"Dragons of the Highlord Skies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

BOOK II
1

An Offering to Zeboim. Derek Quotes the Measure. erek Crownguard and his fellow knights, Brian Donner and Aran Tallbow, stood at the rail of a merchant ship, watching their entry into the harbor of Rigitt, a port city located about seventy miles from Tarsis. The ship, known as the Marigold, named for the captain’s daughter, had encountered fair weather and smooth seas the entire way.

Aran Tallbow stood head and shoulders over his fellow knights. Aran was a large man and he lived large, being jovial, good-natured, and fun-loving. He had sandy red hair and his mustaches-the traditional mustaches of a Solamnic knight-were long and flowing. He was fond of a “wee dram” as the dwarves say and carried a small flask in a leather holder attached to his sword belt. Inside the flask was the finest brandywine, which he sipped continually. He was never drunk, just always in a good humor. His laughter came from his belly and was as large as himself. He might seem an unlikely knight, but Aran Tallbow was a fierce warrior, his courage and skill in battle renowned. Not even Derek could fault him for that.

As the ship sailed into the harbor of Rigitt, the knights watched with amusement as the sailors offered up gifts of thanksgiving. The gifts ranged from necklaces made of shells to small wooden carvings of various monsters of the deep, all handmade by the sailors during the voyage. Chanting and singing their thanks for a safe journey, they tossed the gifts into the water.

“What is that word they keep repeating, sir?” Aran asked the captain. “Sounds like ‘Zeboim, Zeboim’.”

“That’s it exactly, sir,” said the captain. “Zeboim, goddess of the sea. You should make an offering to her yourselves, my lords. She doesn’t take kindly to being slighted.”

“Despite the fact there has been no sign of this goddess for over three hundred years?” Aran asked, with a wink at his friends.

“Just because we’ve heard no word from her, nor seen a sign, doesn’t mean Zeboim’s not keeping her eye on us,” said the captain gravely.

He leaned over the rail as he spoke to drop a pretty bracelet made of blue crystals into the green water. “Thank you, Zeboim,” he called out. “Bless our journey home!”

Derek watched with stern disapproval. “I can understand ignorant sailors believing in superstitious nonsense, but I can’t believe that you, Captain, an educated man, take part in such a ritual.”

“For one, my men would mutiny if I did not, my lord,” said the captain, “and for another”-he shrugged-“it’s better to be safe than sorry, especially where the Sea Witch is concerned. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, as we are coming into port, I have to attend to my duties.”

The knights stood beside the railing, observing the sights and sounds of the port. With winter fast closing in, the port was almost empty except for the fishing vessels that braved all but the fiercest winter gales.

“Beg pardon, m’luds,” came a voice behind them.

The three knights turned to see one of the sailors bowing and bobbing to them. They knew this man well. He was the oldest aboard ship. He claimed to have been a sailor for sixty years, saying he had gone to sea as a lad at the age of ten. He was wizened and bent, his face burnt brown by the sun and wrinkled with age. He could still climb the ropes as fast as the young men, however. He could predict the coming of a storm by watching the way the gulls flew, and he claimed he could talk to dolphins. He had survived a shipwreck, saying he had been rescued from drowning by a beautiful sea elf.

“For you both, m’luds,” the old man said, gumming the words, for he was missing most of his teeth to scurvy. “For to give to the Sea Witch.”

He held in his hands two carved wooden animals, and these he presented with a bob and a bow and a toothless grin to Aran and Brian.

“What is it?” Brian asked, examining the small hand-carved wooden animal.

“It looks like a wolf,” Aran remarked.

“Yes, m’lud. Wolf,” said the old man, touching his hand to his forehead. “One fer both.” He pointed a gnarled finger first at Aran, then to Brian. “Give ’em to the Sea Witch. So she’ll take kindly to you.”

“Why wolves, Old Salt?” Aran asked. “Wolves are not very sea-like. Wouldn’t a whale suit her better?”

“I was told wolves in a dream,” said the old man, his shrewd eyes glinting. He pointed to the sea. “Give ’em to the goddess. Ask ’er for ‘er blessing.”

“You do and I’ll bring you up on charges before the Council,” Derek stated.

Derek was not noted for his sense of humor, but he did sometimes indulge in small dry jokes (so dry and so small they often went unnoticed). He might be teasing, but then again, he might not. Brian couldn’t tell.

Not that it mattered with Aran, who was quick to turn anything into a jest.

“You frighten me. What would be the charges, Derek?” Aran asked with mock concern.

“Idol worship,” said Derek.

“Hah! Hah!” Aran’s laughter went rolling over the water. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get a wolf.”

Derek had kept to their cabin during the voyage, spending his time reading the copy of the Measure he carried with him, making notations in the margins. He left the cabin only to take daily exercise on the deck, which meant that he walked up and down it for an hour, or to dine with the captain. Aran had roamed the deck from morning to night, mingling freely with the sailors, learning “the ropes” and dancing the hornpipe. He had undertaken to scramble up the rigging and had nearly broken his neck when he fell from the yardarm.

Brian had spent most of his time at sea trying to restrain the high spirits of Aran.

“So I just toss this into the water… “said Aran to the old man, prepared to suit his actions to his words. “Do I say a prayer-”

“You do not,” said Derek sternly. He reached out and plucked the wolf carving from Aran’s hand and gave it back to the old man. “Thank you, mate, but these knights have their swords. They don’t need a blessing.”

Derek looked pointedly at Brian, who, muttering his thanks, handed his wolf to the old man.

“Are you certain sure, m’luds?” the old man asked, eyeing them intently. His shrewd scrutiny made Brian uncomfortable, but before he could respond Derek cut him off.

“We have no time for fairy tales,” Derek said tersely. “Gentlemen, we will be going ashore soon and we have our packing to finish.”

He left the railing and went striding across the deck.

“You give it to the goddess for me,” said Aran to the old man, clapping him on the shoulder, “with my thanks.”

Glancing back, Brian saw the old man still standing there, still watching them. Then the captain’s voice rang out with an order to all hands to prepare to drop anchor. The old man tossed the wolf carvings overboard and dashed off to obey.

Derek disappeared below decks, heading to the small cabin the three knights shared. Aran followed after him, taking a pull from his flask as he went. Brian lingered to gaze out to sea. The breeze blew off the glacier that was far to the south and carried with it the nip of winter. The waves were sun-dappled gold on top, blue below. The wind plucked at the hem of his cloak. Sea birds wheeled in the sky, or bobbed up and down placidly on the surface of the water.

Brian wished he’d taken the old man’s wolf carving. He wished he’d made an offering to the sea goddess, whoever she was. He imagined her: beautiful and capricious, dangerous and deadly. Brian lifted his hand to salute her.

“Thank you for a safe voyage, my lady,” he said, half-mocking and half-serious.

“Brian!” Derek’s irate voice echoed up from down below.

“Coming!” Brian called.

The knights did not stay long in Rigitt. They hired horses for the journey north to Tarsis that would take them across the Plains of Dust. The road was still passable, though there had been snow up north around Thorbardin, or so Aran heard from a drinking companion, a mercenary who had just traveled that route.

“He advised us not to stay inside Tarsis,” Aran told them, as they were loading supplies onto the horses. “He suggests we make camp in the hills and enter the city during the day. He said we should keep the fact that we’re Knights of Solamnia to ourselves. The Tarsians have no love for us, it seems.”

“The Measure states: ‘A knight should walk openly in the sunshine, proudly proclaiming his nobility to the world’,” Derek quoted.

“And if the Tarsians toss us out of the city on our noble posteriors, what of our mission to find the dragon orb?” asked Aran, grinning.

“They won’t toss us out. You have this information on the authority of some rag-tag sellsword,” said Derek disparagingly.

“The captain told me much the same, Derek,” Brian said.

“Prior to the Cataclysm, the knights made Tarsis a Lord City of Solamnia, despite the fact that the city was hundreds of miles away. That way, the knights could protect the city from enemies. Then came the Cataclysm and the knights couldn’t protect themselves, much less a city far from Solamnia. The knights who had lived in Tarsis-those who survived-returned to Palanthas, leaving the Tarsians to fight their battles alone.”

“The Tarsians have never forgiven us for abandoning them,” Brian concluded.

“Perhaps we could find a loophole-” Aran began.

Brian shot him a warning glance, and Aran, rubbing his nose, rephrased his suggestion.

“Perhaps the Measure makes some provision for such a delicate political situation.”

“You should be better versed in the Measure,” said Derek reprovingly, “otherwise you would know what it says. We will not enter Tarsis under false pretenses. We will present our credentials to the proper authorities and receive their permission to enter the city. There will be no trouble if we behave honorably, whereas there would be trouble if we were caught sneaking into the city like thieves.”

“You make it sound like I’m suggesting we enter the city dressed in black with sacks over our heads,” said Aran, chuckling. “There’s no need to flaunt the fact that we’re knights. We don’t have to lie-just pack up our fancy tabards and the hand-tooled leather armor, replace our ornate helms with plain, take off the badges that mark our rank, remove our spurs, and wear ordinary, serviceable clothing. Maybe trim our mustaches.”

That last was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Derek did not even deign to respond. He made a final adjustment to the horse’s bridle, then left to go settle the bill with the innkeeper.

Aran shrugged and reached for his flask. He took a couple of sips, then offered the flask to Brian, who shook his head.

“Derek does talk sense, Aran,” Brian argued. “It might go badly for us if we were caught trying to hide our true identities. Besides, I can’t imagine the Tarsians would still hate us after three hundred years!”

Aran looked at him and smiled. “That’s because you can’t imagine hating anyone, Brian.” He sauntered over to look out the stable door, then, seeing Derek was out of earshot, he returned to his friend. “Do you know why Lord Gunthar asked me to come on this mission?”

Brian could guess, but he didn’t want to. “Aran, I don’t think-”

“I’m here to make certain Derek doesn’t screw it up,” Aran said flatly. He took another drink.

Brian winced at the crudeness of the expression. “Derek’s a Knight of the Rose, Aran. He’s your superior and mine. According to the Measure-”

“Piss on the Measure!” said Aran sharply, his jovial mood evaporating. “I’m not going to allow this mission to fail because Derek cares more about adhering to some moldy old code of antiquated laws than he does about saving our nation.”

“Perhaps without those laws and the noble tradition they represent, the nation wouldn’t be worth saving,” Brian remarked moodily.

Aran rested his hand affectionately on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Brian.”

“So is Derek,” said Brian earnestly. “We’ve known him a long time, Aran. We’ve both been his friends for years.”

“True,” said Aran, shrugging again, “and we’ve both seen how much he’s hardened and changed.”

Brian sighed. “Be patient with him, Aran. He’s suffered a lot. The loss of castle, his brother’s terrible death…”

“I will be patient,” said Aran, “up to a point. Now I’m going to indulge in a stirrup cup. Join me?”

Brian shook his head. “Go on. I’ll wait for Derek.”

Aran mounted his horse and rode off to enjoy a final mug of ale and to refill his flask before starting out.

Brian remained in the stable, adjusting the horse’s bridle. Damn Aran anyway! Brian wished Aran hadn’t told him the true reason he’d come. Brian didn’t like to think Lord Gunthar trusted Derek so little he’d set a friend to spy on him, and Brian didn’t like hearing Aran had accepted such a demeaning assignment. Knights did not spy on each other. That must be in the Measure somewhere.

If so, Derek didn’t quote those parts, for he had his own spies in the court of Lord Gunthar. Perhaps Derek’s spies had told him that Aran was a spy. Brian leaned his head against the horse’s neck. He could almost believe Queen Takhisis had returned to the world, planting the seeds of discord among those who had once been the champions of honor and valor. The seeds had taken root in fear and were now flourishing into noxious weeds of hatred and mistrust.

“Where is Aran?” Derek’s voice roused Brian from his dark reflections.

“He went to get some ale,” Brian said.

“We’re not on a kender outing,” Derek said grimly. “He takes nothing seriously, and now I suppose we must go haul him out of some bar.”

Derek was wrong. They found Aran, wiping foam from his mouth, waiting for them on the road that led to Tarsis.

The three set out, with Aran in the middle, Derek on his right, and Brian on his left. He recalled with sudden vividness another quest, their very first.

“Do you remember when the three of us were squires, and we were tired of tilting at the quintain and whacking each other with wooden swords. We decided to prove ourselves and so we-”

“-decided to go to Nightlund to seek the death knight!” Aran began to chuckle. “By my soul, I had not thought of that in a long time. We rode three days into what we fancied was Nightlund, though in truth we never got close, and then we came to that empty castle. It was deserted. The walls were cracked, the battlements crumbling. One of the towers was charred and burned, and we knew we’d found it-Dargaard Keep. The accursed home of the dread Lord Soth.” Aran’s chuckles turned to laughter. “Do you remember what happened next?”

“I’m not likely to forget,” said Brian. “I lost five years of my life that night. We camped out near the keep to keep watch on it, and sure enough, we saw a strange blue light flickering in one of the windows.”

“Ha, ha! The blue light!” Aran guffawed.

“We girded on our armor-”

“-that didn’t fit us, because it was stolen from our masters,” Aran recalled. “All of us were scared out of our wits, but we would none of us admit it and so we went forth.”

“Derek was our leader. Remember, Derek? You gave the signal, and we charged inside and”-Brian could barely speak for mirth-“we were met by a dwarf-”

“-who’d set up an illegal spirit distillery inside the keep…” Aran roared with laughter. “The blue light we saw was the fire cooking his mash! He thought we were there to steal his brew and he came roaring at us from the shadows, waving that bloody great ax. He looked ten feet tall, I swear!”

“And we gallant knights ran off in three different directions with him chasing after us, shouting he was going to chop off our ears!”

Aran was doubled over the pommel of his saddle. Brian was laughing so hard, he could barely see. He wiped his streaming eyes and glanced over at Derek.

The knight sat bolt upright on his horse. He gazed straight ahead, slightly frowning. Brian’s laughter trailed off.

“Don’t you remember that, Derek?” he asked. “No,” said Derek. “I don’t.”

He spurred his horse to a gallop, making it clear he wanted to ride alone.

Aran brought out his flask, then fell into line behind Derek. Brian chose to bring up the rear. There were no more stories, no more laughter. As for singing songs of heroic deeds to enliven the journey, Brian tried to recall one, but found he couldn’t.

Singing would only annoy Derek anyway.

The three rode north in silence, as the gray clouds massed and the snow began to fall.