concrete, and huddled together in a puzzled clump. Finally Morgrun said, âThis is some joke of Gowynâs. He seeks to humble us by sending this runaway boy.â
Dovirr spat. âI should have you hurled to the sea for that, Morgrun. Gowyn lies dead off the edge of Haraldâs sea; Harald lies beside him. I rule both Thalassarchies!â
The Councilman stared at him, sneering at first, then, seeing the unquestionable authority in his eyes, sinking to their knees, jaws working without producing speech. Dovirr smiled broadly, relishing the moment. âInto the dinghy with the money,â he ordered. âNoâwait. Open the nearest coffer.â
A coffer was opened. Dovirr snatched an ingot, looked at it, sardonically sniffed it. âMorgrun, is the gold pure?â
âOf course, Dovâsire.â
âGood.â Dovirr stepped forward and lifted Morgrunâs bowed head gently with the tip of his boot. âTell me, Councilmanâhow goes it in Vythain? I have been somewhat out of touch, this past year. What of old Lackthan, the spyman?â
âDead, sire.â
âDead, at last? Too bad; I would have enjoyed watching him discover who had succeeded Gowyn. Has the dredging gone well this year?â
âPoorly. You have taken nearly all our gold in the tribute, sire.â
âA pity. Youâll have to squeeze some unfortunate neighbor-city of yours to make up the loss, wonât you?â
A chill wind swept over the pier suddenly. Dovirr gathered his cloak about him. It was time to return to the ship, he thought; the fun here had been about wrung dry.
Morgrun glanced up. âSire?â
âWhat is it, Morgrun?â
âSire, have you heard aught out of Vostrok?â
Dovirr frowned. Vostrok was a northern city, one of the largest on the seaâs surface. Vythain depended on it for its wood; Vostrok had Terraâs finest forest, and from its trees had come most of the planetâs ships.
âWe were expecting wood from Vostrok,â Morgrun continued. âIt has not come. We pay our tribute, sire, andââ
âWe do our job,â Dovirr said coldly. âBut there have been no distress signals coming from Vostroki vessels. Have you called them?â
âWe have.â Alien sub-radio channels still were in operation between the floating cities. âSire, there is no answer. There is no answer! â
Dovirr glanced at Kubril, his first officer. âThis is strange. Perhaps Vostrok is planning rebellion, Kubril. It might bear investigation.â
To Morgrun, he said: âWe will go to Vostrok, old one. Donât fear for your wood.â
Vostrok was the northernmost city of those Dovirr had inherited from Gowyn; it floated in high, choppy seas almost a weekâs journey from Vythain.
The course called for the Garyun to make another tribute call, but Dovirr decided to make for Vostrok at once, and ordered the Ithamil , one of his second-line ships which he encountered en route, to make the tribute pickup instead. The Garyun proceeded steadily northward, through increasingly rough waters. Crowds of the Seaborn attended the ship; moodily, Dovirr watched the flukes of the once-men churning in the dark waters.
On the fourth day an off-duty deckhand harpooned a Seaborn. Dovirr angrily ordered the man microflayed, then relented and merely put him on half-rations for a week. There was, it seemed, an instinctive hatred alive between the men of the Garyun and the Seaborn.
Dovirr felt none of it himself; he had been unable to share in the merriment over the predicament of the tortured creature on the deck, feeling only sympathy. He realized that, for all his dominion, he was actually still a landman at heart. By sheer strength, he had bulled his way to the eminence of a Sea-Lordâs standing, but yet the men of the Garyun sometimes seemed as alien to him in way and thought as the flashing creatures of the deep.
The sea grew
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