“I have heard,” Kurt offered, “that there is some civilization there, some cities of size.”

“There are two towns, and those are primitive,— eiwell, one might be called a city, Haithen. It is a city of wood, of frozen streets. Yvesta the mother of snows never looses those lands. There are no farms, only desolate flats, and impossible mountains, and frozen rivers,—ice masses float in the Yvorst Ome that can crush ships, and there are great sea beasts the like of which do not visit these blue waters. Ai,it is nothing like Nephane.”

“Are you regretting,” Kurt asked softly, “that you have chosen as you have?”

“It is a strange place we go,” said Kta, “and yet shame to Elas is worse. I think Haithen may be preferable to the Methi’s law. It pains me to say it, but Haithen may be infinitely preferable to the Methi’s Nephane. Only when we are passing by the coast of Nephane, I shall think of Aimu, and of Bel, and wish that I had news of them. That is the hardest thing, to realize that there is nothing I can do. Elas is not accustomed to helplessness.”

En t’Siran, captain of Rimaris,swung onto the deck of the courier ship Kadese,beneath the furled red sails. Such was his haste that he did not even sit and take tea with the captain of Kadesebefore he delivered his message; he took the ritual sip of tea standing, and scarcely caught his breath before he passed the cup back to the captain’s man and bowed his courtesy to the senior officer.

“T’Siran,” said the courier captain, “you signaled urgent news.”

“A confrontation,” said t’Siran, “between Isles ships and a ship of their own kind.”

“Indeed.” The captain put his own cup aside, signaled a scribe, who began to write. “What happened? Could you identify any of the houses?”

“Easily on the one side. They bore the moon of Acturi on their sails—Gan t’Hnes’ sons, I am well sure of it. The other was a strange sail, dark green with a gold dragon.”

“I do not know that emblem,” said the captain. “It must be one of those Sufak designs.”

“Surely,” agreed t’Siran, for the dragon Yr was not one of the lucky symbols for an Indras ship. “It may be a Methi’s ship.”

“A confrontation, you say. With what result?”

“A long wait. Then dragon-sail turned aside, toward the coast of Sufak.”

“And the men of Acturi?”

“Held their position some little time. Then they went back into the Isles. We drew off quickly. We had no orders to provoke combat with the Isles. That is the sum of my report.”

“It is,” said the captain of Kadese,“a report worth carrying.”

“My lord.” En t’Siran acknowledged the unusual tribute from a courier captain, bowed his head and, as the captain returned the parting courtesy, left.

The captain of Kadesehardly delayed to see Rimarisspread sail and take her leave before he shouted an order to his own crew and bade them put about for Indresul.

The thing predicted was beginning. Nephane had come to a point of division. The Methi of Indresul had direct interest in this evidence, which might affect policies up and down the Ome Sin and bring Nephane nearer its day of reckoning.

From now on, Kadese’s captain thought to himself, the Methi Ylith would begin to listen to her captains, who urged that there would be no better time than this. Heaven favored it.

“Rowers to the benches,” he bade his second, “reliefs at the minimum interval, all available crew.”

With four shifts and a hundred and ten oars, the slim Kadesewas equipped to go the full distance. The wind was fair behind her. Her double red sail was bellied out full, and there was nothing faster on either side of the Ome Sin.

There were scattered clouds, small wisps of white with gray undersides that grew larger in the east as the hours passed. The crew of Tavikept a nervous watch on the skies, dreading the shift of wind that could mean delay in these dangerous waters.

In the west, near at hand, rose the grim jagged spires of the Thiad. The sun declined toward the horizon, threading color into the scant clouds which touched that side of the sky.

The waves splashed and rocked at them as Tavicame dangerously close to a rock that only scarcely broke the surface. One barren island was to starboard, a long spine of jagged rocks.

It was the last of the feared islets.

“We are through,” exulted Mnek as it fell behind them. “We are for the Yvorst Ome.”

Then sail appeared in the dusky east.

Val t’Ran, normally harsh-spoken, did not even swear when it was reported. He put the helm over for the west, cutting dangerously near the fringe rocks of the north Thiad, and sent Pan running to take orders from Kta, who was coming toward the stern as rapidly as Kta ever moved on Tavi’s deck.

“To the benches!” Kta was shouting, rousing everyone who had been off duty. Men scrambled before him.

He strode up to the helm and gave Val the order to maintain their present westerly heading.

“Tkel!” he called up to the rigging. “What sail?”

“I cannot tell, my lord,” Tkel’s voice drifted down from the yard, where the man swung precariously on the footrope. “The distance is too great.”

“We shall keep it so,” Kta muttered, and eyed mistrustfully the great spires and deadlier rough water which lay to port. “Gently to starboard, Val. Even for good reason, this is too close.”

“Aye, sir,” said Val, and the ship came a few degrees over.

“They are following,” Tkel shouted down after a little time had passed. “They must think we are out of Indresul, my lord.”

“The lad is too free with his supposings,” Val said between his teeth.

“Nevertheless,” said Kta, “that is probably the answer.”

“I will join the deck crew,” Kurt offered. “Or serve as relief at the benches.”

“You are considered of Elas,” said Kta. “It makes the men uneasy when you show haste or concern. But if work will relieve your nerves, indulge yourself. Go to the benches.”

Kta himself was frightened. It was likely that Kta himself would gladly have taken a hand with the oars, with the rigging, with anything that would have materially sped Tavion her way; Kurt knew the nemet well enough to read it in his eyes, though his face was calm. He burned to do something. They had fenced together: Kurt knew the nemet’s impatient nature. The Ancestors, Kta had told him once, were rash men. That was the character of Elas.

In the jolted, moving vision of Kta that Kurt had from the rowers’ pit, his own mind numbed by the beat of the oars and the need to breathe, the nemet still stood serenely beside Val at the helm, arms folded, staring out to the horizon.

Then Tkel’s shrill voice called down so loudly it rose even over the thunder of the oars.

“Sails off the port bow!”

Tavialtered course. Deck crews ran to the sheets, the oars shuddered a little at the unexpectedly deep bite of the blades, lifted. Chal upon the catwalk called out a faster beat. Breath came harder. Vision blurred.

“They are three sails!” Tkel’s voice floated down.

It was tribute to Tavi’s discipline that no one broke time to look. Kta looked, and then walked down among the rowers along the main deck so they could see him clearly.

“Well,” he said, “we bear due north. Those are ships of Indresul ahead of us. If we can hold our present course and they take interest in the other ship, all will be well.— Hya,Chal, ease off the beat. Make it one which will last. We may be at this no little time.”

The cadence of the oars took a slower beat. Kta went back to his place at the helm, looking constantly to that threatened horizon. Whatever the Indras ships were doing was something outside the world of the pits: the pace maintained itself, mind lost, no glances at anything but the sweat-drenched back of the man in front, his shoulders, clearing the sweep in back only scarcely, bend and breathe and stretch and pull.