The Hammer of the Sun (52 page)

Lightning lanced down over the hills behind the Gate, thunder shook the air. Elof swooped low, hoping he looked no more than a large seabird, and skimmed the waves back to the ship, Gorthawer in hand, ready to fall once again upon any who resisted there. But a familiar Shape waved to him as agreed and he settled swiftly to the deck. "Any others?"

"Three, all asleep in shelter. They never woke. And one in the next ship who chose that ill-starred moment to come on deck for a leak. I dropped him overside with an arrow before he even saw. Like sheep in a stall; just slaughter!"

"But hardly up to their own standards. Where's Trygkar?"

"Here!" came a gruff whisper. "As I thought, this one's newly ready for sea; the rig looked fresh-trimmed, and it is. But better we take her down to the point on oars, they're slower but quieter -"

"No!" grinned Elof. "Just get her afloat the moment the rain comes back; I'll see to the rest!"

With poles and sweepshafts as levers they began to inch the longship down the beach, lifting anxious eyes to the skies. In this dimness it was unlikely any guard would see much at first, until the longship began to move in earnest; then the one mast moving would stand out among the rest, and they could not lower it without hindering their escape. It had better be raining again then. Lightning sizzled across the sky, thunder hard on its heels, and the masts stood out in stark relief; every man froze in the glare as if it had struck him, but the ship's stern was already rocking slightly in the waves, the mast swaying visibly. Trygkar let loose a stream of appalling oaths under his breath, but there was no disturbance; probably this area was the responsibility of the sentries they had slain, and nobody else was paying it any attention. With that monster above their heads, thought Elof, they had some excuse for being complacent. Trygkar passed him a heavy cable; he looped it over his shoulders, and they waited. Now and again a cold droplet would splash on arm or neck, but it was only the wind blowing them off spar or stay. It was a warm wind, but in his soaked jerkin it made him shiver; an angry tattoo of drops spattered on his neck, and he winced. Then came another, then a few slow drops more struck him with mounting intensity and speed. He turned in sudden hope to look up at the clouds behind the heights of the Gate, and felt a stab of sheer terror. Lightning clashed like twin lances against the tower, and he saw the immense body churn and stir like the sea, its scales dazzling with reflected glare, saw the spear-shaped head rear up, yellow eyes alight, jaws flung wide, the vast wings stir and spread above the Gate like some demoniac crown. A cavernous roar mingled with the thunder, and their contention shook the air.

Then, like a steel gate falling, the rains came once more. And into the midst of them as they crashed down upon him Elof launched himself, catching a last glimpse of the others springing to the levers below. Then he could see no more than shadows; he hoped the rain would dim those yellow eyes as thoroughly. The cable snapped taut, a tremendous weight bore down on his back and then suddenly eased as the longship slid down the sand and into the surf. Dimly he heard Trygkar calling that all were now aboard; he could not answer, but took the strain once more, and felt the whole weight of the longship seek to haul him down. But it was afloat now, and the strains slackened as it began to move, sliding smoothly through the water behind him; he towed it as a small boat might, his wings mocking the rain with their powerful beat. It gathered speed more easily than he had feared, riding smoothly through the swell, and as the others settled at the sweeps it fairly leaped forward They had chosen it well, a craft of no great size, built more for speed and sea-handling, for long journeys ending in swift assaults rather than carrying huge cargoes or many men. In fact, it could have been any of the ships that had come gliding in towards Asenby so many years since. He laughed aloud at the irony of that, and the thunder seemed to laugh with him, mocking the ways of fate.

No voice was raised from the shore, no shot was fired after them; the rain was still shielding them, scattering the lightning's glare. They turned in towards the point where the others awaited. There was a moment's alarm when an impact threw the rowers from their benches and caused the mast to waver like a grass stem in a gale; but they had only touched upon a hidden sandbar, and Elof still had enough power in his wings to haul them off and set them on course for the beach. They grounded alongside, and one party went to a nearby stream to fill the Ekwesh water-breakers while the others set about loading. They could not spare the time to unpack the sleds, so they laid down planks and hauled them bodily on board, though the half-decking seemed too light; as it turned out, only the last sled cracked it. The water-bearers came scurrying back and stowed the heavy barrels beside their own lighter flasks of metal and thick glass. "That's it!" barked Trygkar. "Draw us off, Mastersmith! To the oars, all, and back water! Fast, ere the rain slackens again!"

Elof rose up and seized the bow line, but felt his wing-beat falter as he took the strain. The oars were already thrashing against the surf; urgently he heaved, felt the lean prow swing around to face the waves, lift and plunge. A gust of wind caught him then, his wings faltered and fluttered against it; he spread them wide and dived desperately for the deck. With no power in wing or leg to stop himself he landed with bruising force; the wind got under his wings, dragged and skidded him across the tarred, greasy timbers and almost over the far gunwales. "No more power -" he gasped, as crewmen ran to hold down his wings and help him free of the metal harness. "Can't help any more now -"

"It doesn't matter!" bellowed Roc in his ear, as the thunder drummed overhead. "Doesn't matter, d'you hear? We're out! Headed out into the bay, out to sea! We're away!"

Elof gave a great sigh. "Then their work is done!" he said, and even over the storm there was no mistaking the regret in his voice. "And so they are clipped; on a ship this size we can hardly build a fire big enough to fuel them! See them well stowed, Roc." He let the wings be slipped from his shoulders. "Lie there, my new life!"

He brooded a moment, while the deck plunged and the wind whined around him, but soon roused himself. "Ah well, at least I'm still good for some labour! Help me to an oarbench, will you?"

"Ach, I don't doubt you could row the ship by yourself if you pleased, but why bother? Trygkar'll be setting sail any minute…"

"
No
! He mustn't! Help me to him!" Roc shook his head, but helped him up, and they staggered aft together. Trygkar stood on the after deck, clasping the steering oar in his corded old arms with no apparent effort; the moment Elof sighted him, he cried out "No sail, shipmaster! Oars only! Till dawn at the earliest, as I said!"

The old shipmaster frowned. "But Mastersmith, in this rain…"

"And if it clears for a moment? They might miss a bare mast by night, but never the expanse of a sail! That's one reason!" He slumped down against the gunwale, and pointed. "And by all the Powers, there's another!"

Out to sea the rain was thinner, and through it they could just make out the high pale outlines that seemed to muster around the mouth of the little bay. "Sails!" barked Trygkar, clapping hand to the axe at his belt. "And they're a size, by the powers - three, four, no, more, a bloody fleet of the savages…"

Elof shook his head. "Not Ekwesh! Those woven sails of their never look white!"

"Then who…" began Trygkar; then the lightning came again, and the truth glittered clear and bleak. "
Ice
! Are those the ice-islands you warned me of, Master Roc?"

"Aye," said Roc grimly. "But twice the size of any we saw, this far south! Why, with so much above the water, they must be just about touching -"

"They are," said Elof bleakly. "I saw; the waves lashed them, but they never moved. They are aground -a reef of ice!"

Trygkar shook his head. "You were right, then, Mastersmith - as well we didn't go sailing smack into those, in the dark and rain! Navigating them's a job for sweeps alone! Why; they're all around the Gate -" He snapped his fingers. "
That's
why you didn't find any fish! All around the Gate - all around the inflow, the High Falls! Think what they must be doing to the waters of the Yskianas!"

"Of course!" breathed Roc. "This must be Louhi's doing! She's chilling it! So that's the plan you guessed, is it, Elof?"

But Elof shook his head. "A part of it, perhaps; a preparation…" Then something boomed against the bows, and the ship lurched. "Floating ice! Even this far in!"

"You've met this before, Mastersmith!" said Trygkar shortly. "You give the orders!"

"Three men in the bows, with heavy poles or sweeps!" barked Elof. "Shift what you can, sing out to the steersman if you can't! Roc, you'd better be one of them! But help me to an oar first!"

It was hard to sit down at the bench, to grasp the rough wood of the sweep and turn his back on what must be happening at the bows, to fix his mind on the pace and rhythm of the shoulders that bent and strained before him, broken only when they must hurriedly back water, or push poles and sweeps against some cruel fragment of glacier. It was a fearful toil, for there were not enough rowers, but that he hardly noticed. As the time passed he could look up, at least, and see through the veil of rain the white crags slip slowly by, their twisted summits aglitter with the lightning. It was more distant now; the storm seemed not to be following them out over the sea. So much the better; it would cover their escape all the longer, and give them a more peaceful ride. For all that it had played them some uncomfortable tricks earlier, in fact, it could hardly have served them better -

The thought came to him so suddenly he almost missed his stroke, earning the curses of the others on his side; but he hardly heard them. He was too busy thinking of the other fliers he had seen, remembering how even in the most deserted lands or skies there had always been birds within sight, near or far two birds, great birds, black birds, so great, so black they could be seen easily from afar. More than once he had seen such a pair, and always on their traces rode a storm; a storm that was no common storm, that cloaked a cunning and a quirky mind, a Power and a jester both…

Then a hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. Trygkar was kneeling on the half-deck by his bench, and there was a young man's urgency in his voice. "Mastersmith! Master Elof! I think we're through the worst of the ice-islands! They're all afloat now, wider apart save to the northward, and we can dodge those! But it must be drawing nigh to dawn!"

Elof looked up sharply, realizing that he had heard no thunder for some time. The rain was lessening, and the blackness beyond it was developing a definite grey-ish tinge. "Then by all means hoist sail, shipmaster, and get us away from here! On the wings of the wind!"

Trygkar rose and bellowed orders, and the sweeps lifted from the water like rippling wings; Elof copied the others, shipping his in a shower of seawater. The chill of it stung him, and he shuddered; there was something there of the agony the Ice caused him. Then Trygkar bellowed again, and the other rowers shipped their oars and sprang for the halyards, leaving Elof helpless on his bench, wild with resentment at being unable to rise and see, though he could guess at what was going on easily enough. He heard the rough spar go rattling and creaking up the mast, and twisting round he saw the black sail billow and catch the wind. It filled with a dull thump, wholly unlike the crisp crack of the sailcloth he was used to; this black stuff was a much heavier and cruder weave, strengthened with a crosswise net of tarred cords. But it took the wind well enough. The yards sang taut, and beneath him the hull answered with a single deep drumming note; water slopped and gurgled in the bilges, and the sleek ship sliced through the water like a flung knife. A wild cheer rippled the length of the ship. "
Quiet
!" barked Elof, and it was instantly quelled; he held up a hand, listening, but the sound he thought he had heard did not come again. He scrabbled and struggled to haul himself out of the benches, and Roc came running to help.

"Why be quiet?" he demanded as he hauled Elof bodily out of his seat. "We're away, aren't we? And you can't blame 'em for a shout or two; crude these reiver craft may be, but they've a keen edge of speed on 'em!"

"And we may need all we can get! Help me aft, Roc, and fast! They'll have discovered it's gone by now; there'll be pursuers combing the Seas of the Sunrise for us! Sound may reach them where sight cannot!"

Roc, helping Elof up into the sterncastle, cast a worried glance at the sea, all shades of dull metal now, and at the land that had held them so long, dwindling now to a grey streak across the horizon, its hills no more substantial than the remotest band of cloud. "But surely we've a good start…"

He stopped. Elof was listening, gesturing urgently for quiet. The rumble that was borne down the wind might have been the last of the night's thunders, had there been any lightning with it. "Over their ships, yes'
But look
!"

All eyes followed Elof s hand, high into the growing light. The dark stormclouds were breaking up now over the land, riven with gulfs of lighter grey. Through one of these a strange shape glided, serpentine, yet borne aloft on a wide spread of wings, more like bat than bird; so uncanny it seemed that it took them a moment to gauge the distance, and realise how huge a thing it truly was.

"The dragon!" hissed Trygkar, pale with horror "
The dragon hunts us
!"