Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [134]
And then the houses gave way to an open road paved with flagstones, beyond which the moonlight glinted on surf. Damien could hear waves, and human voices, and the soft growl of a distant turbine. The Hunter rode to the end of the street and paused there.
“How—” Damien began.
“Later.” The road dropped away sharply at its end, down to the harbor some hundred feet below. A long flight of stairs and a switchback trail offered equally uncomfortable ways of getting down to the water. The Hunter studied the boats splayed out below them, assessing each one’s potential for speed as well as its position in the small harbor. “That one,” he said at last, pointing to a small boat at the end of the easternmost pier. Its two masts flanked the exhaust pipe of a steam turbine. “I can raise a wind that will move it quickly, hopefully before anyone thinks to follow.”
“What if its owner—?”
“Its owner is irrelevant,” Tarrant said sharply. “If you have a problem with that, stay here and argue with him.” And he turned his horse toward the switchback path that led down to the water’s edge.
It was a nightmare descent, even for one as experienced in riding as Damien was. The path was covered with loose rocks and gravel, and the racing horses slid into several turns. At one time Damien’s horse actually missed the edge, and his heart nearly stopped as it half-staggered, half-slid, down to the turn below.
And then they were on flat ground, mud and gravel mixed, clumps of earth tearing up out of the ground as they galloped toward the pier. No secrecy now, nor any attempt at it. Calesta knew where they were headed and that meant the townspeople did as well. The only hope they had of making it out onto the water was to get there before the locals had a chance to stop them.
Out onto the wooden planks, their horses’ hooves beating emptily over the rocky shore below. Two men jumped back out of their way, and another few ran as they saw them coming. Good enough. Fear of a maddened horse could be just as effective as a direct assault, and in this case it proved even better. No one tried to stop them as they turned their mounts down the pier Tarrant had chosen, although Damien could see a few men running for help. Within minutes, no doubt, the whole harbor would be swarming with armed men.
Tarrant didn’t stop to lead his horse across the water, but urged it into a leap that carried it from the end of the pier onto the boat’s narrow deck. Damien saw it slide as it landed, and by the time Tarrant managed to bring it to a stop, they were nearly in the water. He slowed his own mount down as he approached, less than certain that he could manage the same feat. Sliding off the saddle, he moved quickly toward the boat with reins in hand. His horse was less than happy about stepping onto the swaying deck, but a hard jerk on the reins convinced it not to argue, and it managed a half-leap that got it across the water safely.
Damien cut through the mooring lines, not taking time to unbind them. Behind him Tarrant’s sword blazed with conjured coldfire, and in response a wind began to rise almost at once, blowing from the shore toward the Serpent. At the other end of the harbor Damien could see spots of light moving—lamps?—and he could hear the cries of would-be pursuers as they made their way down the slope. Faster! he urged the wind, as he drew up the sails singlehandedly to harness its power. The small boat shuddered and then drew away from the pier, its sails billowing out white and strong in the moonlight. One of the horses whinnied its discomfort, but Damien doubted that either of the animals would actually be stupid enough to go over the side in protest. Maybe stupid enough to trample their owners, but not that.
“The turbine’s below.” Tarrant pointed toward the stairs at the