by J. S. Morin
Two of the sorcerers Brannis had never met nodded in acknowledgment, making it apparent that they were Ruuglor and Faolen, though he could not gather which was which.
“Lastly, Juliana Archon will be going as well.”
The last comment provoked a reaction from Shador Archon, who immediately bolted up to his feet.
“You cannot just send a girl into a war! She is only Sixth Circle and you just arranged her to your own son. You may have aspirations of turning Iridan into a warlock, but Juliana is no warrior,” Shador said. “What game are you playing at? Are you trying to get her killed?”
“Relax yourself, Shador. I have no thought as to how long the siege of Raynesdark may last. I had just thought that it would be good for Iridan and Juliana to spend time together, and Iridan will certainly not be staying behind. When the fighting starts, I would expect her to keep out of the fray, along with Sorcerers Ruuglor and Faolen, I might add. Only Iridan would I expect to actually engage the enemy,” Rashan said. “And besides, I believe that a man fighting to protect his lady love will always fight to the best of his ability.”
The conversation went on for a while longer, but that was the last of it that really sank into Brannis’s mind. The lords and sorcerers may have missed his intent, but Brannis had heard it as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud. It was not Iridan that Rashan was looking to goad into excellence, but Brannis himself.
* * * * * * * *
After the dinner was over, one of the palace porters brought Brannis to a room they had made ready for him. The palace was replete with guest rooms, prepared to entertain personages from all over the world, from kings to emperors, lords to merchant princes, and occasionally even Kadrin nobility when they came from outside the city.
Brannis stopped in the room just long enough to allow the dinner guests to go their various ways. Once he felt it was relatively safe to go about without answering a lot of questions, he headed across the palace and to the Tower of Contemplation.
The guards on duty that night were not Tod and Jodoul, but they let Brannis into the library anyway. After all, short of Rashan himself, Brannis seemed to be in charge of everyone, as far as most folk could tell.
An hour later, when Brannis left with a pack that was suspiciously much fuller than when he arrived, the guards said nothing. There were rules about taking books from the library—namely, that no one was to take books from the library—but Brannis was willing to ignore rules until such time as he heard from Rashan that they applied to him. Anyone else was going to have to take it up with the warlock if they did not agree with what he did.
Inside the pack were three volumes: Basic Wards, which seemed to have a good overview of the simpler warding spells; Hellfire’s Song, a whimsically entitled book that nonetheless contained details on a number of battle magics that Brannis thought might be good to know; and The Way of the Wind, which discussed at length weather and wind patterns, both from an academic as well as magical view.
Brannis had nearly taken Magic at Sea: The Tides of Aether and Water, but had no idea how to justify having it if someone found it. He promised himself to look into it later, upon his return. Kyrus would just have to get by without nautical magic for a while.
Chapter 25 - Sorcerer Ahoy
Kyrus was relieved to find the chair still in place upon his awakening. He had jammed it against the door before going to bed, worried that some superstitious man among the crew might decide he felt safer with no “witch” aboard ship. The gentle swaying of the cabin reminded Kyrus that they were at sea—still in the Katamic, unless he had slept for days. The cabin had no window, and the only light came from the soft blue glow that Kyrus had left there the previous night.
He was surprised how well rested he felt. He had feared that he would not sleep at all, given the motion of the ship and the worry about his safety. After bracing the door, he had curled up on the cabin’s lone bunk, which he knew to be a luxury aboard ship, and let his vision drift into the aether. He had never tried it before, but he found that he could watch Sources even through the wooden planks of the ship. It was fascinating—and a bit eerie—being able to see through walls, if only in a limited fashion, but it let him keep track of where the other men on the ship were, and reassure him that they were not gathering outside his door.
However, fascination and falling asleep rarely could cohabitate in the same mind. While Kyrus intended to watch the door for signs of attack, he fell in to watching the habits of his new shipmates. He heard voices and connected them to the distinct look of each Source, and tried to catch names and add those to his collection as well. He was also disconcerted when he noted that he could even see through the floor below him and grew irrationally nervous when he saw men milling about belowdecks under his cabin. He was not yet familiar with the layout of the ship, but he supposed that he was above one of the holds. The men had not congregated below him, just poked around a bit, and he saw a larger group of them lying farther down the lower deck, which he gathered was the crew’s quarters.
Shortly after confirming that his impromptu door lock was secure, Kyrus let his vision back into the aether to check the environs outside his quarters. He could hear them at work out on deck, and his aether-vision confirmed that nearly the whole crew was above deck, with a few going to and from the hold. There were in fact a great many more men than he had remembered from the previous night. He resolved to look into it once he had a chance to look around the cabin more thoroughly.
He had been preoccupied with his safety at first and later with the goings-on aboard ship, and had not taken inventory of his new abode. For better or worse, for the time being, he was a pirate, and he had lost all his Acardian possessions save the clothes he wore and the Expert’s Medallion that still hung around his neck—thankfully they had not seen fit to relieve him of it at the Scar Harbor jail. Whatever he had in his cabin would become his, temporarily at least. Blinking back into normal light vision, he reconnoitered the room.
The whole of the cabin was done in dark-stained wood, polished to a shine where it had not worn. The single bunk was of a simple design, with little ornament aside from round knobs at the footer. It had heavy blankets, feather pillows, and was quite comfortable for shipboard accommodations. There was a small writing desk, permanently attached to the wall, whose chair Kyrus had used to bar the door. A lantern hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room and was low enough that Kyrus would have to watch his head lest he injure himself on it. He considered removing it, as he would be quite content to use magic to light his room, but he would have time to redecorate later.
The most interesting furnishing in the cabin though was the footlocker. Made of oak and reinforced with iron bands and hardware, it had a formidable look to it. Unlike the rest of the cabin, it showed its age in the smooth-worn areas where a hand would reach to open or close it, and bore scratches and nicks in keeping with a chest that had traveled with its owner for years before coming aboard the Harbinger. Kyrus tried to open the lid and found it locked. He took some time to search the room—under the bed, in all the desk drawers, looking for compartments in the lantern—but could find no key. Likely it had been left in Acardia with its owner.
Kyrus studied the lock. He knew very little about locks but was not above learning. He picked up a letter opener he found in the desk and jammed it into the keyhole and wiggled it around a bit, managing nothing aside from marring the edge of the opener. A few minutes of frustration later, he simply repeated the spell that had sprung him from his jail cell:
“Kohtho ilextiumane veeru,” he chanted softly and made sure to keep his fingers safely apart.
At first, he merely warmed the lock, but slowly he brought his fingers closer together, and watched as the metal began to glow. Then with a quick burst of aether, he pressed his fingers together, creating a white-hot flash just before his fingers touched. Quickly he reached out and pulled the lid open, keeping his fingers well away from the lock. A whiff of smoke rose from the ruined lo
ck, causing Kyrus to cough and turn his head away. He had managed to keep the wood from catching fire, though, and that was all he had hoped for.
Inside the chest, he found clothing and personal effects. There were Acardian Navy uniforms, a heavy jacket, a pair of worn shoes, a sterling silver tankard, a shaving kit, a dagger with a carved ivory handle, a coffer that was heavy with coins, and a collection of exotic jewelry. Kyrus was careful not to confuse “exotic” with “valuable,” as the jewelry consisted of stuff Kyrus would not have given a second look in the markets. There was a shark-tooth necklace, with the teeth polished and dulled enough to not endanger the wearer; a bracelet of carved wood, made to look like it was woven; a belt buckle of hammered tin that showed the insignia of some Takalish distillery; and a ring set with amber that contained a tiny spider.
Kyrus opened the coffer and counted over twelve hundred eckles. It was a tidy sum, hardly enough to retire on but certainly enough for a contingency in case he needed it. Kyrus put the coffer away and took up the shaving kit. There was a small cup and brush, some soap, a razor, a leather strap, and a small mirror with a loop at one end. He looked about and found a hook on one wall, and hung the mirror.
Kyrus had looked better. He was bruised and battered. He had not shaved in days, and he needed to comb his hair. He quickly rechecked the footlocker for a comb, but found nothing. He decided that in all likelihood the former occupant had been bald, or at least kept his head clean shaven. Kyrus angled the mirror a bit to look himself over. His clothes were torn and filthy, and he decided that he would need to find clothes somewhere on the ship that would fit him. His Expert’s Medallion was intact and still around his neck, which he was oddly thankful for. There were to be few enough ties to his life in Acardia, and that was one he had at least managed to keep with him.
He took the medallion and examined it, looking over all the curves and lines, remembering the night he had gotten it. It had not been so long ago, less than a month even. Back then, Davin had been around, and Kyrus had little to worry about beyond finishing his day’s work. He had little in the way of responsibilities and had spent his free time reading and playing chess with Davin. All the excitement he could crave, he lived out in his dream world, which seemed at the time to be a sensible alternative to risking his own life with a sword and armor.
Since he had received the medallion, Davin had left for Golis to work for the king, and he had taken over the business. He had first discovered that the magic he saw in his dreams really worked, and realized that the knight he saw in his dreams saw Kyrus in his own. And most importantly, he had met Abbiley, a girl he had admired from afar for years yet never worked up the courage to approach. His time with Abbiley had been the best of his life, and he regretted not having approached her sooner. He had not realized back then that he would have so little time with her before the strange turn his life had just taken would separate them. He had seen her just yesterday, yet he was heading the opposite direction with no clear plan to get back to her. He was missing her badly already.
Kyrus was all ready to wash up and make himself presentable when he realized he had no water. He sat down on the edge of the bed to consider that peculiar conundrum. The ship was surrounded by water, but Kyrus had lived by the sea long enough to know better than to expect to drink or wash with seawater. Having to store any freshwater they would use probably meant that the pirates were not likely to use much of it for washing. Kyrus was going to be in the same boat with them, both literally and figuratively.
He went through the clothes in the footlocker and laid them out on the bed. He tried on various articles and found that at the very least, the loose-fitting tunics that the navy wore for working on deck were forgiving of size differences. The previous owner was shorter and stouter than Kyrus, but the billowing garment covered him well enough. While the sleeves were not long enough, the top covered his torso—though would not tuck in as a good navy officer would wear it—and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, it did not look so ridiculous as it hung loosely from his shoulders.
Kyrus checked the mirror again. He looked like a lost little boy who had been dressed in someone else’s clothing. Slipping back to aether-vision, he saw the dozens of men outside, each one a killer, and wondered how long a lost little boy might last among them. Shifting back to seeing in the light, Kyrus had an idea.
He dug out the strange jewelry from the locker and put on the necklace, the bracelet, and the ring. He looked in the mirror and decided that the bracelet looked silly on him, and removed it. The shark-tooth necklace and spider ring looked just primitive enough that it might give second thoughts about his mystical powers.
Kyrus also snuffed out the blue light in the room. It was easy on his eyes as he worked, but it was too calming and serene for the effect he wanted. Quickly casting the light spell again, he set the color to a deep, ominous red, the kind of light you saw looking through the grating of a wood stove, or in a blacksmith’s forge.
While the pretense he was creating stood to give pause to those who might take advantage of the scrawny scrivener aboard, Kyrus had one real protection to add. He took the quill and ink that came with the desk and began drawing on the inside of the door. Brannis had done more in his time in the library than just select books to take along; he had read up on the proper runes for creating a warded door. Kyrus had never created a ward before but had practiced a bit with the rune language, and his hand was steady for the kind of work that was required.
When he finished drawing on the door, he inspected his work, and it looked just as he remembered it from his dream. Knowing that it would not last even the day as ink, Kyrus began tracing over the ink with the letter opener, carving the runes into the wood of the door. It took hours of work, but when he was finished, he energized the runes with aether and threw his weight against the door. By physical means, he could not budge the door at all.
Releasing the ward, Kyrus finally allowed himself out on deck.
* * * * * * * *
Despite his initial apprehensions, Kyrus found himself enjoying his time out on deck. He was still unused to the swaying of the ship at sea but had not actually fallen down yet trying to walk.
The noise and extra Sources he saw were from the ship they had tethered themselves to. After asking around, he found that it was the Nyurissa, Stalyart’s former trade ship. They were taking on additional supplies and had picked up a handful of additional crewmen. They were transferring aboard all the things Stalyart had prepared and trading in many of the belongings and supplies from the navy’s crew.
Kyrus had made many friends among the men when he had seen them struggling to load crates of rum with the ship’s primitive crane. He had sent men scrambling in every direction when he had grabbed the load with telekinesis and easily completed the task for them. Once they had departed and raised the sails, Kyrus had filled them with a strong wind to get them under way.
“Stand by us, Mr. Hinterdale, and you will always have a welcome on this ship,” Captain Zayne had told him.
The old pirate had seemed ecstatic to have the services of a true sorcerer aboard, even if he was a bit green—both in the lack of experience and his slight discomfort with sea travel.
Kyrus had spent much of the day making the acquaintance of the rest of the crew. They seemed unscrupulous to a man, and while many seemed eager to endear themselves to the one who could lift their loads and fill their sails, Kyrus was sure that several were uncomfortable having a sorcerer on the ship. There was something in their eyes when he spoke to them; the pirates seemed bold enough by and large, but the ones who could not meet his gaze unnerved him. He supposed that it was partly the bizarre accoutrements he had outfitted himself with, but mostly that he was outside of their realm of knowledge. Of all the crew, the only ones who seemed comfortable around him were Captain Zayne and First Mate Stalyart.
The men themselves had a motley feel to them. They were of all nations and kingdoms, mostly lowborn, but a few had been well bred b
ut disgraced. He lumped both Denrik and Stalyart into the latter category, though he knew not the history of either man. The captain was clearly a well-educated man by his diction, and Stalyart seemed too keen to have gotten all his learning from the docks and alleys.
“Now, what many of you have waited long for,” Stalyart called out in the early evening hours, drawing men from all over the ship to the area of the main mast. “This is our first haul. While we did not take the Nyurissa in battle, we nevertheless had much gold to bring aboard. This was gold once won by Captain Zayne, and is now his reward to all of you for bringing him a new ship.”
As men gathered about, they could see that he had his foot on a strongbox and held a black-bound ledger in his one hand and a quill in the other. One of the men Kyrus had not met opened the strongbox, and those gathered nearest gasped and immediately began to press forward.
“Stay back, you dogs!” shouted Captain Zayne from the quarterdeck, where he was overseeing the disbursal of funds. “You shall each get your share, and no more. See these railings?” He pointed around the perimeter of the ship. “This is the border of our little kingdom here, and within this kingdom there is no stealing. Out there …” He gestured vaguely beyond the ship to the world at large. “… all is for the taking, but here we are brothers. If any of you smart fellows thinks that your brothers back on land might steal from you, let me just assure you that I do not take kindly to bad blood aboard my ship. When we fight, when we plunder, we need to know that there is no knife at our back. When one prospers, we all do. When one fights, we all do. Theft from one of us is theft from all. Gods willing, there will be loot enough for us all to retire like kings.