Selethen noticed Alyss studying the ground.
'Step in that and you might not come out alive,' he said thoughtfully. 'I'll wager it's quicksand.'
Alyss nodded. She had been thinking the same thing.
The heat beat down on them, folding itself around them like a blanket. The air was heavy with it.
Gundar spoke softly to two of the sailing crew. They hurried aft and slung buckets overside to haul up water. Then they passed along the rowing benches, tossing the cooling water over the hard-working men. A few of the rowers muttered their thanks.
The Skandians, experienced travellers as they were, had all donned long-sleeved linen shirts and had more of the same material fastened round their heads as bandannas to protect them from the sun. In the colder northern waters, Will had often seen them bare chested, seemingly impervious to the cold. But they were a fair-skinned race and years of raiding in the warm waters of the Constant Sea had taught them to respect the burning power of the sun.
The sea water flung on them soaked their shirts, but Will noticed that they dried within a few minutes. He recalled his own experience of the sun's power, in the desert of Arrida some years before, and shuddered at the memory.
Some of the crew busied themselves rigging canvas awnings so that those not engaged in rowing could shelter in their shade. It was a welcome relief to be out of the sun's direct glare. But the air itself was still heavy and oppressive. Will glanced over the stern. There was now no sign of the sparkling blue sea behind them. Only this brown river cutting straight through the equally brown sand.
'How long is the transit?' he asked Gundar. For some reason, he spoke softly. It seemed appropriate in this oppressive stillness.
Gundar considered the question. When he replied, it seemed that he had the same aversion to making too much noise.
'Five, perhaps six hours,' he said. Then he reconsidered. 'Could be more. The men will tire more quickly in this heat.'
Acting on that thought, he gave an order and the relief rowing crew began to change places with the rowers. They did it gradually, a pair of oars at a time, working forward from the stern. That way, the ship maintained its motion through the murky brown water beneath them. As each pair of rowers relinquished their oars to their replacements, they sprawled instantly on the deck in the shade of the awnings. They were tired, but nowhere near exhausted, Will knew. He'd had plenty of experience with Skandian crews in the past. They had an inbred ability to fall sleep almost anywhere, almost immediately. In an hour or so, they'd be rested and ready to replace their companions at the oars again.
'We might even anchor in the channel once it gets dark,' Gundar said. 'There'll be no moon until long past midnight and it could be a good idea to rest in the cool hours.'
Will could understand the wisdom of that. The channel might be straight, but with no reference points to guide them, the brown water would merge with the low brown banks either side. They could possibly veer one side or the other and run aground.
'Not such a good idea,' Halt said quietly. 'We have company.'
Ayagi and his people had been appalled at the news of Arisaka's rebellion against the Emperor. The common people of Nihon-Ja thought of the Emperor as a person whose accession to the throne was guided and consecrated by the gods. To rebel against him was an unthinkable sacrilege.
'We are your people, Lord Shigeru,' the white-haired village elder had said. 'Tell us what you want us to do. We'll stand beside you against Arisaka.'
There had been an indignant rumble of assent from the other villagers. Foremost among them, Horace had noted, had been Eiko, the heavily built worker Shigeru had first shaken hands with. Ayagi might be the village elder, but Eiko was obviously a person of considerable influence among the younger Kikori.
'Thank you, my friends,' Shigeru had replied. 'But at the moment I hope to avoid further bloodshed. All we need is a guide to the village of…' He had hesitated and looked to Shukin for the name of the village he had nominated as a rendezvous point with Reito and the survivors of the army.
'Kawagishi,' Shukin had said. 'Riverbank Village.'
Ayagi had bowed. 'We know this village,' he had said. 'My nephew, Mikeru, will show you the way in the morning.'
Shigeru had bowed from his sitting position. 'Thank you, Ayagi. And now let's have no more talk of this unpleasantness with Arisaka. Let's enjoy the evening. Do any of your people have a folk song for us all to sing?'
A hot bath, hot food, dry clothes and a warm, dry bed for the night worked wonders on Horace's tired body.
Shortly after dawn, the Emperor and his party woke, breakfasted and prepared to move out once more. The rain had stopped during the night and the sky had cleared to a brilliant blue. Horace's breath steamed in the cold air as he exhaled. One of the village women had taken his wet, travel-stained clothes during the night and cleaned and dried them. The same service had been performed for the rest of the travellers. Putting on clean clothes, still warm from the fire they had dried in front of, was a distinct luxury.
There was the usual bustle and confusion involved in setting out. The riders inspected their girth straps. Weapons were checked, belts tightened, armour adjusted. As was his habit, Horace had cleaned and sharpened his sword the previous night before he slipped between the warmed bedcovers laid out on the matting floor of his room. He guessed that each of the Senshi had done the same.
As the rest of the party mounted, Shukin held back. He reached into the purse at his belt and produced a handful of golden coins, each stamped with the triple cherry crest.
Ayagi saw the movement and backed away, holding his hands out before him.
'No! No, Lord Shukin! We don't want any payment! It was our pleasure to have the Emperor as our guest!'
Shukin grinned at him. He had expected the reaction but he knew that times were hard in the mountains and the Kikori had little to spare. He had his answer ready for Ayagi's protestation.
'The Emperor, perhaps,' he said. 'But nobody would expect you to provide for a dozen hungry Senshi – or for a massive gaijin with the appetite of a black bear!'
He indicated Horace when he said this, grinning to make sure that Horace knew he was joking. Horace shook his head ruefully. He couldn't dispute the fact that he had eaten more than any of the others in the party. Nihon-Jan helpings seemed so small to him and he was famous even in Araluen for his prodigious appetite.
The villagers laughed. Horace had proved to be a figure of great interest and popularity among the Kikori. He was polite and self-effacing and ready to join in singing their folk songs – albeit with more enthusiasm than melody.
Even Ayagi smiled. His sense of hospitality made him reluctant to take the money but he knew that if he didn't, his people would go short. With the gold Shukin was offering, they could buy more supplies at the monthly market held in one of the larger villages.
'Well then,' he said, capitulating with good grace, 'in deference to the kurokuma…'
He accepted the coins and Horace was given the name by which he would be known among the Nihon-Jan – Kurokuma, or Black Bear. At the time, however, he was unaware of it. He was busy fastening a loose strap on the bedroll tied behind his saddle and missed Ayagi's statement.
Shukin bowed gracefully and Ayagi returned the gesture. Then he turned and bowed to the Emperor, with all of the assembled villagers doing the same.
'Thank you, Ayagi-san,' Shigeru said, raising his hand to them all, 'and thank you, Kikori.'
The villagers remained, heads bowed, as the small party rode out of the village.
Mikeru, the elder's nephew, was a keen-faced, slimly built youth of about sixteen. He rode a small, shaggy-haired pony – the kind the Kikori people used as beasts of burden when they gathered wood. He was familiar with the area, of course, and led them on a much shorter route than the one shown on the map Shukin carried. They had been travelling for less than an hour when they reached the ford in the river that Shukin had hoped to cross the night before. They rode across in single file, the horses stepping carefully on the slippery stones beneath their hooves. The water rose shoulder high on the horses and it was icy cold as it soaked through Horace's leggings and boots.