David Brin - The Practice Effect

The thief obeyed at once, his knife slashing the leather harness. Linnora wrapped her klasmodion in her cloak and nodded that she was ready.

Dennis tried to angle their descent parallel to the docks. The water swept past only two meters below, a blur under their feet.

“Now! Let go!”

Linnora gave Dennis a quick smile, then she and Arth jumped. The glider jounced and Dennis fought with it. It had been practiced to carry more weight, and the center of mass had shifted.

Centroid, Dennis reminded himself as he pushed backward. Where’s your centroid now? He heard two splashes behind him, then he was busy trying to negotiate his own landing.

It was too late to jump. He had to ride it out. He fumbled with his own strap and got it loose just as his feet began dragging through the water.

As he raised his legs he realized the pixolet was gone. Somehow it didn’t surprise him at all.

Suddenly his knees were plowing furrows in the river. The glider settled around him as the water pulled him into a wet embrace.

“Dennizz!”

Arth rowed as quietly as he could. He had muffled the oars of the skiff they had stolen. Even so, he hated having to row out into the open river. Search parties had already sallied forth from the castle—horsemen and infantry patrols would soon be scouring the countryside.

“Can you see him?”

Linnora peered into the darkness. “Not yet. But he must be out this way! Keep rowing!”

Her clothes were plastered to her body, and the valley winds blew along the water. But her only thoughts were on the river and her rescuer.

“Wizard!” she called. “Are you out there? Wizard! Answer me!”

There was only the soft squeaking of the oars and, in the distance, the shouts of the Baron’s troops.

Arth rowed.

Linnora’s voice cracked. “Dennis Nuel! You cannot die! Guide us to you!”

They paused to listen, barely breathing. Then out of the darkness came a faint sound. “That way!” She grabbed Arth’s shoulder and pointed. He grunted and pulled at the oars.

“Dennis!” she cried. She heard faint coughing somewhere ahead. Then a rough voice called back.

“The terrestrial has sblashed dowd… fortunately, my ship floats. Are you guys the local Coast Guard?”

Linnora sighed. She didn’t understand more than a word or two of what he had said, but that was all right. Wizards were supposed to be inscrutable.

“I’b gonna have to find a way to phode hobe,” the voice in the darkness muttered. Then a loud sneeze echoed over the water.

Dennis clutched the floating frame. A great bubble of air kept the glider afloat, though it was leaking out quickly. Onshore the search parties were getting closer. Against the distant flicker of lanterns he finally made out the moving shadow of the rowboat.

When Arth pulled up alongside all he could see of the little thief was his grin. But he couldn’t mistake Linnora’s outline as she bent to reach for his hand. In spite of his situation, Dennis had to appreciate what the water had done to her gown.

He shivered as he clambered into the boat. She wrapped some sailcloth around him. But as Arth moved back to the oars, Dennis stopped him.

“Let’s try to salvage the glider,” he said, trying to overcome his stopped-up sinuses. “It’d be best if they wered’t completely sure how we got away. I’d rather they suspected it was magic.”

Linnora smiled. Her hand was on his arm.

“You have an amazing way with words, Dennis Nuel. Who in the world would think that what we have just been through was anything but magic?”

The farm had begun to deteriorate.

From the open gate Dennis looked down the walk to Stivyung Sigel’s house. The home that had looked so comfortably lived-in a couple of months back now had the appearance of a place long abandoned to the elements.

“I think the coast is clear,” he told the others. He helped Linnora lean against the fence post so she could take her arm off of his shoulder. The girl smiled bravely, but Dennis could tell she was almost done in.

He motioned for Arth to keep watch, then hurried across the yard to look into the house through one of the yellowing windowpanes.

Dust had settled over everything. The fine old furniture within had begun to take on a rough-edged look. The decay was sad, but it meant the farm was deserted. The soldiers combing the countryside for them hadn’t set up an outpost here.

He returned to the gate and helped Linnora while Arth carried the disassembled glider. Together they slumped exhausted on the steps of the house. For a while the only sound other than their breathing was the hum of the insects.

The last time Dennis had sat on this porch, he had been bemused by a row of tools that seemed partly out of Buck Rogers and partly out of the late Stone Age, Now Dennis saw that more than half of the implements were missing from the rack by the door… the better half, he noted. The wonderful tools that Stivyung Sigei had practiced to perfection were probably with young Tomosh at his aunt’s and uncle’s, along with the Sigels’ better household possessions.

The remaining tools on the rack had been left because they couldn’t be kept employed. Most had begun to look like props from a low-budget Hollywood caveman feature.

Arth lay back on the porch, hands clasped across his chest, snoring.

Linnora painfully removed her shoes. In spite of the intense practice of the past two days, they still weren’t appropriate for rough country. She had picked up several terrible blisters, and for the last day she had been limping on a twisted ankle. She had to be in great pain, but she never mentioned it to either of her companions.

Dennis heavily got up to his feet. He shuffled around the corner of the house to the well, and dropped the bucket in. There was a delayed splash. He pulled the bucket out, untied the cinch, and carried it, sloshing and leaking, back to the porch.

Arth roused himself long enough to take a deep drink, then sagged back again. Linnora drank sparingly, but dampened her kerchief and dabbed at the dust streaks on her face.

As gently as he could, Dennis bathed her feet to wipe away the dried blood. She winced but did not let out a sound. When he finished and sat down next to her on the dusty porch, Linnora rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

They had been dodging patrols for almost three days, eating small birds Dennis brought down with a makeshift sling, and fish scooped from small streams by Linnora’s quick hands. Twice they had almost been spotted—by men on horseback one time, and again by a swift, nearly silent glider. The Baron, or his regent, certainly had the countryside in an uproar looking for them.

Linnora nestled comfortably below his chin. Dennis breathed in the sweet aroma of her hair, knotted as it was from three days in the wilderness. For a short time they were at peace.

“We can’t stay here, Dennizz.” Arth spoke without moving or opening his eyes.

On the evening of the escape, he had wanted to hang around the outskirts of Zuslik until it was safe to sneak back into town. Arth wasn’t comfortable out in the open. But the fuss that was being raised and the thoroughness of the search had persuaded him at last to go along with Dennis and Linnora—to try for the land of the L’Toff.

“I know we can’t, Arth. I’m sure the Baron’s men have been here already. And they’ll be back.

“But Linnora’s feet are bleeding, and her ankle’s swollen. We had to go somewhere for her to rest up, and this was the only place I could think of. It’s deserted and it’s in the direction we wanted to go.”