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"But what can we do?" Shilia asked hopelessly. She stood without moving, staring up at
her brother and trembling with unshed tears and exhaustion. "Where can we go?"
Aranur shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll find a way." He slung his
pack up onto his shoulders and stood for a moment, bowed as if the load were too heavy
even for him. Finally he straightened, staring out at the wild white-caps that slapped the
barely sheltered bay and listening to the rising howl of the roundwind that whipped the
trees down to the gray beaches like serfs bowing to their lord. "There will be a way," he
repeated softly. "Even if I have to make the way myself."
X
Ember Dione maMarin:
The Cliffs of Bastendore
Blow, blow, you winds of the sea
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To counter the currents carrying me
The black cliffs of Bastendore call me to die
If the sails do not lift from the masts where they he.
Cold, cold, the waters are wroth
To stir up their waves in a hurricane froth
The boat tilts to meet them, its bow on the reefs,
And the waves take me down in the dark Koldor seas.
Twelve hours later Dion found herself clinging to the pilothouse of a fishing boat while the
small craft plunged up and down on the roiling sea, and Rhom and the other men worked
as deep-sea apprentices to the bellowing Captain Mannoa. Her twin and Tyrel were knee
deep in seajel, trying to guide the bulging net up the boat's ramp and onto the deck, but
every few seconds another glob of seajel oozed through the net and splattered over their
deckhoods, blinding them in an acidic spray of slime. Her brother had taken the last
splash: It hung off his hood over his face, its oozing, transparent threads slapping to and
fro as he turned; he did not dare let go of the net to sweep the slime from his hood, as the
winch was at its most critical pull and the captain was screaming at them fit to burst his
lungs.
"No! No! Don't pull faster than that, idiot, or the net twists. YouVe got less brains than the
bono bird. You! Speed it up. By all the worms that fill a curry's flesh, winch! Can't you see
the net's going to drop back over the ramp?"
It was not luck that had given them a way out of the raiders' eager jaws. After trying for six
hours to find passage through to
170
WOLFWALKER
171
the town, they had realized that word would soon be back to their hunters that they had
survived the attack, and Aranur had watched with growing desperation as their margin of
safety dwindled with each passing hour.
Even though they had found a temporary refuge on the fishing boat, Dion was still uneasy,
idly scratching the scruff of the Gray One and soothing her with a mental croon she wished
would do as much for herself as for the wolf. After watching two raider vessels slink by in
the growing fog, she knew she would not feel safe till there was firm ground beneath her
feet and a hundred kilometers between them and Clintner. How could Aranur be so
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confident? They could be stopped and searched on any raider's whim, and fishing boats
did not even carry catapults, let alone have space for the racks of caged bird bombers used
to drop gases and poisons on other boats. The wolf echoed her wish for dry land, but for a
different reason the Gray One was getting seasick in the increasing swells.
Sorry, Hishn. The woman grimaced. The shadows under her eyes made them seem even
more violet than the massing clouds mat sullenly colored the darkening sky above what
was left of the sun.
"... stuck with an idiot crew of damn farmers and a round-wind squall on top of it all. Bring
it up faster, you friggin' lazy dogs!" The scroungy captain waved his arms wildly at Aranur
and Gamon. "We'll lose the whole catch if you can't put your brains together to get enough
of them to do a job a dead dnu could do. Damned idiots ..."
Gamon's silvered hair was plastered against his forehead, the fish slime thick on his pants
as he and Aranur cranked the winch and the silver-purple bellies of the fish started sliding
around each other as the net was gathered in, fins and scales meshing with the sea slime.
The four men were all slipping and swaying with the deck as Mannoa tried to keep the bow
pointed into the waves. The boat plunged suddenly over a deep swell, Rhom lost his hold
on the net in the sickening drop, Tyre! flattened himself against the rail in a crouch as the
deck shot abruptly up again, and a dozen silvery fish slid back into the gray roiling sea.
Mannoa let out an ear-splitting roar.
Shilia came edging her way around the pilothouse to cling to the rails beside the
wolfwalker. "I never thought of my brother
172 TaraK. Harper
as a sailor before," she said soberly, watching Aranur, "and now I know why. They look like
slime monsters."
"Something from the depths of a swamp city's cesspool," Dion agreed. She brushed the
wind-wild hair from her cheeks, making a face as the salt-encrusted strands scratched her
skin. "But if they didn't play fishermen, those raiders would be down on us in a hot second
wondering what we were up to." The boom swung toward the two women, and they
ducked instinctively, though it was over then- heads by a good half meter. ' 'We were lucky
to find someone willing to take us through to Stat-tinton. I guess we can't complain about
the ride."
"Yes, but I don't think Aranur expected to have to learn the ropes," Shilia punned; men she
sobered, looking at Mannoa. "I don't trust that man. He baits us every chance he gets."
"I know what you mean. I get the feeling that he's good for his money for now and he
should be, the way we paid his boat mortgage off, thanks to that slaver captain's
strongbox but I'd bet twice on the eighth moon that if we got in a jam, he'd toss us to the
worlags, or the raiders, as it'd be in this case, before he'd even draw a second breath." The
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women watched Tyrel and Rhom set the net out again, the water running in sheets across
the plunging deck to drain from the scuppers.
"Namina's still sick," Shilia said hesitantly. "She's not taking the ride well."
The healer's jaw tightened. "There's nothing more I can do for her, Shilia. What good are [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]