Without waiting for an answer, Aiko spun on her heel and stepped outward, closing the doors behind.
Swiftly she caught up with the others, wiping her swords on her cloak as she ran.
They strode through the halls, stopped by none, and out front in the rain they found the horses, six altogether and saddled, for the baron and duke and his champion each had a remount. Even so, the steeds were yet blowing, for they had been ridden hard. Egil handed Alos to Delon and mounted, then took the old man back, Delon flopping Alos bellydown across the saddle in front of Egil.
"Hurry," hissed Aiko, ahorse, her weapons now sheathed at her back. "My tiger growls of danger."
Arin hiked up her gown and mounted.
Delon cut loose the remount from behind Egil and sprang to the saddle, and all four spurred their horses away, two remounts following, towed behind Arin and Aiko.
Ignoring the curved stone road and praying that the horses would keep their feet, they galloped crossland down the hill through the rain-dark night, riding as if all the hounds of the Dark One were on their track. From behind, shouts of alarm sounded, for some of the guests had braved the door.
Now Delon raised the bugle to his lips and sounded an urgent calclass="underline" ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ta-ta-rah!
Ahead, by lanterns within the passageway, they could see the inner gates swinging open.
Ta-ra, ta-ra, ta-ta-ta-rah! Delon sounded again.
Clots of earth were lofted by flying hooves, and toward the open gate they hurtled. But as they came to the portal, a bugle from the castle rang out an alarm.
Into the twisting passageway they hammered, haling back on reins to slow the steeds. Hooves aclatter, through the stone way they fared as swiftly as the horses could move and still remain afoot. Above they could hear cries of alarm sounding down through the murder holes. And then they turned the last corner and the raised portcullis was ahead of them, but it had started downward. Egil shouted and spurred his horse forward, and the others galloped after, all ducking low, while downward thundered the deadly teeth of the massive grille. Outward dashed the horses, all winning free but one, and that the remount trailing after Arin; the animal screamed as it was skewered by tons of steel, a scream that abruptly chopped shut. Arin's horse jerked when it came to the end of the tether, but the long lead snapped and she raced onward.
A smattering of arrows hissed through the rain after them as they pounded away, but no one was struck by the shafts.
Down from the citadel they galloped, down from the fortress and through the town along the rain-slick streets, a few pedestrians cursing at them as they hammered past. To the docks they ran, where Egil in the lead reined to a halt, just as Alos vomited down into Egil's right boot.
Dismounting and slapping the horses on the rumps, and with Delon carrying the old man, clumps of vomit yet sliding down his chin, they scurried to the sloop as the animals clattered off into the night.
Swiftly Egil and Arin raised the mainsail and jib, and Aiko cast off, she and Delon shoving the craft out from the slip and leaping aboard. Tacking against the storm-driven onshore wind, Egil slowly maneuvered the sloop out and away from the docks and into the harbor. And as sheets of rain pelted them, they hove through chop and out toward the raging waters of the Weston Ocean, while behind and silhouetted against the lights of Koniginstadt, they could see mounted soldiers thundering through the streets of the city.
CHAPTER 42
Through the black of night and blowing winds and pelting rain, the sloop Brise struggled out from the mouth of the harbor and into the cold fury of the Weston Ocean, where storm-driven waves crashed over the wales and rolled the small craft side to side, threatening to swamp her.
"Quarter her up against the wind," cried Egil, and Arin angled the tiller, while Egil shifted the boom of the mainsail about and Aiko hauled the sheets of the jib.
Into the waves plowed the bow of the Brise, the little ship riding up the oncoming slopes and crashing through the caps to slam down onto the backslants of the waves as the crests thundered by. Time and again she did such, wind-driven rain and spume and hurtling water hurling across the deck to drench them all.
"We've got to get into our foul-weather gear before this water sucks away all our heat," called Egil. "Aiko, go now."
Aiko slid open the watertight door, and silhouetted by swaying light from within, she disappeared into the cabin, to emerge long moments later dressed in sealskins and an oiled cloak.
"You go next, Egil," called Arin in her gown, the drenched silk plastered against her body. "My people are less affected by heat and cold."
Now Egil slid open the door and popped into the cabin. A wildly swinging storm lantern lit the interior, casting gyrating shadows within. Alos, passed out, lay on one of the bunks, Delon, tightly gripping a stanchion, sat on another, the bard pale, sickly, with a bucket trapped between his feet. As the craft pitched up and over a wave and boomed down, in the stark lanternlight Delon gauntly looked at Egil. "Never could stand boats." He leaned over and tried to retch into his bucket. Only a thin stream of greenish fluid rewarded his gagging efforts. "Nothing left," he groaned, collapsing back against a bulkhead. "Aden, but I am worthless."
Egil did not respond, but shucked his water-logged boots, withdrawing a vomit-lathered foot from the right one. When Delon saw this, again he retched, to no avail. Swiftly Egil doffed the rest of his clothes and pulled on his sealskins and threw an oiled cloak across his shoulders. Finally he turned to Delon and gestured at Alos. "If we go down, get the old man out." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and slid open the door.
All night they battled the wind and waves and rain, and as dawn drew nigh, the rain passed, and slowly the wind fell. Last to settle was the ocean, but ere the noontide the skies cleared and the whitecaps vanished, leaving behind high-rolling billows beneath a September sun.
Now Egil swung the craft to a southerly course, the wind abeam, and he and Aiko raised the top- and stay-and foresails. With all canvas gathering air, down the wide channel between Jute and Gelen they fared.
Delon, wan and weak and trembling and holding onto whatever he could, made his way out from the cabin and onto the deck and plopped down on a side bench in the cockpit. The bard was yet dressed in his gaudy silks, now rumpled and stained, though no longer wet. A polished obsidian stone on a golden chain dangled down from below the silver collar 'round his neck. Aiko took one look at his pallid face and said, "Fear not, Delon, the nausea will pass eventually."
"Adon," groaned Delon, gripping the bench, his knuckles white, "let us hope it is sooner than later. I've lost everything there is to lose. My stomach itself is next."
Egil smiled grimly. "There're clothes in the lockers below. Some of mine will do, though they may be a bit overlarge on you."
"Alos's would fit better," said Aiko, "though he has but few."
Delon looked about. "Where are we? I see only rolling waves."
"Somewhere 'tween Gelen and Jute," answered Egil.
"Whence bound?" asked Delon.
"Pendwyr," said Egil.
Now Delon looked at Aiko. "Why did you free me? Oh, not that I am complaining, mind you, for I was headed for that madwoman's pyre. But still, why did you free me?"
Aiko smiled and reached out and plucked at his iridescent garb. "Because you are the rutting peacock, Delon, and we need you on our quest."
Delon raised an eyebrow. "Peacock? Quest?"
Before Aiko could respond, from the cabin there came a howl and a string of oaths. Cursing, Alos appeared in the opening to the ship's quarters and clambered onto the deck. Holding his aching head, he looked about and confirmed his suspicions, then demanded, "What is the meaning of this? I told you I wasn't going any farther than Jute, but like the skulking press-gang you are, you have thrown me onto the ship and dragged me out to sea again… against my will, I might add."