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‘We passed through that sorcerous gate,’ Karsa explained. ‘That should be obvious, for we are now somewhere else.’
‘Not as simple as that,’ Torvald replied. ‘The blade of this oar-here, look at the end.’
Finding himself comfortably buoyant in this salty water, it took only a moment for Karsa to swim to the end of the shaft. It had been cut through, as if by a single blow from an iron sword such as the lowlanders used. He grunted.
The distant thrashing sounds had drawn closer. From much farther away, Damisk’s voice called out.
‘Here!’ Torvald shouted back.
A shape loomed up beside them. It was Silgar, clinging to one of the water casks.
‘Where are we?’ Karsa asked the slavemaster.
‘How should I know?’ the Nathii snapped. ‘I did not fashion the gate, I simply made use of it-and it had mostly closed, which is why the floor of the boat did not come with us. It was sheared clean off. None the less, I believe we are in a sea, beneath an overcast sky. Were there no ambient light, we’d not be able to see each other right now. Alas, I can hear no coast, though it’s so calm there might be no waves to brush the shoreline.’
‘Meaning we could be within a dozen strokes and not know it.’
‘Yes. Fortunately for us, it is a rather warm sea. We must simply await dawn-’
‘Assuming there is one,’ Torvald said.
‘There is,’ Silgar asserted. ‘Feel the layers in this water. It’s colder down where our feet are. So a sun has looked down upon this sea, I am certain of it.’
Damisk swam into view, struggling with Borrug, who seemed to be unconscious. As he reached out to take hold of the water cask Silgar pushed him back, then kicked himself further away.
‘Slavemaster!’ Damisk gasped.
‘This cask barely holds my weight as it is,’ Silgar hissed. ‘It’s near filled with fresh water-which we’re likely to need. What is the matter with Borrug?’
Torvald moved along to give Damisk a place at the oar shaft. The tattooed guard attempted to drape Borrug’s arms over it as well and Torvald drew closer once more to help.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him,’ Damisk said. ‘He may have struck his head, though I can find no wound. He was babbling at first, floundering about, then he simply fell unconscious and nearly slipped under. I was lucky to reach him.’
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‘We passed through that sorcerous gate,’ Karsa explained. ‘That should be obvious, for we are now somewhere else.’
‘Not as simple as that,’ Torvald replied. ‘The blade of this oar-here, look at the end.’
Finding himself comfortably buoyant in this salty water, it took only a moment for Karsa to swim to the end of the shaft. It had been cut through, as if by a single blow from an iron sword such as the lowlanders used. He grunted.
The distant thrashing sounds had drawn closer. From much farther away, Damisk’s voice called out.
‘Here!’ Torvald shouted back.
A shape loomed up beside them. It was Silgar, clinging to one of the water casks.
‘Where are we?’ Karsa asked the slavemaster.
‘How should I know?’ the Nathii snapped. ‘I did not fashion the gate, I simply made use of it-and it had mostly closed, which is why the floor of the boat did not come with us. It was sheared clean off. None the less, I believe we are in a sea, beneath an overcast sky. Were there no ambient light, we’d not be able to see each other right now. Alas, I can hear no coast, though it’s so calm there might be no waves to brush the shoreline.’
‘Meaning we could be within a dozen strokes and not know it.’
‘Yes. Fortunately for us, it is a rather warm sea. We must simply await dawn-’
‘Assuming there is one,’ Torvald said.
‘There is,’ Silgar asserted. ‘Feel the layers in this water. It’s colder down where our feet are. So a sun has looked down upon this sea, I am certain of it.’
Damisk swam into view, struggling with Borrug, who seemed to be unconscious. As he reached out to take hold of the water cask Silgar pushed him back, then kicked himself further away.
‘Slavemaster!’ Damisk gasped.
‘This cask barely holds my weight as it is,’ Silgar hissed. ‘It’s near filled with fresh water-which we’re likely to need. What is the matter with Borrug?’
Torvald moved along to give Damisk a place at the oar shaft. The tattooed guard attempted to drape Borrug’s arms over it as well and Torvald drew closer once more to help.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him,’ Damisk said. ‘He may have struck his head, though I can find no wound. He was babbling at first, floundering about, then he simply fell unconscious and nearly slipped under. I was lucky to reach him.’
Borrug’s head kept lolling beneath the surface.
Karsa reached out and collected the man’s wrists. ‘I will take him,’ he snarled, turning about and dragging the man’s arms around his neck.
‘A light!’ Torvald suddenly shouted. ‘I saw a light-there!’
The others swung round.
‘I see nothing,’ Silgar growled.
‘I did,’ Torvald insisted. ‘It was dim. Gone now. But I saw it-’
‘Likely an overwrought imagination,’ Silgar said. ‘Had I the strength, I’d open my warren-’
‘I know what I saw,’ the Daru said.
‘Lead us, then, Torvald Nom,’ Karsa said.
‘It could be in the wrong direction!’ Silgar hissed. ‘We are safer to wait-’
‘Then wait,’ Karsa replied.
‘I have the fresh water, not you-’
‘A good point. I shall have to kill you, then, since you have decided to stay here. We might need that water, after all. You won’t, because you will be dead.’
‘Teblor logic,’ Torvald chuckled, ‘is truly wonderful.’
‘Very well, I will follow,’ Silgar said.
The Daru set off at a slow but steady pace, kicking beneath the surface as he pulled the oar shaft along. Damisk kept one hand on the length of wood, managing a strange motion with his legs that resembled that of a frog.
Gripping Borrug’s wrists in one hand, Karsa moved into their wake. The unconscious lowlander’s head rested on his right shoulder, his knees bumping against the Teblor’s thighs.
Off to one side, feet thrashing, Silgar propelled the water cask along. Karsa could see that the cask was far less filled than the slavemaster had claimed-it could have easily borne them all.
The Teblor himself felt no need. He was not particularly tired, and it seemed that he possessed a natural buoyancy superior to that of the lowlanders. With each indrawn breath, his shoulders, upper arms and the upper half of his chest rose above the water. And apart from Borrug’s knees constantly fouling Karsa’s kicking, the lowlander’s presence was negligible…
There was, he realized, something odd about those knees. He paused, reached down.
