Sword in the Storm by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online Page B

here? he wondered. Five years? Ten? Certainly no longer.
    Reaching the foot of the hill, Banouin and his pack ponies moved slowly to the ferry poles. There he dismounted. An old brass shield was hanging on a peg by the far post. Alongside it was a long wooden mallet. Banouin struck the shield twice, the sound echoing across the water. From a hut on the far side came two men. The first of them waved at the small trader. Banouin waved back.
    Slowly the two men hauled the flat-bottomed ferry across the Seidh River. As the raft reached the shore, old Calasain unhooked the front gate, lowering it to the jetty. Leaping nimbly ashore, he gave a gap-toothed grin. “Still alive, eh, foreigner? You must have been born under the lucky moon.”
    “The gods look after a prayerful man,” Banouin replied with a smile.
    Calasain’s son, Senacal, a short, burly man, also stepped ashore and moved down the line of ponies, untying the rope attached to the ninth beast. The ferry was small and would take only eight ponies per trip.
    Banouin led the first half of his train aboard, drew up the gate, and helped Calasain with the hauling rope. He did not glance back, for he knew that Senacal would be helping himself to some small item from one of the packs. Calasain would find it, as he always did, and upon Banouin’s next trip south the old man would shamefacedly return it to him.
    As they docked on the north side, Calasain’s wife, Sanepta, brought him a cup of herbal tisane sweetened with honey. Banouin thanked her. When young, he thought, she must have been a beautiful woman. But the weariness of age and a hard life had chiseled away her looks.
    Within the hour, with all his ponies on the northern shore, Banouin walked with Calasain back to the jetty. There the two men sat, sipping tisane and watching the sunlight sparkle upon the water.
    “Trouble on the trip?” asked Calasain, pointing to the wound on Banouin’s arm.
    “A little, but it lifted the monotony. What has been happening here these last eight months? Any raids?”
    The old man shrugged. “There are always raids. The young need to test their skills. Only one man died, though. Made the mistake of tackling Ruathain. Not wise these days. Not wise any day, I guess. What are you carrying?”
    “Colored cloth, pearls, bright beads, threads of silver and gold. The cloth will sell fast. It is invested with a new purple dye that does not run when wet. Plus a few spices and some ingots, iron, silver, and two of gold for Riamfada. It should all trade well.”
    Calasain sighed, and a blush darkened his leathered features. “I apologize for my son. Whatever he has taken I will find.”
    “I know. You are not responsible for him, Calasain. Some men just cannot resist stealing.”
    “It is a source of shame to me.” For several minutes theysat in companionable silence. Then Calasain spoke again. “How are things in the south?”
    “There has been a sickness among the Norvii near the coast. Fever and discoloration of the skin. Swept through them like a grass fire. One in six died.”
    “We heard of that. Did you cross the water?”
    “Yes. All the way to my homeland.”
    “They are still fighting?”
    “Not at home. But their armies have moved west. They have conquered many of the adjoining lands.”
    “Why?” asked Calasain.
    “They are building an empire.”
    “For what purpose?”
    “To rule everyone, I suppose. To become rich on the labor of others. I do not know. I think that perhaps they like war.”
    “A stupid people, then,” observed Calasain.
    “Is Ruathain reunited with Meria?” asked Banouin, seeking to change the subject.
    “No. Nearly six years now. Yet he does not put her aside. Strange man. There is no good humor in him anymore. He rarely smiles and never laughs. Men walk warily around him. He got into an argument with Nanncumal the Smith and punched him so hard that the smith’s body broke a fence rail as it fell. What went wrong with his marriage? Why