Free The Steerswoman's Road by Rosemary Kirstein

song, most
of the words of which seemed to have escaped him. He improvised.
    The barge was crowded with crates. Additionally, there were
three goats and two wooden cages of ducks. The ducks showed great interest in
the proceedings, extending their necks out through the slats as far as
possible. The cages, abristle with yellow beaks, emitted a constant natter of
avian complaint.
    The barge rode low on the water. Where Rowan and Bel sat in
the gunwales, Rowan brooding, Bel looking at the surroundings, the calm surface
of the water was a handsbreadth away from swamping aboard. Bel leaned over and
trailed one hand into the cold, starlit darkness. Then she pulled it out and
tasted. “I heard it was salt,” she said to Rowan. Then she affected Reeder’s
condescending tone. “Tell me, lady, why is the sea salt?”
    The Outskirter seemed remarkably resilient; for her own
part, Rowan found it impossible to take her mind off the disaster they were
leaving behind. “No one knows,” she answered, half-indifferently.
    “Ha?” Bel returned to her own voice. “I can tell you. A
wizard had a magical box that delivered him salt whenever he called for it. But
while he was out, his apprentice tried to impress some friends by demonstrating
its magic. The apprentice forgot the words that halted the spell, and the box
kept spewing out salt, until the whole house was filled. In desperation, the
friends dragged the box to a cliff and tossed it into the sea. And there it
lies, to this day.”
    Rowan looked at her friend and smiled despite herself. “A
possible explanation.”
    Eventually the barge sidled up to the ship. Cables were
tossed down for the cargo. Meanwhile, the returning sailors dragged themselves
wearily up rope ladders.
    Rowan noticed Bel watching the technique with a grim studiousness
and realized that the barbarian had no intention of letting unfamiliarity slow
her down again. When her turn came, Bel pulled herself up carefully, clearly
considering every step. Rowan followed close behind, with complete ease,
keeping an eye on her friend. At one point, a small swell caused the ship to
tilt; for a moment, the ladder swung away to one side, hanging unsupported save
at the top. Bel looked up in startlement, then down at Rowan and the dark
water, then at the ladder itself. Recognizing her safety, she laughed in
delight, then ascended faster.
    Morgan was at the railing, shouting questions to the
arriving crew. “What’s the problem ashore?”
    Reaching the top, Rowan answered him herself. “Dragonfire.”
    “What!”
    “Saranna’s Inn was attacked by nestlings. It’s destroyed.”
    He leaned farther past the rail’s edge, gazing out at the
shore. A reddish orange glow marked the former location of the inn. “Gods
below,” he muttered. He turned away, then came storming back. “It’s ridiculous,
the dragons haven’t got out of hand for years. And the breeding grounds aren’t
even near there. Where was Jannik, fast asleep? Are those fools ashore afraid
to wake a wizard?” He cursed again, viciously.
    “He came,” a crew member answered. “A bit too late, but he
came.”
    A voice spoke from behind Rowan. “You look as though you
were in it yourselves.” She turned and found the officer they had seen at the
Tea Shop with Morgan. “Tyson, ship’s navigator,” he introduced himself. “We’ll
talk later.” It was customary for any sea-traveling steers-woman to consult
with the navigator, to update the ship’s charts. “But, you’re not injured?”
    “No.” She brushed her hair away from her forehead. The hand
came back sooty. “Singed, perhaps.”
    Bel spoke up. “But we lost our possessions in the fire. Our
traveling packs. We have our clothes and my sword, that’s all.”
    “I’ll have the provisions I brought for the voyage,” Rowan
pointed out. “I arranged yesterday for a crate that I left at the cargo docks.”
Tyson looked distressed. “But your notes and your charts?”
    “All gone.”
    His