Free Lords of the Sky by Angus Wells

Lord Bardan would see me now, and I followed him to the tower’s higher levels, to the aeldor’s private quarters. The chamber was not especially large, but very comfortable. A single window admitted light, and against one wall a fire burned in a low hearth. Bardan sat behind a desk of dark wood, in a high-backed chair matched by a second facing him. He bade me take that and I lowered myself, marveling at the softness of the cushioned seat. He set me at my ease with a cheerful inquiry as to the condition of my lower body, and I, greatly surprised he should show such interest, answered that thanks to Garat I was largely unafflicted.
    “He’s a fine herbsman,” said the aeldor absently. “Now, Rekyn’s told you the galley’s on its way? You’re ready?”
    I nodded and thanked him for his hospitality. He waved a dismissive hand and took a wax disk from the desk, tossed it to me. “Now, do you take this and guard it well,” he advised. “When you dock in Durbrecht, pass it to the College’s man who’ll meet you there.”
    I ducked my head, securing the token beneath my shirt.
    “So, enough,” Bardan said. “The God go with you, Daviot. May he make you the finest Rememberer Dharbek’s known.”
    I smiled and nodded and rose, recognizing dismissal.
    Rekyn and Andyrt remained where I had left them, engaged in a game of kells, and I studied the board with poorly contained impatience until word came that the galley was arrived. Andyrt chuckled as I sprang to my feet. “There’s cargo to be offloaded,” he told me, “and the master’ll not leave without you.”
    “Even so,” said Rekyn, more sympathetic to my nervous impatience, “we might find our way to the harbor, no? We can acquaint Daviot with the captain and, if there’s time, take a pot of ale in farewell.”
    We quit the hall, and I must curb the impulse to run as we traversed the avenue, down toward the harbor, toward my future.
    I had seen galleys before, but only at a distance, watching from the shoreline or my father’s boat as they ran sleek and swift, like hunting dogs coursing the waves. This was the first time I had seen one at close quarters, and I appraised her lines with all the experience of my sixteen years. I thought she looked swift, for all the belly-spread of her hold, and kept well. Rekyn pointed to the angled prow and told me her name was the
Seahorse.
    I was agog to board her, but my friends held me back, and I acknowledged that this was not the time: a double row of hulking Changed were unloading cargo, slinging bales and crates and casks from hand to hand as easily as children might toss a ball. They were supervised by a man I took to be the master, and I asked his name, which Rekyn told me was Kerym. I had been content to wait and watch until the offloading was done and whatever trade goods Cambar returned stowed on board, but Andyrt declared himself thirsty and we repaired to a tavern redolent of fish and spilled beer. The occupants were instantly recognizable as sailors or longshoremen. Off to one side sat a group of Changed. We took a table by the door, and Andyrt called for ale and platters of the fish I could smell grilling. Through the open doorway I could see the galley: I ate and drank watching her.
    I started halfway from my chair as the line of Changed broke up, dispersing toward the taverns, but Rekyn put a hand on my arm, urging me be still, and said, “There’s business yet to be concluded, Daviot, and likely the captain’s hungry, too. He’ll not sail without you.”
    I sank back, mumbling an apology. It seemed an age before Kerym returned, although the sun was only a little way past zenith and the tide only just on its turn. I drained the last of my ale in a gulp and reached for my bag as I saw the captain cross the wharf. He fetched a whistle from his tunic and blew a single note that brought his Changed crew striding obediently toward the galley. I heard Andyrt chuckle and murmur something to Rekyn, but my