Of course! Of course! The wind is turning warm!
Dark as unwashed raw wool, just rising now from the surface of the water, came the first of the morning mist. In less than an hour, it would be thick as curdled cream and taller than the mast. Oh, it was going to be a lovely, hot, steamy, foggy day!
Crooning snatches of gratitude-prayers to all the water gods she could think of, Yanados tied down the tiller and crawled over sleeping bodies toward the mast.
Doshi woke to miserable, wet heat, hot mist thick enough to choke him, aches in his arms and back and shoulders that made him wonder if he'd been run over by an ironmonger's cart. It took two tries to roll over and exchange one set of wretched cramps for another. He struggled for sleep, felt it slip away, and resigned himself to being awake in this pitiable condition.
The boat rocked slightly to a heavier than usual wavelet. Doshi turned the gear of thought by one slow cog, and realized that the boat was moving. Moving: not anchored. And where?
He pulled gritty eyes open, and found he was looking straight at Arizun's knees. It was not, he decided, a cheering sight. By slow and torturous degrees Doshi turned his head and looked the other way.
A huddle of robes sat crouched by the tiller, cloak hood draping a face he barely recognized. Yanados, as he'd never seen her: lips dry and cracked, cheeks hollowed and grey-pale with something beyond exhaustion, eyes dull-gleaming as in fever but set in bruise-dark lids that gave the eerie impression of tunnels . . .
"Have you been up all night?" was the first thing Doshi thought to say.
Yanados blinked at him, took intolerably long considering the simple question, and finally nodded, jerkily, once.
"Gods." Doshi started to get up, thought better of it, compromised by getting to his hands and knees and crawling slowly toward her. His own memories came back slowly. "Lutegh . . . Have we passed it?"
Again Yanados fumbled with the thought for impossibly long before answering. She shrugged.
"Gods," Doshi muttered again, looking around him in the steaming mist. A fat blob of sun hung three hands up from the horizon. Then he noted the odd set of the sails, the slap of the water beating slantwise against the hull, the smell of the slow but steady wind. . . .
And he remembered that smell, that wind.
"We're on the Dawnstream. We have to be past Lutegh! Oh gods, Yani, put in to shore. This fog will hide us."
Yanados frowned vaguely, trying to think about that.
Doshi looked again at the water, the sails, the surface ruffling of the wind. "Which way are we going now?" he asked, very slowly and carefully.
Yanados squinted at the sail, and finally answered. "North. Mm, northeast. North shore."
"Ah, good. Wonderful. We'll just keep going until we reach the bank. We'll put in there. Indeed, I'll do it." He sat down beside her and draped one arm over the tiller's sweep. "You go lie down, Yani."
"Down?" Yanados blinked at him.
"Lie down. Sleep. I'll handle it now."
"Mm." Yanados dutifully dragged herself free of the tiller, crawled a yard or so across the deck, then stopped and simply lay down where she was.
Doshi gripped the tiller and stared straight ahead, waiting for some sign of the riverbank to show through the mist. After a time it occurred to him that unless the others woke soon, he'd have to drop the anchor and take down the sails all by himself. He groaned at the thought.
And what if, a sudden worry gnawed, there was no cover on the north bank? What if some part of the Ancar horde was there, waiting for them? What if the fog lifted, leaving them naked to any and all eyes?
Doshi glanced at Yanados, saw her lying motionless as a corpse. No help there. Sulun was nearest in reach, one leg sprawled out toward the stern, foot within jabbing distance. Doshi stretched a cramped leg toward him, trying to reach that foot. Even a kick would do, so long as it was silent—the gods knew who might be close enough in this fog to overhear a whisper.
Then his eye caught something in the mist ahead. Doshi gulped, pulled his leg back, looked about for some way to stop the boat, saw the anchor within reach.
As he picked up the anchor the shapes drew close enough for him to recognize, and he almost whooped with relief.
Reeds.
Near noon the mist thinned, and within an hour it lifted. By then the sturdy little riverboat was safely nestled in the reed bed and all her crew, except Yanados, were awake. All of them were stiff, sore, grateful for the early summer heat, and unwilling to move.
It was Zeren who insisted that someone go out among the reeds and look at the shore, see where they were and how close the Ancar might be. No one volunteered, as he'd half expected, so Zeren took bow and quiver and set off on the task himself.
Vari then announced that the children, at least, be fed, and snagged Sulun's help in digging up supplies and handing them out.
Eloti insisted that the same courtesy be extended to the mules, as well as throwing out their used reed-straw and providing more. This time everyone drew lots for the unwelcome duty, and Arizun got the short straw. Ziya volunteered to cut the fresh reeds, but Arizun still muttered miserably about the work he had.
Two hours later Zeren returned, muddy to the waist, but grinning widely. He also carried three plump wild ducks.
"Take the mules off and let them graze on solid ground for a change," he said, tossing his catch onto the boat. "We're safe."
"Safe?" Sulun gawked. "I can't believe it. This close to Lutegh? On the north shore? Where the Ancar have already conquered?"
"They don't seem much interested in holding empty land." Zeren grimaced. "Here, go through the reeds and see for yourself."
Sulun slipped out of the boat, picked his way cautiously from tussock to tussock until the reeds thinned, and then peeked through.
Before him lay a wide stretch of placid water. Beyond that was another reed-fringed shore, and beyond that stretched wild meadows and patches of scrubby forest. There was no sign of man, as far as the eye could reach.
Sulun clambered back to the boat, dunking his sandals twice. "They came and passed," he marveled. "There's no one out there at all."
"No doubt they were in a hurry to reach Lutegh," Eloti sniffed, "and Sabis afterward."
"They don't pay much attention to lands they've already conquered," Doshi murmured, thinking of the north.
The others said nothing, but began setting out the boards to make a landing ramp. Not only the mules yearned to set foot on solid land for an hour, or more.
Yanados didn't waken until the next dawn, and then she was ravenous. Fortunately, the larder had been replenished by the hunting and fishing parties. Breakfast for everyone was ample and, for once, served on solid ground.
"If it's safe, we should go on by daylight," Yanados opined around a mouthful of grilled trout. "The wind and current are against us; we'll have to row or tack. Best do that while we can see where we're going."
"In fact," Arizun added, glowering at the mules, "why not put into shore, leave the boat, and go on with the wagon? If the land's empty—"
"We don't know how empty," Doshi cautioned. "We're not even sure yet just where we are."
"I have a suspicion, though," Eloti put in. "By all means, let's sail on today—and keep an eye on the south bank."
Everyone else looked at Doshi, who shrugged. He didn't know this part of the country well, and Eloti seemed to. By all means, let her be the guide.
They set off an hour later, tacking across the slow but steady water, seeing no one across the empty leagues of the shore.