“Yes, Nyam said the same thing.”
“We’ll need to sleep with one eye open on this crossing to Xen’drik—assuming Nyam’s negotiations are successful.”
His jaw dropped. “You don’t mean you’ll be with us?”
It was her turn to scowl. “Why not? If it was not for me, Ardal would be alive and Erethindel would still be in your keeping. You don’t expect me to sit here white you sail off to Xen’drik. What do you think I am?”
“But there’s no need—”
Quick as a striking snake, she slipped her sword from its sheath and wove a blurred pattern in the air. “No need! You think you’re better equipped for this expedition than me? Draw your own blade. Show me that you are better qualified than I am!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous! I’ll carve you to pieces!”
“Zemella!” The voice cut through the air every bit as effectively as her sword had done.
She swung round, face still clouded with outrage, to face Fallarond. He stared at her now with an expression of deep sadness. “This is no time for childish quarrels! We still grieve for Ardal Barragond.”
Humbled, she lowered her sword.
“Nyam will be here soon,” said the Deathguard.
“If he’s still alive,” she muttered.
“He is,” said Fallarond, a smile almost lightening his usually stern features. “Word has come from the quayside.”
He left them, closing the door behind him.
Zemella sheathed her sword. “I am sorry,” she said, looking away.
“You don’t have to prove your worthiness with a sword to me. I’ve seen you at work with it.”
“It’s not something I enjoy,” she replied, suddenly studying him. “No one should enjoy killing, Vaddi.”
“No, of course not.”
“I saw you fight, too. I saw a different Vaddi, not this shy young man stumbling over his words.”
He grinned and managed to hold her gaze.
“You are very fast, Vaddi. Very dangerous. What do you feel when you kill?”
It seemed a strange question. “I don’t know. As you say, it happens very swiftly. I feel anger, but I know anger must be controlled. It diminishes skill.”
“Do you feel pleasure at striking down evil?” She came closer to him, her eyes fixing his. “Knowing that the powers that threaten you are being torn, shredded?”
He backed a pace, confused.
“And when it is me you fight for, cutting down those who would harm me, what do you feel? Joy? Satisfaction?”
Still he did not answer.
“Well?” she snapped, her face inches from his.
“Yes. I am glad to destroy those who would harm you.”
She drew back. “I have seen it in you, Vaddi. The killing lust.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand, cutting him off.
“It is another way the darkness uses us. You must be on your guard even more than the rest of us. There is power in you. You bear a dragonmark, your veins pump dragon blood through you, and you are the bearer of Erethindel. Such a combination in the wrong hands could be catastrophic. It is what our enemies crave. It is what Caerzaal sought, and it will be what Cellester’s master wants.”
“Then I will be cautious.”
“You may not know when these powers are flowing in you— or how to control them. If you allow your anger to have its head, succumbing to the seduction of a berserker fury—”
“I’m on my guard.” He stepped closer to her. “But if you are in danger, then I am more likely to fall into such a trap. Any threat to you, the very thought of your being harmed, draws that madness from me.”
It was her turn to step back.
“Perhaps you should stay here,” he said again.
She would have rejoined the argument, but the door swung open, flooding in light and the windswept shape of Nyam.
“Well, it is done!” he beamed. “Our ship is commissioned.” He strode toward them, waving his feathered hat this way and that. “Vortermars saw sense. Rather than offend the Aereni, he’s agreed to take us to Xen’drik.”
“For a price?” said Vaddi.
“Oh, yes. A pirate to the end.” Nyam’s face dropped. “You would not believe how much it’s costing me.”
“Tell us anyway,” said Zemella.
He waved this away, but she pressed him. “Tell us, Nyam. What have you offered him?”
“If you must know …”
“We must know,” Zemella said.
“Well, during the long course of my own … experiences, I have amassed a not inconsiderable sum—and valuable items that Vortermars could hardly not wish for his own.”
“You are emptying your own pockets to finance this expedition?” said Zemella. “How noble of you! Why is that? What do you expect to gain?”
“My dear girl, what do you take me for?”
She stared almost mischievously at him. “In Pylas, we say a pirate may shave his beard, but he remains a pirate.”
“Surely you’re not saying you don’t trust me?”
Vaddi was laughing softly. “She doesn’t trust any of us, Nyam. She thinks I’m going to lose my head and become possessed. One sniff of blood and I’ll become a demon.”
Zemella turned on him. “Be wary of such scorn.”
“No, of course. You are right.”
“If you have doubts about me, Vaddi,” said Nyam. “I understand. All I can say is that I have done my best to serve you. But you know little about me and my past. It is not a glowing one. I have spent most of my life picking through the ruins of war and the conflicts of war’s aftermath. We are said to be in a new age of peace and restoration, but how many victims of the War are benefiting from it? We have become jackals, many of us, survivors using our wits to glean even a meagre living. You, Zemella, have lost a great friend in Ardal, but to lose a wife, your children, this is something that teaches you the true nature of sorrow. Had my sons lived, they would be Vaddi’s age. Not such fine warriors as he, perhaps, but sons to be proud of. Their loss has diminished me and not a day goes by that I am not reminded of it. They cannot be replaced, not fully, but neither the War nor their passing has robbed me of loyalty and compassion. Nor love, for that mutter.”
When he stopped speaking, a strange silence clung to the chamber.
“We’d better prepare to sail,” Nyam said, abruptly turning on his heel and quitting the room.
Vaddi could hardly move, but he knew he had crossed over another bridge in his curious relationship with the peddler.
Zemella had also been moved by Nyam’s words, knowing that it could not have been easy for him to express them so openly. “You heard him.” She grinned. “So we sail. Together.”
Zemella found it difficult to contain her frustration at the lengthy haggling over the arrangements for the Sea Harlot’s sailing. It was almost midday before the craft slipped out of the harbor of Shae Thoridor bound for Xen’drik. Vaddi and Zemella had to leave the captain’s cabin while Nyam, Fallarond, and Vortermars thrashed out an agreement. The main bone of contention now was the crew. As far as the pirates were concerned, they wanted the security of having a large contingent on board, but if the Deathguard were to sail in force, there would be precious few places for Vortermars’s freebooters. It was the promise of loot that won the day, and Vortermars at last settled for a skeleton crew, barely enough to be able to sail away from Xen’drik after the landing and to return to take the Deathguard off once the quest was done.
“The waters off Xen’drik are choked with dangers,” Vortermars insisted. “You’re putting my ship and all my men at risk.”
“Then you’ll have to hug the shoreline,” said Nyam, “until we’re ready to leave. There are enough coves to shelter in.”
“You ever been to Xen’drik?”
Nyam shook his head. “I confess I have not.”
“Well, it may not be as foul a place as the Mournland, but it’s as bad as the Madwood, eh? Barbarians pick over its bones. Strange energies seep up from every rock and stone. Even stranger things roam its lands. I’ve visited its shores and a few of its small ports. Wouldn’t repeat half the tales I’ve heard of the interior. I don’t hold out much hope of seeing you return.”