“Now, send in that magic-working midwife or that midwifely wizard or whatever she is, and let her satisfy me as to her skills. For if she is not what she says she is, you still may find yourself going ashore.”
“That is only just,” Eskaia said as demurely as a girl of nineteen instead of a matron of past thirty.
Jemar wanted to grind his teeth at the futility of his bluster. But had he not forsworn that habit some years ago, being wed to Eskaia would have reduced his teeth to stubs and his diet to gruel and ale.
* * * * *
Tarothin would have seemed asleep to eyes ignorant of magic. Indeed, it would have taken magic of the fourth order or more to penetrate the disguise of sleep-and such penetration would turn the trance to true sleep and leave much less for a curious wizard, friendly or not, to learn.
This was as well, for Tarothin was listening to the minds of magic-workers so close by that they had to be aboard ships of the fleet. He could not tell which ships; he had a vague notion that they were in a chamber so damp and dark that it must be well below the waterline of a large ship.
That was all he saw of the physical surroundings of the others. He had the impression that they were clerics rather than wizards, but could not have sworn to it had he possessed a waking tongue to swear.
Far more vivid was the next image-a stormy sea, with ships plowing across it, reefed sails taut-bellied, green water pouring over waists and sometimes forecastles. Ahead of the ships flew a misty shape that sometimes solidified enough to be recognizable as the Blue Phoenix, a common form of Habbakuk.
Suddenly the sea in the path of the ships erupted into a mountain of water, crowned with foam. Darkness swelled within that mountain of water, which held its shape in defiance of the power of the wind and its own weight.
The darkness surged free of the water-the monstrous turtle shape of Zeboim, who brought Evil to the waters as Habbakuk brought Good. She leaped completely clear of the mighty wave, and her beak closed on a wing of the Blue Phoenix.
Now wind blew outward from the mountain of water. Ships already heeling over as they fought to clear the wave heeled farther. Some went right over and lay keel up before foundering; others lay on their beam ends as men clung to the last few handholds until their strength vanished, and so did they, into the boiling sea.
Thunder and fire burst from the battling gods. The wind stripped the sails from every ship still afloat, dismasted several, and threw another on its side. It went down almost at once, as if a giant hand-or beak?-had snatched it down into the depths.
The fire held all colors and none, and most of the colors were not ones to which a wise man would care to give a name, for that would mean studying them too closely for too long. It also held heat, and steam exploded from the top of the wave as enough water to fill a small lake flashed into white vapor.
Tarothin saw the wall of vapor expanding toward him, knew that his flesh was about to be seared from his bones, struggled to either awake or cast a protective spell, or both if he could contrive it-
– and awoke bathed in sweat, with the bedding of his bunk almost as sodden as if his cabin had been flooded. He looked up at the port; it was sealed beyond allowing even a trickle. He looked at the deck; it was dry, with not even a dark spot on the cheap woolen rug that his last few towers had bought for cabin gear.
What had become of Habbakuk in this joust of the gods, Tarothin did not know. He suspected it would not be prudent to dwell too long on this-vision, dream, nightmare? He had known the magic-hearing spell for only a few years, and it was not common among the Black Robes, rare among the Reds, and virtually outlawed among the Whites.
But priests of Zeboim so openly plotting to seek their mistress’s victory over Habbakuk might be confident because they commanded some unusual spells. Tarothin might find before the voyage was over that his mind was as open to them as theirs to his.
Then victory would be a matter of who struck first.
Tarothin drank half his jug of water, then stripped and washed the sweat from his body with a cloth dipped in the other half. He felt cleansed not only in body but somewhat in mind when he was done.
He also felt clearheaded enough to know where his duty lay. Neutrality suggested that he should not strike first if the danger was only to him. But his neutrality also suggested even more strongly that he should have no such scruples if his friends were in danger.
Chapter 12
To the northeast, the canyon slashed deep into the side of the mountain. The mountain’s upper slopes lay hidden in sullen, dark clouds, and more clouds were piling up to the east and north. A sharp-eyed observer could make out lightning flashes within the clouds.
“That looks like no natural storm,” Birak Epron said. He had looked about him carefully to see that no one but Haimya and Pirvan were within hearing. Now he looked down at the river, winding along the bottom of the valley below. Pirvan looked at Rubina, but Epron shook his head. That did not mean the Black Robe was innocent, only that the mercenary captain would not willingly hear an accusation against her.
Not that there was a great deal one could expect from such an accusation, besides a furious quarrel and certainly not the truth. But Pirvan was beginning to wish that circumstances had dictated he travel either with Rubina or with the column of sell-swords. He could deal with either alone; both together made him feel out of his depth.
However, the plain fact was that the day was drawing to a close. Beyond the river, in places shallow enough to wade, were several concealed campsites. On this side it was all bare rock and grass, without even a visible spring for fresh water. A ridge also overlooked the south bank of the river, studded with perches for archers to play on anyone below.
Crossing the river this late in the day was not much to Pirvan’s taste. All the alternatives were even less so.
“I will take Rubina up with the leaders,” Pirvan said. “You keep well back, in the middle of the column.”
“Very well. As fond of her as I am, I could wish she had not quarreled with Tarothin. Two wizards are better than one, and Tarothin was apt to speak his mind. Rubina unveils her body but keeps her mind invisible to mortal eye.”
Pirvan refrained from congratulating the mercenary captain on his belated achievement of wisdom.
* * * * *
The river was one of those ill-natured streams too shallow to float a boat, too wide to jump across, and too deep to wade easily. It was also full of dead animals, so neither drinking from it nor swimming across it was an agreeable thought.
The column cast up and down along the near bank, seeking a ford. In time they found a sandbar that cut most of the way across the river, and made a path shallow enough to cross if not quite dryshod, then without ruining clothes and weapons.
“Let us not forget the food,” Haimya added. “If we ruin the trail biscuit and then run into a land hunted bare, we may be leaner than elves before we reach Waydol.”
Two of the tallest soldiers crossed the river with stout ropes, tying them to trees on the far bank. Further tall, strong soldiers entered the water, stationing themselves at intervals along the ropes in case anyone lost his grip. Pirvan did not expect much of this; the current appeared sluggish, except for an occasional eddy.
Pirvan and Haimya led the way across. Rubina followed. In spite of her height, she somehow contrived to be soaked from head to foot, so that when she emerged from the water her black garments clung to her like a second skin. She stood in the open like that, wringing the water out of her hair, until several men stumbled into potholes because they could not keep their eyes off her.
Pirvan was about to drag her forcibly out of sight when he heard a distant rumbling sound, like thunder but nearer the earth. He ran to the bank and looked upstream and down. Downstream showed nothing as far as the last visible bend.