Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [156]
“By Gorquon’s Helmet, neither have we, Etjole!” The right hand of Simna ibn Sind rested firmly on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll not see you handed over to an unknown fate. Not after all we’ve been through together!”
The herdsman smiled fondly at his friend. “What is this, Simna? Loyalty? And without a gold piece in sight?”
“Mock me if you will, long bruther. You wouldn’t be the first.” The swordsman’s face was flush with anger. “Dying in combat with some monstrous beast or battling an attacking army is a worthy death for a man. You deserve better than to rot in some cell accused of Gwinbare knows what imaginary crime.”
“No one has said anything about dying or rotting in a cell.” Ehomba’s voice was calm, his manner composed. “They may only want to talk to me.”
“Hoy, but for how long?” Simna gestured sharply in the direction of the assembled soldiers and officials. “They said that once they have you, the rest can sail on. That doesn’t sound to me like they plan to let you go anytime soon, and you said yourself we shouldn’t wait two months for another ship.”
“So you should not.” Raising his hands, the herdsman placed them on his friend’s shoulders. “I hereby charge you, Simna ibn Sind, with completing my task, with fulfilling my promise to the dying Tarin Beckwith. Stay with the Grömsketter. See her across the Semordria, and find your way onward from there.”
The swordsman tensed. “What madness is this? What are you saying, Etjole?”
Removing his hands, Ehomba turned back to the railing. “I am getting off the ship.” He looked to Stanager. “Captain, as soon as I am on the dock and the Narrows are once more cleared to navigation, set your course downriver and sail on.” She eyed him purposefully for a long moment, then nodded once.
A ladder of rope and wood was thrown over the side. Ehomba started toward it, only to be grabbed and held by the swordsman.
“Don’t do this, bruther! You have your weapons; I have my sword. There is the black litah and Hunkapa Aub. We can fight them off!” His fingers tightened on the taller man’s arm.
Gently, Ehomba disengaged himself from his friend’s grasp. “No, Simna. Even if we could, sailors who have no part in this might get hurt, or killed. As could any of us, yourself included. Stay on the ship. Sail on.” He smiled warmly. “Think of me as the river carries you to the sea.” Turning away, he stepped over the side, straddling the railing preparatory to climbing down the ladder.
“Stop there!” a voice commanded from below. Crossbow bolts were trained on the herdsman. “No weapons. Leave them and the pack on your back on board the ship. You can claim them upon its return.”
Removing the sword of sea bone and the sword of sky metal, Ehomba passed them to a stricken Simna. They were joined by the long walking stick–spear. Lastly, the herdsman slipped off his backpack and handed it to a somber-faced Terious. Hunkapa Aub was crying outsized inhuman tears. Ehomba was grateful that the black litah was still asleep. It might not have been possible to restrain the big cat with words. Had it been awake, the spilling of blood might have proven unavoidable.
Descending the ladder, he jumped the last few feet to the dock, landing with a resonant thump on his well-worn sandals. Instantly, he was surrounded by soldiers. With an approving nod, one of the Gate Masters turned and gave a signal to someone in the brick tower. Flags flashed in the direction of the opposing headlands, where other flags responded.
How it was done Ehomba could not tell. The time gates that surmounted the headlands were too far away for him to discern the mechanisms involved. But the shimmering, coruscating blue haze that blocked the Eynharrowk abruptly vanished, though it remained in place everywhere else.
Aboard the Grömsketter shouts rang loudly. He could make out the brisk, lively syllables of Stanager’s commands and the deeper echoes of Terious and the other mates. Deliberately, the sleek ship pulled away from the