Empire of the East by Fred Saberhagen Read Free Book Online Page B

reptilian throats, and then sharp splashing told of men floundering clear of overturned boats. There followed more confused yelling, and then the rhythmic work of paddles straining in retreat.
    â€œPaddle!” Loford said. “It may turn back now after us.”
    Rolf paddled, at Mewick’s direction steering into a channel of sorts that ran between half-formed banks of earth.
    â€œPaddle!” Loford urged again, though Rolf and Manka were already hard at work. Rolf’s hasty glance over his shoulder showed him that the elemental, shrunken but still tall as a man, had come racing back around the hummock and was in full pursuit of its creator and the boat that bore him. The wave-shape jetted watery, unintelligible sounds in little bursts of spray; it shrank still more as it closed the distance between itself and the canoe. Loford was soothing the thing he had raised up, soothing and destroying it, his voice whispering to it once more, his hands working with firm, down-pressing gestures.
    Such life as the elemental had went ebbing away from it with its volume. What finally came purling under the dug-out was no more than a sluggish wave, roiling the tiny green plants that scummed the water’s surface. As it passed, lifting him, Rolf saw turning within it the thonged sandal of a Castle soldier. He watched in vain to see if any more satisfying trophy might be displayed.
    Screaming in rage, but staying impotently out of bow-shot, the reptiles still followed the canoe. In a little while, trees began to close more thickly over the waterway the craft was following, and a mass of swamp-forest ahead promised almost complete shelter. Now in their frustrated fury a few of the reptiles dared to dive, screeching, at the bird which still perched motionless upon the dugout’s prow.
    Rolf was quick to drop the paddle and grab his sword again. With Mewick’s arrows flying at them and the sword-blade singing past their heads, the leatherwings had to sheer away. They climbed again, and disappeared above what was becoming an almost solid roof of greenery.
    Rolf looked gloomily at his sword, unstained in this latest skirmish. “Mewick—teach me to use weapons?”
    â€œâ€¦in self-defense,” Mewick muttered, sitting up. He seemed to have thrown himself into the bottom of the canoe to escape the sword’s last swipe.
    â€œOh! I’m sorry.” Rolf’s ears burned. He took up his paddle and applied himself to its use, looking straight ahead.
    After a while Mewick’s voice behind him said, “Yes, all right, then I will teach you, when I can. Since the sword is in your hand already.”
    Rolf looked back. “And other kinds of fighting, too? The way you kicked that Castle-man yesterday…”
    â€œYes, yes, when there is time.” Mewick’s voice held no enthusiasm. “These are not things to be learned in a week or a month.”
    The channel they had been following divided, came together, and then branched again. Manka, now choosing their way from her position in the stern, seldom hesitated over which branch to take. Loford’s magic continued to be of help; it opened walls of interlaced vines ahead of the canoe—or at least made them easier to open by hand—and then knitted them once more into a barrier after the craft had passed. Rolf paddled in the direction he was bidden, meanwhile keeping a sharp lookout ahead.
    Looking ahead, Rolf was the first to see the young girl gazing down at them from a lookout’s perch in a high tree; he rested his paddle and was about to speak when Manka said, “It’s all right. She’s a sentry of the big camp.”
    The brown-haired girl in the tree, dressed like Manka in male clothing, also recognized the Big One and his wife. She came sliding down from her observation post and ran along the bank to greet them. To Rolf and Mewick she was introduced as Sarah; Rolf guessed she was about fourteen years