“I hear—”
Simon’s heart beat with a heavier thump at that reply.
“We go . . . on Kolder ship . . . perhaps to their base. Can you follow?”
There was no immediate answer, but neither was that snap of breaking contact which he had known twice before. Then came her reply.
“I do not know, but if it is possible, it shall be done!”
Again silence, but abiding with Simon the sense of union. His concentration was broken, not by his will, nor Jaelithe’s, but by a sudden lurch of the ship, sending his body skidding along the cabin wall, Loyse on top of him. The vibration through those walls was stepped up until the vessel quivered.
“What is it?” Loyse’s voice was thin and ragged once again.
The flooring was aslant so that the sub could not be on an even keel. And the vibration had become an actual shaking of its fabric and frame as if it were engaged in some struggle. Simon remembered the scars and mud smudges he had seen on its sides. An underground passage by river might not be too accommodating. They could have nosed into a bank, caught there. He said so.
Loyse’s hands twisted together. “Can they get us loose?”
Simon saw the wide blankness of her eyes, caught the claustrophobic panic rising in her.
“I would say that whoever captains this vessel would know how to deal with such problems; this is not the first time—by Tormarsh accounts—that they have made the run.” But there was always a first time for disaster. Simon had never believed that he would reach the point of joining the Kolder in any wish, but now he did as he tensed at every movement of the ship. They must be backing water to pull loose. The cabin rocked about the two prisoners, spilling them back and forth across its slick floor.
The rocking stopped and then the ship gave a great jerk. Once more the vibration sank to an even purr, they must be free and on course once again.
“I wonder how far we are from the sea?” Simon had thought about that, too. He did not know where Jaelithe was, how long it would take her to contact any Sulcar ship and send it skulking after them. But Jaelithe would be on that ship—she would have to sail thus in order to hold the tie with him! And they could not assemble a fleet so quickly. Suppose that single Sulcar vessel lurking behind should be sighted, or otherwise detected by the Kolder? An engagement would be no contest at all, the Sulcar ship, and its crew, would be helpless before the weapons of the Kolder. It was rank folly for him to encourage Jaelithe to follow. He must not try to reach her again—let her believe that he could not—
Jaelithe—Kolder. They balanced in his mind. How could he have been so insane as to draw her into such a plan?
“Because it is not rank folly, Simon! We do not yet know the limits of this we hold, what we dare summon by it—”
This time he had not tried to reach her, yet she had read all his forebodings as if he had hurled them at her.
“Remember, I follow! Find this noisome nest—and there shall be a clearing of it!”
Confidence. She was riding high on a wave of confidence. But Simon could not match that, he could only see every pointed reef ahead and no discernible course among them.
12 SHE WHO WILL NOT WAIT
THE ROOM was low and long, dark save where the shutters were well open to the call of the sea, the light which came over those restless waves. And the woman who sat by the table was as turbulent within as those waves, though she showed little outward sign of her concern. She wore leather and mail; the chain-mail-scarfed helm, winged like that of any Borderer, sat on the table board to her right hand. And at her left was a tall cage in which perched a white falcon as silent and yet as aware as she. Between her fingers a small roll of bark rolled back and forth.
One of the witches? The captain of the Sulcar cruiser was still trying to assess her as he came from the door to front her. He had been summoned from the dockside to this tavern by one of the Borderers, for what reason he could not guess.
But when the woman looked at him, he thought that this was no witch. He did not see her gem of power. Only, neither was she any common dame. He sketched a half salute as he would have to any of his fellow captains.
“I am Koityi Stymir, at your summoning, Wise One.” Deliberately he used the witch address to see her reaction.
“And I am Jaelithe Tregarth,” she replied without amplification. “They tell me, Captain, that you are about to put to sea on patrol—”
“Raiding,” he corrected her, “up Alizon way.”
The falcon shifted on its cage perch, its very bright eyes on the man. He had an odd feeling that it was as intelligently interested in his answer as the woman.
“Raiding,” she repeated. “I come to offer you something other than a raid, Captain. Although it may not put loot into your empty hold and it may bring you far greater danger than any Alizon sword or dart you may face in the north.”
Jaelithe studied the seafarer. As all his race he was tall, wide of shoulder, fair of hair. Young as he was, there was a self-confidence in his carriage which spoke of past success and a belief in the future. She had not had time to choose widely, but what she had heard of Stymir along the waterfront made her send for him out of all the captains now in port at the mouth of the River Es.
There was this about the Sulcar breed: adventure and daring had a pull on them, sometimes over that of certain gain in trade, loot in war. It was that strain in their character which made them explorers as well as merchant traders in far seas. And she must depend upon that quality now to attract Stymir to her service.
“And what do you have to offer me, lady?”
“A chance to find the Kolder base,” she told him boldly. This was no time to fence. Time—that inner turmoil boiled in her until she could hardly control it—time was her slave driver in this venture.
For a long moment he stared at her and then he spoke: “For years have we sought that, lady. How comes it now into your hands that you can speak so, as if you held a map to it?”
“I have no map, but still a method to find it—or believe that this is possible. But time grows short, and this depends upon time.” And distance? her mind questioned. Could Simon get beyond the reach of their tie and she lose contact with him?
She twisted the roll of bark which had come out of Tormarsh, which had been an argument with the Guardians.
Her inner conflict might have been communicated to the great falcon, for now it mantled and screamed, even as it might scream in battle.
“You believe in what you say, lady,” Stymir conceded. “The Kolder base—” With his finger tip he traced a design on the table board between them. “The Kolder base!”
But when he raised his eyes again to meet hers there was a wariness in them.
“There are tales among us—that the Kolder have a way of distorting minds and so sending those who were once our friends, even our cup-comrades, to lead us into their traps.”
Jaelithe nodded. “That is indeed the truth, Captain, and you do well to think about such a risk. But, I am of the Old Race, and I have been a witch. You know that the Kolder taint cannot touch any of my kind.”
“Have been a witch—” He caught and held to that.
“And why am I not one now?” She brought herself to answer that, though the need for doing so rasped her raw. “Because I am now wife to him who is March Warder of Estcarp. Have you not heard of the outlander who helped lead the storming of Sippar—Simon Tregarth?”
“Him!” There was wonder in the captain now. “Aye, we have heard of him. Then you, lady, rode to Sulcarkeep for its last battle. Aye, you have met Kolder and you know Kolder! Tell me what you now devise.”