Master of Whitestorm by Wurts Janny

Author:Wurts, Janny [Wurts, Janny]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, General, Science Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780007438389
Publisher: Grafton
Published: 1992-11-19T06:00:00+00:00

XV. Summons from Tir Amindel

Korendir returned on the edge of autumn, aboard the same ship that brought in the new iron Haldeth had ordered to replenish his depleted forge. That day the clouds lay in raked gray sheets, warning of killing frosts to come; in Thornforest the leaves showed edges of red like dipped blood. Alone in chambers that turned chill at eventide, and weary of footsteps that echoed down empty, unfurnished halls, the smith met the trader brig's arrival with a soaring lift of spirits. At low tide he descended to the beach to greet the longboat, a whiskey flask tucked under one arm, and new bread left cooling in readiness on Whitestorm's spotless trestles.

The boat made slow progress, laden as it was with crated ingots and Korendir's chests of bullion; the oarsmen were poorly teamed. They battled a headwind, and each mistimed stroke spat spray over the bow to drench the cloaked occupant in the sternseat. By the time the craft gained shore, Haldeth's impatience had reached the point where he willingly wet his boots to speed the landing.

"Welcome home," he called, as a familiar, black-clad figure arose and leaped the gunwale into the shallows. Haldeth had time to notice that his friend's face seemed more haggard than usual. Then a wave slewed the longboat bruisingly into his groin, and he was forced to redirect his attention toward muscling the wayward craft straight.

"Why not give a hand, you lazy louts," he snarled to the crewmen who had yet to ship their oars.

A model of graceless coordination, the sailhands groused and eventually sorted themselves into order.

By then, Korendir had left the beach. Haldeth forgave the precipitous departure. If the incompetence demonstrated by the oarsmen was typical of seamanship aboard the brig, the voyage had likely been a shambles. Doubtless the Master of Whitestorm craved dry clothing and shoes that did not chafe from a crust of ingrained salt. Haldeth dumped the wet from his own boots, then regarded his crates of new ingots; Korendir's chests of gold easily doubled their cargo weight. Rather than strain his back, the smith elected to winch the load over the battlements.

Minutes later he cursed his impatient plunge into the surf. His feet weighed like lead, and his socks rucked soggily around his heels as he climbed the stair to the upper fortress. Worse, Korendir was not in the hall when Haldeth stamped through to check; still hopeful, the smith climbed more stairs in the north tower to reach his friend's private chambers. The rooms there all remained empty; even the clothes chests lay undisturbed under a season's layer of dust.

Puzzled, Haldeth let himself onto the windswept terrace of the watch tower, where a ship's glass rested always in a niche by the postern. The smith set cold brass to his eye and scanned the clifftop and at first pass spotted a black-clad figure walking the crags above the sea.

"Damn your miserable mood, anyway," Haldeth grumbled into the wind. Belatedly he remembered the flask

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