Or rather, would have been ready to believe before he came to Suivinari for the second time.
He still saw and heard nothing, however. He stepped back from the port and put an arm around Mirraleen, thinking to lead her back to the bunk. There was no such thing as "all passion spent" with Mirraleen.
Then the night was riven by fire, spreading out from the island across the water, lighting up the fleets as all three moons together could not have done. It looked as if a slit had opened in the flank of the Smoker, allowing mortal eyes to see the forges of the Abyss behind it. In the light, Mirraleen's skin took on the same hue as her hair.
Torvik also welcomed the glow. It hid the sudden pallor of his skin, as he realized just how close the gods might be-and other powers as well, less friendly to men.
Drums thudded and the sixteen sailors on the line hauled away. It was usually twelve on the line to hoist a fleet leader aboard, but this fleet leader was a minotaur. Even Thenvor could not have been more eloquent than Pirvan in reminding the sailors what would happen to them if any "accident" befell Zeskuk.
Pirvan stood facing the gangway of Shield of Virtue, just aft of the mainmast. Flanking him were Gildas Aurhinius and Sir Niebar, who really did not look fit to be out of bed but was determined to second Pirvan if he died for it.
Those who would flank Zeskuk were already standing facing Pirvan and his companions. They were Lujimar and Juiksum, and the priest looked ill at ease. Pirvan knew some of the reasons for that and suspected more.
Standing side by side, farther aft, were Fulvura and Sir Darin. Both were fully armed, but for once their role actually matched their name. They were to observe this ceremony of welcoming Zeskuk aboard the Istaran flagship.
Behind the observers stood Sir Hawkbrother and a young Istaran captain, at the head of a dozen guards drawn equally from Vuinlod, Istar, and the Solamnics. Torvik's sister Chuina was one of the dozen. The meeting would not only be observed, it would be guarded.
Not that the meeting would serve much purpose, unless or until Torvik's newly-revealed connection with the Dimernesti offered an equally new way of attacking the island. Torvik had still said nothing, so while Pirvan trusted Jemar's son as much as he could trust anyone, that trust could not be evidence of coming victory.
But Zeskuk had asked to be received aboard Shield of Virtue, if only to repay the humans for their coming aboard Cleaver for the first meeting. It was a matter of honor-and with suspicions still rife and spies probably not yet all run to ground (or fled to sea), no matter of honor could be handled too delicately.
The drums reached a crescendo. Zeskuk in his chair rose above the railing. The sailors shifted their footing and hauled away again. The chair swung inward. In the lanterns' glow, Zeskuk looked somehow shrunken, and as pale as a minotaur could.
That was not entirely a trick of the light. Lujimar had healed his outward injuries, but Zeskuk had refused to be abed long enough for the balance of blood and other humors to restore itself naturally, or to submit to the exhausting spells that would speed that healing.
Darin would have done the same, out of honor. But once released from Lujimar's hands, he was under the care of Tarothin and Rynthala. They would not take no for an answer when it came to completely healing him. So Darin looked ready to fight any minotaur or any three humans on Krynn.
It was in the last moment before Zeskuk touched the deck that the fire blazed on the flank of the Smoker.
True to their discipline (or fear of Pirvan) the sailors did not flinch. They set Zeskuk down as gently as a baby into its cradle or an egg into straw, then they all rushed to the side, staring and pointing. A mate finally outbellowed a minotaur, driving all the sailors back to their post by the aftercastle.
Even then, Pirvan overheard mutterings.
"Reorx's forge is working," one man said.
Another uttered an obscenity, coupled with the name of the dwarf's blacksmith god.
"Hunh," a third man grunted. "I'll take Reorx seriously. The dwarves do."
"You mean you take dwarves seriously?" That sounded like the second man.
Yet another man said, "This is dwarf-work you'd better take seriously, before it's between your ribs. Where I come from, speaking against the dwarves is bad luck, worse than spitting into the wind."
The threatened man made no reply. Now Pirvan led his companions to Zeskuk, and all turned toward the land.
"That is no natural volcanic fire," Lujimar said.
Pirvan wondered if all clerics of every folk had to study how to utter meaningless profundities. From Zeskuk's expression, he thought the same.
"You may do anything you wish, to learn the nature of that fire," Zeskuk said. "Then tell us what it is, not what it is not."
"Anything?" Pirvan would have sworn he heard almost youthful anticipation in Lujimar's age-deepened voice.
"Almost anything," Zeskuk said, then added what sounded like prohibitions, in the minotaur speech, using words Pirvan did not understand. He wished Darin were within hearing-but then Darin might feel that it would be dishonorable to translate.
The simplicity of rejecting all who were not like oneself was very real and appealing, Pirvan knew. So was drinking oneself into madness and wrecking everything in one's path. Some temptations were harmless; hatred was not one of them.
The fire now had sea, island, and fleets so brightly illuminated that one could have read a scroll with ease. Pirvan saw Lujimar fumbling in the pouches on the vest he wore over his robes, with a look also universal to priests: the look of one who needed paper, pen, and ink, but had forgotten where he put them.
Pirvan snapped his fingers at a sailor and ordered, "My cabin, and hurry. Bring back writing materials-everything you find. Lujimar needs them." The sailor gaped, thought better of saying anything, and ran off.
By the time the sailor returned, the fire on the Smoker was fading, like hot coals turning dark under a light rain. Pirvan wondered if the fire was natural after all, but did not dare ask Lujimar.
The minotaur was far too busy asking questions of everyone within hearing, and writing down every answer, whether they made sense or not.
As the blazing light from the Smoker slowly died, Torvik noted that Mirraleen's skin now seemed to be glowing. It was as if she had soaked up the light like a sponge, and now poured it back like phosphorescent seaweed.
As if by their own will, Torvik's hands moved, to find comtortable places on Mirraleen's skin. She looked down and laughed.
My hands were cold," Torvik said. "This is an uncanny night."
"So it is," she said. "But I can warm more of you than your hands." She lowered her mouth as he raised his, and for some time they were occupied warming each other.
For some while after that, they slept. A long while, because when Torvik awoke, the first light of dawn was turning the eastern horizon a translucent green.
Mirraleen, who had fallen asleep in his arms, was crouched on the deck, garbed again in her belt and knife, and contemplating an unrolled chart. Torvik wondered how she had come by it, then saw the picked lock on the chest opposite the bunk.
"I need the human name for what we-I-call Quillfish Lair Reef," she said. "It is just under two leagues to the southeast of the Smoker's Tail, in a straight line. It's hard to recognize unless the wind is from the south, when there's surf over it, but-"
Torvik sat down beside Mirraleen and they both studied the chart. It was noticeably lighter outside when they finally agreed that Quillfish Lair Reef was the same as the one humans called Yuon's Woe.