Tol and Darpo went ashore and cut a pair of saplings. They trimmed off the branches and used them to pole the boat out from shore. The current was strong, but they managed slow progress across the river.
From the water, Old Port lived up to its name-weather-beaten, innocent of paint. The houses were tall and narrow, worn brown by years of sun and rain, but every building bore a brightly colored pennant or metal totem, swinging in the wind. Eight merchant ships of modest size were tied up at the docks. They looked deserted and neglected. Streaks of black mold stained the canvas sails, and many lines were broken or untied. A few smaller craft crawled around the harbor.
Tol guided the boat to an empty berth on a long, ramshackle pier. A single kender, pot-bellied and possessing enormous ears, sat in a small kiosk at the end of the pier. Kiya leaped out and secured a line. They climbed out, and Tol nodded politely to the kender in the kiosk.
“Are you the harbormaster?” Tol asked.
“I am. That’s Gusgrave’s boat. Where’s Gus?”
“He went for a swim. We borrowed his boat,” Darpo said.
“Oh.” The harbormaster closed his eyes and held out a hand. “Docking fee, two silver pieces.”
Miya gave him two coppers. “We docked ourselves.” The kender shrugged and put the coins in his shirt pocket.
“Quiet, isn’t it?” said Tol. “No ships coming or going, no one loading or unloading.”
“Blockade. Tarsis,” the harbormaster said, yawning.
No blockading warships were in sight, but the long, narrow bay could be sealed easily at its mouth, over thirty leagues away.
“How long has the blockade been going on?” asked Darpo.
The harbormaster scratched his brown cheek. “Since the dark of the moons,” he said. The night when no moons rose was forty days past.
Tol asked, “Any Tarsans here?”
“A few traders, some sailors. Flack the feather merchant, he lives in the high street.” The kender looked slantwise at his interrogators and asked, “Will Ergoth attack our town?”
“How should we know?” Tol replied casually.
“You talk like Ergos. Word is, an army’s coming overland from Ropunt. Are you them?”
Tol denied it, but he was perplexed. Despite their precautions, the kender seemed well informed of their presence. And if the kender knew, the Tarsans likely knew too. What of the unknown menace that had repelled Tylocost-did it (or they) also know the Ergothians’ movements?
“We’re mercenaries,” Tol announced. “We heard there might be work here for good fighters.”
“Try the Tarsans, ’cross the bay.” The kender pointed vaguely northeast. “Big camp over there. General Ty-something. Maybe hell hire you. Or maybe he’ll hang you as Ergo spies.”
The harbormaster leaned forward and closed the shutters of his kiosk, indicating their conversation was over.
It was late afternoon by the time they finished their explorations and regained the western shore. They tied Gusgrave’s boat where they’d found it, and Miya tossed five coppers in it, the second half of the price she’d agreed to pay for use of the craft.
Tol led them quickly through the lengthening shadows. Mandes hampered their progress. He puffed and wheezed like an old man, and complained constantly of the too-brisk pace.
The setting sun colored the bay crimson, like an Ackal banner. On a bluff overlooking the calm sea, they paused to let the magician catch his breath.
“Look there!” cried Darpo, pointing out to sea.
Crawling across the flat water came a large vessel, a quin-quireme of the Tarsan Navy. It ploughed ahead steadily against the offshore wind, oars flashing in the fading sunlight. Foamy green water curled back beneath the bronze ram on its prow.
Tol and his comrades took cover in the trees. Lying on their bellies, they watched the Tarsan galley approach. Three flags whipped from a pole mast stepped amidships.
“Wizard, whose pennants are those?” Tol asked.
“Topmost is the flag of Tarsis,” answered Mandes. “The second is a naval flag of some sort. I’m not a warrior, but I’d guess it shows what flotilla the ship belongs to. The bottom banner”-he squinted at the colored fabric, tiny with distance-“looks like the flag of the Syndic House of Lux, the guild of goldsmiths and gem merchants.”
“Merchants on a warship?” scoffed Miya. “Wealthy merchants rule Tarsis,” Mandes explained. “The House of Lux is a rich and powerful guild. Many city officials, ambassadors, and diplomats come from their ranks.”
“Like Ambassador Hanira?” asked Tol, remembering the woman he’d seen in Daltigoth.
Mandes betrayed surprise. “Why, yes. Lady Hanira is mistress of the largest gemstone house in the city. How do you know her?”
“I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her. She leaves a lasting impression.”
The galley slowed as it came abreast of their position. From their high perch, the Ergothians had a clear view of the ship’s main deck. Some kind of violent activity had broken out there. White-clad figures swarmed fore and aft, wrestling with mysterious gear mounted on the forecastle and poop.
Suddenly, a shadow, larger and darker than the surrounding trees, fell over the cliff top. Tol looked up as something huge and airborne rushed in, snapping off treetops above them. Silent till then, it began emitting a loud buzzing sound, louder than anything Tol had ever heard. He could feel it in his bones.
Zimm-zimm-zimm-
He knew at once what it was: XimXim was here!
The droning buzz slowed and stopped. All around the hidden Ergothians, tree limbs cracked and popped, showering them with leaves and twigs. Through the thick canopy, all Tol could see was a large, dark green mass smashing its way through the trees. He saw long, articulated limbs moving in the treetops. He counted five and stopped. Whatever XimXim was, it wasn’t a dragon. Dragons were not common these days, and this monster had too many legs to be one anyway.
Loud, hollow thumps echoed across the water. Catapults on the deck of the Tarsan galley hurled giant darts at the monster. One missile hit an elm tree near Darpo, shattering the trunk.
“Tol, what should we do?” said Kiya, feeling trapped.
“Do nothing! Be still! No one knows we’re here!”
A trio of ancient alders crashed down. The monster was moving straight ahead, to the edge of the bluff. Catapult darts sailed in at a steady rate, but none hit their intended target.
Miya lay by Tol’s left hand, and she took hold of his arm in a grip made painfully strong by her astonishment. She didn’t have to say a word. They could all see it now, emerging from the woods.
The sun was behind them, nearly set. Its bold, ruddy glow darkened the monster’s green color almost to black. Rearing up nearly twenty paces, XimXim had an enormous three-sided head, with two faceted green eyes at the upper corners and a mouth equipped with many scissor-like palps. Two antennae, thick as a man’s wrist, sprouted from the creature’s forehead. Its head was perched on a thin stalk of a neck, which joined a relatively slender torso sheathed in green armor. Three pairs of legs supported the monster: four at the rear of the torso, and two enlarged arms hinged where the neck joined the body. Its forearms were shaped like a pair of downward-hanging scythes, their inside edges lined with sharp, saw-toothed spurs as long as a man’s hand.
One mystery was solved: XimXim was a monstrous insect, a mantis of truly gigantic size.
The monster gazed coldly at the Tarsan galley. In the center of its gigantic eyes, tiny black pupils tracked to and fro, following the movements of the terrified sailors. As more catapult darts whizzed by, XimXim unfolded stiff, bone-colored wings from its back. The wings didn’t flap or flex like a bird’s. They vibrated. The sound they made filled the air with the deafening, distinctive noise that gave the creature its name.