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‘Look!’ She pointed.
Some distance from where Captain Mabin’s graceful ship was running through the Arcian Strait, a single, densely black cloud had appeared in an otherwise unblemished sky. It seemed somehow to be moving against the wind, growing larger and more ominously black by the moment. Then it began to swirl, ponderously at first, but then faster and faster. As it spun, a long, dark finger twitched and jerked down from its centre, reaching down and down until its inky tip touched the roiling surface of the Strait. Tons of water were suddenly drawn up into the swirling maw as the vast funnel moved erratically across the heaving sea.
‘Waterspout!’ the lookout shouted down from the mast. The sailors rushed to the rail to gape in horror at the swirling spout.
Inexorably the vast thing bore down on Mabin’s helpless ship, and then the vessel, which suddenly appeared very tiny, vanished in the seething funnel. Chunks and pieces of her timbers spun out of the great waterspout hundreds of feet in the air to settle with agonizing slowness to the surface again. A single piece of sail fluttered down like a stricken white bird.
Then, as suddenly as they had come, the black cloud and its deadly waterspout were gone.
So was Mabin’s ship.
The surface of the sea was littered with debris, and a vast cloud of white gulls appeared, swooping and diving over the wreckage as if to mark the vessel’s passing.
Chapter 18 (#ulink_f7b08bcf-44f7-5e7d-9ef3-67f66b40c517)
Captain Sorgi combed the wreckage-strewn water where Mabin’s ship had gone down until after dark, but he found no survivors. Then, sadly, he turned his ship southeasterly again, setting his course towards Cippria.
Sephrenia sighed and turned from the rail. ‘Let’s go below, Sparhawk.’
He nodded and followed her down the companionway.
Kurik had lighted a single oil lamp, and it swung from a low overhead beam, filling the small, dark-panelled compartment with swaying shadows. Flute had awakened, and she sat at the bolted-down table in the centre of the cabin, looking suspiciously at the bowl sitting in front of her.
‘It’s just stew, little girl,’ Kurik was saying to her. ‘It won’t hurt you.’
She delicately dipped her fingers into the thick gravy and lifted out a dripping chunk of meat. She sniffed at it, then looked questioningly at the squire.
‘Salt pork,’ he told her.
She shuddered and dropped the chunk back into the gravy. Then she firmly pushed the bowl away.
‘Styrics don’t eat pork, Kurik,’ Sephrenia told him.
‘The ship’s cook said that this is what the sailors eat,’ he said defensively. He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Was the captain able to find any survivors from the other ship?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘That waterspout tore it all to pieces. The same thing probably happened to the crew.’
‘It’s lucky we weren’t on board that one.’
‘Very lucky,’ Sephrenia agreed. ‘Waterspouts are like tornadoes. They don’t appear out of completely clear skies, and they don’t move against the wind or change direction the way that one did. It was being consciously directed.’
‘Magic?’ Kurik said. ‘Is that really possible – to call up weather like that, I mean?’
‘I don’t think I could do it.’
‘Who did then?’
‘I don’t know for certain.’ Her eyes, however, showed a certain suspicion.
‘Let’s get it out into the open, Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You’ve guessed something, haven’t you?’
Her expression grew a bit more certain. ‘In the past few months we’ve had several encounters with a hooded figure in a Styric robe. You saw it several times in Cimmura, and it tried to have us ambushed on our way to Borrata. Styrics seldom cover their faces. Have you ever noticed that?’
‘Yes, but I don’t quite make the connection.’
‘This thing had to cover its face, Sparhawk. It’s not human.’
He stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I can’t be absolutely positive until I see its face, but the evidence is beginning to pile up, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Could Annias actually do something like that?’
‘It’s not Annias. He might know a little rudimentary magic, but he couldn’t begin to raise a thing like that. Only Azash could have done it. He’s the only one who dares to summon such beings. The Younger Gods will not, and even the other Elder Gods have forsworn the practice.’
‘Why would Azash want to kill Captain Mabin and his crew?’
‘The ship was destroyed because the creature thought that we were on board.’
‘That goes a little far, Sephrenia,’ Kurik objected sceptically. ‘If it’s so powerful, why did it sink the wrong boat?’
‘The creatures of the underworld are not very sophisticated, Kurik,’ she replied. ‘Our simple ruse may have deceived it. Power and wisdom don’t always go hand in hand. Many of the greatest magicians of Styricum were as stupid as stumps.’
‘I don’t quite follow this,’ Sparhawk admitted with a puzzled frown. ‘What we’re doing has nothing to do with Zemoch. Why would Azash go out of his way to help Annias?’
‘It may be that there isn’t any connection. Azash always has his own motives. It’s quite possible that what he’s doing has nothing to do with Annias at all.’
‘It doesn’t wash, Sephrenia. If you’re right about this thing, it’s been working for Martel, and Martel works for Annias.’
‘Are you so sure that the creature is working for Martel and not the other way around? Azash can see the shadows of the future. One of us might be a danger to him. The seeming alliance between Martel and the creature may be no more than a matter of convenience.’
He began to gnaw worriedly at a fingernail. ‘That’s all I need,’ he said, ‘something else to worry about.’ Then a thought struck him. ‘Wait a minute. Do you remember what the ghost of Lakus said – that darkness was at the gate and that Ehlana was our only hope of light? Could Azash be that darkness?’
She nodded. ‘It’s possible.’
‘If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be Ehlana he’s trying to destroy? She’s totally protected by that crystal that encases her, but if something happens to us before we can find a way to heal her, she’ll die, too. Maybe that’s why Azash has joined forces with the primate.’
‘Aren’t you both stretching things a bit?’ Kurik asked. ‘You’re basing a great deal of speculation on a single incident.’
‘It doesn’t hurt to be ready for eventualities, Kurik,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I hate surprises.’
The squire grunted and rose to his feet. ‘You two must be hungry,’ he said. ‘I’ll go down to the galley and get you some supper. We can talk some more while you’re eating.’
‘No pork,’ Sephrenia told him firmly.
‘Bread and cheese, then?’ he suggested. ‘And maybe some fruit?’
‘That would be fine, Kurik. You’d probably better bring enough for Flute as well. I know she’s not going to eat that stew.’
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll eat it for her. I don’t have the same kind of prejudices that you Styrics do.’
It was overcast when they reached the port city of Cippria three days later. The cloud cover was high and thin, and there was no trace of moisture in it. The city was low, with squat white buildings thickly walled to ward off the heat of the southern sun. The wharves jutting out into the harbour were constructed of stone, since Rendor was a kingdom largely devoid of trees.
Sparhawk and the others came up on deck, wearing hooded black robes, just as the sailors were mooring Captain Sorgi’s ship to one of the wharves. They went up the three steps to the quarterdeck to join the curly-haired seaman.
‘Get some fenders between our side and that wharf!’ Sorgi roared at the seamen who were snubbing off the mooring lines. He shook his head in disgust. ‘I have to tell them that every single time we dock,’ he muttered. ‘All they can think about when we make port is the nearest alehouse.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Well, Master Cluff,’ he said. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘I’m afraid not, Captain,’ Sparhawk replied, setting down the bundle containing his spare clothing. ‘I’d like to oblige you, but the lady I mentioned seems to have all her hopes pinned on me. It’s for your own good, actually. If you show up at her house with an introduction from me, her cousins might decide to wring my location out of you. Being wrung is not my idea of a good time. Besides, I don’t want to take any chances.’
Sorgi grunted. Then he looked at them all curiously. ‘Where did you come by the Rendorish clothing?’
‘I did some bargaining in your forecastle yesterday.’ Sparhawk shrugged, plucking at the front of the hooded black robe he wore. ‘Some of your sailors like to be unobtrusive when they make port here in Rendor.’
‘How well I know,’ Sorgi said wryly. ‘I spent three days looking for the ship’s cook the last time I was in Jiroch.’ He looked at Sephrenia, who was also robed in black and wore a heavy veil across her face. ‘Where did you find anything to fit her?’ he asked. ‘None of my sailors are that small.’
‘She’s very adept with her needle.’ Sparhawk did not think it necessary to explain exactly how Sephrenia had changed the colour of her white robe.
Sorgi scratched at his curly hair. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand why most Rendors wear black,’ he said. ‘Don’t they know that it’s twice as hot?’
‘Maybe they haven’t realized that yet,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Rendors are none too bright in the first place, and they’ve only been here for five thousand years.’
Sorgi laughed. ‘Maybe that’s it,’ he said. ‘Good fortune here in Cippria, Master Cluff,’ he said. ‘If I happen to run across any cousins, I’ll tell them that I’ve never heard of you.’
‘Thank you, Captain,’ Sparhawk said, clasping Sorgi’s hand. ‘You have no idea how much I appreciate that.’
They led their horses down the slanting gangway to the wharf. At Kurik’s suggestion, they covered their saddles with blankets to conceal the fact that they were not of Rendorish construction. Then they all tied their bundles to their saddles, mounted, and moved away from the harbour at an unobtrusive walk. The streets were teeming with Rendors. The city dwellers sometimes wore lighter-coloured clothing, but the desert people were all dressed in unrelieved black and had their hoods up. There were few women in the street, and they were all veiled. Sephrenia rode subserviently behind Sparhawk and Kurik with her hood pulled far forward and her veil drawn tightly across her nose and mouth.
‘You know the customs here, I see,’ Sparhawk said back over his shoulder.
‘I was here many years ago,’ she replied, drawing her robe around Flute’s knees.
‘How many years?’
‘Would you like to have me tell you that Cippria was only a fishing village then?’ she asked archly. ‘Twenty or so mud huts?’
He looked back at her sharply. ‘Sephrenia, Cippria’s been a major seaport for fifteen hundred years.’
‘My,’ she said, ‘has it really been that long? It seems like only yesterday. Where does the time go?’
‘That’s impossible!’
She laughed gaily. ‘How gullible you can be sometimes, Sparhawk,’ she said. ‘You know I’m not going to answer that kind of question, so why keep trying?’
He suddenly felt more than a little sheepish. ‘I suppose I asked for that, didn’t I?’ he admitted.
‘Yes, you did.’
Kurik was grinning broadly.
‘Go ahead and say it,’ Sparhawk told him sourly.
‘Say what, my Lord?’ Kurik’s eyes were wide and innocent.
They rode up from the harbour, mingling with robed Rendors in the narrow, twisting streets. Although the overcast veiled the sun, Sparhawk could still feel the heat radiating out from the white-plastered walls of the houses and shops. He could also catch the familiar scents of Rendor. The air was close and dusty, and there was the pervading odour of mutton simmering in olive oil and pungent spices. There was the cloying fragrance of heavy perfumes, and overlaying it all was the persistent reek of the stockyards.
Near the centre of town, they passed the mouth of a narrow alley. A chill touched Sparhawk, and suddenly, as clearly as if they were actually ringing out their call, he seemed once again to hear the sound of the bells.
‘Something wrong?’ Kurik asked as he saw his lord shudder.
‘That’s the alley where I saw Martel last time.’
Kurik peered up the alley. ‘Tight quarters in there,’ he noted.
‘That’s all that kept me alive,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘They couldn’t come at me all at once.’
‘Where are we going, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia asked from the rear.
‘To the monastery where I stayed after I was wounded,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think we want to be seen in the streets. The abbot and most of the monks out there are Arcian, and they know how to keep secrets.’
‘Will I be welcome there?’ she asked dubiously. ‘Arcian monks are conservative, and they have certain prejudices where Styrics are concerned.’
‘This particular abbot is a bit more cosmopolitan,’ Sparhawk assured her, ‘and I have a few suspicions about his monastery anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t think these monks are entirely what they seem, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find a secret armoury inside the monastery complete with burnished armour, blue surcoats and a variety of weapons.’
‘Cyrinics?’ she asked, a bit surprised.
‘The Pandions aren’t the only ones who want to keep an eye on Rendor,’ he replied.
‘What’s that smell?’ Kurik asked as they approached the western outskirts of town.
‘The stockyards,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘A great deal of beef is shipped out of Cippria.’
‘Do we have to go through any kind of a gate to get out?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘The city walls were pulled down during the suppression of the Eshandist Heresy. The local people didn’t bother to rebuild them.’
They emerged from the narrow street they were following into acre upon acre of stock pens filled with bawling, scrubby-looking cows. It was late afternoon by now, and the overcast had begun to take on a silvery sheen.
‘How much farther to the monastery?’ Kurik asked.
‘A mile or so.’
‘It’s quite a distance from that alley back there, isn’t it?’
‘I noticed that myself about ten years ago.’
