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Lynet bit her lips and tasted the salt on them. She tried to push his words away from her. She thought instead how she was thirsty already, and of the skins of small beer and watered wine they had with them. It would do no good to move away to get one, however. Bishop Austell would be right here when she returned.

“You are not alone, Lynet,” he went on quietly. “God and Holy Mary are with you. I am not your kindred, but such as I am, I am with you too. You need not carry your burdens all yourself.”

She bowed her head, more than a little ashamed at her own reticence. “I know that, Bishop. I …” Words failed her. She clutched her purse as if it were a human hand. “I cannot give over to grieving. Not yet. When we reach Camelot, when the queen is sworn to aid us, then I can mourn. Then.”

Bishop Austell nodded. “Be the soldier, Lynet, as you must. But when your war is over, God will still be here, and so will I.”

Lynet could not look at him. To do so would be to bring down tears she did not wish to shed. “Thank you.”

They sat like that for awhile, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by wind and riotous water. The understanding reached between them made their silence companionable, and Lynet was grateful for it.

Slowly, subtly, Lynet became aware of a change in the air. The chill of the wind that blew her braided hair back deepened. The sunlight tarnished as a haze covered the blue sky. The waves that smacked the bow grew irregular, now small, now great enough to splash across the rail and spatter their hems. The haze overhead sagged and thickened into mottled grey clouds.

The shipmaster gazed at the sky, tugging his mustaches and muttering to Captain Hale. Lynet could not hear what he said but she did not need to. There was no one on this ship who could not recognize the signs of an approaching storm. Hale heaved himself off the bench and made his way forward, staggering a little against the unsteady rhythm of the ship. In the time it took him to cross the deck to them, the wind sharpened. It had picked up a sour smell, and then Lynet noticed something else. The birds had gone. They sailed alone on the steepening waters. The horses whickered and shuffled, their hooves clopping and scraping on the unsteady deck, and their ears flattened back against their skulls.

Captain Hale bent close. “The master wants to take us in!” he bawled in her ear, pointing toward the misted mounds of the coast on their right hand. Lynet nodded. The thought of delay pained her, but she was in no way inclined to race this sour, darkening wind.

The master had not waited for her assent in any case. He gripped the steering oar and shouted orders to his brothers to short the sail and get on their oars, damn them! Did they want to miss the bay and face the cliffs in this?

Hale got himself back to his own bench to grasp the oar with one of the shipmaster's brothers. A wave hit the bow hard, washing over the rail and drenching Lynet's knees with a shock of cold water. The deck tilted beneath her and she gripped the gunwale hard to keep from sliding into the bishop. Another wave washed over her hand and sloshed down to add its bulk to the bilge. A horse whinnied, a high, frightened sound. The master shouted, and the oarsmen strained, and slowly the ship turned its prow toward the land.

The bay was a little ahead of them, lying low, green and deep between the teeth of the grey cliffs. The rising waves slammed themselves against the hidden rocks, creating mighty breakers that caused Lynet's stomach knot itself up. The wind rose again. Ropes, sails and deck all creaked. Another wave rolled over her arm, and yet another over her legs. The bilges sloshed back and forth, drenching her up to her shins. The prow pointed toward the space of relatively calm water between the nearest breakers.

“Pull!” shouted the master. “Pull you bastard sons! Pull if you don't want to meet the devil face to face! Pull!”

One of his brothers hung on the boom, pulling back with all his strength to keep the sail angled toward the wind, but the wind died down in an instant, making the rope go slack, catching the man off balance so he dropped to the deck. In the next breath, the wind redoubled, and the boom swung round. The mast bowed and creaked. The ship flung itself sideways so violently the rail dipped under the water. The waves rolled over them, shoving Lynet down to her neck in icy water. Surrounded by the shouts of the men and the screams of the horses, she thought for sure they must go down.

But they bobbed upright again, so that they were only shin deep in a frigid pool of seawater, ropes and flotsam. The rain started down then, driving as hard and cold as if a second ocean fell from the sky. As soon as Lynet spat the seawater from her mouth and wiped it from her eyes she saw the other thing. They were now headed straight for the breakers. The longed for bay was now too far to the right, and the hidden rocks waited ahead.

Another wave and then another pummelled them. The horses shrieked, and one tried to rear just as a great wave poured down over them. Amid a rush of harsh water and despairing, almost human cries, a rope snapped with a sound like a bone breaking, and every last one of them tumbled out into the ocean. Lynet cried out, and lurched uselessly toward the place where they had once been. One panicked brown head lifted above the waters, and then the waves took that last beast down.

The master bellowed, but there was no need. Every man threw himself against the oars, pulling back with all his might while the master fought the steering oar to bring them about. Sea room. They needed sea room. They'd missed the bay and now open water was their only hope. They might be able to ride the waters in their flimsy cask, but if they came up on the breakers they would be ripped open and flung to the merciless waters as easily as their horses had been.

“Bail, Lynet!” hollered another voice in her ear. Bishop Austell shoved a bucket into her half-frozen hands.

The touch of the sodden wood jolted Lynet into action. She crouched down until the bilge was up to her hips and frantically began to scoop water up, pouring it into the sea which only rolled it right back over the sides. The rain drummed down on her back. The wind roared as it pushed and the rocking sea hissed as it pulled, and someone was laughing at her ridiculous efforts with bucket and prayer.

Someone was laughing.

Lynet lifted her head, the bucket dangling useless in her hands. The rain smacked her face, and the bow ducked dangerously low, making her stagger although she was already on her knees. There it was again. Laughter. A peeling, gleeful sound on the roaring wind.

“Lynet!” cried the bishop.

Lynet did not heed him. She dropped the bucket, and it sank slowly. The rough motion of the boat shook her and brought waves of bilge up around her breast. Wind and laughter roared in her ears. Acting on desperate instinct, Lynet tore at her purse strings and thrust her hand into the leather pouch and grabbed onto the mirror.

“Ryol!” She cupped both hands around the mirror and bending over it to shield it from the raging waters as best she could. “Ryol! I need to see what's in this storm. Show me! Show me what's following us in the storm!”

A solid curtain of rain smacked her in the face. She teetered backward, coughing and mopping at her face, struggling to breathe. When her eyes cleared again she thought the sheets of rain had thickened, but no. She looked again.

In the grey waters, wearing cloaks of rain, swam the
morverch
. They were grey and black and white like the storm, The flash of lighting was in their eyes as they circled the ship, swimming faster than the surging waves that lifted them up so they could laugh down at the frantic mortals. They grabbed the gunwales of the boat with their long fingers and leaned on it hard, forcing the rail under the water. The master staggered at the oar, almost falling. One
morverch
heaved herself up, and snatched at him while her sisters tipped the ship still further.

Anger propelled Lynet forward. She thrust the mirror into her purse, lunged for the rail and grabbed hold of a pair of slick grey arms. Her fingers dug into the deathly cold flesh. It was too yielding, as if it kept its shape without aid of bone beneath. She hauled backward with all her might. In the space of one gasping breath, Lynet heaved the sea-woman into the sloshing bilge. The peeling laughter turned to shrieks of outrage as Lynet stood over the thing she had captured and stared.

The
morverch
were supposed to be crosses between fish and beautiful women, but this creature was neither. Face and arms and shoulders were akin to that of a human, but their color was that of an aging corpse despite the fierce life that burned behind her dark and thickly-lidded eyes. Below the curve of her ribs, she looked more like to a seal than any other thing, with a single powerful, sleekly-furred limb ending in a pair of ribbed flippers. Her human-like torso was without feature. It was the teats and slit on her seal's body that revealed her sex.

Her dark hair twined around her neck. Lynet seized on those sodden tresses, knotting them in her fingers, and dragging the sea-woman's head and shoulders out of the bilge waters.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

The creature only grinned at her, displaying a row of teeth as needle sharp as a pike's. The boat rolled and pitched as her sisters leaned on it, scrambling to reach her, screaming some word Lynet did not understand. The sour wind wavered.

“What do you want?' Lynet cried again.

A wave dug beneath the boat, lifting it up and dropping it sharply down suddenly. Men cried out. The creature squirmed in her grip, but Lynet held her fast. The master was shouting again, and the oars made the ship lurch and rock the harder. Wood splintered. It didn't matter. All that mattered was to keep her grip on this loathsome creature.

“What do you want!”

The creature reached out one corpse-cold hand and caressed Lynet's arm.

Fear and nausea swept over Lynet, even as another wave washed over the side of the boat. It knocked her flat, rolled her over, filled her lungs with water, and tore the
morverch
from her hands. Coughing and struggling against her waterlogged clothing, she pushed herself up. She found a pocket of air and breathed deep, shoving her hair out of her eyes and cursing inwardly. The
morverch
was surely gone. But no! The sea-woman had been caught by the gunwale and trapped against the wooden side of the boat rather than washed over. She squirmed and wriggled to free herself, and her sisters groped for her. Their flailing hands would find each other in a minute. The
morverch
looked up at Lynet, grinning. Her long fingered hands wound around Lynet's wrist, the promise of that touch plain. When the next wave came, when she was washed free and, the ship overturned, and Lynet would be dragged down with her.

“A rope!” shouted Lynet. “Help me!” She grasped the
morverch's
tangled hair again, hauling her away from the ship's side.

It was Austell who heard Lynet and waded toward her as the next wave crashed down. The boat rocked, its rail shoved down beneath the waters once more. One sea-woman leapt up and grabbed Bishop Austell. In an eyeblink, grey arms wrapped around his throat. In the next, he was gone as if he had never been.

“No!” screamed Lynet and her grip slackened. The morverch gave a mighty heave, throwing Lynet back and down into the bilge. A hand jerked her up again, and she saw Stef Trevailian standing over her. He pressed the rope into her hands. Screaming, cursing, more like a she-bear than a woman, Lynet reared up over the
morverch
and threw a loop of rope around her neck. Stef took up the slack, and fought his way back to the mast.

The creature's eyes grew wide with terrified understanding. She was human in this much. She needed her throat to breathe air and water. Lynet felt that breath under her hands. One more wave and they would be overturned. One more wave and they would all be dragged down as the Bishop had been. But if that wave came, the sea-woman would be hanged from the wreckage of the boat.

The look of hatred the
morverch
returned hit Lynet with the force of another wave. Lynet jerked backwards, but she kept her hands on the rope. “Let us go,” Lynet demanded. Salt water sluiced off her back and ran down her hair. “When everyone in this vessel is safe on shore, you will be released.”

“My sisters will save me.”

Lynet wiped at her face, glancing up. Not a single arm overhung the rails anymore, and in place of the wild motion of the boat was now the steadier rise and thump of natural waves. The sea-women had pulled back. Lynet could see a pair of them swimming out into the waves, lifting themselves up to try to see her, and her hold on the rope.

“Perhaps they will save you.” Lynet spat out more brackish water. The ship wallowed like a tub now. If the waters rose again, they could still be swamped. “They are swift and clever, and we are slow and dull. But will they gamble with your life to get to ours?”

Another wave, one more wave and they were all dead and cold together. Lynet wanted to pray but she had no strength to do anything but twist the rough rope tighter around the
morverch's
throat.

The wave did not come. The rope twitched and jerked. Stef knotting it tight, probably. Lynet did not dare take her attention from the sea-woman. The boat rocked underneath her. Above her, men called to one another, a bare inch from true panic. They were busy with buckets, ropes and oars. The cold bilge sloshed and splashed. Only she and the
morverch
were still.

Then, the sea-woman dipped her eyes. “Safe on shore,” she hissed. “All aboard will be brought safe to shore. It is sworn.”

“When it is done you will be free,” said Lynet, not loosening her grip in the least. “Not before.”

The
morverch
hissed, her fury plain, but Lynet did not relent. She felt the boat begin to move. No man was at his oar. They sat or knelt on the heaving deck, gripping whatever was closest, staring all about them. Their boat moved as if caught in the swiftest of river currents. No wave buffeted them. The wind had gone completely still, for all the clouds still hung black overhead and the rain pounded down as hard as hail. The only breeze came from the speed of their passage. Looking into the
morverch's
eyes, a vision overtook Lynet. Lynet saw the sea-woman's sisters surrounding the boat, pulling it forward with their hands, propelling it with their strong tails. Did they feel the rope about their own necks those women of the sea, these cold cousins of hers? In the depths of her thoughts, she was surprised at how easily she held that sodden rope, and pronounced the doom. But she would examine that later. For now, she must get her men to shore.