Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

The Druid lowered his arms, the mist dissipated, the winds died, and the whirlwind vanished, as well. Not a flit remained in the sky. Everything was the way it had been before the attack, the air hazy and gray but calm. The Skatelow sailed on, wounded but able to continue. In the distance, a sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds.

Ahren Elessedil walked back over to the pilot box and beckoned to Pen. «Let's help clear the decks and put away the rail slings," he said. He glanced at Gar Hatch. «Odd weather we're having, isn't it? No one would ever believe such strange things could happen. A man would be crazy even to suggest it.»

Pen smiled inwardly. The Druid knew something about giving warnings, as well. Which was a good thing, he supposed, since now everyone aboard knew what he was.

Late in the morning of the following day, they arrived at Anatcherae, the inland port on the Lazareen that serviced all traffic passing north along the corridor formed by the Charnal Mountains to the east and the Knife Edge Mountains to the west. They reached their destination more quickly than anticipated because tailwinds filled and sunshine fed the sails and because Gar Hatch had been able to complete repairs to the damaged radian draw before nightfall of the previous day. It was a smooth flight the entire way after their escape from the flits, with no further trouble arising to impede their passage.

Anatcherae was an old city built by a mix of Trolls and Bordermen following the Second War of the Races, when Southlanders were mostly keeping to themselves below Callahorn but trade was flourishing everywhere else. A sprawling, ramshackle outpost in its early days, it grew quickly, the principal port servicing trappers and traders coming out of the Anar, Callahorn, and everywhere the Troll nations made their homes. It had become a major city, though still with the look and feel of a frontier town, its buildings spread out along the southwest shore of the lake, timber and shingle structures that were torn down and replaced as the need arose and without much thought to permanency. Even though the greater part of the populace lived in the city, most did not intend to make Anatcherae their final stop along life's road and so did not build for the long term.

The Skatelow set down at the waterfront docks, where warehouses and barns loomed like low, squat beasts bent down for a drink at the Lazareen's dark waters, their mouths open to receive what the lake would deliver. Airships crowded the waterfront, most of them large freighters and warships. Traffic leaving the docks passed down roads flanked by ale houses, pleasure dens, and inns of various descriptions. Shops and homes lay farther inland, away from the bustle and din of the docks, back from the raw edge of seaport life.

Standing on deck while the harbormaster towed the Skatelow to her assigned slip, Pen took a moment to glance over his shoulder in the other direction, back across the lake. The Lazareen was legendary. A broad, slate–gray body of water that seldom changed color in any weather, it was believed to run several thousand feet deep. Rumor had it that in some places it reached all the way to the netherworld and thereby provided the souls of the dead a doorway to the domain of the living. Mountains framed its rugged banks to the east and south, walls of stone that kept those souls contained. Dozens of rivers had their origins in snowmelt glaciers thousands of feet higher up, the confluence of their waters tumbling through canyons and defiles to feed the lake. Cold winds blew down out of snowy heights to mix with the warmer air of the flats and create a swirling mist that clung to the shorelines like gray moss and sent tendrils stretching across the lake's waters like searching fingers. Pen did not like the Lazareen, he decided. It had the look and feel of the Mist Marsh, a place the boy was all too familiar with and wished never to visit again.

The Skatelow eased up against the dock, and the Rovers set about securing her. When Gar Hatch came over to speak with Ahren, Pen listened in.

«I'll be needing several days to make repairs before we continue on," the Rover Captain advised in a gruff voice, hitching up his pants to emphasize that work lay ahead. «Maybe more. Once that's done, we'll continue on to where you need to go, and then I'll be dropping you off and saying goodbye.»

«I don't think we discussed being dropped, Captain," the Druid said, frowning. «I think the agreement was that you would wait until we came out again from our search.»

«That was then, this is now. The agreement is changed.» Gar Hatch spit over the side. «Others need a little business done, as well, and rely on me to conduct it for them. I require my ship to do so. I can't make a living while she sits idle. You don't pay enough for that. Give me a time and a place, and I'll come back for you. My Captain's word on it.»

«There isn't any way of knowing when we'll be finished. We can increase your purse, if it's a matter of money.»

The Rover shook his head. «Sorry, mate. This isn't about money.»

Ahren Elessedil smiled. «You are a Rover, Gar Hatch. It's always about money.»

The big man laughed and glanced over at Pen. «You listening close, young Penderrin? Here's a man who knows the way of the world. He's right, too. Everything is about money, one way or the other.» He looked back at the Druid. «Still, I can't let myself be tied down for so long. You might not even come back from wherever it is you're going. I've seen already the sort of business you do, and it isn't reassuring to puzzle on. So I'm dropping you and that's the end of it.»

The Druid nodded. «I could find other passage and cancel our agreement here and now, Captain Hatch. I would be justified.»

«You could try," the big man amended. «But you won't find anyone else to take you where you want to go that knows the ways of that country like I do. You won't find anyone who can sail the mists and the night like I can. Maybe most important of all, you won't find anyone who can keep his mouth shut about who you are and what you're doing. You might want to bear that in mind.»

«But can I trust you? I find I have serious doubts.»

Gar Hatch smiled and inclined his head. «Put aside your doubts, sir. My word is good.»

The irony of that statement probably did not escape the Druid, but he let it pass. «Three days, Captain. That's as long as I'll give you to do your business here. We leave on the fourth. We'll find lodgings ashore and check back with you. I won't press for you to wait on us, if you've decided against it. But there will be no further changes to our agreement, and I expect a close watch on the tongues of your people. Don't disappoint me.»

He went down the hatchway to his cabin to bring up Tagwen. Khyber was already on the dock, looking around eagerly.

Pen sensed Gar Hatch staring at him and met his stare, refusing to look away when it lingered too long. The big man laughed. «You've been a revelation for me, Penderrin. A treasure and a find.»

«Can I say goodbye to Cinnaminson?» Pen asked.

He hadn't seen her since the attack of the flits. Gar Hatch had kept her shut away in his cabin, not even allowing her to come on deck at night, advising his passengers that she was ill. Pen had thought several times to sneak down and see for himself, but each time he thought to try, Gar Hatch was somewhere close, watching.

It was his last chance until they reboarded in three days' time, and anything could happen between now and then. Hatch could promise what he wished, but that didn't mean it was likely to happen.

The Rover Captain smiled. «Better you don't, lad. What she's got might be catching. Wouldn't do to have you come down with a fever while you're resting in port. Your uncle is mad enough at me already. You'll see her when you come back aboard.»

I'll never see her again, Pen thought. But he could do nothing about it short of forcing a confrontation, and he was aware how much trouble that would cause.

He turned away without a word, shouldered his pack, and started down the ladder. He was halfway to the pier when he heard his name called.

«Pen, wait!»

Cinnaminson appeared at the railing, blind eyes staring downward without finding him. He started back up the ladder and stopped when he was close enough to see Gar Hatch glaring at him in the background.

«I'm feeling better now, Pen," she said, giving him a small wave and a smaller smile. «I just wanted to say goodbye.» Then she whispered so softly that only he could hear, «Come back tonight.»

She turned away quickly and went to her father, who took her by the arm and steered her below again, not bothering with even a glance at Pen. The boy stood watching until they were out of sight, then went down the ladder with his heart in his throat.

* * *

With Ahren Elessedil leading, the four companions walked down through the center of the city, mingling with the crowds as they searched for a likely place to secure lodging for the days ahead. Pen could barely make himself concentrate on the task at hand, his mind still on Cinnaminson and her whispered words. Come back tonight. He was intoxicated by them, made light–headed at the prospect of what they meant, chilled by the prospect of the danger at which they hinted. He wasn't afraid, though. He was fearless when it came to her. He understood that by even considering a secret return, he was risking not only his own safety but also the success of his undertaking. Yet he couldn't help himself. He had to go to her.

It took them the better part of an hour to find what Ahren was looking for, a small, prosperous inn just off one of the main roadways, one that was better kept than those closer to the docks, one frequented by other travelers than sailors. It was called Fisherman's Lie. It sat on a corner that opened onto a small plaza and was wrapped by a veranda that fronted both streets. Broad double doors opened into the common room, where travelers sat to visit and drink glasses of ale. Tables and benches and a long serving bar took up most of the available space. Flowers grew in boxes under the windowsills, and baskets hung all from the veranda and eaves, splashes of color to brighten the clapboard facade.

Ahren left the other three on the porch while he went inside to take rooms. The less they were all seen together, the less likely it was that anyone would make the connection to the four the Druids were hunting. Since Khyber had cut Pen's hair short and bound his head in a scarf, none of them was particularly noticeable. But there was no point in taking chances. Those tempted by the money the Druids offered would be looking hard.

The Elf emerged in moments with the rooms secured. They went into the dining room after that and sat at a table in the back while waiting for their food. Sipping at glasses of cold ale, they talked about their situation.

«Hatch knows who I am," Ahren said quietly, eyes scanning the mostly empty room as he spoke. «Or at least he knows what I am. He might not know my name yet, but there is a good chance he will find out. Or if not him, then one of the crewmen. All of them will be asking around, talking with other Rovers.»

«Maybe not," Pen offered hopefully. «You might have scared him out of it.»

Ahren smiled. «Not likely. Not that man. If he finds out who we are, he will look for a way to turn it to his advantage. It's his nature. So we have to be very careful until we set sail again. That's why I didn't tell him where he could find us. He mustn't know. If he betrays us, our enemies will still have to search us out. That won't be easy in a city of this size.»

«We should just leave him right here and now and be done with it!» Tagwen snapped. He scowled into his glass. «Take him up on his offer. That way we can stop worrying about him.»