"Who is Valjon?" Hawkmoon asked between munches. "He seems a strange individual."
"Unlike any pirate I ever imagined," D'Averc put in.
"He is a pirate by tradition," Bewchard told them.
"His ancestors have always been pirates, preying on the river traffic for centuries. For a long time the merchants paid huge taxes to the Lords of Starvel, but some years ago they began to resist and Valjon retaliated. Then a group of us decided to build fighting ships, like the pirates', and attack them on the water. I command such a ship. A merchant by trade, I have turned to more military pursuits until Narleen is free of Valjon and his like."
"And how are you faring?" asked Hawkmoon.
"It is hard to say. Valjon and the other Lords are still impregnable in their walled city-Starvel is a city within a city, within Narleen-and so far we have only been able to curb their piracy a little. As yet there has been no major test of strength for either side."
"You say Valjon is a pirate by tradition…" D'Averc began.
"Aye, his ancestors came to Narleen many hundreds of years ago. They were powerful and we were relatively weak. Legend says that Valjon's ancestor, Batach Gerandiun, had sorcery to aid him. They built the wall around Starvel, the quarter of the city they took for themselves, and have been there ever since."
"And how does Valjon answer you when you attack his ships as we saw today?" Hawkmoon took a long draft of wine.
"He retaliates with every possible means, but we are beginning to make them warier of venturing onto the river these days. There is still much to do. I would slay Valjon if I could. That would break the power of the whole pirate community, I am sure, but he always escapes. He has an instinct for danger-is always able to avoid it even before it threatens."
"I wish you luck in finding him," Hawkmoon said.
"Captain Bewchard, know you anything of a blade called 'The Sword of the Dawn'-we were told that we should find it in Narleen?"
Bewchard looked surprised. "Aye, I've heard of it.
It is connected with the legend I told you of-concerning Valjon's ancestor Batach Gerandiun. Batach's sorcerous power was said to be contained in the blade.
Batach has become a god since-the pirates have deified him and worship him at their temple which is named after him-the Temple of Batach Gerandiun.
They are a superstitious breed, those pirates. Their minds and manners are often unfathomable to the practical merchant kind, like myself."
"And where is the blade?" D'Averc asked.
"Why, it is the sword the pirates worship in the Temple. It represents their power to them, as well as Batach's. Do you seek to make the blade your own, then, gentlemen?"
"I do not…" began Hawkmoon, but D'Averc interrupted smoothly.
"We do, captain. We have a relative-a very wise scholar from the north-who heard of the blade and wished to inspect it. He sent us here to see if it could be bought…"
Bewchard laughed heartily. "It could be bought, my friends,-with the blood of half a million fighting men. The pirates would fight to the last man to defend The Sword of the Dawn. They value it above all other things."
Hawkmoon felt his spirits sink. Had the dying Mygan sent them on an impossible quest?
"Ah, well." D'Averc shrugged philosophically.
"Then we must hope that you eventually defeat Valjon and the others and put their property up for auction."
Bewchard smiled. "That day will not come in my lifetime. It will take many years before Valjon is finally defeated." He rose from his table. "Excuse me for a few moments, I must see how things are on deck."
He left the cabin with a brief, courteous bow.
When he had gone Hawkmoon frowned. "What now, D'Averc? We are stranded in this strange land, unable to get that which we sought." He took Mygan's rings from his pouch and jingled them on the palm of his hand. There were eleven there now, for he and D'Averc had taken their own off. "We are lucky to have these still. Perhaps we should use them-leap at random into the dimensions in the hope of finding a way back to our Kamarg?"
D'Averc snorted. "We might find ourselves suddenly at King Huon's court, or in peril of our lives from some monster. I say we go to Narleen and spend some time there-see just how difficult it will be to obtain the pirate sword." He took something from his own pouch.
"Until you spoke I had forgotten that I possessed this little thing." He held it up. It was the charge from one of the guns used in the city of Halapandur.
"And what significance has that, D'Averc?" Hawkmoon asked.
"As I told you, Hawkmoon-it could prove useful to us."
"Without a gun?"
"Without a gun," nodded D'Averc.
As the Frenchman replaced the charge in his pouch Pahl Bewchard came back through the door. He was smiling.
"Less than an hour, my friends-and we shall be berthing in Narleen," he told them. "I think you will like our city." Then he added with a grin: "At least, that part which is not inhabited by the Pirate Lords."
Hawkmoon and D'Averc stood on the deck of Bewchard's ship and watched as it was skillfully brought into harbor. The sun was hot in a clear, blue sky, making the city shine. The buildings were for the most part quite low, rarely more than four stories, but they were richly decorated with rococo designs that seemed very old. All the colours were muted, weathered, but nonetheless still clear. Much wood was used in the construction of the houses-pillars, balconies and frontages were all of carved wood-but some had painted metal railings and even doors.
The quayside was crowded with crates and bales which were being loaded or unloaded onto the myriad ships crowding the harbor. Men worked with derricks to swing them into hatches or onto the quays, hauled them along gangplanks, sweating in the heat of the day, stripped to the waist.
Everywhere was noise and bustle which Bewchard seemed to relish as he escorted Hawkmoon and D'Averc down the gangplank of his schooner and through the crowd which had begun to gather.
Bewchard was greeted on all sides.
"How did you fare, captain?"
"Did you find Valjon?"
"Have you lost many men?"
At last Bewchard paused, laughing good-humouredly.
"Well, fellow citizens of Narleen," he shouted. "I must tell you, I see, or you shall not let us pass. Aye, we sank Valjon's ship…"
There was a gasp from the crowd and then silence.
Bewchard sprang up onto a packing case and raised his arms.
"We sank Valjon's ship, the River Wind-but it would have likely escaped us altogether had it not been for my two companions here."
D'Averc glanced at Hawkmoon in embarrassment.
The citizens stared at the two in surprise, as if unable to believe that two such ragged starvelings could be anything but lowly slaves.
"These two are your heroes, not I," Bewchard continued. "Single-handed they resisted the whole pirate crew, killed Ganak, Valjon's lieutenant, and made the ship easy prey to our attack. Then they scuttled the River Wind!"
There was a great cheer now from the crowd.
"Know their names, citizens of Narleen. Remember them as friends of this city and deny them nothing.
They are Dorian Hawkmoon of the Black Jewel and Huillam D'Averc. You have not seen braver souls nor finer swordsmen!"
Hawkmoon was genuinely embarrassed by all this and frowned up at Bewchard, trying to signal that he should stop.
"And what of Valjon?" called a member of the crowd. "Is he dead?"
"He escaped us," Bewchard replied regretfully. "He ran like a rat. But we shall have his head one day."
"Or he yours, Bewchard!" The speaker was a richly dressed man who had pushed forward. "All you have done is anger him! For years I paid my river taxes to Valjon's men and they let me ply the river in peace.
Now you and your like say 'Pay no taxes' and I do not -but I know no peace these days, cannot sleep without fear of what Valjon will do. Valjon is bound to retaliate. And it might not be only you on whom he takes his vengeance! What of the rest of us-those who want peace of mind and not glory? You endanger us all!"