Page 6 of Crucible of Chaos

So much for my much-vaunted talent for observation,he thought bitterly,accounting for every element of the puzzle but the one that’s going to kill me.

Estevar had always assumed death would come in the form of a duellist cannier than himself, or perhaps one of the ghosts or demonic spirits the king had so often sent him to investigate. But to die like this, for no better reason than because he’d grown so accustomed to the comforting fit of his greatcoat that it hadn’t occurred to him until too late that the same armour that had protected him all these years had become the casket in which his drowned corpse would be interred in at the bottom of the sea?

Perhaps when the First Cantor writes the letter of condolence to my mother, she’ll be kind enough to leave out the actual manner of my death.

He was just about to give in to the frigid waters trying to seep into his lungs when his stiff leather collar dug into his throat, choking him. Something hard, like the pommel of a sword or the butt of a spear, struck him in the back– once, twice, then a third time. Some unseen enemy appeared to be intent on beating him to death before the sea could finish the job. But even as the glancing blows continued, Estevar felt his body rising up through the water. His head broke the surface, and even though his collar was tight against his neck, he was able to open his mouth wide, this time to drink in the blessed life-giving air in great gulps.

Finally, still panting and coughing, he turned his head in search of the source of this simultaneous rescue and pummelling– and bashed his cheek into something covered in matted hair. He found himself staring into the big brown eye of a mule who was frantically kicking under the surface of the water, keeping Estevar from sinking beneath.

‘Imperious!’ he cried out with joy and relief, ‘you dashing, dauntless rogue! You magnificent monarch of mounts, saint of all equines!’ A wave washed over them, setting Estevar to coughing again, but his elation could not be contained. ‘No mere beast of burden are you, my friend.’ He reached a hand around to grab hold of Imperious’ neck so that the mule could let go of his collar and continue to kick against the ocean’s currents. ‘There is many a tale in our Order of legendary steeds of such indomitable will and superlative intellect that they were namedGreathorses. To this day every magistrate who dons the mantle dreams of riding such a miraculous creature, but to hells with them, I say! I name you, good Imperious,nobleImperious, first of the Greatmules!’

Estevar was so overcome with gratitude and relief that he had to wipe the welling tears from his eyes. Only then did he spot the prow of a small rowboat some twenty feet ahead, with a hooded figure paddling towards them.

‘Do you see that, Imperious? One of the monks has come to liberate us from this miserably wet hell! Not long now, my friend, not long at—’

The wave that crashed into them wasn’t nearly as strong as the one that had pulled them from the causeway in the first place, but it proved just as deadly, sweeping man and mule backwards, away from the boat. Estevar felt something bash against his shoulder. Too late, he saw the rocks jutting out of the water– the sharp edges would have torn him to shreds, were it not for the sturdy leather of his greatcoat.

Imperious, however, was not so lucky.

Estevar saw the red gash on the poor beast’s head, the blood already seeping into those big brown eyes. Imperious appeared stupefied by the stunning blow from the rocks– then a current caught hold of the mule and began drawing him further out to sea.

‘No!’ Estevar cried, but separated from the animal’s prodigious strength, he was being pulled below once again– until a hand reached down to grab hold of his arm and yanked him up until his armpit was over the edge of the rowboat.

‘Quickly now,’ his rescuer commanded. Estevar half expected this might be the red-haired woman he’d spotted earlier, but the figure in the grey hood was a man twice her size. ‘The storm’s getting worse,’ he said, as if this were Estevar’s fault. ‘This boat wasn’t made for such weather.’

Estevar hauled himself into the rowboat, then immediately got to his knees and gazed out at the water in search of Imperious.

‘There!’ he shouted, spotting the mule’s bleeding head a dozen yards away. ‘Row that way!’

But the little boat began drifting backwards, towards the island, not towards the struggling mule. Estevar’s rescuer was taking him to shore.

‘No, damn you!’ he cried, turning on the man. He could see now the sturdy face beneath the grey hood, neither young nor old, but weathered by hard living and unyielding in the face of his passenger’s distress. ‘That way!’ Estevar pleaded, thrusting an arm to where poor Imperious fought with ever-feebler kicks to reach the boat.

The wind pulled the hood away from the man’s head, revealing the shorn scalp. ‘The currents are too strong, you fat fool!’ the monk told him. ‘I won’t risk—’ The monk quieted when he felt the tip of Estevar’s rapier at his throat.

‘I am hesitant to so poorly reward one who braved storm and sea to rescue me, but nor will I abandon the comrade who has saved me once already!’

‘Has the storm taken your wits?’ the monk demanded, wary of the blade at his neck. ‘That’s not some comrade-in-arms you ask me to risk my life for, it’s a bloody mule!’

‘Then it is well that I am not asking,’ Estevar told him. ‘Now row, damn you, or by every saint and god to ever curse this land, I will see both of us drowned beneath the waves where our deaths will only be ennobled by sharing them with that mule!’

‘Madman,’ the monk spat, but he began rowing with strong, clean strokes through the swells to where Imperious was losing his battle against the waves.

Estevar removed his rapier from the man’s neck, meaning to slide it back in its scabbard, but the hilt slipped from his shaking fingers and the weapon fell clattering to the bottom of the little rowboat. He fumbled with his buttons, finally sliding the coat off his shoulders, pulled off his boots, and picked up the free end of a rope tied to the prow and coiled under the seat. Tying it around himself, he told the monk, ‘If you wish to abandon me to the depths, all you need do is sever the rope.’

Estevar didn’t wait for a reply but plunged into the water and swam after his mule.

CHAPTER 5

A DUBIOUS RESCUE

Estevar fought the waves as he swam for Imperious, frantically trying to keep his head above the water. Lacking the insulating warmth of his coat, the cold was burrowing beneath his flesh all the way to the bone, numbing extremities even as it sapped the last of the strength from his limbs.

At least the coat isn’t dragging me down to the bottom of the sea any more, Estevar thought, forcing his right arm out of the water, reaching as far as he was able and pulling himself forward, then repeating the clumsy stroke with his left arm. He could only hope that his legs were still kicking beneath the surface; he’d lost the feeling in them already. All the while, he sought out Imperious, but the salt spray stung his eyes so badly that he couldn’t keep them open for more than a second at a time.

Then he heard it: the braying of a mule, and nearby, too.

‘I come, my friend—’

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