Zanna could have wept. Not now—not when they were so close! At that moment Vannor joined them. “Do my eyes deceive me, or does that sky have a particularly ominous look to it?”
Yanis nodded. “There’ll be a storm, all right—but what shall we do? Stay here, or risk it and go on?”
“You and Tarnal are the seamen.” Vannor shrugged. “We’ll abide by your decision. But if we stay here, we’ll have no food and no shelter. I’d say it might be best to set off now and try to make it to Wyvernesse before the storm hits. After all, we can always put in farther up the coast if things get too dangerous—and we’ll be all the closer to our destination.”
Quickly, they got into the boat and set off again, doing their best to hide their worry from Hebba. To get on faster, the able-bodied divided themselves into pairs, taking an oar each: Yanis with Benziorn, and Zanna, who had become at home in boats during her stay with the Nightrunners, rowing with Tarnal. Zanna felt a surge of pity for her father, who remained at the tiller. She could tell from his glowering, abstracted expression that his inability to help the rowers only reminded him that he was crippled now. Though it made her back and arms ache, and she was sweating and gasping for breath in the heavy, stifling air, she was glad when it was her turn to row. That way, she did not have to look at the ominous mass of heavy, bruised-looking clouds that were filling the sky to the west and blotting out the stars.
The first sign of change came with a freshening of the wind. Though it was more comfortable to row now, Zanna felt a shiver of dread race down her spine. Soon the sea was becoming increasingly choppy, and the little craft began to rock and pitch in the heaving swell, making it difficult to handle the oars. Waves began to slap against the bows, splashing spray over the sides of the boat. All of them now, except for Tarnal and Yanis, the two experienced sailors, were beginning to feel queasy. The two of them took over the rowing, for they knew better than the landsman and woman how to handle the pitching craft. Hebba began to moan and whimper in fear. Zanna handed her the bailer, and soon the old woman was far too busy scooping water out of the bottom of the boat to complain.
The wind was increasing with every moment now. It was so dark that they could barely see each other, for the clouds had spread from horizon to horizon, blotting out the stars. In the distance they heard the first low grumble of thunder. Vannor tugged at Yanis’s arm. “Don’t you think we had better put in?”
Yanis shook his head. “We’ve left it too long. It’s all reefs along here—there’s nowhere to land.” He took a brief glance over his shoulder. “That’s the last headland, up ahead—see the standing stone?” he panted. “If we can only make it round there, we’ll be all right.”
“Vannor, you’d better give Zanna the tiller now,” Tarnal added, his voice jerky with the exertion of rowing. “She’s more experienced than you, and she’s sailed these waters before. She knows the way in through the rocks. Put your hand over hers—that’s right. She’ll need your strength to steer.”
Zanna blessed him for the last suggestion. She had heard her dad’s sharp, hurt intake of breath when Tarnal had suggested he give up the tiller, and knew he would be feeling more of a burden than ever. But even in their extremity the Nightrunner had been considerate of Vannor’s pride.
They made it round the headland before the full force of the storm hit them, though they foundered for a terrifying moment in the crashing seas that hammered the rocky point. Zanna clung desperately to the tiller as the small boat crested the side of a mountainous breaker, and braced herself against her father, grateful for his strength to help her keep the craft on its heading. Hebba’s shriek drowned the whistling of the wind as they dropped down the other side, hitting the water with a gigantic splash. Yanis and Tarnal, their faces taut and crimson with strain, pulled desperately on the oars to keep themselves from the jagged rocks as another, and yet another great wave lifted and hurled the frail shell that was all that stood between them and the hungry seas.
And then, with shocking suddenness, they were around the point and into calmer water that had subsided to a rolling swell. Zanna knuckled the stinging seawater from her eyes and steered as she had never steered before through the treacherous maze of rocks that sheltered and concealed the entrance to the secret cavern of the Nightrunners, straining her mind to recall the positions of the rocks before the cavern, and her eyes to catch the white flashes of foam that marked the locations of those rocks in the darkness. Once she cursed as she heard the keel grate on stone—and then, when they were almost safely through, the boat leapt to a shuddering halt that threw all of them into a heap in the bottom of the boat. There was the sharp, brutal splintering sound of a cracking plank, and even as she picked herself up, Zanna felt the icy swirl of water round her feet.
“Keep steering,” Tarnal yelled, as he pushed the boat off the rock with his oar. “We’re almost there. She’ll make it yet!”
And so it proved. As the weary voyagers paddled their foundering craft into the cavern, the entire smuggler community, with Remana weeping tears of joy at the safe return of her son, turned out to meet them on the curving, silvery beach within the vast and echoing cave. Willing arms reached out to pull the wallowing, leaking boat to the shore and welcome back the wanderers.
Yanis had his eyes fixed on the beautiful, flaxen-haired stranger who stood with Remana on the beach, a huge white dog by her side—but Zanna didn’t notice. She was looking at Tarnal. “You did bloody well to get us through,” he told her.
“In darkness, and a sea like that, I couldn’t have steered better myself. Now you can truly call yourself a Nightrunner!” Zanna grinned happily, her heart swelling with pride. “It’s good to be home,” she said softly. Smiling, Tarnal extended a hand to help her to the shore.
23
Storm Front
The elements were in turmoil. The slick black rocks of the Xandim coastline were lost between the grinding white fangs of the breakers. Swelling, steel-gray waves hurled themselves against the obdurate stones of the shore. The gale whined in shrill counterpoint to the surfs thundering boom and the roar and hiss of the vanquished waves. Salt mist from the wind-whipped spume laid a sheen of moisture on Aurian’s skin and stung Anvar’s icy face as he squinted into the gloom. The Mage licked the taste of the sea from his lips and pulled the hood of his cloak more closely around his face. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later,” Aurian shouted, augmenting her words with mental speech so that Anvar could hear her above the howl of the tempest. The two Mages had walked apart from Chiamh and the great cats to discuss this new problem that faced them. “It was only to be expected after Eliseth forced her winter on the world for so long, and then we created an unseasonal spring. I suppose it’ll take some time for the elements to settle down.”
“I only hope we haven’t done too much damage—this is quite a storm. It’s already been blowing for two days and nights…” Anvar bit his lip, frowning out across the heaving ocean. He wondered how his soulmate could sound so calm.
Aurian shrugged. “Eliseth started this. In trying to correct what she had done, I doubt we could do much more harm. In the end, the world is far greater than we can encompass, even with our magic. The weather is simply settling back to its proper pattern. Only… I wish it hadn’t decided to do it now. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time for us.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the expectant crowd of wet, chilled, and bedraggled Xandim who had been unable to pitch their tents in the gale, and now thronged the headland behind the Mages. Anvar understood her concern. The last days had not been easy for any of the companions. As Herdlord, Schiannath had persuaded a good number of the Horse-folk to accompany himself and Chiamh north, to help Aurian in her quest, but there had been many other dissenting voices. If the Mages delayed too long in finding transportation across the sea, even the volunteers might easily have second thoughts.