Gathmor rubbed his eyes. “I think I’ll catch some sleep.” Rap hid a smile. “Good idea. Any chance you could borrow a cape and a hat for me, Cap’n?” He would have to spend time up on deck to hold the skipper on course. Already he thought he could detect the wind being altered to react to the ship’s new course.
If all else failed, he would just have to explain to the master that the warlock of the south wanted him, Rap, delivered to Ilrane as soon as possible; but he thought Lith’rain might regard that as cheating. Presumably he was not going to all this trouble just to steal Rap’s word of power, so Rap must have some interest or value, and just maybe that meant he was a pawn in the Krasnegar struggle, and in that case the game was still on, and Inos was still alive.
This rationalization was a tapestry of moonbeams, but it was enough to keep him from brooding, except when he remembered he was trying to outguess a man who had married his daughter to a gnome.
Or when he wondered if the unseen hand belonged to Bright Water, needing Rap in order to fulfill Little Chicken’s destiny. Lith’rian was the witch’s ally.
Nevertheless, Rap would guide the ship to Vislawn as best he could. The rest of the time he would lounge in his wonderful cabin. He had eaten a very fine breakfast. Never before in his life had he lived in luxury like this.
And he had a whole new pastime to savor. With his new eidetic memory, he could call up detailed pictures of Inos from their childhood together—Inos riding, Inos running, dancing, laughing, playing, running. Next to actually having her there, it was the best thing he could imagine.
3
It was at some undefined time during the second day that Inos opened her eyes to find Kade standing over her, regarding her with concern, white hair tousled around wind-flushed face. Beyond the scuppers lay blue sky and sea and white birds—and waves. Inos closed her eyes again swiftly.
“I was hoping . . .” Kade said softly. “The wind has died almost completely.”
“So have I.”
Kade was not to be discouraged. “I did bring a little—”
“If you mention food or drink or . . . yecgh! . . . soup . . . I will start all over again,” Inos said firmly. She heard a faint sigh and a fainter clink of china.
Then vague noises suggested a chair being pulled up. She opened her eyes just as Kade sat down beside the bed. “Please, Aunt? Leave me. Maybe tomorrow?”
But Kade was descended from a long line of kings, and at times she could be implacably stubborn. Regrettably this looked like being one of those times.
“There is something you should know,” she said firmly.
“Tell me then.” Get it over with.
“I did try to tell Azak, but I was not allowed near him.” How would he be doing, down in the bilge? Azak swore that he loved the sea, and yet djinns were usually reluctant sailors. Inos wondered how Gnome Quarters smelled, and instantly wished she hadn’t. She grunted noncommittally. She had too many worries of her own. He was a big boy and could look after himself.
“So I’m going to tell you,” Kade said firmly. “This ship is not going to Angot.”
Inos turned her head quickly on the pillow—too quickly. “It’s not?”
“Not when it’s heading south it isn’t! I may be old but I’m not stupid.” Princess Kadolan very rarely lost her temper. This must be one of those times, also.
“You’re not old,” Inos said automatically as she tried to comprehend the stunning news.
“Despite the calm sea and gentle breezes, this is not the Sea of Sorrows. We’re in Kerith Passage.”
“Then where are we going?”
“I have spent the last day and a half trying to find out! The crew and the officers are being extremely unhelpful. Frainish doesn’t know—she was told she was going to Qoble—and I seem to be the only passenger capable of maintaining an upright posture.”
“Arakkaran?” Inos whispered. It would have to be Arakkaran.
“Arakkaran, yes. I just visited the cabin of an elderly priest. He didn’t want any fish chowder, either, but he did admit that he’s on his way to Githarn, and expects the ship to call at Torkag, Brogog, and Arakkaran.”
Seasickness did not promote clear thinking, any thinking. The planks in the ceiling had a very wavy grain pattern, and if Inos looked at them for very long, the waves started rippling. Don’t look, stupid!
“You are still convinced that your centurion was the warlock?” Kade demanded.
“Yes. Yes, even his eyes. Certainly his voice. And not even a mistake. He wanted me to know—he was laughing at me.” Her aunt tapped a shoe on the rug several times. “Well, I don’t understand! If we were still Rasha’s prisoners, I could see why we might be on our way back to Arakkaran, but I don’t understand why the warlock of the east would send us there. I mean, either he wants you as queen of Krasnegar, or he doesn’t want you at all, or I shouldn’t think he would anyway.”
That was not an unusually muddled speech for Kade, but in her insubstantial condition, Inos needed time to think it through. “I agree,” she muttered at last.
“So, if you were right in thinking that the warlock stole us away from the sorceress, then it would seem that the sorceress has stolen us back again!”
At the moment it didn’t matter all that much. “What does Skarash say?”
“Master Skarash,” Kade said crossly, “is being a jotunn.”
“Jotunn?”
“He’s wearing sailor clothes, consorting with sailors. The one time I managed to get a word in with him, he was attempting sailor jargon in a broad Nordland dialect—a very bad imitation of Nordland dialect.”
“And what did he say?”
“That was debatable. I couldn’t understand him, and when I used a much more authentic Nordland accent on him, he obviously couldn’t understand me and wouldn’t admit it.”
Inos made a mental note to find that story funny when she recovered her health and sense of humor. Trader Skarash must know the truth of the matter. If Azak were around, he could choke it out of the sleazy little twister.
“I don’t know. How long?”
“We shall be in Torkag within the hour, unless the wind fails completely.”
Inos roused herself enough to reach out and give her aunt’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. “And you’re not going to get your longed—for visit to Hub, are you?”
“Apparently not this time.” Kade set her lips angrily.
And back in Arakkaran she would not get to wear all the fine clothes she had picked out. That would be hurting, too.
When Allena made landfall near the many mouths of the Vislawn River, the wind dropped as if cut down by an ax. The sailors were beyond being surprised by anything the weather did on this voyage. They hoisted more sail and began the cleanup chores that inevitably followed a storm. Spreading all the canvas she could carry, Allena came in nobly on the morning tide, nudged along by a faint breeze over mirrored waters. Real ship and reflected glory floated together between the wooded islets like dancers in embrace.
Rap and Jalon were leaning on the rail, admiring the scenery, the weather, the white-sailed fishing boats, the glimpses of picturesque buildings in the woods. After being called by Sagorn on the first night, Jalon had put off calling any of the others to replace him until it was too late, because he was known to the crew. Rap did not care, as he preferred Jalon’s company anyway, but it was surprising—three days of anything were usually enough to bore the minstrel to frenzy. Fortunately he had discovered a sailor who knew a song cycle that he did not. He had spent his time in learning it and working out improvements.
Rap was feeling thick-eyed and draggy from lack of sleep. As an adept, he could talk almost anyone into almost anything, but not for long. For the first three days and nights on Home Water, he had barely slept at all. Later he had done better as he gained authority and as the sailors concluded that he must be a sorcerer, since he could either control the winds, or at least predict what they would do next. Tacking when he advised not to, for example, had been enough to put the ship in irons every time. Any attempt to head for Malfin had been frustrated; the road to Vislawn had been open. Had they realized the true limits of Rap’s power, they would have thrown him overboard.
And now there was nothing to do except lean on the rail and admire the bobbing gulls and fine morning.
“God of Marvels,” Jalon remarked softly. “Do my old eyes deceive me?”