Then they heard welcome sounds—drunken laughter and human voices speaking Common. The two guards they had been waiting for lurched out of the bar and staggered toward them.
A tall iron brazier stood on the sidewalk, lighting the night. The mercenaries lurched into its light, giving Tanis a close look at them. Both were officers in the dragonarmy, he saw. Newly promoted, he guessed, which may have been what they were celebrating. Their armor was shining new, relatively clean, and undented. It was good armor, too, he saw with satisfaction. Made of blue steel, it was fashioned after the style of the Highlords’ own dragon-scale armor.
‘Ready?’ Caramon whispered. Tanis nodded.
Caramon drew his sword. ‘Elven scum!’ he roared in his deep, barrel-chested bass. ‘I’ve found you out, and now you’ll come with me to the Dragon Highlord, spy!’
‘You’ll never take me alive!’ Tanis drew his own sword.
At the sound of their voices, the two officers staggered to a stop, peering bleary-eyed into the dark alley.
The officers watched with growing interest as Caramon and Tanis made a few passes at each other, maneuvering themselves into position. When Caramon’s back was to the officers and Tanis was facing them, the half-elf made a sudden move. Disarming Caramon, he sent the warrior’s sword flying.
‘Quick! Help me take him!’ Caramon bellowed. ‘There’s a reward out for him—dead or alive!’
The officers never hesitated. Fumbling drunkenly for their weapons, they headed for Tanis, their faces twisted into expressions of cruel pleasure.
‘That’s it! Nail ’im!’ Caramon urged, waiting until they were past him. Then—just as they raised their swords—Caramon’s huge hands encircled their necks. He slammed their heads together, and the bodies slumped to the ground.
‘Hurry!’ Tanis grunted. He dragged one body by the feet away from the light. Caramon followed with the other. Quickly they began to strip off the armor.
‘Phew! This one must have been half-troll,’ Caramon said, waving his hand to clear the air of the foul smell.
‘Quit complaining!’ Tanis snapped, trying to figure out how the complex system of buckles and straps worked. ‘At least you’re used to wearing this stuff. Give me a hand with this, will you?’
‘Sure.’ Caramon, grinning, helped to buckle Tanis into the armor. ‘An elf in plate armor. What’s the world coming to?’
‘Sad times,’ Tanis muttered. ‘When are we supposed to meet that ship captain William told you about?’
‘He said we could find her on board around daybreak.’
‘The name’s Maquesta Kar-thon,’ said the woman, her expression cool and businesslike. ‘And—let me guess—you’re not officers in the dragonarmy. Not unless they’re hiring elves these days.’
Tanis flushed, slowly drawing off the helm of the officer. ‘Is it that obvious?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Probably not to anyone else. The beard is very good—perhaps I should say half-elf, of course. And the helm hides your ears. But unless you get a mask, those pretty, almond shaped eyes of yours are a dead giveaway. But then, not many draconians are apt to look into your pretty eyes, are they?’ Leaning back in her chair, she put a booted foot on a table, and regarded him coolly.
Tanis heard Caramon chuckle, and felt his skin burn.
They were on board the Perechon, sitting in the captain’s cabin, across from the captain herself. Maquesta Kar-thon was one of the dark-skinned race living in Northern Ergoth. Her people had been sailors for centuries and, it was popularly believed, could speak the languages of seabirds and dolphins. Tanis found himself thinking of Theros Ironfeld as he looked at Maquesta. The woman’s skin was shining black, her hair tightly curled and bound with a gold band around her forehead. Her eyes were brown and shining as her skin. But there was the glint of steel from the dagger at her belt, and the glint of steel in her eyes.
‘We’re here to discuss business, Captain Maque—’ Tanis stumbled over the strange name.
‘Sure you are,’ the woman said. ‘And call me Maq. Easier for both of us. It’s well you have this letter from Pig-faced William, or I wouldn’t have even talked to you. But he says you’re square and your money’s good, so I’ll listen. Now, where’re you bound?’
Tanis exchanged glances with Caramon. That was the question. Besides, he wasn’t certain he wanted either of their destinations known. Palanthas was the capital city of Solamnia, while Sancrist was a well-known haven of the Knights.
‘Oh, for the love of—’ Maq snapped, seeing them hesitate. Her eyes flared. Removing her foot from the table, she stared at them grimly. ‘You either trust me or you don’t!’
‘Should we?’ Tanis asked bluntly.
Maq raised an eyebrow. ‘How much money do you have?’
‘Enough,’ Tanis said. ‘Let’s just say that we want to go north, around the Cape of Nordmaar. If, at that point, we still find each other’s company agreeable, we’ll go on. If not, we’ll pay you off, and you put us in a safe harbor.’
‘Kalaman,’ said Maq, settling back. She seemed amused. ‘That’s a safe harbor. As safe as any these days. Half your money now. Half at Kalaman. Any farther is negotiable.’
‘Safe delivery to Kalaman,’ Tanis amended.
‘Who can promise?’ Maq shrugged. ‘It’s a rough time of year to travel by sea.’ She rose languidly, stretching like a cat. Caramon, standing up quickly, stared at her admiringly.
‘It’s a deal,’ she said. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the ship.’
Maq led them onto the deck. The ship seemed fit and trim as far as Tanis, who knew nothing about ships, could tell. Her voice and manner had been cold when they first talked to her, but when she showed them around her ship, she seemed to warm up. Tanis had seen the same expression, heard the same warm tones Maq used in talking about her ship that Tika used when talking about Caramon. The Perechon was obviously Maq’s only love.
The ship was quiet, empty. Her crew was ashore, along with her first mate, Maq explained. The only other person Tanis saw on board was a man sitting by himself, mending a sail. The man looked up as they passed, and Tanis saw his eyes widen in alarm at the sight of the dragon armor.
‘Nocesta, Berem,’ Maq said to him soothingly as they passed. She made a slashing motion with her hand, gesturing to Tanis and Caramon. ‘Nocesta. Customers. Money.’
The man nodded and went back to his work.
‘Who is he?’ Tanis asked Maq in a low voice as they walked toward her cabin once more to conclude their business.
‘Who? Berem?’ she asked, glancing around. ‘He’s the helmsman. Don’t know much about him. He came around a few months back, looking for work. Took him on as a deck-swab. Then my helmsman was killed in a small altercation with—well, never mind. But this fellow turned out to be a damn good hand at the wheel, better than the first, in fact. He’s an odd one, though. A mute. Never speaks. Never goes ashore, if he can help it. Wrote his name down for me in the ship’s book, or I wouldn’t have known that much about him. Why?’ she asked, noticing Tanis studying the man intently.
Berem was tall, well-built. At first sight, one might guess him to be middle-aged, by human terms. His hair was gray; his face was clean-shaven, deeply tanned, and weathered from months spent on board ship. But his eyes were youthful, clear, and bright. The hands that held the needle were smooth and strong, the hands of a young man. Elven blood, perhaps, Tanis thought, but if so it wasn’t apparent in any of his features.