Guardians Of The Flame - Legacy Part 27

Ahira spoke up. "Go ahead."

Adahan turned to face Ganness. "I understand your position, Captain . . . Crenneth. The . . . one whose name we're not going to mention here has always spoken highly of you, and many times has told me that he felt bad that you lost two ships on account of him. But you understand our needs, and how very serious and resolved we must be on this matter."

Ganness eyed Tennetty, Ahira, and Slovotsky, who tried his best to look quietly threatening. Aeia's right hand didn't stray far from her bag, with its loaded pistol.

"I see," Ganness said.

"We don't ask for charity," Adahan went on. "We have a load of wootz to trade for pa.s.sage. Also, you know there are places where a safe-conduct signed by Ahira or by Walter Slovotsky is of value. But, in return, we need your help. We need to get to Melawei."

"Not just that." Aeia shook her head. "We need to be snuck into Melaweia"there'll probably be a slaver ship guarding the usual channels. Of course, perhaps you're not the seaman Karl used to say you were."

Ganness chuckled. "Yes, I have charted more of the coast of Melawei than most I know; if anyone can find a tricky route through the offsh.o.r.e islands, it's I. No, I am not enough of a fool to fall for cheap flattery."

"Captain, Captain," Aeia said, turning up the wattage on her smile, "it may be flattery, but it's not cheap. Or insincere."

Ganness looked like he was teetering on the edge; Slovotsky forced a laugh.

"No need to be so nervous, Captain; you're acting like . . ." He paused to snort derisively. "Like we don't have a plan."

"Ahh . . . right you are." Ganness smiled, and relaxed. "You'd hardly be without a plan. Well . . ."

"Well?"

"You have wootz, you say? I could do well in Sciforth with some good Home wootz. How much do you have?"

"Ahh, now that we know what we all are," Ahira murmured in English, "it's time to haggle over the price." He switched to Erendra. "Step over to our wagon, and let me show you our wares."

As the two of them walked away, Slovotsky turned to Bren Adahan. "Often? With all the blood on Karl's hands, I can't imagine him often getting bent out of shape over a boat or two."

"True enough." Adahan grinned. "I'm sure he is upset about it, though; it's just that he didn't mention it."

"Liar," Aeia said, grinning.

"Terrible, Bren, terrible. Telling such falsehoods."

Tennetty muttered a curse under her breath; Aeia turned to her.

"What is it?"

"Is there any way we can speed things up? I know you all have a great need to congratulate yourselves on how d.a.m.n clever you all are, but I'm standing here on the pier with everything hanging out in this slave outfit, and I'm getting pretty tired of it."

Her hands were shaking; Slovotsky decided that she'd been expecting the confrontation with Ganness to turn into a fight, and her body hadn't yet caught up with the fact that there wasn't going to be one.

Adahan c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "And this plan of yours? What is it?"

"I'll let you know when I think it up."

Over by the wagon, Avair Ganness had a sword balanced on his palms; he spoke a few words, then pa.s.sed the weapon to Ahira.

"Well," Slovotsky said, "if we're up to swearing on swords, it looks like we got a deal; let's get loaded."

"Hmmm . . . let's get packed, instead," Aeia said, with a girlish giggle.

The water hissed quietly against the hull as they sailed under a dark but cloudless nighttime sky. Between the sky and the stars, faerie lights winked down, pulsing slowly, gently.

Above Slovotsky's head, a full set of sails snapped and crackled in the light breeze; the deck heeled over more sharply than he would have expected on such a large ship. Fortune's Son was making good time.

He was getting sleepy, though; best to go down to the cabin and sleep. But it would have been handy if Adahan had taken this opportunity to catch up with hima"

"Alone, Walter Slovotsky?" Bren Adahan said, from behind him causing Walter to start. "Getting old, it seems. The legendary Walter Slovotsky couldn't be snuck up upon, as I recall."

"I was expecting you," Slovotsky said, smiling. "I've been through this before. Lots of times, going back to my school days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. This is where you try to persuade me to leave Aeia alone."

Adahan nodded, his face a little sad. "And are we all so predictable to you, Walter Slovotsky?"

"Yeah. You remind me a bit of Karl."

"I thank you."

"Don't put on airs, man; I said 'a bit.' He once braced me over her mother. On Ganness' ship, as a matter of fact."

Adahan was similar to Karl, in a lot of ways. Which is why Slovotsky had taken certain precautions, like the loaded pistol at his hip, and the rope tied to the spar halfway up the mast. If necessary, Slovotsky could play Errol Flynn and swing away from the younger man, raising a cry as he did. Not exactly the way Captain Peter Blood would have done it, but it had that same kind of style.

"You're too d.a.m.n arrogant, Walter Slovotsky. You a.s.sume, because I was raised on This Side, that I'm a simple barbarian without thought or care. Or language." Bren Adahan scratched at himself. "Aiea Bren woman. Walter leave Bren woman alone." Bren Adahan smiled sadly. "It's not like that, although it is simple: I want her badly, Walter Slovotsky, but I want her to be happy, even more. Think about it," he said, resting white knuckles on the rail. "Perhaps we're not so different, after all. a"You'd best not hurt her, Walter Slovotsky. You'd best not hurt her."

You really care for her, don't you? Or you maybe really want everyone to believe that you do, when what you're really after is marrying an emperor's adopted daughter.

Quite possibly, both. Almost certainly both; if Adahan was simply an opportunist, Ellegon would probably have taken him out of the picture, one way or another. Besides, most people weren't simple.

He missed Kirah, he decided. She was simple. Not stupid, mind; just simple. The opposite of complex. There was something to be said for simplicity.

"I wouldn't hurt her," Slovotsky said. "Intentionally."

"You won't hurt her," Bren Adahan said. "Twice."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:.

Ehvenor.

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:

There sleeps t.i.tania some time of the night,

Lulled in these flowers with dances and light,

And there the snake throws her enameled skin,

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

a"William Shakespeare.

Under a dome of stars, mocked by the pulsing faerie lights, Karl Cullinane rode with his three companions down into Ehvenor, his sheathed sword bound across his saddle, his right hand never straying far from the b.u.t.t of the short-barreled single-shot shotgun in his rifle boot.

Kethol, the broad-shouldered redheaded warrior riding at Karl's left, worked his pistol loose in its holster. It was just a nervous habit; the shoulder holster didn't need to be primed to release its cargo. "'Ware the crazies," he said quietly. "They're not after a reward, more'n likely. But they're dangerous, just the same."

"Tell me something I don't know," Pirojil said. He rubbed a blunt finger against his heavy brows. He was a remarkably ugly man, his flat nose splayed to one side from some long-ago fight. Karl could understand why Pirojil hadn't bothered to have the nose taken care of. It wouldn't have helped.

Pirojil visibly winced every now and then. He'd taken an arrow in the thigh during the ambush outside of Tinkir that had killed Aren and Ferdom, and the scant portion of healing draughts that Kethol had doled out hadn't quite been enough to bring him back to health; a steady regimen of riding and walking hadn't allowed the wound enough time to heal. But Pirojil pushed on, bringing up the rear, he tugged at the ropes of their two packhorses, keeping the animals and the party's supplies close.

"Movement, off to the left," Durine said. A treetrunk of a man, he rode with his reins held daintily in his hamlike left fist, his ma.s.sive right hand holding his shotgun easily, as though he didn't notice the weight.

"Just a rabbit," Pirojil said. "Ta havath, eh?"

The Cirric glistened in the starlight, small waves lapping the sh.o.r.e. As the company rode down toward Ehvenor, Karl could see only two large ships docked there, although a wide-bellied sloop seemed to be putting in.

Between the road and the water, Ehvenor stood, waiting.

Ehvenor. The sole outpost of Faerie in the Eren regions. Off in the distance, the faerie emba.s.sy, woven of light and mist, glimmered in the night, its brightness refusing to dispel the darkness surrounding it. It was almost cylindrical, almost three, four stories high. Almost, almost, almosta"always almost; it was hard to look at; the building seemed to change before his eyes, to mold itself into another form ever so slightly different from what had been the moment before, but the change so slight and subtle that Karl couldn't put his finger on just what it was.

"Want me to go on ahead, sir?" Kethol asked. He was no Walter Slovotsky, but he did a good recon.

"No. Just keep alert." Best not to go separately; the Ehvenor crazies sometimes ran in packs. And who cared that a warrior could take down a dozen of the filthy creatures before they brought him down? The idea was to avoid the crazies, not to kill them. "And let's keep quiet."

Kethol nodded, transferred his reins from his right hand to his left so that he could draw his blackened saber, holding it easily in his hand.

The main road into the city led past a row of ramshackle houses, none of them issuing any light at all. Perfect cover for another ambush, for someone else after the guild reward on Karl's head.

Karl didn't like the looks of it; he nodded at Kethol, who led them down a side alley.

The alley twisted and turned through the dark, dung-laden streets, past the hovels of Ehvenor. Occasionally they could see dim faces peering out through windows or shutters, only to disappear instantly when Durine brought his shotgun into line, or at the whisk of Kethol's steel cleaving the cold night air.

The plan was to go down to the pier and make a rude camp until morning, whena"they hopeda"pa.s.sage to Melawei could be procured. They carried with them twenty coins of good Pandathaway gold and ten fine Nehera-made swords, both the gold and steel distributed among the party; leaving it all on the packhorses could leave them in trouble if they were separated from the animals.

There were also a few surprises in the horse's pouches. This Side wasn't used to explosives yet, and the twenty or so pounds of guncotton on the rear horse might come in very handy.

Not that it would make much of a difference, not in the long run, Karl thought, wishing that he could take his amulet out of his saddlebags and put it on again.

But he couldn't. It had to be known that Karl Cullinanea"

With no warning, a dim shape rushed out of the shadows and leaped on Kethol, dragging the warrior down from his saddle before he could begin to bring his sword into play. It clawed at the man, uttering a satisfied, low growl.

Instantly, Karl was off his own horse, his drawn saber in his hand. Firing a gun at whatever had jumped Kethol was out of the question; he'd be as likely to kill his own man as whatever it was.

Durine's animal reared, while the huge man looked desperately for a target for his shotgun.

Karl couldn't exactly make out the form of whatever it was that was clawing at Kethol, but he could find parts that he knew weren't his warrior; Karl stabbed into the dark ma.s.s, and felt his blade slice through flesh and cut into bone.

With a hideous, liquid scream, the form went into a spasm, arms and legs twitching and then falling still as the body went limp, the body voiding itself of its waste in the final reflex of all animals.

Karl kicked the stinking ma.s.s away from Kethol, and then immediately ducked to one side to make himself a bad target for the next attack.

But there wasn't any.

Pirojil spoke up. "I don't see anything."

"Me, neither," Durine put in. "Nothing."

Kethol got slowly to his feet; he looked okay, if a bit shaken.

"Light, Pirojil," Karl said.

As Pirojil pulled a glowsteel from his tunic, horribly bright blue light flared in the alleyway, sending a watching rat scurrying for cover. But there was nothing else there, nothing except the rag-clad, half-starved body of the man Karl had killed.