Nightchild

by James Barclay

  “Maintaining exact direction is impossible in these conditions,” he said. “We are doing the best we can.”

  Another slap. “Liar.” Selik's good eye burned into the skipper's face. “You think you're being clever, elf, but I have better men with me. They can see our destination through the mana trails, they can divine our position by light, wind and magic and they can sense an elf toying with the lives of his crew while he delays our purpose.”

  The Captain said nothing. Selik drew back.

  “Now we don't know exactly what you have cost us. We suspect it to be a good deal of time. And for every cost, there must be payment.” Selik moved his sword point higher where it wavered in front of the skipper's neck.

  “I could take the payment from you but I fear your crew might not accept your death. Fortunately, there are ample substitutes.”

  He spun and drove his blade through the helmsman's neck; the young elf stiffened, gurgled and collapsed as Selik dragged the sword clear. The elf twitched as he lay dying on the deck, his blood flooding from the awful wound.

  The Captain felt a surge of sickness and a greater one of fury. He made to spring forward but found Selik's sword point at his stomach once again.

  “That's one step closer to your own death,” he said.

  Selik didn't smile. “You know, somehow I doubt it. The righteous are rewarded, the evil are cast down. It has always been the way. Now I suggest you take care of the wheel before we lose our course again. I'll have my men dispose of this body. After all, we can't afford the time for your ridiculous rituals, now can we?”

  Selik strode to the ladder, the Captain's eyes following his every step. He wished for a wave to take him, for a slip to send him tumbling to the deck. Looking down now on the body of his fresh-faced young helmsman and seeing the renewed rain washing the blood from around his feet, the skipper mouthed a prayer to commend the elf's soul to the gods of the sea and gripped the bloodied wheel, his body on fire with hate.

  Hirad was on deck early on the third day, scouring the way ahead for any sign of the Ocean Elm. He knew he wouldn't see anything before the elven lookouts but he had to do something. Denser and a marginally recovered Ilkar were tending The Unknown and Thraun, Ren was with Jevin as always and Darrick, well, Darrick was in a place of misery of his own invention. It was unlike the General but Hirad let him wallow. The time for bringing them together was not yet, and maybe not ever. Only when Erienne was on board would Hirad feel that there was a Raven to lead.

  The weather had steadily worsened throughout the second day and Jevin had been forced to furl in some sail to retain control of his ship. It was frustrating but Hirad comforted himself in the knowledge that the Elm would be suffering the same and he trusted Jevin's assertion that they would still be travelling faster. But would it be fast enough?

  Even if they sighted them now, would they be able to make up enough ground for a ShadowWing flight that night? Hirad thumped the rail and looked up into the rain and dark cloud, shivering. He had been cold for a day, the energy from his sleep gradually worn away by a growing sense of helplessness. The Unknown was relying on them to save him from being a crippled warrior the rest of his life. And there was nothing Hirad could do. Not until—

  “Ship forward!” The shout came clear down from the crow's nest in the main mast. “Ship forward!”

  Hirad looked but could see nothing. He heard Jevin shouting up from the wheel deck but his elvish was lost on the barbarian as was the answering call. Hirad half ran back along the length of the ship and hurried up the ladder.

  “Careful, Hirad, more haste less speed on a pitching deck,” said Ren'erei.

  “Yeah, yeah. Captain?”

  “It's a definite sighting. We can't yet tell if it's the Elm but it's travelling across our starboard bow.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If it is them, they've been off course. Probably deliberately,” said Ren.

  “Can we catch them?” asked Hirad.

  “There's no doubt of it,” said Jevin. “It's more a question of when.”

  “By nightfall. We have to be close enough by nightfall.”

  Jevin stared hard at him. “I am aware of our timetable. And I will do everything I can that keeps this ship afloat. Do you understand?”

  Hirad cast his gaze skyward. “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing, Hirad Coldheart,” said Jevin. “Now, as I've mentioned before, kindly leave the wheel deck to the sailors. Why don't you prepare your plan, or eat something or whatever. Get Ilkar some more Lemiir.”

  “Just get off your deck, eh?” said Hirad.

  Jevin at last smiled. “Now you're getting it,” he said.

  Hirad turned and headed down the ladder, hearing Jevin's voice ring out across the ship.

  “Bo'sun! I need more sail forward. Let's run this bitch of a storm! Let's show these ignorant humans what sailing really means!”

  The barbarian shook his head, laughing as he strode across the main deck to the forward cabins and headed for the galley. The cook handed him his Lemiir wordlessly and he let himself quietly into the cabin where both mages sat watching the sleeping forms of The Unknown and Thraun. The cabin was stuffy despite the part-open window and the stale air merged with the smells of urine and strong soap to make an unpalatable mix.

  He poured water into a tankard and added the Lemiir powder, swirling it once and handing it to Ilkar.

  “Surprised you can stand the smell in here,” he said.

  “No choice really,” said Ilkar, accepting the tankard and continuing to mix its contents. “Thanks. It's good stuff this. I wonder why I didn't get it earlier.”

  “I have a feeling it's both expensive and in short supply,” said Hirad. “Lucky you're an elf or I reckon Jevin'd let you suffer.”

  “Believe me, I'm still suffering,” said Ilkar. He drained the tankard in one swallow, screwing up his face in disgust. “It's good but it tastes rank and sweet at the same time. It's like swallowing sugared tree bark.”

  “So, are you fit to cast?” asked Hirad. Denser looked around and Hirad grinned broadly at him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Because we've just sighted a ship ahead.”

  “Is it the Elm?” Denser brightened, a light growing in his dull eyes.

  “How many other single ships do you reckon are round here?” said Hirad.

  “Precious few,” said Denser, nodding his head vigorously. “So, Ilkar, what's the verdict?”

  “Well we've got all day. I'll rest up, if you don't mind, but so long as it's simple stuff, I should be all right. Just don't ask me to frame a MindMelt.”

  “ShadowWings?” asked Denser.

  “Borderline but probably,” replied Ilkar.

  “You'd better be able to,” said Hirad. “Because I'm coming with you.”

  “Has it occurred to you, Hirad, that these are not the conditions for carrying someone of your bulk any distance at all?” said Ilkar. “Sorry, but this is going to be just me and Denser alone.”

  Hirad shook his head. “No, it isn't, because I've had an idea.”

  By the time darkness had fallen, Hirad could see the Ocean Elm through the murk of the rain and low cloud. The wind had abated just a little, the swell had settled and Jevin had ordered the bo'sun to deploy as much sail as he dared, knowing the skipper of the Elm would dally as long as he could.

  But as the night began to obscure their quarry, it was clear they still had a long way to go and, at current speeds, would not catch them for another day at least. As the sea softened, the sleeker Elm could pull away from the wider merchantman on which The Raven travelled, and Hirad found himself hoping for another storm. In the middle of the night his prayers were answered but far more violently than he'd wanted.

  Taking a rest along with Denser and Ilkar to prepare for their attack, he was flung awake in pitch dark as the ship rolled sickeningly, almost throwing him from his bunk. Ilkar, lying on the edge of his, wasn't so lucky and tumbled to the floor, cursing. The thundering of feet
and the echoes of shouted orders floated down.

  “Doesn't sound good,” said Hirad, just about seeing Ilkar's outline and dropping to the floor to help him up.

  “What time of night is it?”

  “Gone midnight, I think,” said Hirad. “How's your stomach?”

  “Bearable,” said Ilkar. “We should have been woken before now—”

  They were thrown together as another wave struck the ship broadside, shaking figures out of the shrine and throwing their blankets off their bunks.

  “Let's get topside, then,” said Hirad. “You get Denser and meet me on the wheel deck. I hope we've closed enough on the Elm for you.”

  “So do I.”

  They half ran, half stumbled from the cabin, Hirad feeling his way back to the doors to the main deck, Ilkar going next door to fetch Denser. The Unknown and Thraun would just have to be all right for the time being. Besides, Darrick was sitting with them and the spells would keep them asleep.

  On deck, there was bedlam. Jevin and the bo'sun were screaming orders at the crew. Above on the main mast, one sail was torn in half, its shreds flapping in the gale. All around, the seas were huge and Hirad could see the helmsman fighting to turn the ship head-on to the worst of the swell. Rain hammered down on to the deck and, up in the rigging, elves grappled with sail, trying to furl enough to give them back control.

  Hirad raced for the wheel deck, making it out in the gloom. There were no lights anywhere on board. They wanted to remain hidden and the elves didn't need them anyway. Halfway up the ladder, another wave struck the forward port side, water pouring across the deck. Hirad lost grip with one hand but clung on with the other, smacking backward into the wood above the aft hatch.

  As the ship righted, he swung himself back on to the ladder and scrambled up the last few rungs.

  “What the hell happened?” he shouted, not releasing his grip on the deck rail. The ship lurching, thundering down into a trough.

  “It came from nowhere,” answered Jevin. “Are you ready?”

  “Why, how close are we?” The rain became hail, drumming on to the decks and thudding painfully on their heads. Hirad dragged his furs up over his skull.

  “On the sea, more than a day, still. For you on your wings, I don't know. But we'll get barely closer tonight. If the Elm has any sense, she'll have hove to by now, trying to ride it out. I'm dropping all but topsail. Either that or we'll founder.”

  Hirad nodded. “Thank you for all your efforts,” he said.

  “Perhaps there'll be bonus pay in this.”

  “Count on it,” said Hirad.

  Ilkar and Denser were heading up the ladder. Ilkar looked pale but better than he had on the first day, the Lemiir buying him the time to rest and eat what he could keep down. Denser had a savage light in his eyes, a determination edged with desperation. Hirad had seen it before. It would make him powerful, but changeable.

  “This is it,” said Hirad, voice barely less than a shout. “Jevin says we'll get no closer tonight and The Unknown can't wait any longer.”

  “Can you see the Elm?” Denser asked Ilkar. The Julatsan peered forward, the hail like a sheet in front of them. Hirad could barely see the prow of their ship. Beyond, it was just raging darkness. The wind howled across the open sea.

  “No. We'll just have to fly high and hope.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Stay close to me,” said Ilkar. “I'm your eyes.”

  Denser beckoned them both close and put an arm around each shoulder.

  “We'll need wings trimmed for speed, not mass, so I'll be unstable with Hirad hanging off me. Don't you take your eyes off me for long because, if he falls, you'll be getting him. And remember, Ren said Erienne's cabin was aft. We'll have to assume she's not been moved.”

  “If she has, this could be a very long night,” said Hirad.

  They broke. Hirad fetched a length of rope he'd had tied round his waist all night. Ilkar tied one end around his left wrist and then he lay flat on the deck while the elf attached the other end to Denser's left ankle. One thing Hirad couldn't risk was fouling Denser's wings.

  “Just you get there safe, all right?” said Ilkar.

  “Tell him that, he's driving,” said Hirad. “Have you two got enough weapons? This could be a good night for knives, I think.”

  “We're sorted out. Ready?”

  “Of course not.”

  Ilkar clapped him on the back. “Then let's go.”

  Hirad readied himself. Denser stood with his legs apart enough for Hirad to put his head through them and hang on to both his calves. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he muttered.

  The hail came down harder. He heard a shout from Denser and a heartbeat later he was airborne and yelling his fear into the teeth of a gale.

  “So kill me then!” roared the skipper. “Kill any one you like. Because if we raise any more sail we'll all die anyway.” He shoved Selik away from him, the Black Wing steadying himself quickly and coming back, dagger still drawn.

  “And what the hell good is that handkerchief you've got fluttering up there going to do for us, eh?” He renewed his grip on the skipper's throat, three of his men in attendance should the elf try to fight him.

  The fury of the storm had taken them all by surprise, boiling up from the south under cloud so low they felt they could almost touch it. The skipper had called all hands to the deck and they'd swarmed up the rigging to furl sail as waves crashed across his deck, hurling two Black Wings and a member of his crew into the water to drown in the merciless ocean. Another of his crew had fallen from the rigging and he too would die, his body broken.

  But Selik had stormed up to the wheel deck, demanding he go faster. Faster? They were lucky to be still afloat at all.

  “I'll tell you what it'll do, you ignorant fool,” spat the skipper. “It'll give us just enough manoeuvrability to keep our head to the wind so we can survive this thing. I take it you do want to survive?”

  “Your tone will get you very badly hurt.”

  The Captain grabbed Selik's hand and dragged the dagger toward his own throat.

  “Then do it now, Black Wing, because I am past caring.”

  Selik stared at him, jerked his hand away and backed off a pace, letting go the skipper's throat. He nodded.

  “And what about them behind us?” he demanded, pointing over the skipper's shoulder into the filthy night.

  “If their captain has any sense, he'll be doing exactly what I'm doing,” said the skipper. “They won't catch us, Selik, more's the pity. And even should they, what can they achieve? They can't get through Ornouth in a ship that large.” The skipper was telling the absolute truth. The draft of the ship they'd glimpsed was far too deep to ride the reefs into Herendeneth. Fortunately, a ship that large also had single-masted landing skiffs to offload cargo from deep water. Something Selik was probably unaware of. If Ren was aboard, she'd know when to advise dropping anchor. And he'd sign her any way he could.

  “Unfortunately for the civilised world,” said the skipper, “I know what I'm doing.”

  Selik huffed. A contemptuous sound. “Civilised. Yet you embrace the evil of magic. Elves. Little better than animals in your home continent, I've heard.”

  “Go away, Selik, and let me do my job or you'll be drinking sea water.”

  “I will have you, elf,” said Selik as he turned and gestured his men away. “Yours is a life borrowing heavily from the death.”

  The skipper said nothing as Selik left the deck but his mind was ablaze with revenge. He allowed himself a small inward smile. The Black Wing fools had demanded light on deck as soon as night fell so they might walk in greater safety on the pitching deck. The ship would be visible for miles once the rain abated.

  “Come on, Ren. Come on.”

  The journey to the Ocean Elm was pure torture for Hirad. Clinging on to Denser's legs while the hail lashed into his face and drained his strength, the barbarian could see practically nothing ahead of him. Every now and ag
ain, Ilkar would flash into view but apart from that, all he knew was that when he could see the waves and feel the spray on his legs, Denser was too low.

  They were heading in the right direction, that much he did know. Ilkar had sighted the ship soon after leaving the deck of the Calaian Sun and hovered in close to tell Denser. But how far away they were, he couldn't begin to guess and, as the wind and rain began to chill him, sending aches through his arms and inexorably numbing his fingers even through his gloves, it was close to being too far.

  A sudden gust drove them downward hard and fast, Hirad yelling as his boots skimmed the top of a wave. Denser jerked back up quickly, too quickly for Hirad's cold hands and his grip was torn away and he swung like a human pendulum from the mage's left ankle, a couple of feet of rope all that separated him from drowning.

  The sudden shift of weight unbalanced Denser completely and he plunged seaward, Hirad looking up to see him fighting for height and direction even as he was plunged into the sea. The cold flashed through his body and he gasped in shock. Water washed over his head and Denser, under the heavy drag, was all but catapulted into the wave in front of him, veering up and away at the last heartbeat, hauling the drenched Hirad with him.

  The barbarian looked up again. Denser was shouting something but he couldn't hear it. The cold ate at him. They lurched sickeningly as Hirad swung back and forth, he trying to climb the rope that must be causing Denser agony, and the mage wrestling with his balance as he fought to keep them both from the ocean.

  Hirad tried to swing his right arm round but couldn't get any momentum. The rope was cutting into his wrist and he grabbed on to it with his fingers, trying to relieve the pressure, praying now that they'd reach the Elm before Denser's boot came off. He tried again to get his other hand round but again fell short as the wind buffeted and blew him in dizzying circles. He felt sick now, the cold muddying his mind, the hail and seawater blinding him, the blood running down his arm from the rope-torn skin of his wrist.

  With a thumping of air, Ilkar flew to catch him, driving upward in one movement and hovering until Hirad found his grip again.