Read Online The Starfollowers of Coramonde by Brian Daley - Free Book Online Page B

earnest
and sober in drinking, but Katya took a flamboyant hoist. Reacher contemplated
for a moment, then drank. Van Duyn took his draught indifferently, and handed
it to Gil.
    For a moment,
the former sergeant had the daunting image of Wintereye before him. He’d come
too far, though; swallowing the traditionally thick, bitter wine, he made
himself a part of this Faith Cup. He gave it to Angorman, and his hand went
again to the Ace of Swords lying against his chest. He suddenly felt
optimistic.
    Angorman,
eyes closed, moved his lips in prayer before taking his part. Hightower, the last,
raised the bulky chalice in one hand. “Confusion and death to Salamá!” He
drained it as Angorman and Katya echoed him. Upturning the Faith Cup, he licked
the last droplets from its rim and gave it to the servant.
    Gil soon
left, to find some time alone. He was intercepted in the corridor by
Gale-Baiter. With the Mariner captain were his two crew members whose names Gil
caught this time. The hulking redbeard was Wavewatcher the Harpooner, the
smaller one Skewerskean the Chanteyman, whatever that meant.
    Gale-Baiter
began, “I have heard it privily that you wish to go to Death’s Hold.”
    “What if I
do?”
    “Then you may
come there with me, if you wish it. Our course should take us that way.”
    “Are you sure
you’ll be going there?”
    “Not
positive, but in prosecuting war on the seas against Salamá, we will in all
likelihood come to it at last. Some vassals of the Masters are still said to
linger there.”
    “And better a
full sail above you,” Wavewatcher rumbled, “than a stinking horse beneath.”
Skewerskean snickered. But Gil saw that any number of things could happen to
screw up the sea voyage. He had no desire to be involved in an ocean battle, or
get sidetracked on blockade duty or some such. Besides, he’d drunk the Faith
Cup. He shook his head.
    “Sorry, no.
Thanks anyway for thinking of me.”
    Gale-Baiter
waved his hand. “Not at all. We leave this evening for Boldhaven and our ship.
If our courses ever cross again, you’ve always the offer of passage aboard the Long-Dock
Gal.”
    Gil said
good-bye to him, and to Wavewatcher and Skewerskean. “Fair winds to you,” the
harpooner boomed. “Until our courses cross again,” added the chanteyman.
     
    Springbuck
had traveling arrangements quietly completed by morning. His seneschal made
life miserable for many people in Earthfast that night. No one, aside from
partakers in the Faith Cup, knew what it all meant. Springbuck’s orders
included a good deal of misdirection. He’d taken to wearing Bar once more.
    The rising
sun found them in a deserted corner of the bailey, puttering with the last-minute
incidentals preceding any trip. Reacher, Katya and Van Duyn had come out to see
them off. The three would depart a day later.
    Gil had
decided to abandon his suit of woven mesh armor. It had an insignia on its
breast, copied from the 32d’s crest, that Duskwind had put there; he preferred
not to see it again. Instead, he wore a light, short-sleeved byrnie under his
shirt. The sword of Dunstan the Berserker knocked at his left hip, the Mauser
pistol at his right in a canvas holster. The Browning was in its shoulder
holster. He’d prudently worn a steel cap, but had tucked the hat given him by
Captain Brodur into his saddlebag. At the back of his belt was the trench knife
he’d carried from home, with brass knuckles on its grip. He patted the neck of
the waiting Jeb Stuart, a sturdy chestnut he trusted as much as he could
anything with hooves. He had Dirge cased and slung at the side of his saddle,
partly hidden by the chapelets, hoping Yardiff Bey’s sword would be of use in
tracing the sorcerer. Andre had agreed it might be so.
    Angorman,
wrapped against the cold, moved stiffly. Blazetongue, concealed in wrappings,
was fastened to Andre’s other gear. The wizard had his own ancient sword,
sheathed, in hand, and another belted on over his coarse clothing.