The Return of Kavin Read Online Free Page A

back…”
    “You did well enough with what you had,” Hugon said. “Here, is that another blade there?”
    “Take it, little man,” Zamor said, passing a second handsome weapon. “But this one’s mine. Ha, you’ve no idea what it feels like to stand free, with a sword in your hand again, after the oarbanks this last half year!”
    Hugon, weighing the sword thoughtfully, nodded. “A day was enough for me.” He buckled the weapon around his waist, and picked up a bottle from a shelf. “Good wine, too.” He upended the bottle, drank, and passed it to Zamor. As the other drank, Hugon moved restlessly about the cabin, prying and searching.
    “A few jewels, but enough to pay our way,” he muttered, pawing about in a small chest. “Ah, some silver pieces…”
    “Yo!”
    The door was open, and grinning, drunken faces appeared in the lamplight, fists and weapons waving. Zamor and Hugon turned, hands dropping to their own weapons, but the leading invader came in, grinning.
    “Ye’re the lads got us loose, ain’t you?” the man said, in a wine-blurred voice. “Come out on deck, we’re aholdin’ a meetin’.” He stared curiously about the room. “Found a bit of loot, eh? Good for you, you’re entitled to it, seeing you’re the clever ones that got us all out of this.”
    The dragonet hissed from his high perch, and the man recoiled, wide-eyed; a knife lifted in his hand, but Hugon seized his wrist.
    “No, man, it’s nothing but a pet beast!” he said hastily. “Brings good luck… let it be, now.”
    “Eh, if you say so…” the other grunted, putting back his knife. “Fair scared me, it did… but come along, will you?”
    Out on the main deck, a good half of the mutineers stood, reeling, or sprawled in the scuppers; some were drunker than others, but there had been plenty of wine in the hold, and none were sober. The ship still drove steadily, under the two big sails, unattended; the wind seemed to be rising, too, from the sound in the rigging. But the noise on deck drowned out the other sound.
    Some of them cheered drunkenly, seeing Hugon and Zamor; several others, making speeches to each other, paid no attention. Dead men rolled in the scuppers, and drunken men, hardly different in appearance, lolled next to them.
    “Now, that’s not an encouraging sight,” Hugon said, surveying the deck from the doorway above. Zamor, behind him, grunted in agreement.
    “Listen, little man, you’ve cleverness enough,” Zamor said, coming up beside him. “What’s next, now?”
    Hugon glanced at the big man, scowling. “Damn it, would you leave off calling me little man? I’ve got height enough, among ordinary folk.”
    Zamor grinned, but said nothing.
    “Cleverness won’t get the wine out of that lot, anyway,” Hugon muttered, staring down at the motley mob. “We can’t take this blasted sea-cow anywhere without a few hands to work sail. And where in the Mother’s name she’s heading now is a grand mystery to me. I’m no sea-tracker.” He glanced skyward. “South, I think… damn it, what’s south of Quenda Cape? Nothing at all but sea, and more sea… I’ve never heard of land in this direction at all.”
    There was a loud argument progressing among the least drunken of the mutineers on the deck below, led by the man who had called them out.
    “Yell not get me to put my hands on any turd-covered oar again, not if you kill me where I stand!” someone roared, and several others agreed with him, loudly. Another, bracing himself on spread legs, pointed at the billowed sail. “Why in hell row? We’ve wind enough!”
    “But damn your eyes, we’ve got to make easting!” the first man shouted. “There’s land, eastward, the capes of Meryon…”
    The argument grew hotter. Hugon, listening, shrugged.
    “No chance at all,” he told Zamor. “They’ll yell till they remember they’ve got weapons, and then… aha, there it begins.”
    The knot had exploded into combat, and several other