Dwarves did not admit to feeling seasick and apparently the trait was a personal thing in goblins, for Pool Leaper had been felled, but Moon Baiter had not.
When she could ignore the rolling, yawing, and pitching, her thoughts were mostly of Rap and the children. She had no hope now of ever being reunited with any of them. She could not even believe that she would ever know what had happened to them, far away in this cruel world, and that ignorance proclaimed her failure like a blast of trumpets. Kadie dead; Rap dead or taken; Holi and Eva perhaps destroyed in a ruin of all Krasnegar. Only Gath, she thought, might still have a chance. She had been furious and bitter when he slipped his leash and took off adventuring on his own. Now she was profoundly grateful that he had. At least he was not here with her, sailing to the Accursed Land.
Perhaps Gath would survive somehow in Nordland, provided he was not betrayed to Thane Drakkor—or betrayed himself to Thane Drakkor. Was Gath aware of the blood feud? She thought so, but could not be sure. And what sort of a life was she wishing on him there? At least he would never become a bloody-handed raider like his grandfather Grossnuk. She had shared Rap’s doubts that Gath would ever become assertive enough even to rule Krasnegar—Gath as a raider was an idea that would never float. At best he would be a lowly churl, a slave. At worst . . .
“My lady!” That was Jarga’s voice.
Inos opened one bleary eye. As long as she kept her head still, she might be able to hold a conversation. “Mmph?’ The sorceress dropped to one knee. ”We have problems.”
“My husband always says that every problem is an opportunity.”
The big sailor rarely appreciated humor. “First, the Covin is scanning the area. We are agreed—Wirax, Frazkr, and Pool I.eaper.”
Inos opened both eyes. “Searching for whom?”
“No one special, we think. Just watching, and especially watching for magic. We can sense the attention. I dare not try to ease your suffering.” The jotunn’s face was against the sky, so that her expression was not very clear. Sunlight and blond hair painted golden glory around her head.
“’Sawright,” Inos murmured, and closed her eyes again. Let the Covin hunt all it wanted!
“The second thing is, we have company, much company.” Seasickness took a step backward. Eyes flicked open again. Jarga’s worried face swam into focus. “They may wish only to establish who we are.” She neither looked nor sounded convinced. “You will have to stand up, my lady.”
Before Inos could explain how utterly impossible that was, cold logic stilled her tongue. Dwarves at sea would be as commonplace as whales in a desert; goblins even more so. Her blond hair would look jotunnish at a distance, and a ship of this size would have a better chance of passing a hasty inspection if it had two hands on deck instead of only one. What could they do about her green face, though?
“Help me up,” she said.
Truly the Gods had cursed her.
It had been common knowledge for years that the caliph would launch a war against the impire as soon as he had united all Zark under his banner. Even back in Urgaxox, the markets had known of his sudden interest in chartering shipping. The imposter imperor had withdrawn forces from the eastern shores, giving him his chance. So now the war had come, and Inos had fallen right into it. All around her, the sea was spiked with sails. Few of them resembled Imperial vessels. Most were Zarkian dhows, lateen sails slanted like the wings of gulls. This could only be the caliph’s navy, on its way to Ollion and invasion.
“How could you let this happen!” she croaked.
Jarga shrugged impassively. “They have our wind. They are faster.”
“I apologize. My remark was unjust.”
“Come aft, my lady.”
As Inos reeled aft behind the sailor, she saw that some attempt had been made to give Northern Vengeance the looks of an ordinary fishing vessel. Very smelly nets were heaped around the deck, and every cask and barrel aboard was in evidence. But where was the mythical crew? At least half a dozen flaxen-haired giants were required immediately.
Frazkr yielded the wheel to Jarga and hurried below, leaving the two women alone. The panes of the cabin skylight were open. No question that the rest of the motley crew would be standing directly under it, attending very carefully to whatever transpired on deck.
The vessel bearing down on them was many times their size, and resplendent. Her two triangular sails curved to hold the wind like a lover’s hands, white against a sapphire sky. The high stern gleamed in gold and many colors, while the long pointed bow cut through the blue-green sea with flashes of foam. She had a bone in her teeth and she was closing relentlessly on the tiny ketch. She represented danger, but she was a magnificent sight.
All the other vessels in view must be her allies. There was nowhere to hide, for the coast was a vague brown line dirtying the southern horizon. Above it and very close to invisible, dis-. tant peaks peered through the haze, pale ghosts of mountains. Inos knew that range of old, although she had never seen its northern limits before. Those were the Progistes, and west of them lay Thume.
She swallowed the vile taste in her mouth. “The Covin is still watching?”
“Yes, my lady.” Clutching the wheel in her big hands, Jarga eyed the dhow appraisingly.
It was obvious why the Covin would be watching: The caliph’s fleet had put to sea. Zinixo would want to know where it was headed, and what sorcery might be aiding it.
“Then we have a choice,” Inos said bitterly. “We can escape the djinns at the cost of falling to the Almighty. Or you and I can look forward to a career in a seraglio. Which fate do you choose, Jarga?”
“I will take the djinns.”
“I suppose I will, too.”
The dhow was only a few cable lengths away now, but her bowsprit was still aimed at the ketch. Amid the elaborate carvings and gilding on her prow the name Arakkaran was inscribed in angular Zarkian lettering. Still she came! Did she not flaunt her finery like a vain harlot, she might be suspected of planning to ram. But she was beautiful.
Inos realized with a shock that her nausea had gone. Could that be from fear? Or was it from anger? For the first time in her life, her jotunn half had prevailed at sea. Yes it was anger, but not directed at the dhow.
How dare the Gods play such tricks upon her? Rap, were he here, would make one of his blasphemous remarks about Their taste in irony, and for once she would agree with it. Nineteen years ago he had rescued her from vile captivity in Arakkaran—well, almost rescued her—and now the Gods were spitefully throwing her back in again. She was still east of the mountains, technically in Zarkian waters. Women in Zark had all the rights of dairy cattle.
What of her male companions? What cruel end awaited them? Raspnex and the other dwarves might choose death over the Covin, but the goblins had no reason to do so. If they loosed their powers to escape the djinns, Zinixo would pounce on all of them.
Suddenly Jarga spun the wheel. Northern Vengeance came about, spilling wind from her sails. In a few minutes she was hove-to, and Arakkaran, having matched her maneuver, was drifting close. Scarlet dolphins, blue gannets, and golden squids writhed on her sides amid weeds and stylized waves. She towered over the smaller craft, and she bore some complex banner at her masthead. Red Djinn faces peered down under white turbans.
“She must be the flagship!” Inos said, but Jarga was staring, lost in wonder of this glorious floating palace.
A line snaked down. Jarga ran to take it, snapping at Inos to hold the wheel. At the last possible moment fenders fell into the gap and the two vessels came together with a gentle bump. Like a shower of apples from a tree, a dozen sailors leaped down, thudding bare feet on the ketch’s deck. Clearly Arakkaran was a well-run ship, no mere showpiece.
After months of consorting with dwarves, Inos had forgotten just how big men could be. They wore white breeches and white turbans with nothing between. Shiny scimitars flashed at their waists; ruddy skin rippled over muscles and red eyes gleamed with amusement as they registered the sex of the two crew members present.
Their leader swaggered aft to confront the women. White teeth shone in his red beard as he sneered.
“All alone? What sort of craft is this?”
“We are simple fishing folk, Mightiness,” Jarga mumbled, with a most unjotunnish humility. “We mean no harm.”