Lore of Witch World (Witch World Collection of Stories) (Witch World Series) Read Online Free

people are very poor and grow poorer. If one were to learn the secret of such weaving, might not good come of it?”
    With a sharp jerk he took the ribband from her.
    “There is no such way.”
    “But there is!” Her words came in an eager tumble, one upon the other. “Women—or female things—wove this. They might treat with a woman—one who was already a weaver.”
    Great, callused hands closed upon her shoulders.
    “Girl, not for all the gold in Karsten would I send any Woman into Usturt! You know not of what you speak. It is true that you have gifts of the Talent. But you are no confirmed Guardian, and you are blind. What you suggest is such a folly—Aye, Vidruth, what is it now?”
    Dairine had already sensed that someone had approached.
    “The tide rises. For better mooring, captain, we need move beyond the rocks.”
    “Aye. Well, girl, may the Right Hand of Lraken be your shield. When a ship calls, no captain lingers,”
    Before she could even wish him well, he was gone. Retreating, she sat down on her hard bench by the loom. Her hands trembled, and from her eyes the tears seeped. She felt bereft, as if she had had for a space a treasure and it had been torn from her. She was certain that her instinct had been right, that if any could have learned the secret of Usturt, she was that one.
    Now, when she put a hand out to finger her own weaving, the web on the loom seemed coarse, utterly ugly. In her mind, she held a queer vision of a deeply forested place in which great, sparkling webs ran in even strands from tree to tree.
    Through the open door puffed a wind from the sea. Dairine lifted her face to it as it tugged at her hair.
    “Maid!”
    She was startled. Even with her keen ears she had not heard anyone approach, so loud was the wind song.
    “Who are you?” she asked quickly.
    " I am Vidruth, maid, mate to Captain Ortis.”
    She arose swiftly. “He has thought more upon my plan?” She could see no other reason for the seaman to seek her out in this fashion.
    “That is so, maid. He awaits us now. Give me your hand—so. . . .”
    Fingers grasped hers tightly. She strove to free her hand. This man—there was that in him which was wrong. Then out of nowhere came a great smothering cloak, folded about her so tightly she could not struggle. There were unclean smells to affront her nostrils, but the worst was that this Vidruth had swung her up across his shoulder so that she could have been no more than a bundle of trade goods.
    2
    So was she brought aboard what was certainly a ship, for in spite of the muffling of the cloak, Dairine used her ears, her nose. However, she could not sort out her thoughts. Why had Captain Ortis so vehemently, and truthfully (for she had read that truth in his touch), refused to bring her? Then this man of his had come to capture her as he might steal a woman during some shore raid?
    The Sulcarmen were not slave traders, that was well known. Then why?
    Hands pulled away the folds of the cloak at last. The air she drew thankfully into her lungs was not fresh, rather tainted with stinks which made her feel unclean even to sniff. She thought that her prison must lie deep within the belly of the ship.
    “Why have you done this?” Dairine asked of the man she could hear breathing heavily near her.
    “Captain's orders,” he answered, leaning so close she not only smelt his unclean body but gathered with that a sensation of heat. “He has eyes in his head, has the captain. You be a smooth-skinned, likely wench—”
    “Let her be, Wak!” That was Vidruth.
    “Aye, captain,” the other answered with a slur of sly contempt. “Here she be, safe and sound—”
    “And here she stays, Wak, safe from your kind. Get out!”
    There was a growl from Wak, as if he were close to questioning the other's right so to order him. Then Dairine's ears caught a sound which might have been that of a panel door sliding into place.
    “You are not the captain,” she spoke into the silence