Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (68 page)

 
          
"My
word on it."

 
          
"Then—my
thanks." She smiled again and Calandryll thought he saw relief in her
look.

 
          
She
turned, making her way back down the deck. Bracht stared after her and sighed.
"Can you hold that promise?" Calandryll asked.

 
          
"For
her, aye." Bracht smiled.

 
          
Calandryll
grinned, thinking he saw what Bracht had not. "It was a ... large . . .
promise," he murmured.

 
          
"How
so?" asked the Kem.

 
          
"Your
warrant was to ward me until our return to Lysse, no farther. It seems now you
extend that to the very boundaries of the world."

 
          
"For
her," Bracht nodded, smiling, then clapped a cheerful hand to Calandryll's
shoulder. "And for you, my friend. Did you believe I'd leave you to end
this quest without me?"

 
          
"No."
Calandryll shook his head, realizing that he had never doubted but that Bracht
would stand beside him to the end. "No. But in this matter of Katya, you
press too hard."

 
          
Bracht
glanced at him and grinned.

 
          
"Was
your gaze not transfixed you'd have seen Tekkan's face," he insisted.

 
          
"I
saw only Katya," Bracht returned. "And that a more sightly
study."

 
          
"Like
a lovestruck boy," Calandryll retorted.

 
          
Bracht
returned him a quizzical look, then nodded. "Ahrd, but is she not
beautiful?" he murmured. "And a swordswoman to boot—a rare
prize."

 
          
Calandryll
sighed patiently. "Your sallies earned Tekkan's disapproval—would you make
an enemy of him?"

 
          
"I'd
know our newfound comrade better," Bracht said, undeterred. "Would
she but allow me that pleasure."

 
          
"Some
bond exists between them," Calandryll said. "Perhaps they are
lovers."

 
          
"Do
you think so?" Bracht turned from his sword to peer thoughtfully at the
helmsman. "Do you say I have a rival?"

 
          
"A
rival? Dera!" Calandryll lowered his voice as several crew members looked
toward them. "We sail unknown waters—in search of the Arcanum; the
cannibals of Gash off our bow
_;
Varent behind us
_;
the
goddess alone knows what ahead—and you think to bed Katya!"

 
          
"The
journey will be long," Bracht said mildly, "and likely boring. And
I've not met a woman such as she."

 
          
"Would
you hazard our quest for that?" Calandryll demanded.

 
          
"No,"
Bracht replied in more solemn tone. Then grinned. "But I'd lief claim that
woman."

 
          
Calandryll
stared at the freesword, disbelieving until he saw Bracht's face and recognized
that the Kem was serious. He shook his head, modulating his tone.

 
          
"Whatever
lies between Katya and Tekkan, our helmsman takes unkindly to your advances.
Should that become something more .. ." He left the sentence unfinished as
Bracht nodded. "I'd not make an enemy of Tekkan," he agreed.

 
          
"Then
curb your ... enthusiasm."

 
          
Bracht
met his stare and asked bluntly, "Do you desire her?"

 
          
"No,"
he answered. The Kem's eyes held his, speculative, and he shook his head,
saying again, "No."

 
          
"Good,"
Bracht said softly, "then there will be no rivalry between us."

 
          
"No,"
he repeated. "But nor should you chance Tekkan's anger with your ...
compliments. I advise that you walk soft about him—and her."

 
          
Bracht
exaggerated a sigh. "A difficult thing—but, so be it."

 
          
Encouraged,
Calandryll said, "This is unlike you. In all our journeying I've not seen
you smitten so."

 
          
"In
all our journeying have you seen any woman like Katya?" came the response.
"But set your mind at rest— my tongue shall be curbed and no offense
given."

 
          
"The
wiser course," Calandryll said.

 
          
Bracht
grunted an affirmative and busied himself with the edges of his falchion, a
contemplative smile tugging at the comers of his mouth. Calandryll rested back
against the curving neck of the figurehead, content with the Kem's promise,
content for now to stretch in the sun and listen to the slap of waves against
the prow. He was not sure what he had seen in Tekkan's eyes, save that Bracht's
advances had irritated the helmsman, nor how he should interpret Katya's
response. That something existed between the two Vanu folk he was sure, but not
the nature of it. That Bracht should so suddenly—and seemingly with
honesty—become enamored of Katya surprised him. The Kem had taken his pleasure
with Varent's serving wench casually enough, but this appeared a vastly
different matter, for all Bracht's blunt approach—it was as if the Kem had
arrived at some abrupt decision, a- certainty bom of instinct and beyond plain
desire. And it could, he felt, remembering Tekkan's face, set their quest in
jeopardy.

 
          
A
little time proved the point.

 
          
Toward
dusk of that day two canoes emerged from the canopy of the jungle, not seeking
to intercept them, but flanking the warboat as it moved steadily up the coast.
They were huge, fashioned from whole tree trunks, and rowed by muscular men
whose purple skin was almost lost beneath an overlay of colorful tattooing.
Sleek black hair was dressed with feathers and shells, and white bones
transfixed nostrils and earlobes, more hanging in necklaces or clattering
against the breechclouts that were their only garments to add to their barbaric
splendor. Archers and spearmen crouched between the rowers, gesturing angrily,
as if they lusted to close and kill. They held their course until full night
had fallen and only then did Tekkan drop anchor, farther out than before, and
with lookouts posted. The canoes ventured no assault, but at dawn they still
hung off the starboard beam, like wolves trailing a beast too large to attack,
and at
noon
a third
joined them, late in the day a fourth, so that they traveled with a flotilla.
The rising of the next day's sun revealed a fifth dugout, and by its setting
there was a sixth.

 
          
As
they closed on the egress of the freshwater stream the intentions of their
pursuers became obvious: seven dugouts stood between them and the spring,
effectively denying them access. Against such odds not even Bracht could urge
an attempt to land and they continued north escorted by the canoes.

 
          
After
seven days even Tekkan's patience was tried and he ordered the mast stepped up,
the sail raised.

 
          
"What
good?" Bracht asked. "With the wind against us, how can the sail
help?"

 
          
Calandryll
explained the basics of tacking as the war- boat moved out to sea, the maneuver
slowing their northward passage, but at least ridding them of their pursuers.
They held that course until the water barrels stood nearempty and their
replenishment became imperative. The charts showed another spring two days'
distant and—with little other choice—they drew closer to the coastline.

 
          
A
conference was held on the poop deck, Calandryll and Bracht joining Katya and
Tekkan, a woman—Quara— and a man—Urs—with them. It was decided that they should
put in under cover of darkness and at dawn the longboat would go ashore. It
could carry no more than three barrels at a time, and several journeys would be
needed to restock their dwindled supplies. At the same time a hunting party
would seek game, for fresh meat, too, was growing low. Katya was to lead the
hunters.

 
          
"I'd
accompany you," Bracht declared. "I grow stale, idling here."

 
          
Katya
and Tekkan exchanged glances and the helmsman shook his head.

 
          
"There
is too much danger."

 
          
"Then
let some other than Katya go," Bracht said.

 
          
"I
cannot," she explained. "I lead these people far from their home and
I cannot ask them to do what I will not."

 
          
Bracht
shrugged, accepting that but still protective. "Then I go with you,"
he said doggedly, and turned to smile at Tekkan. "Nor shall any argument
dissuade me."

 
          
His
tone brooked no disagreement: Tekkan nodded reluctantly. Calandryll said,
"Then I, too, go."

 
          
"There
is no need," Bracht said. "Not for you."

 
          
"You
forget the spaewife's words," he returned. "Are we not bound, we
three?"

 
          
"You
need not," the Kern argued, gesturing at the empty sea. "Likely there
is no danger."

 
          
"And
if there is?" Calandryll demanded, looking to each in turn. "Should
we become separated? The prophecy spoke of three—do you go, then I go with you.
Or we risk the quest."

 
          
"I
must," Katya said, "but neither you nor Bracht need take this
chance."

 
          
Bracht
barked a laugh and chopped air: a dismissive gesture. "I will not argue
this—I go with you and there's an end to it."

 
          
"Then
it is settled," said Calandryll. "Three, or none of us."

 
          
Katya
and Tekkan spoke with Quara and Urs, then the helmsman nodded. Katya said,
"So be it," and turned, grinning, toward Bracht. "But
armored."

 
          
They
prepared for the foray as Tekkan brought the warboat in, gently under sail, the
moon a paling sliver above, not bright enough to betray them they hoped. Shirts
of fine mail were found to fit them both, and breeks of thick leather, sewn
with mail, helms for their heads. It felt strange after so long a time
unhampered to wear that weight, and despite its flexibility, not very
comfortable, but faced with the threat of arrows from the jungle neither argued
such precautions.

 
          
They
waited, Calandryll affecting a calm he did not feel, as the black outline of
the tree-thick coast bulked higher before them, Tekkan calling soft orders that
brought down the sail, the sweeps running out to bring them closer, halting
them finally to ride the tide, awaiting the darkest hour between the setting of
the moon and the rising of the sun.

 
          
The
night was still, the wind that blew steadily throughout the day died away now
to no more than a fitful breeze, redolent of the lush vegetation, but far from
silent. Shrieks and chatterings rang from the jungle, the challenge of hunting
beasts and the cries of their prey; the sea lapped softly about the boat, which
creaked and groaned, tnose sounds seeming the loudest, for all—save, perhaps,
Bracht—hoped that they might approach unseen, unheard. The minutes dragged
slowly by and then the boat was lowered, Urs and his men slipping silently to
their places, Quara and four archers following, the boat filled then, moving to
the shore. It returned and Katya swung down, and then Bracht, Calandryll the
last. Urs murmured a single word and the oars dipped, carrying the boat away
from the larger vessel, toward the shoreline.

 
          
The
odor of the jungle grew stronger, thick and hot, and all their eyes probed the
darkness for sight of canoes or waiting savages.