Steven heard the hollow thud of someone running on deck. ‘What’s that?’
‘Probably the captain,’ Garec said.
‘Captains don’t run,’ Gilmour said. ‘It instils too much fear and excitement in the crew, makes them jumpy.’
‘You don’t know this one,’ Garec said. ‘He’s not your ordinary merchant captain. With him, when it’s time to run, he runs. Ouch!’ He flinched as Kellin extricated another stitch.
The forward cabin was lit with all the candles they could find so Kellin could see what she was doing. She was just halfway through when Captain Ford barged in, pausing on the threshold to make sure none of his crew were within earshot. ‘Are you two truly sorcerers?’ he asked, a little out of breath.
Gilmour answered, ‘I wouldn’t say that we’re sor-’
‘No time for lies, my friend,’ the captain interrupted. ‘We’ve got a naval cutter, very fast, tacking to overtake us. We’re quick, especially running empty, but we’re not quick enough to get past them without a fight.’
Steven started, ‘We can perhaps-’
‘Let me finish,’ he went on. ‘I’ve ordered the ship about. We’ll make a run for the Pragan coast.’
‘West?’ Garec asked, stopping Kellin as she started on the next stitch. There would be time for that later.
‘It’s a difficult tack, granted, and the wind will carry us northwest, but the cutter’s on the same wind so even if he sets a course across our current heading, he’ll be carried to the northeast, towards Falkan. So we put out all the watch-fires and run on a beam reach in the dark. My goal is to be hull-down on their horizon by morning. If we’re lucky it’ll be hazy. If we’re blessed by the gods, there’ll be fog.’
‘So what do you need from us?’ Garec said.
How much power do you have? Are you truly sorcerers?’ he asked. ‘Time’s wasting and I need to know. One of you ignited those fireballs in the sky this morning.’
Steven looked at Gilmour and shrugged. ‘Captain Ford, both Gilmour and I could easily sink that ship from here if we chose to.’
He blanched. That was obviously more honesty – and more formidable power – than he had expected from them. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, ‘well then-’
‘But we can’t.’
‘Why not?’ Ford asked, now completely bemused. ‘Do you know what they’ll do if they catch us running empty through the Narrows, obviously trying to escape?’
‘Impound your ship?’ Garec said.
‘And lock us in the brig, at the very least, and that’s if we’re lucky. I could tell them we’re making for Averil, but I don’t have a cargo to pick up there, and I’m not about to admit that I’m shipping five passengers, none of whom are Malakasian and none of whom have any business links to anyone in Averil.’
‘So you know,’ Steven said.
‘We’ll discuss that if we live through the night, young man,’ the captain said. ‘Right now, we’ve other problems. Why can’t you use magic? You used it this morning right enough.’
Gilmour asked, ‘Were you in Orindale when the great floodtide devastated the city?’
‘I didn’t see it happen, but I’ve seen the aftermath.’ He shuddered.
‘The person – the thing – that caused all that devastation is watching for Steven and me right now. Every time we use our magic, he knows it. We’re carrying a couple of things that give off a low hum of mystical energy, and I’m hoping that’s not enough for him to hone in on. He’s deadly dangerous, the most dangerous being ever to exist in Eldarn, and if Steven or I do anything to attract him, he will crush your ship to splinters and send us all to the bottom. I don’t doubt that for one moment, Captain Ford.’
‘But you used magic this morning-’
‘Nothing more than a party trick, I’m afraid.’ Gilmour sounded apologetic. ‘Skilled youngsters can do it, even without training. The man hunting for us wouldn’t give them a second glance.’
‘Hunting you?’ The captain was increasingly confused. ‘I thought you were hunting him.’
‘We are,’ Steven said, ‘but we have to be considerably more covert about it.’
‘Well, that’s just rutting great! A Malakasian cutter about to ram its bow right up my backside, and two sorcerers who can’t do any magic because they’ve got to hide from a rutting demon!’
‘It’s much, much worse than a demon,’ Garec said, unmoved by the captain’s anxiety. ‘What can we do?’
Ford leaned against the mainmast where it passed through the cabin, trying to regain his composure before returning to the helm. ‘You can douse all these candles, and no smoking; you’d be amazed what carries on the breeze. Garec, will you go aft and make sure someone has extinguished the cooking fires? We’ll need everyone on deck; this is a hard tack; we’re turning broadside to the wind, rutting near broaching, and it’s going to get rough. I would tell some of you to get some rest, but you probably won’t sleep now, anyway. And on deck, you do whatever Sera, Marrin or I tell you, no questions, no hesitation. Got it?’
Garec smiled grimly. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Are you any good with that bow?’
‘I’ve been known to hit my target, yes.’
‘He’s the best bowman in Eldarn,’ Gilmour clarified.
‘How close would they need to be for you to take out their officers and a few key members of the crew?’
‘In this wind?’ Garec considered the candles. ‘Not very close.’
‘Good,’ Ford forced a smile. ‘Then we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.’ To Steven and Gilmour, he said, ‘Gentlemen, if either of you has a change of heart, I need to know right away.’
Both men nodded.
Captain Ford’s voice changed. ‘Very well. Douse those flames, and let’s head west.’ He was once again the wise, experienced captain of the Morning Star.
By middlenight the Malakasian cutter had corrected her course to due north. Captain Ford left Sera at the helm and came forward to where Garec and Steven were helping Marrin haul in a sheet that had come free.
‘He’s second-guessing you, sir,’ Marrin said as the captain joined them.
‘He’s not stupid.’
‘What’s happening?’ Steven asked, shrugging out of his cloak. It was damp now, and heavy; he could work better without it, though he’d need to be careful to warm himself. With the ship broaching in the swells the way it was, he didn’t relish the idea of being below decks. He thought he might throw up if he spent too long in the cabin.
‘He took the bait for about an aven. When we doused the lights, he thought we were trying to run past him in the dark, but now he’s turned north again.’
‘In case we try to slip by to the west?’
‘Like I said, he’s not stupid.’ Captain Ford dried his face on a kerchief. ‘He saw enough to know that we’re not going to be able to bolt past him and be gone by dawn. This way he can run ahead of us and wait for sunrise.’
‘When, theoretically, we’ll either be off his starboard flank-’ Marrin started.
‘Or running west,’ Steven finished.
‘Either way,’ the captain said, ‘we can’t get past him.’
‘So even if we make it to the Pragan coast, we still give him ample opportunity to come west and cut us off.’
‘Right again, Steven,’ Marrin said. ‘You should be a sailor.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We either come north now, use the wind to get as far as possible and make ready for a fight at dawn, or we run for Praga and try to find an inlet or maybe a cleft in the cliffs to hide for a day or two.’ He didn’t sound thrilled with either option.
‘Or we run right at him,’ Marrin said. ‘He won’t be expecting that.’
‘And do what? Offer him a beer?’
‘Strafe him with fire arrows? Hit him with a few of those fireballs the old man was tossing about this morning? Maybe we could set his shrouds on fire,’ Marrin suggested.
‘In this weather?’ The captain wasn’t convinced. ‘We’d maybe get his topgallants, but not the mains: they’re too damp.’
‘Let’s think about this for a moment,’ Steven said. He shouted for Gilmour, and as the boyish figure came within earshot, asked, ‘The fire, our fire: can Mark sense it from here?’
Gilmour thought for a moment. ‘It’s a gamble; I certainly shouldn’t do it, but we’ve been lucky with you before.’
‘I’m worried that was just the staff, not me,’ Steven said. ‘What if-’
‘Don’t get started with the what ifs. He may or he may not. You did plenty without the staff that Nerak never noticed, and if Mark doesn’t have the table opened, he shouldn’t be able to sense anything that would have got past Nerak. Mark’s only indestructible when he’s using the table; the rest of the time he must be about as vulnerable as Nerak was.’
‘Unless he’s been drawing strength from the table’s magic,’ Steven suggested.
‘That’s true, but if there’s no way past, we may have to risk it.’
Steven felt cold. He’d been trying to ignore it, but it seeped beneath his skin now, making him shiver. ‘He’ll kill us all, Gilmour.’
‘That’s already his plan. It’s just that we’re closer to the end now. All the edges are sharper from here on in.’
‘It’s an easy spell, I’ve done it-’
‘-plenty of times, I know,’ Gilmour said. ‘That’s not the issue. The problem is whether or not he’ll feel it. I’m betting he won’t, not the fire.’
‘What fire are we talking about?’ the captain asked.
‘Larion fire,’ Gilmour said, ‘a tough, resilient flame that’ll easily catch their ship alight; it’ll set the sails, perhaps even the water around them on fire.’
‘Great rutting gods of the Northern Forest,’ Ford whispered.
‘Larion like in Larion Senators?’ Marrin laughed. ‘Captain, I’m all for running up on them because we’ll have surprise on our side, but I’m not counting on any Larion Senators to magically appear from out of one of my Nana’s fairy tales and save the day for us.’
‘Don’t,’ Steven asked softly, still staring at Gilmour, ‘don’t run up on them, Captain. I’m sorry. You’re the master here and you give the orders, but please, I am begging you to keep to our current heading. Let’s try to sneak past them tomorrow, and if we can’t and they close on us, I promise you that I will help Garec fight them while you and the crew keep us on course.’
‘You and Garec alone?’ Marrin interjected, then realising what he had done, added, ‘Sorry, Captain.’
There was silence for a moment while everyone considered their options, then Ford sighed and said, ‘Very well then. Marrin, keep us on this heading. We’ll get as far to the southwest as we can before we have to come about, but I want us running north by dawn, and by running, I mean as if grettans are at our backsides. Understand?’
‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ Marrin barked, and was gone, a hundred questions left answered.
Ford said, ‘You and Garec can do this alone?’
Steven laid an arm across Garec’s neck and smiled through chattering teeth. ‘We can hit them when they are well out of range of normal archers, and if we need more help, Kellin and Brexan can shoot into their ranks. Kellin’s shoulder is good enough for her to manage a few rounds if need be.’
‘Tubbs and Sera can shoot,’ Captain Ford said, ‘though I’d rather keep them about their jobs.’
Steven’s reassurance was cut off by Sera, who shouted from the bow, ‘Captain, the cutter’s dousing her fires.’ As they all peered into the night, they saw the last of the cutter’s own watch-fires blink out. Just before everything went black, Steven thought he noticed something odd about the angle of the cutter’s bowsprit.
Captain Ford read his mind. ‘Did I just see what I think I saw?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Steven said.
‘There’s no way to tell,’ Garec said, grasping for straws.
‘No,’ Gilmour said, ‘they’re right. It’s as if he can see us!’
‘Marrin!’ the captain shouted, ‘the cutter’s gone covert, and she’s coming this way.’
Marrin’s voice reached them through the wind. ‘Understood, sir.’
By dawn, it was apparent the captain of the naval cutter had either seen them, scented them or second-guessed them perfectly. With the first rays of light whitening the horizon, Captain Ford rubbed his bleary eyes and shouted for Marrin and Sera. The whole crew had worked all night, keeping the Morning Star running west, away from the cutter, and half an aven earlier, they had changed course and were now heading due north. The rest of the crew had been sent below to sleep.
‘Is that her?’ he asked, ‘there, do you see her?’
Sera leaned over the rail, staring into the grey sky. Marrin jumped into the rigging, climbing towards the main spar for a better view. Sera was the first to pick it up.
‘Aye, that’s her, Captain.’
Marrin called down, ‘Captain, I don’t understand – how’d he do it? At this rate, we’ll be ramming the horsecock before midday.’
Ford leaned against the helm. ‘I don’t know how they did it, Marrin, but we’re going to stay on course and run past them just as fast as we can.’
‘Captain,’ Sera asked, ‘won’t he just tack to match our course?’
‘Probably, and that’s when we’ll trust our new friends to slow them down.’
‘Very good, Captain.’ Sera didn’t bother trying to mask her doubts.
‘For now, I want you two to rest. Tubbs and Kanthil can take over for a while. Nothing’s going to happen in the next aven, anyway.’
‘You’ll call us if he changes course, sir?’ Marrin dropped nimbly to the deck, despite his fatigue.
‘I will,’ the captain lied. ‘When you get below, see if Tubbs has any more rosehip brew going. I’m going to need a bucketful to get through this morning.’ He watched with quiet pride as his tired sailors, loyal even in the face of questionable leadership, disappeared.
‘They work hard,’ Steven said, ‘and it’s obvious they’re doing it for you.’
‘Nonsense.’ He shrugged the compliment off. ‘They do it because they love this ship.’ He changed the subject and said, ‘Steven, come with me, would you? There’s something I want to show you.’ He called over to Garec, sitting in the stern checking the fletching on a handful of arrows. ‘Garec, would you take the helm for a moment?’
Garec stumbled getting up and spilled his entire quiver. ‘What? You want me to steer?’ he stuttered, ‘to- to drive? But Captain, I don’t know how to- I mean, I’ll kill every one of those bastards for you, but you can’t let me drive – I can barely get my horse out of Madur’s corral most mornings. And I’ll be straight with you, Captain: I don’t have enough silver to buy you a new boat.’
The captain laughed. ‘It’s really not that difficult, and I’ll not be gone above a few moments,’ he said. ‘But let’s have a lesson, to make sure you can manage.’
Once he was certain Garec could keep the Morning Star on her current heading, he led Steven into the bow and pointed to a number of fixed ropes. ‘You see these standing lines?’ he asked quietly.
‘I think they’re called stays, or standing rigging,’ Steven said, ‘at least, that’s what we call them where I- well, I think that’s right.’
‘It is,’ Captain Ford said, steadying himself against one, ‘and they’re just about the most important part of the ship – can you believe that? Right out here, where anyone could get a sword on them… They’re keeping the mast up.’ As he spoke, he pointed to the separate cables. ‘These are the forestays, inner and outer, and those back there, just aft, are the mainstays, upper and lower.’ He ran a hand lovingly along one. ‘Now, the cutter will have some additional masts, but the ones I need you to remember are the fore, the main and the mizzenmast, and most especially, remember the mainmast.’
‘What do I do?’
‘If you can’t get the shrouds to ignite – and I’m hoping you can because it’s quick, and great at creating nervous tension-’
Steven chuckled. ‘Nervous tension? All the way out here in the middle of bloody nowhere with the only thing between you and hell being a ship on fire, yeah, I suppose you could call that nervous tension.’
‘They shit themselves, even the gods-rutting admirals,’ he admitted. ‘Anyway, if you can’t get the shrouds to light, I want you to try and snap these lines. At first, it’ll look like nothing much has happened, but in this wind, they won’t be able to keep all those sheets on her, and that’ll pull the masts down and cripple the cutter for a Twinmoon or more. She won’t be able to pursue us any more; she’ll have to limp into the nearest docks, at Landry, and we’ll be able to outrun her.
‘So this is what you need to remember: the forestays, mainstays and mizzenstays: Snap ‘em, and they’ve got to run her into a wall. If they don’t, the ship will tear itself apart beneath them.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘Good luck,’ Captain Ford said. ‘Now you and Garec should get some sleep. Gilmour, too.’
‘He never sleeps,’ Steven said, ‘and we’ll be all right.’
‘Garec’s that good?’
‘I’ve never seen him miss.’
The sun was high and burning off the morning cloud cover when Garec joined Steven on deck. The two ships were rapidly closing on one another.
‘Can’t see anything yet,’ Steven said, ‘just that one fellow up there, in the bow. I can’t decide if he’s an archer or just some kind of lookout.’
‘At this rate we’ll soon be able to ask him face-to-face,’ Garec said. He had both quivers on his back and held his bow loosely in one hand.
‘Captain Ford seems to think they’ll tack north and strafe our broadside until we heave to and let them board us.’
‘Or they’ll not be so polite,’ Garec said, calm despite staring at an entire shipful of sailors and soldiers, all intent on killing him. His experience in the meadow near Meyers’ Vale, standing in the face of a cavalry charge, was still fresh in his mind. ‘They may decide to run in, get their hooks over our rails and come aboard uninvited.’
Steven ran his hand along the weathered railing. ‘So it’s up to us to discourage them.’
When they were within five hundred paces of the Malakasian cutter, they heard someone hailing them, ordering them to heave to.
‘Here we go,’ said Steven.
Garec nocked an arrow, considered the wind and the swells and aimed above the shouting Malakasian. ‘Shall I deliver our reply?’
‘Let me try first,’ Steven said, ‘and perhaps no one need get killed.’ He flexed his wrist a few times, summoned a pair of glowing fiery orbs and sent them hurtling with surprising speed towards the man hailing them, the cutter’s first officer, he presumed. The fireballs crashed into the side of the ship, blasting through the gunwale and knocking the sailor to the deck.
‘Excellent shot!’ Captain Ford shouted from the helm, ‘now see if you can get their sheets to fire up.’
Steven repeated the gesture and six of the orbs, trailing fire like Larion meteorites, flew into the cutter’s rigging. The bigger, faster ship came about suddenly, turning north to match the brig-sloop’s own tack. This was clearly something the Malakasian captain had expected, though from the behaviour on board the cutter – the frantic shouted orders and general scurrying-about – it looked like Steven’s attack forced their change in course earlier than they had planned.
‘They’re turning!’ Gilmour called from amidships. ‘Hit them again, Steven – two or three are catching fire; the others passed right through. Not so much speed on this next barrage perhaps.’
‘I’d like to drive them off,’ Steven admitted. ‘The fewer we kill, the better.’
Garec shielded his eyes from the sun. ‘You certainly scared the dog-snot out of that officer. He’ll be changing his leggings pretty soon.’
The ships were on a parallel course now, the cutter some three hundred paces north of the Morning Star. They were well within range of skilled archers, but, a little surprisingly, the marines weren’t lined up, ready to fire on the hostile Pragan boat. Garec himself was in position now to kill every officer on their quarterdeck. He waited for Steven to ask for help.
‘This one should do the job,’ Steven murmured, calling up more of the brilliant orbs.
Garec felt the heat on his face and turned away. ‘Gods, but that’s hot, Steven.’
‘I’m hoping to finish this right-’
He dropped the fireballs into the sea, where, hissing and spitting, they sank towards the bottom. He barely managed to throw up the protective spell in time to ward off the Malakasian’s counterattack, which struck with all the force of a bottled thunderclap against the brig-sloop’s starboard bulkhead; Steven and Garec were sent sprawling at the impact.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Steven shouted as he rolled to his feet.
Garec spat a mouthful of blood onto the deck and said, ‘But waiter, I didn’t order this.’
‘It’s that fellow there,’ Gilmour was pointing towards a lone figure standing in the stern of the cutter.
‘It’s the lookout, the one you spotted earlier,’ Garec said.
‘That’s no lookout,’ Steven said, ‘they have their own magician, and he just got a punch in.’
‘How are we still alive then?’ Garec was crawling towards the rail, an arrow nocked and ready. It was obvious he meant to kill the enemy sorcerer with one shot.
Steven kept pace with him. ‘It’s a spell I used in the river, something that just blew out of me.’
‘Oh well, thanks then,’ Garec said. ‘Why don’t you just keep your head down while I send him to the Northern Forest?’
‘We probably don’t have to kill him,’ Steven said.
‘No,’ Garec said, ‘this one’s all right. Call it a donation to the cause.’ He knelt, took aim quickly and fired. The arrow arced cleanly across the sea, but burst into flames and disintegrated before it reached the enemy ship. Garec cursed. ‘Sorry, Steven, looks like he’s all yours.’
Steven waved at the Malakasian magician, trying to get his attention. The other seemed to understand that he was being challenged, and pointed back. ‘That’s right, you bastard, just you and me,’ Steven muttered.
He turned to Gilmour and asked, ‘Who is this guy?’
‘No idea,’ the Larion Senator said cheerfully. ‘Probably someone who discovered skills as a child. A thousand Twinmoons ago he would have been recruited to study at Sandcliff Palace. Instead, now he’s a dangerous young man. That last spell was most likely honed on trees and rocks as he was growing up.’
‘I’d love to see his house,’ Garec smirked, wiping twin blood trails from his nose. ‘I’m sure it’s a lovely place, apart from all the holes.’
Steven said, ‘He’s not all that powerful. I could pull his tongue out of his head from here if I wanted to… I’m just not willing to risk doing anything so magically noisy.’
‘Probably too late,’ Gilmour admitted. ‘The blow he struck at us was quite enough to hit Mark like a slap in the face. You might as well do whatever you like to end it quickly, and we’ll pray to the gods that Mark doesn’t have time to pinpoint where we are while you’re cleaning up.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Steven said. ‘If I just- What did you say?’
‘The spell he cast at us,’ Gilmour said. ‘Can’t you feel it? It’s still lingering in the air. I’m sure the ripples have gone all the way to Philadelphia by now.’
‘Oh no,’ Steven cried as his eyes widened, ‘no!’ He cupped his hands and shouted, ‘You must stop what you’re doing, right now! Stop it!’
The Malakasian shot them a broad grin and waved. He was joined by an officer who cried, ‘Heave to! Strike your mains and tops! Prepare to be boarded!’
Captain Ford joined in now, shouting from the bridge, ‘We left your sister and mother in Orindale – most entertaining girls, they were!’
‘Heave to!’
‘Heave yourself, you’re not taking my ship!’
Steven, distracted by the exchange, failed to see the Malakasian gesture towards the Morning Star, but Gilmour shoved him and Garec to one side, threw up his hands and shouted a deflective incantation.
The sorcerer’s second volley crashed through the gunwale, showering the deck with splinters and sending all three men tumbling once again.
‘Red whoring rutters!’ Garec cried, ‘but I hate it when he does that!’
‘Steven! Garec!’ the captain screamed, ‘will you kill that annoying little bastard or do I have to ram him? Look what he did to my ship! Kill him, Garec; kill him now!’
Steven was up again and firing back, sending a barrage of fireballs, one after another, slamming into the cutter’s stern. Three explosions later, the stern rail was on fire and the officers, with their sorcerer, had retreated amidships. ‘One down,’ Steven murmured, ‘and now for the stays.’
His next volley was aimed at the knots of heavy hempen cord and the wooden tackle and metal spikes bracing the cutter’s masts. Without mystical protection, the stays were easy to hit and surprisingly easy to sever. When the hawsers snapped, the reports carried like gunshots.
The sound brought the Malakasian captain round. It took just a moment for him to realise that he was beaten and the captain and crew of the Morning Star heard him shouting orders to douse the fires and tack to safety.
The brief engagement was over.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Ford hooted wildly and danced like a drunken schoolboy. ‘Outstanding!’ he shouted at Sera, who took over at the helm and kept the Morning Star running north. As the gap quickly widened between them, Steven returned the captain’s excited embrace, then ran for the stern.
Cupping his hands again, he screamed, ‘Don’t do it! You must stop now!’
But the Malakasian magician, enraged and embarrassed, leaped high, whirled his hands above his head and cast a destructive spell at the fast-moving brig-sloop.
Steven felt it coming, felt the air and the water around them almost flinch in anticipation, but the attack was easily deflected. Steven closed his eyes, concentrated, and felt the assault shatter, shards of magic spinning across the water. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered, fearing it was too late. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Brexan asked. She and Kellin, armed with longbows, had watched the exchange from the quarterdeck. With the danger apparently behind them, Kellin now propped hers against the rail and snaked her injured arm back into its sling.
‘Hopefully nothing,’ Steven said, turning to rejoin the others. ‘We’re free, and unless any other patrolling vessels we come across just happen to have a crewman who doubles as the ship’s magician, we have a dead-certain way to convince them to give up the chase.’
‘I heard those ropes snap,’ Kellin said. ‘They hold the masts up, don’t they?’
‘Not any more,’ Steven laughed, looking around for Tubbs. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘Whatever you wish,’ Tubbs replied. ‘I think this morning you’ve earned captain’s honour.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Captain Ford, who nodded.
‘Oh God,’ Steven sighed, ‘anything I want? I’d kill for a Western omelette, Cajun hot sauce on the side, black coffee, orange juice and a copy of the Denver Post.’
Tubbs’ brow furrowed. ‘You’re really not from Orindale, are you, young man?’
Steven laughed. ‘Not exactly, no. If you’ve got some fruit, I’ll have that with some bread and tecan.’
‘That I can do. I’ll be right back.’ Tubbs scurried off as the others turned back to their interrupted conversation.
‘At least we know how they tracked us overnight,’ Kellin said.
‘True,’ said Brexan. ‘He probably knew where we were the whole time.’
Gilmour said, ‘That was smart of you, Steven. You didn’t use anything too resonant. That little bit of fire wasn’t more than a couple of pebbles in a pond. We should be all right.’
‘But it may be too late, anyway,’ Steven said, ‘not because of us, but because of him, the Malakasian. He was blasting away at us with a goddamned Howitzer. I’m worried that fool alerted Mark, hammering away like that.’
‘You’re right,’ Gilmour said. ‘We’ll need to be prepared for anything, just i-’
‘Captain!’ Kanthil had been in the rigging all morning and now, gesticulating wildly astern, he was screaming, ‘Great whoring gods, Captain, look at it!’
‘Did they hit something?’ Ford called, running to the stern.
‘No,’ Kanthil cried, distressed, ‘it’s just opened, like a hole in the ocean!’
Partisans and crew alike leaned on the aft rail and watched as the Ravenian Sea opened and swallowed the Malakasian cutter whole.
‘Mother of Christ,’ Steven whispered.
‘That answers your question,’ Gilmour said. ‘He didn’t pinpoint our position, but he found them.’
No one else spoke as the surface boiled white and choppy, then wrinkled back into soft swells. Nothing remained of the cutter; there were no survivors in the waves.
‘Brace yourselves,’ Kellin cried, looking nervously over the side. ‘We could be next.’
Garec took her hand. It was cold and trembling. None of them had slept in two days. ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’
Still staring at where the naval ship had been, Steven murmured, ‘Yes, we should be fine. Mark figures he just killed us… killed me. This ship was under attack by a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for big, showy attacks. That sorcerer was targeted and is now dead.’
‘So Mark thinks that was us,’ Garec said.
‘That’s right. Unless he sensed the orbs I was using, I guess he believes we’re just a Malakasian ship. If the table had been open, he’d have felt my deflective spells and we’d be swallowed up too, so it must have been closed until he used it to drown them.’
‘Nerak would have been able to sense the resonant spells that blazing idiot was hurling at us,’ Steven went on, ‘that’s why I was trying to stop him. And Mark in turn felt them, found him, opened the table-’
‘And ate him,’ Garec finished.
‘So what are you saying?’ Captain Ford interrupted. ‘Do I need to worry about my boat or not?’
‘I don’t think so, Captain,’ Gilmour said, ‘because it would have happened already, and because Steven didn’t use any magic that Mark Jenkins would have been able to sense from this far away.’
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Well then, let’s get some breakfast and then set the watch. We could all use a few avens’ sleep.’ He turned to Sera and ordered, ‘Downwind run, sailor. Everyone else, come.’ He smiled, even at Garec. ‘Let’s get below; Tubbs will have breakfast ready in a moment, I’m sure.’
As the others disappeared beneath the forward hatch, Gilmour motioned for Steven to join him in private.
‘What is it?’ Steven fought off a yawn.
‘I cast the deflection over you and Garec when he sent that second blast at us.’
Steven stopped. ‘Oh shit, oh shit, Gilmour, oh shit.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ Steven said, suddenly lucid. The magic began swirling again, tumbling and folding over itself in the pit of his stomach, ready to continue the fight. ‘But hold on: the air was full of noise and echoes, wasn’t it?’
‘True.’
‘So maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe we were too close to the other ship and maybe he thought it was just another ripple-’ He was trying hard to convince himself that they were out of harm’s way.
‘We need to be wary.’
‘I can see why you never sleep,’ he said wryly, starting below.
‘It does help from time to time. And seeing as how the last occasion that I decided to get some sleep, some rutting Malakasian spy-’
‘Brexan says his name is Jacrys,’ Steven interrupted.
‘Fine, so the last time I slept, a spy called Jacrys came into camp and rammed a knife into my heart. Believe me, I’m happy to stay up late.’
Later, tucked together inside the Morning Star’s main cabin, the company, now all fed and in dry clothes, sat around a crate of beer donated by the captain, pleased with the outcome of the morning’s encounter. Gilmour smoked ceaselessly, and after a while Kellin joined him for a pipe.
‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Garec said, surprised.
‘I don’t,’ Kellin said, ‘but Gilmour always smells so alluringly sweet, I thought I might try some.’
‘So that you can smell alluringly sweet, too?’ Garec asked.
‘I’m a woman who knows what she wants, bowman,’ she joked, winking over the pipe stem.
Gilmour passed a beer to Brexan, who had been content to sit quietly and watch the interplay. She still felt a bit of an outsider, despite her relationship with Versen and Sallax.
‘Tell us about your journey, Brexan,’ Gilmour said. ‘Garec mentioned that you were at Riverend Palace, that morning so long ago. I guess you were on the wrong side when all this started, but I’m glad you’ve seen the error of your ways and joined us.’
Brexan gave him a thin-lipped smile. ‘You looked a bit different back then, Gilmour.’
‘That I did, my dear,’ the youthful Malakasian replied. ‘Over the Twinmoons, I’ve looked like a lot of things, some a good deal worse than this fellow.’
‘I thought you were dead.’
‘Everyone did. I still manage to get a few surprises out of this ageing spirit.’ He thumped one temple with a knuckle.
‘Sallax would have wanted to know you were alive; he wanted to see you, to apologise,’ she said, sadly.
‘It was Nerak,’ Gilmour said, ‘it wasn’t Sallax’s doing. I would have forgiven Sallax in a heartbeat.’
‘I told him that.’
‘Thank you; I hope he believed you.’
‘He talked often about you, once he recovered. And from what I’ve seen recently, he and Versen were telling the truth,’ she said.
‘Those two always made up nice things about me,’ Gilmour teased. ‘Anything off-colour they might have spilled… well, that’s different!’
‘About you, too, Steven.’ She told them all about how she had ended up in Orindale, working for Nedra Daubert. She told of first meeting Versen, of being beaten by Lahp and transported to Strand-son, of Gabriel O’Reilly’s rescue and of Versen’s death in the meadow near the stream. She cried when she spoke of the big woodsman; Garec joined her. But then she was cold and economic in her description of Haden’s torture. Gilmour was fascinated at how Sallax had found her, and once again he thanked Brexan for helping the big Ronan wrestle his emotional demons.
‘In the end,’ she said, ‘it was really Brynne who helped him get the edge he needed to kill Carpello Jax, and to try to kill Jacrys Marseth.’
‘How did she help?’ Kellin asked.
‘Knowing she was- well, lost to him, that helped Sallax find enough anger and rage to keep focused. He’d come a long way, but he was still prone to drifting a bit. His guilt was enormous, but the wraiths had twisted it into such a knot, Sallax struggled for a long time just to see through the hazy grey of everything plaguing him at once.’ She took a long swallow of beer. ‘After discovering that Brynne had died, so much of what had been haunting him didn’t matter any longer. He wasn’t able to banish it, but he did find the strength to push through it.’
‘So he was back?’ Garec asked. ‘He was cured?’
‘No,’ Brexan said. ‘He still referred to himself as “Sallax” sometimes, but he certainly found his skills again. I watched him kill a raging Seron with just a knife, a big bastard, stinking like shit and set on killing us both. Sallax’s shoulder was damaged at the time; it was healing but still not strong enough for combat.’
‘How’d he do it?’ Garec asked.
‘One-handed,’ Brexan replied. ‘It was unbelievable.’
Gilmour said, ‘He was tough and single-minded; there’s no question about that.’
‘And then we captured Carpello Jax, the shipping magnate who assaulted Brynne all those Twinmoons ago.’
‘And killed him?’ Steven asked, no longer surprised that such things were considered fit topics for polite conversation over drinks.
‘Essentially, yes.’
‘Tell us about Carpello Jax,’ Gilmour said. ‘Garec mentioned shipments. Do you know what they were?’
‘Something from Rona, bark or roots, leaves maybe. I don’t remember very well, and Carpello wasn’t articulating as clearly as he might have under other circumstances.’ She closed her eyes, trying to recall the details of that morning at the Topgallant Inn. ‘He did say that it came from the Forbidden Forest. You know, the one out beyond the Estrad River on the peninsula? My squad used to patrol there for Moons at a time.’
‘Something magic?’ Steven asked, ‘Gilmour, maybe that’s what you felt that day you were searching for Kantu?’
‘It could be,’ Gilmour said, then asked, ‘Garec, how far out on the peninsula did you and Versen go?’
Garec thought for a bit. ‘We never tried to get to the end; that would have been asking for trouble. We only ever went in far enough to hunt and fish. Sometimes we rode for half a day, but I don’t remember ever going as far as the end. No one would try that; they’d have to be suicidal. It’s probably been five generations since any significant number of Ronans were out on that point. The odd boat runs southeast from the inlet, chasing schools of fish, but too many have been burned to the waterline by the Malakasian navy. That’s never been a secret to fishermen: stay out of those waters.’
Steven said, ‘So, I wonder, did Prince Marek close that forest?’
‘About the same time he was wrapping up his takeover and establishing his occupation force in Eldarn,’ Gilmour said. ‘We were always told it was because Riverend Palace was on the other side of the river, and it was some kind of retribution for King Remond and, in turn, Prince Markon establishing the seat of Eldarni government there. We figured he wanted Riverend to crumble.’
‘It has,’ Garec interjected.
‘That’s true,’ Steven said, ‘but could he have been using that land for something else?’
‘Maybe growing whatever it is that Carpello Jax was shipping north to Pellia,’ Brexan said. ‘If it’s trees, they’ve had almost a thousand Twinmoons to spread and mature out there.’
Gilmour’s cherubic face was hidden behind billowy smoke. ‘When did you kill this fellow, Brexan?’
‘Nedra did it,’ Brexan laughed, ‘accidentally. But I suppose it was about a half Moon ago.’
‘That was too early for him to have shipped whatever I sensed in that schooner heading north,’ the old magician said. ‘With him dead, do you think his shipments continued running?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Brexan said. ‘No one knows he’s dead. His employees may just think he’s missing, and I overheard a pair of bakers talking about him, saying Carpello was involved with all kinds of women – several of whom might even believe themselves to be his wife. So it wouldn’t surprise me if he frequently disappeared on business trips so he’d be away from the capital for Moons at a time.’
‘All right,’ Kellin said, ‘so if we assume that his shipments are some kind of magic bark or leaves or roots, and that they are bound for Pellia, who cares? What are the Malakasian people doing with that much magic?’
‘But they’re not really bound for Pellia. That’s just a stopover,’ Brexan said. ‘They’re loaded onto barges and shipped upriver to Prince Malagon’s palace. That much we did manage to beat out of Carpello before he died.’
‘A whole schooner-full?’ Steven said.
‘Several,’ Brexan corrected, ‘many, even from what Carpello said.’
Gilmour paced around the small room, holding his pipe with one hand, swinging his beer bottle with the other. No one said anything; it was clear he was thinking.
Finally, he said, ‘So Prince Marek closes Rona’s southeast peninsula. The climate’s right, so he plants something he knows he will need one day in the distant future, though he isn’t sure exactly when. Over time, and subsequent Malakasian dictators, Nerak monitors the progress of his crop, whatever it is, and as he draws ever closer to his date with destiny and the Larion spell table, his trees take over much of the landmass south and east of Riverend Palace. A few poachers slip over the river to kill a deer every now and again, but anyone caught out that far is given a tag hanging in Greentree Square. The message about their necks is easy to read: KEEP OUT. And so for nearly a thousand Twinmoons, the peninsula is essentially the prince’s personal garden.’
‘Keep at it, Gilmour,’ Steven said.
‘Generations later, Prince Malagon finds the slimiest shipper he can and hires this fellow to oversee the transport of his harvested crop from Rona to Pellia and then upriver to Welstar Palace, where it’s either stockpiled, or put to some other use. The slimy merchant makes a few trips to Estrad Village, to get a sense of the lie of the land, shipping demands, deep water anchorage off the inlet, and on one of these trips he brutally assaults a young girl at Greentree Tavern-’
‘For which crime he is eventually beaten up and killed and left to drift on the outgoing tide,’ Brexan added as a quiet interruption.
‘And we thank you for that.’ Gilmour raised his bottle to her. ‘So what is it, and why did Prince Marek – Nerak – plant so much of it? Why did Prince Malagon – Nerak – harvest and ship so much of it? And, assuming what I encountered on that schooner was one of Carpello’s shipments, how can something that powerful be in use here in Eldarn without me or Steven or even Kantu feeling it?’
‘Those are the key unanswered questions.’ Garec reached for another beer, then asked, ‘Anyone else?’
A chorus of ‘please’ and ‘just one more’ broke Gilmour’s concentration for a moment; when everyone had quietened again, the old magician was staring at Steven.
‘I’ve never been inside Welstar Palace,’ he said finally. ‘I have no idea what Nerak might have been doing there, what preparations he was making for the advent of his dark master’s reign. I should have gone. A thousand Twinmoons later, and I realise now that I should have gone up there and taken a look for myself.’
‘Gilmour,’ Steven started, ‘you can’t blame yourself for-’
‘I’ve been there,’ Brexan broke in. ‘I was stationed there for a while before I came to Rona. But I can’t tell you much about the palace; no one gets anywhere near it.’
‘How about the army?’ Gilmour asked. ‘I understand it’s massive.’
‘Rutters, yes! The whole of the river valley on either bank is the army encampment. When I was there last, I’d wager there were nearly two hundred thousand soldiers on the grounds and in the hills above the river. The tents are a veritable city, and the barges running up and down the Welstar River are a wonder to watch. The river is the palace’s own supply highway; a regiment of soldiers is assigned to oversee the depot along the road into Pellia and to work the docks on either bank.’
‘Great dry-humping lords, why?’ Garec asked.
‘Versen asked that same question,’ Brexan said. ‘He was convinced Prince Malagon had gone insane – he said there was no need in Eldarn for an army that size, and unless Malagon planned to march through Praga and the Eastlands to kill everyone they encountered, there would be no reason to amass such a huge fighting force. Versen said any army that size, encamped for so long, would be riddled with disease. Ailments, afflictions and infections would spread like wildfire, and they’d lose more soldiers to sickness than they ever would to an enemy.’
‘Two hundred thousand.’ Steven whistled low. ‘Why?’
‘Could they be slaves?’ Garec asked. ‘Once the Fold is open and that thing, that essence of all things evil is released into Eldarn, could they be slaves, or maybe a source of energy? Maybe it needs souls, warm bodies, blood, who knows?’
‘That may be,’ Gilmour said. ‘Apart from knowing it exists in there, we never knew anything about what it would do when it arrived.’
‘Blood, souls and warm flesh,’ Kellin repeated. ‘Rutting whores!’
‘But that still doesn’t answer the question of the shipments,’ Brexan reminded them. ‘Unless the trees do something to fortify the soldiers.’
‘Maybe they eat the trees,’ Garec said.
‘We won’t know until we get there,’ Gilmour said finally, definitively.
They spent a quiet moment looking at one another, wondering how many more of their own they would lose. Sallax and Versen had been brought back to life, if only for a moment, by a woman who refused to allow either of them to fade away entirely. Who would be the next to fall?
Garec said, ‘Well, the Twinmoon is upon us. If we can get to Pellia and stop Mark before he reaches Welstar Palace, we might be able to use the table to stop the shipments, neutralise the effects of whatever Malagon has already managed to transport and perhaps even to eradicate or disband that army.’
‘You think they’ll go home quietly?’ Brexan asked. ‘Malagon’s Home Guard are humourless individuals who take their role very seriously. It will take more than just us asking sweetly for them to pack up and head for home.’
Garec said, ‘True; we’ll probably have to fight them, and the Seron, but by that time we’ll have the table.’
They drank in silence. There was nothing left to discuss: they would find Mark Jenkins or they would die.
Eldarn’s twin moons, burnt-yellow and silvery-blue, drifted towards one another in the northern sky and as if in deference, the Ravenian Sea rushed through the Narrows to flood the archipelago that sprawled from Pellia to the wind-ravaged Gorskan coast. With the tide rising in Pellia, ships overladen with Malakasian lumber, textiles, quarried stone and sometimes even livestock set sails and tacked into a queue to pass through the naval blockade. Outbound ships were inspected at their mooring buoys, then given scarcely a passing glance as they made their way across the blockade and into deep waters. Prince Malagon’s naval officers saved their scrutiny for incoming vessels. Ships were expected to heave to and submit to agents of the Harbourmaster, the Malakasian Customs Admiral and the prince’s navy. Terrorists, while rare, were either transported to the wharf and hanged for a Twinmoon, or lashed to a quarry-stone and cast over the side to join the pile of decomposing freedom fighters on the muddy harbour bottom.
A gold-and-green-striped banner was run up when terrorists or Eastland partisans had been discovered hiding below decks, or stowed away inside a foreign merchant ship. The little flag was known informally as Stripes. At night, when it couldn’t be seen, a lilting melody, Stripes’ invocation, was piped across the water and a second watchlight was set – a lantern was hung from the bowsprit. Stripes was more than just military intelligence; it was also an invitation to an aven of distracting entertainment. Guilty merchant officers were arrested and shipped off to a Pellia prison, their vessels seized for bounty or, if old and battered and considered next to worthless, set alight, navy crews were allowed – if not encouraged – to watch the conflagration, and to provide a chorus of hoots and jeers as the guilty men and women, often beaten and bloody by now, were transferred to a Pellia-bound naval vessel. Malakasian navy officers, not normally a generous sort, would dole out beer or rum while their crew enjoyed the spectacle from afar.
On this night, with the twin moons precariously close to one another in the heavens and the southern waters rushing north, three Falkan frigates were escorted towards the narrow mouth of the only deep-water passage through the Northern Archipelago. Somewhere in the midst of all the atolls, islands, spits and sandbars that made up the archipelago they would encounter the convoy of textile, lumber and livestock boats sailing from Pellia Harbour. Assuming the helmsman on each of the lead vessels knew the twisty route well enough, northbound and southbound ships would pass safely, though close enough to hail one another without shouting. Should one of the captains make a mistake, running inside a key marker or placing too far across the channel on a difficult tack, the entire group of ships would be in danger of running aground.
Redrick Shen, the raider-turned-merchant-seaman, had been through the Northeast Channel before, but like most first-timers, he had spent much of the journey watching from beside the rail as the lethal rocks and unexpected sandbars passed within a few paces of the ship’s hull. He might have glanced at a chart once, Twinmoons ago, but it had not been his responsibility to navigate the harrowing passage so he hadn’t committed the sequence of geographical signposts to memory.
Now he watched as the twin moons sought one another in the northern sky. They were an awesome sight, the massive glowing orbs sitting low on the horizon, one smoky-yellow and the other glinty-silver, destined to kiss before dawn.
Around him, the officers and crew, ignoring the Twinmoon, backed away. No one wanted to be in Redrick’s field of view when the demon sailor finally shifted his gaze from the heavens.
‘Captain Blackford,’ he said finally, ‘are you familiar enough with the charts to see us through this Northeast Channel?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I am not.’ The captain winced, looking as if he expected his insides to boil out of his orifices, or his flesh to ripen into pus-filled sores at any moment.
There was a thin covering of ice on the main deck and coating the lines. It would melt after sunrise, but right now the Bellan glowed moonlit-silver, the colour of cold. Redrick’s tunic was torn and his chest was bare, yet he wasn’t troubled by the icy temperature – indeed, he appeared to be positively enjoying it. He sniffed and caught the aroma of something dank – a swamp, or a stretch of water that has stood too long in the sun. It was certainly not the smell of anything common to winter on the Ravenian Sea.
Eventually the demon sailor blinked and asked, ‘What was I saying?’
‘Uh, you were asking about the passage, sir.’
‘Yes, very good,’ Redrick looked distracted again. ‘Check to see if any of these fellows knows how to see us through – and if they do claim to know the way, assure them that I will hold them personally accountable for every scrape and scratch we get while running north. If none of them feels up to that challenge, hail the Souzett and have their captain guide us through.’
‘Right away, sir,’ he said, trying not to let the pleasure of such a relatively simple assignment show in his voice.
Redrick stopped him again. ‘Did you feel anything odd today, Blackford?’
‘Odd? I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not sure what you mean by odd.’
‘Today, when I finally managed to kill Steven bloody Taylor and that band of milksops he hangs about with. Did you sense something curious about that?’
‘I don’t- I can’t-’
‘Never mind, Blackford, never mind,’ he broke in impatiently, staring north again. He pointed beyond the topsails. ‘Those moons up there are actually worlds and worlds apart.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The hairs on Captain Blackford’s forearms stood up; this sudden contemplative mood made him nervous.
‘But from this far away, they look like they’re about to butt heads. It’s funny what a little distance can do to one’s perspective, isn’t it?’
‘It is, sir.’ Blackford ventured a bit further. ‘Plenty of things appear different when examined from far away.’
Redrick’s more common look of vacuous disengagement returned as he whispered, ‘Yes, they do.’
‘I’ll make arrangements for the passage, sir,’ Blackford said, sweating inside his cloak.
Redrick snapped his attention back to the frigate. ‘Let me know when we enter the passage. I enjoyed that run last time.’
As Blackford backed away, he heard Redrick murmur, ‘There was something odd about those spells… almost as if…’ Redrick turned and strode into the aft companionway, leaving the moons to their rendezvous in private, still mumbling to himself, ‘-would look different up close-’
In the Viennese swamp, something large moved quickly past Mark. It didn’t stop to consider him, as foreign as he was to this environment, but sloshed briefly in the pool at the dark end of the Gloriette, scurried through the bushes on the opposite side of the bridge and then splashed again in the water off to Mark’s left. It was like spilled mercury, quick and insidious.
The entire swamp seemed to gasp when the shadow passed through. There had been evil in here before – the coral snake with its ruined head, the poisonous serpents, the tadpoles moving in that ungainly crawl to feed on Redrick Shen – but those things were the kind of evil one expected from a haunted swamp. This newcomer, already gone, was worse, for this would have been evil anywhere; there was no force of goodness strong enough to mitigate it. And Mark suddenly understood from where Nerak had summoned his almor hunters and his acid clouds.
‘What was that?’ he said, confident whatever it had been was gone already, the chill in its wake weakening.
That? Just a bit of insurance for me.
‘Planning to take up bungee jumping?’ Mark wanted the lights on; he needed to move between two more of the columns to reach the little bridge. It wasn’t far and wouldn’t be long, but he didn’t want to risk the slippery coping in the dark; if he stepped in the water, the swamp’s retaliation would be swift and terrifying.
Some things just look different from far away. Moons, mountains, and magic spells, especially.
‘Where are you sending… whatever that was?’
I’m not sure, Mark, that’s why I’m sending her. Perhaps she’ll rid me of your irritating roommate, or maybe she’ll just eat a crew of my own navy. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Ah, well, you can’t make an omelette without killing a few sailors, can you?
Mark didn’t answer. Hugging the column, the same one Jody Calloway had pushed him up against when she grabbed his crotch on Herr Peterson’s class trip, Mark closed his eyes and waited.