own death.
She looked at the bright summer sun and blinked away tears.
Then, out of the west, she saw a brightness, a glowing that came along the West Road like approaching fire, and knew it for the glitter of sunlight on polished chariots and shields and spearheads, even before the scouts came back shouting warning that Danant’s army came.
She sighed and turned to her last duties.
K erid held the
Blessing
close to the Chaldor shore, his eyes firm on the river ahead—save for the nervous glances he cast at his lookouts. The water ran shallow here, sandbanks and rocky shoals a constant danger to the unwary, and he would usually have held to midstream. But thrice sincequitting Antium he had encountered Danant’s god-cursed river raiders, and the
Blessing
was sore hurt. Her forrard mast was down, and catapults had stove holes in her port side that threatened to ship enough water to sink her should the weather shift or a high tide run. Worse was the loss of the
Pride
, which had gone down at the first encounter with all hands, or so Kerid assumed; he’d had no chance to try a rescue, but could only run as best he could from the sleek war-boats. He wished he commanded one of those craft. The
Blessing
, for all her greater size, was no match for those swift hunters. Indeed, he believed that had they not been called to the invasion, and thus not had the time to complete their task, his own vessel would now add its wreckage to the detritus of the Durrakym’s graveyard bed.
Nor had he seen any other Chaldor craft—save for the smoldering wreck of the
Glory
, and the masts of the
Revelation
jutting from the river—since leaving Gailard on the shore. He wondered where the other boats had gone. Anchored and waiting for Talan to seize them? Fled south? He did not know, and could only curse the coward captains who’d desert the Bright Kingdom in its hour of need. For himself, he was determined to fulfill his promise to the Highlander and return to smite Danant on the river as he believed Gailard would strike from the land.
But to achieve that aim he must survive and bring the
Blessing
safely north. He could not resist shouting at the lookouts, asking what they saw ahead.
“Clear water,” was the answer. “No sail, no mast.”
“Only shoals and sandbanks and eddies this close in, and few mad enough to risk them.”
Kerid turned to the swarthy man who joined him on the raised steering deck. Nassim was a Bordersman, his mother of Chaldorean stock, his father from Naban. He was Kerid’s first mate, and no less familiar with the river than his Chaldor-born captain; in some respects, more familiar.
“I’ll not chance the deep river,” Kerid grunted, holdingthe wheel against a sudden swirl that threatened to spill more water into his flooding hold. “The gods know, she’s hurt enough already. How do the repairs go?”
“As well as we can hope.” Nassim opened a sodden pouch and extracted a pinch of wet tobacco that he chewed awhile before grimacing and spitting. “We’re patched as best we can be, and I’ve men on the pumps. But we need to put in and find sound wood.”
“And have some Danant boat find us?” Kerid shook his head. “No, we’ll sail this tub to Hel’s Town and sell her for what we can get.”
“And then what?” Nassim emptied his mouth over the side, inspected his pouch afresh, and stared sadly at the contents before tucking the pouch back inside his shirt. “What will a damaged cargo vessel like this fetch there?”
“I don’t know.” Kerid shrugged. “I’ve never sold a boat before, and you know those pirates better than I.”
“Pirates?” Nassim affected a look of outrage. “Some of those pirates are blood kin.”
“Then I’ll let you handle the sale,” Kerid declared.
“And then what?”
“We get a raiding craft and attack every god-cursed Danant boat we find.”
“Ha!” Nassim leaned against the rail, staring moodily at the mist swirling across the wide expanse
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