“You’ll miss the freedom,” Kiya said, an odd lilt in her voice.
“No, those days are done. Xanka had grown fat, foolish, and cruel. The war was over, so the Tarsan fleet would soon return to sweep the Blood Fleet back into the crevices again. Lord Tolandruth’s coming was the best answer to my problem-what to do when buccaneering had lost its allure.”
The throng of boats on the canal thinned at last. Wandervere called for four beats. Quarrel stirred ahead.
Golden splendor turned murky as the sun dipped below the horizon. Gray dusk claimed the land. The distant towers of Daltigoth were swallowed by the gathering darkness, but Tol knew they were there, waiting for him.
He and the pirate captain were not so different. Wandervere had forsaken the toilsome life of a deckhand for piracy. Tol had given up the struggle of farming to bear arms for the empire. Had he lived near the coast, he might have done as Wandervere had. The twists and turns his life had taken were startling to contemplate. From a muddy onion field to the halls of the imperial palace; from the Golden House in Tarsis to the deck of a pirate galley! Every step in between, no matter how small, was fateful. There was no knowing where his future path might lead.
He turned away to say something to his comrades and discovered he was alone. Sunset over, Kiya and the captain had left the bow.
After midnight, Quarrel reached the walls of Daltigoth. Guards on the barbican overlooking the waterway rubbed their eyes in astonishment as the seagoing ship emerged from the darkness. The canal was clear of small craft at last, but the channel had narrowed greatly, to the point where the oars on either beam barely cleared the stone causeways lining the shores.
Wandervere called, “Backwater.”
The rowers, seated facing aft, dropped their oars, then pushed them toward the stern to slow the galleot’s progress. At the proper time, the oars were drawn into the ship. Smooth as glass, Quarrel gently drew up to the canal master’s quay.
An officer, eyes still bleary with sleep, stumbled out of the barbican gate. Behind him trooped several dozen city guards. Tol was interested to see they formed a neat phalanx behind their commander-the very formation he’d taught the city’s soldiers years earlier.
“What in the name of bloody Chaos is this?” inquired the officer, staring up at the overhanging prow of the galleot.
“The good ship Quarrel, of the Imperial Ergothian Navy!” Wandervere called back cheerfully.
“There’s no such thing!” the officer snapped.
Tol, richly attired in regalia borrowed from Lord Tremond, appeared on deck beside the captain. “There is now, soldier. I am Tolandruth of Juramona, come from Tarsis to attend upon the new emperor.”
Even in the wavering torchlight, the paling of the officer’s face was obvious. “My lord!” he cried, drawing himself up and saluting quickly. “We heard rumors of your coming!”
“I would enter the city,” Tol replied. “Open the gate.”
The officer hastened to obey. With much shouting and gesturing, the heavy gates blocking the canal were opened. Their motion generated a slight swell in the water, setting Quarrel to rocking.
“Send word to the palace I have come,” Tol called down, easily maintaining his balance after so long aboard ship. “Does The Bargeman’s Rest still stand?” Assured it did, he said, “I shall be there awaiting the emperor’s command.”
Quarrel crawled forward at one beat. The soldiers on the quay raised their spears in tribute as Tol passed, and their commander shouted, “Corij be with you, my lord! We are strengthened, now that you are here!”
The bowl-shaped canal harbor within the walls of Daltigoth offered just enough room for the galleot to turn about. Wandervere nosed his ship up to the dock Tol indicated, and lines were dropped. Nimble sailors leaped overboard and tied Quarrel to the stone-paved pier.
Miya and Kiya came up on deck. All the rowers left the hold and filled the waist of the ship, curious to see the empire’s greatest city.
Rising in tiers above the canal basin, Daltigoth by night resembled a heap of coals scattered with jewels. Thousands of windows winked with interior light, and thousands more were shuttered and dark. Massive villas, opulent private residences, temples, and towers thrust up into the cloud-capped sky, shadowing the lesser buildings below them. The streets were never completely devoid of traffic, even at this time of night, and from the galleot’s deck they could hear carts rolling, horses clip-clopping along, dogs barking, and the shouts of late revelers.
Behind Tol, a rower hired in Thorngoth uttered a heartfelt oath. “Who knew there were so many people in the world?” he said.
The Dom-shu sisters snorted, but Tol smiled. That had been his own reaction the first time he’d laid eyes on the capital of the Ergoth Empire.
While the crew worked to run out a gangplank, Wandervere sought out Tol.
“Now we are here, my lord, what shall I do?”
“Return to Thorngoth and report to Admiral Darpo for new duties.” Extending a hand, he thanked Wandervere for their safe passage.
The former pirate clasped his arm and grinned. “No one will believe I sailed a pirate ship into the heart of Ergoth!”
“It is an age of wonders. What we dare, we can do.”
Followed by sailors and awestruck rowers, Tol and the Dom-shu sisters descended the gangplank to shore. Once on the pier, Miya stomped her feet.
“Solid ground at last!” With a yawn, she added, “I’m for bed!”
They roused the innkeeper of The Bargeman’s Rest, who gaped at the enormous vessel tied up outside his establishment. When he learned the identity of his guest, he nearly fell over himself ushering Tol inside. He assured Tol that, although the inn was full, he would gladly turn out the lodgers from his best room, but Tol said pallets in the common room would be good enough.
Kiya and Miya set down the heavy chest they’d been carrying between them. It was the small cask of Xanka’s treasure that Tol had confiscated for his own use.
The innkeeper and four lackeys cleared space before the bar and spread furs and quilts on the flagstone floor. The sisters, tired from rowing, lay down one on each side of the chest and promptly went to sleep.
Tol removed his helmet, cloak, and breastplate. The innkeeper presented him with a brimming mug of beer.
“Welcome home, my lord,” said the master of The Bargeman’s Rest, beaming from ear to ear. “Now you are here, all will be right!”
Tol was almost asleep before the implications of those words struck him. What was not right in Daltigoth?
Kiya awoke with the sound of the sea still in her ears. Although they were no longer on the pirate ship, she could hear a loud wash of noise, rising and falling like the surf against the shore. The common room of The Bargeman’s Rest was already light. Miya was still asleep, but Tol’s eyes opened even as Kiya sat up.
He obviously heard the strange noise, too. He looked questioningly at her, but she could only shrug. They both spotted the innkeeper and two of his servants hovering by the shuttered front windows. Tol rose and came up behind them.
“What is it?” he asked.
The innkeeper jumped and nearly fainted from fright. “My lord!” he gasped, bracing one pudgy hand against his underling’s shoulder. “We are besieged!”
Tol peered through the slats. The quay outside was packed with a milling throng, the source of the strange sound. They did not appear to be an angry mob, just ordinary folk in great numbers, filling the waterfront as far the eye could see. Talking, walking, eating tidbits sold by dockside vendors, they seemed to be watching the front of The Bargeman’s Rest.