‘All right!’ he said uneasily. ‘Which channel shall we take?’
‘The nearest! D’you want to risk circling this hellhole?’
Kunrad found paired oars harder to handle than he had expected, nearly ramming the warship’s flank once or twice, causing Olvar and the duergar to hand off frantically. Olvar’s urgent whispers gave him the idea, though, and he smiled to see the boat’s bow swing outwards into the channel, between the faintly bobbing reed-walls. That, of course, brought the citadel into his view astern, and he strained at the oars, expecting more helmeted heads at the wall, trumpet alarms and showers of arrows. But the boat surged forward, and as the minutes passed there was nothing, nothing at all save the reeds closing in behind them. Kunrad rowed harder now than any lash could have made him, bending and straightening with a wild bubbling relief that swelled at every stroke gained. He could see it in Gille’s face, hear it in Olvar’s cheerful curses as he readied the sail.
‘Would you believe it, our friends are good seamen also?’ came Olvar’s hoarse whisper. ‘Boatmen, anyhow. Now where’d they ever learn such a skill, I wonder? They might be handier on these channels than I!’
At length they came to a sandy spit that marked the junction with another channel, wider but more winding, and Gille promptly grounded them. ‘No matter!’ said Olvar, glancing back to the citadel, still clearly in sight. ‘She’ll pull off easy, and it’s about time we set sail, I reckon. More use running than laying low, now!’
Kunrad, exhausted, agreed. The duergar were already raising the narrow yard, angling it to the mast in a way that Olvar marvelled at. ‘Heard of this, but it’s mortally hard. Lets you sail a lot closer to the wind, if you’ve the knack. Well, overside, all, and let’s float her.’
But as the men clambered overside the little craft rose free of the sand by herself. Olvar caught the stern – and then stumbled forward as the duergar man hauled hard on the sheet. The coarse canvas filled, and the gunwale was pulled from their fingers. Olvar was towed a yard or so, then lost his grip and floundered. ‘Hey!’ shouted Gille. ‘Hey, you little b—’
Kunrad slapped a hand across his mouth, though he wanted to yell himself. He sprang up on the soft bank and tried to run after the boat, but caught his foot in a tangle and fell heavily. It swayed out into the glittering centre of the new channel, and as he scrambled up the long moonlight showed him the duergh settling himself at the tiller, holding the sheet with easy strength. The man met his eye with a look of grim indifference, and waved the woman to the thwart. She too met Kunrad’s eye, and hesitated, and for the first time he read a clear expression on that strange face, regret and shame. Suddenly she ducked down, and began hurling things at the bank.
The man moved as if to stop her, but he could not do so and control the boat. Instead he sat back and laughed, a deep quiet laugh that boomed back against the tittering rustle of the reeds. The little craft swung away around the first wide bend, and was hidden from their sight. Only the taut sail glided across the rushlands, like some disembodied wing under the moon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Faces in the Reeds
OLVAR WAS CLIMBING OUT of the water, shaking his head. Gille still stood ankle-deep, weeping openly, like a child. The shock, and Kunrad’s powerful slap, had been too much for him.
‘I’m sorry, lad!’ he said, helping the young man ashore, and meant it. ‘But look back! I had to shut you up fast. We’re barely a league away, and sound’ll carry that far in this open land.’
Gille slumped down on the bank, wiping a split lip. ‘What difference does it make? Fuck it, fuck them, and you too! We’re lost!’
‘Might as well stroll on back!’ said Olvar miserably. ‘Hope they don’t hamstring us or something this time. And if you’ve any more bright ideas, boss, you can keep them to yourself. And your fists too! Or I might just feel like trying who’s the stronger, all right?’
Kunrad said nothing, but turned and walked away along the bank, more careful where he put his feet this time. He knew he ought to feel the sting of their despair, but he could not. It simply was not in him to writhe with guilt. He felt airy, liberated, not hopeful exactly, but in hope of hope, as the sky might feel before the dawn. He found he was not even angry with the duergar, not when he came across their packs, all of them, their bows and bolts, and another food-bag.
‘The woman’s portion,’ he said, as he showed it them. ‘Kind of her – yes, kind! I don’t blame them, not really – not after the way they were betrayed before. Even the man; he could have ditched us any number of ways, much sooner. He had the woman to worry about. That’d make him ruthless, think of us as a burden, a bigger risk to her; and maybe he was right, at that. But he saw us safe out, all the same. Gave us our chance and then took his.’
Gille shrugged listlessly. ‘Maybe you’re right. So what? Some bloody chance! We’re stuck here in this horrible place, we haven’t got a boat, and we’ve no idea where we’re going. We’ll end up wandering round in circles, if something doesn’t get us first. Best we head back to the citadel while we can still see it!’
‘No!’ said Kunrad, and the force of his denial was better than a shout.
‘Got something else up your sleeve, have you?’ sneered Olvar.
‘As it happens,’ said Kunrad, ‘yes.’
He shook it down over his hand, to dangle by its chain, twisting and turning in the long low moonbeams – a wide ring, perforated and inscribed with strange patterns. Gille blinked at it, his eyes chasing the deeper gleams that darted beneath the moonglow, like fish in a gleaming pool, letting them waken echoes in his mind. ‘That casting you told them was for the hilt? A – a direction bracelet?’
Kunrad nodded. ‘I made one or two useful things that way, since they kindly supplied the wherewithal. They won’t have these, or at best the weak ones the cheap-jack peddlers sell. I’d have liked a lodestone, too, but even sothrans would have fathomed that. At least we’ve some idea where we’re heading now. I could be more worried about the boat, I meant to ditch it soon enough – not this close, agreed! So unless you’re so set on going back—’
The prentices exchanged glances. ‘Gulled again, my lad!’ grunted Olvar.
‘He’s preparing something really foul for us this time!’ agreed Gille.
‘I’m not,’ said Kunrad, ‘but the marshwater might, if you don’t get something drier on, Olvar. Then let’s hop!’
Almost at once the reeds closed in around them, and sail, citadel and all else were hidden in the dark. Even the moonlight only touched the tips of the tall leaf-blades, barely glittering on the dark waters of the half-hidden channel. In a way Kunrad was heartened. He had not expected the reed fronds to be so tall, ten feet high in some stands and rarely lower than his head. He had imagined an open plain on which fleeing figures would stand out for leagues; instead they could lurk like mice among grasses, invisible even from a few feet away. But he had also expected to be able to see, and he could not. He and the prentices were trapped in a tiny cell that opened and closed behind them, but otherwise varied little, no larger than the span of their arms. Without the bracelet …
His blood ran cold at the thought. A man could wander forever within the same small space. That blank grey-green curtain, softly swaying with a sound like slow breathing, the mind could people with all the lurking horrors of its own dark corners. The Marshes needed no greater terrors; and yet they were there.
Their feet sank noisily into the spongy peat, squeezing out strange and stinking airs. Gille stumbled constantly. ‘Hop, the man said!’ he complained. ‘Stagger, yes; swim, any moment! But hop? All well enough for you half-trolls, you just trail this muck along after you. I get snared every third step!’
‘Missing your nice fetters?’ demanded Kunrad cheerfully. ‘Anyhow, the land’s rising a little, maybe.’
‘Oh yes! About a finger’s breadth!’
Kunrad held up a hand for silence. Gille flinched; then, as he too looked back, he ducked down behind the stems, sh
ivering. Along the channel, still faintly skylit, dark shapes were approaching, narrow, foreshortened darts, low and black. They came at a shocking speed, and in an eerie silence. The smiths lifted their arms to cover their pale faces. In no more than minutes they heard the water-rush, the harsh creak of rowlocks and the soft gasping breaths of the straining oarsmen. Suddenly a black lance streaked past the reeds, and another behind it, with bowmen crouching in the bows, drawn swords gleaming at the stern. In the space of a few thudding heartbeats they were come and gone, their wash lapping against the reeds and disturbing small night creatures.
‘Good job we weren’t still sat there!’ said Olvar shakily. ‘Though we almost could have, they were paying so little heed to the shore! More as if they were chasing …’
‘Yes,’ said Kunrad. ‘The sailboat. Easier to see from high up, across this expanse. That’s why I meant to leave it. I hope for their sakes the duergar do too. But you can bet the corsairs’ll be combing the shores as well, when it’s light. Maybe with trackers or dogs. We’re a danger to them. When folk hear about this place they may just be alarmed enough to persuade an army in and smoke it out.’
‘Sooner them than me!’ said Gille. ‘But you’re right, Mastersmith. As usual. And you kept your promise – thus far.’
‘Might even end up owing the bugger an apology,’ grumbled Olvar.
‘Never that!’ said Kunrad. ‘I should never have dragged you both along.’
‘Shouldn’t have come yourself.’
Kunrad did not bother to reply. He had argued that out with himself often enough. He turned and walked on, with the peat sucking at his boots, and the prentices trudged on after him. Home and livelihood this had already cost him, and might all too easily claim his life also; but it was only these other lives he regretted casting into the balance. He thought of childhood stories, of bleached bones under the sky. If they found his, they would be pointing towards that suit of armour. He shivered. Much good it would do him!
‘Well,’ said Olvar some time later, as they rested for a bite of breakfast. ‘Sun’s well-nigh up, and nothing’s eaten us yet! Reckon we should be safe till tonight now!’ Then he swore and slapped, as a cloud of small shifting spots danced about his face.
‘Nothing’s eaten us?’ inquired Gille politely, and spat violently as they invaded his mouth, along with his biscuit. ‘And what about drink? Breaded bloodsucker, that’s thirsty meat!’
‘We’ll have to risk drinking this boggy horsepiss,’ sighed Olvar. ‘And there was me clamping my lips tight!’
‘Well,’ said Kunrad, producing a flat leather bottle from his pack, ‘we have some answer to that, at least.’ He held up a metal circlet crowning a maze of wire, stuck it in the neck and dipped it in the nearby channel. ‘Silver’s signal against evils in more ways than one. I said this was a form for wire, remember? And so it is – but with strong virtues woven in to filter and purify the water passing through. I thought of using forge-charcoal, but that needs renewing.’ He stared dubiously into the bottle, and sipped gingerly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t risk this in just any puddle, but it seems to cleanse running water well enough. Tastes strange, though … brackish. All right, the horse is unfit for work. But better than naught.’
He passed the bottle to the silent prentices. Gille toasted Olvar, held his nose and drank. Olvar was nervously sampling it when he spluttered and pointed. Through the reeds, just beyond arm’s length, a face was peering at them. It was not a frightening face, save as any other face here was disconcerting; and this was a small boy. A white weasel-faced thing of at most eight, maybe, with a malicious glint in the narrow eyes peeping out below the thick round thatch of hair, as coarse and black as Olvar’s. ‘Well, what have we here?’ boomed Olvar cheerfully. ‘First meat and drink, then company! You hungry, then, laddie?’ He held out half a biscuit, but the face vanished back among the reeds. Kunrad glimpsed one skinny white hand, there was a flurry in the reeds, then nothing to be seen.
‘Kiddies loose in a place like this!’ said Olvar anxiously. ‘Look, we should go after him!’
‘Should we?’ demanded Gille. ‘We’re still only a league or two from the citadel. Maybe there are outlivers nearby.’
‘He seems able to look after himself, anyhow,’ said Kunrad firmly. ‘Leave him, Olvar, and let’s walk!’
But he looked out at them again, when next they halted, and vanished when a somewhat conscience-ridden Kunrad tried to talk to him. ‘Could a child wander off and live wild here?’ he wondered, peering uselessly through the reeds.
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Olvar, his cheeks heavy with paternal concern. ‘Poor little bugger!’
‘A poor little bugger who’s kept pace with us!’ Gille pointed out. ‘Don’t suppose he’d like to rescue us, do you?’
He was there again when they next stopped, and by common consent they ignored him, hoping he would creep closer. He stayed where he was, though, and his gaze made them acutely uncomfortable. He appeared at their next halt also, in the early afternoon, only to vanish when Gille tried to talk to him. ‘Well, that’s one way!’ said the prentice cheerfully.
‘No soul, that’s your problem,’ said Olvar sourly. ‘Just as well you haven’t whelped yet!’
‘Not for want of trying, though,’ was Kunrad’s comment. ‘Still, he was getting on my nerves a shade, that lad. I plod leagues through squelching mire, unable to see beyond the end of my nose, and up pops a little squit who isn’t tired of this game yet. It depresses me.’ He dangled the direction bracelet, and watched it turn the same way as before – inland, to where there must be higher and drier ground.
He swore and sprang up. Cold water had suddenly invaded his breeches, and the marsh, if anything stank more strongly than before. Gille too was exclaiming with disgust and alarm. ‘What’s happening? I Knew it, we’re sinking!’
Olvar chuckled. ‘It’s high tide, you lubbers! Backing the water up the channels for a good way inland, mingling with it even. Remember you said it tasted brackish?’
Gille had a fair amount to say on the point, as usual. Kunrad gave up, and led them on. Movement caught his eye above the reeds and the eternal dance of insects, and he pointed. A small flight of seagulls wheeled overhead, their sickle wings glowing against the great rolling cloud-swathes. An instant, and they were gone; but Olvar gestured for silence. ‘Nothing,’ he said at last. ‘Did you hear it – or not, rather? Not a cry, not so much as a squawk before or after. Powers, I miss that! Did you ever hear of a silent gull?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Kunrad. ‘But it squares with all else here. Move on, lads! It’s high time!’
Their next halt was a rock, one of the many small outcrops in the mire. Kunrad suspected they were the tips of large boulders, and wondered if the corsairs’ citadel was built on an immense one. The duergar would have known, probably. He tapped the smith’s book, in his pack. There was so much he would have liked to ask them …
‘There again!’ said Olvar, unbelievingly. Kunrad stood up, and walked carefully down the rock towards the reed curtain. He held out a hand, and this time the face did not disappear.
‘Just what do you want from us?’ he demanded quietly, in his best sothran. Again he stretched out a piece of biscuit, within inches of the face. ‘Is it food, or just – hey!’
The small features contorted, the little boy chittered and snapped at him like a furious weasel. Kunrad barely jerked his hand away in time. ‘Thank you! he said shakily as the face vanished, still chittering and clicking its teeth.
‘Just what we should have done, years ago!’ said Gille. Kunrad glared at him.
Light faded among the reedbeds quite early, as the cloud-hidden sun sank too low to pierce them. A dull red glow shone for a moment through gaps here and there, and then the gloom returned. The escapees looked around uneasily as they trudged on. ‘My legs are aching!’ complained Olvar. ‘Isn’t there any dry ground we can kip on round here?’
‘Doesn’t look promising,’ said Kunra
d unhappily. ‘More mud-pools than usual, I’d say, so watch your step.’
There was a loud obscene bubble. ‘Now he tells us!’ said Gille, shaking one ankle free of slime. ‘Nearly sucked my boot off, that stuff! Though wait a minute—’
Kunrad was stamping around the thinner patch of reeds ahead. ‘Yes! This is real ground just here, a sort of hummock – maybe another boulder. Draining to cause the quags, maybe. Well, it’s still pretty damp, but if we cut a few reeds—’
‘Can’t imagine where we’ll find those!’ wheezed Olvar. ‘Listen, this is the land where good smiths go, right? We’ll take it!’
They slashed great handfuls of stalks and strewed them down before collapsing on them, groaning. ‘How far’ve we come?’ asked Gille after a while. ‘A league and a half, you reckon?’
‘Maybe two, by the bracelet’s reckoning,’ Kunrad said. ‘Better than I’d hoped, over such ground.’
Gille opened one eye hopefully. ‘Any chance of a fire, then?’
‘A small one, maybe. We’re still in sight of the citadel, but the reeds should hide it – provided we wait till after dark, to hide the smoke. Don’t know if we’ll find any dry kindling, though – You again!’
The reeds riffled apart, and the familiar face peered beadily out at them. In that light the boy looked less than reassuring. Then he suddenly tossed something through the reeds, that spilled at their feet. A pale flash among the twilit reeds, and he was gone. ‘Well! What’s this muck he’s left us?’
‘It’s dry stalks!’ said Gille enthusiastically. ‘Kindling! He must’ve heard us! C’mon, let’s build a fire—’
The Castle of the Winds Page 16
