The Dragonstone (57 page)

*   *   *

For twenty days and twenty nights, through fair weather and foul, the
Brise
had cut through the Avagon Sea, beating a zigzag away from Sabra to run a westerly course. And in all that time they had seen but one other ship and absolutely no land whatsoever, not even a tiny isle. But just at dusk on the twentieth day, with the seas yet running high from the blow of the day before, below the thin crescent of a new moon standing on the far western rim, like ebony clouds of a gathering storm lying low in the distance ahead, they saw land at last, seemingly black in the onrushing night.

“There it is,” said Egil, “the Island of Kistan.”

A
rin glanced at the crescent moon, new and vanishingly thin, the slender arc now sliding downward beyond the dark silhouette of Kistan. “Alos, I have decided: we must make the run at night. Art thou up to it?”

Alos’s jaw dropped. “Are you mad?”

Aiko leaned forward in the dusk to come nearly nose to nose with the oldster, the Ryodoan’s dark eyes glittering. “Answer the question,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“It’ll be night, Dara. Black as pitch. There’ll not even be moonlight by the time we get there.”

“Indeed, it will be dark, Alos,” agreed Arin, “yet what better time to slip in unnoticed?”

“Look, I told you before, I can’t pilot the
Brise
through the fangs if I can’t see. No one can.”

“And as I said before, Alos, there will be starlight, in which I see quite well. I will be thine eyes.”

The old man puffed and wheezed, and finally said, “There’s a good chance we’ll all get killed.”

“Regardless, Alos, canst thou pilot if I guide?”

“Those rocks are like fangs!” he sissed.

Egil spoke up. “We’ll use an old Fjordlander trick when raiding in unknown waters: go in when the tide is high to better the chances that there will be more water ‘tween lurking shoals and hull.”

“When is high tide, I wonder?” asked Delon, glancing at the disappearing crescent of the moon, then across at Arin. She in turn looked to Alos.

“With a moon like that, it’ll be ’round mid of night,” groaned the oldster, “but even so, it would be a damnfool thing to try to sail the fangs in the depths of the dark.”

“Wouldst thou rather sail in under the eyes of the Rovers?”

“Madness. Madness. It’s all madness,” moaned Alos.

“Nevertheless…”

“All right. All right,” the oldster whined. “We’ll make the attempt at high tide. But when we get killed, don’t come running to me for forgiveness.”

Delon burst out in laughter.

*   *   *

With the seas yet running high from the storm of the day before, onward they sailed toward the isle, the offshore wind now blowing directly from the land with the coming of the dark. As the stars wheeled through the sky, the night inched forward by six candlemarks, and they came to where Arin could hear the roll of distant surf crashing against jagged rocks. Still they tacked onward, and soon all could hear the surge and swash of billows dashing against uncounted teeth of stone and purling back through, leaving behind a faint swirl of luminous wake. On they sailed and on, drawing nearer to the thunder of surf whelming on unyielding rock. Egil scanned his charts and conferred with Arin, who gazed at the stars above. Finally he said, “If these charts be right, Alos, then we’ve struck land north of the cove. Bear south a league or so.”

“Prepare to come about,” called the oldster to his seasoned crew, and Delon, Aiko, Ferret, and Burel all laid hands upon the sheets, ready to uncleat the lines at Alos’s command and pay out or take up as needed. “Coming about,” called Alos, and he shoved the tiller hard over, his crew on the starboard loosing sheets while those on the larboard took up. And the
Brise
swung her bow through the eye of the wind, her momentum carrying her past the luff, her sails bellying full and snapping taut as she came onto the new heading and bore south on a starboard beam reach, running parallel to the glimmering coastal waters thundering upon the shoals.

As she fared this direction, Egil bade the crew to lower all sails but the main and jib, for maneuvering through the Serpent’s Fangs at night would be a dangerous task, requiring swift response on behalf of all, and this meant running without four of the canvases: the jib top, the fore stay, the square, and the gaff top. Yet though they fared
on but two of her sails, still the
Brise
ran fleet, for the offshore wind blew braw and filled the canvas fair.

South they scudded along the shore for a full league and a half, and then Arin pointed to the fore and right and said, “There is the mouth of a cove.”

None other aboard could see aught but the faint glimmer of the pounding surf and the dark silhouette of the isle looming nigh.

“Sail on past,” Egil commanded Alos. “’Tis a goodly while ere midnight, ere the tide is caught high ‘tween flow and ebb, and Arin will see if this is Serpent Cove and if the guide-rocks yet stand.”

“Bear starboard somewhat,” said Arin, and Alos, shivering, edged the tiller over until she called “Enough.”

Now the
Brise
skimmed alongside the rocks, the fangs some tens of yards away, great surges lifting the ship, surf booming against the rocks, as across the width of the cove fared the sloop, with Arin leaning out over the starboard rail and peering ahead.

“Aye, there’s one of the tall ones,” said Arin, “and across another, and…finally the third.” She turned to Egil as the ship clove onward. “This is indeed Serpent Cove.”

Egil shook his head in wonder, for all he could see were shapes black on black in the upflung water, shapes he surmised were rocks.

“Turn to the larboard,” said Egil, “and run her out to sea and back up the coast. We’ll come again when the tide is slack, but this time we’ll take her through.”

“But the surf, Egil, the surf,” wailed Alos. “It’s too high and hammering against the rocks. We’ll never get past them all.”

“The seas are still running with yesterday’s blow, yet we’ve no choice,” said Egil. “We cannot remain standing offshore until they settle down, for Fortune alone has kept us from being spotted; we cannot count on Her keeping Her smiling face turned our way. Nay, Alos, to delay risks all, and I would not have us taken by the Rovers while we wait for the waters to run calm.—Now run her back north and fare in an oval till it’s time to take her through.”

Moaning and trembling, Alos called for the crew to
make ready to come about, and then he and the others swung the ship away from the rocks. When they were well out, he made another turn to the north, chill sweat adrip from his brow.

*   *   *

“You have the eyes of a cat, love; either that or the gaze of an owl.”

Arin smiled at Egil, then clasped his hand and leaned her head on his chest. Yet she said nought.

“I need a drink,” said Alos. “Medicinal brandy will do. And don’t tell me you have none, for I saw what you put in that locked chest of herbs.”

“Nay, Alos,” replied Arin, without lifting her head. “We need thee steady and sober to get us through.”

“But that’s just it, Dara, I ain’t steady. Instead I’m shaking like a leaf. Surely one little tot would settle me right down, don’t you know?”

Aiko growled and moved away from Burel to sit next to the oldster. Then she whispered something in his ear. “Eep!” squeaked Alos and clutched his crotch and flinched aside.

As Aiko returned to Burel’s side, Arin loosed Egil and moved to Alos and put her arm about his quaking shoulders and began to hum a crib song she’d heard a human mother sing long past. In the starlight she did not miss the doleful look that stole over Alos’s visage and crept into his good eye, a look which only she could see. Finally she whispered, “Fear not, Alos, together we shall succeed.”

*   *   *

“Stand ready on the jib; stand ready on the main,” shrilled Alos above the roar of the surf.

“Starboard a bit, Alos,” cried Arin, leaning out over the larboard rail and peering ahead into the spray. “That’s good. That’s good. True her up now.”

The
Brise
cut a foaming white wake in the water, the churning trail faintly luminous as the sloop ran at an angle toward the jagged Serpent’s Fangs, waves booming into the stone though the tide stood between turns. And the glittering stars, cold and silent, looked down on the desperate run, for speed was needed to keep the surf from carrying the ship and all her crew onto the deadly rocks.

Now the ship fled in among the fangs, the first guide-rock nearly grazing the larboard hull as Arin quickly moved to the starboard to sight on the guide-rock ahead. Billows crashed in against the stones, upflung water hurtling over the
Brise
and down upon all, drenching ship and sails and crew. Swiftly Arin swiped at her eyes and stared steadily at a rock taller than the others, the salt stinging and filling her gaze with tears, tears which she blinked away.

“Larboard, ease larboard, Alos!” she called. “Now steady as she goes!”

“Stand by to come about,” screeched Alos, his frightened voice all but a squeak.

And the ship sped through the roaring blackness, death to the left and right, her bow crashing, waves smashing, spume flying, water drenching all.

“Now, Alos! Now!” shouted Arin.

“Now,” shrieked Alos, haling hard on the tiller, “bring her about!”

Zzzzzz
…Loose ropes buzzed against cleats as strong hands haled hard against the lines. ’round came the bow of the
Brise,
a tall rock to the starboard looming but an arm’s span away.

As the ship heeled over,
Whoom!
a great wave crashed into stone, the curl smashing down to the decks as Arin shifted toward the larboard rail. She lost her footing in the thundering wash and hurtled hard into the coaming. Floundering a moment, at last she reached up to grip the larboard side rail, and groggily she struggled to her feet. Shaking her head to clear it, she leaned out and peered to the fore, as spume and spray and roaring water crashed down on the
Brise.

“Alos! To starboard!” she screamed. “Starboard now!”

Even as the oldster hauled the tiller hard over, a great darkness loomed on the left and—
gwrrrwwwkkk
…—the hull ground against stone, the speeding ship shuddering as the rock juddered along its side; but a surge in the water lifted the
Brise
banging and thudding up and away, and suddenly they were clear of the fang and racing toward disaster beyond.

“Starboard, starboard,” cried Arin above the roar of the
hammering waves. Again Alos hauled on the tiller, and the
Brise
responded, and moments later Arin called out, “Now swing larboard a point and square her up and stand ready.”

As the ship flew along its new course through fangs and thunder and spray, Alos tried to cry out, but all he emitted was a thin squeak, and so Egil shouted to the crew, “Stand ready to come about to larboard, ten points on my command!”

Whoom!
Waves thundered into rock, water leaping to pour over all, and yet Arin cleared her vision and cried, “Stand by!…Stand by!…Stand by!…Now! Now, Alos, now!”

“Now!” shouted Egil. “Come about, now!”

Zzzzzz
…Again wet rope buzzed against cleats as the
Brise
swung leftward ’round a great striated stone to veer sharply larboard, from north-northwest by the compass toward a southwestern run, Alos hauling the tiller hard over to make the sharp-angled turn, the jib and main luffing as the bow swung through the eye of the offshore wind; then the canvas snapped taut once more as it filled with the sharp-driving air and the sloop put her shoulder to the sea and ran through a tangle of deadly rocks for the cove beyond.

“True southwest,” called Arin. “Steady as she goes.”

Past her fangs, past her rocks, past her booming surf, into the throat of the serpent they sailed, the
Brise
battered but running true. And as they came into clear water at last, pressed beyond his meager limits, Alos fainted dead away.

A
s Aiko carried unconscious Alos to a bunk below, Egil took the helm. “Keep a sharp lookout, there’s a Rover town somewhere ahead, and perhaps a Wizard’s tower. Arin, love, I’ll especially need your eye.”

Into the narrow cove they fared, the inlet but a mile or so wide, and they tacked southeasterly along its length for a league or so before the snake began to bend, swinging sinuously to the right. To either hand stood jungle shores, trees thick and tall, vines dangling down, fronds and undergrowth choking the way below, or so Arin said, for in the starlight only she could make out the lay of the entangled surround.

As they came ’round the turn, Arin hissed, “Fare to the larboard,
chier,
I see lights ahead. Lanterns.” But Egil had already pushed the tiller over, for he had espied them as well. “Trim up,” he called to his crew, keeping his voice low.

They swung to the larboard and more lights came into view, the distant yellow glow of lanterns scattered here and there, some shining through windows, others aswing in the breeze.

“’Tis a fair-sized town,” said Arin, “tucked in the curve of the land. Ships lie at anchor or moor at piers along the starboard shore.”

As they drew closer, Egil said, “It’s after the turn of the night. I ween for most part the town lies asleep as do the ships’ crews. But even so there’ll be watches aboard as well as patrolling the streets. Take care and keep talk low, for well does sound carry over water. We’ll slip past along the larboard shore.”

“I’ll ply a plumb line,” said Aiko. “It wouldn’t do to run aground on their very doorstep.”

Egil grunted his assent. “Signal only if the depth is less than two fathoms.”

Aiko moved forward, pausing at a midship deck locker to dredge up a sounding line, then she stepped to the bow and began casting the bob.

Egil changed course again, for now the headwind was blowing directly down the channel and he had no choice but to tack. Still he clung to the larboard shore, hauling into the wind, beating forward in short tacks, changing direction often to remain as far away as practical from the town on the starboard shore.