Passing on the pendant, I stretched my back and shoulders. I was cramped, and wished myself back into Megaid's embrace, none of Margala's girls could knead your shoulders - or other parts - like her. Since I was lacking her company, I had to do some of the swordsman's exercises I had been taught last winter, but only after closing down my workshop, and stowing away the cooled pieces in their padded boxes.
"I think you did it," the Lanbrili said, without forewarning, after keeping
his silence for the entire working session, making me jump.
"So, what about my payment?" I demanded. He tossed me a bag of coins - two
wheels, and six guilders. A generous payment, to tell the truth, even for
nightwork.
"There's more in for you, if you go to the harbour," he added. "You will
know where to go."
I nodded, biting back my triumph. Of course I'd collect any extras! I didn't fear any muggers - the Lanbrili knew me, and in two years of tutoring by I had learned enough swordwork from Berengar of Rhigos to hold off any hiring crew long enough that the guards would arrive. If Berengar had only refused the challenge of that thrice-cursed slayer Aldarch Roven-Drax! I could have become a real blade-master. As usual when I thought of my former patron and swordsmaster, my hand went to the blade I had inherited from him, after that fateful duel. The Rhigosite sabre was one of a matched pair, of the best bronze Caladrian smiths could produce, light enough for the two-sword style yet tough enough to block even a greatsword - at least usually. Its twin had broken when Roven-Drax' broadsword went through with unnatural speed and cruelty, slaying Berengar at once. The money Berengar had left me had provided a new, locally made blade for its handle, so I could wear a matched pair, but still the left-hand sword felt different from the original righthand blade.
The stranger shooed me off while he collapsed the tent. Since I still felt too much tension, I decided not to return to my room at once, but instead to take a stroll to the harbour. The Sea Gate would be open by this time, with the first fishermen departing for this morning's catch and the last crewmen returning from the less renowned brothels.
The guards were sleepy, except for an elderly sergeant I knew from before. He was a hardliner Heortlander, the kind of bully who liked to step on Esrolite, Islander and mixed-blood toes. I had been on the receiving end in the weaponmasters' court a couple of times in my early companionship with Berengar, but after a couple of weeks training with the Rhigosite swordmaster I had been able to stand him off, which seemed to have annoyed him greatly. Ever since he had liked to scrutinize me, to my (and my Lanbrili contacts') chagrin. Tonight would be no different, except that this time I had my workshop with me, and nobody to hide it on... I was about to veer off and take the back route to Laticia's whorehouse - about the most repugnant etablissement within the city walls, but the only good cover for a lawful if tasteless citizen in the streets at this time, when his attention was drawn to some disturbance upon the quayeside. He shoved his companions to attention and dragged one of them with him to clear whatever trouble was brewing. The remaining guard was less eager to cause trouble, and just waved me through.
The trouble was a ruffle between two foreign sailors and a gang of early dockers, with old Rhesus Creal once more in the thick of action. The brown-skinned foreigners wore long flowing robes rather than the usual trews and tunics, and they seemed to try to shrink into wall before the dockers. Vadeli. I couldn't stand the creeps, but I knew that beating up a few of them wasn't the wisest idea - whoever tried often ended up with a strange curse, or floating in the harbour. Apparently the sergeant was as wise, unlike Creal who reveled in the sailors' timid pleas for forgiveness. I slipped off to the far side, where I felt I was expected.
There she lay, a sloop of slender build but sturdy of mast and rigging. I didn't know why, but I felt drawn to the craft, a gentle tug and warm beckoning. Its lines were exquisite, but the planking was rough, and the rigging seemed coarse. Still, it had a familiar touch to it, almost like home, so I boarded. Not really knowing what I was doing I fetched in the lines, set the sail and laid off, all the while humming some nursery rhyme that wouldn't leave my head. I steered the sloop out into the mighty current of the river, while the fiery swirls in the night sky gave way for the red and yellow sky dome. As I looked south I noticed a blue streak over the morning mists slowly rising from Choralinthor's bed, and I knew I could ride the current faster than ever. Around me, the scene shifted slowly - the river seemed to swell to a width I hadn't even seen when the tidal wave had run up Choralinthor Bay three years ago, following an ominous rumble from the Vent where Fire and Sea had clashed. Now the full might of Lorion seemed to follow the blue streak, as if the Godking never had blocked his way with the Lead Hills. Thunder rolled across Heortland from the Storm Mountains, and a pitch darkness and cold hung over the Shadow Plateau, almost forming a phantastical spire reaching to heaven, spiting the rising sun orb.
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