The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [108]
How long he is gone, how long he is suspended between two places, he does not know, only that when he stands fully on the deck again, there are small patches of blue in the overhead clouds.
“They’re blocked,” he announces before he realizes that Klerris and Megaera no longer stand beside him but have moved almost to the bowsprit, where they watch a dolphin pacing the sloop.
With a sigh, the silver-haired man walks stiffly toward them.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Megaera smiles as she watches the dolphin give a last leap and dive beneath the dark green water.
“Was it a female?”
“Who can tell?” Klerris says.
“It was a woman,” Megaera insists. “I could feel her spirit.”
“Then it was,” Creslin agrees.
The redhead’s smile lingers for a moment, but she says nothing.
“What did you find out?” Klerris looks at Creslin.
“The southern winds are stronger. The low ones. Nothing is stronger than the high torrents. Somehow, the way the low winds come across the gulf . . . it has something to do with the deserts on Recluce, especially the southern part and the northern hills.”
“Mountains and deserts always have a big impact on winds and weather. So do the seas. It has to do with how they affect the heat and the cold.” Klerris looks toward the south, where the smudge on the horizon that Creslin had studied earlier has become the profile of a rocky coastline.
Creslin wishes that Klerris would say more, but the Black Wizard has the habit of saying only what he wishes to say and no more. It is probably a good habit to adopt, Creslin thinks even as he wonders how the wizard can call the rocky peaks on the isle “mountains.” Not when they are scarcely foothills to the Westhorns, or even to the Easthorns.
“You might remember that hot air rises and that cold air is heavier and stronger.” Klerris heads back to the helm, where Freigr stands beside the helmsman.
Creslin is still shaking his head when Megaera speaks.
“You’re not yet used to complexity.”
Creslin opens his mouth, then shuts it. After a moment, he speaks. “You’re right. But it seems too many people make things more complicated than they need to be.”
“That’s because most people aren’t simple. Not once they have had to grow up.”
Creslin takes a deep breath.
“You can be as stubborn as the mountains themselves, best-betrothed,” Megaera tells him.
“We’re married, according to the documents.”
“Should I refer to you as ’husband-dearest’ then?”
“If you must use a name, ’best-betrothed’ is probably more accurate. For many reasons.”
Megaera looks down at the dark water.
Creslin studies the coastline again, noting the barren rockiness. After a while he follows Megaera to the mess cabin, where they join half of the crew, seven men, in eating a highly-peppered stew accompanied by biscuits harder than any Creslin has ever gnawed.
“Won’t be long now,” affirms Freigr. “By midafternoon we should see Land’s End.”
“What is there to see?” asks Megaera.
A white-bearded sailor laughs harshly.
“A few fishing cots, a pier, and a breakwater too big for a fishing village, and the keep of the Duke’s garrison. That’s about it.” Freigr crunches through a biscuit and slurps up another spoonful of stew. “But when I told that to the Duke, he sort of swallowed and turned red all over.”
Megaera and Creslin smile, thinking of Korweil. Megaera purses her lips. “That doesn’t sound like much, not after all the fuss he has made about it.”
Creslin winces, but continues to eat silently.
“Well, there is the stable . . .”
Several of the sailors are grinning.
Megaera shakes her head, and her red hair brushes the shoulders of the gray travel tunic she wears.
Creslin gnaws on his third hard biscuit.
Klerris is grinning with the sailors.
“Now, the Duke has a map with lots of buildings on it . . .”
LXVIII
FROM BEYOND THE breakwater, Freigr’s description of Land’s End seems generous. No buildings can be seen on the rocky cliffs flanking the narrow inlet. The breakwater that comprises