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The creak of wagon wheels in the quietness alerted him to Ronal's return. The shorter man hopped down and threw back a tarp, exposing the small rowboat he'd appropriated. "I don't feel good about stealing from honest, hard-working folks," he grumbled as the two men together seized hold of the boat.
"Perhaps you'll feel better about it when someone steals your wagon and team," Spyder commented. "We'll have to leave them here."
Ronal frowned as they lifted the boat and carried it to the water. "And you're a right prick for mentioning it."
Again there came the feline cry that Spyder had heard earlier. Ronal straightened instantly. His startled eyes widened as he whirled and searched the darkness, and he gripped an oar like a club. "That came from behind us!"
Spyder gazed toward the sky again. The full moon hung directly overhead. Yet, there was a thin veil of clouds gathering over the sea, a moon-tinged grayness that had come up without warning out of nowhere. "Get in the boat," Spyder insisted. Climbing in first, he settled himself in the bow with his eyes fixed on the far side of the White Foal.
Ronal pushed off from the bank and seated himself in the middle of the boat. Quickly, he positioned the oars in the oar-locks and dipped them into the water.
A soft splash sounded off to their right. Ronal froze at the oars to stare. Spyder calmly turned his head for a moment. "You're nervous tonight," he said.
Ronal resumed rowing. "Swamps and witches," he muttered. "Witches and swamps. Why would I be nervous? This isn't your usual business, my friend. I've helped you count army divisions in secret, intercepted correspondence for you, watched you seduce information from the wives of generals. This is different."
Under Ronal's determined strokes they moved swiftly across the White Foal. Spyder remained silent, his jaw grim, his teeth clenched. All that Ronal said was true. This was not his usual business. This was far more dangerous, perhaps beyond his talents. Ronal was not the only nervous man under the moonlight. He felt the slight breeze upon his face like an evil breath. He listened to the water dripping from the oars, to the barely audible sound of something swimming off to the right just beyond the range of his vision. He smelled the industry of Sanctuary behind him and the rot of the swamp ahead.
And crawling at the edge of his senses, something more. Already in the air, the taint of Nisi witchcraft.
"When you get to the far side, row northward against the flow. Look for a tributary or a place wide enough to allow a ship to pass or to hide." He gripped the side of the boat until his knuckles cracked with strain and continued in a low voice. "We must stop them, Ronal. We don't dare fail."
Ronal shrugged as he rowed and answered with faint bravado. "It's only a ring," he said. "We break up their nasty little party and snatch the trinket, hopefully killing a few of the bastards as we go."
As they neared the western bank, Ronal turned the boat. Though the river lacked its former power, still there was a current, and his muscles bulged as he worked the oars. "There's more you haven't told me, though," he whispered. "Something worries you."
After a hesitation, Spyder nodded. "The ring is forged from minerals distilled from the sea, but it must also be tempered in fire." He hesitated again. "In the fire of a burning boy with sorcerous blood in his veins." He paused to listen again for the swimming sound that had followed them across the river. He could no longer hear it. "That sacrifice performed under a certain rare lunar eclipse on the ground where the globes were destroyed will complete their ritual."
"I'm a fool for misjudging you," Ronal said, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his friend. "It's not this bunch of mumblers and cauldron-stirrers that have you tied in knots. It's the boy, isn't it? They've got him already, and you know him."
"I don't know him, but his name is Lisoh," Spyder said. "He's fifteen summers old, and he's Aaliyah's brother. He was on a spirit-quest, something his people call Vahana meh aaha diano. It's a kind of initiation into adulthood. But he wandered much too far, and when he didn't return, Aaliyah went looking for him. I found her on the Nis border where I originally tried to stop this coven—and failed."
And you will fail again, Regan Vigeles called Spyder, just as you did then.
Ronal stopped rowing and looked nervously toward the shore. "That wasn't me," he whispered.
The jungle cat's cry sounded again, a shrill, high-pitched roar that chilled the blood.
From the east a sudden wind rose. It shook the leaves and the moss-dripping branches, shivered the reeds, and rippled across the water. The rowboat pitched and rocked. Spyder gripped both sides of the small craft and fought to keep it from overturning while Ronal struggled to do the same with the oars. "We're go
But just as suddenly as the wind arose it ceased, and the river became calm once again. Spyder crouched in the bow. "You're not in Nis now, Rime! Your powers are weak here!"
Laughter soared on the night, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and when it faded, the throb of coven drums replaced it, an ominous pulsing beat that came from deep within the Swamp of Night Secrets.
Ronal leaned on the oars, his powerful muscles visibly knotted, his face pale. "There once was a woman from Nis," he muttered, pausing to chew his lip, "who went into the forest to piss. Her soft little splash turned a boulder to ash, and lizards crawled out of her…"
The wind ripped through the swamp and over the river again, and Rime's voice took form on it. Nasty little man, I heard that! The rowboat rocked and bounced precariously on huge moonlit swells. Yet, the river seemed darker, the night less bright.
Spyder twisted around in the boat and shot a glance skyward. "The moon!" he shouted. "It's begun!"
The smallest sliver of the left side of the moon was gone. A faint arc of redness, like a trickle of blood, marked the slowly advancing edge of the black, light-devouring shadow that would soon consume its radiance entirely. Somewhere in the swamp, the coven drums beat louder even as the wind stilled once more.
"Head for that sound!" Spyder ordered.
"I'd rather head for the Unicorn," Ronal shot back, "and for a couple of beers—I'd even buy!" But he angled the boat out of the main stream and into the reeds. "But no, before we ever find the witches we're going to wind up cat food."
A swarm of gnats, unseeable in the darkness, immediately surrounded them. Spyder pulled up his hood and covered his mouth and nose with one hand. Ronal, working the oars, cursed and sputtered, defenseless under the sudden onslaught. Then they were through whatever nest or insect home their passage had disturbed.
Spyder turned one shoulder toward his old friend. "Did you say gnat food?"
"No jokes from the bow," Ronal grumbled. "You're only allowed to brood and look ominous under your big black cloak."
"Be glad they were gnats," Spyder answered, "and not bees."
Rime's laughter touched their minds again, not borne on a wind this time, but on a malevolent buzzing.
Ronal ceased rowing and looked up in horrible expectation. "I think I mis-remembered the limerick!" he hissed. "They weren't lizards that crawled out of her orifice. They were… ! Oh no!" Leaving the oars to rattle in their oarlocks, he flung himself over the side.
The bees came like a black wave over the tops of the reeds and through the tall river grasses. Clutching both sides of the rowboat to steady it, Spyder crouched down. He was not only cloaked and hooded, but also gloved. Still, he felt the weight of the creatures striking at his back, at his arms, trying to sting him. In only moments, hood or no hood, they would find his face and eyes.