The Messenger

14

What manner of people are you?” Kerrick asked. “What is your tribe?”

“We are the Arktos,” Bruni replied. She was leaning back, picking her teeth with a bone from one of the grouse Tildey had shot. After some muted discussion, the two had agreed to share their food with the prisoner, releasing one of his hands to allow him to eat.

The elf had been unconscious for most of the day following his ill-fated escape attempt. He had managed to remove the ring, dropping it onto the ground and pushing enough pine needles over it to conceal it from view. He had only worn it for a short time, but even so the magic had left him drained, sapped of energy.

Now food had restored some of his strength, and he knew his captors didn’t plan to kill him. He had shifted around enough to pick up the ring and slide it into his boot. Tildey remained suspicious and jumpy, her weapons near to hand, but Bruni seemed willing to talk and answer his questions, asking a few of her own.

“You aren’t a Highlander or an ogre,” she observed bluntly. “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

“I am a sailor, son of a sailor, and I come from Ansalon,” he answered. “That is a land to the north of here, across the sea.”

“A sailor, but not a human sailor.” He was startled to see Moreen emerging from the woods. She stood with her hands upon her hips. “I’ve been thinking about it. You’re an elf, aren’t you?”

Kerrick saw that Tildey was equally surprised by the chiefwoman’s return. The archer leaped to her feet and hugged Moreen, who seemed shorter and more wiry than he remembered. He noticed that her black hair was unkempt and that she gazed at him with a wry smile, as if he intensely amused her.

“Of course I’m an elf,” he admitted easily, wondering why that was such a revelation to these people. “I imagine you’ve seen elves before, haven’t you?”

“Never,” replied the chiefwoman bluntly. She turned to her fellow Arktos. “The tribe is here, on the outskirts of the grove. They marched all night to get here, but everyone made it.”

“And the Highlanders?” asked Bruni.

“I think we gave them the slip. It will take four or five days, I hope, before Strongwind Whalebone even learns that we’ve moved north. Then they’ll have to come up the coast, so that’s another day before they catch up with us. Still, I want us to move fast.” She looked at Kerrick again. “Now, get up, elf sailor, and come with me.”

“Should we tie his hands?” Bruni asked, as she loosened the bond that had secured Kerrick to the tree for the past two days. He stretched, standing awkwardly, feeling with his foot the comforting presence of the ring in the bottom of his right boot.

“I don’t think he’ll go far, not without his boat,” Moreen replied. Her words sent a twinge of fear through the elf.

“What have you done with Cutter?” he demanded. “If you’ve damaged her, so help me Zivilyn, I’ll …” His words trailed off as he saw they were all staring at him.

“Her?” Again Moreen gave him another look of wry amusement. “I didn’t know you and your ship were so attached. Is it usual for elves to treat ships as their wives?”

Kerrick glowered at Moreen. “Cutter is a sailboat, not a ship-though perhaps to you barbarians they’re the same thing!”

He was startled by the fury that suddenly darkened her features. The smile was gone, and somehow a knife had sprung into her hand. She trembled as she held the blade toward him, speaking in a low, brittle voice. “The last ship I saw was filled with killers, brutes. I have no reason to believe that your boat has brought anything different to our shores. Now, keep your mouth shut, if you want to keep your tongue.”

The elf said nothing. He sensed that his words had wounded Bruni and Tildey, too. All three humans were in a dark mood as they roughly pushed him along the forest trail. Not long afterward they entered a small clearing, brightened by glimpses of the gray sea through the trees. Scores of people huddled under the cedars, watching him with wide-eyed curiosity. There were frail, white-haired elders clutching babes and toddlers, and several tough-looking women holding spears. A number of children watched him with unabashed interest, and one-a tall youth with a shock of dark hair hanging over his forehead-fingered his spear, as if he would cast the weapon at the slightest provocation.

“Come this way,” Moreen said curtly, leading him through the band toward the shore.

Kerrick quickly realized that, except for some frail elders, there were no men among the group. He remembered Moreen’s words, about a ship filled with killers. How long had these people dwelled here in ignorance, pathetically surviving in this icy and forgotten corner of Krynn? They hadn’t even recognized him as an elf-at least, not until Moreen had had several days to think it over.

A few more steps brought them to the edge of the woods, where the chiefwoman halted beneath the cover of a dense cedar. He was relieved to see that Cutter bobbed at anchor where he had left her. For the first time in hours he thought of Coraltop Netfisher, wondering at the fact that there was still no sign of the kender.

“You are going to ferry my tribe across the strait,” Moreen said. “On your she-boat. It may take several journeys, but you must land each group on the far side and come back for more.”

Kerrick squinted across the water. He could make out the murky outline of a distant horizon, the shoreline obscured by fog. The wind was blowing from the north, and the surface of the open water had risen into steep, choppy swells. The mission would be challenging, especially since so much of it had to be done in the darkness, but it appealed to the seaman in him. At the same time, he realized that he had no choice.

“I refuse,” he said.

“What?” Moreen’s lips tightened in anger, her dark eyes flashing. “Do you want to be killed, right here, right now?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied. “But you don’t want to kill me, either … not unless one of you knows how to raise a sail, how to steer through an ocean swell.”

The chiefwoman’s face was white, and she was trembling with rage. He wondered if he had miscalculated. Moreen stomped away from him, then whirled back, her bone knife again in her hand. “Do you have a high tolerance for torture?” she demanded.

“No-but I have even less tolerance for slavery. I am Kerrick Fallabrine of House Mariner, and I am my own master.” He braced himself, ready to parry a thrust of that knife, to show these barbarians that elves knew how to fight!

He was utterly unprepared for her reaction. Her whole body slumped, as if her willpower had been drained. Her eyes, inflamed with rage a moment ago, now swam with despair. “Don’t you understand? We have to get across the strait!” she said.

He was surprised by how quickly his own tenseness faded. “And I could take you in my boat,” he said. “But not at the point of a spear! And those are not ogre weapons!” he added as an afterthought, looking at Tildey sharply.

Moreen scrutinized him. “You are a stranger, an enemy. It is only good sense for me to guard against treachery and betrayal.”

“Where I come from, it is not necessarily assumed that a stranger is an enemy,” Kerrick replied gently.

“Should I just let you go to your boat and trust you to come back for my tribe? Is that how your people treat strangers? I’m thinking you must come from a land of great fools!”

The elf sighed. Good manners, apparently, were not a cultural trait of these people. He shook his head, forging on. “Perhaps you could hire me, arrange a barter for the service of my boat. In my land, such arrangements are made all the time.”

“Indeed I offer you such a trade-your life, for the use of your ship.” Moreen’s chin was set, her eyes still hot.

“I tell you, that is slavery, and I am no slave!”

“What do your ship-people barter for?” This was Bruni, her broad brow furrowed.

Kerrick shrugged. “Lots of things. Food, furs, wine, cut stone. Steel is a common currency and gold the most precious of all.” As if these savages would know anything of gold!

“Gold!” Moreen’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Bruni. “Do you still have …”

“Of course,” said the big woman with a grin.

Her big pack was sitting on the ground, and Kerrick watched with interest as she untied the flap and reached inside. With some strain, she pulled out a small strongbox and set it on the ground. Moreen reached down, undid the clasp, and pushed open the lid.

“Here is gold. Will you accept it in trade for carrying my tribe across the strait?”

It was only with great effort that Kerrick kept his mouth from dropping open or held back from lunging at the mound of coins. There were more than a hundred of them there, thick and crudely stamped but undeniably pure gold. With a display of deliberation, he knelt and picked up one of the gold pieces. Just to be certain, he put it into his mouth and tasted it, biting down, feeling the malleable metal.

“Is that enough?” Moreen said worriedly. “We have some furs too, and I suppose we could spare some of our food, as well.”

Finally the elf trusted himself enough to speak. “Oh, that’s … enough.” He could spend a hundred years hauling passengers up and down the Than-Thalas and never come close to seeing this much gold.

“Yes,” he said firmly, standing and meeting Moreen’s eyes. “I will accept your offer and ferry your tribe in exchange for this gold.”

“Very good,” she said, with obvious satisfaction. “Now, how did you get from the boat to shore?”

“I swam,” Kerrick said.

“That won’t work. We’ll have to pull it up onto the beach.”

“That won’t work,” the elf replied. He explained about the keel. “She needs at least four feet of water to stay afloat.”

“What about this rock,” the woman said, gesturing to a flat boulder jutting into a little cove off the bay. “The water is deep next to it, and we can step from the rock onto the boat.”

“The stone might damage the hull. Can you have your people gathered many cedar boughs? Perhaps they can weave them into a bumper, to surround the edges of the rock. That just might work. I’ll swim out and bring in the boat, and we can try.”

Moreen snorted. “What if you just get aboard and sail away?”

The elf considered the fortune in gold that was sure to keep him here, but he didn’t want to let her know how much he valued her barter. Instead, he shrugged. “What do you want to do? Swim out there with me?”

She thought about that, as the icy wind bit through their cloaks and a spray of precipitation-snowflakes, now-whisked past. Finally, she nodded. “Yes. I will.”

“Huh? Suit yourself.” That surprised him, but he shucked his cloak, shirt, boots, and leggings. Moreen watched hesitantly as he walked out in the water, naked, to the flat rock she had chosen for a dock. He felt every snowflake strike his skin, each gust of chilly wind, but he suppressed his misgivings.

“Come along whenever you’re ready,” he shouted over his shoulder, and leaned forward to dive.

“Wait!” she cried, but he was already gone, plunging cleanly into the choppy water, gasping as the icy brine coursed over his body. With strong, churning strokes he began swimming to Cutter, and once there seized the ladder at the transom and quickly pulled himself up and over the rail. Shivering, with his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he pulled open the hatch and grabbed the first woolen blanket he could find. He came back out, turned, and waved to Moreen, who still stood, fully dressed, hesitant, on the flat rock.

Only then did he think to himself: Where is Coraltop Netfisher? The cabin was unoccupied. Nor was the kender in the cockpit or anywhere else on deck.

“Bring the boat here!” came the shout from shore, and he saw Moreen glaring at him, her hands on her hips.

He waved again and checked the wind, which was blowing out to sea, and the tide, which was almost at its high point. He took only enough time to slip on dry clothes before hoisting the anchor. Using his single, long oar, he stood in the cockpit and laboriously propelled the boat toward the makeshift dock.

The Arktos, meanwhile, were gathering boughs as he had asked, and by the time he had guided the sailboat to the rock, it had been circled by a thick bumper of pines.

Moreen and Bruni assisted a group of hesitant elders and overeager children to scramble over the gunwales. He sent as many of them into the cabin as would fit, then posted some of the more able-bodied around the deck. In all, he was surprised to find that he was able to get some twenty people aboard. Tildey, who still had Kerrick’s bow and arrows-grudgingly pronouncing his weapons far superior to her own-posted herself atop the cabin, where she had a clear shot in any direction. Including at Kerrick, the elf realized. Moreen announced she would linger behind with the rest of the tribe.

“Where do you want the passengers landed?” asked Kerrick, making the last, hurried preparations before debarking.

“There is a ruined citadel high on a mountainside above the water. If you can’t see the place itself, it might be marked by a permanent cloud-hot springs supposedly warm it, even through the winter. If that is the place I hope it is, there will be some kind of sheltered cove at the foot of the mountain.”

“Okay, I’ll look for a site around there,” Kerrick said. “But you should know there aren’t a lot of good anchorages along this coast.”

“Do the best you can. The tribe will stay together on the shore until all of us are over there.”

“It’s going to take me all night to make that crossing, and there’s no telling how hard it will be to find a place to land your people. As short as these days are, it will probably be pitch dark by the time I get back,” the elf continued. “If the wind is up, I’ll have to wait offshore until first light. If you can build a small fire here, one that’s visible out to sea, I might be able to make it at night. It will depend on the weather, of course.”

“Of course,” Moreen echoed. He could tell as she gazed at the sail that she was just beginning to comprehend how Cutter was powered across the water.

“The payment,” he reminded her, as they made ready to push off. “It would be customary to give me a portion now and the rest once the job is completed.”

“It’s all there,” Bruni, who was going to wait with Moreen, said. She pointed at her fur-bundled pack resting next to the cabin.

“Let’s get it below deck,” Kerrick said, trying to sound calm as he imagined a wave carrying that treasure overboard. As they drifted away from shore the strongbox was stowed in the cabin, and the tide turned. With wind and water propelling them, they quickly moved away from the little cove.

The elf, for his part, was too harried to entertain immediate thoughts of treachery. After he raised the sail the Cutter took off like a living thing, racing out of the bay. Immediately, the north wind sweeping across the full breadth of the Courrain Ocean smashed into them from starboard. The boat heeled sharply, drawing screams from some of the Arktos, but Kerrick had anticipated the gust and posted a half dozen of them on the high gunwale. Their weight was enough to keep the boat from capsizing.

Night descended, and Kerrick sailed with all possible speed, heading directly toward the far shore. In the stormy straight he sailed by astrolabe and dead reckoning, holding tight to the tiller during the length of the wind-lashed night. A few of his passengers nodded off at the rail or on the deck, but most of the Arktos clung with wide-eyed fright to their handholds. The elf had no doubts but that they were praying to their wild goddess.

Whether it was Chislev Wilder or Zivilyn Greentree or Kerrick’s own seamanship that carried them through the night, he couldn’t know, but as dawn grayed the storm-tossed sea he was gratified to hear the sounds of crashing surf warning him of the proximity of rocks and reefs. Further daylight revealed a stony bank rising high before them. Unfortunately, the land plunged straight downward into the sea, and he saw no sign of any potential landing spot.

“Go that way,” Tildey suggested, pointing south. The elf saw the heights there obscured by a clinging cloud and concurred. His passengers were miserable, cold and, seasick, but they held on uncomplainingly as the daylight swelled. For three hours he raced along that forbidding shore, riding south with the wind, constantly seeking some sign of a potential landfall.

“Look-beyond that pillar of rock, there,” Tildey suddenly said, standing on the cabin roof and pointing. “I think there might be a cove.”

Kerrick steered toward shore, noting a pillar that rose like a signpost at the mouth of a sheltered inlet. Nearby rose a rugged cliff, and other elevations rose steeply to three sides, creating a sort of deep bowl that opened, through a narrow gap, to the sea.

“Let’s land there,” Tildey declared, “and quickly.”

Fortunately this shallow cove was even better sheltered than Tall Cedar Bay, with a smooth fringe of sandy beach at the foot of the rugged precipices. They happily noted several caves right beyond the beach.

The air was clammy here, different from the frigid open sea. Kerrick was heartened to see several small clumps of cedars in the hollows. A plume of vapor rose from the mouth of a large cave, quickly diffusing into a sky now almost fully dark.

“See that steam?” Kerrick asked Tildey. “I bet there are hot springs in those caves, at least in one of them.”

“That’ll be a fine shelter for the time being,” declared one old woman, who-because of the many necklaces and talismans she wore-Kerrick judged to be a shaman or priestess.

No flat rock offered itself as a dock, so Kerrick glided Cutter as close to the beach as he could go. He was grateful for the calm water and the sandy bottom as, at last, he felt the keel slide against the shore. By letting the adults scramble overboard first, then passing the children into their arms, he was able to disgorge all of his passengers within minutes, watching them hastily wade from the chilly water onto the beach. Insisting upon going last was the frail old shaman, leaning on her staff in the waist deep water.

“Get some wood together and build a fire!” Kerrick called. “It’ll take me at least a day to get back here with the next group, but if you can keep it bright, we’ll be able to land in the dark.”

The old shaman nodded and barked instructions to several children, who hastened to collect wood. Tildey was the only one who remained aboard. She had declared that she would sail back with him.

They angled into the wind, Cutter pitching and rolling through the growing swell. Tildey offered to take the tiller so that Kerrick could get some rest, but he shook her off.

The brief daylight dwindled before they were halfway back, but a few hours later the elf saw Moreen’s people had followed his instructions. The signal fire made a beacon that guided them back to Tall Cedar Bay, and by midnight he glided into the forest-fringed cove. The wind had calmed slightly, and he was easily able to pull up to the makeshift dock and load another twenty passengers. Once more he started on the crossing, noting with concern that the north wind had picked up.

Dawn found him in the midst of the strait, the wind having swelled into a full gale. Each breaking crest cast spray across the deck, and the six sturdy Arktos women leaning on the high rail were soaked through with icy brine, as was Kerrick in the cockpit. Deftly he pulled the tiller, feeling the fatigue now with each gesture but guiding the bow between the worst waves.

A surge suddenly rose right before him, and the keen prow sliced into a wall of gray water.

“Hold on!” cried the elf, as the sea engulfed the bow. Clinging desperately to the tiller, he gasped for breath as the boat slowly struggled to right itself.

“Mergat and Kestra-the sea took them!” cried one of the Arktos, pointing astern.

Kerrick saw that only four women were now clutching the rail, and he wrenched the tiller around. “Come about!” he called to Tildey, who ducked below the swinging boom and anchored the line like a veteran sailor as the boat heeled through a sharp turn.

Seeing one of the women, frantically splashing in the water, the elf steered beside her. Even without his orders the other Arktos had snatched up a rope. “Catch this, Mergat!” shouted one.

As Cutter surged past they draped the line through the water, and the swimmer somehow managed to wrap it around her arms. The boat’s momentum pulled her through the water as her comrades strained to pull her aboard.

“Come about again!” Kerrick shouted, knowing that another woman had fallen into the sea as well. Once again he and Tildey changed course, but when he scanned the surging sea he saw nothing except water.

Mergat was stretched out on deck, coughing and wretching and being tended by one of her comrades. The rest of the women and Kerrick scanned the sea. The sailor knew that no one could survive more than five or ten minutes in that frigid water, but even so he searched for an hour until the tragedy was undeniable. Once more Kerrick set a course for the sheltered cove and its steamy cave.

It was a grim and shaken party that at last escaped the storm’s fury. Guided through the night by the roaring fire, he finally debarked his passengers on the beach.

“We lost Kestra,” he told the old shaman woman, his eyes cast downward.

“Go!” she said angrily. “Don’t waste any more time talking.”

Once more he and Tildey made the long, dark crossing. This time he returned to Tall Cedar Bay in the pale gray dawn, loading most of the rest of the tribe. He only left Moreen, together with the last dozen of her women-warriors. When he told her about Kestra, she was even angrier than Dinekki and refused to believe that it wasn’t his fault.

Soon he would be rich, he consoled himself. Moreen and most of her tribe would be safe. Again he wondered: where was Coraltop Netfisher?

“The Highlanders!” Little Mouse blurted excitedly. “And it looks like they brought their king!”

“They can’t be here already. It’s too soon!” Moreen declared. She leaped to her feet and cast a glance across the bay. The waters, white-capped and restless in the dawn, showed no sign of the triangular sail that would mark the third return of the elven sailor. Her gamble was perilously close to failure.

“Where are they?” she asked the youth, who was still catching his breath from the long run from his watchpost to the beach.

“Up on the ridge, south of the valley,” he replied. “Some of their warriors came down to the trees, but they’re a mile inland of here. It didn’t look like any of them were coming toward the shore, at least not yet.”

The chiefwoman looked around. In addition to Mouse and herself, there were ten women waiting here in the clearing. Her eyes locked upon Hilgrid’s. “When the boat comes back, get everyone aboard. Then wait for dark. If I’m not back by then, sail without me.”

“But-” The woman bit back her words when she saw the expression in Moreen’s eyes. “All right.”

Mouse led the chiefwoman to the edge of the forest, and she found herself looking up at the same rounded hill where she, Tildey, and Bruni had first discovered Tall Cedar Bay. Now a sparse fog had drifted in, obscuring the upper heights from view. If and when the elf returned, the Highlanders would have difficulty observing his arrival.

“Some of them went into the woods over there,” the boy said, pointing to the left. “Most were still up on the hill when I came to get you.”

“You did the right thing,” Moreen said. “Now, I want you to get back to Hilgrid and the rest. When the sailboat comes back, you climb aboard too.”

“Shouldn’t I stay here-in case you need me?”

“No!” She made her sternest face. “Do what I told you!”

“All right.” Crestfallen, the lad made his way back into the forest. Moreen watched until he was out of sight, then started climbing the long hill. Wind lashed at her skin, and the snow stung. She knew that the Sturmfrost could not be many days away.

By the time she was halfway up the hill, she could spot a crowd of Highlanders watching her approach. She saw the wolf cloak of Lars Redbeard, then the golden chains and white bearskin that could only mean Strongwind Whalebone himself was there.

The king of the Highlanders stood, arms folded across his broad chest, watching her approach with a grim scowl. By the time she crested the rise she saw that he had more than a hundred men here, that they had established a camp with tents, pickets, and a large bonfire.

Deciding she had best tread carefully, Moreen offered her most winning smile as she advanced to the royal party. “Strongwind Whalebone, king of the Highlanders, it is good that you have come and a pleasure to see you again.”

“A pleasure you seemed anxious to postpone,” he snorted, though his scowl softened in the glow of her smile. “Or did my adviser Redbeard lie to me when he sent word that I should meet you in the valley, which happens to be a day’s march south of here?”

“I am sorry about that misunderstanding,” she replied. “No, Lars Redbeard spoke the truth. It was only the discovery of these trees that brought my people northward, so that they could camp in comfort. I expected to see you here, though not for another day or two.”

The king snorted. “As you can see, my warriors are capable of a very fast march. We Highlanders have been known to cover twenty miles a day, though the ground be snowed with drifts as high as our heads!”

“Impressive,” Moreen noted. “I regret that I neglected to inform your adviser of our hasty change in plans.”

“Regrettable, indeed. So you tell me that your tribe is down there?” The king looked across the valley. The trees at the bottom of the slope were visible, though the full extent of the grove was lost in the murky fog.

“Yes, we needed to find some firewood and shelter from the wind for our elders.”

“They will have excellent shelter in Guilderglow,” Strongwind declared. “You and your tribe will come with me, now. We must return to the city before the Sturmfrost.”

“Yes, of course,” Moreen said, thinking fast. “I see that you have made yourself comfortable here. Perhaps you will permit me to go and bring them back.”

She turned, ready to start back down the hill, when he stopped her with a word.

“No! I do not trust you. You have spurned me once, lied to me once. I would be a fool to let you go now.”

Moreen’s eyes widened, an image-she hoped-of bemused innocence. “Where would I go? Undoubtedly you can see that the far side of the valley is a wall of cliff. How would I get away? Would I swim to join the walrus-men?”

“Nonetheless I have no desire to wander around in those woods looking for you,” growled the king. “No, my men and I will accompany you to your tribe.”

She shrugged casually, as if his decision made no difference to her. All the while her mind was racing, trying to evaluate risks, to form a plan. Fortunately, it took more than an hour for the Highlanders to break their camp, and that was enough time, she gambled, for Kerrick to have returned with Cutter. The scheme she conceived was utterly desperate but might, with luck, work.

With the chiefwoman in the lead, the humans made their way down the hill and into the woods. Moreen led them, however, not directly toward the beach, but into the center of the grove, where they came to the deep ravine that divided the forest in two.

“This way,” she said, scrambling down the steep slope, stepping across the stones in the shallow streambed. Strongwind Whalebone might have been her shadow, so closely did he hover by her side.

They followed her along the gully floor. “Good forest, here,” Strongwind Whalebone said conversationally. “You found it because you saw it on my map?”

“Oh, yes-of course,” Moreen replied, remembering the patches of green tiles-flint or jade-on the mosaic. Unfortunately, she had neglected to ask what they signified, but now she knew.

They made their way to the place where she had watched the elf emerge from the ravine on his hunting expedition. As she had hoped, the knobby pine trunk was still there, leaning against the cliff, and she started to climb up to the top.

“Wait,” declared the king, putting a strong hand on her leg as she hoisted herself higher. “One of my men will go first.”

This she could not allow. Keeping her tone light, she replied gaily, “I’m a very good climber! Here, you’ll see it’s no trouble at all.”

With a smooth gesture she pulled away, smiling down to see the king glowering upward. “When you are my wife, you will learn to curb that rebellious nature!” he snapped, though he let her climb. Quickly she made fifteen feet to the top of the ravine.

She turned and took the trunk in her hands. With a sudden gesture she pushed it to the side, watching as Strongwind leaped out of the way when it crashed to the ground. “May you find a wife with such little backbone as you require!” she snapped. “Know that she will never be me!”

She raced through the woods, hearing the cries of shock and outrage from the Highlanders gathered in the ravine.

She didn’t have much time, but she knew where she was going. Branches slapped her face, and she twisted and turned, making for the beach. Soon she heard shouts and footsteps pounding behind her, branches breaking, but straight ahead was the cove. Even in the dark light the cove shimmered, lashed by wind and snow.

There it was! That beautiful boat with her warriors, and the elven sailor, aboard, looking toward shore and the sounds of commotion. Moreen broke from the woods at a full sprint, hearing the snapping and cracking of branches behind her, the roars of enraged Highlanders lumbering in pursuit.

“Push off!” she shouted, racing toward the rock. “Get away!”

Immediately Hilgrid, Little Mouse, and the elf responded, shoving against the boulder. The floating hull drifted away, two, six, nine feet. Moreen jumped onto the rock and leaped through the air, tumbling into the arms of the tribeswomen on the deck. Somehow the elf had hoisted the sail, and the offshore breeze instantly took hold, nudging Cutter into deeper water. Snow pelted her skin, and the wind whipped her short hair.

In moments the shore was lined with cursing Highlanders, brutal men shaking their weapons and shouting at her. For a moment she feared a volley of spears but saw the boat was moving too fast and was already safely out of range. She saw Strongwind Whalebone, arms crossed again, standing impassively in the midst of his agitated men.

For a moment she met his cold blue eyes with a sensation both elated and terrified. Unable to help herself, she sent him a jaunty wave and turned to watch the sailboat make for the open sea.