“Everybody expects the worst of sea barbarians when it comes to a drinking bout,” he said. “They’ll have suspicion close to their hearts and their hands close to their steel. But House Encuintras will be my shield and my staff.”
Jemar could not but agree. He also could not help cautioning Kurulus not to presume too much on his house flag. “From what I have heard, old Josclyn Encuintras is not what he was, and may not be here to help us much longer.”
Kurulus lowered his voice so that only Jemar, Pirvan, and Haimya could hear him.
“That’s what he wants the world to think. I’d wager the price of one of those galleys that he’ll see out another ten years. He might even welcome a good brawl with the kingpriest while he’s young enough to enjoy it. He’ll enjoy even more finding out who in his house will kiss the kingpriest’s arse, and turning them into fish food.”
As Josclyn Encuintras would not see seventy again (Eskaia was the last child of his third wife and the only survivor out of four they had borne him), Kurulus’s tribute made Pirvan briefly jealous. At barely half the old man’s age, he thought as often of the pleasures of hearth and home as the honor of smiting foes.
But then, he had Haimya, which Josclyn Encuintras did not.
* * * * *
Kurulus took Thunderlaugh into Istariku at midmorning, while Jemar’s three ships began their beat offshore to Karthay. Kurulus might have departed sooner, save for an argument begun by Rubina, who thought that she might well learn much that was useful if allowed to accompany Kurulus.
Tarothin not only looked displeased but said more than he should have, in Pirvan’s opinion. Rubina looked displeased in return, but said nothing.
Jemar played peacemaker. “My lady, I doubt not that your power to make men babble exceeds that of the finest wine. Nor do I question your right to use whatever powers you see fit to loosen their tongues.” This last was said with a sharp look at Tarothin.
“But merely by going aboard Thunderlaugh you will reveal more than you learn. Our enemies will learn, sooner rather than later, that a Black Robe accompanies us, a Black Robe of Karthay. Consider that this might arouse suspicion enough to make some captain willing to defy the might of House Encuintras to make trouble for us.”
Rubina nodded slowly. “True enough. I am one of those weapons best brought out only at dire need. Also, the more help I can give Sir Pirvan in making the best use of his time in Karthay, the better for us all.”
Pirvan hoped she was referring to their plans to recruit mercenaries, with or without the help of the rulers of Karthay and the eyes and ears of the Solamnic Knights in the city.
The Black Robe then rose slightly on tiptoe and brushed her lips against Tarothin’s ear. “Also, I would be depriving myself of your company. It would take a greater prize than anything I could learn from the Istarians to make that worthwhile.”
Her tone almost oozed sincerity, and Pirvan understood clearly the impulse that he had read on the faces of a good many of his fellow voyagers:
Throw this wench overboard and her black bedgowns after her. Nothing she can do for us is worth listening to her in the meanwhile.
But a knight was sworn to both honor and prudence, and disposing of Rubina at this point in the quest would show neither. Also, they were going to need all the help they could obtain to muster enough men to carry out their plans.
So Rubina stood with Tarothin on the aftercastle of Windsword and waved farewell to Kurulus as he turned Thunderlaugh in toward the anchorage, from which boats were already putting out to greet him.
* * * * *
The Boatsteerer was a fair-sized inn of moderate comfort and with a discreet landlord, in the West Port quarter of Karthay. Even if the landlord had not had a reputation for discretion, according to the knights’ watcher in the city, he had prudence enough to develop that gift when dealing with Jemar the Fair.
The sea barbarian had never had the name of a bloody-handed killer for pleasure. He did have the name of one with a long memory for indiscretion or betrayal, and a short way of dealing with the indiscreet or treacherous when he caught up with them.
From a back room in the Boatsteerer, Pirvan and Jemar set out to recruit a band of warriors sufficiently numerous and redoubtable for their purposes. Haimya offered what help she could, but she was years past her sell-sword days, and more than a few of her old comrades were retired or dead, as were all but a few distant kin.
Grimsoar went about the streets, picking up the odd sailor or craftsman through his knowledge of both the seafarers and those who practiced night work, not to mention a few old friends from his days as a wrestler. He was also the one charged with procuring weapons, as the lords of Karthay might well grow uneasy if they saw the same men both recruiting soldiers and assembling armory.
Pirvan was not, to his dying day, sure whether Rubina helped or hindered. It took him equally long to forget one evening at the Boatsteerer, when Rubina chose to join him and Jemar in discussing the hire of fifty men through one Birak Epron.
Epron was a sell-sword of some reputation, so short and wiry that one might suspect kender blood in him, save for the fact that at first he was about as talkative as one of the inn’s tables. He sat on his bench opposite the three questers, sipped from a single large cup of ale, answered questions with single words or grunts, and asked only two questions during the whole earlier part of the evening.
One was “What is the bounty on Waydol’s head?”
“That depends on how many other heads we bring in besides Waydol’s,” Pirvan said. “There are ten towers a man for everyone in the expedition that brings down Waydol, and much honor besides. If we bring down the rest of his band as well-why should generals with golden helmets to protect empty heads garner it all?”
“Because Aurhinius’s head is not empty,” Epron said, which was the longest speech he’d made thus far.
Pirvan decided that he would not again try to persuade a seasoned sell-sword that the quest would be easy.
The second question came later, and was “Have you healers with you?”
Rubina answered that, before either of the men could speak. “Of course we do. Any wizard of my stature can command healing spells, perhaps not of the highest order, but sufficient to keep alive many who would otherwise be dead.
“I am no follower of Mishakal, but if you will offer a pain to my healing, I think I will prove satisfactory.”
A cunning look came to Birak Epron’s face, and he found his tongue. “If you must lay hands on what most needs healing, this room is no place for it. It’s against my nature to remove my breeches save behind a closed door.”
“Then by all means let us repair to a room with a door that can be closed,” Rubina said. She rested a hand on Epron’s shoulder, and Pirvan would have sworn that he actually floated several fingers clear of the bench before his boots touched the floor.
Rubina had her head on his shoulder, and he had his arm around her waist, by the time they reached the foot of the stairs to the sleeping chambers. It did not help that it was at that same moment that Tarothin entered the room.
He looked at Rubina disappearing up the stairs with another man, and his face turned the same color as his robes. He looked about to burst into furious oaths-or cast a spell to make the inn burst into flames.
Before he could do either, Jemar rose, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Tarothin, leave be! You are too old not to know a lightskirt, even if her skirts be black. You are too young to let one make a fool of you. And by Habbakuk and Kiri-Jolith, you are too wise to know that a lightskirt will not change her ways for your charms, such as they may be!”