DAWN: THE BLACK EAGLE SAILS

Before the sun rose over Zretaia, the trio of victorious hunters freed the children and looted the opulent chambers, then descended to reunite with Harrin, Cusáhn, and UrokYann.

Once Tzark had explained why Rokál was carrying the head of Glaneir, the six comrades rejoiced to see one another safe. But their merriment was far exceeded by the elation of Harrin, his daughter, and his son. Harrin, it was now certain, would lose his hand to the bite-wound of Azaocratz, yet he left the Tower weeping for joy.

In his own manner, Tzark was nearly as pleased. The Upper Tower had been loaded with gemstones, and the slender climbing rope that he had given to a certain maiden was found tied around a merlon of the outer wall, providing a means of escape. Though Tzark, as it turned out, would not be returning to the slums (he would soon be obliged to flee the city after a truly audacious theft), Jezrie, the maiden, would soon leave Zretaia also, and their paths would cross again over the sea.

The richest of all the comrades' treasures, the sapphire body of Azaocratz, was retrieved on the journey out by Rokál. Sunrise saw the company bearing the glittering foe over the dew-wet bridges of the city, on their way to the workshop of Mathras to aid him if he still survived.

The rescued children were delivered to a guard tower that could be trusted to return them to their homes, but the son and daughter of Harrin remained with the comrades, ascending with them to the crystal balcony near the mountain of Mathras, master of alchemy.

Climbing in through the fuming windows of Mathras' cellar, they found the laboratory blasted. But after a search, they discovered Mathras abed in an upper chamber where the windows faced the flaming red of dawn.

It was in this sun-warmed room that the comrades truly relaxed at last, celebrating and laughing together, sitting cross-legged or leaning against the walls as they counted and shared out their spoils.

This was the plunder: the sapphire scales of Azaocratz, her teeth (in Viványa's mouth), the fistfuls upon fistfuls of gold and gems looted from the Upper Tower, the rewards offered by the families of rescued children, and lastly, the bounty for Ulto's head.

As all had expected, Mathras defied Vivict over possession of the wyvern's teeth, but his ranting was in vain; every one of the comrades took Vivict's part. To allay the alchemist's greed, Cusáhn volunteered his own share to pay for the loss of the spark-edged sword.

The guardsman could afford to be generous with his gold, for his real reward was the coup of raiding a great sorcerer's tower, rescuing captives, and bringing justice to the notorious Ulto. In years to come, the everlasting glory of these achievements would daunt his foes and exalt him within the lawmens' ranks.

To UrokYann and Harrin, Cusáhn offered positions within the guard. UrokYann accepted with a joyous laugh. Fearless and hardy as he was, he had relished the adventure within the Tower, and was eager for more.

But Harrin, though he thanked Cusáhn with great sincerity, declined, preferring his ordinary life. The loss of his hand meant that he would be obliged to find a new occupation, but he had the money now for books and tuition, and he mentioned that as a boy he had dreamed of becoming a designer of grand structures. With steadfast work, he might someday buy good apprenticeships for his children, and perpetuate his sudden wealth for generations.

The final divvying of the loot made the comrades feel their weariness, as they had to endure Mathras' quibbling and incessant greed, by which he bickered his way into by far the greatest share.

Tzark and UrokYann proposed to crack open a cask of Mathras' household ale to celebrate the triumph in full (whether Mathras gave his permission or not), but Viványa, remembering the flicker in the eyes of the sorcerer, was restless to sail. She tapped Rokál on the shoulder and pointed with her chin toward the door. The assassin knew of no reason for haste, yet after their trials in the tower, the two red warriors were accustomed to acting as one, without hesitation. Rokál was halfway to the door with her before she gestured that there was time for him to gather his loot.

Cusáhn, seeing that they were setting out, called, "Rokál! I can win you a pardon, after tonight. Will you not stay and fight for the guard?"

The assassin gave a bark of laughter. "What about you, guardsman? Ready to sail beside us and pillage on the open sea?"

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"I am not jesting," Cusáhn said, "though I may regret this."

Rokál answered with a jovial salute, but beneath the jest, there was heartfelt honor. He said, "I'm for the Eagle."

"Then I shall escort you there," Cusáhn replied, "as I swore."

The companions would oneday meet again and dare even greater adventures, but they did not know it, so it was with regretful farewells and earnest well-wishes that Cusáhn, Rokál, and Viványa took their leave of Harrin, Tzark, and UrokYann.

Outside, the three found the city aswarm with watchful guards. The docks, always heavily guarded, were manned as if for a siege, and when Cusáhn left the red warriors in hiding and asked the guards what was afoot, he learned that the notorious assassin Rokál had been seen at dawn moving brazenly through the city, accompanied by a whole pack of henchmen.

With the aid of certain picked guardsmen, Cusáhn and Viványa smuggled Rokál into the docks in a cartload of bricks.

The captain of the Black Eagle was reluctant to take a fugitive landlubber aboard his crew, but he was persuaded when Vivict, whom he trusted, vouched for Rokál by saying, tersely: "He kills tigers."

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And so the Black Eagle sails.

Though setting forth this morning cuts short a fortnight of planned repairs, the captain has given way before the hefty bribes of Rokál, who had sensed Viványa's eagerness to be away.

She offers to repay Rokál the gold, but he answers, "You owe me nothing. Yet a plan occurs to me; we could restore my treasure speedily indeed." He finds an old anchor rope and swings it overhead, shouting, "A wager!"

The buccaneers are groggy and ill-tempered after being rousted from their shore-leave, but they perk up at the shout, grinning crookedly, every man of them eager to fleece the raw landlubber who guards a rich bag of loot.

They crowd around Rokál, who jabs his finger at an old pirate gnawing on a wad of jerky. "You. What good is it to gum that meat with your rotten old mouth? You look to have blocked a battering ram with your jaw."

The pirates hoot with laughter, and Rokál continues, "Listen: I wager Vivict here can bite apart this thickness of cable faster than you can gnaw through that little scrap of beef."

Viványa laughs behind her hand and nods vigorously, the pirates stomping and cackling, one roaring, "Are you cracked, you iron-headed lunk? Red doesn't have two teeth to chatter together!"

Rokál swings his bag, making a jingling sound irresistible to the pirates. Wager after wager is cast. Then Viványa and the man with the jerky open their jaws, amid an uproar of alarm, and set to work.

And so the Black Eagle, raucous with unexpected entertainment and the uproarious brawls that follow, flies on before the wind, and the shadows of Zretaia's towers, mile-long in the morning sun, fall behind amid the waves of the frolicsome sea.

Look to the east, sailor!

Cast your gaze into the ocean wind,

over blue horizons heaving

over flashing sunlit waves!

Pick up a rope,

fill your chest with the wind,

pull with your mates in the shade of the clouds.

Feel the deck roll beneath you

as the waves fly below;

hear the sails breathe apace with the breath of the clouds.

Rokál has affixed a new haft to his halberd;

he stands at the stern gazing back at the isle,

like an obelisk crusted with blood, he thinks,

"Beware, you sorcerers, cursemongers, mask-makers,

who have sealed half my strength

with this iron-wrought mask.

The curse that I could not destroy in Zretaia, I'll shatter upon archipelago isles.

Beware of my return."

And Viványa, whose role is to watch from the crow's nest

lingers below for the joy of the work,

jesting with cronies and bursting her blisters,

thinking, 'All the world's men are my brothers,

though sometimes I fight them I love them the same."

From the top of the mast to the barnacled keel,

the Eagle is ready for months on the sea;

the hold has been loaded with every essential:

boxes packed with sabers

kegs abrim with ale

barrels filled with tar

and a barrel full of

Tzark,

stowing away to escape his audacious theft

of Mathras's share of the gold.