“Then it will be too late to turn back,” Terric assumed correctly. “Which would you rather face? John’s patrols or l’raz?” Chuckling, he shook his head. “As if I don’t already know the answer!”
When the rocky tip of the peninsula came into view, Roland playfully shouldered his cousin aside. “I’ll take over now, if that’s all right with you. You might want to hold on to something. An oar, perhaps.”
* * *
When they entered the choppy waters of the strait, Terric soon became convinced he was about to die. Roland had saved him from the stinking latrine only to bring him to this watery grave. The galley lurched from the depths of towering waves to their crests. Waterfalls crashed down, soaking the men with ice cold seawater. The wind screeched, wood groaned and the ballooning sail was definitely going to be rent in two and fly off at any moment.
Sheer terror drained the strength from Terric’s agonized muscles, but still he rowed like a madman to escape the white hell.
He knew he was surrounded by other men, but felt completely alone, apart from the occasional glimpse of a grinning Roland standing in the stern.
If they survived this nightmare, he’d be sorely tempted to kill his cousin.