Within, he found Kellanved and another of the creatures, apparently talking.
The mage looked up, beaming. ‘Ah! With us at last. Excellent!’
‘What’s going on? Who – what – are these?’
‘These are our benefactors. Saviours. One of them spotted us and brought us here. All due to you, my friend. Apparently you nearly crawled right into the sea. Anyway, they are stranded here, just as we are.’
‘And … what … are they?’
The mage’s grey brows rose in incredulity. ‘You have not heard of the legendary Moranth?’
Dancer felt his shoulders falling. ‘No. I have not heard of the legendary Moranth.’
Kellanved lifted a single brow in disapproval. ‘Well, they are a people of the continent of Genabackis. You have heard of that, I should hope.’
At the word Genabackis the two Moranth nodded.
Dancer gave his companion a thin smile. ‘Yes, thank you, I have heard of Genabackis.’
‘Very good. Now, as far as I can make out, our friends were exiled, or fled, from their homeland and ended up here. Struck the coast and have been stranded ever since. Sailing not one of their skills, apparently.’
Dancer eyed the armoured monsters. ‘Just what is it they do, then?’
An eager smile came to Kellanved. ‘Oh, they are soldiers, my friend. Bred from birth.’
Dancer grunted, impressed despite himself. ‘Well, thank them and let’s get going.’
The mage tapped his fingertips together, and Dancer knew there was a problem. ‘Well …’ Kellanved began, ‘that’s the thing. Remember I said that the Warrens were all torn apart and pretty much inaccessible across these lands?’
Dancer frowned. Actually, he didn’t. ‘What of it?’
‘Well … they are. And so we’re stuck here. Unless, of course, our friends here,’ and he gestured to their hosts, ‘find it within their generosity to grant us a place on the fine craft they are currently constructing.’
Now Dancer scowled his disgust. ‘I saw it. That raft is a sad piece of trash.’
Kellanved raised a hand for silence. He turned to the Moranth he’d been speaking to. ‘As I said, Tull, I can send you home if you would just take us far enough from land.’
‘No room,’ the monster answered, startling Dancer.
Kellanved opened his hands. ‘Yes. I understand. But if you make room I will send you back to Genabackis.’
‘You lie for room,’ Tull replied.
Kellanved pressed a hand to his head in exasperation. ‘Have you no mages among you? None of that – caste – who deal with the unseen? Who do things you cannot?’
Tull nodded his armoured head. ‘Ah. You speak of Silvers. Priests and sages. You are priest?’
Kellanved continued to rub his brow. ‘Something like that. Now – once I am far enough from the coast I assure you I will be able to send all of you to Genabackis. Really. I promise.’
Tull lumbered to his feet. ‘I will speak to our commander.’
‘Thank you,’ Kellanved answered.
Both the Moranth left the enclosure, which was nothing more than a hut of driftwood, and Dancer looked at his companion. ‘We could build our own raft.’
‘I believe we’ll get farther with all of them paddling.’
Now Dancer shook his head. ‘I mean it. We’re better off on our own.’
‘Maybe not necessarily. I sense opportunity here. I really can send them along to Genabackis. Well,’ and he rubbed his chin, ‘as close as I can manage, anyway.’
Their two Moranth companions returned with a third. Dancer could tell who was who by differences in the armour plates enclosing them. This new one’s armour was very scarred and bent, as if he’d seen a lot of battle. He knelt on his haunches before Kellanved, and, alarming Dancer, reached out to take a handhold of the mage’s short kinky hair in an armoured, gauntleted hand.
‘We make room,’ this one said – the commander. ‘But if you lie we cut off arm and cook then eat before you. Then next arm. Then leg. You understand?’
Kellanved swallowed, and nodded in an exaggerated manner. ‘Yes. I understand. Very good. Thank you. Yes.’
The commander released his handhold and rose. ‘Agreed, then.’
Kellanved raised a hand. ‘Ah – how soon do we go?’
‘Soon,’ this one said.
‘And your name? You are …?’
The Moranth commander paused, peering down at the mage. ‘My name? If changed to your language? Would be Twist.’
Over the following days, as Dancer regained his strength, he got to know the Moranth assigned to nursemaiding him. Food, thankfully, was plentiful. As far as he understood it, no pots or such had survived the Moranth shipwreck, but they found natural pits in the rocks along the shoreline that they filled with fresh sweetwater from small creeks, dropped hot stones in, and boiled caught seafood, which they cracked open with rocks.
He and his companion walked the shore working on a shared vocabulary. Each spoke of his own homeland, as best he could. His nurse’s name, as far as Dancer could make out, was Balak.
‘We are soldiers,’ Balak explained. ‘We only. We Black, and the Red. Silvers are our priests and sages and … ah, how you say … orderers?’
‘Managers? Bureaucrats? Governors?’
‘Ah, yes. Governors. And wise males and females. Golds are our rulers. Always. For ages uncounted. Always the Gold caste. And we always following orders. Fighting. But with no say in why. So, some of our higher commanders, Twist among them, began to question such things. Began to … how you say … push back?’
‘Resist? Agitate?’
‘Ah yes, resist. And for this they are caught, tried, and exiled.’
‘I am sorry.’
Balak shrugged his armoured shoulders. ‘It was the risk we took.’ He motioned to the camp. ‘Your friend … he is, how you say, a mage? Can he really take us home?’
Dancer nodded. ‘Yes. Or as close as he can.’
Balak shook his helmeted head, obviously rather doubtful. ‘Such things are of the lowlanders who are our enemies. In the cities of Pale and Darujhistan. It is difficult for us to trust such things.’
‘He will try.’
Balak resumed pacing the shore. ‘Let us hope so.’
Within the week the raft was ready – or as ready as it ever would be. Remaining supplies were loaded aboard and it was pushed out into the surf. The Moranth piled on. Space was made for Dancer and Kellanved right at the very edge, where their feet dangled in the water. The last of the Moranth were tied to the raft by twisted ropes wound round their chests.
Paddles no more than carved branches and planks churned the water. The overburdened craft broached the surf like a waddling, drunken sailor. Dancer got off and helped by kicking with his feet. After more than a few attempts they pushed past the breakers at last and out to open sea.
A touch worried about sharks, Dancer levered himself out of the water and brought his legs up to his chest. Water splashed as those at opposite edges heaved away with their makeshift paddles. They worked on through the night.
The sun blasting down woke Dancer, and reminded him uncomfortably of his trial in the wasteland. A new shift of the Moranth roused themselves and set to paddling once more. They were heading east, trying to get as far from shore as possible – perhaps as Kellanved advised. Dancer shot a significant glance to the mage, who shook his head in answer.
At the end of the first full day Twist came pushing through the jammed bodies. ‘Now?’ he demanded.
Kellanved shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Tomorrow then,’ the Moranth said, sounding final.
‘Possibly …’
‘Tomorrow.’
Dancer gave Kellanved a glance. He leaned closer, murmuring, ‘Perhaps just us if need be …’
‘Well,’ the mage answered, ‘I’m not going to simply sit there while he cuts my arm off.’