A Song for Arbonne by Guy Gavriel Kay Read Free Book Online

Hirnan, let’s go.’
    With the last words he swung his feet across the low railing and slipped silently over the side of the skiff. On the other side, balancing his motion exactly, Hirnan didthe same. The water was shockingly cold. It was night, and early yet in the spring.
    ‘Truly, your graces, as my brother says, we had no intention to transgress.’ Maffour’s apologetic voice carried across the darkness. ‘We will gladly offer a tithe of our catch for the holy servants of blessed Rian.’
    There was a silence from the other boat, very much as if someone were weighing a sudden temptation. That, Blaise had not expected. To his right he spotted Hirnan’s dark head bobbing towards him. He motioned, and the two of them began swimming quietly towards the other boat.
    ‘Are you fools?’ The second voice from the sailboat was a woman’s, and cold as the ocean waters. ‘Do you think you can make redress for trespass in the waters of the goddess by offering a load of fish?’
    Blaise grimaced. The priestesses of the goddess were always harsher than the priests; even a short time in Arbonne had taught him that much. He heard the sound of flint being struck, and a moment later, cursing silently, saw a lamp lit in the sailboat. A glow of orange light fell upon the water but offered only slight illumination. Praying that the six corans in the skiff would have the sense to keep their heads down and faces hidden, he gestured for Hirnan to move closer. Then, treading silently in the sea, he put his mouth to the other man’s ear and told him what they had to try to do.
    HOLDING THE LAMP HIGH while Maritte guided their craft, Roche the priest peered ahead into the night. Even with the flame, even by the light of the waxing pale moon, it was difficult to see clearly. Certainly the skiff they were approaching was one such as the fisherfolk of the shore used, and he could make out the lines of the trawling nets over the side, but there was still something odd about this encounter. For one thing, there seemed tobe too many men in the skiff. He counted at least five. Where were they going to put their catch with so many men on board? Roche had grown up by the sea; he knew more than a little about trawling for lampfish. He also loved—more than a little—the taste of the succulent, hard-to-find delicacy, which is why he’d been shamefully tempted by the offered tithe. Maritte, mountain-born, had no such weaknesses to tempt her, Sometimes he wondered if Maritte had any weaknesses at all. He would not be particularly unhappy when their shared tour of duties ended next week, though he couldn’t claim to regret the three obligatory nights in bed together. He wondered if she had conceived by him, what a child born of the two of them would be like.
    It really did seem to be a fishing boat. Manned by too many men most likely because they were afraid, venturing so near the island. It happened more often than it should, Roche knew. The deep waters around Rian’s Island were a known ground for lampfish. A pity, he sometimes thought—aware that this was perilously near to heresy—that all fish and fauna on or about the island were sacred to the goddess in her incarnation as Huntress, and so not to be pursued in any way by mortal man or woman.
    One really couldn’t entirely blame the fisherfolk of Arbonne for occasionally yielding to the lure of that rare and delicate taste and once in a while venturing perhaps a little nearer the island than they ought. He wondered if he dared turn to Maritte and offer that thought, in the spirit of compassionate Rian. He fore-bore to do so. He could guess what she would say, mountain-born, hard as mountain rock. Though not so much so in the dark, mind you, surprisingly softened by passion and its aftermath. The three nights had been worth it, he decided, whatever she’d have said now to his suggestion.
    What Maritte did in fact say in that moment, her voice suddenly harsh, was: ‘Roche, these are not