The Iron Palace by Morgan Howell Page A

come from my lips, however this turns out.”
    Roarc gave the healwife her fee, then took her home. Rappali kept a vigil over her friend. The fiery red that marked much of Yim’s throat remained, but it ceased spreading. Rappali was pleased by this until she noticed that Yim’s color was fading also. Her lips turned almost white, and her skin took on a bluish pallor. Rappali would have thought that Yim had died except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. For a long while, Rappali simply watched Yim breathe. When she became convinced that her friend wasn’t about to expire, she set about making fish broth for her.
    It was dusk when Roarc returned home to find his wife still tending Yim, who lay in a corner upon a makeshift bed of cut reeds. “Too dark ta check tha traps,” he grumbled. “A whole day gone ta waste.” He walked over to look at Yim. “She looks dead.”
    “She’s not.”
    “Well, not yet. Is Telk home?”
    “Nay,” said Rappali. “Roarc, do ya think—think that whoever did this ta Yim also hurt our boy?”
    “Nay, he’s with some lass,” replied Roarc without conviction.
    “ ’Twould be tha first time.”
    “Then mayhap he’s with Froan, larking about.”
    Though Rappali assumed that Roarc meant to comfort her, his words had the opposite effect. She had been wondering why Froan hadn’t shown up, for she was certain that he would have missed his mother by then.
Yim never
leaves him for long
, Rappali thought.
She’s so devoted ta him. Too devoted, mayhap
. Rappali worried that Froan’s absence was an ominous sign. She feared that her husband might be right; Telk could very well be with Froan. If he was, she doubted their activities would be described as “larking.” She eyed the stitched-up gash across Yim’s throat, increasingly convinced that it was connected with Telk’s disappearance.

FOURTEEN
    F ROAN AND Telk’s second day upon the river had been much like their first, and the third day followed the pattern of the previous two. The tiny craft remained a captive of the current, which pulled it ever farther from the shore. They were ignored by the other boats they spotted. The river was so broad that the boats often appeared as mere specks on the water. The only noticeable changes occurred in the surrounding landscape. The fens still covered the southern shore, but no hites could be seen in the seemingly endless expanse of reeds.
    To the north, islands began to appear. They reminded Froan of hites in the way they jutted from the water. As the day progressed, they became more numerous. Most were small and rocky, but some were larger. Those were often wooded. Froan sometimes spotted dwellings on their shores. Occasionally, the boat drifted quite close to an island; but being unable to steer, they could only gaze at it as they glided by.
    They still had an ample supply of cheese and smokedgoat, but Froan’s concern over the boat riding low in the water had been valid. Continuous submersion in a fast-moving current was waterlogging the reeds, and the craft was becoming less buoyant. Froan feared that in a day or two they would be wallowing in the river. Telk seemed oblivious of the threat as he stared listlessly at the passing scenery and boats.
    Toward the end of the third day, a low, sleek boat passed them. It had a mast, but its sail was furled and oars moved the craft against the current. Froan waved to it, as he had waved to all the other boats. At first, there was no response. Then the boat slowed and a man climbed over its side into a rowboat in tow. He untied it and rowed toward Froan and Telk.
    As the stranger approached, Froan became wary. He slid the dagger tucked in his waistband toward his rear so his goatskin cloak hid it. Then he whispered to Telk, telling him to have his sword ready. Showing some animation at last, Telk grabbed his sword and laid it across his lap, hilt in hand. Then the pair anxiously waited as the man approached. He was short but burly, with a