“Its navigator was watching the kestrels, too,” Jenrosa said, and ignored Kumul’s sour expression.
The constable grunted. “If they’ve seen us, then at least we can use the sail again.” He let go of his oar and started to stand.
“No!” Ager roared, but it was too late. As soon as Kumul moved, the boat’s prow lurched violently toward the rocks. He sat down and reached for the oar, but it slipped out of his grasp as the blade bit into the sea. The boat spun ninety degrees, sending the oar into Kumul’s side with terrific force and unseating him with a loud thwack.
Ager grabbed the oar and tried desperately to work it as well as his own, but his reach was not wide enough. Lynan and Jenrosa pushed on the tiller in a frantic attempt to keep the prow pointed away from the cliffs, but a wave picked them up and lifted the stern out of the water, rendering the rudder useless.
Ager pulled in the oars and moved astern to take the tiller, pushing the two young people forward and down to the bottom of the boat. The wave seemed to tire of them and dropped them behind its cap. Ager was ready, and he heaved on the tiller with all his strength. Kumul had recovered his breath by this time, and he lurched back to help. Together, the two men were able to move the prow to port, and the boat slid sideways for a second before compromising and moving forward at an angle, driven by current and momentum, still headed toward destruction on the rocks.
“Look out!” gasped Kumul, pointing to where the waves were breaking early directly in their path. But there was nothing either of the men could do. Almost as soon as Kumul cried out his warning, the boat was picked up by another wave. There was a tormented scraping sound as the hull was hauled over a barely submerged rock and the boat was shot forward again. It hit the sea with a crash and Lynan felt himself picked up and hurled through the air. When he hit the water, the shock of the cold made him open his mouth in a gagging scream, and the whole ocean seemed to rush in. He kicked frantically and broached the surface, only to slip under again right away. His clothes felt as if they were loaded down with lead weights, and he tore at them frantically.
Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed hold of his hair and jerked him to the surface. He heard Kumul mutter something about twice having to save him by his hair in two days, and then he was being dragged through the water like a river barge. Seawater still flowed into his mouth and up his nose with distressing ease, but he had the good sense not to struggle against Kumul’s grip as he was pulled through the sea. He tried not to panic as the shadows of the cliffs fell across his face and made him almost rigid with fear. The pair suddenly rose in the air as a wave lifted them high. Lynan had a sensation of moving along very quickly and was aware of Kumul using his one free arm desperately in an attempt to at least steer some passage for them. They were surrounded by swirling white water. Lynan’s thigh slammed hard against a rock. He heard Kumul gasp in pain. More white water, the sea surging over their heads.
I’m going to die, Lynan thought, and was surprised by the sense of calm that overtook him, like the moment just before sleep.
And then weight returned. It was as if having become part of the sea he was now being forcefully separated from it. His calves and ankles slapped against slippery rock. Kumul was lifting him out of the water, pulling him back with his last reserves of strength.
Even though Lynan had expended little effort in his own rescue, he was exhausted. When Kumul finally released him, he could barely lift his head. He saw that he was lying on a long, flat basalt platform wet with spray, protected from the sea by a boulder balanced on the edge of the platform like a bird of prey on a perch. Ten paces away was Ager, bending over Jenrosa, trying to kiss her, and for the moment there seemed nothing odd about his behavior. Lynan tried to thank Kumul for saving his life a second time in as many days, but only managed a weak croak.
“Save your breath, your Highness,” Kumul said gently. “You’ll need it if we’re to get out of this mess. We’ve lost our boat and with it our supplies and our swords—leaving us with nothing but knives to protect ourselves. We’re at the bottom of a cliff. There is a warship looking for us on the other side of that boulder.” He shook his head violently, as if to clear it. He faced the crookback. “Ager, how’s the magicker?”
For the first time it occurred to Lynan that Jenrosa might be in danger, that indeed Ager had not been kissing her but trying to revive her. He tried to sit up, but it only started him retching. Brine burned up from his stomach and lungs, spilling out of his mouth as whispery spittle. The sound of him throwing up was matched by Jenrosa heaving and coughing.
“She’ll be all right,” Ager answered, and helped Jenrosa sit up. “What are our navy friends doing?”
Kumul half squatted behind the boulder and peeked over its edge. “They’re about four hundred paces away. They’re trying to retrieve the boat with hooks, but it’s pretty smashed up. I can see archers behind the gunwales.” He dropped down out of sight. “You’re heavier than you look,” he told Lynan wearily.
The young prince grinned stupidly and managed to join Kumul, his back against the boulder. He saw how the platform they were on jutted out of a crumbling cliff face that looked as if it was ready to finish slipping into the sea at any moment. It was a long way to the top, but the slope was nowhere near as sheer as Lynan had first thought.
Jenrosa moaned. Ager still held her, but after a moment she waved him away.
“I’m all right,” she pronounced huskily, and slowly looked around. “We’ve got to climb that?” she asked, staring up at the cliff.
“Unless you feel like risking a five-league swim around the rocks,” Ager said.
“Not today,” she admitted.
“Well, we can’t stay here either. Eventually a big wave will wash over us, and I don’t give much for our chances of making it to safety a second time. Besides, the longer we wait, the stiffer our muscles will become.”
Lynan carefully peeped over the boulder. “The warship is leaving,” he told the others, and then saw the shattered remains of their boat swirling among the rocks below. “And they’re leaving their prize behind,” he added dully, and for an instant imagined that his own body was down there, broken and drowned. He recalled Kumul saying their swords had gone down with the boat. In his heart he felt a terrible pang—his sword had been the only thing left to him from his father. Suddenly he wanted to climb to the top of the cliff more than he had ever wanted to do anything in his life. He wanted to get away from the water, from the smell of the spray, from the call of the seabirds and the sound of waves smashing against the rocks.
“Let’s go,” he said, the plea almost sounding like an order, and stood uncertainly to his feet. Kumul’s hand roughly pulled him down to the rock.
“Don’t be an idiot, lad. Those on the warship would see us as easily as flies crawling up a white sheet.”
They waited for nearly an hour, cold and regularly washed by spray coming over the platform. They huddled together for warmth and security, afraid that at any moment a big wave would throw them back into the crashing sea and finish them off. Eventually, Kumul could no longer see the warship’s sail even when he stood up, and he led the way to the base of the cliff.
There were plenty of holds in the rock, but the basalt was sharp and cut into their palms. The first third of the slope was wet from the spray and they all slipped and gashed then-faces and bodies. Their clothes tightened as they dried, stretching limbs like tight nooses. The worst part was the numbing exhaustion they all felt, exhaustion that turned muscles into string and bone into sapling, exhaustion so severe it became a physical pain starting in their joints and traveling throughout their arms and legs in excruciating spasms.