Liar's Island: A Novel (5 page)

Rodrick sighed. “Well, Hrym? Should we earn our keep?”

“I don't see how this is
our
problem. We aren't from Jalmeray. We don't have any quarrel with the Arclords.”

“The fact that we're on a ship the Arclords intend to fill with holes, which will then fill with sea water, which will then fill with drowned sailors, might be grounds for a quarrel.”

“It's not as if
I
can drown,” Hrym said. “And I can make an ice floe for you to use as a lifeboat, if it comes to that.”

“True. But as much as I'd enjoy sitting soaking wet atop a sheet of drifting sea ice, I don't think you're considering all the potential drawbacks. I could drop you in the confusion, and then you'd sink to the bottom of the sea, there to stay for all eternity—”

“I'd wrap myself in a cocoon of ice, and float to the surface, and eventually the currents would take me to shore, where someone would find me. I'd be fine.”

“More likely a gillman would find you,” Rodrick said.

A flash of red light illuminated Hrym's blade, and Rodrick winced, expecting cackling and chaos, but it was just a mild pulse of the demonic. “I don't much like gillmen,” Hrym said. He had the same reasons Rodrick did.

“Oh, they're not
all
devotees of evil who want to use your powers to free demon lords and set them loose upon the world. I'm sure many of them are perfectly nice. Of course, Obed's cult probably has connections among many of the cities or tribes or whatever it is gillmen have—”

“Fine,” Hrym said testily. “Let's do
work
. What do you want me to do?”

“The mainsail could be amusing. Can you do it from this distance?”

“I'll manage. Point me in the right direction.”

Dark clouds were gathering, either by coincidence or because of the priest's incessant chanting, and a strong wind was blowing them fast away, which didn't help much, since the Arclord ship had the same wind and was apparently better designed to take advantage of it. They were close enough now that Rodrick could make out the individual crew members standing on the deck. Some of them were brandishing swords. But none of them looked as impressive as
his
sword.

Rodrick extended Hrym out over the railing, pointed the end of his blade directly at the pursuing ship's mainsail, and smiled as Hrym unleashed a torrent of icy wind. The temperature in his immediate vicinity plunged, but Rodrick was used to cold by now, and holding Hrym protected him from being damaged by the sword's own magical effects.

The enemy's sail began to turn white, then blue, as sheets of ice built up on the canvas, the mast, and the crossbeams. The sailors ran around in pointless terror as the weight of ice on the mainsail became too great to support. The mainmast cracked with a sound like a branch snapping, but a thousand times louder, and the sail—transformed into an immensely heavy hammer of solid sheet ice—smashed onto the deck with sufficient force to break the wood. The ship listed hard to port, though it didn't quite capsize, and sailors leapt into the sea in terror—always an amusing sight, as long as they weren't doing it on a ship you were on.

Tapasi stopped chanting, and the dark clouds began to dissipate. She stared at Rodrick. He grinned, shrugged, and replaced Hrym on his back. He turned to find the entire crew staring at him, and the captain came forward, the sailors parting to let her through.

“So,” she said. “
That's
what your sword does.”

“Among other things. I hope I didn't overstep my bounds. I was just trying to be useful.”

“I heard it talk,” Tapasi said. “The sword. It speaks!”

“Of course I talk.” Hrym's tone was peevish. “Why is everyone so surprised when I talk? What's so great about talking, anyway? Loads of idiots can talk. Even kobolds talk. Lots of things talk.”

“Ah,” Saraswati said. “But not swords. Usually.”

“She's got you there, Hrym,” Rodrick said.

“Maybe they can talk, and choose not to. Maybe they just don't have anything to
say
. You can't prove otherwise.”

“I am pleased to hear your voice, at any rate, sword,” the captain said. “You've both saved us a great deal of trouble.”

“Also possibly a great deal of drowning,” Hrym said. “Feel free to reward us handsomely. Gold is always appreciated.”

“Don't mind him,” Rodrick said. “We're happy to help.”

Saraswati suddenly turned, glaring at the crew, who responded as if she'd cracked a whip, all of them racing back to whatever obscure acts of seamanship they'd abandoned.

“Why don't you go speak to the navigator, Tapasi?” the captain said. “She wanted to see if you could do anything about some weather she's worried about.” Tapasi bowed her head and went on her way.

Once they were alone, Saraswati said. “I don't have much in the way of spare gold, but I'll see if there's another way to demonstrate my gratitude. Join me in my rooms for dinner tonight?”

“Of course. Should I bring Hrym? He enjoys intellectually stimulating conversation, but some other activities tend to bore him, and when he's bored, he often provides a running commentary he intends to be humorous, though I rarely find it so.”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “Do you mind if we leave you alone for an hour or two, master Hrym?”

“I insist,” Hrym said. “I'm
so
glad I don't have a squishy meat body. Pleasures should be cold and clean, like gold.”

Saraswati chuckled, sketched a salute, and then strolled back toward the bow. Rodrick watched her walk, giving particular attention to the movement of her rear end in her tight breeches. Lush and round women weren't the only kind he found appealing, and enthusiasm went a long way, too. “Mmm. If all acts of heroism were rewarded the way I expect this one to be, I might engage in them more often.”

“What did you even
do
? You pointed me at a boat! I did everything, and you get all the credit, as usual. The world is horribly biased against swords in favor of swordsmen.”

“It was my idea to freeze the mainsail. I know you. You would've just buried the deck in ice and frozen all the sailors.”

“Yes, and it would have worked fine.”

“Ah, but it wouldn't have been as
funny
.”

Hrym grumbled, but ultimately had to concede that Rodrick's argument was unassailable.

*   *   *

“That was pleasant,” Saraswati said, and Rodrick
mmmm
ed in a contented way, gazing up at the beams on the ceiling of her cabin. “Pleasant” wasn't quite the ringing endorsement he liked to hear from women he'd just bedded, but perhaps she was merely prone to understatement. That had to be it.

Saraswati slid out of bed and back into her clothing, Rodrick watching with interest, since he wasn't sure he'd see her naked again. He'd been with women from all over Avistan, an Osirian, a woman whose parents had hailed from the Mwangi Expanse, a couple of half-elves, and, on one occasion, a gnome, though he couldn't remember much of that night very well. But he'd never been with a woman from the Impossible Kingdoms. Her dark skin and the blue jewel in her navel aside, he found her much like most of the other women he'd bedded: altogether wonderful.

In his own opinion, Rodrick had never had a bad relationship with a woman. This was likely because he seldom had relationships with them at all. Having
relations
with them was an entirely different matter, of course, and some such experiences were better than others, but after the days of his awkward teenage fumblings, they were rarely
bad
. He'd discovered over the years that two people, with good will and a sense of mutual adventure, could almost always manage to have a nice time together.

Of course, some of the women became inexplicably annoyed with him in the hours or days afterward, when he didn't behave the way they'd hoped, but he couldn't be blamed for that.

“Are you going to sprawl in my bed all night?” Saraswati looked at him pointedly from her seat on the little chair by the fold-down desk.

“I don't have anywhere else to be, Captain, but if you'd like me to make myself scarce, I'll obey. You've been sufficiently welcoming in all other ways that I won't be offended.”

She snorted. “No, it's fine. Stay a bit. Might as well see if you're equally adept at the conversational arts.”

“If you don't mind an ignorant traveler … Would you tell me a bit about Jalmeray?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “What, do you want a history lesson?”

He waved his hand. “Nothing so dry. Just … practical matters. Will I need a warm coat? Is there a local delicacy I absolutely must taste? Is there some forbidden act I'm likely to blunder into, causing murderous offense? Will the thakur expect me to bow, or kneel, or kiss his ring, or will I be eviscerated ritually if I touch his shadow or look directly upon his face?”

She shook her head. “We aren't savages, Rodrick. The Vudrani civilization is ancient and sophisticated.”

“Savagery is relative, my captain. They do things routinely in Cheliax that would make an Andoren's blood boil, but to the Chelaxians, they're not savage acts at all. In my travels, I've learned not to make assumptions.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him thoughtfully. “It's not as if I've
met
the thakur, you know. By all accounts, Kharswan is a polite and thoughtful man, a scholar and lover of poetry and music, with rich and refined tastes, as you might expect. He spends most of his days writing and dallying with his wives—”

“Wives? Plural?”

Her lips curled in a smile. “Surely you've heard of the harems of the Vudrani nobles? I understand they're the subject of much fevered speculation, and are frequently if inaccurately described in a particular class of literature favored by the depraved legions of the Inner Sea.”

Rodrick had perused the occasional lavishly illustrated volume once or twice in his time, and nodded. “Harems. Yes, that rings a faint bell. Is it really forbidden for a man to look upon the thakur's wives?”

“To look upon them? No, though they don't go out much. Touching them, however…” She shook her head. “I can't imagine there's any woman so beautiful that you'd pay
that
price just to touch her. You're really going to the palace? I feel I've just had a premonition about how you're going to die, Rodrick.”

“I am a paragon of restraint. At least, when the alternative is death.” Sleeping with noblewomen, and surely the wives of the more-or-less king of Jalmeray counted as nobles, was always fraught. He much preferred serving girls. They were just as fun in bed and didn't bring nearly as much trouble with them. “I take it the thakur's not a despotic sort of ruler, then? No beheadings for breakfast or the gentle swaying of public hangings to lull him to sleep?”

“No, not at all. The thakur hardly runs anything, not directly. Oh, in theory his word is law, but when it comes to actually governing … The Maurya-Rahm—you would think of it as a sort of parliament or legislative body—does that. There are many powerful factions in that group, with influential mystics, leaders of monasteries, and nobles all vying for power. Everything seems to stay in balance well enough. Jalmeray is a prosperous place.”

“So the thakur is just a figurehead, then?”

“I wouldn't go
that
far. If the thakur said someone should have their legs broken, and then be carried high into the air and dropped into the sea—for instance, someone who tried to seduce one of his wives—his will would be done without question. He just doesn't make such demands, usually. I've heard rumors that he's adept at subtly setting prominent people against one another, to maintain the balance of power, and keep any one faction or individual from growing too strong. He is by all accounts a master diplomat.”

Drat, Rodrick thought. A man skilled at manipulation. That was supposed to be Rodrick's territory. Then again, it wasn't always too hard to trick a trickster; they often made themselves vulnerable by thinking they were immune to being deceived. “Do you have
any
idea why he'd want to summon a swordsman from Andoran? Even one as widely famed and accomplished as myself?”

“I hope this doesn't puncture the balloon of your self-regard, but I'd be very surprised if a whisper of a rumor of your fame has touched the shores of Jalmeray. If I had to guess … it will be something to do with your sword. No offense, but of the two of you, Hrym
is
rather the more remarkable.”

“Oh, really?” Rodrick slid out of bed and stood up with his usual grace. He was blessed with a naturally good physique and had marvelous balance and reflexes, and supposed he actually could become a decent swordsman if the need ever arose, though the thought of doing all that
training
was loathsome. Other physical acts, however, were more interesting.

Saraswati glanced down, then up at his face, smirking. “Really? Again? Already?”

“Oh, well. I just wanted to point out that Hrym isn't more remarkable than I am in
every
respect.”

5

Over the Obari Ocean

 

The rest of the voyage was pleasant enough, at least until the disaster at the very end.

The crew continued to treat Rodrick as a conquering hero, and Hrym appreciated the awe he inspired. Tapasi was still good for a conversation, seemingly interested in every aspect of his life—keeping all the lies he told her straight was an interesting challenge. Unfortunately, any hope he'd had of seeing what she looked like underneath her flowing acreage of wrapped silk faded quickly. She fled every time she noticed Saraswati looking at the two of them, and no one else on the ship was willing to try to steal him away from the captain, either, no matter how much he might like to be stolen, so he reluctantly became a one-woman man. He got a bit bored, as usual when he dallied with the same woman for more than a night or two, but it was better than nothing at all, and he thought he hid his lack of interest well. He was good at faking almost anything.