Free The Shaman by Christopher Stasheff Page B

a
bad leg as Racol could with a good one, which of course led to a race, and when
he lost, Lucoyo could always protest that he would win the rematch when his leg
recovered. Ohaern pointed out that perhaps he should not have picked out the
fastest runner among the Biriae, but Lucoyo answered that there was no honor in
challenging any but the best. “True,”
    Ohaern
answered, suddenly somber. “It is therefore that we go against Byleo.”
    Lucoyo
was shocked to find himself alarmed at the leader’s gloom and determined once
more to banish it. “No,” he said. “It is therefore that Byleo sent troops
against the Biriae.”
    Ohaern
stared, astonished, then joined in the chorus of laughter and slapped Lucoyo on
the back again. He forgot to be gentle this time, but he caught the half-elf
before he hit the ground.
    So,
what with one thing and another, Lucoyo was feeling quite a part of the band,
and very much the honorary Biri, by the time they came to the river.

Chapter 6
    Lucoyo
looked out over the River Segway and could barely see the opposite shore. “How
do we cross?”
    “We
do not.” Ohaern nodded at Glabur and Dalvan, who had taken huge leather bundles
out of their packs—indeed, the packs could have held very little else. They
unfolded the leather, while other men prowled the small stand of trees on the
banks, cutting down saplings and pruning limbs off larger trees. As Lucoyo watched
in astonishment, they bent the saplings, lashed them together, bound others
around the top, then stretched the leather over them.
    “Skin
baskets!” the half-elf cried. “ Huge skin baskets! But what is their
purpose?”
    “They
are boats,” Ohaern said, grinning. “We shall ride them on the water.”
    Lucoyo
stared up at him, appalled, then whipped about to stare at the water, swiveled
to gape at the boats, then the river again. Finally, he backed away, shaking
his head. “No, never! They will turn over! The water-spirits shall drag us
under! We shall all drown!”
    Several
of the Biriae laughed aloud, and Lucoyo swung about, staring, then turned to
Ohaern, glowering. “It is a prank! It is all a ruse, to see me tremble!”
    “It
is not a ruse,” Ohaern told him, grinning, “but your panic is amusing—the more
so since each of us felt it the first time we rode in a coracle. No, you shall
not drown, Lucoyo— and if you keep your seat, making no sudden movements,
neither shall we capsize. We shall ride all the way to Byleo in these boats, or
nearly—and you shall find the trip less tiring and far quicker than it would
have been otherwise.”
    He
spoke truly. Lucoyo managed to keep up a brave front— though he was jelly
inside—as he took his place in the center of one of the boats. Four other men
climbed in beside him and pushed off from the shore with their staves—slotted
spear shafts into which they had bound broad wooden blades. With these paddles
they guided the rocking boat out into the middle of the river.
    Lucoyo
was terrified. He had seen bodies of water this size before, had even bathed in
them, near the shore, but had never been in a boat of any kind, not even a
raft. He sat rigid, eyes huge, expecting any minute that the boat would roll
over, that he would feel the bloated hands of drowned men in his hair, that he
would be dragged down to the bottom, to become like them ...
    But
the boats did not capsize, and after a while Lucoyo became used to the rocking,
and realized that the coracle would roll only so far in one direction, then
just so far in another— provided his companions plied their paddles well. But
they did, and he began to loosen a little, becoming accustomed to the rocking,
no longer feeling it was dangerous. By sunset he had almost relaxed, and when
they stepped ashore to camp for the night, he was surprised to find that solid
ground felt unnatural.
    That
was the only night they camped, though. The next day, a man in one of the
left-hand boats gave a shout, pointing, and they all looked to