The Reformer g-4 Page 9

  The other ship's sail came down like magic, neatly furled-a heavy crew, a warship's crew. Esmond came up beside his brother, shading his eyes with a palm. As he did, the oars flashed out of the other ship's sides and struck the water all together like the limbs of a centipede, slashing creamy froth from the waves. The slender hull jerked forward, then turned to present its ram to the merchantman's side in a smooth curve, turned by the oars as well as the twin steering oars; they could hear the clack. . clack. . clack of the hortator's mallets on the log that served as drum.

  "Bireme," Esmond said. "Twenty marines, hundred and twenty oarsmen, thirty sailors. They can't be far from home. Royal ship too, I think, not a freebooter. Very well-trained crew."

  Adrian nodded, although being a royal ship wasn't always much of a distinction, with Islanders. Any king's ship would turn pirate if the opportunity offered.

  One of the officers on the warship's quarterdeck raised a speaking trumpet. He hailed them in Confed, accented but understandable.

  "Ahoy there! What ship?"

  "Wave Strider, out of Preble," the captain said. "Bound for Chalice."

  "What cargo?"

  The voice sounded suspicious; there were far too many armed men on the merchantman's deck, but she was equally obviously no pirate or longshore raider. That would make her cautious. Even a successful ramming run might leave the warship vulnerable to boarding; a little bad luck, a ram caught in the wounded ship's timbers, and the Wave Strider's men could swarm aboard. That was how Confed ships had beat the Kingdom's fleets despite the Islanders' seamanship, grappling and turning naval battles into land fights.

  Adrian stepped forward, speaking in the tongue of the Isles; he could feel Esmond stiffen in surprise. Which was natural enough, since as far as he knew Adrian spoke only a few words.

  "Our cargo is brave men," he said. "Come to serve King Casull IV, Lord of the Isles, Supreme Autocrat, Chosen of the Sun God and Lemare of the Sea, against the thieves and tyrants of Vanbert. We are Adrian and Esmond Gellert, of Solinga."

  The ships were close enough now that Adrian could see the officer's eyes go wide in a swarthy, hook-nosed face. The plume at the forefront of his turban nodded as he turned and spoke urgently with some others.

  "They've heard of us, and not just through Father," Esmond murmured at his ear.

  "Now the question is whether they want to get in good with the Confeds or poke them in the eye," Adrian murmured back.

  The gorgeously-dressed officer turned back, sun breaking off the gilded scales of his armor. "The King, may he live forever, must hear of this," he said. "You will transfer to Slasher."

  "Esteemed sir, we will remain with our men," Esmond said, in slower and more heavily accented Islander. "But we are very eager to lay our fates at the feet of the King, to whom the gods have given a great realm."

  There was a moment of tension as stares met. The plumes nodded again as the Islander captain nodded. "Very well. Make what sail you can."

  * * *

  "Enter," King Casull said.

  The audience chamber was small and informal, one wall an openwork lattice of carved marble looking down over the city of Chalice. For the rest it held a mosaic of sea monsters-most of them quite real, as Casull had learned in his years as a skipper and admiral, before the previous King had met an untimely end in the last war with the Confeds-an ebony table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, embroidered cushions, a tray of dried fruit and pitchers of wine and water. A girl in a diaphanous gown knelt in one corner, strumming a jitar, and two guards stood by the entrance, the points of their huge curved slashing-swords resting on the floor before their boots and their hands ready on the hilts. A stick of incense burned in a fretted brass tray, melding with the scent of the flowers in the gardens outside, and the tarry reek of the harbor below.

  Two men came through the door with a eunuch chamberlain following, in robes even more gorgeous than theirs.

  "O King, live forever!" all three cried as they prostrated themselves on the floor.

  The silver aigrettes at the front of the two merchants' turbans clicked on the tessellated marble of the floor, as did the ruby in the eunuch's turban. A palace chamberlain might lack stones, but not the opportunity to acquire precious stones. Casull smiled slightly to himself at his own pun and made a gesture with one hand. Another girl rose with silent grace and moved to pour thick sweet wine into tiny cups carved from the gemlike teeth of the salpesk.

  "Rise, my friends," he said genially. His father had once told him that even if you had to kill a man, it cost nothing to be polite. "Speak. Your King would hear your tale."

  The merchants rose and sat cross-legged on cushions, raising the cups the slave handed them in a two-handed gesture of respect before sipping appreciatively. Both were middle-aged men with gray in their curled, oiled beards. Enri and Pyhar Lowisson, Casull reminded himself. Brothers. Their father had been a fish farmer, but the sons had made a fortune in trade. . and in raiding, during the chaos of the wars with the Confeds. They'd served ably in Casull's own campaigns against islands that had fallen away from the Kingdom while his predecessor was occupied on the mainland, too.

  "Know, O King, that we have long traded with Solinga," Enri said; he was the elder of the two.

  Casull nodded. "Dried fish, textiles and spices for wine, grain and jerked meat," he said. "With sidelines in zinc ore, bar iron and general handicrafts."

  The merchants blinked and bowed their heads in respect. "Go on," the King said.

  "We have dealt, over the years, with one Zeke Gellert of Solinga," Enri went on. "He died last year, but we exchanged tesserae with him some time ago."

  Casull nodded again, silent. He'd found that was more effective than talking, often enough. Tesserae were tokens-usually ivory-exchanged between guest-friends in the Emerald countries. The token was broken in half; when the other half was presented, the guest-friend was obliged to offer help and shelter to the man who brought it, and the obligation was hereditary. Or so Emeralds generally thought; Islanders were more. . flexible. Still, it would harm the Lowissons' reputation in the Emerald lands if they turned away their guest-friend's heirs.

  Enri moistened his lips and sipped delicately at the wine. "Well, O King, Adrian and Esmond Gellert have come to Chalice, claiming hospitality of us. . and wishing an introduction to the King's self."

  He hesitated, and the King spoke. "The Adrian and Esmond Gellert who took part in Audsley's rebellion in the Confed territories, yes," he said. "They are outlaws in the Confederacy-not the first time exiles from the mainland have sought the Isles."

  Although no other exiles have been preceded by such rumors, he thought. Weapons like the lightning of the gods, thunder and fire that left men torn to shreds. . There may be something to it, he thought. Still, less than rumor paints, or Audsley would have made himself master in Vanbert.

  The conversation wound on, intricate and indirect; the three might all be self-made men, but they'd aquired polish as well as wealth and power on their journey up the slippery pole of rank. The Isles weren't like the mainland, where a man's life was fixed at his birth. Here a sailor or a peasant might end his days with a palace and a harem, if he had the luck and the nous; but equally, the pit of failure yawned before his steps all his days, and his rivals' knives were always sharp and ready.

  Casull smiled and nodded. Yes, you wish to share in any favor that may befall the Gellerts, he thought. Yes, equally, you wish to avoid the blame for any failure, if they are nothing but boasters. Yes, these desires conflict-for if you wait too long, you will surely lose. A beautiful dilemma.

  At the end, he clapped his hands. "We will grant these Emeralds the favor of an audience," he said. "Talk is cheap, and stolen goods are never sold at a loss."

  His gaze sought the city that tumbled down the slopes from the palace to its circular harbor. And I need any help I can get, he thought. The Isles were far from united, and when they were the Confeds would still outweigh him by thirty to one. Skill and distan
ce had kept the Islands independent, but. . what was that old saying? Ah, yes.

  Quantity has a quality all its own. He would seize any advantage that came his way with both hands, preparing for the inevitable struggle.

  FIVE

  Impressive, Adrian thought, pausing in his restless pacing and looking up the slope of the volcano.

  The mansion of their father's guest-friend was down by the docks-the Lowissons liked to keep in touch with the sources of their wealth. Like most buildings in Chalice it was made of stone blocks, like volcanic tufa plastered over and whitewashed or painted, with a flat roof where the inhabitants could sleep during the hot summers. . or pace while they awaited the word of the King. Other buildings stretched up the steep slope, along roads cobblestoned or paved or deep in mud, narrow and twisting except for the Processional Way that led from the docks to the great blocky temple of Lemare, the Sea Goddess. The buildings lay like the dice of gods themselves, tumbled over the slopes in blocks of brilliant white, emerald green, purple and blue and crimson; they turned blank walls to the streets, centering around a myriad of courtyards large and small. A wall might hide anything; the mansion of a merchant prince, a teeming tenement house, the workshops of artisans. Over some one could see the tips of trees swaying, and within could be beautiful gardens and fountains of carved jade splashing cool water. . or flapping laundry and shrilling children.

  The streets were crowded themselves, with near-naked porters bent double under huge loads, with chains of the Island dwarf velipads under similar burdens, with water sellers and sweetmeat sellers and storytellers, rich merchants in jewels and silk, swaggering crewmen from pirate galleys with curved swords at their sides and horn-backed bows slung over their shoulders, priests with their heads shaven and painted in zigzag stripes. . Here a wealthy courtesan went by in her litter borne on the shoulders of four brawny slaves, crooning and feeding nuts between her teeth to a gaudy-feathered bird; there a scholar paused to buy a cup of watered wine, while his students gathered behind and broke into arm-waving argument, using the scrolls they carried to gesture-or to rap each other over the head. .

  Chalice took in three-quarters of the circumference of the ancient volcanic crater that made up its harbor and gave it its name; the knife ridges above made a city wall unnecessary. The great expanse of the caldera was thick with ships, galleys spider-walking to the naval base on the north shore, fishing smacks, the lines of buoys that marked the outlines of fish farms. Above the buildings reared the slopes of other volcanos; the Peak of the Sun God highest of all, topped with eternal snows and trickling a long plume of smoke into azure heavens. The lower slopes were terraced for orchards of pomegranate, mangosteen, orange, fig; the upper bore dense green forest, the source of valuable hardwoods and ship timber.

  Adrian turned back to his brother. . and stopped a moment, shocked. Esmond looks older, he thought. Thirty, at least. There were deep grooves from the corners of his mouth to his nose, and his blue gaze was blank as he waited.

  What can you say? he thought. The School of the Grove taught that the love of women was a weakness, disturbing the equilibrium that a wise man constantly sought. He didn't think that was what Esmond's grief needed to hear; and he'd obviously loved Nanya with exactly the sort of grand obsessive passion that Bestmun had denounced, the sort that had set a thousand ships to sailing and brought the wrath of the Gods down on the city of Windhaven in the ancient epics. The problem is, he'd say it was worth it, even with the pain, Adrian decided. Thank the gods I'm free of that, at least. It would have been more wholehearted if he'd been able to deny an element of wistful envy. .

  His host saved him the embarassment of speech. "Come," he said, smiling. "The King will hear you, most fortunate of men."

  Adrian's eyes went to the volcano for a moment. The slopes of such mountains bore soil of marvelous richness. . but anything a man grew there might be destroyed by fire and ash at any moment.

  We never said it would be easy, lad, Raj said.

  Adrian took a deep breath and bowed in his turn. "The King does us honor," he began.

  * * *

  "The King does us honor," Adrian said again as they sat awkwardly, unused to the cross-legged position.

  "The King is finished with ceremony," Casull said, leaning back against the pile of cushions. "I can see men beating their heads on the floor of the throne room any time of the day-men with something interesting to say are much rarer, and I prefer not to have important news bellowed out in open durbar. Even the Confederacy can find the occasional able spy."

  The day had turned warm; the King was glad enough of the peacock-feather fans stirring a little air across his face, and the fine mist from the fountain in the courtyard. The palace of the Kings of the Isles was a warren that had grown by accretion over four centuries, every new monarch adding something and few tearing anything down. This chamber was open at both ends, slender pillars with coral capitals giving onto the corridor and a terrace that looked over the outer gardens; the through breeze made it tolerable on these hot rainy-season afternoons. From the raised platform where he sat Casull could see past the Emeralds to the city, and to the black thunderclouds piling up on the eastern horizon.

  Luridly appropriate, he thought.

  "The. . grenade, did you call it? The grenade was very impressive. At sea, such weapons could be decisive-at least for the first few times, when the enemy were unused to them, and had none themselves."

  He spoke Emerald, the cultured version of Solinga's gentlefolk, not the patois of the sea. The younger Emerald's Islander was impressively fluent, but it wouldn't do to let him think he was dealing with a boor, a mere jumped-up pirate chief. Casull's mental eyes narrowed as he appraised this Adrian Gellert; outwardly he was very much a young Scholar of the Grove, but there was something else. . Harder than one might expect, he thought. And more perceptive-he misses nothing.

  The brother was more outwardly formidable. A fighting man, Casull judged, and not just an athlete. The reports from the mainland, and from the spies among the barkeeps, whores and gamblers who'd had contact with the mercenary troop the Gellerts had brought with them, all said he had the baraka, the gift of inspiring men in battle. Wits besides; and he certainly looked like an incarnation of Wodep, the ancient War God of the mainlanders.

  The younger Emerald bowed. "O King, the grenades are the least of what can be done with the new. . new principle involved in these explosive weapons."

  Casull raised his eyebrows. The Emerald word meant underlying cause, and he didn't quite see how it applied.

  "Speak on," he said mildly, quelling a restless stir by his son Tenny. Let the boy learn patience; that's not the least of a ruler's virtues.

  "If my lord the King would deign to look at these-the first is what is called a cannon, for hurling iron balls and giant grenades; to smash ships, or batter down the walls of a fort. ."

  Two hours later Casull leaned back again. "Interesting indeed," he said. His eyes turned to Esmond. "And you, young sir, what have you to say?"

  Esmond smiled, a gesture that did not reach the cold blue eyes. "My brother is the scholar," he said. "What I do is fight. I've managed to kill a fair number of Confeds, over the past six months. I intend to kill a good many more." His fist tightened on his knee; the scars and burns across the back showed white against his tanned skin. "For every slight, for every humiliation they've inflicted on me and my city, I shall take recompense in blood-and they owe me a debt beyond that. When the last trooper dies in the burning ruins of Vanbert and the Confederacy is a memory, then perhaps I'll consider the account settled."

  Casull nodded thoughtfully; he'd seen hatred before, but none more bitter. Pity, he thought. A man that eaten with hate turned inward on himself; his luck might be strong, but it would run too swiftly, carrying out the current of his life. But I can use him.

  He clapped his hands. "Hear the commands of the King!" he said, his tone slightly formal. The wakil leaned forward, pen poised over a sheet of reed-paper.<
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  "It is the command of the King that the noble warrior Esmond Gellert's-son of Solinga, be taken into the forces of the King, to command the Sea Striker regiment; he shall rank as a Commander of Five Hundred-which is about what they'll come to, with the men he brought with him. The usual pay and plunder-shares."

  Esmond bowed again, and this time his smile was more genuine.

  Casull turned his eyes back to the younger man. "You shall have a chance to demonstrate your new weapons," he said. "It is the command of the King that Adrian Gellert be accepted into the Court with the rank of Scholar-Advisor, with the usual pay and perquisites. For the purpose of building his weapons, he may exert the royal prerogative of eminent domain, acquiring land, and requiring artisans and merchants to furnish the materials he needs. . saltpeter, you said? And the metals. He may use a royal estate to be designated hereafter, and royal vessels, within reason. All goods and labor to be paid for at fair market prices, of course."

  A King of the Isles was theoretically absolute; in practice there were always enough claimants that a monarch who angered enough of the powerful merchants and ship owners would find that the despotism was tempered by assassination and leavened by coup d'etat. He certainly wasn't going to risk that for this Emerald's untried notions. The potential payoff was certainly huge, though.

  "Ah. ." Adrian looked uncertain. "My lord King, this work will require considerable funds," he said. "Even for demonstration purposes. How. ."

  Casull smiled at Enri and Pyhar Lowisson. "Your patrons will, of course-out of patriotic duty as well-loan you the funds at a reasonable rate of interest. No more than fifteen percent, annual, compounded."