‘I suppose not,’ Gabriel surprised him by answering.
Just after dawn Caddoc carefully manoeuvred the small skiff into the shallows off a narrow strip of sand flanked by rolling dunes. Slowing to a stop, the skiff began to turn in the tide and was soon pitching lazily on the incoming waves. Brexan woke as their host began striking his sail and stowing the small mast. She started to stretch, but was alarmed to find her legs refused to move; it was only when she rubbed the sleep from her eyes that she discovered she and Versen were buried to the waist in jemma fish.
‘Oh, whoring grettanlovers!’ she exclaimed, recoiling from the strong-smelling cargo.
Versen woke and wrapped his arms tightly about her waist. Resting his cheek against her breasts, he yawned and grinned a greeting to the fisherman. ‘You were right.’
‘Yes,’ Caddoc replied, rather more enthusiastic than he had been, ‘I told you it would be a good night.’
‘Ox!’ Brexan was disgusted. ‘How can you be so happy? We were nearly entombed in dead fish.’
‘It appears we were.’
‘Do you have any idea just how appalling you’re going to smell when we get out of here?’ She nudged him playfully in the ribs.
‘You’ve been telling me that for the past Twinmoon.’ He stretched and sat up. ‘I suggest you learn to love me as I am.’
‘Malodorous and badly in need of a shave?’ She pulled a length of matted hair, thick with jemma scales, behind one ear. ‘Not a chance!’
‘All right,’ he teased, ‘but I thought we had something going here.’
‘Ah, so now the truth-’
The fisherman cleared his throat and glanced down at the couple lying hip-deep in his overnight catch. Embarrassed, his face flushed red and he nodded towards shore.
Versen got it and pulled himself up, holding fast to the gunwale so he didn’t slip, then he helped Brexan to her feet. They laughed at the absurdity, offered their sincere thanks, and jumped overboard into the shallows. Thigh-deep in the waves, they turned and waved again, then began walking towards the dunes.
Several paces away, Versen suddenly remembered their destination. Turning back, he shouted, ‘How far to Orindale?’
‘Walking? Four, maybe five days. Good luck,’ he replied then reached down and hefted a large jemma fish to his chest. He tossed it to Versen and advised, ‘Fillet this soon. It should be enough to get you to Orindale.’
Waving their thanks, both for the rescue and the unexpected bounty, they set off to the shore. Caddoc watched as Versen helped the young lady up the sand, then turned back to his haul. ‘No accounting for the sea,’ he said to himself as the strange couple disappeared behind the dunes.
It took them a quarter-aven to reach the top of the tallest dune. Versen, his bare feet buried ankle-deep in sand, held the jemma by the tail and waved out at the slowly disappearing fisherman with the other. The skiff’s single sail, a tiny triangle interrupting the smooth blue backdrop, soon slipped from view. Beside him, Brexan looked around as if expecting someone to emerge and welcome them back to Rona. Or were they in Falkan now? She thought they might have been carried far enough north to have crossed the border, especially if they were only five days’ travel from Orindale.
Watching the waves break across the beach, Versen said, ‘We should get as far as we can today, but if you’re hungry, we can eat some of this now.’
Without answering, Brexan grasped him firmly by the forearm, removed the fish from his fist, dropped it to the sand and began leading him down the dune’s lee slope.
‘What are you doing?’ the Ronan asked.
‘Hush, Ox,’ she commanded, and began unfastening the leather strips holding his tunic closed at the neck.
Feeling her fingertips brush against his chest, Versen inhaled her aroma, all dead fish and tidewater. He winced: not very alluring – but his body responded to her touch regardless. As he leaned into her, his cheek brushed against the swollen purple bruise that still marked the place where Lahp had punched her. ‘I thought I smelled bad,’ he whispered.
‘I’ll breathe through my mouth,’ Brexan muttered, then kissed him quickly and returned to her struggle to undress him. The Malakasian soldier finally gave up grappling with wet leather knots and turned her attention to the woollen ties holding his leggings tight around his hips.
His excitement growing, Versen slipped his hands under the edge of her tunic and pulled it up, exposing her pale skin to the cool onshore breeze. Moving to accommodate him, Brexan crossed her arms, hastily grabbed the front hem of her tunic and prepared to pull it over her head – until, without warning, Versen gripped her by the shoulders and pinned her arms down.
‘Don’t,’ he said, despite his nearly paralysing desire to see her naked in the morning sun.
‘But I want to,’ she replied, with a pout that drove him mad.
‘Brexan, we’re not alone here.’
Pulling her tunic around her torso, the young woman exclaimed, ‘Rutting gods, O’Reilly, are you still here?’
Quiet peals of laughter chimed in her head. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Could you give us an aven or two of privacy?’
The ghost of the bank manager replied, ‘I am concerned you may not feel very well if I depart. Without me you will find yourselves very weak.’
‘We’ll risk it for the moment.’ Brexan did not want to seem ungrateful, but her mind was made up. She’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
‘I will return later this morning.’
Brexan felt a wave of nausea pass through her body as the wraith departed; a thin wisp of smoky white gathered itself above their heads and drifted east into a sparsely wooded piece of ground behind the dunes. Her vision tunnelled and her head spun in a momentary attack of vertigo. Feeling an urgent need to lie down, Brexan pressed both palms against the broad expanse of Versen’s chest and forced him into the sand beside her.
A while later, they both slept again.
Steven woke for his watch, rolled onto his side and stretched the stiffness from his back and legs. ‘A bed. I would give just about anything for one night in a real bed. Sprung mattress. Linen sheets. Oh God-’ His neck cracked as he twisted his head from side to side.
‘Soon, my friend, very soon,’ Garec promised. ‘Orindale has wonderful taverns, with hot food, soft down pillows and warm woollen blankets.’
‘I want some new clothes, too. I smell like a rotting corpse in these rags.’ He tugged at the sleeve of his filthy tunic.
‘Brynne and I will take you shopping.’
‘I still have some of that silver we stole in Estrad.’
‘Plenty to completely re-outfit both of you in the finest city fashions.’ Garec’s eyes danced in the flickering light. He was amused at Steven’s grievances when they were buried here beneath the earth in the lair of a bone-gathering monster that might spring upon them at any moment.
‘I don’t need fine fashions, Garec, just clothes that are durable and comfortable.’ He rubbed his eyes, then reached out, took Garec by the wrist and peered down at the watch he had given the young bowman at the start of their journey. ‘Two o’clock,’ he yawned. ‘Of course that means nothing here. It might be the middle of the day or the middle of the night for all I know.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Oh, it’s not your fault. Just don’t let me look at that thing again. It’s depressing.’ He hauled himself to his feet and walked over to where Brynne lay, still fast asleep. He nudged her gently with his foot. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re on deck.’ He was groggy himself, and not surprised that the young woman barely moved at his touch.
‘On deck?’ Garec asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ he said and nudged her again. ‘Geez, she can sleep anywhere.’
‘I know,’ Garec agreed. ‘It is a little disconcerting sometimes. Sallax used to jokingly check her for a heartbeat.’
‘Ah, forget it. Let her sleep. She needs it. I’ll be all right by myself.’ He tightened his belt another notch and looked about their camp. ‘Where’s the staff?’ He didn’t appear to be troubled by the fact that the hickory stick was the first thing he sought upon waking.