After a short time lost in an almost meditative state of flight, he spotted the two enemy cutters, noting their long, narrow dark forms, looking like pitch silhouettes on the waters below. Sails billowing in the wind, Sorn caught sight of the miniature tint of light reflecting off metal which he knew would resolve themselves into steel prow-mounted crossbows, were he to go in for a closer look, which he didn't. What Sorn saw troubled him. The ships now seemed to be heading westward somewhat, which might be a normal aspect of their patrol circuit through these waters. Nevertheless it put Captain Halence's ship in jeopardy, should the captain also sail south-west in the hopes of avoiding them. The heady joy of flight now tempered by fear for his cousins, Sorn made his way back to Halence's ship, soaring through the skies as fast as any crow ever had.
"Captain", said a freshly transformed Sorn a short time later, "it seems they have changed course a bit, and they are now moving in a course both north and west. I don't that much about ships or naval matters, but I suspect they are circling some wide perimeter, and we just happen to be in range of their loop. I guess my earlier suggestion of heading west instead of east was, like the flip of a coin, the wrong one." Sorn couldn't help noting that despite the fatigue etched under his eyes, the captain looked as ready and alive as Sorn had ever seen the man. In some strange way, he seemed to be thriving on the risks they were taking.
Halence waved the concern away. "Worry not, Sorn. Determining the right tactics requires guesswork as much as skill and knowledge. Our goal is simply to have as much knowledge of the enemy as possible given to as skilled a tactician as possible, to keep guesswork to a minimum, and to plan appropriate strategy. Your choice was no better or worse than any one of us could have made, and once again, your information is invaluable."
Halence smiled, and Sorn felt curiously touched by the man’s approval. “Now Sorn, I don't know what energies you have to expend in order to facilitate your magics with your familiar, but I will assume that they are not negligible. So please, rest here and avail yourself of whatever suits your fancy." The captain gestured to a hearty feast laid out on the elegant table behind them. Sorn noted the exquisite craftsmanship that had gone into the dark-grained wood in passing, the majority of his attention upon the sumptuous spread laid on top of it. Halence chuckled softly upon seeing Sorn’s rapturous appraisal of the fare as he approached the food-laden table. "I have seen how you and your cousins take to food the way a dying man does to water, and this is a time where I need all my men at their best, particularly yourself. For all that this was to be part of a victory feast once we make it to Caverenoc's shores, it does us little good if we're sunk at the bottom of the sea. So please, eat to your heart's content, and I shall join you when I return."
The captain left Sorn to the repast and made his way out to the helmsman, presumably to change their course eastward, Sorn assumed. Sorn was more than happy to help himself to the food, of course, as delicious a selection of dried fruit, fresh apples, breads, cheeses, and salted meats as one could desire, with plenty of well-watered ale to wash it down. The wine carafe was, interestingly enough, absent from the table. Apparently the captain wanted his chief scout well-fed and utterly clear-headed, and Sorn didn't blame him in the least.
He would feel a twinge of guilt for his cousins, he thought, had he not known from Fitz telling him as he led a perched Sorn back to their quarters that they themselves had in fact been given a similar feast of sorts, as presented by a smiling Bates, who of course had promptly joined them. Not that the triplets minded. Bates's cheerful banter and warm camaraderie made him a well-favored companion. Besides, he didn't eat much, at least compared to them. Apparently, the captain was thinking of their appetites from their pre-voyage meal at the Three Pigs Inn, and on the off chance his cousins had talents of their own hidden away for some time of need, he wanted them to be well prepared for whatever lay ahead.
The captain, Sorn thought wryly, was scoring points both tactical and diplomatic with his formerly unwanted passengers. Halence also apparently thought, which was perhaps the case for most wizards here, that communing with a familiar was a taxing event. The truth was that few things were so effortless for Sorn as polymorphing himself into the crow. Of course, releasing arcane energies outward would drain him as it would any wizard. Throwing multiple balls of fire, for example, was no small magical feat, and would quickly become exhausting in this form, despite the sweet invigorating rush of channeling so much arcane might. Unless, of course, he was actually aiming at living targets, which was itself an event with ramifications he did his best not to think about too much.
Even throwing arcane orbs, that basic spellweb he had mastered so well that he could visualize it with absolute crystal clarity and bring it forth near instantly, even that exercise would prove fatiguing after dozens of castings.
Transformative wards were different. Though they reshaped his physical being, once cast they required no further energy to maintain. To the best of his understanding, in fact, his essence wild-eyed its original potency which translated to an uncanny, even supernatural resilience when transmuted into a form normally physically weaker than his own. It was, in a sense, a survival mechanism both primal and arcane. The one drawback was that he still needed to take in an unusual amount of sustenance to thrive, as it was more than just his physical manifestation that needed the life force that he consumed.
Of course, his nutritional requirements were nowhere near what they would be in a non-transmuted form. As a crow, he might need to eat a great deal of grain or biscuits or even meat to maintain peak vitality, but nowhere near what he would require as a man. However, in either shape his needs were still enough to be remarked upon, this being one requirement that he and his cousins were finding very difficult to hide. Yet still, should the captain think it was from the taxing drain of what was for him a near effortless transformation, all to the better. The less Captain Halence knew, the more comfortable Sorn would be.
Draining the last of his watered ale, Sorn looked a tad bit forlornly at the ravages of his repast, almost regretting the apples and several pieces of salted meat he made himself, by sheer force of will, leave for the captain. At that very moment Halence made his way back in, with a gleam in his eye and a bounce to his step. ‘Exhilaration' seemed the word best suited to describe the captain's mood. For all the Halence's talk of prudence, caution, and how foolish it was for Sorn and his cousins to risk their necks on this crazy venture, as he put it, the captain himself seemed to thrive on risk.
"By the gods, Sorn, how much do you eat?" The captain chuckled and shook his head. "No matter, lad. You have certainly earned it, and more." He went and poured himself a mug of watered ale, sipping it contemplatively while giving Sorn a penetrating look that Sorn found a bit unsettling.
"I must admit, Sorn, earlier I thought you were getting ready to confess to me that you were undeclared nobility, being politely sentenced to a stay at Nevontain's martial academy, perhaps because you were born on the wrong side of the sheets, or mayhap to get you away from a power struggle of some sort."
Halence smiled wryly at this point. "Seeing as how the present line of dukes have fallen sharply against the poisoning of potential House heirs, banishment to some academy or another has become by far the preferred method of dealing with the matter." Halence smiled bitterly for a moment. "Ah, Sorn, had you but been to the academy, you could have seen the almost comic sight of five-year-olds being taught to march in formation before crying themselves to sleep in their dorm rooms with only the comfort of appointed nannies to see them through the long hours of the night. Still, far better to send unwanted familial offspring to the academy, I suppose, than to simply have them drowned like kittens."
Halence paused again, shaking his head as if to clear it of bitter contemplations. His tone was almost light when he continued.
"And so, having found trade far more interesting, exciting, and profitable than the idea of spending hours slogging through the rain and mud while some brainle
ss excuse for a drill sergeant screamed at you, during those hours when you were not learning how to more effectively kill people to make your family proud, you had come to the conclusion that perhaps the life of a trader would be a better choice by far. A life where the risks you take are your own, where you can profit handsomely by dint of your own cleverness with no one else to put you down or take credit for your successes or excuse your failures. A life where you are respected by most, and no one gives a flying turd whether both of your parents were sleeping in the correct bed or whether or not you are the exiled heir of some House or another, so long as you bring in the goods as promised."
Halence paused, taking a sip of his watered ale. "In short, Sorn, I had thought that you were going to tell me that you now had your life figured out and wanted to be a trader, but that being said, you were no sop in the mud either, and were perfectly willing to fight as necessary to protect your ship and mates, as you have probably been trained with sword in hand since you were about eight."
At this point, Halence sighed. "And here I find my brilliant deductive reasoning has failed me entirely, and you are, in fact, a young runaway mage playing at being a trader. Quite talented, probably, to have gained sponsorship to the Royal Academy. From what I understand, they only pick those who have the potential to master magics of the third order of magnitude, whatever the hell that means. Unless, of course, you are a noble from a sponsoring family that actually wants you, in which case you can no doubt get your degree, even should you have no more talent than that required to light a candle. With flint and steel, if needed. Further, I gather that there is very little, if any, wading through mud, and hardly any screaming either. And considering that powerful mages are accorded the respect equivalent to that of minor nobility, and no one gives a fart who their parents are in any case, or at least, no one would be stupid enough to say it out loud if they did, I am forced to wonder, with all that potential ahead of you, why the hell you would want to be a trader in any case."
Halence laughed softly then, gazing at Sorn with a wry shake of his head, and no small amount of warmth in his eyes. “Ah. But who am I to judge, my young friend. The bars of servitude seek to chain us all, no? Whether it is the demands of a psychotic armsmaster or a pitiless mage that we find intolerable, that we do is all that truly matters. The pigeonholes that various people in our lives try to plug us into can be vicious cages in their own right, from which we all seek to be free.”
Halence poured himself some more watered ale, offering the same for Sorn, who accepted, though he was a bit unnerved all the same by the scrutinizing gaze Halence favored him with as they sipped their drinks.
"As you know, Sorn, our contract guarantees you one-third of the profits from our venture upon the sale of our grain at Caverenoc. As you may realize as well, it says nothing about receiving any share of any profits received for goods shipped or services performed en route from Caverenoc back to York, or elsewhere, should we choose a different port of call."
Halence paused a moment before continuing. "Sorn, I would like to extend our contract. Your skills could well prove invaluable to our success here. Indeed, my worst expectations did not take into account the heavy mounted crossbows or flaming balls of pitch. What you have done already could well end up saving our lives from an enemy which I foolishly underestimated." Halence brooded for a silent moment, his troubled eyes locked upon images only he could see, absentmindedly picking up a slice of beef before once again voicing his thoughts out loud.
"Indeed, these ships point to a force sufficiently organized and sophisticated that I fear Caverenoc will not have long before it falls, and perhaps we in the north may soon have a significant problem on our hands."
Halence once more locked his penetrating gaze to Sorn's own. "I would like you to receive credit for the aid you have already rendered my vessel. And, though I don't see why you would want to stay at a city that will soon fall under siege, I will admit that just for my own piece of mind that I would like to have the assurance that we will have the benefit of your scouting abilities on our return journey. So, Sorn, here is my proposal. We shall amend the contract right now, stating that you will also be due one-third the profits of whatever goods or services transported or performed, during our return journey from Caverenoc to a safe port of call; most likely York, but that may change. Of course, it would be expected that you would help as you could to facilitate our profitable and safe return home, such as the services you are performing for us today. Well, Sorn, what do you say?"
Sorn, content with a full belly, the satisfaction of doing a job he knew was appreciated, and with gentle visions of gold, shiny jewelry, and all things brilliant and sparkly, was all too happy to agree. "That sounds like an excellent proposition, Captain. To profit and trade!" Sorn clinked mugs with a grinning Halence.
"Lad, you're a trader after my own heart!" Halence said as Sorn, after a prudent reading, signed the amendment to the contract. Though it pertained to him alone, he had every intention of sharing whatever gains were made with his cousins. After all, he chided himself, before he got bit by the 'hunger,' so to speak, the idea of trade was merely a means to an end, and being true to himself was still paramount to him, newly reawakened hunger for wealth or no.
Halence grinned. "I don't suppose you feel sufficiently fit to perform another feat of aerial scouting before darkness casts its pall, and we sail once more by starlight?"
Sorn's smile was all the answer Halence needed. "Not a problem, Captain." Loving as he did the exhilaration of flight, especially wrapped in the invigorating salty air currents over the sea, he was all too happy to comply.
"So you mean we now get a third of all profits on the way back? That's excellent, Sorn!" Hanz said exuberantly as he made his way to the crow's nest, Sorn at that moment the shape of that namesake, presently resting on his cousin's shoulder. "How did you talk him into that? He was fighting for every percent at Jesere's." Sorn absently preened his feathers.
"To tell you the truth, Hanz, I didn't really have to negotiate the point at all. The captain offered it outright, and seeing as how we were planning on going back with him anyway, I decided to accept his offer as a gift of sorts, not feeling that it would be fair to argue for more."
"Your probably right, Sorn," Hanz said. "But think about it. We know he's a nice guy, but he also enjoys being a sharp trader. He knows we're coming back, right? And that we would fight bandits with him anyway to protect our stuff, even if we were not friends. So why did he want to get all formal with the contract and give up a third of whatever he gets on the return journey? I don't know, Sorn. Maybe he does mean it as a gift of sorts, maybe this is his way of being friends, or maybe he knows something that we don't."
His cousins, Sorn thought, were very bright lads indeed. They would no doubt be quite clever, when they grew up. "Hanz, you raise an excellent point yourself. Perhaps the captain was being generous in his appreciation, in which case we are fortunate indeed to have him as a friend, or perhaps he has some ulterior motive that we can't see as of yet. But the fact is we were planning on returning with him even if he does change his port of call, as I don't think any of us were that inclined to stay in York and apprentice ourselves for who knows how long." Hanz agreed with a quick nod. "It's not like we would have minded that much if he decided to set sail for the other side of the world, right? So I don't know that we need to be concerned overly much about it. My guess is that his ulterior motive, if anything, is just the assurance that he can count on us being with him. Who knows? Maybe he has some plan to make a quick profit on the way back. In which case, good for us, because we get a cut, right?"
"Right you are, Sorn!" Hanz said cheerfully, giving his cousin a wave as he flew off, silhouetted in the setting sun, flying off to scout out their fellow travelers on the sea. Hanz sighed wistfully. He too, like his brothers, would love to join his cousin in flight.
"All is well, Captain," a refreshed Sorn reported to Halence sometime later, Halence presently in his quar
ters once again, taking a break from navigation, the time being well past nightfall. Despite the late hour, Sorn was fully awake and feeling more invigorated and alive than he had in days, what with all the flying through the crisp sea laden air he had been doing. In truth, his arms were just the slightest bit tired, but pleasantly so. "The ships are now heading almost straight due west, and our southeast path misses them completely."
"Excellent," Halence acknowledged, now sipping from a crystal goblet filled with a pleasantly spicy ruby wine. "Please, Sorn, help yourself to a glass. Don't worry, I'm not expecting any further reconnaissance work tonight. I'm not so foolish as to risk mishap, asking your familiar to scout when all is near as black as pitch."
"Why thank you, Captain," Sorn said, sipping the rich wine for politeness sake more than anything else, though enjoying its taste just the same.
"It has been a long day for both of us, I am sure, but I need to be up and keeping an eye on things, as tonight will be the night where we will try to run what blockade there may be in front of Caverenoc. I hope by dawn's first red light to be at the outer breakwater, and from there, gain admittance to the port proper, hopefully without any ships on my tail that would make the gate wardens less than enthusiastic about opening the portal. So you see why we have to make this run at night, of course, and why it is fortunate that there are stars out tonight that I can navigate by. I fear that were we to try to run the blockade during daylight, enemy ships would be close enough together that even if you were to spot them before they did us, it would do us little good, as there would be no easy way to get past them. And a race for the breakwater does no good if Caverenoc will not open the portal for us."
Sorn nodded, recalling the tidbits he had gathered about their destination during the voyage so far, that Caverenoc was a city-state whose port was partially closed off by an enormous breakwater that helped to protect the port and its ships from the far harsher waves and temperament of the outer sea. Part natural formation of jutting rock, over time it had been carved and fortified to serve as both a breakwater and as a natural defense, and was one of Caverenoc's greatest tactical assets.
Gold & Glory Page 27