Sanurkazz, the chief city and holy place of Zairia. But Prince Glycas and the Grodnims would be marching with their invincible army, securing their rear with Zandikar and Zamu, marching across the base of Fenzerdrin, to attack Holy Sanurkazz from the land.
It was a plan that would work, given the deadly tool with which King Genod would put it into operation. And — a few dwaburs east of Sanurkazz lay Felteraz, beautiful Felteraz, the home of Mayfwy, the widow of my oar- comrade Zorg. I had done much, I would do much more, to protect Mayfwy. I stood up and glared upon that ruffianly assembly, all gesticulating and arguing and thumping balled fist into hand, and gradually they looked up at me and fell silent.
“We sail for Zandikar. It is there we can smash the kleeshes of Grodnims. We sail with the dawn.”
I walked away. I did not wish anyone to argue, for I would have had to cut him down. Later I sought out Pur Naghan.
“Yes, Dak, I agree with the plan. I would dearly love to go to Zamu for- But you are right. We must stop them at Zandikar.”
“Yes, Pur Naghan.”
“You are a hard man. Yet the men follow you. Sometimes I find that strange. I am proud but I am also realistic. I know a man — it is to me the men should look, as an avowed Krozair; but I follow you as willingly as they. It is passing strange.”
“If you wish to lead, Pur Naghan, I would not challenge you.”
He favored me with a strange, lopsided look.
“I believe you. I do not understand; but I believe. No, Dak, I am content as we are. You are a leader. You have the yrium. As for me-” He moved his right hand in a vague gesture, quite at variance with the man I knew he was. “I am Pur Naghan. I have not yet become Nazhan. I sometimes wonder if I ever will, and the thought of being Pur Zanazhan eludes me.”
“Naghan is an ancient and honored name on Kregen.” I thought to snap his spine erect. “And in Zandikar, by Zair, you should find deeds worthy to place the ‘Z’ in your name.”
“Aye, Dak,” he said, his hand clenching. “Aye!”
It should be remarked here that the Zairians in their use of that truly honorable name of Naghan softened the hated “G” into a “J.”
The coaster skipper, Ornol the Waves, had not put into Zandikar. He had picked up trade among the islands as was the custom and was making for Zimuzz. That great fortress-city, home of the Krozairs of Zimuzz, had been bypassed by Prince Glycas. Before we sailed on the next morning one of his men was brought to me by Duhrra. This man bore the short straight bow of the inner sea; but I noted it was somewhat longer than the average, and stouter. He appeared limber and with the bowman’s strength of shoulder, and his nut-brown face creased up around his eyes. This was Dolan the Bow, and I knew a man did not achieve that soubriquet unless he had earned it.
“This man, Dolan the Bow, wishes to go with us,” said Duhrra.
There was no need for hesitation. I guessed he was a Zandikarese from the bow. “You are very welcome, Dolan.”
He smiled. He did not say much. But Seg would have got on with him, I knew that, and it cheered me. As we pulled steadily past the last headland of the Island of Pliks we saw considerable activity in the coaster’s camp.
Dolan the Bow smiled again, his face crinkling up like a crickle nut, brown and rosy and filled with goodness. “Ornol will be disappointed,” he said. Then, “I will show you the safe channels into Zandikar. The Grodnims have wrecked many swifters there, Zair be praised.”
We bore on along our easterly and four days later we pulled in for our last landfall. Dolan had suggested we should make a long hard night’s pulling of it for the final leg, bypassing the usual stopover. I agreed. Swifters’ speeds vary and we had the argenters, subject to the fickle vagaries of the winds if we did not tow them, and the journey was long and tiring. The two men we had chosen to skipper the argenters had by now sufficient experience of them to be able to handle them with reasonable confidence. They were bluff sea dogs of the Eye of the World, and they did not mince their words when they accosted me on the quarterdeck of
The gist of their argument was that they would be perfectly happy to drive in, in a swifter; but they doubted the capacity of the argenters. I told them they would be towed for the last dangerous part; but they remained somewhat reluctant.
“These argenters will not answer among the islands off Zandikar Bay. And there will be Magdaggian swifters.”
“Aye,” I said. “There will be. We shall tow you. I shall tow you, Robko, and Pur Naghan will tow you, Mulviko. If we run into Grodnim swifters we may have to cast you off to fight them. I shall expect you to sail in. We will protect you. It is spoken.”
They wanted to argue. They saw my face. They did not argue.
As they went over the stern ladder I called to them.
“Be of good cheer. Before the twin suns rise on the morrow we shall be in Zandikar. Then, my friends, the real business will start.”
Passing a towing line at night is always a tricky business; but the wind was with us, a fresh westerly, and I wished to conserve the strength of the oarsmen as much as possible. Under the canopy of stars we sailed toward the east and Zandikar and ventured into the waters patrolled by the hostile swifters of Magdag. Occasionally the dark bulk of islands occulted the horizon stars. The Twins rose, revolving eternally one about the other. They bear many and many a name over Kregen; but the Twins is what I call them most of the time. They cast down too much light for our purpose; but Notor Zan was not on duty this fateful night, and we ghosted along with our wind under the stars, with the chuckle of water passing down the side and the creak of wood and the slap of blocks an unheard accompaniment to our progress.
Dolan stood with me on the quarterdeck. When the closer time came he would go forward with the prijikers and signal helm orders from there. I, who had sailed impudently through the waters of the approaches to Brest on the unending duties of blockade, felt the keen zest of a seaman’s enthusiasm for a difficult technical task. I had no doubts. We would go through.
The time came for the tow ropes to be passed. The difficult evolution went through without a hitch, save that young Obdinon squashed a finger and cried out and was instantly told to stopper his black-fanged winespout, the silly fambly, and get on with the job.
Following my orders against just such a need, we had saved the hated green flags of the swifters. Colors are seldom flown at nighttime; but I had the green bent on and ready, just in case. The sense of mystery and taut- breathing expectancy held us all as we pulled on, going cautiously across the dark and subtly moving expanse of the sea. Night birds passed above us on wings that sighed and creaked like unoiled hinges. We watched the stars and the black bulks of islands and not an eye closed in any of the five ships.
We turned starboard, to the south, and soon the sweet scent of gregarians on the air told us the fabled gregarian groves of Zandikar drew near. Now all those superb groves would lie under the callous hand of Grodnim. We pulled on.
Deeply into the southern shore bites the Bay of Zandikar. South we rowed, and we watched the horizon for the first hint of a long, low predatory outline to tell us we faced instant action and perilous encounter. When, as I had half known we must, we saw that lean rakish shape of a Magdaggian swifter, I own I felt a stab of disappointment. Magdaggian swifter captains do not relish night sailing. But Zandikar lay under siege, and Prince Glycas was there, I knew, and mayhap the king, also, waited impatiently in the encirclement for the city’s fall. Perhaps Gafard, the King’s Striker, was there. I felt no recognizable emotions over an encounter with him. I knew very well — or thought I did — what I was going to do to this genius king Genod when I caught up with him, this insane war genius who had callously murdered my daughter Velia.
“Weng da!” bellowed the challenge across the dark sea.
The pink and golden moonlight misted visibility and made accurate vision tricky. I lifted a speaking trumpet to my lips and shouted back.
For a mur or two the silence hung; then the voice from the low quarterdeck of the swifter answered.
“Lahal and Remberee! Grodno go with you.”
“And with you. Remberee.”
