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incredible pace. They were moving at least 100 kph-into the wind!
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What remained of the once omnipotent Horde of the Scourge vanished beneath
several million kilos of gray flesh, became a red-brown smear on the shining
ice.
The herd drew closer. For a second time Ethan gazed down the throat of
Leviathan.
It paused, froze in space.
Began to recede.
"They're stopping at the body," murmured Hunnar finally, long after they were
safely away southward. He had to clear his throat once before the words came
out. "Thank all the Gods!"
"It didn't look like many of there managed to escape," said Ethan.
"No," agreed Hunnar, curiously unemotional. "Not many."
"Cubs, too," continued Ethan, his voice dropping to a barely audible mutter.
September showed no such concern. He was rubbing both hands together and
chatting with sailors and soldiers, as happy as if a freshly baked cake had
exited the oven without falling. Hunnar was leaning over the stern, straining
to pick out shapes among the rapidly receding forms.
"I didn't see Sagyanak's raft in those final seconds. Could the devil-bitch
have escaped again?"
"Sorry to kill all the bad dreams you half-hoped to have, friend Hunnar," said
September. He grabbed at his hood as a sudden gust of wind threatened to tear
it off. "I did."
"What do they do with the dead young one, the stavanzers? Now that they've
found it?" asked Ethan.
"If the wizard's information is accurate, and it has been thus far," the
knight replied, "then the thunder-eaters will re-main with the dead for
several days. I have never seen such a thing myself.
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Supposedly they prod the body with their tusks, nudge it every so often in the
apparent hope that they may stir it to life once again ... Eventually, some
inner desire satisfied, they will move off, never to return to that spot
again. Or perhaps they merely grow hungry. None know for certain. Among my
people, at least, the observation of the thunder- eater's habits from close
range tis not over-popular. And thunder-eaters do not die often."
"I don't wonder at your caution." Ethan noticed that Ta hoding was only a
short breath from total collapse, now that the Slanderscree was out of danger.
A sweaty heap of fur and flesh, the captain had sunk to the deck next to the
big wheel. He stared into nothingness. All his efforts seemed directed to
following each breath with another.
"Noble animals," Ethan mumbled.
"What?" September came over. "'Those supra-nourished grotesque herbivores? Get
a hold on your self, lad!"
Ethan sighed. "Skua, sometimes I think you have no poetry in your soul."
"Now as to that, young feller-me-lad, firstly you'd have to establish the
existence of the latter.
And you're one to talk!" He sniffed with exaggerated force. The resultant
supercilious pose was so comical that Ethan couldn't keep from laughing. "You
kindly explain to me, lad, the poetry in volume buying or discount pricing."
Ethan started to do just that, but had to pause in the middle of the first
sentence.
Why did someone have to keep reminding him of where he wasn't?
Chapter Thirteen
There was little new to look at as the raft continued to devour the
kilometers. The journey rapidly became a dull cycle of rising, pacing the
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too-familiar deck, talking, eating, and re-turning to sleep. The humans, in
one respect, were fortunate. They had the added extra task of fighting to stay
that one step ahead of frostbite.
They'd entered a new region, filled with innumerable small islands. Many rose
nearly perpendicular from the ice-dark, black stone, the stumps and cores of
long-eroded volcanos. They served to break the monotony of flat horizon, but
just barely, since the next was much like its predecessor.
A few of the islands were inhabited. Tiny villages clung precariously to the
cliffs.
Occasionally a small raft or party of wandering hunters would parallel the
Slanderscree for a few dozen meters. The dialect here differed frown that of
Sofold. Ta-hoding, a good merchant, was able to converse with them. like a
neighbor. After the first few encounters, even Ethan and the other hu-mans
could make themselves understood, though they lacked the captain's fluency.
The Trannish language had a universal planetary base, then. Local variations
did not preclude adequate communication between widely scattered groups.
Another plus as far as trade and commerce were concerned.
No matter how skilled or strong, the locals rapidly dropped behind, unable to
match the big raft's speed. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]