At the stern, the smaller of the two figures leapt to the dock and secured that end as well. Rogi's eyes lighted up when he saw that this second person was female, for she cast back her hood and looked about as the huge man lowered the sail and then took up a great sword in a harness and strapped it across his back. As he stepped onto the dock beside her, "This isn't Ibarr," said the woman in a flat, accented voice, an accent that Rogi knew not.
"It isn't even Azrain," rumbled the man, his own voice carrying an inflection different from hers, but one which Rogi could not place either.
The woman glanced at the dark, ruddy moon and the constellations in the starlit sky. "Nor are these the night skies of Arith."
Now Halott stepped toward the pair, gesturing at the lantern as he passed Rogi, and Rogi snatched it up and scuttled ahead of his master, lighting the way.
Soldt looked up from his third brandy. "Who is sponsoring this tournament, and why?"
Naimun shrugged.
Soldt's eyes narrowed.
Naimun took a deep breath. "The Rankans, that's who. There are rumors that Sepheris is mustering an army, ostensibly for an all-out attack on Ilsig's enemies to the north. But Jamasharem suspects that the Ilsigi army is going to march against Ranke instead. So, under the pretense of celebrating the Ten-Slaying—some Rankan festival having to do with one of their gods, Vashanka, I think, killing all ten of His brothers—the good emperor has sent an emissary, Badareen, to negotiate with my sire to convince him—to convince him, my dung-eating uncle, Zarzakhan, and my lout of a half-brother—to rally the Irrune against Sepheris should war come this way."
Naimun ruefully smiled. "Aye, not likely. Not even my half-brother the Dragon is that stupid." He took a sip of brandy and then said, "Regardless, as cover for his mission—rather flimsy, I say—Badareen has arranged for this tournament to be part of some bloody commemoration, as the Rankan would have this time of season be."
Soldt again shook his head and glanced out over the crowd. "Entertainment for the masses, while emissaries of so-called men of power—Emperor Jamasharem and King Sepheris IV—set the wheels of destiny in motion. —Ha! My father, Arizak, will play one side against the other to get whatever it is he wants from them both."
Naimun nodded, then fixed the other man in the eye. "Nonetheless, Soldt, I would have that jewel."
The door banged open, and one of the Vulgar Unicorn's patrons came staggering back in and shouted, "Oi! Come see! The moon has gone all dark and bloody!"
Down at the docks, the huge man gestured toward the icy water. "And that's not the Valagon Sea."
Halott came to a stop several paces away, Rogi at his side shuffling from foot to foot. "You are correct," whispered Halott, his hollow voice a rustle.
Now the big man turned toward the necromancer. "Where, by Tislitt, are we? And how did we get here?"
"Elsewhere," replied Halott. "I brought you here with the mantling of the moon, and I shall send you back with the shrouding of the sun, fourteen days from now."
Of a sudden there was a curved blade in the hand of the female, and she stepped forward into the light, the point of the sword held low. "You will send us back now."
Rogi gasped and stumbled back a step or two, not only because of the threat of the blade, but also because in all of his travels he had never seen such a woman before:
She was perhaps five foot two, with short-cropped, straight, glossy, raven-black hair. Under her gray-green cloak she was garbed in brown leather—vest and breeks and boots. Hammered bronze plates like scales were sewn on the vest; underneath she wore a silk jerkin the color of cream. A brown leather headband incised with red glyphs made certain that even the slightest wisp of her hair was held back and away from her high-cheekboned face. But none of that was what caused Rogi to gasp; instead it was her eyes and skin, for the eyes were so dark as to be black, and they held the hint of a tilt, and her skin… it was saffron—a tawny, ivory yellow.
Rogi was instantly in love. Perhapth thshe will even want to thsee my dragon, perhapth even fondle it. But at the moment she was too dangerous to even suggest such, for not only did she have a blade in hand, she also stood in a warrior's stance: balanced, ready. And Rogi could see the hilt of another sword peeking out from her cloak.
"I cannot send you back now," said Halott. "Not for fourteen days. Then I will act, but only if you do my bidding."
The woman growled and brought her sword to guard, but the big man stepped forward. "Ariko, wait, let us hear him out."
Reluctantly, Ariko lowered the point of her blade, but caged fury lurked deep within the black of her tilted eyes.
"I am Durel," said the big man. He peered into the enshadowed, dark cowl. "And you are… ?"
"You may call me Halott," came the whisper.
Now Durel looked down at Halott's companion and waited. "R-rogi," stammered the little hunchback, flopping his hands about in his too-long sleeves. "H-halott ith my mathter."
Now Durel turned his attention back to the gaunt figure in the black robes. "And why have you brought us here?"
Halott turned his unseen face toward Ariko and said, "There is this gemstone I would have…"
Naimun was somber and silent when he and Soldt returned to the table and took up their brandies again.
"You seem pensive, my friend," said Soldt.
"It is an unfavorable omen," replied Naimun. "Zarzakhan says that Irrunega is troubled whenever the moon runs with blood."
Soldt smiled unto himself. Even so, he did not gainsay Naimun's words, for gods surely visited both banes and boons upon the world at large, and upon Sanctuary in particular—or so it did seem.
"Perhaps He is disturbed by the thought that we might ally ourselves with the Rankans," said Naimun.
"Or perhaps with the Ilsigi instead," replied Soldt.
Naimun nodded, his gaze on the table, and as if speaking to himself said, "I will have to have word with my sire about this blood-moon, though I am certain the shamans will seek audience as well. No doubt they will tell him that Irrunega wishes us to leave the city behind and return to the plains. Still, if that were it, then why has He taken so long to manifest His disquiet." He glanced up at Soldt and, as if coming to himself, blurted, "—But this in no manner affects our bargain. I want that jewel, the moon's ill portent or no.''
"Do you alwayth thail acrotht the othean in armor?" asked Rogi, scuttling alongside Ariko.
Ariko looked down at the little man. And by the light of the lantern he carried, and in the partial glow of the now-recovering moon, she saw that Rogi would perhaps stand some four and a half feet tall were he to straighten up, assuming the hump on his right shoulder would allow, but the way of his gait put him a foot or so shorter. And speaking of gait, there seemed to be something wrong with his feet—either that, or he had stuffed his shoes with scraps of leather or the like to make himself seem taller. He wore woolen pants held up by a rope on which was affixed a pouch. A shirt several sizes too large graced his distorted form, the sleeves flopping down over his hands. About his neck dangled a blowpipe on a thong. His eyes were so very pale as to seem almost white. Yet the most peculiar thing about him was his hair: It seemed that he was completely bald on the left side, while a long lank of reddish hair dangled down on the right, though he wore an ear-flapped, soft leather cap perhaps to disguise the oddity. And he had but a single yet very shaggy brow over his right eye, the left completely lacking. Ariko could see the shadow of whiskery growth on his right cheek and jaw, but nought whatsoever on the left. Too, whenever the ends of his sleeves had flapped aside, she had seen that the back of his left hand was hairless and smooth, but the right was extremely hirsute. It was as if all of his hair had migrated from the whole of his left side to double up on his right. And from his slack mouth dangled a tongue nearly long enough to lick his own bushy brow.