“Stop, you fool!”
Gerik stopped so quickly that he nearly lost balance, sword, and dignity. He’d just regained all three when the fleeing prisoner reached the slope of tumbled blocks. He peered through the darkness as the man scrambled up with the strength and speed of desperation.
Then, from the darkness beyond the man, monstrousness came. At least that was Gerik’s first thought. It was huge and evil, but had no shape.
Closer to his doom, the man apparently saw more clearly. He screamed once, but a second scream was lost in a sound like an iron gate closing. Then a third scream floated down from the sky, and after that was silence, except for the rush of air churned by what could only be mighty wings.
Gerik realized that, after all, he did not need to see what had come forth and taken the man aloft. He had seen it that day on the path.
“So, you command a black dragon?” he said to the patch of darkness where Fustiar most likely lurked.
The slurred voice replied from it. “He keeps order among my other servants, does he not?”
“I do not doubt it.”
“Do not think you-will be-spared, either, if you-rebel.”
“All that is mine to give, I give freely to your service,” Gerik said. He thought his voice was steady. About the words he was less sure, but they came from the oath of service to House Encuintras, and if that had been good enough for his mother, it could cursed well be good enough for a drunken renegade mage!
“All that is given, I accept.” Those words seemed less slurred. They were followed by a squelching thud. Gerik stepped forward, until he nearly stubbed his toe on the mage’s outflung foot.
A snore floating up from the mud. It began to seem that Gerik Ginfrayson’s first service to Fustiar the Renegade would be putting the man to bed.
His first act after that would be finding a means of escape that would not end either in the dragon’s belly or in the jungle or sea. That might be a long search, but it was one he was now determined to make.
He had been prepared to end his betrothal to Haimya when he sailed on the voyage that ended at Crater Gulf-no longer fearing what she might say that made it easier to swear allegiance to Synsaga. Indeed, he suspected that she also would be relieved to find herself free from a betrothal that existed mostly because neither of them had been able to find a convincing argument against it.
Haimya was an excellent woman; she would not be long in burying his memory or consoling herself with another man. He owed her nothing-except what he owed everyone, which was not to consort any longer than he had to with a renegade mage who had brought a black dragon out of dragonsleep and loosed it on the world.
* * * * *
Whatever Jemar the Fair considered that he owed Grimsoar One-Eye and the thieves of Istar, it was worth two boatloads of supplies in the first four days. One was barrel staves and hoops, as well as caulking material and several of Jemar’s own coopers to help Golden Cup’s crew put everything together.
The other was spars and rope (the ship had plenty of spare sails). Like a tribe of apes fleeing a leopard, Golden Cup’s people swarmed into its battered rigging, and in a single day it began to look less battered.
Pirvan was among the climbers. His minor hurts were long healed and he could climb as well as any-better than most. That he was a sober man gave him only more opportunities. The crew was kept aboard, but no sailor with money in his pocket and small craft passing close to his anchored vessel would be without wine for long.
On the fifth day, Pirvan was in the maintop, repairing the standing rigging, when a boat slid out of the mist and alongside. He took a brief look, noted that it was a barge in harbor guard colors, and returned to filing down a block that had come out of the chandler’s shop a bit oversized even for Golden Cup’s massive rigging.
On the other side of the maintop, Haimya was feeding freshly tarred rope from a coil to two men standing on the mainyard. As before, when she was in her cabin, Eskaia had given her guards permission-indeed, orders-to join the work of the crew. Also as before, at least since the storm, Haimya worked with speed, skill, and as many words as a statue of Mishakal.
At least she smiled from time to time, since the agreement with Jemar had been reached, and once Pirvan heard her laugh (or heard that she’d laughed, which was not quite the same thing). If he was part of her problem, of course, the less he said, the better, but if Grimsoar was wrong and she confused his silence with abandoning her now, after saving her in the storm …
“Ahoy, the top!” Pirvan recognized the mate of the hold.
“Maintop!”
“Our lady’s people-haul your arses down here now! Jump if you can.”
Pirvan looked down. The harbor guard barge was now alongside the gangway. It seemed to be fuller than the normal eight rowers could account for, and there were four or five men in the guard’s wine-colored coats and blue breeches on ship’s deck as well.
Pirvan flung himself into the rigging and slid down, no great matter with his gloves on and the next best thing to jumping. (He would have jumped only if he’d been sure that the harbor guard men were aboard on no good business and that he could land on them.)
Haimya came down the ratlines, more briskly than she had when first aboard but not even trying to match the thief’s pace. He was on the deck before he realized that perhaps he should have spared her dignity a trifle, not beating her so badly.
Perhaps also the mate’s order was to be obeyed whoever might be embarrassed-and why was he so concerned about embarrassing Haimya? He had little control over whether she was in love with him or not, but he’d be cursed if he would, out of sheer carelessness, slip into being in love with her!
Eskaia came onto it as Haimya reached deck, wearing a gray cloak over a cream-colored traveling gown. Red boots and the cuffs of blue trousers peeped out from under the gown-garb that would have scandalized everyone at a temple feast, but eminently practical for bobbing across Karthay’s harbors in a barge that certainly had wet bilges and might take in more water on the way.
“I have been invited aboard the bannership of the harbor guard,” Eskaia said. “I must have an escort. Garb and arm yourselves appropriately.”
“My lady-” began Haimya, then Eskaia riveted her to the deck with a glare.
Pirvan took a deep breath. “My lady. I mean no insult to either you or the harbor guard, but your safety aboard the ship is something to think upon.”
“Pirvan, are you and Haimya not fit to meet even small dangers?” Eskaia said. If she was jesting, there was nothing in her blue eyes or soft voice to tell Pirvan.
“Small dangers, yes.” Emboldened by Pirvan, Haimya had found her voice. “But a shipful of Karthayans might under some circumstances not be a small danger.”
“You dare-” the guard’s officer began.
“Yes,” Haimya said calmly, though her hand was close to the hilt of her dagger. “My mother was Karthayan. I know that any man has his price. Although, to do you justice, your price would be high, and for any great crime, you could not be bought.”
The officer closed his mouth, apparently unsure whether he was being praised or not. Then he sighed. “Would it be well enough if I and a few others remained aboard here, while you saw-while you went aboard the bannership?”
“Yes,” Eskaia said, before Haimya could reply again. Her tone and face dared any of Golden Cup’s people to so much as think Tarothin’s name. “I will arrange for proper hospitality, though our work must continue.”
“We would not stop it if we could,” the officer said.