“Come on,” Lady Kalira said, and Alder reached out for his elbow.
He walked on into the market square, found a quiet spot, and then stopped again.
“Now what?” Lady Kalira demanded.
Sterren was overcome with irrational fear, stage fright, although he had never encountered that term for it. He knew that the time had come to call out his recruiting pitch, but he could not bring himself to speak.
Inspiration struck. “You tell them what we want,” he told Lady Kalira.
“Me?”
“Yes, you; as your warlord, I demand it.”
“But my lord, I don’t speak Ethsharitic!”
In his panic, Sterren had forgotten that.
Reminded of it, a sudden inspiration struck him, and before he could lose his nerve again he raised his hands and shouted, “People of Ethshar! These barbarians think I’m going to give a recruiting speech for them, but the truth is that they’re holding me prisoner against my will! I ask that you summon the city guard!”
“Wait a minute,” Lady Kalira said, hauling down one arm. “What was that you said?”
“I said-”
“You didn’t say anything about magicians, and I heard you say something about the city guard, I think.”
Sterren saw that doubtful expression on Alder’s face again and saw his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. He cleared his throat.
“Just warming up,” Sterren said. He looked about and realized that nobody else had paid any attention to him, anyway. The wind had apparently carried his words away unheard, or perhaps they had been taken for a joke, or a stunt to attract attention.
He looked over his own party and for the first time he noticed that Kendrik was gone.
He smiled, but decided not to point this absence out. Not yet, anyway. For now, it would clearly be safer to behave himself and seriously try to recruit magicians; his chances of slipping away might well improve later on.
He turned back toward the center of the square and shouted in Ethsharitic, “Magicians needed! Magicians needed! I represent his Majesty, King Phenvel the Third of Semma, and I am here to hire fine magicians of every school to aid the royal Semman army!”
“That’s better,” Lady Kalira muttered, recognizing the familiar names.
A young man stopped to listen as Sterren continued, “Excellent pay! Comfortable accommodations! An opportunity for glory and honor in a worthy cause! Magicians of every sort are needed!” He found himself getting into the spirit of the occasion; it wasn’t really all that different from the times he had needed to talk a losing opponent out of retaliation.
“You think you’re going to find decent magicians here, at this time of year?” the young stranger asked, smirking.
“Shut up,” Sterren answered conversationally. “Magicians!” he called.
The listener snorted.
A middle-aged couple in fine clothing wandered up to listen.
“We need magicians! Payment in gold and gems, all expenses to be borne by the royal treasury!”
The red-robed wizard approached, and then the tall man in black.
“You, wizard,” Sterren asked, beckoning, “would you be interested in a trip to Semma, the jewel of the Small Kingdoms?”
The wizard smiled wryly and turned away.
“I might be,” the man in black answered.
“Are you a magician, sir?” Sterren asked.
The man in black raised a hand, and a thick swirl of dust rose up from the hard-packed ground of the market, spiraling upward before him, ignoring the wind that should have scattered it across the marketplace. The dust gathered into a ball the size of a fist, hung there in the air for an instant, and then burst apart and vanished, whipped away on the breeze.
“I’m a warlock,” said the man in black.
CHAPTER 15
After an hour’s harangue, Sterren gave up. His throat was sore, his voice giving out, and he had lost the crowd’s interest completely.
The warlock had stood by, waiting patiently the whole time. He had neither committed himself to the venture nor turned it down, had not demanded to know more, but had simply waited.
A black-haired woman with a runny nose, about Sterren’s own age and wearing a purple gown with stains that resembled those one might acquire sleeping in the Hundred-Foot Field, had also turned up, claiming to be a wizard, and she had actually volunteered. She had been more concerned with Sterren’s guarantee that she would be fed for as long as she was in Semma’s employ than in the particulars of the job, or the payment offered.
The sun was low above the rooftops on the western side of the square. “Time for dinner,” Sterren said in Semmat, turning to Lady Kalira. “Don’t you think so?”
“I suppose,” she said.
She had spent much of the hour wandering about the market looking at the goods offered for sale, but she had not bought anything. Sterren suspected that she had been too embarrassed by her poor command of Ethsharitic, if you could call her dozen or so phrases “command”, to try to haggle in that language, and the local merchants, while likely to speak several tongues, would not be likely to know anything so obscure as Semmat.
Of course, Lady Kalira spoke Trader’s Tongue, Sterren remembered, and most of the merchants could probably handle that, but perhaps she didn’t realize it. Or maybe language had nothing to do with it, and her funds were running low. That might be inconvenient, since he had hoped that her purse would be there to fall back on in an emergency.
Whatever the reason. Lady Kalira had returned, empty-handed, a few minutes before.
Dogal and Alder had stayed close at hand throughout Sterren’s pitch; even while speaking he had watched for a chance to slip away from them, but had not seen one.
The same could not be said of Alar, Zander, and Bern, all of whom had wandered off. Zander and Bern had returned; Alar as yet, had not, nor was there any sign of Kendrik.
Sterren switched back to Ethsharitic and asked the warlock, “Would you care to join my companions and myself for dinner, and perhaps discuss the job further?”
The warlock nodded casually.
“Is there somewhere around here where we can get a decent meal,” Sterren asked. “Or should we head down to Westgate?”
“This is not my part of the city,” the warlock replied.
Sterren hesitated, then thought better of asking him any further questions, such as which part of the city was his, and why wasn’t he there. Instead, he turned to the wizard, a questioning look on his face.
Before he could speak, without a word, she pointed to a tavern on the north corner of Flood Street, where a faded signboard depicted a golden dragon.
“Good enough,” he said, as he led the way.
“Wait a minute,” Lady Kalira objected. “What about Kendrik and Alar?”
Sterren stopped. “My lady,” he said, “Kendrik deserted before we even reached the market; I last saw him among the... the...” He paused, then resorted to using the Ethsharitic word. “The brothels on...” He paused again, sighed, and said, “East Wharf Street” in Ethsharitic. Switching back to Semmat, he continued, “Alar wandered off some time ago, and I have no idea where he has gone and I don’t want to either search for him, or wait for his return.”
“But you can’t allow desertion!”
“I can’t allow myself to starve, either, or perish of thirst.”
A look at Lady Kalira’s face let him know that that was not going to be sufficient. “All right,” he said, capitulating, “Zander, you and Bern go find Kendrik and Alar. Then meet us at that inn, there.” He pointed to the Golden Dragon. “If we aren’t there, go back to the ship. It’s at the...” He stopped. He wished he knew the word for “wharf” in Semmat, but he didn’t, and besides, if these two asked for directions in Semmat, nobody would know what they were saying. “Tea Wharves” he said in Ethsharitic, then asked in Semmat, “Can you say that?”