The Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

closer still.

    Old Gealsgiath walked slowly along the wet, pitching deck of his ship toward the two hooded and cloaked figures huddling at the starboard rail. They turned as he approached, but did not remove their hands from the railing.
    “Be-damned-to-Hell stinking weather!” the captain shouted above the moaning of the wind. The hooded figures said nothing. “Men are going down to sleep in kilpa-beds on the Great Green tonight,” Old Gealsgiath added in a conversational roar. His thick Hernystiri burr carried even above the flapping and creaking of the sails. “This be drowning weather, sure enough.”
    The heavier of the two figures pushed back his hood, eyes squinting in his pink face as the rain lashed at him.
    “Are we in danger?” Brother Cadrach shouted.
    Gealsgiath laughed, his brown face wrinkling. The sound of his mirth was sucked away by the wind. “Only if you plan to go in for swimming. We’re already near the shelter of Ansis Pelippé and harbor-mouth.”
    Cadrach turned to stare out into the swirling twilight, which was dense with rain and fog. “We’re almost there?” he shouted, turning back.
    The captain lifted a hooked finger to gesture at a deeper smear of darkness off the starboard bow. “The big black spot there, that’s Perdruin’s mountain—‘Streawé’s Steeple,’ as some do call it. We’ll be slipping past the harbor-gate before full dark. Unless the winds play tricksy. Brynioch-cursed strange weather for Yuven-month.”
    Cadrach’s small companion snuck a look at the shadow of Perdruin in the gray mist, then lowered his head again.
    “Anyhap, Father,” Gealsgiath shouted above the elements, “we dock tonight, and remain two days. I take it you’ll be leaving us, since y‘paid fare only this far. P’raps you’d like to come down dockside and join me for a drink of something—unless your faith forbids it.” The captain smirked. Anyone who spent time in taverns knew that Aedonite monks were no strangers to the pleasures of strong drink.
    Brother Cadrach stared for a moment at the heaving sails, then turned his odd, somewhat cold gaze onto the seafarer. A smile creased his round face. “Thank you, captain, but no. The boy and I will remain on board for a bit after we dock. He’s not feeling well and I’m in no hurry to rush him out. We’ll have far to walk before we reach the abbey, much of it uphill.” The small figure reached up and tugged meaningfully at Cadrach’s elbow, but the monk paid him no attention.
    Gealsgiath shrugged and pulled his shapeless cloth hat farther down on his head. “You know best, Father. You paid your way and did your work aboard—although I would say your lad did the heartiest share of it. You can leave anytime afore we hoist sail for Crannhyr.” He turned with a wave of his knob-knuckled hand and started back along the slippery boards, calling: “—but if the lad ain’t feeling well, I’d get him below soon!”
    “We were just taking some air!” Cadrach bellowed after him. “We’ll go ashore tomorrow morning, most likely! Thanks to you, good captain!”
    As Old Gealsgiath stumped away, fading into the rain and mist, Cadrach’s companion turned and confronted the monk.
    “Why are we going to stay on board?” Miriamele demanded, anger plainly displayed on her pretty, sharp-featured face. “I want to get off this ship! Every hour is important!” The rain had soaked even through her thick hood, plastering her black-dyed hair across her forehead in sodden spikes.
    “Hush, milady, hush.” This time Brother Cadrach’s smile seemed a touch more genuine. “Of course we’re going off—nearly as soon as we’ve touched the dock, don’t you worry.”
    Miriamele was angry. “Then why did you tell him... ?”
    “Because sailors talk, and I’ll wager none of them talk louder or longer than our captain. There was no way for keeping him quiet, Saint Muirfath knows. If we’d given him money to keep silent, he’d just get drunk