“Don’t worry,” Iscalda soothed. “She’s down below in the cabin, but—”
“I must see her.” Linnet leapt to her feet.
Forral stepped out of the crowd to block her way. “Not now, lass,” he said softly, taking her arm. Turning to the assembled Nightrunners, he said,
“That’s what I’ve come up to tell you all. I only wish there was some way I could soften the blow. Valand, Zanna and Tarnal’s little boy, has just died of his injuries.”
Cries of grief and dismay went up from the assembled Nightrunners. As one, the crowd stepped back from the words-man, as though to put a physical distance between themselves and such evil tidings. Valand had not only been a child of great confidence and charm, who had been greatly loved by everyone in the Nightrunner caverns—he had also been Yanis’s designated heir, their future leader. For many, it seemed the final blow. The Nightrunners were finished for good.
Hawks did not fly at night. They seldom flew over the sea. It did not occur to the hawk to wonder why he was doing both of these things right now. He only knew that something precious was being taken away from him—something so much a part of him that its absence caused a tearing feeling of pain somewhere deep within him. He only knew it was getting farther away from him with each passing minute. He only knew that he must find it—or die.
Though he could not see well in the dark, he knew the direction of that precious, missing thing he sought. He could feel it ahead of him—a warm glow like the sun beating strongly on his face. This good feeling vanished if he veered off track, even by a little. As the hawk drew nearer to his goal, he could see it ahead of him in the darkness—a light that shone, not with a visible luminescence, but with a glimmer like a single bright star within his mind.
With absolute confidence, the hawk plunged down through the darkness, landing surely on the side of a rocking boat. He could see it now—the thing that had been calling him. It was strapped to the back of that tall woman who also seemed so important to him. With a self-satisfied flip of his wings, the hawk settled down next to the Harp of Winds, and prepared to sleep until morning.
The wind grew stronger with the grey dawn and the swell on the sea increased.—Flurries of sleet came hissing across the water as the Nightrunners gathered on deck. It did not take long to consign the lost ones to the deep. Firstly, the three adults who had all succumbed to their wounds since the ship had embarked were wrapped and weighted and were slid, one by one, into the sea.—Last of all came the pitifully small body of Zanna’s child.
As Valand’s corpse slid down the tilted plank toward the water, Zanna darted forward with a wail, snatching at the blanket that wrapped him, and trying to claw him back from the hungry sea. Tarnal caught her and she fought him like a fury, trying to follow her child. In the end he was forced to pick her up body and carry her back down into the cabin, where her cries could still be heard.—All of the leaders were incapacitated by grief. Zanna and Tarnal needed time to mourn the loss of their firstborn son. Vannor was prostrated by the double losses of Dulsina and his grandson, while Yanis mourned his beloved Emmie. It soon became clear to Forral that someone would have to take charge, and while he actually knew next to nothing about ships and sailing, it looked as though no one else was volunteering. He called the demoralized Nightrunners together on deck, and discovered the heartening news that practically all of them, even the old grandmothers, knew how to sail, and that many of the younger smugglers were regular sailors on the route to the Southern Lands. He had talked the matter over with Schiannath and Iscalda, and after due consideration, they had decided that despite the risks, they must head south—and as quickly as possible. Forral was adamant that Aurian would be heading that way—and so he was going south, too, supposing he had to swim every inch of the way.—The swordsman was extremely anxious to find the Mage, and was also concerned about the whereabouts of the other ship; the first vessel that had managed to flee the cavern—not to mention the flotilla of small boats that had fled the attack, scattering out in all directions on the face of the dark ocean.—Luckily, Linnet came to the rescue. After some food and a few hours’ rest, the winged girl was feeling greatly recovered, and she volunteered to fly out, hunting back and forth across a wide stretch of ocean, to see whether she could spot any of the other ships from the air, and lead them back to the principal Nightrunner vessel.
Aurian awoke with a cramp in the leg that was tucked beneath her at an impossible angle. She felt tired, cold, and bleary, and huddled closer to Chiamh in the well of the small vessel, trying to escape the chill of the strengthening wind. For a moment she had no idea where she was, until she felt the rocking of the boat and raised her head to look over the side at a grey sky and grey sea. It all came back to her, then. She muttered an oath, wishing she could go back to sleep again and blot out the memories.
Just as she was settling down again, a series of high-pitched, staccato cries exploded in her ear, and the tip of a pointed wing poked her in the eye.—Aurian shot bolt upright, waking Chiamh; one hand clasped to her watering eye.—She gasped with delight to see the hawk. “How did you get here?” she cried.
“Chiamh, look—it must have followed us! Does that not prove it must be Anvar?”
“You know that I never needed any convincing.” The Windeye studied the hawk gravely. “The trick will be to get him back into his rightful body.”
The boat’s rocking motion had been increasing, even over the last few moments, and now, as it slid down into a trough, a double spray of water fountained over the bows, drenching Wolf and Grince. Wolf, still half-asleep, jumped up with a sharp yip of panic. He shook a silver shower from his thick grey coat and looked over the side of the boat at the miles of heaving ocean. “It’s a lot bigger than our lake at home, isn’t it?” he said in uncertain tones.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat on this damned boat?” The thief came in so fast on the tail of her son’s complaint that Aurian had to smile at his ruse to distract the wolf—Grince might not have been capable of mental speech, but the growing fear was plainly manifest in the rolling of Wolf’s eyes. Then she realized that not only did they have no food on the boat—they had no water, either. And she didn’t like the look of the weather of all. There was no way a small craft like this could weather a heavy sea.
Chiamh caught her eye—and Mage and Windeye entered into an unspoken compact not to panic the two youngsters. “I’m sure we’ll find somethi—” Aurian was beginning, when Grince interrupted her. “I’m sure I remember Emmie saying that all the small boats carried water bottles for emergencies.”
Aurian realized that Grince had also made himself part of the silent agreement—not to panic Wolf. In her mind, Aurian fervently thanked the Gods.—Aloud, she said, “Well done, Grince. Why don’t you and Wolf see if you can find it?”
“All right. But then I think I ought to be trying to row.” Grince frowned at the heaving sea. “It’s getting too rough to keep drifting now—Emmie told me that when the waves get bigger, you have to keep the boat pointing into them, or you get swamped.”
Aurian nodded, looking at the thief with new respect. The lad certainly had his wits about him. Under her breath, she whispered, “Chiamh—keep Wolf occupied if you can. I’m going to try to contact Shia.”