“D’you know, I’ve been giving that very thing some thought my own self,” Bahzell rumbled, “and I’m thinking what we need is a ship.”
“A ship? ” Brandark looked at him in disbelief. “And just how, pray tell, do you propose to manage that? Those bastards hunting us are still back there somewhere,” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but hadn’t we decided they must have sent word ahead?”
“Ah, the pessimism of the man!” Bahzell shook his head mournfully. “Here he is, with a champion of Tomanāk to see him safe home, and all he can be thinking of is wee little things to carp over!”
“If you think half an army of cavalry is a ‘wee little thing,’ then Harnak must’ve hit you on the head with that thing.” Brandark kicked the cloak-wrapped sword with his left foot.
“Nonsense! Now don’t you be worrying about a thing, a thing, for I’ve a plan, little man.”
“Gods preserve us, he ’s got a plan!” Brandark groaned, and Bahzell threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t help it. A strange, deep bubble of joy had filled him since the night he’d healed Brandark-or helped Tomanāk heal him, or whatever had happened-and the wild, restless vitality of the sea flowed into him. It was like a moment of rebirth, a strange, unshakable confidence and zesty delight impossible to resist, and he roared with laughter. He saw Brandark staring at him for a moment, and then his friend began to laugh, as well. They stood there on the dune, laughing like fools, drunk on the sheer joy of living, and Bahzell slapped Brandark on the shoulder.
“Aye, it’s a plan I have, so come along with you, now! We’ve things to do before I set it in motion and dazzle you with my wit!”
“Ah, now! There’s what we want,” Bahzell said in satisfied tones. The sun was slanting back into the west once more as they stood on a firm-packed beach, waves washing about the hocks of Brandark’s horse and Bahzell’s calves, and looked out across a hundred yards of sea at a small island. It wasn’t much of an island-just a bare, lumpy heap of sand, sea grass, and stunted scrub, no more than a hundred yards across at its widest point-and Brandark gazed at the Horse Stealer in patent disbelief.
“That’s what we want?”
“Aye, the very thing. And unless I’m much mistaken, the tide’s gone out, as well,” Bahzell observed with even deeper satisfaction.
“And what, if I may ask, do you know about tides?”
“Not so very much,” Bahzell conceded cheerfully, “but look yonder.” He pointed up the beach, where the sand turned crumbly and a tangled necklace of driftwood marked the tide line. “I’m thinking that’s where the water’s coming to at high tide, so, as it’s down where we are just this minute-” He shrugged, and Brandark sighed.
“I hate it when you go all deductive on me. But even allowing that you’re right about the tide, what difference does it make?”
“It’s part of the plan,” Bahzell said smugly, and started wading out into the sea.
“Hey! Where d’you think you’re going?!”
“Follow and see,” Bahzell shot back, never turning his head, and Brandark muttered under his breath. He hesitated another moment, but Bahzell was already waist-deep in surging water and showed no sign of stopping, so he closed his mouth with a snap and urged his mount into the waves.
The horse didn’t want to go, and the mule was even more recalcitrant. Brandark had his hands full getting them started, but Bahzell only grinned back over his shoulder at him as he cursed them with fervent artistry. The mule laid back its ears and bared its teeth, but a firm yank on its lead rein started it moving once more, and both animals churned forward at last.
They never quite had to swim, but it was close before they reached the island and scrambled ashore once more. By the time Brandark led the soaked, indignant mule ashore, Bahzell was standing on the southern side of the island, hands on his hips, and gazing out to sea with obvious delight.
“Will you please tell me what you think we’re doing?”
“Eh?” Bahzell turned to face him, and the Bloody Sword waved an exasperated hand.
“What’re we doing out here?!”
“As to that, we’re about to make camp,” Bahzell said, and grinned again as Brandark swelled with frustration. “Now, now! Think on it a minute. We’ve kept below the tide line since lunch. What d’you think will be happening to our tracks when it comes back in?”
Brandark paused, eyebrows arched, and rubbed his truncated right ear.
“All right,” he said after a moment, “I can see that. But they’ll know that’s what we did and just cast up and down the shore from where the trail disappeared.”
“So they will, but they’ll not be finding us unless they search every islet they come across, now will they?”
Brandark rubbed his ear harder, then nodded.
“All right,” he conceded. “As long as we don’t do anything to call attention to ourselves, they’ll probably assume we kept on going. Gods know only a lunatic wouldn’t keep running! But we’re short on provisions, Bahzell, and I don’t see any sign of fresh water. We can’t stay here long.”
“No more will we have to. Give me another few hours, and I’ll be off with the dark to fetch back a ship for us.”
Brandark’s jaw dropped. He stared at his friend without speaking for over a minute, then shook his head slowly.
“The man’s mad. Stark, staring mad! Where d’you think you’re going to find a ship, you idiot?”
“Why, as to that, I’m thinking there’s ships and to spare down to Bortalik Bay,” Bahzell said cheerfully, “and we’ve still that nice, fat purse Yithar was after leaving us. With that, all I need do is nip down and, ah, hire one of them.”
Bahzell dumped the last armload of driftwood on the heap and regarded it with a proprietary air. He’d chosen the site for the bonfire-to-be with care, then spent over an hour heaping sand into a high wall to improve it. The island’s low spine and his piled barrier would prevent anyone ashore from seeing it, but once lit, it should be visible for miles from seaward.
Brandark had sat propped against his saddle, strumming experimentally on his balalaika while he worked. The Bloody Sword’s maimed left hand made chording difficult, and he seemed to be concentrating on that to the exclusion of all else-until Bahzell dusted his palms with an air of finality.
“You do realize just how stupid this is, don’t you?” he said then, never looking up from the bridge of his instrument.
“Well, no one was ever after calling me smart.” Bahzell crossed to the tethered mule and horse to free their leads from the picket lines and grinned at Brandark’s caustic snort. “And stupid or no, I’ve yet to hear a better idea from you .”
“I’ve done my part by trying to talk you out of this. I don’t have the energy to think up better ideas on top of that.”
“And here I thought you such a clever lad!” Bahzell gathered the animals’ reins and headed down the beach into the wash of the surf. Water filled his worn, leaky boots instantly, but he ignored it. He was still damp from wading out to the island in the first place, and it was no part of his plan to leave visible tracks along any of the islet’s shoreline.
“You’ll never be able to do it-not alone,” Brandark said more seriously.
“I’m thinking you’re wrong, and wrong or no, it’s a notion worth trying. We’ve little chance of outrunning them all afoot, and they’ll not be expecting such as this.”
“Maybe that just indicates how much smarter than you they are!” Brandark growled, eyes still fixed on his balalaika.