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 Swim for the main entrance!
Though water was able to escape from the few open first-floor windows, these were already submerged
and proved themselves unequal to the task of coping with the rising flood. Monks and acolytes bobbed
helplessly in the waves. Off to the rear of the hall, above the now sunken master fireplace, a miniature
squall was brewing. Looking down into the water, Simna thought he saw something sleek and muscular
pass beneath his body. Behind and to the right of him, a flailing servitor, having divested himself of his
weapons and armor, suddenly threw both hands in the air. Shrieking, he disappeared beneath the chop,
dragged down by something that should not have been living so many hundreds of leagues from the sea,
should not have been swimming free and unfettered in the center of the rectory of right thinking.
Following close behind the swordsman, the black litah paddled strongly through the salt-flecked rollers.
Turning onto his back while still making for the almost entirely submerged main door, Simna yelled to his
limp friend.
 Enough, bruther! You ve made your point, whatever it was. Turn it off, make it stop!
Words drifted back to him, across the water and through the black mane. It was definitely Ehomba s
voice, but muted, not as if from sleep but from concentration. Concentration that had led not only to a
realization more profound than the herdsman could have envisioned, but to one from which he seemed
unable to liberate himself.
 Cannot ... must think only ... of the sea. Keep thinking ... straight. Keep thinking ... myself.
 No, not anymore! The swordsman spat out a mouthful of salt water. It tasted exactly like the sea, even
down to the tiny fragments of sandy grit that peppered his tongue.  You ve done enough! Around them
the residents of the rectory screamed and cried out, kicked and flailed as they fought to keep their heads
above water. Not all were good swimmers. At that moment the hall and the rest of the structure were
filled not with right thinking or wrong thinking, but only with thoughts of survival.
 Ow! By Gelujan, what ... ? Turning in the water, Simna saw that he had bumped his head against the
heavy wooden double door that sealed the main entrance to the rectory. Only a small portion of it
remained above the rising waters. Opening it was out of the question. Not only would it have to be
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opened inward, against the tremendous pressure of the water, but the twin iron handles now lay many
feet below his rapidly bicycling legs.
Something gripped his shoulder and he let out a small yelp of his own as he whirled around to confront it.
When he saw that it was only Ehomba, awakened at last from his daze, he did not know whether to cry
out with relief or deal his revived friend a sharp blow to the face. In any event, the uneasy waters in which
they found themselves floating would have made it impossible to take accurate aim.
 What now, humble herdsman? Can you make the water go away?
 Hardly, Ehomba replied in a voice only slightly louder than his usual soft monotone.  Because I do not
know how I made it come here. Treading water, he scanned their surroundings.  We might find a
second-story window to swim through, but that would mean spilling out onto the streets below and
risking a dangerous drop. He glanced down at his submerged feet.  How long can you hold your
breath?
 Hold my ... ? Simna pondered the question and its implications.  You re thinking of diving to the
bottom and swimming out one of the first-floor windows?
The herdsman shook his head. For someone who spent so much of his life tending to land animals, the
swordsman mused, Ehomba bobbed in the water as comfortably and effortlessly as a cork.
 No. We might not locate one in time, or we might find ourselves caught up and trapped among the
heavy furniture or side passageways below. We must go out the front way. He indicated the upper
reaches of the two-story-high main door.  Through this.
 Hoy? How much of your mind did you leave in that little room, bruther? Or are your thoughts still
tainted by that virulent pinkness?
Ehomba did not reply. Instead, he turned in the water to face the methodically paddling feline.  Can you
do it?
The big cat considered briefly, then nodded. With his great mane plastered like black seaweed to his
skull and neck, he managed the difficult feat of looking only slightly less lordly even though sopping wet.
Wordlessly, he dipped his head and dove, the thick black tuft at the end of his tail pointing the way
downward like an arrow aimed in reverse. Ehomba followed, arching his back and spearing beneath the
surface like a sounding porpoise. With a last mumbled curse Simna ibn Sind pinched his nose shut and
initiated a far less elegant and accomplished descent.
The ocean water itself was clean and unsullied, but since only limited light penetrated the rectory,
underwater viewing of any kind was difficult. Visibility was limited to a few feet. Still, while Simna s
stinging eyes could not locate Ehomba, they had no trouble picking out the massive, hulking shape of the
litah. As he held his position, his cheeks bulging and the pack on his back threatening to float off his
shoulders, the big cat sank the massive curving claws on its forefeet into the secondary human-sized entry
door that was imbedded in the much larger, formal gateway. Then it did the same with its hind feet and
began to kick and claw.
Though working underwater reduced the litah s purchase and slowed its kicks, shredded wood quickly
began to fill the gloom around them, drifting away and up toward the surface. A burst of daylight
suddenly pierced the damp gloom, then another, and another. Simna felt unseen suction beginning to pull
him forward. Kicking hard and pushing with his hands, he held his submerged position. His heart and
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lungs pounded against his chest, threatening to burst. He couldn t even try to harangue Ehomba into
performing some of the magic the herdsman insisted he had not mastered. If something didn t happen
very soon, the swordsman knew his straining, aching lungs were going to force him back to the
constricted, wave-tossed surface.
Something did.
Beneath the constant attack of Ahlitah s claws, the waterlogged wood of the secondary door not only
gave way but collapsed completely. Simna felt himself sucked irresistibly forward. Flailing madly with
hands and feet, he tried to maintain some semblance of control over his speedy exodus to no avail. His
right arm struck the doorjamb as he was wrenched through and a dull pain raced up his shoulder.
Then he was coughing and sputtering in bright sunlight as he bobbed to the surface. After making sure
that his sword and pack had come through with him, he looked around for his companions.
Ehomba was rising and falling in the current like a long uprooted log. He waved and shouted back to
Simna. The swordsman, he noted, was far more agile and confident on land than he was in the water,
even though the torrent was slowing as it spread out on the rectory square. Just ahead of him, Ahlitah
was already scrabbling for a foothold on the paving stones.
Behind them, seawater continued to gush from the shattered doorway as if from an open faucet.
Furniture, pieces of coving ripped from floors, sodden carpets, utensils, and the occasional gasping [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]