Free Upland Outlaws by Dave Duncan Page A

lost in thought again. The general glum silence in the room suggested that no one had found a solution to the problem yet. Ylo went out on deck and crunched across the snowy planks to where the big jotunn heifer was holding the wheel. The wind blowing over Cenmere was colder than a snake’s smile. An inland sea more than a hundred leagues long could raise fair waves when it wanted to. It wasn’t trying very hard at the moment, but imps were never good sailors and Ylo was astonished at his feeling of well-being. Sorcery, likely.
    The water was the exact color of lead coffins; the clouds hung low overhead like lids. Snow had stopped falling, but there was enough still up there to bury this unpropitious ferryboat. The horizon all around was hazy, and blank-not a sail, not a trace of land. Ylo’s landlubber impish soul cringed in horror at the sight of so much water.
    The big woman did not look as weary as she should if she had been driving this hulk all night. He hated women bigger than himself, and he wanted nothing to do with sorceresses.
    “I was sent to relieve you,” he said.
    “May the Gods preserve us, then. Do you know how a compass works?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wonderful. Hold the wheel steady and try to keep that red bit exactly where it is now.”
    “Sounds easy.”
    “But you won’t find it so.” She crinkled the weatherbeaten wrinkles around her ugly pale eyes, and walked away.
    The wood was cold. In a few minutes his fingers were frozen and he was chilled to the bone. The compass needle refused to stay where he wanted; when he looked back he saw the wake was about as curly as his hair. He found that evidence of his own incompetence very irritating, and knowing he could do no better even more so.
    How could Shandie fight an army of sorcerers? How could a deposed imperor ever regain his throne against those odds? If anyone in that deckhouse had found a convincing answer, they would not all have been looking so black. Always Shandie had been an inspiring leader, and a generous one, but a sensible man did not stay with a doomed cause. Contrariwise, a band of outlaws did not tolerate potential traitors. Common sense whispered that Ylo’s best course of action was to swear eternal loyalty until he reached shore-and then just vanish. He would never be Duke of Rivermead now. A wealthy, buxom widow was his only hope.
    But there was one interesting advantage to the sudden change in his fortunes. The preflecting pool’s prophecy seemed a lot more believable since yesterday. He had never quite believed that he would ever find means to seduce an impress. Royal ladies were always very carefully guarded. His chances were much better now.
    Boots crunched on the snow, and the king of Krasnegar arrived with a rush. He grabbed the wheel, began turning it. “Easy, there!” he said, laughing as if he were calming a horse. “You almost had her in irons, Admiral!” He had remarkably callused hands for a king.
    “I did what she said!” Ylo protested, stepping back and letting the faun do as he pleased with the wheel, as he obviously knew what he was about.
    “The wind shifted on you! And we need to make a course change, anyway. ” He was taller than Ylo, this so-unlikely faun, and he had very penetrating gray eyes. “Stick around a minute. I need to ask you something.”
    “Me, your Majesty?”
    “We’ve been establishing motives,” the king said. He had the hulk’s sharp end pointed the way he wanted it now, but he didn’t give the wheel back to Ylo. Apparently he was enjoying himself. “In effect we’re outlaws, you know. Even the imperor is! So the question everyone must answer is: Do you want to stay with the team, or do you want out? “
    Ylo inspected his surroundings. “And walk?” A couple of sails had appeared on the western skyline.
    The faun chuckled contentedly. His doublet and hose looked no warmer than Ylo’s, he wore no cloak or hat. Jotunn blood in him, obviously. “No, we can hail a boat and