Love And War (20 page)

Carin was weeping. Lady Ilys comforted her. There was a scuffle on the poop deck. Two
marines in conical leather hats shoved old Captain Graff down to the main deck.

“Who commands here? I demand to see yer captain!” Graff said, rising to his feet.

“POLO KAMAY!” said the Kernaffi holding Sturm. All eyes followed his glance.

Down a narrow boarding bridge came two extraordinary figures. The first, in a gilded
breastplate and plumed helmet, was obviously the commander of the galley. Behind him, and taller by half a
head, came a woman in mail and black leather armor. A corona of copper-colored hair shone
around her conical cap.

“Which one is the ship's master?” said the woman, stepping down onto the SKELTER.

“I am Graff.” “Captain, this ship is ours. Yield your cargo manifest.” “Demons take you!”
he said, spitting at her feet. The woman backhanded him with one mailed fist. Graff's head snapped back, and blood ran from
his split lip.

“I am Artavash, lieutenant to our great Sea Lord,” said the woman in a loud, ringing
voice. “You people are now his prisoners.”

The plumed commander went to Lady Ilys and Carin. “What's this? Passengers?” he said.
“Lady Artavash, look here!”

The tall warrior woman looked down at Lady Ilys. She ran a finger over the nap of the fine
velvet dress Sturm's mother wore. “Wealthy, highborn, or both?” she said. When Lady Ilys
failed to answer, Artavash drew a knife and put the point to Carin's stomach.

“It would cost me not a moment's rest to gut this lady like a chicken,” she said. “Who are
you?”

“Lady Ilys, wife to Lord Brightblade of Solamnia.”

“And why is a great knight's lady traveling the open sea without her noble husband?”

Lady Ilys's lips set firmly until Artavesh pushed the knife tip through the first layer of
Carin's dress. The maid inhaled sharply.

“We are traveling - for our health,” Lady Ilys said.

Artavash laughed and translated the remark for the Kernaffi. They joined her in mocking
laughter.

“MUJAT! Enough!” She turned to the galley's commander and said, “Well, Sir Radiz, how
shall we treat this poor company?”

“They have nothing we want, lady. Why not let them sail on?” the beplumed Kernaffi said.

Just then, Sturm managed to slip his arms out of his cloak. He dropped on his heels and
left the marine holding an empty bundle of cloth. Sturm ran to the women. He pushed the
knife away from Carin and interposed himself between Artavash and his mother.

Artavash turned her strangely burning eyes on him. “Well!” said the red-haired warrior.
“Here's a young hero. Another Brightblade, I'll wager.”

“Sturm, Angriff's son,” the boy said. Artavash smiled. “How old are you, boy?” Sturm was
put off balance by this ordinary question.

That, and the smile of one who was in fact quite beautiful. “E-eleven years,” he said. She
unlaced the mitt from her right hand and ran tapered fingers through his long brown hair. “Ah, yes. Our master will be pleased to meet
you.”

“Lady, I do not think - ” began Radiz.

“That I know,” Artavash snapped. “Take the boy and the women to the SEA RAVEN.”

Radiz glared at Artavash, but held his temper in check. A quartet of Kernaffi shepherded
the women and Sturm toward the boarding bridge. Soren started to struggle against his
captors despite the naked blade at his throat. A sharp exclamation from one of the
soldiers brought Artavash and Radiz up short.

“What about him?” asked Radiz. “Kill him,” said Artavash with a shrug. “No!” cried Sturm.
He ducked under a hedge of javelins and dashed to the sergeant. “Please do not harm him!”

“And why not?” demanded Artavash. “He is a man-at- arms, and dangerous. I cannot take him
aboard the SEA RAVEN as a guest.”

“He is my f-friend,” Sturm pleaded.

Artavash went to where the five Kernaffi held the far bigger Soren immobilized. The
sergeant was the only man present tall enough to look her in the eye.

“Give me your oath,” she said, “that you will be peaceful, and I will let you live.”

Sturm looked up at him and his eyes said, “Please, Soren!”

“Don't do it, man!” Captain Graff shouted. “Don't trust that bloody sea witch!”

Artavash whirled and flung her knife at the old captain. It buried to the hilt in his
chest. The soldier holding him let Graff sag to the deck. Sturm stared in shock at the
growing stain of red soaking through the captain's coat. Artavash stood over the dying
man. “Do you think I am to be trifled with, old fool? Mine is the power of life and death
here.” She flung her unmailed hand at Soren. “Will you give your oath?” “I cannot,” said
Soren. “While I live, I cannot willingly allow my lady or my lord to enter anyone's
captivity.”

Artavash smiled again. The effect on Sturm was near magic, for, in spite of her violent acts, he was charmed. “Good, good,” she said. "That's
what I wanted to hear.

Sir Radiz! Strip this man of his arms and armor. Set him to an oar on the SEA RAVEN, and
mind you, double-chain him. It would not do to have him loose among the other slaves."

The Kernaffi hauled the belligerent sergeant to the bridge. Lady Ilys and Carin waited
until the men surged by. Artavash went to Graff and rolled his limp form over with the toe
of her boot. She freed her blade and wiped it clean on the captain's sleeve.

Lady Ilys and her maid started for the bridge. Sturm moved in behind his mother. Just as
he was about to step up, a hand grabbed his ankle. He almost cried out in surprise, for it
was the captain who held him.

“Boy,” Graff whispered. Sturm knelt. He swallowed hard and said, “Yes, sir?”

“Take . . .” Graff's leathery fingers were twined in the wind cord. “Take . . .” he gasped
again. “Ver' strong ...” Dry rasping filled the old man's throat, and the captain breathed
his last.

Sturm stared at the dead man until a voice broke his trance.

“What have you got there?” said Radiz. Sturm showed him, his heart pounding for fear he
might be punished. Radiz looked uncomprehendingly at the strip of rawhide. He rolled it
between his fingers and gave it back to Sturm. “Come along,” he said.

From the forecastle of the SEA RAVEN, SKELTER seemed small and forlorn. The impact of the
ram had been a glancing one, and the hull was crushed rather than torn open. The surviving
Thelite sailors lined the rail as the galley backed away.

“What will happen to them?” asked Sturm.

“With luck, they can bring her in,” said Radiz. “If they sink, it will be the sea god's
fault, not ours.”

Even at his young age, Sturm found that hard to believe.

The stern of the SEA RAVEN was covered by a luxurious pavilion. Walls of rosewood and
cedar rose from the oak deck. Overhead was a cloth of gold canopy, and tinkling brass
chimes hung from ivory ridge posts inside.

Artavash swept in and bade Lady Ilys and Sturm to sit. She unbuckled her armour and tossed
the segments in an ebony chest whose hasp and hinges were of silver. A steward appeared, dressed in red velvet vest and billowing silk pantaloons.

“Wine, Dubai,” Artavash said. She scratched her sides where the armour chafed, just like
Sturm's father always had, and settled onto a heap of plush pillows.

Sturm strained his neck taking in the opulence of the pavilion. When Dubai returned with a
silver ewer and three goblets, he had to ask, “Is this your ship, Lady?”

“Mine? No. It belongs to the Lord of the Sea. I'm not even its captain; Sir Radiz sees to
our progress over the water.”

The steward poured three measures of dark red wine. Artavash sipped, nodded, and allowed
Dubai to offer the other two goblets to Lady Ilys and Sturm. Sturm's mother refused for
the both of them.

“You offend my hospitality,” Artavash said darkly.

“I would prefer to be recognized as a prisoner, rather than a guest,” Lady Ilys said.
Artavash sent the wine to Mistress Carin. She too declined to drink.

“Pah! Why are you northerners so haughty? Could your noble Order of knights prevent the
Cataclysm? Has your devotion to Paladine brought you glory? You mystify me. Wealth and
power belong to the strong. If you cling to your outdated ideals, you will all vanish like
the ancient deities you serve.” Artavash took a long drink, then waved for Dubai to refill
her cup.

“What is to become of us?” asked Lady Ilys. “That is for the Lord of the Sea to decide.”
"We cannot be ransomed. Lord Brightblade will not pay one copper to you.“ ”Your knight's money means nothing to my master.

Gold runs from his fingertips, and his tears are purest silver."

“If not for vulgar money, why did you take us?” Lady Ilys demanded.

Artavash leaned back, reaching out to idly stroke Sturm's hair. “My master will have a use
for you, never fear.”

Another measure of wine disappeared down Artavash's throat. Dubai filled her goblet
automatically.

“If you do not drink with me, I shall finish the wine alone,” she said.

“Drunkenness is a common fault of barbarians,” said Lady Ilys.

Artavash glared and flung the silver cup at Sturm's mother. Lady Ilys closed her eyes but
did not cower. The goblet hit the rosewood panel behind them, and wine splattered over them like scarlet
rain. A single drop ran to the corner of Sturm's mouth. It tasted sweet and hot.

“I will not be insulted on my own ship!” Artavash declared. “Guard! Guard!” Two armed
Kernaffi entered the front flap. “Escort this LADY and her servant to a cabin below. Put a
watch on the door.” She stood, to get the benefit of her commanding height. “Now, begone!”

Lady Ilys rose and put out a hand to her son. Sturm rose also, defiant.

“He will remain,” said Artavash. Sturm could feel the tension between the two
strong-willed women. This time his mother did not press her point, and instead, drew him
close and kissed his forehead.

“Be wise,” she said in a confidential voice. “And remember who and what you are.”

Artavash sent the steward out so she and Sturm would be alone. “You are a brave boy,” she
said. “You might have been killed on the roundship, yet you defended your mother and
friends courageously.”

“Tomorrow is too late to be brave, my father says,” Sturm replied.

“Hmm, just so. Your father is a wise man. Is he a great warrior as well?”

“He is a Solamnic Knight.” That said it all.

Artavash held out her hand. “Come, sit by me. I wish to know you better.” Sturm half-knelt
in the pile of cushions by her right hand. She said, “You are educated, are you not?”

“I know my letters, and have studied the Chronicles of Huma.”

“Huma? Who is that?”

“You don't know? Huma was the greatest hero of Krynn.” Sturm cleared his throat and
recited:

THUS HUMA, KNIGHT OF SOLAMNIA, LIGHTBRINGER, FIRST LANCER, FOLLOWED HIS LIGHT TO THE FOOT
OF THE KHALKIST MOUNTAINS, TO THE STONE FEET OF THE GODS, TO THE CROUCHED SILENCE OF THEIR TEMPLE. HE
CALLED DOWN THE LANCEMAKERS, HE TOOK ON THEIR UNSPEAKABLE POWER TO CRUSH THE UNSPEAKABLE EVIL, TO THRUST THE COILING DARKNESS BACK DOWN THE TUNNEL OF THE DRAGON'S THROAT.

Sturm finished the canto. Artavash was smiling again. Very quietly she said, “And this
demigod, this Huma; you are a descendant of his?”

“From olden times, yes,” Sturm said with pride. “I cannot wait to present you to my
master,” she said.

The fog dispelled and never returned. SEA RAVEN'S oars beat day and night.

Sturm worried about Soren. There had been no sign of the sergeant since he disappeared
into the dark, fetid hold of the galley two days ago. Artavash was not available, so the
boy complained to Radiz.

“You will not like what you see,” Radiz told him.

“I want to see Sergeant Soren,” Sturm insisted. The commander agreed without any more
argument.

“Perhaps it would be instructive for you to visit the benches,” he mused.

The boy and the commander descended a steep set of steps into the hold. There, a long
wooden walkway ran from forecastle to stern. Below on either side were the rowers'
benches. Four men were chained to each oar, and twenty oars were set on each side. Hard,
grim-faced men prowled the walk, lashing the rowers at random. The sight and smell of the
neglected slaves was fearsome.

Soren was not hard to find. Compared to the skinny wretches around him, he was a giant.
Radiz let Sturm on the catwalk to speak with his friend.

“I'm sorry, Soren!” he said, choking on disgust and angry tears. “I didn't know they'd put
you in this horrible place!”

The guardsman hauled back his oar. “Don't - worry - young - lord,” he panted in time to
the sounding drum. “Alive - there is - hope.”

“Hope is a good breakfast, but a poor supper,” countered Radiz. He led Sturm away. The boy
went back to his mother. He sat between Lady Ilys and Carin and said nothing to anyone for
a long time.

After four days and three nights, the SEA RAVEN hove in sight of land. The coast of
Abanasinia lay like a low, brown cloud off the port beam. Lady Ilys looked longingly at
the far shore.

“So near” she said. Sturm leaned on her arm. “If I knew we were close enough, I'd throw
you overboard to swim it and find help.”

“I could try,” he said eagerly.

She stroked his tangled hair. “No, my son. I fear you would drown.”

Abanasinia receded as the SEA RAVEN bore south and west. A plume of smoke followed the
wind away from the mountaintop.

“Kernaf is a fire-mountain,” explained Artavash. “The natives call it 'HEJ MARAF,' - the
Furnace.”

“Are you not a native?” asked Sturm. “Me, a fish-eater? My ancestors laugh at the idea!”
Sturm peeked at Radiz. The swarthy face under the shiny helmet could not conceal annoyance at her insult. SEA RAVEN gained steadily against
an offshore breeze.

The sea was empty of ships, even as she drew in sight of the mouth of the main harbor.
From the high forecastle, the city of Kernaf spread in a half-circle around the
bowl-shaped bay. Two tall, stone towers flanked the narrow harbor entrance. The tower tops
were blackened by fire.