“Come,” Menish said to the others, and they farewelled Grath and Bolythak and made their way outside.
It was a dreary morning. The rain had degenerated into a fine mist that hung in the still air like fog, turning the nearby houses into formless shapes. It even obscured the dragon post. The moisture clung to their hair and clothes and made the stone under their feet slick and wet. The stone was simply the continuation of Gilish’s road, and here it was clear of accumulated earth and debris from constant use. The wide, flat slabs now ran unevenly, threatening to trip the unwary and their slickness made them more treacherous still.
Stepping carefully they made their way through the mist after the youth. Although it was early the Vorthenki village was by no means asleep. The long houses were bustling with activity. Men were setting off with bundles of canvas, netting and rope. Women were farewelling them and children scampered about everywhere. Several small boys joined their company for a while, walking importantly beside Althak as if they had been officially asked to. They took Althak for the leader of the company, of course, for his bright torque and bracelets and his polished greaves made him look like a very significant Vorthenki chief. The Anthorians, with their heavy cloaks and coats around them, made small, sombre figures, not worth consideration. Althak smiled at the boys and tousled their hair. Their mothers called them back, some amused, some concerned for their safety. All scolded them soundly.
Menish took no notice of the children. He was looking carefully at the women. Once he thought he saw her standing in the doorway of a long house, but he was mistaken.
He could not get her out of his mind. Even while he had given Grath and Bolythak their instructions she had lurked behind his thoughts. He was surprised that he had not dreamed of her again. His previous dreams had shown him a version of the truth and that had unnerved him. Thalissa was alive, and Azkun had her eyes. Azkun had emerged from the Chasm where he had dreamed that she would. But he dreamed a skeleton and she was alive. He felt he had a puzzle nearly solved and the answer would yield a vital truth, but he was missing some clue.
It was foolish to try to make sense of dreams, but that was all he had. He could not speak with her, not with his men here. Hrangil might kill her the moment he recognised her, for he had met her before. Drinagish had not, but he would require an explanation for not killing her and Menish had none to give. Althak, he did not know. Perhaps he would say she had been released from hell if she had escaped the Chasm. He wondered how well Althak remembered her from his childhood.
The dead are so easy to hate. They require no action, no vengeance. The knowledge that she was alive lifted the weight of murder from his shoulders. But nothing would remove the burden of his own infidelity.
Azkun seemed to be walking better this morning and he had discarded the sling that had supported his injured arm all yesterday. A good night's sleep, even in a Vorthenki inn, can do wonders.
The youth led them quickly through the mist, and presently they came to the water’s edge. The road continued as a great pier jutting out into the mist-covered sea, which splashed itself fitfully against the stone. Through the mist he could see the vague shapes of cliffs enclosing a sheltered cove.
All along the pier lay small fishing boats, typical high-prowed, triangular sailed Vorthenki ships which bobbed gracefully on the swell of the sea. Men were clambering in and out of most of them with their bundles of nets and baskets. Sails were being raised on several and two or three were moving away from the pier for their day’s fishing.
Some of the ships were much larger than the others. One was more than twice the size of the little boats, and it was to this that the youth led them. The ship was built on classical Vorthenki lines, that much Menish knew. The land locked Anthorians viewed the sea with suspicion, and even the Relanese had always said the Vorthenki were supreme on the waves. They built their boats of long, warped planks that curved elegantly from the carved dragon head bowsprit to the tall stern. Each plank appeared to be unjoined for the full eighty-foot length. It was said that giant trees grew in the far north and the Vorthenki built their larger ships of these.
From the broad decks rose a tall mast supporting a long spar that dipped low towards the bow and rose high above the stern. As yet the sails were furled, bunched along the spar, and there was any number of ropes and tackles stretching from the gunwales to the mast giving the ship a spider web appearance.
As they drew closer they could see the sailors were still loading provisions aboard. The deck was filled with men and barrels and boxes. Several of the sailors had climbed the masts and were adjusting ropes in preparation for the voyage.
A gangplank reached from the stone causeway to the gunwales and Menish grimaced as he saw it rise and fall with the waves. Only a ship could take them to Atonir in less than a month, but it would not be a comfortable journey. Drinagish did not know what he had let himself in for. Already he could see Hrangil’s jaw clenching.
Althak was, of course, at home on the sea. He was talking to Azkun about tides and weather signs.
Wondering whether Azkun was looking forward to the voyage or not, Menish glanced at him. He was surprised. Azkun was paying no attention to Althak, he was staring earnestly towards Menish as if he were shouting mutely at him. When he caught Menish’s eye Azkun turned his head and nodded along the pier. Menish followed his gaze. The mist swirled and swallowed the end of the pier in the distance, but he could see the shapes of boats moored beside it and the tall Vorthenki figures that moved about on the stone. Something drew his eyes to a group of three figures that were climbing into one of the small fishing boats. No, two were embarking, one remained on the pier.
He looked back at Azkun with an unspoken question and Azkun mouthed the word ‘her’. A shiver ran through him and he clenched his teeth before they began chattering. His dreams loomed before him as he turned to look at the lone figure left on the pier while the little boat cast off. She was wrapped in a heavy sea cloak to keep out the dampness of the mist. In his mind’s eye he saw a skeleton under the cloak. Was it really her? How did Azkun know? There was no opportunity to debate these questions. If he was to speak with her it must be now. He would not waste such an opportunity.
“Hrangil.”
“Sire?”
“The sea retch clings to my guts already. The ship won't sail just yet. I'll walk a little further. Call me when they're ready.”
Hrangil nodded and Menish strolled off. He made some effort to wander aimlessly, yet he was aware that he did not have long before his ship would be ready. But the others might be watching and they must not know that she was alive, he would not give them the opportunity to ask questions that he would have to lie to answer. So he fought down his wish to stride up to her and demand how she came to be here. Instead, he walked along the pier looking at the waves and wished they were not so boisterous in their splashing and crashing against the stone.
As he drew near the figure he had more doubts. He was approaching a strange woman in a strange country on the say-so of a wild man from Kelerish. He was not even sure if it was a woman, for the cloak hid the figure well and it faced away from him. It was too short for a man, though. Briefly he wondered if it was too short for the stately figure of Thalissa.
The figure stood on the great stone pier and watched as the little boat disappeared into the mist. A small lantern shone palely through the whiteness to warn other boats of its presence. Hearing his approach the figure turned and saw Menish.
It was her all right.
For several heartbeats they simply stared at each other, both transfixed by the other’s presence. Thalissa broke the stare first. Her eyes flicked away and back, as if she searched for an escape. Seeing none she turned her back and resumed her gaze at the lamp in the mist, a gesture of defiance to Menish. But he could see that she was trembling. He crossed the remaining steps that separated them and stood behind her, for she stood on the very edge of the pier. The sea splashed and gurgled several feet below, cold and green.
When the mist finally swallowed the lamp of the fishing boat she spoke.
“Well, Menish, what is it to be? A knife in the back? Or will you throw me into the sea? I warn you I swim well.”
Her words held the weariness of more than twenty years of bitterness. She no longer cared.
“You tried to kill me,” retorted Menish, clambering for an excuse. “Olcean ate your broth before me. He was my friend.”
She continued, ignoring his accusation as if it were insignificant.
“I wish you'd chosen the knife then rather than leaving me for Thealum. Do you know what hell is, Menish? I'll tell you.” Her voice sounded still and passionless, or bereft of passion. “They lowered me into the Chasm. The others were thrown in, but me they lowered. Such was the measure of Thealum’s kindness. He wanted to prolong
