* * *
When the lookouts of the Lady’s Luck sighted land in the east, Kyle counselled that they turn south to travel round the horn of the continent. Tulan Orbed, however, ordered Reuth to find their position first to see how far north the winds had taken them. That night Reuth studied the stars, their setting and rising, and determined that they had indeed been driven quite far to the north. Kyle’s advice against travelling round the northern coast was rejected.
Two nights later Reuth came to where Kyle slept wrapped in blankets in the bows. The lad reached out to wake him but his approach had already roused him; he now slept as wary as when on campaign.
‘Kyle …’ Reuth urged over the shush of the bow wave.
‘Yes?’
Tears gleamed on the lad’s face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, choking, his voice thick.
Kyle understood immediately, and reached up to squeeze the lad’s shoulder. From the stern came a knot of men – the majority of the crew all told – headed by the ex-Stormguard and Storval. Kyle pushed Reuth away. ‘Hide yourself now, lad.’
After one last anguished look – which Kyle answered reassuringly – the youth slid down amid the rowers’ berths and disappeared. Kyle stood. The crew confronted him, spread out, the ex-Stormguard at the fore.
‘The lad warned you, did he?’ Storval growled.
Kyle ignored the glowering mate. He spoke to Tulan: ‘You should be proud that your nephew finds murder distasteful.’
The master of the Lady’s Luck at least had the grace to appear embarrassed. He pulled on his thick black beard, his gaze downcast. ‘My apologies, outlander. But we must know …’
‘Show us the blade,’ Storval demanded.
Kyle glanced to the east where the coast lay as a dark line that brought the horizon close. With his foot, he drew the pack he used to rest his head on towards him. ‘You want to see the sword, do you?’ And he reached behind his back.
Storval yanked his shortsword from his belt. The ex-Stormguard levelled their spears. The front line of the crew reached for their knives. The rest raised cocked crossbows.
Kyle slowly drew the weapon and shook off the leather wrap. A glow immediately suffused the bows, cast by the curved, translucent, cream-hued blade.
‘Whiteblade,’ one of the crew breathed, awed.
Storval’s gaze remained fixed on the sword. He took a steadying breath. ‘Hand it over.’
‘Before I was in Korel lands,’ Kyle said conversationally, hefting the blade, ‘I was with a mercenary company. The Crimson Guard. And with them I acquired a rare and mysterious skill. I will demonstrate it now.’
Storval frowned at him, puzzled. ‘What?’
Kyle kicked the pack up to his free hand and turned to the side. Then he planted one foot on the gunwale and leapt over. Roars of outrage followed him until his head plunged beneath the frigid water.
He emerged into darkness. The sword in his grip was a murky glow in the water as he struggled to open the pack. The ship was a diminishing dark blotch in the night. A great cheering whoop reached him from it – Reuth’s shout of triumph – followed by Tulan’s barked: ‘Shut up, lad! Come about!’
They might bring the Lady’s Luck about, but Kyle was confident they’d never spot him here in the dark of night amid the waves. Holding the sword beneath the pack, he drew out the water-bladders he’d half inflated, and began blowing into one. It would be a long swim to shore and he’d have to keep topping up the bladders, but he should make it – provided he didn’t freeze to death first.
*
Dawn saw a man drag himself by his elbows up through the surf, his hands mere pale blue clubs. He lay on the beach of coarse gravel, half in the waves, exhausted and immobile, warming himself in the gathering light.
Later in the morning, Kyle pushed himself up and blew on his hands. He pulled at his wet clothes then faced inland. Eroded cliffs topped by scrub and brush hid what lay beyond, but he knew what awaited him: a broad flat steppe-land of grasses and copses of trees, arid, a near desert in regions, that swept all the way east to the foothills of the near-mythical Salt range.
He drew the sword from his shirt, wrapped it in the empty sack, and tucked it through his belt. Then he pushed back his sodden hair, tied it with a leather strip, and set off.