The waves splashed and rocked at them as Tavi came dangerously close to a rock that only scarcely broke the surface. One barren island was to starboard, a long spine of jagged rocks.
It was the last of the feared islets.
“We are through,” exulted Mnek as it fell behind them. “We are for the Yvorst Ome.”
Then sail appeared in the dusky east
Val t’Ran, normally harsh-spoken, did not even swear when it was reported. He put the helm over for the west, cutting dangerously near the fringe rocks of the north Thiad, and sent Pan running to take orders from Kta, who was coming toward the stern as rapidly as Kta ever moved on Tavr’s deck.
“To the benches!” Kta was shouting, rousing everyone who had been off duty. Men scrambled before him.
He strode up to the helm and gave Val the order to maintain their present westerly heading. “Tkel!” he called up to the rigging. “What sail?” “I cannot tell, my lord,” Tkel’s voice drifted down from the yard, where the man swung precariously on the footrope. “The distance is too great.”
“We shall keep it so,” Kta muttered, and eyed mistrustfully the great spires and deadlier rough water which lay to port. “Gently to starboard, Val. Even for good reason, this is too close.”
“Aye, sir,” said Val, and the ship came a few degrees over. “They are following,” Tkel shouted down after a little time had passed. “They must think we are out of Indresul, my lord.”
“The lad is too free with his supposings,” Val said between his teeth.
“Nevertheless,” said Kta, “that is probably the answer.” “I will join the deck crew,” Kurt offered. “Or serve as relief at the benches.”
“You are considered of Elas,” said Kta. “It makes the men uneasy when you show haste or concern. But if work will relieve your nerves, indulge yourself. Go to the benches.” Kta himself was frightened. It was likely that Kta himself would gladly have taken a hand with the oars, with the rigging, with anything that would have materially sped Tavi on her way. Kurt knew the nemet well enough to read it in his eyes, though his face was calm. He burned to do something. They had fenced together; Kurt knew the nemet’s impatient nature. The Ancestors, Kta had told him once, were rash men. That was the character of Elas.
In the jolted, moving vision of Kta that Kurt had from the rowers’ pit, his own mind numbed by the beat of the oars and the need to breathe, the nemet still stood serenely beside Val at the helm, arms folded, staring out to the horizon. Then Tkel’s shrill voice called down so loudly it rose even over the thunder of the oars.
“Sails off the port bow!”
Tavi altered course. Deck crews ran to the sheets, the oars shuddered a little at the unexpectedly deep bite of the blades, lifted. Chal on the catwalk called out a faster beat. Breath came harder. Vision blurred.
“They are three sails!” Tkel’s voice floated down.
It was tribute to Tavi’s discipline that no one broke time to look. Kta looked, and then walked down among the rowers along the main deck so they could see him clearly.
“Well,” he said, “we bear due north. Those are ships of Indresul ahead of us. If we can hold our present course and they take interest in the other ship, all will be well. Hya, Chal, ease off the beat. Make it one which will last. We may be at this no little time.”
The cadence of the oars took a slower beat. Kta went back to his place at the helm, looking constantly to that threatened horizon. Whatever the Indras ships were doing was something outside the world of the pits. The pace maintained itself, mind lost, no glances at anything but the sweat-drenched back of the man in front, his shoulders, clearing the sweep in back only scarcely, bend and breathe and stretch and pull.
“They are in pursuit,” said Sten, whose bench was aftmost port.. The cadence did not falter.
“They are triremes intercepting us,” Kta said at last, shouting so all could hear. “We cannot outrun them. Hard starboard. We are going back to Nephane’s side.”