Lords of the Sky

I opted for bold measures. “What do you know of Ur-Dharbek?” I demanded. “Your people live free there, I’m told.”

That did produce a reaction, albeit fleetingly, for he hid it swift. I saw his eyes widen, then narrow again, and his teeth clenched tighter on his pipe, the tobacco glowing fierce a moment as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Nothing, master,” he said.

There was a finality in his tone that denied all opportunity for further questions on that particular subject, and for all my curiosity I could not but recognize it was closed-which of course fueled my interest the more.

“Nothing at all?” I asked, unwilling yet to give up.

“No, master,” he said. And added, “Nothing at all.”

I sighed and tried another tack: “Why do you call me master? I’m not your master.”

“You’re a Trueman,” he said.

“And all Truemen are called master?” I asked.

“Yes, master,” he said.

“Are there many of your people in Durbrecht?” I asked. He said, “Yes, master.”

I saw that I should not get far with Bors; certainly not find answers to my many questions. I wondered if that was a trait of his taurine kind, or of the Changed in general; or if he hid things. Surely he knew more of Ur- Dharbek than he admitted, and no less surely refused to speak of it. I gave up: it seemed a fruitless exercise to question him further. I said, “I think I’ll sleep now,” and he said, “Yes, master,” so I gathered up my bag and carried it to the foredeck, where I rolled myself in my cloak, the bag for a pillow, and fell asleep to the slap of water against the bow. I dreamed of sailing forever on a galley manned by silent Changed, whose only answer, whenever I spoke, was “Yes, master.”

We sighted Ynisvar before noon. It was a place larger than Cambar, which made it the largest place I had ever seen, spread in a semicircle around a gentle bay. Shallow headlands like the lowered horns of a bull ran down to a wide sand beach on which fishing boats were grounded; beyond, houses climbed the slopes, clustering about the keep that dominated the heights. Kerym brought the Seahorse in through the shallows to a jetty, and we moored.

I thought I should go ashore, but Kerym told me he would halt only long enough to take his new passenger on board, and so I waited on the foredeck as the midday meal was prepared and passed out. Kerym, it appeared, ate on shore, for it was some time before he reappeared, accompanied by a small crowd that gathered on the jetty as a young man of about my own age said his farewells. He was a little smaller than me, and reddish-haired, with a dramatically freckled face that looked torn between excitement and trepidation. His clothes, I noticed, were similar to my own, though he wore no dagger. When he came on board, I saw instantly that he was no sailor.

Kerym introduced us. The newcomer’s name was Pyrdon. I took him forrard as we cast off, watching his ruddy face turn pale as the galley backed and swung about.

“I’ve not much experience of boats,” he announced.

I nodded sagely, feeling immediately superior, and told him, “You’ll find your sea legs soon enough.”

The Fend was calm, only a gentle swell running, but as we rowed from the bay Pyrdon’s face grew so ashen, it seemed every freckle glowed red as a pox sore. He clutched the gunwale, his knuckles white, and I felt amused until he groaned, “Oh, in the God’s name, why could I not go horseback?”

I remembered my own equestrian experience then and felt abashed. I asked if he could ride, and he nodded and mumbled an affirmative as if such accomplishment were as natural as my own familiarity with the sea. Then he gasped and emptied his belly overboard. I felt immediately sorry for him and brought him a cup of water. “Perhaps Kerym has some remedy,” I said, and, left the unfortunate Pyrdon draped over the forecastle as I made my way to the stern. In any event, Kerym had no such nostrum and expressed only a supercilious amusement at Pyrdon’s plight, advising me to warn him that he had best avoid fouling the Seahorse’s deck. His attitude did nothing to improve my opinion of him, and I returned to the bow wearing an irritated scowl.

“Perhaps we’ll have time to find a herbalist in Madbry,” I suggested, to which Pyrdon answered mournfully, “Madbry’s a day or more distant.”

I was impressed that he owned such knowledge and set to questioning him about his origins, which served to distract his mind somewhat from the-to me-smooth motion of the galley.

His recitation was punctuated with groans and frequent pauses as he hung his head over the side, but I gathered that he was a season older than me, the second son of a tanner, from a town some leagues inland called Sterbek. He took his familiarity with horses as casually as I took mine with boats, and assured me that had he known what a sea voyage was like, he would have endeavored to persuade his father to gift him a horse and made his own way to Durbrecht. That his family could afford so generous a gift suggested he enjoyed a wealth unknown to my parents, and I forbore to elaborate on my humbler background. Pyrdon scarcely noticed, being far more concerned with his misery, but despite his discomfort I thought him a cheerful enough fellow, whose company I should likely enjoy when his seasickness was passed.

Sadly, it did not. Indeed, for the remainder of the voyage to Madbry he continued unwell, swearing that once we reached our destination he would never again set foot on a boat of any kind. I did what I could to ease his suffering, but that was not much, and by the time we sighted Madbry he was gaunt for lack of sustenance and bringing up a clear bile from his empty stomach.

Madbry hove in sight early on the morning of our third day at sea. It was large as Ynisvar, but lay on the jut of a headland, the buildings climbing the steep flanks of the promontory to the aeldor’s tower. The keep was outlined stark by the new-risen sun, like a finger pointing accusingly at the sky. The wind was brisk, slapping waves against the mole we rounded to find the calmer waters of the harbor, and as we approached I went to Kerym.

“Shall there be chance to find a herbalist?” I asked. “Pyrdon’s in some need of a cure.”

“I’ll not delay.” Kerym’s eyes remained fixed on the harbor wall, gauging our speed against the run of the tide. I did not like him, but I had to admit he was a skilled captain. “And Cleton comes now.”

I had not realized he knew the names of his passengers in advance. I looked toward the town and saw a veritable procession descending from the keep. I gasped and said, “He lives in the keep?”

“Thought you all Rememberers were fishermen or tanners?” he returned, and chuckled. “Cleton’s third son to the aeldor Brython.”

It had not occurred to me an aeldor’s son might become Mnemonikos, and I wondered briefly how one so elevated would find my company. But that was not my immediate concern. I said, “Still, save Pyrdon’s found a remedy, he’ll likely vomit his way to Durbrecht.”

Kerym shrugged as if this was a matter of no concern; I refused to leave it. I said, “Surely we might wait so long as it takes to find a herbman.”

Kerym shouted an order that reversed the sweeps, slowing us as he brought the tiller over, the Seahorse drifting neat to the wharf. Bors and the other older Changed leaped ashore with the mooring lines. Kerym nodded his satisfaction and answered me, “Durbrecht by Ennas Day, I swore. I’ve a sizable wager riding on it.”

That seemed to me a piss-poor reason for Pyrdon’s continued suffering, and I had to restrain myself from expressing my opinion of our captain. I mastered my anger, however, and instead said, as calmly as I was able, “He’s eaten nothing since he came aboard. He’s heaving dry now, and ere long he’ll bring up blood. He could die. How shall they take that in Durbrecht? And when word gets back to Sterbek?”

Kerym’s face darkened at that and he tugged at his short beard, his dark eyes fixing me with a furious glare. I would not be quelled but met his gaze until he looked away and muttered, “Very well. Do you go find a herbalist, then. But quick, mark you! And do I lose my wager-”

If he completed his threat I did not hear it, for I was already gone from the poop and running for the gangplank, calling over my shoulder to Pyrdon that I went to find him a cure.

I sprang to the wharf and studied the buildings that faced the harbor. I saw warehouses and taverns, but no sign to indicate a herbalist, so I began to run toward the closest alehouse, thinking to secure directions there. It stood on the corner of the avenue leading up to the keep, and as I drew close, the procession I had seen emerged