She was adept at outrunning the massive ships of the Dragon Highlords, too, although she made it a point to leave them strictly alone. Too often now, though, the Highlords’ ships were seen “escorting” the merchant vessels. Maquesta had lost money on her last two voyages, one reason why she had deigned to carry passengers—something she would never do under normal circumstances.
Removing his helm, the half-elf sat down at the table—or rather fell down, since he was unaccustomed to the motion of the rocking ship. Maquesta remained standing, balancing easily.
“Well, what is it you want?” she demanded, yawning. “I told you we can’t sail. The seas are—”
“We have to,” Tanis said abruptly.
“Look,” Maquesta said patiently (reminding herself he was a paying customer), “if you’re in some kind of trouble, it’s not my concern! I’m not risking my ship or my crew—”
“Not me,” Tanis interrupted, looking at Maquesta intently, “you.”
“Me?” Maquesta said, drawing back, amazed.
Tanis folded his hands on the table and gazed down at them. The pitching and tossing of the vessel at anchor, combined with his exhaustion from the past few days, made him nauseous. Seeing the faint green tinge of his skin beneath his beard and the dark shadows under his hollow eyes, Maquesta thought she’d seen corpses that looked better than this half-elf.
“What do you mean?” she asked tightly.
“I-I was captured by a Dragon Highlord . . . three days ago,” Tanis began, speaking in a low voice, staring at his hands. “No, I guess ‘captured’ is the wrong word. H-He saw me dressed like this and assumed I was one of his men. I had to accompany h-him back to his camp. I’ve been there—in camp—the last few days, and I-I found out something. I know why the Highlord and the draconians are searching Flotsam. I know what—who—they’re looking for.”
“Yes?” Maquesta prompted, feeling his fear creep over her like a contagious disease. “Not the Perechon—”
“Your helmsman.” Tanis finally looked up at her. “Berem.”
“Berem!” Maquesta repeated, stunned. “What for? The man’s a mute! A half-wit! A good helmsman, maybe, but nothing more. What could he have done that the Dragon Highlords are looking for him?”
“I don’t know,” Tanis said wearily, fighting his nausea. “I wasn’t able to find out. I’m not sure they know! But they’re under orders to find him at all costs and bring him alive to"—he closed his eyes to shut out the swaying lamps—“the Dark Queen...”
The breaking light of dawn threw slanted red beams across the sea’s rough surface. For an instant it shone on Maq’s glistening black skin, a flash like fire came from her golden earrings that dangled nearly to her shoulders. Nervously she ran her fingers through her closely cropped black hair.
Maquesta felt her throat close. “We’ll get rid of him!” she muttered tightly, pushing herself up from the table. “We’ll put him ashore. I can find another helmsman—”
“Listen!” Catching hold of Maquesta’s arm, Tanis gripped her lightly, forcing her to stop. “They may already know he’s here! Even if they don’t and they catch him, it won’t make any difference. Once they find out he was here, on this vessel—and they will find out, believe me; there are ways of making even a mute talk—they’ll arrest you and everyone on this ship. Arrest you or get rid of you.”
He dropped his hand from her arm, realizing he hadn’t the strength to hold her. “It’s what they’ve done in the past. I know. The Highlord told me. Whole villages destroyed. People tortured, murdered. Anyone this man comes in contact with is doomed. They fear whatever deadly secret he carries will be passed on, and they can’t allow that.”
Maquesta sat down. “Berem?” she whispered softly, unbelievingly.
“They couldn’t do anything because of the storm,” Tanis said wearily, “and the Highlord was called away to Solamnia, some battle there. But sh—the Highlord will be back today. And then—” He couldn’t go on. His head sank into his hands as a shudder racked his body.
Maquesta eyed him warily. Could this be true? Or was he making all this up to force her to take him away from some danger? Watching him slump miserably over the table. Maquesta swore softly. The ship’s captain was a shrewd judge of men. She needed to be, in order to control her rough-and-ready crew. And she knew the half-elf wasn’t lying. At least, not much. She suspected there were things he wasn’t telling, but this story about Berem—as strange as it seemed—had the ring of truth.
It all made sense, she thought uneasily, cursing herself. She prided herself on her judgment, her good sense. Yet she had turned a blind eye to Berem’s strangeness. Why? Her lip curled in derision. She liked him—admit it. He was like a child, cheerful, guileless. And so she had overlooked his unwillingness to go ashore, his fear of strangers, his eagerness to work for a pirate when he refused to share in the loot they captured. Maquesta sat a moment, getting the feel of her ship. Glancing outside, she watched the golden sun glint off the white caps, then the sun vanished, swallowed by the lowering gray clouds. It would be dangerous, taking the ship out, but if the wind was right—
“I’d rather be out on the open sea,” she murmured, more to herself than to Tanis, “than trapped like a rat on shore.”
Making up her mind, Maq rose quickly and started for the door. Then she heard Tanis groan. Turning around, she regarded him pityingly.
“Come on, Half-Elf,” Maquesta said, not unkindly. She put her arms around him and helped him stand. “You’ll feel better above deck in the fresh air. Besides, you’ll need to tell your friends that this isn’t going to be what you might call a ‘relaxing ocean voyage.’ Do you know the risk you’re taking?”
Tanis nodded. Leaning heavily on Maquesta, he walked across the heaving deck.
“You’re not telling me everything, that’s for certain,” Maquesta said under her breath as she kicked open the cabin door and helped Tanis struggle up the stairs to the main deck. “I’ll wager Berem’s not the only one the Highlord’s looking for. But I have a feeling this isn’t the first bad weather you and your crew have ridden out. I just hope your luck holds!”
The Perechon wallowed in the high seas. Riding under short sail, the ship seemed to make little headway, fighting for every inch it gained. Fortunately, the wind backed. Blowing steadily from the southwest, it was taking them straight into the Blood Sea of Istar. Since they were heading for Kalaman, northwest of Flotsam, around the cape of Nordmaar, this was a little out of their way. But Maquesta didn’t mind. She wanted to avoid land as much as possible.
There was even the possibility, she told Tanis, that they could sail northeast and arrive in Mithras, homeland of the minotaurs. Although a few minotaurs fought in the armies of the Highlords, the minotaurs in general had not yet sworn allegiance to the Dark Queen. According to Koraf, the minotaurs wanted control of eastern Ansalon in return for their services. And control of the east had just been handed over to a new Dragon Highlord, a hobgoblin called Toede. The minotaurs had no love for humans or elves, but—at this point in time— neither had they any use for the Highlords. Maq and her crew had sheltered in Mithras before. They would be safe there again, at least for a little while.
Tanis was not happy at this delay, but his fate was no longer in his hands. Thinking of this, the half-elf glanced over at the man who stood alone at the center of a whirlwind of blood and flame. Berem was at the helm, guiding the wheel with firm, sure hands, his vacant face unconcerned, unworried.