Micum gestured with his knife at a lonely peak to the north. "Rhal says that's Mount Kythes there. He thinks we can put ashore tonight. There's a—Bilairy's Balls, you're bleeding!"
Setting his knife and cup aside, he stood and tugged at the loose ties of Seregil's shirt.
"Damnation, it's that scar. It's opened up again," he whispered, touching a finger to Seregil's chest and showing him the blood.
Using Micum's shaving mirror, Seregil inspected the small trickle of blood oozing from the raised outline of the scar. He could even make out the faint whorls left by the disk, and the small square mark of the hole at its center. He also caught a glimpse of his own face, looking sallow and hollow-eyed in the early light. Pulling his coat shut, he fastened the top buttons.
"What does it mean?" Micum asked.
"Don't you remember what the date is today?"
Seregil replied grimly.
Micum's jaw dropped. "By the Flame, I'd lost track being on a ship so long."
"The fifteenth of Lithion," Seregil said, nodding. "If Leiteus and Nysander were right in their calculations, Rendel's Spear should be in the sky tonight."
Seregil saw awe and concern mingle in his friend's eyes as Micum took a last look at the bleed on his fingers before wiping them on his coat.
"You know I came along on this trip mostly to look out for you, don't you?" Micum said quietly.
"Yes."
"Well, I just want you to know that as of now, I'm beginning to be a believer. Whatever it was that left its mark on you there, it's working on us now. I just hope Nysander is right about Illior being the immortal who's leading us around."
Seregil grasped his friend's shoulder. "After all these years, maybe I'll finally make an Illioran out of you."
"Not if it means waking up looking like you do this morning," Micum countered.
"Still no dreams?" Seregil asked, still puzzled by the fact that of the four of them, Micum was the only one who hadn't had a premonition of some sort.
Micum shrugged. "Not one. Like I've always told you, I do my fighting when I'm awake."
The mountain loomed steadily larger ahead of them as they followed the coast north through the day. From a distance it seemed to rise directly up from the sea itself, its summit lost in a mantle of cloud.
"Pillar of the Sky, eh?" Rhal remarked, standing with Seregil and Micum at the rail that afternoon.
"Well, they sure named it rightly. How in hell are you going to find this temple of yours on something that big?"
"It's somewhere along the water," Seregil replied softly, rubbing unconsciously at the front of his coat; Micum had tied a wadded bit of linen over the raw circle of skin. Oddly enough, the wound hardly hurt at all.
"Well, it'll take some doing to put you ashore."
Rhal shaded his eyes, peering landward. The weather had remained clear through the day but-a wind was blowing up out of the west, piling up the waves and lashing the foam from their white crests. "I see breakers against the rocks all up and down there. Most of it's cliff and ledge. You'll just have to coast along until you see a likely landing place."
"Is the boat ready?" asked Seregil.
Rhal nodded, his gaze still on the distant coastline.
"Water, food, all that you asked for. I saw to it myself. We can cast you off as soon as you've packed in your gear."
"We'd best get at it then," Micum said.
"It's been a while since either of us has sailed. I don't want to try this sea without some daylight ahead of us."
When the final pack and cask had been lashed into the Lady's starboard longboat, Seregil and Micum took leave of Rhal.
"Good luck to you," the captain said solemnly, clasping hands with them. "Whatever it is the two of you are up to over there, give those Plenimaran bastards merry hell for me."
"Nothing will make me any happier," Micum assured him.
"Lay off the coast as long as you can," said Seregil. "If we're not back in four or five days, or if you get run off yourself, head north and put in at the first friendly port you find."
Rhal gripped Seregil's hand a moment longer.
"By the Old Sailor, when this whole thing is over, I'd like to hear the tale of it. You look out for yourselves, and find that boy of yours."
"We will," Seregil promised, climbing into the boat. Crouching down beside Micum, he wrapped his hands around one of the ropes securing the boat's small mast.
"Hold tight!" Rhal called as his men set to work lowering it over the side. "Wait until we're well away before you put up your sail. Good luck, friends!"
The little boat swung precariously from the halyards as it was lowered down the side of the pitching ship.
Waves slapped at it as they neared the water, then rolled in over the side. Clinging on as best they could Seregil and Micum waited until they'd cleared the Lady, then unfurled the triangular sail.
The little boat yawed sharply, catching another wave over the side. Micum took the tiller and turned her into the wind while
Seregil hauled on the spar rope. As soon as they got her headed properly into the waves, he looped the spar rope over a cleat and set about bailing the craft out.
"You're the Guide," Micum said, shrugging out of his sodden cloak and settling himself more comfortably at the tiller. "What do we do now?"
Seregil gazed toward the distant shore. "Like Rhal said, get in close and coast along until we spot a landing place."
"There's a lot of coast there, Seregil. We could end up miles from wherever this temple of yours is."
Seregil went back to his bailing. "If I am the Guide of Nysander's prophecy, maybe I'll know the right place when I see it."
The words sounded weak and half-convinced even to him, but he didn't know what else to say. This certainly didn't seem like the proper moment to confess that except for a few fragmentary dreams and the bleeding scar on his chest, he was painfully unaware of any feelings of divine guidance.
As Rhal had observed, much of the coastline was ledge or cliff. The boom of the surf echoed back at them across the water and they could see the spume thrown up by the breakers. Great blocks of reddish granite shot through with bands of black basalt lay in tumbled disorder between the water and the trees above.
As far as the eye could see the land looked desolate and uninhabited. Dark forest blanketed the hills.
Higher up, the stark, stony peak of the mountain rose forbiddingly against the evening sky. The setting sun behind them cast a thick golden light over the scene, enhancing briefly the color of water, sky, and stone. Great flocks of sea ducks and geese floated on the swells just beyond the pull of the breakers. Overhead, gulls uttered their whistling calls as they circled and dove.
"I never thought I'd be setting foot on
Plenimaran soil," Micum remarked, steering them closer in. "I've got to admit, it's nice-looking country."
The sun sank lower. Kneeling in the bow, Seregil squinted intently at the harsh shoreline.
"I think we may be spending the night out here," Micum said, steering them past a rocky point.
"You may be—Wait!"
The forest was thick here, but he caught the distinct yellow flicker of firelight in the shadow of a cove. "Do you see that?"
"Could be a campfire. What do you say?"
"Let's have a look."
Steering into the cove, they discovered a tiny, sheltered beach at its head. Above the tide line, a large fire crackled invitingly, illuminating the thick tangle of evergreens that edged the shingle.
"It looks more like a signal fire," whispered Micum, tacking just off shore. "Could be fishermen or pirates."
"Only one way to find out. You stay with the boat."