CHAPTER 13
As the rooftops of Ethshar grew slowly nearer, Sterren leaned on the ship’s rail and stared at them hungrily. He could smell the city as well as see it, a scent of smoke and spices with an undertone of sewage, a wonderfully familiar odor that he hadn’t smelled in far too long. He had never realized, until this moment, that the city had a distinctive odor, he had never left the city until being dragged off to Semma, so the smell had always been there, unnoticed.
Now, though, he knew that he had missed that smell during his absence, that to him that scent meant home, as the salt spray of the ocean or the hot, rotting-grass smell of Semma never could.
To his left, Dogal the Large, Dogal d’Gra, that is, sneezed.
To his right, Alder the Very Large, Alder d’Yoon, said, “May the gods keep you well!”
Dogal snuffled in reply, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and then spat at the ocean below.
Alder, apparently interpreting Dogal’s response as a negative one, said, “Well, at least we’re finally here. Not much longer now before we’re off this damned boat.”
“Except that we’ve got to sail back,” Dogal muttered.
“But going back, the wind should be with us, rather than against us,” Alder said.
Sterren took no part in the conversation, but he thought that it was certainly true that the wind had been against them. He understood now why Lady Kalira, on her previous voyage to Ethshar, had bought herself a storm from the weather-wizards in Akalla of the Diamond, and why she had wanted to spend two-thirds of his meager hoard of treasure on another one for this trip, after, of course, she had used up most of her own resources in hiring a ship that would sail when and where she wanted, rather than one that would treat the Semman party as ordinary passengers.
Sterren had absolutely forbidden wasting their funds on a storm; the little gold he had would not really be enough as it was, he was sure. He had refused to listen to any argument from Lady Kalira; it was easy enough to simply stop thinking in Semmat, so that her words became meaningless noise. His mind was made up.
Of course, he had not realized that the prevailing winds of the season were from the northwest, and that it would take their chartered ship a month and a day to tack up the Gulf of the East to Ethshar of the Spices. To make any progress to the northwest at all against the cold, steady autumn wind, they had been forced to beat back and forth, zigzagging across the Gulf from one side to the other.
The only good thing about the delay was that it had given him considerable time to practice his Semmat.
Sterren was heartily sick of the cramped shipboard life and the ship’s constant wallowing and rolling, and his feet were almost itching at the thought of walking on dry land again.
The fact that the land in question was his homeland, and that he might yet have a chance to slip away to freedom, made waiting all the harder.
Of course, he might not have a chance to slip away. Lady Kalira, when informed of the expedition, had insisted on bringing the two soldiers she most trusted, Alder and Dogal, and had gotten royal backing for this demand. Sterren had been given no choice but to yield.
He thought that Alder and Dogal liked him, at least slightly, but he was also quite certain they would not willingly let him desert and leave Semma to its fate. This was unfortunate, since the other four in the party might well desert, themselves. They were genuine volunteers, Kendrik, Alar, Zander, and Bern were their names, and Sterren was not impressed with any of them.
He knew Kendrik’s type from his gambling days; the man was obviously convinced that he was smarter than anybody else and only needed the right opportunity to make himself rich, famous, and powerful. Semma certainly didn’t provide many such opportunities, Sterren had to admit, but he suspected that Kendrik wouldn’t find them in Ethshar, either, because he wasn’t anywhere near as clever as he thought he was.
People like Kendrik had been among the most generous suppliers of Sterren’s funds before his abrupt departure from Ethshar’s taverns, but they were also bad losers and very likely to accuse him of cheating. Sterren didn’t like Kendrik any better than he had liked those old opponents.
Alar appeared to have volunteered just because somebody asked him. He was easygoing, not too bright, and highly suggestible. Sterren suspected that he had wound up a soldier at somebody else’s suggestion, and that he might well desert along with one of the others because he wouldn’t see any reason not to, until it was too late.
Sterren might have suggested it to Alar himself, if Alder and Dogal hadn’t been present. Once they were ashore he might well make a few suggestive comments in Alar’s hearing. For now, though, he was keeping Alar close at hand. He didn’t really like the poor fool, but such people could be useful to have around, they could be talked into doing all the unpleasant tasks one inevitably encountered.
Zander had joined the army to get away from a boring life as a peasant farmer. He had volunteered for this trip to get away from a boring life as a soldier in Semma Castle. Ethshar, whatever its flaws, certainly wouldn’t look boring to him, and he could easily decide against returning to his boring old homeland.
Sterren thought Zander was pretty boring, himself.
Bern was a mystery; he had said nothing beyond the necessary minimum for politeness ever since he answered the call for volunteers. Sterren had absolutely no idea what to expect from Bern, desertion, loyalty, insanity, anything might be possible.
Alder and Dogal, of course, had not volunteered. Alder might have, given a choice, but Dogal was clearly fed up with travel after his previous journey and would greatly have preferred to have stayed home, where he had a friendly understanding with one of the cook’s more attractive female assistants, and where he didn’t have to worry about seasickness or foreign languages and customs.
Alder was a bit more adventurous and seemed genuinely, if inexplicably, fond of Sterren. Sterren suspected it might be an emotion similar to what one might feel toward a stray puppy one had taken in; after all, Alder had found Sterren, taught him Semmat, and helped him settle into his job as warlord.
Lady Kalira would never have volunteered; on her previous journey she had discovered, to her surprise, that she hated travel and hated Ethshar. Neither one fit her romantic preconceptions; the stories never mentioned seasickness, rude sailors, smelly crowds, and all the other inconveniences she had encountered. Furthermore, she thought the whole idea of using magic to fight a war was revolting. She did, however, have a powerful sense of duty, which accounted for her cooperation, such as it was. The king had sent her, and she did as her sovereign ordered.
She had surely heard the call from the lookout when the city came into view, but she was ignoring it, staying in her cabin below.
To some extent, Sterren thought he could sympathize with her, but at the sight of the city spreading across the World before him, with its smell in his nostrils, he found his eyes filling with tears and felt a swelling in his chest as if he were about to burst.
He swallowed and, to distract himself, he called to a sailor who was hanging from the forestay, “Hey, there! Where will we tie up?” The sailor glanced at him, but shook his head.
Sterren realized he had spoken in Semmat, since Alder and Dogal had been speaking it.
“Where will we tie up?” he called in Ethsharitic.
“The Tea Wharves,” the sailor called back, “near the New Canal!”
Sterren was unsure exactly where the Tea Wharves were, but he knew the New Canal, which, despite its name, was about four hundred years old; it was new only in comparison to the Grand Canal, which was no longer particularly grand, but had been there for centuries before the New Canal was dug.
The New Canal divided Spicetown from Shiphaven, in the northwest corner of the city. The Wizards’ Quarter was near the southeastern corner. Sterren’s party would need to do some walking, it appeared.
That was no problem; it might provide more opportunities to escape from his escort. If there was a crowd at the Arena, for example, he could easily become separated “accidentally.” The Arena was directly on the way, too; Arena Street was certainly the best route to the Wizards’ Quarter from either Shiphaven or Spicetown.
That assumed that he actually wanted to slip away. After a month of debating that with himself, he still hadn’t really decided.
It would seem an easy enough decision to make, really, life as a fugitive in his homeland, or near-certain
