Gerrard nodded, sweat falling from his forehead. "Well, we'll just have to take these soldiers sooner."
"The Cho-Arrim aren't just cannibals. They're monsters, if you can believe these Mercadians. These Cho-Arrim are apparently vicious, inhuman beasts."
"All the more reason to whip these sad sacks into shape, and quickly. Orim is a prisoner among them-if she still lives," Gerrard said. "Go find Tahngarth and Sisay. I know this is their day off, but from now on none of us gets a day off until we have Weatherlight back."
"As you wish," Takara said, striding away.
Gerrard turned toward the Mercadian troops and barked out, "Back to the drill!"
The minotaur grumbled as they left the merchant's tent. Squee greedily seized another melon and began to munch on it, the juice dribbling over his chin.
A porter rushing along with a heavy basket of fruit on his shoulder barreled into the goblin and sprawled, the basket spilling bright red berries. Hanna and Tahngarth bent to retrieve what they could. Seeing Squee, the porter gave a sudden shriek and rushed off, leaving his basket and scattered wares behind him.
Tahngarth gave a snort, trying not to laugh. "Kyren goblins! What sort of place is ruled by goblins?"
Hanna shook her head. "I don't know. It's clear they're very important."
"Goblins! What 'bout goblins?" Squee appeared at her elbow, his nose and mouth smeared with red berries.
Hanna said sharply, "You shouldn't eat these things until you know what they are."
"Yeah, but how're you gonna know what they are without tasting 'em?"
The trio passed on down the street. Every few yards they were confronted with yet another merchant shouting and gesturing. It was a dizzying spectacle. The whole city was dizzying. During their six-week stay, the crew had come to realize the labyrinth of streets was ruled by a contorted, recursive geometry. A person could reach a landmark not by walking toward it but by walking away. A woman striding down a straight street would discover that she had been going in circles. A man wandering in circles would quickly reach his destination. It was as though a city of millions had been impossibly squeezed into a city of a hundred thousand. Space folded and refolded, maddeningly unpredictable. Sobriety led to utter confusion. Delirium led to truth.
Squee did quite well under these conditions. He did not even notice the disparities. Hanna's navigational sense was intrigued. She had plotted neighborhoods with various projections and found no system of coordinates adequate. Tahngarth-and other linear thinkers-spent their days hopelessly lost and suffering constant, raging headaches.
Tahngarth stumped irritably along. Buyers and sellers scattered before his hooves. The navigator looked at him and was struck at the change that had come over the minotaur. His bulky muscles were impressive, his frame more imposing than before his imprisonment in Volrath's Stronghold. Yet in his brown eyes there was a haunted look, as if something deep within him had died.
On an impulse, she put her hand on his broad arm and guided the minotaur to the base of a small tree. Here there were no stalls, and the noise was somewhat diminished. Hanna sank to the ground with a sigh of relief. Tahngarth remained standing. Squee squatted near them for a short time and then nosed off.
"Come, my friend. Sit down." She tugged at Tahngarth's tunic. He cleared his throat and knelt by her side with every appearance of reluctance.
"Do you want to tell me what the matter is, Tahngarth?"
"No. You would not understand."
"Perhaps I would. Suppose I tell you what I think is troubling you, and you tell me if I'm wrong?"
He stared sullenly into the middle distance where the Tower of the Magistrate rose against the lemon sky.
Hanna followed his gaze. "You were hurt in the Stronghold. However, Volrath didn't only torture you, he altered you. So much I've already heard from Gerrard, but I think there's something else to be said. I think you're afraid of something."
"Afraid!"
Hanna shrank back at the minotaur's roar.
"I am afraid of nothing!" He looked at her and blew a deep breath through his great nostrils. "Yet you are right. I would prefer I had died on Rath."
Hanna sighed in exasperation. "Oh, really? Well, that would be a lot of help to us here, wouldn't it? Then we'd be mourning you and Mirri." She leaned back, appraising the minotaur. "Is it the physical changes that bother you?"
Tahngarth stared silently into space. When Hanna started to get up, he spoke. "Ever since I was a tiny calf, I was told how handsome I was. I thought myself the handsomest of any minotaur in my tribe. I was more than handsome-I was beautiful." He turned and looked her full in the face. "Among my people, destinies are written in our faces, our bodies. I knew I would grow up to be a great warrior because I looked like a great warrior."
Hanna said thoughtfully, "Surely there must be more to being a warrior than looking the part?"
"There is, of course. One must train long and hard, hone one's fighting skills, prove oneself against others. But looks are by no means unimportant." He looked at her sharply. "Tell me this is not true among humans."
"It isn't," protested Hanna.
"Of course it is. Do you mean to tell me, Hanna, that when you look at Gerrard you do not see one who looks like a hero?" Though Hanna started to speak, the minotaur interrupted. "Sometimes during our journeys together I've heard you and others aboard Weatherlight speak of the great heroes of the past. Did you never notice that in all those tales the men are tall, strong, and handsome? That the women are exquisitely beautiful? Would you have enjoyed those stories just as much if the women had been ugly, and the men short, fat, and deformed? Would you still follow Gerrard if he looked like a rotten potato?"
Hanna spoke coldly. "I certainly hope that I can see beyond the surface. Gerrard is heir to the Legacy. That's why we follow him."
The minotaur shook his great head. "If Squee were heir to the Legacy, would you follow him?"
Hanna laughed. The idea of anyone following Squee anywhere was absurd. "But you're still exceedingly handsome, still young and strong."
"No. Strong but twisted. Volrath's soldiers placed me in a room where a beam of light shot from the ceiling. No matter which way I turned I could not avoid it." His voice cracked at the memory. "Finally it struck me, pinned me. I could feel it within me. My bones turned and twisted. My skin felt as if it was breaking. When it stopped, Greven il-Vec came. He looked at me and laughed. He said I might make a good first mate for him." The minotaur turned and stared at the blonde woman by his side. "And for a moment, I could see myself standing by his side. I could see myself, in my new, scarred body, standing on the deck of that dark ship as it swept across the skies of Rath. More than that, I wanted to be there." He lifted his great fist and slammed it into the ground. "Strong but twisted."
Hanna jumped as the earth quaked. There was a long silence, and then she said cautiously, "But you were rescued."
"Yes, yes, but I might have joined the dark ship had not Gerrard rescued me."
Hanna shook her head. "No, you wouldn't have, Tahngarth. Anyway, the past doesn't matter. What matters is what you are today, and right now you're the first mate of Weatherlight." She cleared her throat. "Maybe you have a point about appearances. But even if that's the case, I can tell you that you look like a first mate to me. Indeed, you look like a hero."
Tahngarth remained deep in thought for several minutes. Then he clapped Hanna on the shoulder. "Perhaps I have been brooding too much on this matter."