A Gathering Of Stones

##

He started awake, heart pounding, as some idiot pounded on the door. He sat up. “Come,” he said. “Door’s not locked.”

Trithil Esmoon slipped in; she stood at the foot of the bed and inspected him critically. “You look like you’ve spent the whole time sniffing dust.”

He yawned, dragged a hand across his eyes. “I’ve been working.”

“On that? What is it?”

“Skyboat.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaned himself onto his feet. “The others awake?”

“I heard Felsrawg slamming about in her room. Simms, who knows? It’s raining out.”

“Heavy?” He crossed to the door that led onto the bal-

cony, unbarred it and swung it open. Enjoying the cool bite of the mist blowing in under the overhang, he stood in the doorway, listening to the rain, watching the gray lines slant through the patch of light from the lamp behind him. Across the garden court on the third floor of the other wing, he could see strips of yellow light tracing out shutters and balcony doors. A few patrons must be still up or sleeping with nightlights. “It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Does rain make a difference?”

“Short of a cloudburst, no problem, except we’ll end up wet as the Godalau. If the S’sulan are as wiped out as you all think, the rain and the chill will keep them inside, make it easier for us. The S’wai?” A shrug. “The little I know about witches doesn’t help much. Can’t expect everybody to be sleeping sound, but rain does tend to wash away alertness. Something we’d better keep in mind too.” He pulled the door shut, looked at his chron. “Go see if the others are ready, it’s time to move.”