As Omis and Eloti tied the mules, there was a moment of idleness for the others, time enough to look down the river toward the port. Everyone looked, and no one said anything.
Between multiple torchlights and what appeared to be a warehouse fire, the scene at the port was visible in full and ugly detaiclass="underline" overloaded ships crawling away from the docks, loading ships listing visibly under the weight of desperate refugees scrambling aboard, still others waiting for room to reach the docks and take on cargo, smaller boats and even homemade rafts darkening the water as they ferried frantic Sabisans across the river. Too often, ships and tiny ferry craft collided, throwing shrieking passengers into the firelit water. From here, the constant howl of countless frantic voices formed a single, eerie wail of horror and misery.
Zeren's face was a shadowed mask of grim sorrow in the dim red light. "I should be there," he said quietly.
"Nonsense," Sulun snapped, pulling at the tie ropes. "What more could you do there? The city's doomed, and you know it. Come with us, and no more such talk."
"Run again?" Zeren glared into the wind from downriver. "I've been running all my life, it seems."
"This is an age of running," said Eloti, coming up to the huddle of apprentices. "You louts, come help me put up the mast and sail."
Yanados stood up, turned a last longing glance toward the hopeless port, and came to direct the setting of the mast. The others, subdued, followed her.
"I'm no sailor." Zeren sat down on the deck and turned his brooding gaze toward the dark water. "What use will I be to you now?"
"We won't be sailing long," Sulun reminded him. "Once we're safely past the Ancar fines, we'll go inland and north. 'Twas your idea, remember? We'll need an experienced guard in that country."
"And if I'm all you have?" Zeren shook his head in almost reverent wonder. "This is mad, you know."
"Less mad than staying in Sabis to die."
"True."
Zeren heaved himself to his feet and went to help with the sail.
The captain of the Yanira cursed in a steady, weary monotone as he steered through the crowded inlet and beat toward open sea. Gods, this was true hell on the water, worse than any pirate raid he'd ever seen. So damned many ships, small boats, unbelievable little junk-rafts, thick as fleas on the water and getting in each others' way: he'd rammed a few of the smaller ones on every trip, and this was his third straits crossing since dawn. Ye gods, the bodies in the water, bumping off the prow even this close to the sea—some of them no doubt his own doing, for he'd had to throw a good dozen off the Yanira for crowding too close and fouling the gear. If it weren't for that incredible engine below deck, he couldn't have done this well.
Even so, he swore this was his last run tonight. No more of this madness, no matter how good the pickings—and the Sabisans were spending their coin now as if it would be worthless in a few days, which indeed it might well be. Already there was so much gold, silver, copper, and bartered goods in the hold that he doubted he'd have room for another cargo of grain. He could leave for Sakar tonight, and his crew and himself would be rich men all their days. . . .
Once again he let his eyes range over the crowd huddled on the top deck, looking—uselessly, he already knew—for Yanados and her valuable friends. She hadn't come today or yesterday, and he doubted she'd come tomorrow. How could she reach him through that howling chaos on the docks, anyway? Would she not, more likely, have taken the first available ship? If she reached Mez on some other ship, would she not wait there to get word to him, knowing how often he put in at that port? Surely there were better ways of discharging his debt than by returning to Sabis.
No, the captain decided, feeling the wind of the free ocean ruffle his hair, I'll come back. I'll keep coming back until the Ancar arrive and all hope fails.
The crowd groaned in relief and quieted as the fresh sea-wind told them they were safely out of Sabis. Besides, the captain considered, We're growing rich beyond dreams on this run.
And there was always the ship itself: the marvelous dragonship that spouted smoke and ran against the wind, the swift and maneuverable wonder with its secret brass and steam heart. There was none like it anywhere in the world. Once Sabis died, she would run for Sakar, sell the knowledge of her wonders to the shipmasters there, become the mother of such a fleet as all the ages had never seen. An end for Sabis, but a new beginning for Sakar.
The captain smiled as he headed into the oncoming waves and stamped a signal for more speed to the engine room below him, fully aware that he rode at the beginning of a legend. The gods knew, future ages might make of him a semi-divine hero, little less than the gods themselves.
Not bad for a former cabin boy.
Too bad for Yanados. But then again, from what he knew of her, she would most probably do well for herself in any pass, whether or not she ever came back to Sakar.
CHAPTER THREE
Dawn pearled the mist while Eloti's boat was still on the delta. Yanados frowned at the sky, worriedly studied the east bank of the Baiz, and finally snapped an order to steer into the reeds of the muddy west bank. The others, sluggish with fatigue and the night's desperation, stumbled to obey.
One of the mules set up a petulant braying, and Eloti hastened to distract it with food. "We'll have to rake out this straw and replace it with reeds," she commented, noting the fresh dung piles. "The tools are in the aft locker."
Nobody hastened to take her advice. Sulun grinned wearily, snapped off a passing reed, and cut it into equal length straws, one of them notched.
At length Yanados called a halt, ordered the sails taken down and the anchor dropped.
"Here?" Zeren asked her quietly. "The fog will lift sometime today."
"No matter." Yanados smothered a huge yawn. "The Ancar are still above us, and all boats are busy south."
"Still, if we're seen from the east bank—"
"We can always move deeper into this mass of reeds and channels. In any event, we're safe now. Let's get some sleep while we can, Zeren."
Vari insisted on taking the first watch, but everyone else agreed that sleep right now was a most excellent idea.
After some brief arguing, and more cutting of reeds, everyone settled more or less comfortably on the flat deck and dropped into welcome sleep. Sulun's last sight, before he rolled over and let the silence come, was of Vari sitting alert and upright near the bow, watching the land about them with a short bow and nocked arrow in her hands.
Waking was slow and lazy, to steamy heat and a clouded-brass sky, the buzzing of pesky insects and quiet voices conversing. Sulun yawned, raised his head from the piled rushes, and looked about him.
The characteristic river fogs of early summer rose high around the boat, cutting visibility to a dozen yards or less. Doshi was mournfully shovelling out used straw and rushes, and replacing it with fresh-cut reeds. The mules munched contentedly on piled hay and reed tops, tails busily switching flies. Omis, Vari, and their two elder children were ranked along the sides of the boat near the bow, dangling fishing lines in the water; baskets partly filled with mixed fish revealed their luck. The baby gurgled happily in a lined basket nearby, playing with a heron feather. Arizun, Yanados, and Ziya were nowhere to be seen, but a narrow trampled track through the rushes suggested where they might have gone. Zeren and Eloti sat at the stern, talking quietly.