Read Online The Return of Kavin by David Mason - Free Book Online

went swiftly along the road, back toward the sea, pausing to drink at a small spring among the rocks. Then, on, as the sun sank lower ahead of them.
    Occasionally, Hugon thought he saw movements among the rocks, and his hand shifted toward his sword; but none of the gray Things showed themselves. Thuramon still carried the rod on his shoulder as he marched.
    The sun had almost reached the sea’s rim as they came down the road toward the beach. They were weary, now. Hugon had an arm supporting Gwynna, who limped but refused to let her load be carried by Hugon. Her face was set and white, but she had uttered no word of complaint.
    The boat lay , drawn high on the beach, not far from the road’s end. Hugon, seeing it, realized that they might have seen it on their earlier passing had they gone but a few paces further. And those two poor sods might still be alive, he thought, wryly. But then, of course, Thuramon would have been left here. Not that the old warlock couldn’t take fine care of himself, though.
    It was a common fisherman’s boat, high prowed, with a single mast; the painted eye was on either side, a custom of Meryon fisher folk.
    “I’d have expected something more… well, stately,” Hugon said, as they came wearily across the sand toward the boat. Thuramon chuckled, and put his burden over the side, tenderly; he did the same with the other loads, one by one. Then he clambered up and over the side; leaned over, extending his hands to Gwynna.
    “Up, lass,” he said, grasping her wrists. “Now, you two, heave away.”
    Zamor and Hugon leaned against the prow and thrust; the boat slid down the sand, till they waded in water. The two men grasped the gunwales and swung up into the boat, and now she lifted on the first wave, rocking.
    “Oars?” Hugon said, glancing around. Thuramon shook his head.
    “No need,” he said, and leaned over the prow, muttering. The boat swung seaward and out, taking the deeper swells as if there were oars pulling… but there were none.
    “Now, the sail,” Thuramon told the two men, and they helped him lift the triangular sheet, bracing it up. The evening wind took it, and the boat slanted away into the twilight. Thuramon dropped a steering oar over and sat down, holding it.
    “You’ll find food there, in the forepeak,” the warlock said in a tired voice. “I… am not hungry, but you most certainly are.”
    “Damn me, yes!” Zamor said, and moved forward to rummage. Gwynna yawned and settled herself in a fold of sailcloth. She stared at Hugon, and said, “You may bring me something, please. Whatever there is…” and she yawned again.
     
    Hugon awoke, feeling the gentle sway of the boat and the sun’s warmth on his face. From the height of the sun, it was late morning already; he sat up stiffly and stretched.
    “Aho, brother,” Zamor’s voice came from aft. “Last awake, then?”
    Zamor sat at the steering oar, relaxed and grinning. At the fore end of the boat Gwynna knelt, carefully washing her face in a small pannikin, working away with the neatness of a cat. Beside Zamor, the warlock lay curled in a blanket, snoring.
    “East by north, the old man said,” Zamor told Hugon. “Before he went off to sleep. Says we’ll sight land before tomorrow noon, with any luck.”
    Hugon moved stiffly, coming to sit beside Zamor. He glanced down at the snoring figure. “What land?” he asked.
    “Called it the Grassy Land, and said we’re not to go in there,” Zamor said. “But from there, it’s only a bit farther to where he wants to go. Koremon, he says.”
    “Koremon!” Hugon sat up. “I’ve heard much of that land, but never gone there. You heard the old man speak of that ancestor of mine, Kavin… he was its first king. The folk that went there came from Dorada, fleeing some sort of pestilence, then…” Hugon paused, and looked around the boat. “Where’s that dragonet? Still with us?”
    “Eee!” The voice came from overhead. Hugon looked up, to see