Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [58]
Rethnor listened with growing horror as the story of the battle unfolded. When at last the telling was done, he absently allowed the physician to check his wounded arm and to change the dressing. His thoughts raced as he considered all he had heard.
The unthinkable had happened. A single Ruathen ship had overcome his trio of warships and was even now bound for her island home with this news. The Luskan ships had covered their nameplates and had flown plain sails and no port flags, but it was possible that someone among the pirates might have recognized the man who'd led the attack. Rethnor was not unknown among the Ruathen. As High Captain, he had attended many meetings of the Captains' Alliance and had often sat across the table from the island's battle chieftains, the so-called First Axes of Ruathym.
Rethnor determined that come what may, word of this attack could not reach Ruathym. Granted, the island's people were unlikely to unravel the tangled plot he'd woven to enmesh them, but Rethnor was not willing to give them a chance.
"Who steers the ship?" he demanded. "Where are we bound?"
"One of the sailors-i know not his name. Rest easy; we sail for Luskan," the physician replied in a soothing voice. Rethnor threw aside the coverlet and rose to his feet. He thrust aside the protesting healer and made his way up to the starlit deck and confronted the astonished tillerman. "Turn her about," he ordered in a voice that forbade argument. "Set a direct course for Trisk."
The sailor blinked but promptly relayed the order to the scant remaining crew. None of the men openly questioned Rethnor-to do so at the best of times would have meant their deaths-but to a man they wondered whether the sword that had severed the High Captain's hand had also stolen his wits.
Trisk was one of two large islands in the distant cluster known as the Purple Rocks. The islands lay west of Gundarlun, and past the warm waters of the River. Ice floes were still a hazard at this time of year, but even more fearsome were the strange and deadly sea creatures who were said to lair near the islands.
These stories were told only on solid land, preferably far from the sight of the sea and in the warm security of a crowded and firelit tavern. The tillerman did not want to remember those stories now. He was a Northman, and he did not fear to die. He just wished he could be certain there was a path between the mead halls of Tempus and the bellies of the sea creatures that surely awaited them.
Liriel slept through that night and well into the next day. She awoke with a start, surprised to see sunlight pouring in through the portal and Hrolfkeeping vigil beside her cot. He grinned broadly when he saw her eyes upon him. "it's glad i am to see you awake, lass! Lie still, now," he admonished her as she struggled to sit up.
"The lad is well enough, but sleeping," Hrolf continued, guessing what her first question might be. "He took a few cuts, none of them past stitching, but tired himself out something fearful. I've lived on Ruathym all my days and seen berserkers in frenzy many a time, but never anything to equal that!" he said with awe.
"it gets worse each time," Liriel managed to say.
Hrolf nodded, his jovial face suddenly very somber. "He doesn't have many more like that in him, does he?"
The drow shook her head. Her eyes drifted shut, but not before the pirate noted the uncharacteristic despair in their amber depths.
"What do you plan to do about it, lass?" Hrolf asked softly. "i figured some time back that you're looking to Ruathym for answers. Might be that i can help you find them."
"it's a very long story," Liriel muttered.
Hrolf folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "You got until moonrise to tell it," he said calmly. "The lads bade me keep you here till then. They're working on a surprise for you."
"Carrying out the verdict from the Thing?" Liriel inquired with a touch of bitterness.
The captain grinned. "You might say that. But it's naught to fret about, trust me on that. Now, let's hear your tale."