“I am in your debt,” said the trader to Cellester, unable fully to hide his surprise.
“You are. I want information and one other thing.”
“Name it.”
“I need to know what is happening on the mainland. You are covered in its mud.” Cellester indicated the smears of loam that coaled Nyam’s lower garments. “I take it you crossed to Rookstack today.”
The trader nodded.
“You must have seen strange things there. The movements of a rabble army … ?”
Nyam leaned very close. “Indeed! Chaos has broken out on the mainland. Every bandit and pirate of sea, land, and sky has banded together. It is the strangest thing, and there is talk that—” he paused, licked his lips and lowered his voice to a whisper— “that the Emerald Claw is behind it. Worse, it is headed for Marazanath.”
“I am a cleric: I have no love of the Emerald Claw.”
Nyam looked around furtively.
“What of the mainland?” said Cellester. “Is it passable? Is there a way south? Or east to the Mror Holds?”
Nyam shook his head. “By sea, the reavers from the Lhazaar Principalities have grown bolder than ever. They trawl these very waters. The mainland is dangerous, but with care you could find a way south to less hostile regions. The Claw’s agents have been concentrating their energies along the coast. A swift run would be your safest bet, but it would be no more than a gamble.”
“Less so with your help,” Cellester said.
Nyam screwed up his face. “I am sadly limited—”
“The other thing I require is a boat.”
Nyam pursed his lips. “In these times?”
Vaddi and Menneath again exchanged glances. There was no more able craft than the Marella. What did Cellester have in mind?
“I am sure, master trader, that you have already planned your own exit from Rookstack, given your dubious credit with its inhabitants. We’ll share it with you.”
“I confess I had planned such an exit, but I find myself short of the necessary stock to barter—”
“You just get the craft,” said Cellester. “I want it ready an hour before dawn, whatever the weather. Is that clear?” He put his hand over the gnarled fingers of the trader. “Your life on it.” His eyes were like steel.
Vaddi repressed a shudder. That coldness in the cleric was one of the reasons he could not bring himself to trust the man.
Nyam attempted to smile. “Of course, of course. No need for threats, lords. This is my trade. I excel at it, but I will need a deposit. A craft will be available, no questions asked, but where will you take it?”
“Is the airship port at Scaacrag still in use?”
“Open to all who need it—at least it was the last time I was there.”
Cellester handed him a fistful of coins. “Then you must get us there. An hour before dawn. Serve us well, trader, and you’ll earn more gold than you can carry in that sack of yours.”
The innkeeper returned with food and drink, but Nyam was already on his feet. “How could I turn down such a generous proposition?” With a final nod of his bird-like head, he grabbed his bag and slipped into the night.
Cellester pushed the inviting bowl of stew over to the two youths. “Eat up. We may not get fare like this again for a long time.”
“So you mean us to board a windgalleon?” said Vaddi. “Bound for where?”
“It may be a way to Thrane.” He spoke quietly. “We won’t know until we get to Scaacrag. But my guess is we’ll be watched. You saw that creature who struck down your father.”
Vaddi nodded, again feeling the anger rising within him.
“A vampire who without doubt serves the Emerald Claw. It will not want survivors from Marazanath who can bear witness to its perfidy there. We will be hunted. They will nor be satisfied with the spoils of their conquest.”
Indeed not, thought Vaddi, glad that the talisman given to him by Anzar was hidden well within the folds of his clothes.
They ate in silence. After a while Menneath leaned closer to Vaddi and spoke in a whisper. “The peddler spoke of reavers from the Lhazaar Principalities. I’m sure there are at least two of them in this very room. I’ve seen their Type before. They don’t come more bloodthirsty and don’t care too much about what they take from whom.”
Cellester had heard the softly spoken words. He, too, leaned forward. “All the more reason for us to quit this place.”
3
Steel under the Moons
“In all the years he has served my family, I have learned almost nothing about him—what he feels, what he is thinking. Even now, I’m not sure I understand his motives, though I am sure he holds no love for the Emerald Claw.”
Vaddi sat on the narrow bed, scowling at the stained wall. He and Menneath had come upstairs to this cramped room, while Cellester had gone out into the port, preparing to organize their flight from Rookstack.
“My father trusted him,” Vaddi added, but the words caught in his throat. At last he was able to let the tears flow, tears that he had held back since the moment he had watched the death of his father.
Menneath overcame his embarrassment at seeing his friend to stricken and put an arm around his shoulders. Vaddi shook for long moments, fists clenching. At length he stiffened, his tear-stained eyes filled with anger and a power that startled his companion.
“I don’t understand any of this, Menneath, but by the blood in my veins. I will avenge my family. I swear it.” He looked, at that moment, slightly crazed, fury burning off him like heat.
“You know that my people and I will stand beside you, although we are few in number.”
Vaddi stood up, pacing the room. “You must go back to your own father and your folk, Menneath. As I said, Cellester is a mystery to me, but if this peddler has a ship, then I must take that. You must sail the Marella back.”
Menneath stood up in protest. “What? Abandon you? I can’t do that!”
“Listen. However we leave this rat’s nest, it must be inconspicuously. The Marella is marked. If those were reavers you saw downstairs, who could say they are not in the pay of my enemies? Two craft would stand out like trees on a reef.”
Menneath looked pained. “What of the cleric? You say you don’t trust him, yet you would put your life in his hands.”
“I’ve been wondering about our coming to Rookstack. My father said he had contacts here, but Cellester knew of this inn. He’s been here before, in spite of anything he says. He meant us to come here. But why won’t he say more? I don’t like such mysteries.”
“Then how can you rely on him?”
“I seem to have little choice for now. Later … well, I’ll see.”
“Vaddi, don’t make me do this—”
Menneath’s words were cut short by the soft tread of footsteps on the stair outside. There was a lap on the door and Cellester rejoined them, dropping a bulky sack. He looked haggard in the dim candle-glow.
“We will have to move more quickly than I thought,” he said to Menneath. “You were right. You did see reavers from the Lhazaar Principalities. I’ve seen through their disguises.”
“Why are they disguised?” said Menneath. “They are usually more brash and vociferous than other seafarer.”
“Quite so. I strongly suspect that they, too, are in the pay of agents of the Claw. The lands here are crawling with spies and turncoats. Kazzerand, a local warlord and bitter rival of your father, has never done much to strengthen the region, save make a show. I suspect that Marazanath’s fall suits his own greed. He’ll send knights to take if back and make it yet another of his own possessions. In the name of King Kaius, of course.”
“My father was abandoned,” said Vaddi coldly. “I spit on this warlord.”
“I have seen the peddler again,” said Cellester. “He has a craft waiting to take us off Rookstack.”