have taken such a tone, especially him, but he turned obediently to study the landscape and then looked back up at Kalkor.

"I have never seen its like. It is not Kith, nor any part of Sysannaso I have ever visited."

"And not Pithmot, I think," Kalkor said, with a smirk. "So we know where we are, don't we?"

Dragon Reach? It had to be Dragon Reach! A strange warm thrill tingled Rap's skin as he realized the implications of Dragon Reach.

"Vurjuk!" shouted Kalkor.

The gangling young raider was sitting on the nearest bench, wearing nothing but a conical steel helmet and a self-conscious expression. He was unpaired and thus had not put out an oar. He sprang up. "Aye, sir?"

"Get a weapon and keep an eye on this jotunn woman. If he causes any trouble, kill him."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Vurjuk said in an enthusiastic squeak. He stooped to find his battlea"ax under the bench. A sword or dagger would have been more appropriate at such close quarters, Rap thought, but the youth hefted the huge ax in one hand and stepped closer to Gathmor. He was a head taller and dangerous in the extreme, yet Gathmor did not even deign to look at him.

Rap, meanwhile, had been studying the approach, both with farsight and with eyes that were gradually recovering from Darad's brutality. Farsight worked bettera"the sun was close to the horizon, the light tricky.

Either way, the problem was obvious. Hastened along by the rush of the tide, Blood Wave was skirting a long spit of rock and sand, keeping step with the breaking swell that raked it in white plumes of spray. Beyond that sinister barrier beckoned a clear lagoon and a friendly yellow beach, and back of them were trees and a hamlet at the base of steep cliffsa"a safe haven, with fresh water and shelter, plus unhindered opportunity to enjoy the b.l.o.o.d.y sports of raiders.

Up ahead, the narrow hook ended, plunging below the shining water in a frothy confusion of rocks. And beyond them was open channel through which surged the fearsome tide. But the rocks were what sent Rap's heart racing. Deceptive to the eye . . . Deep below the smoothly coiling surface, he saw the frenzied streaming of the kelp. He checked Blood Wave's draft, and it was less than Stormdancer's. But it was enough. Now he must see what he was really made of.

He was new to the ship, so Kalkor would be wary of him, but another chance might not come again for months, and he might never find a better natural trap. Under the low sun that tidal rip was barely visible at all to mundane vision. If he could position Blood Wave crosswise in that, then she would whip around and oars would never control her. For several minutes she would be completely at the mercy of the current, and some of those rocky teeth were shallow enough.

Other words of power brought good fortune; perhaps his was going to come through with some at last.

Peep! said the c.o.xswain's pipe. "Steady as she goes, sir." Peep!

"The gap's clear?" Kalkor demanded suspiciously.

"Aye, sir. Plenty." And that was true, except that the longship would never reach the opening Rap was looking at. Would that partial lie deceive the jotunn? Rap's heart was racing as it never had. He kept his face turned to the sea. Peep!

Please, G.o.ds! Please let me rid the world of this monster! Rap would die, too, of course. If the waves did not smash him on the rocks, then he would swim ash.o.r.e and the other survivors would catch him there. But surely this so-perfect ambush had been provided by the G.o.ds themselves?

G.o.d of Sailors, G.o.d of Mercy, G.o.d of Justice . . . As I seek to aid the Good and shun the Evil, grant me this day courage. Peep! Peep! Oars creaked against thole pins, heaving Blood Wave closer and closer to that sinister, inconspicuous ripple. Peep!

Twenty strokes should do it. Swiftly, swiftly to destruction. Eighteen.

Sixteen.

"You're sure of this, are you, Master Rap?" Kalkor murmured.

"Aye, sir. Quite sure. Steady as she goes, helmsman." Fourteen.

Twelve.

Then Kalkor raised his trumpet and roared ordersa"helm hard over, port watch backwater. Blood Wave seemed to stand on her stern as she came about, her bow swinging seaward, away from the waiting race.

The thane's rugged hand grabbed Rap by the throat, thrusting him back against the gunwale, bending him over it until his feet left the deck, flailing helplessly, and he was sure he was about to crack. Through a choking black mist he saw blue eyes blaze above him in a killer rage. "Sink my ship, would you, faun sc.u.m?"

Gathmor lifted the battle-ax from Vurjuk's unresisting hand and swung it against the back of Kalkor's knees. The thane leaped straight up, so it pa.s.sed below him and thudded into the side of the ship between Rap's legs. Momentarily released from that choking grip, Rap toppled himself over the rail in a back somersault and plummeted into the sea. Vurjuk reached both hands for his prisoner and was doubled up by a punch that would have felled an oak. Gathmor vaulted over the side, following Rap.

Blood Wave surged away seaward, out of danger.

2.

Swimming in the calm of Durthing Bay was no preparation for what happened when a man fell into a riptide crossing a reef. Nothing in Rap's past had ever prepared him for the experience; nothing he could do now made the slightest difference. His farsight was warning him of jagged teeth in all directions; seaweed streaming in the water like hair in a wind; sand swirling in clouds along the bottom; strange marine growths and slippery things writhing all around him. And he, stirred in some giant's silent soup pot, rolled over and over, going down and up and down again, was all the time being rushed helpless between those terribly sharp-looking rocks, coated with abrasive barnacles. Fish fled from this improbable terrestrial monster invading their realm.

Then calm! He fought his way to the surface, to the world of air and life and sound. Gasp! He was into the lagoona"dazed and shaken but unhurt . . . almost so, for he had lost some skin on his shoulders and knees. But alive!

His first thought was to head ash.o.r.e and warn the villagers, but that was already impossible. He was long past the huts, being borne northward parallel to the coast, and moreover he had left the beach behind also, and there was nothing to landward except rocks and a cliff. So he concentrated on saving his strength, keeping his head up, and searching for Blood Wave. He found her at the limit of his range, far out from sh.o.r.e, northward bound like himself.

Then he could relax a little. With wind and current behind him, Kalkor would not turn back to loot a humble handful of hovels, else he would exhaust his rowers to small purpose. Rather he would search for better pickings up ahead. The immediate danger was past.

But soon Rap found himself being forced inexorably sh.o.r.eward, to where the surf broke upon monstrous boulders that would love to break him also. He had never swum in real waves, honest waves, and he was appalled at how little his efforts seemed to matter. The sea moved him as it moved the weeds, and if it chose to shatter him and color the spray a momentary red, then that would be his lot.

Try as he might, he moved ever closer to the fury and madness of the breakers, the white thunderclap explosions, the myriad rocky claws stretching out to rend him. Cross-currents spun him around in mockery, so at times he was swimming toward his destruction. At last one careless eddy slid him into the lee of an especially large boulder. He flailed water with hands and feet, resisting the drag of the water, fighting for his life. For one desperate minute he held his position, then he began to drift away. His fingers touched trailing weed. He grabbed, pulled, and slid easily to the rock, a land animal rooted again.

Once he had his breath back, he scrambled up to safety. So far so good! The tidal flow seemed to be easing already, meaning he would not be washed off his rocky perch, but the surf still lay between him and the sh.o.r.e, the sun had gone, and so had every st.i.tch of his clothing. He could hope to swim the few yards to sh.o.r.e when the current slackened in a couple of hours, or he might have to wait for low tide and wade, but he could certainly reach the land in time, and then hope to walk back to the village. On bare feet? Oh, wella"at the moment he was king of his own island.

Which was certainly better than being Kalkor's prisoner.

On the other hand, this deserted land was neither Kith nor Sysanna.s.so nor Pithmot, and thus it must indeed be Dragon Reach, the eastern sh.o.r.e of the Dragon Sea. Things were certainly beginning to shape up like the first of the magic cas.e.m.e.nt's prophecies. One of the three men in the vision had been Rap, one Sagorn, and the other a jotunn sailor. The first time Rap had met Gathmor, on the dock at Milflor, there had been something oddly familiar about him.

For the thousandth time Rap wondered how those three dread visions should be interpreted. Were they alternatives, with him fated to die in one of those ways? Kalkor had gone, Little Chicken was dead, the dragon was perhaps not far off. Or were they a sequencea"would he survive the dragon and at some future date survive Kalkor? And in that case, where was the goblin?

What a choice!

Either the pounding of the surf or the nerve-racking strain of the last week had exhausted him. He wanted to stretch out and sleep, but the rock was not flat enough. In any case, he must not miss the tide. How far to Zark from here? He huddled himself small, shivering in the clammy sea wind and the cold touch of spray.