Streetlights still burned behind them, for the sun was just rising as the ferry crept across the Dreamwater towards the Kingdom of Angthyr’s Grand Duchy of Korwin. Heavy mist pressed down on the river’s cold water, but the eastern sky was a pale gold glory, bright enough to throw shadows . . . and to hurt Bahzell Bahnakson’s weary eyes.
The ferry was crowded, and the boatmen were surly. They’d grumbled resentfully when Brandark pulled them away from their breakfasts, and not even the extra coins he’d slipped them when no one was looking had sweetened their dispositions. They might be making twice the legal ferry fee, but they’d stood aloof and left it to the two hradani and Zarantha’s single remaining armsman to get three nervous horses and three resentful mules aboard their craft.
Overall, Bahzell had been pleasantly surprised by the quality of Zarantha’s animals. Her own saddle mule had a wicked, roving eye, but all three were long-legged, big-boned, powerful animals who looked remarkably well cared for, given their owner’s poverty and the wretched inn at which they’d been stabled. For its part, Tothas’ mount, far from being the nag he’d feared, was an excellent medium warhorse, and its war training-and bond with Tothas-showed. Finding an animal easily worth several hundred kormaks in the hands of a retainer who served such a poverty-stricken mistress was one more puzzle for him to chew at unhappily, and Zarantha’s sweet smile when he saw it told him she’d enjoyed leading him to assume the worst.
Tothas himself was a cause of some concern, however. The man wore the crossed mace and sword of the Church of Tomanāk on an amulet about his neck. He felt solid , somehow, yet whatever illness he’d suffered from must have been both protracted and severe. He was tall for a human, and rangy, built much along the same lines as Rianthus-indeed, but for his chestnut hair and blue eyes, he reminded Bahzell a great deal of Kilthan’s captain-but his haggard face was badly wasted and his chain hauberk hung on his gaunt frame. He moved briskly, and he’d accepted his mistress’ arrival with two hradani in tow with remarkable calm, but his hands trembled ever so slightly, and he’d stopped once or twice as if he were short of breath. Still, his equipment was well cared for, and he had the look of a man who knew how to use both the sword at his side and the short horsebow on his back.
The maid, Rekah, was another matter. She was taller than Zarantha, and much fairer. In fact, she was considerably prettier than her mistress, in a soft-edged sort of way. Zarantha could not be many years out of her teens, and her nose was strong and slightly hooked, her hair dark and her triangular face lively but decidedly lean, while Rekah was a bit older, with golden hair, a sweet, oval face, and a straight little nose. She was also better dressed than Zarantha, but she had a pronounced tendency to flutter, and she’d shrunk back in dismay when Bahzell followed her mistress into their poorly furnished rooms. She’d settled down when Zarantha explained, yet her initial squeak of panic seemed a poor augury. Rekah, Bahzell thought, wouldn’t have produced a dagger if she’d been caught in an alley; she would have been too busy flailing about and screaming for help.
Still, it was early days yet, he told himself-then snorted at his own thought. From what little he did remember about the Empire of the Spear’s geography, they’d have more than sufficient days for him to learn all the strengths and weaknesses of their small party!
The one thing that had truly bothered him was Zarantha’s manner when they reached the docks. She’d been brisk and purposeful getting things organized and chivvying Rekah and Tothas through the city, but once they neared the river she’d fallen back beside her maid and become a totally different person. She’d exchanged her torn skirt and cloak for sturdy trousers, a leather cap, and an equally plain coat of Axeman cut before leaving the inn; once at dockside, she’d pulled the cap down over her ears, turned up her coat collar, and huddled down in it almost as if she were trying to hide. She’d been colorless and passive, almost timid, leaving everything in Bahzell’s hands without so much as a word, and he hadn’t missed how close Tothas stayed to her or the way his hand kept checking his sword hilt.
Of course, this was ni’Tarth’s domain. That was certainly enough to account for Tothas’ attitude, but Zarantha had seemed far less frightened of ni’Tarth earlier. Bahzell couldn’t shake the notion that she was worried by something more than the wrath of a Riverside crime lord, however powerful, and he chewed his lip unhappily at the thought. Little though he cared for the situation he’d landed in, he found himself liking Zarantha, almost against his will, and his stubborn sense that there was more-or possibly less-to her than she’d chosen to admit bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Unfortunately, Brandark had found the perfect way to distract him from his worries. The Bloody Sword was following through on his threat to write his thrice-bedamned Lay of Bahzell Bloody-Hand. Worse, he’d chosen to set it to the tune of a well-known-and dismayingly memorable-drinking song, and he’d insisted on singing the first three verses under his breath while he and Bahzell struggled to get the animals aboard the ferry. Now he sat on the lip of the ferry’s single, squat deckhouse, looking down through the open skylight at Rekah and Zarantha while he plucked out the melody on his balalaika and regaled them with his work to date.
Bahzell folded his arms, standing in the very prow of the ferry-as far from his friend as he could get-and gritted his teeth as the balalaika’s spritely notes rippled through the creak of the sweeps and the sounds of rushing water. The fact that Brandark’s voice was doing a better job than usual of staying with the music did nothing at all to sweeten his mood-and neither did the gurgle of female laughter that greeted the Bloody Sword’s efforts.
Bahzell Bahnakson stared glumly ahead into the Dreamwater’s drifting mist, and the unpleasant suspicion that this was going to be a very long journey filled him.
Chapter Sixteen
It wasn’t necessary to buy maps after all.
A chance remark from Brandark informed Tothas of their need shortly after the ferry set them ashore once more, and the guardsman blinked, then gave his youthful mistress a scolding look and produced his own map. Bahzell matched the Spearman’s look with a glower of his own, but Zarantha-who’d regained her normal spirits as soon as the ferry vanished back into the mists-only grinned, and Brandark’s smothered laughter didn’t help. Bahzell had already reached the unhappy suspicion that his friend’s and Zarantha’s souls were entirely too much akin; now he was certain of it.
But at least he could get some idea of where he was bound, and it was even worse than he’d feared. He sat on the cold ground, opened the map across his thighs, found the scale, and located Alfroma, then tried to hide his dismay as he walked thumb and forefinger across the map. Alfroma was six hundred leagues from Riverside as the bird flew, but they were no birds, and this Sherhan place wasn’t even shown.
“Could you be showing me just where Sherhan is?” he asked, and Tothas leaned over his shoulder to point to a location southeast of Alfroma. It would be on the far side of the city, Bahzell thought, and sat studying the map in glum silence for over ten minutes while frost melted under his backside.
The best of maps could hide unpleasant surprises, but even if this one didn’t, following the roads would add another two hundred leagues, and they’d have to hunt and forage on the way. Either that or stop periodically to earn the money, somehow, for the next stage. Worse, Tothas had already assured him the roads got worse-much worse-once they left Angthyr.