Her work with Torvik was done. Mirraleen dived deep and began swimming along the bottom. She might spend the rest of the day rallying her friends, counting their losses, and healing their hurts. It would be as well to find something to eat before she began.
Chapter 10
Nothing seemed to move in the world around Pirvan, save fumes trickling from the cone of the Smoker, well below the top. The knight half-hoped that the volcano would erupt in full fury, thereby settling the question of Suivinari's ownership in favor of the god Sargonnas, greatest master of destructive fire next to the Dark Queen herself, and one to whom humans, minotaurs, and any other seafaring race might cede the island with a clear conscience.
That the possession of the island by a god of evil might leave the mystery of what lurked in its waters unsolved was no matter. Sargonnas would allow nothing save of his own creation-and Zeboim seldom allowed any creation of fire to travel far through her domain.
Altogether, a battle of the gods over the corpse of the island seemed a fair way of saving humans and minotaurs the trouble of fighting their battle.
Pirvan shook himself, which made sweat drip faster down his neck and under his arms. It was hot enough for high summer in Tirabot, a damp heat that made one's clothes cling as if glued to the skin. He had endured such heat before, on his first quest with Haimya, but he had not enjoyed it then and enjoyed it still less twenty years later.
Not a breath of wind broke the stillness of air or water. Save for where the oars left their traces, the sea was as flat as a tavern floor and the color of moss-grown bread.
Pirvan looked toward the shade under the awning on the afterdeck and saw that it was as filled as ever, with folk who doubtless needed it more. The age of the four knights and Gildas Aurhinius ranged from barely twenty to more than sixty, but all were fitter than most of the Istarans. The minotaurs would surely refuse the parley if the humans gave them even the slightest excuse, such as one named delegate being unfit to speak.
It would be as well for everyone to reach Zeskuk's flagship fit to do serious work. It had certainly taken long enough to settle on who would represent the humans in the parley. The Istarans did not dispute sending all four knights and Gildas Aurhinius, but they insisted on sending an equal number from their ranks. Then everyone else who considered that he should be ranked equal with the knights, Istar, and Vuinlod clamored for representation.
If all claims had been honored, it might have been simpler to go to the minotaurs aboard Shield of Virtue herself. No smaller ship could have safely carried everyone.
After weary hours of debate consumed most of the night, they settled on four knights, four Istarans, two Karthayans, Gildas Aurhinius to represent Vuinlod, and Sirbones and the Istaran Black Robe Revella Laschaar representing the magicworkers. This already sizable delegation promptly grew by one, when word came at dawn that Torvik had been rescued and was returning to the fleet aboard Red Elf.
Not without protest, however.
"This gives Vuinlod an extra voice, in the mouth of a sea barbarian's heir who is not yet of lawful age," one Istaran all but gabbled.
Sir Darin looked for permission from the senior knights, saw it in their eyes, and brought one massive fist down on the table. Empty cups jumped, a half-empty jug upset itself into an Istaran lap, and the very deck planks seemed to groan under the impact.
"Torvik is captain of his own ship, by which he was declared of lawful age," Darin said. The senior Istaran, Andrys Puhrad, nodded. He was a merchant who had been a law-counselor in his youth and seemed the most level-headed from the city as well as the eldest.
Darin continued. "Also, he has priceless knowledge of conditions about Suivinari, and Zeskuk will know that he has such knowledge."
"All the more reason not to risk him," Sir Niebar said, which drew scandalized looks from the other knights.
"Your pardon. Sir Niebar, but that may not be the wisest reasoning," Darin replied. "Zeskuk may think that we do not wish an agreement, if we do not bring Torvik with his knowledge that may speed us along our course.
"Worse, he might think we hold back Torvik because we fear minotaur treachery. If he intends none, he will take it as an insult to his honor. He will have to, or some other minotaur will, and either challenge Zeskuk for leadership of the fleet or provoke us into a fight by some act of his own."
"Ugh," Sir Hawkbrother grunted. In spite of the reproving look he shot his son-by-marriage, Pirvan's unexpressed thoughts were much the same. So were most others', as far as he could judge from their faces. Fighting thirty shiploads (the best count so far) of minotaurs who thought their honor and that of the Destined Race had been impugned would have been an appalling thought in pleasant weather. In this heat it was enough to make a god cringe.
So Sirbones departed to see if Torvik was fit or could be made fit to join the delegation, and debate turned to picking a ship.
Some favored Red Elf, but she might be damaged, would be shorthanded, and was not yet up with the fleet. Others favored Kingfisher's Claw, but Sorraz the Harpooner was acknowledged even by his friends to be too hotheaded.
One ship after another was offered, usually by someone whose honor or fortune would be advanced by the choice-or at least by the payment for the ship, if she did not return. It was Pirvan who was finally able to at least begin closing the debate.
"We need something small enough to be no loss and large enough to hold all the delegates and their guards in some comfort, perhaps overnight," he said. "Above all, we need something too large to be sunk by accident. From what I know of minotaurs, their honor will forbid an open attack during a parley. But they will take it as a sign of their gods' favor if-oh, something heavy were to fall overboard and tear out the bottom of our craft during the parley."
"Will that not also tell them we do not trust them?" an Istaran queried.
"As with bringing Torvik, it will merely tell them we are not stupid," Darin said, uninvited, "Minotaurs despise dishonor. They despise stupidity almost as much."
To avoid even the appearance of stupidity, the delegation eventually sailed aboard a Harbor Watch galley from Karthay. Decked over for the voyage and towed most of the way, she was robustly built, light enough to be rowed easily without the rowers collapsing from the heat, and with room enough for everyone appointed to meet with the minotaurs.
"She even has room enough for Zeskuk and some of his companions to come aboard for the meeting," Darin pointed out. "I do not expect that he will do so, but we should ask."
"What about a meeting on land?" Andrys Puhrad said.
Gildas Aurhinius shook his head. "Each race has its own landing site," he said, "considered as much their property as the deck of a ship. The rest of the island-well, one reason we and the minotaurs are speaking to each other is that no one knows what is on the rest of the island."
From that painful fact there could be no appeal.
Nor could there be appeal from the old sailors' belief that it was bad luck to rename a ship. So when the luck of the draw fell on a ship named Giggling Wench, all efforts to dignify her with a new name (such as Speaker for Knowledge) fell on deaf ears.
So it was from the deck of Giggling Wench that Pirvan watched through sweat-blurred eyes Zeskuk's flagship rising higher and higher out of the torpid sea.
Zeskuk awaited the humans' envoys in the great cabin, rather than his own. It was the only space aboard Cleaver that in this heat would be endurable for both races for as long as the parley might last. Zeskuk knew that minotaurs smelled like a barnyard to humans; did any human know that to a minotaur a human smelled rather like diseased meat?