Ywain paid no attention. She ordered Scyld, “Slow the beat and send the Swimmers out.”
Naram and Shallah were unshackled and ran forward. Metal harnesses were locked to their bodies. Long wire lines ran from these harnesses to ringbolts in the forecastle deck.
The two Swimmers dived fearlessly into the foaming waters. The wire lines tautened and Carse glimpsed the heads of the two bobbing like corks as they swam smoothly ahead of the galley into the roaring Banks.
“You see?” said Boghaz. “They feel out the channel. They can guide a ship through anything.”
To the slow beat of the drum the black galley forged into the broken water.
Ywain stood, hair flying in the breeze and hauberk shining, by the man at the tiller. She and Scyld peered closely ahead. The rough waters shook along the keel with a hiss and a snarl and once an oar splintered on a rock but they crept on safely.
It was a long slow weary passage. The sun rose toward the zenith. There was an aching tension aboard the galley.
Carse only dimly heard the roar of breakers as he and Boghaz labored at their oar. The fat Valkisian was groaning ceaselessly now. Carse’s arms felt like lead, his brain seemed clamped in steel.
At last the galley found smooth water, shot clear of the Banks. Their dull thunder came now from astern. The Swimmers were hauled back in.
Ywain glanced down into the oar pit for the first time, at the staggering slaves.