“And my swordsman?” As he buckled on the belt Ross nodded to Loketh still lying bound where they had pushed him at the beginning of the fight.
“He is sworn to you?” Torgul asked.
“He is.”
“Loose the coast rat then,” the Rover ordered. “Now—tell me, stranger, what manner of man are you? Do you come from the Foanna, after all? You have a magic which is not our magic, since the Stone of Phutka did not reveal it on you. Are you from the Shades?”
His fingers moved in the same sign Loketh had once made before Karara. Ross gave his chosen explanation.
“I am from the sea, Captain. As for the Foanna, they are no friend to me, since they hold captive in their keep one who is my brother-kin.”
Torgul stared him up and down. “You say you are from the sea. I have been a Rover since I was able to stumble on my two feet across a deck, after the manner and custom of my people, yet I have never seen your like before. Perhaps your coming means ill to me and mine, but by the Law of Battle, you have won your freedom on this ship. I swear to you, however, stranger, that if ill comes from you, then the Law will not hold, and you shall match your magic against the Strength of Phutka. That you shall discover is another thing altogether.”
“I will swear any oath you desire of me, Captain, that I have no ill toward you and yours. There is only one wish I hold: to bring him whom I seek out from the Foanna hold before they make him witches’ meat.”
“That will be a task worthy of any magic you may be able to summon, stranger. We have tasted this night of the power of the sea gate. Though we went in under the Will of Phutka, we were as weeds whirled about on the waves. Who enters that gate must have more force than any we now know.”
“And you, too, then have a score to settle with the Foanna?”
“We have a score against the Foanna, or against their magic,” Torgul admitted. “Three ships—one island fairing—are gone as if they never were! And those who went with them are of our fleet-clan. There is the work of the Shadow stretching dark and heavy across the sea, new come into these waters. But there remains nothing we can do this night. We have been lucky to win to sea again. Now, stranger, what shall we do with you? Or will you take to the sea again since you name it as home?”
“Not here,” Ross countered swiftly. He must gain some idea of where they might be in relation to the island, how far from its shore. Karara and the dolphins—what had happened to them?
“You took no other prisoners?” Ross had to ask.
“There were more of you?” Torgul countered.
“Yes.” No need to say how many, Ross decided.
“We saw no others. You . . . all of you—” the Captain rounded on the still-clustered crew, “get about your work! We must raise Kyn Add by morning and report to the council.”
He walked away and Ross, determined to learn all he could, followed him into the stern cabin. Here again the man was faced with barbaric splendor in carvings, hangings, a wealth of plate and furnishing not too different from the display he had seen in the Wreckers’ castle. As Ross hesitated just within the doorway Torgul glanced back at him.
“You have your life and that of your man, stranger. Do not ask more of me, unless you have that within your hands to enforce the asking.”
“I want nothing, save to be returned to where you took me, Captain.”
Torgul smiled grimly. “You are of the sea, you yourself said that. The sea is wide, but it is all one. Through it you must have your own paths. Take any you choose. But I do not risk my ship again into what lies in wait before the gates of the Foanna.”
“Where do you go then, Captain?”
“To Kyn Add. You have your own choice, stranger—the sea or our fairing.”
There would be no way of changing the Rover’s decision, Ross thought. And even with the gill-pack he could not swim back to where he had been taken. There were no guideposts in the sea. But a longer acquaintance with Torgul might be helpful.
“Kyn Add then, Captain.” He made the next move to prove equality and establish himself with this Rover, seating himself at the table as one who had the right to share the Captain’s quarters.
10: Death at Kyn Add
The hour was close to dawn again and a need for sleep weighted Ross’s eyelids, was a craving as strong as hunger. Still restlessness had brought him on deck, sent him to pacing, alert to this vessel and its crew.
He had seen the ships of the Earth’s Bronze Age traders—small craft compared to those of his own time, depending upon oarsmen when the wind failed their sails, creeping along coasts rather than venturing too far into dangerous seas, sometimes even tying up at the shore each night. There had been other ships, leaner, hardier. Those had plunged into the unknown, touching lands beyond the sea mists, sailed and oared by men plagued by the need to learn what lay beyond the horizon.
And here was such a ship, taut, well kept, larger than the Viking longboats Ross had watched on the tapes of the Project’s collection, yet most like those far-faring craft. The prow curved up in a mighty bowsprit where there was the carved likeness of the sea dragon Ross had fought in the Hawaika of his own time. The eyes of that monster flashed with a regular blink of light which the human did not understand. Was it a signal or merely a device to threaten a possible enemy?
There were sails, now furled as this ship bored on, answering to the steady throb of what could only be an engine. And his puzzlement held. A Viking longboat powered by motor? The mixture was incongruous.
The crew were uniform as to face. All of them wore the flexible pearly armor, the skull-strip helmets. Though there were individual differences in ornaments and the choice of weapons. The majority of the men did carry curve-pointed swords, though those were broader and heavier than those he had seen ashore. But several had axes with sickle-shaped heads, whose points curved so far back that they nearly met to form a circle.
Spaced at regular intervals on deck were boxlike objects fronting what resembled gun ports. And smaller ones of the same type were on the raised deck at the stern and mounted in the prow, their muzzles, if the square fronts might be deemed muzzles, flanking the blinking dragon head. Catapults of some type? Ross wondered.
“Rosss—” His name was given the hiss Loketh used, but it was not the Wrecker youth who joined him now at the stern of the ship. “Ho . . . that was strong magic, that fighting knowledge of yours!”
Vistur rubbed his chest reminiscently. “You have big magic, sea man. But then you serve the Maid, do you not? Your swordsman has told us that even the great fish understand and obey her.”
“Some fish,” qualified Ross.
“Such fish as that, perhaps?” Vistur pointed to the curling wake of foam.
Startled, Ross stared in that direction. Torgul’s command was the centermost in a trio of ships, and those cruised in a line, leaving three trails of troubled wave behind them. Coming up now to port in the comparative calm between two wakes was a dark object. In the limited light Ross could be sure of nothing save that it trailed the ships, appeared to rest on or only lightly in the water, and that its speed was less than that of the vessels it doggedly pursued.
“A fish—that?” Ross asked.
“Watch!” Vistur ordered.
But the Hawaikan’s sight must have been keener than the human’s. Had there been a quick movement back there? Ross could not be sure.
“What happened?” He turned to Vistur for enlightenment.
“As a salkar it leaps now and than above the surface. But that is no salkar. Unless, Ross, you who say you are from the sea have servants unlike any finned one we have drawn in by net or line before this day.”
The dolphins! Could Tino-rau or Taua or both be in steady pursuit of the ships? But Karara . . . Ross leaned against the rail, stared until his eyes began to water from the strain of trying to make out the nature of the black blot. No use, the distance was too great. He brought his fist down against the wood, trying to control his impatience. More than half of him wanted to burst into Torgul’s quarters, demand that the Captain bring the ship about to pick up or contact that trailer or trailers.