“Still traveling-”
“Seems to me you’re following us.”
“We happen to be going in the same direction. I am circling the world by traveling east.”
“You’re welcome to come with us,” the old soldier said. “You’re a man who makes things happen.”
They put Ezu’s bag on the packhorse, and he rode double with Robien, the lightest of the three.
“Why do you wear those glasses?” asked Raika.
Without answering, Ezu unhooked the gold wire frames from his ears and offered the spectacles to her. She put them on.
“Sink me! It’s daylight!”
Robien said, “What do you mean?
She gave the glasses to him. “Try ’em yourself!”
The elf slipped the springy wire hooks around his ears. When he raised his gaze to the horizon, he was startled to see the landscape of the high plain was bright as day. He could see Howland riding a few steps ahead, Raika, everything, as clearly as if it were noon.
He removed the dark yellow lenses and gave them back to Ezu.
With a smile, Ezu tucked the spectacles into his robe.
As the night wore on, Ezu told them stories of his travels, such as his visit to the island of Kernaf.
“Kernaf is inhabited entirely by pirates,” he said. “They elect a chief to rule over them from a conclave of ships’ captains. The current chief is a fellow named Gramdene, widely reputed to be the handsomest man in the world.”
“A handsome pirate? Not likely!” Raika said. “Buccaneers lead too rough a life to be pretty.”
“Well, I met him, and while I don’t claim much taste in such matters, he was a most striking fellow,” Ezu remarked.
Gramdene, he said, was not yet thirty, with olive skin, bronze colored hair, and eyes of different colors.
“How’s that possible?” asked Robien.
“I cannot say, but I can vouch for them. One is darkest brown, like Raika’s, and the other pale gray.”
From plundered ships Gramdene acquired a rich wardrobe and never went out without being garbed in the finest silks, velvets, and brocades. He had a personal entourage of five fierce female pirates, whom he called his “Hand,” who’d sworn blood oaths to defend Gramdene at the cost of their own lives.
“His wives?” Howland asked.
“No, indeed! The Hand are also sworn to chastity, lest jealousy of each other lead them to shirk their duty to protect Captain Gramdene.”
Raika smirked. “Has this handsome fiend no lovers, then?”
Ezu shrugged. “It’s a subject of much speculation. While I was on Kernaf, he was said to be paying court to a female captain named Artalai, granddaughter of pirate queen Artavash.”
Raika twisted in the saddle to face him. “Does her line still exist? She was from Saifhum!”
Howland said, “I never heard of her.”
“She was a bold and wicked woman, with hair like flame and a temper to match. The ruler of Saifhum, the Grand Mariner, obtains office by buying it. Whoever pays the largest sum to the inhabitants of the island wins the title for life. She tried to become ruler of Saifhum by pledging the greatest sum to the people but was outbid in the end by a moneylender, Pertinex.
“When Artavash lost, she led her fleet of sixty galleys away, sowing fire and destruction all along the north coast until her rage abated. Still hankering for a kingdom, she tried to capture the great city of Palanthas but was defeated. Eventually she reached Kernaf with her fleet. She massacred the natives living there, peaceful fishing folk, and proclaimed herself queen.”
“A proper monster,” said Howland. “Was she ever brought to justice?”
Raika shook her head. “Not in the way you mean, but she did meet a hard fate. She grew older and infirm, but she was still a hard-driving taskmaster. When the War of the Lance broke out, Artavash led her fleet against the draconian invaders. She perished along with most of her ships, but the draconians had to abandon the conquest of Kernaf.”
“They still revere her there,” Ezu added. “There is a colossal copper statue of her in the harbor, bright red metal despite years of weather and sea spray.”
“How can that be?” asked Robien. “Copper usually turns green when exposed to sun and rain.”
“The pirates set their prisoners to polishing it,” explained Ezu.
“When I get home, I’ll ask about this Gramdene,” Raika said. “Handsomest man in the world, ha! Everyone knows the best-looking men come from Saifhum!”
“Like Enjollah?” Ezu teased.
“Enjollah is a fine figure of a man but not handsome.” Raika looked thoughtful. “He has other qualities.”
The three men raised their eyebrows.
“He’s an excellent … navigator,” Raika said stiffly.
The men said nothing.
By dawn the gray peaks of the mountains were in sight. Howland and company encountered more traffic here: wagons laden with iron ingots, escorted by rough-looking hired cavalry. When asked, they denied working for the Throtian Guild. Most of them were independent workmen, they said, hauling iron to dealers in Sanction and Neraka. Listening between the wagoneers’ words, Howland deduced the Throtian Mining Guild was an outlaw operation, despised by legitimate miners and merchants.
The western slopes of the mountains were dotted with pits and tunnels of iron mines. The party rode south, working their way along the foothills, inquiring after Rakell and the Throtian concern. No one had any information more substantial than “they’re south of here” or “try farther south.” Two days passed until they got their first serious lead-a burned-out caravan of six ore carts. Bodies littered the ravine, and they’d not been dead long. Some were laborers in coarse woolens, while others were lean, rangy men in mismatched armor, just like the ones who filled the ranks of Rakell’s bandit army.
“What happened here?” Raika wondered. “Was it the dragon?”
Robien looked over the scene. “Not a dragon or rival bandits-rebellion. The slaves rose up and attacked their captors.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
The bounty hunter’s practiced eye roved over the scene. “The horses are gone, but not the arms.”
Desperate slaves attacked their guards, took their horses and the ones pulling the carts, and rode hard for freedom. A red dragon would have slaughtered men and beasts indiscrimately. Victorious robbers would have stripped the fallen riders of all their arms and armor. Had the guards taken matters into their own hands, they would not have left their dead comrades by the trail.
It was a simple matter to backtrack the caravan to its source. The trail led up a narrow, winding canyon, penetrating deep into the foothills. As darkness fell, Howland halted his comrades short of the mine.
“Better to enter by day,” he said. “Tonight, rest. I’ll go ahead and scout around.”
Robien gave his reins to Ezu and slid off to the ground. “Let me go. This is my sort of job.”
Howland agreed, and Robien went ahead on foot. The others withdrew up the hillside a hundred yards, camping behind a hedge of boulders. Since they couldn’t afford to light a fire and give away their position, they ate cold rations. Raika, unaccustomed to the mountain chill, wrapped herself in one of Caeta’s homemade blankets and went to sleep.
Howland sat with a naked sword on his lap. As he did most nights, he half-slept, resting but alert to any stray sign or sound. Long after Raika had begun snoring and he’d closed his eyes, he heard Ezu rise.
Opening one eye, he saw the traveler had changed clothes. Draped head to toe in charcoal-colored robes, Ezu was almost invisible against the rocky hillside.
“Going somewhere?” Howland rumbled.
Ezu seemed genuinely surprised, turning to peer at the old soldier through his tinted spectacles.
“I thought you were asleep!”
“It’s an old trick that kept me alive on many a campaign.” He shifted the sword off his knees, laying it on the ground by his right hand. “Where are you going this time of night?”
Ezu tapped his special glasses. “Darkness is no barrier to me,” he said, smiling.