“You warned them?” Gathmor was an infinitely more powerful swimmer than Rap.
“I told you, lad—they’d already gone. But I would have done. They might have thumped me first, of course, seeing as how I’m a jotunn, but I figured if you’d survived you’d be along here somewhere. So I thought I d come and look for you. “
“Thanks.” Then Rap added cautiously, “I think there’s another somewhere. “
“Who?”
“The minstrel, maybe. “ If it was Darad or Andor, Rap would be happy to let him die of starvation and exposure. Jalon or Thinal would be worth saving. Sagorn it would never be, not yet. Having laid a selection of fruits and crusts beside him on the rock, Rap passed the basket back down to the canoe. ”Did he jump, too?”
“I didn’t see him, but. . .”Rap considered trying to explain, and weariness settled over him like a blanket of snow. “I think maybe he did. ”
Gathmor grunted, his mouth full of black bread. “You really tried to sink the longship?”
“Yes.”
“Nice try! Good man!” The jotunn chewed for a while. “Wish I’d felled the bastard with that ax, though! Never saw a man jump like that.”
“He has farsight, too,” Rap said sadly.
“Stow that!” Gathmor would never discuss the occult, nor let it be discussed in his presence. Sailors believed such talk was unlucky.
But obviously Kalkor had seen the battle-ax coming. When he had wanted a harp for his minstrel, he had gone straight to the correct sack among a boatful of loot. The test with the razor had been a lot less dangerous than it seemed, for he had been watching all Rap’s muscles, as Rap had been watching his. He had known the dangers of the reef and understood them perfectly, waiting until the last minute just to be certain of Rap’s ill intent. Kalkor had never needed a seer; he was one.
“What’re you going to do next?” Rap asked, nibbling at a thickskinned fruit he did not recognize. It was sickly and bitter at the same time, and the juice ran down into his stubble.
The jotunn paused in his chewing and bared his teeth. “Find an Imperial post and warn them of Kalkor. If we can get word to the navy soon enough, they might bottle him up here.”
“How far?”
“Let’s see . . . We passed Flame Cape two days ago—”
“We did?”
“We did. Clouds. Birds. Wave patterns. Those northerners don’t know these waters. I wasn’t certain it was Flame, of course, but I knew we were close to land. So two days northeast of that . . .” He pondered for a moment, screwing up his face. “We must be close to Pithmot. Dragon Neck, they call the bit next the mainland. Not far to Puldarn, but it might still take us days. The devil may be long gone by then. Not much chance of catching him, really.” He fell to brooding, chewing as impassively as an ox, rocking to and fro as waves flowed under him. The painter tugged stubbornly at Rap’s ankle.
“Then,” Gathmor said at last, “from Puldam we head home to Durthing. The other crews’ll be in now, or very soon. Expect they’re organizing something.”
“Hunt him down?” How could anyone ever hope to comer a single raider on the immensity of the four oceans?
“Course not. We’ll go to Gark. Return the compliment—burn his steadings, carry off the young women.”
Rap shuddered. He could see where the manpower would come from, and the galleys could be adapted readily enough, but. . . “Where do you get the weapons?”
“The praetor. Impire’s always willing to support an outing like that.”
Of course. It would never end. Moreover, Gathmor was obviously assuming that he still had the right to give Rap orders and have them obeyed. That was a matter that would have to be settled soon, but this was neither the time nor the place. It would mean a fight. “You’re feeling better, anyway.”
Gathmor bristled. “And what does that mean?”
“Just that I’m glad!” Rap said hastily. Yet the sailor had made a miraculous recovery from the paralysis that had seized him aboard Blood Wave. That withdrawal could have been genuinely due to weakness and shock, but it had more likely been faked. While a faun could cower and beg for food, another jotunn doing so might provoke a lethal contempt. His strange lethargy could very well have saved Gathmor from cold-blooded execution, but he would never admit that he had stooped to using deceit.
So change the subject quickly.
“I’d like to explore a little farther north before the tide turns, sir. If you don’t mind.”
Gathmor grunted uncooperatively.
“I thought I caught a glimpse of the minstrel jumping,” Rap said with complete untruth, “but if you think it’s too dangerous—”
“We can risk it. Get in, then.”
The canoe was an absurdly awkward thing, constantly shipping water, but it was better than swimming or walking. Just around the next headland, Rap’s farsight detected Jalon stretched out on a small patch of sand. He was unhurt, and effusively grateful for being rescued. The prophecy had passed its test and the trio was now complete.
The tide began to ebb, and soon the clumsy dugout was whirling southward, perilously overloaded. Jalon had deliberately followed the other captives over Blood Wave’s side, which was a surprising act of courage or desperation from him. Although he had already guessed that this deserted countryside must be Dragon Reach, he did not seem to connect it with the vision in the magic casement. Any of the other four would have done so, but Jalon was notoriously impractical. When the dragon appeared, he would call Sagorn and the prophecy would be fulfilled, the hidden ending revealed.
Gathmor did not know of the prophecy, and his sole intent now was to be revenged on Kalkor. Dragons held no interest for him.
So Rap was the only one who could see what was going to happen. He had his own ambitions, and it felt like his turn to be ruthless for a change.
Ever since the night encounter with Bright Water’s fire chick in the Gazebo, he had known that his mastery over animals could control dragons. Neither Sagorn nor any of his four alternates knew that, not having been there, and Rap could see how this situation might be. used in the near future to extract certain information. He would have to fake enough terror to deceive Sagorn.
That might be the tricky part, for of course he would be in no real danger.
3
The little hamlet had no name. Its people were mostly old or middle age, with few young adults and even fewer children. They were a varied lot, as Gathmor had predicted: hulking trolls, tall jotnar, squat imps, and a couple of male fauns like shorter, slighter versions of Rap himself, plus people of obvious mixed blood. He was curious to farsee one of the women being hustled away by two men as the strangers arrived. They put her in the farthest shack and stayed there with her, as if guarding.
Among the adults, men far outnumbered women, and many of both bore ownership brands to prove that slavery still lingered in the outer reaches of the Impire. All seemed bitter and listless—from sickness, perhaps, or poor diet, or just excessive toil. Everyone and everywhere stank of fish.
On the edge of the firelight, the naked castaways were challenged, and came to a halt before a bristle of spears and axes, tight-clutched in male hands and backed by the glint of angry, distrustful eyes in shadowed faces.
Gathmor told his story, or the parts that mattered, and for an uneasy few minutes after that Rap was acutely aware of numbers and the utter lack of law. Only brute force reigned here in the wilds. He saw the poverty and emaciation; he smelled the resentment. Who was he to come begging at such a door?
Then a woman called out from behind the ring of men, “Bring you metal, strangers?”
“No metal!” Gathmor said. “We have nothing, as you can see.”
“Be welcome then.”
With no argument, but certainly without enthusiasm, the men accepted her decision and lowered their weapons. Clothes were passed forward, and the visitors brought into the group.
Thus Rap soon found himself joining a single great circle, cross-legged around the central fire. The fare thrust upon him was sparse, fish and roasted roots, but he felt guilty at accepting even that, hungry though he was. His meager portion was larger than any other in sight, and he could see the gaunt children huddling behind their elders and peering out at the newcomers with sullen awe. He thought they needed the food more than he did.
The buildings on the edge of the firelight were ramshackle hovels of driftwood and wicker; sparks and smoke drifted up into indistinct overhanging boughs, and somewhere the stream made excited chatter on its way to the sea. The night was heavy and sticky and rife with insects. In the distance, surf boomed an endless, mindless, changeless knell.