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The boy and the commander descended a steep set of
steps into the hold. There, a long wooden walkway ran from
forecastle to stern. Below on either side were the rowers'
benches. Four men were chained to each oar, and twenty
oars were set on each side. Hard, grim-faced men prowled
the walk, lashing the rowers at random. The sight and smell
of the neglected slaves was fearsome.
Soren was not hard to find. Compared to the skinny
wretches around him, he was a giant. Radiz let Sturm on the
catwalk to speak with his friend.
"I'm sorry, Soren!" he said, choking on disgust and
angry tears. "I didn't know they'd put you in this horrible
place!"
The guardsman hauled back his oar. "Don't - worry -
young - lord," he panted in time to the sounding drum.
"Alive - there is - hope."
"Hope is a good breakfast, but a poor supper,"
countered Radiz. He led Sturm away. The boy went back to
his mother. He sat between Lady Ilys and Carin and said
nothing to anyone for a long time.
After four days and three nights, the SEA RAVEN hove in
sight of land. The coast of Abanasinia lay like a low, brown
cloud off the port beam. Lady Ilys looked longingly at the
far shore.
"So near" she said
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