The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (58 page)

 The next few days were amongst the most peaceful the
companions had known on their journey. Each evening, they made camp on one of
the tiny, uninhabited islands that the Khaldor had marked on Iska’s map. As
Vesarion had surmised, much had changed since the map had been made, and many
of the islands shown on it had disappeared beneath the rising water-levels.
However, some still existed, and he noticed that the Khaldor chose small,
deserted islands on their route, deeming it wise that they encounter no more of
the three tribes.

 During the day, they travelled relentlessly to the
south-east, passing the time by watching the sunlight sparkle on the water,
listening to the quiet susurration of the breeze through the golden reeds and
observing the flocks of birds bobbing on the water, apparently unafraid of
them. They even got the occasional glimpse of a large, grey heron, skulking
amongst the foliage, doing its best to persuade them that it was made out of
stone.

 On the third day, the cheerful weather began to change as
low clouds rolled in. The colour of the water altered by subtle degrees from
blue to an intense slate-grey, rendering the lilies even snowier in comparison.
A soft rumble of thunder floated towards them on the heavy air. Almost
clandestinely, a fat raindrop plopped into the water, creating an
ever-expanding ripple. Soon it was joined by countless of its brethren, embossing
the quiet water in overlapping rings, and pattering like handfuls of beads on
the lily leaves. As they were some distance from any of the islands, they had
therefore no choice but to submit themselves to a soaking. Iska tucked her
precious cape into a pack to try to keep it dry, for already her shirt was
clinging to her and her dark hair, now grown once again to a less boyish
length, was annoyingly stuck to her face.

 The oarsman, equally wet, and not enjoying it, was getting
into difficulties. They had left the area of open water behind, and were now
confronted with a mass of water lilies through which he was trying to force a
passage. Ever denser and more luxuriantly they grew, tangling the oar and
impeding their progress to such a degree that Eimer realised he needed some help.

 “Iska?” he called. “Would you stand at the prow and direct
my course? I can’t see much from here and I need you to find the clearest
channels.”

 Through the descending curtain of silver rain, he saw her
take her position in the bow. Leaning into the downpour, she began to call out
directions. Their teamwork immediately seemed to pay off, and they began to
pick up speed again, but just as they were emerging into more open water once
more, suddenly the boat collided violently with something submerged in the
water. Everyone lost their balance and ended up falling in a heap in the bottom
of the boat. Everyone, that is, except Iska. With a cry of fright, she was
flung into the water and instantly sank from sight.

 “Iska!” shouted Eimer, scrambling over Bethro, nearly
upsetting the boat.

 Briefly, she surfaced some distance out from the boat,
flailing her arms wildly.

 “I can’t swim!” she shrieked. “I can’t…..” Her cry was cut
short as she went down again.

 The two younger men were galvanised into action. Eimer was
the quicker of the two, as he had already shed boots and scabbard. He dived
over the edge with the speed and grace of a cormorant after a fish, closely
followed by Vesarion.

 Both were taken by surprise by how deep the water was. Down
and down they went, before they saw Iska frantically struggling amongst the
tangling stems of a forest of trailing weed growing on the bottom. Eimer
reached her first, and catching her around the waist, kicked vigorously for the
surface.

 Together, they rose swiftly and abruptly broke the surface,
gasping for air. But before they had time to do more, Iska gave a renewed cry
of alarm and began to slip from Eimer’s grasp.

 “Something’s got hold of me!” she screamed. “It’s pulling
me down.”

 Both Eimer and Vesarion struggled heroically to keep her
head above water, but some force unknown was exerting itself against them and
inexorably it drew her under.

 Vesarion dived again. Opening his eyes in the greenish
underworld below the surface, he saw that Iska’s ankle had got caught in a
strand of the long, slimy weed. Kicking hard, he descended to it and wrenched
at the leathery strand until he tore it away from her.

 One again, Eimer got her briefly to the surface, but
Vesarion, still under water, then saw what Eimer could not. A long, snake-like
tendril of the plant shot upwards and whipping itself around Iska’s ankle,
began to drag her down again. This time, despite Vesarion exerting all his
strength against it, it would not let go. By this stage, Iska was running out
of air and was going wild with fear, lashing out, making it difficult for Eimer
to maintain a grip on her. Knowing that she had only moments of air left,
Vesarion rapidly surfaced beside the boat.

 “Quick!” he ordered Sareth, who had been leaning
dangerously over the side trying to reach Iska. “Get me a knife!”

 She snatched up a hunting knife and thrust it into his
hand. Taking a huge gulp of air, he descended again into depths, now rendered
murky by the struggle. Swiftly, he slashed the knife through the plant tendril,
severing it. Eimer grabbed Iska by the collar and shot upwards. But before
Vesarion’s astonished gaze, more and more tendrils began to rise up out of the
cloudy depths. He gripped the knife, prepared to fight, but they ignored him
and headed undeviatingly for Iska. He knew he must get to her first, and struck
out for the surface with such vigour that he emerged so quickly he almost
collided with the boat.

 “Get her out of the water!” he yelled at Eimer. Needing no
urging, Eimer propelled the limp form in his grasp towards Sareth, and between
them, they hauled her into the boat just as dozens of searching tendrils broke
the surface. Everyone watched in horror as a myriad of fat, snake-like, green
stems writhed and wriggled on the face of the water, sometimes rising up a
little as if testing the air, clearly seeking something. Some headed for the
boat and brushed against its hull, causing both Gorm and Sareth to draw their
swords. Vesarion and Eimer, treading water, backed away, but as before, the
searching tendrils showed no interest in them.

 At last, apparently unable to detect their prey, the
tendrils began to sink, one by one, until the water was still again, stippled
only by the raindrops.

With Bethro acting as counterbalance, Sareth and Gorm pulled
aboard the two half-drowned men.

 “What was that?” gasped Eimer, wiping water out of his
eyes.

 “I have no idea,” replied Vesarion, staring at the hunting
knife in his hand. “All I know is that those things were not interested in you
or me. They wanted only to get to Iska and if it were not for this knife, they
would have succeeded.”

 Sareth, who had been putting a blanket around a shivering
Iska, had a suggestion. “Do you remember that the three spirits of the lonely
Lake said that the Destroyer was awakening the baser spirits of the earth?
Perhaps this is such a case.”

 “But why did they go for Iska?” Bethro asked. “They had the
opportunity to drown Eimer or Vesarion, but they didn’t.”

 “I don’t know. I’m just thankful that they apparently
cannot detect their victims unless they are in the water.”

 No one had any answers. Vesarion, abandoning speculation,
leaned his head back against the edge of the boat and instantly felt the heavy
raindrops striking his face. “Will this rain never cease?” he asked no one in
particular.

 The clouds, however, were not minded to oblige him, for it
rained relentlessly for the rest of their journey across the Morass of Engorin.
Their last night, camped on a small island that barely rose above the water,
was a miserable one. Everything was saturated. The trees dripped dismally,
offering no shelter whatsoever, and not enough dry wood could be found to light
a fire. It was impossible to sleep, and everyone sat beneath the trees, huddled
in cloaks already heavy with moisture. In the morning, the rain, as if finally satisfied
with its vindictiveness, eased to a fine drizzle that seemed to condense in the
air into a grey mist. It lay in eerie swathes across the landscape, sometimes
so dense that Eimer, in the stern of the boat, could not see Iska in the prow.
At others, it thinned, giving glimpses of sheets of steely-calm waters. A
silence pressed down upon the marshes. Even the water birds had fallen silent.
The only sound was the hollow clunk of the oar and the ripple of water passing
under the keel.

 Everyone was acutely aware that it would be only too easy
to get lost in such conditions, but all they could do was to carry on, hoping
they were heading in the right direction. By noon, a pale, watery sun began to
suffuse the mist with diaphanous silver, and soon materialised as a indistinct glow
in the sky. It served to confirm that they had stayed true to their course. In
a short time a solid, dark presence loomed up in the mist that proved to be the
beginning of dry land. The boat grounded gently on the boggy margins and after
unloading it, they hid it amongst the reeds.

 “I don’t know about the rest of you,” declared Eimer,
pulling on his boots. “but I am happy to be back on my own two feet again.”

Bethro, to whom any means of transport that involved sitting
down was attractive, let the comment pass and merely pointed out that the
Khaldor had told them that they should be only two day’s away from the Wood of
Ammerith.

 Eimer understood him perfectly. “Not to mention a
comfortable bed and plenty of good food, eh, Bethro?”

 Engaged in wringing rainwater out of her long hair, Sareth
said acerbically: “Personally speaking, I’d be happy just to be dry again, but
although the rain has stopped, everything is still soaking.”

 Vesarion, who had been scouting ahead, returned just in
time to hear her remark.

 “There is an area of woodland up ahead. The canopy is
fairly thick, so perhaps we will find some dry wood there and can get a fire
going.” Without changing his expression, or even pausing for breath, he held
out his hand to Gorm. “I believe I saw you loitering near my pack this
morning.”

 Gorm, resigned to the fact that denial was useless, took
the little box from his treasure pouch and reluctantly yielded it up.

 Sareth shook her head in amusement. “You are a hopeless
case,” she berated the guilty Turog, who grinned widely, accepting it as a
compliment.

 The dense canopy of the woodland had indeed helped to keep
the forest floor dry, and a cheerful fire and dry clothes worked wonders for
the company. Soon Bethro was chatting animatedly to Iska as he helped her
construct a framework of branches on which to dry their belongings. Sareth
disappeared amongst the trees in search of more dry wood, but when she hear a
twig snap behind her, she dropped her armful of branches and swung round in
alarm, only to discover that it was Vesarion.

 “The trouble with that damned boat,” he complained, “is
that it was impossible to be alone with you.”

 She laughed, as he slid his arm around her waist and drew
her closer.

 “I am well aware that we have not had a single moment to
ourselves since Bethro so inopportunely descended on us at Sirindria Eleth.
But,” she added, glancing around her, “unless my eyes deceive me, we appear to
be alone now.”

 She turned up her face to him invitingly, and in response,
he kissed her with such burning desire that it took her breath away. His arms
tightened around her and his lips travelled to her throat, touching her with
such tenderness that it elicited a soft sound of pleasure from her.

 Finally, in frustration, he stepped back abruptly.

 “Why have you stopped?” she asked in disappointment.

 “Sareth….” he began shakily, “don’t tempt me, for I swear
to you, my self-control is close to breaking point.”

 She smiled at him. “It’s quite simple. Just give in to it.”

 “If only I could, but you know that if I love you truly, I
must not. It is easy to forget, out here in the wilds, the rules of the society
that we will be returning to. You are a Royal Princess, the daughter of a king,
I cannot treat you as if you were….I mean, as if….”

 “As if I were one of Eimer’s barmaids,” she finished for
him. “Sometimes I wish I was a barmaid,” she grumbled, “for they get all the fun.”

 He gave a choke of laughter. “Princess Sareth, I am
shocked
!”

 Sareth, eyes twinkling, sighed theatrically. “Alas, I have
the misfortune to be betrothed to an honourable man, when all I really wanted
was a scoundrel who would take advantage of me.”

 He grinned in response to this blandishment. “Believe me, I
feel like consigning honour to the devil.” But his smile faded and  he added
seriously: “When I was left an orphan, your father took me in and treated me
like his own son. I could not betray him and I would not be the man you think I
am, if I did.”

 She nodded and drawing close to him again, leaned her
forehead against his shoulder. In a rather muffled voice, she said: “I know you
are right. It’s just that I feel we have wasted too much time already. This
journey has taught me that life is a fragile thing and every moment of it is
precious. I feel we must not waste a single instant.”

 “I know,” he groaned. “And what is more, when your father
hears that an army is on the move against the Kingdom, the last thing on his mind
will be wedding arrangements” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “But
never fear, I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it. Ours is going to
be the most speedily organised royal wedding in the history of Eskendria….” At
that point, he broke off abruptly in irritation. “Heaven help us, here comes
your annoying little brother. I just knew we would get no peace!”