“I hope they're watching,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I have something for them.”
Dormael had an urge to argue with her, to tell her it was useless worrying about the gods and what they may or may not do. He believed in them—at least for the most part—but his experiences in the world had taught him that justice was not something in which the gods took part. Prayer might work for priests, but Dormael had found that taking one's own destiny in hand was a much better strategy.
The look on her face, though, silenced those words a second time. He wasn't sure what she meant by the comment, but he was too tired to say anything. Dormael was supposed to be on holiday, for the gods' sake, and the last few weeks had been trying to say the least.
“Just don't get yourself killed,” he sighed. “I'd hate for all of my efforts to be for naught.”
Shawna looked at him then, focusing on him instead of seeing through him. “Dormael...I like you. For all your faults, you're not that bad—even if you have no idea how to properly treat a lady. You're even handsome, after a fashion. But let's make one thing clear.” She moved forward then, grabbing him by the cloak and pulling him close to look into his eyes. “This isn't about you.”
She held him there for a moment, until Dormael was unsure if the girl was going to kiss him or head-butt him. Shawna's expression seemed to register how close they were, and she backed away. Shooting him one last guarded look, she ducked out into the rain. D'Jenn appeared in her wake, glancing in her direction with a confused look as he ducked inside.
“What did you say to her now?”
Dormael shrugged. “Nothing. She's out for blood, that's all. I wouldn't get in her way, were I you.”
D'Jenn smiled. “I'm not worried. She likes me.”
“She likes me just fine,” Dormael sighed. “She just said so, in fact.”
“I'm sure,” D'Jenn said. “But then again, you leer at the girl every time she passes by.”
“She doesn't know that,” Dormael grumbled, “and I don't leer. Rapers leer. I just look—more like glance, really.”
D'Jenn gave him a serious look. “She doesn't know, eh? You should ask her what your eyes feel like on her backside sometime. I'm sure she knows the feeling well.”
“Maybe you should worry about yourself,” Dormael said. “Besides, weren't you telling me not long ago that she was a spoiled princess, and you refused to deal with her?”
D'Jenn shrugged. “She proved me wrong. Now—let's go talk to your ward. I don't want her to start tossing around magic by accident, or instinct.”
“My ward?” Dormael asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Come on,” D'Jenn sighed, pushing past him.
Dormael snorted, and followed his cousin down the short corridor to their room.
They found Bethany still seated on D'Jenn's cot, playing with a doll that had been made from pieces of a frayed rope. One of the sailors must have given the thing to her, because Dormael had never seen it. She brightened as the two wizards came in, setting the doll aside.
“I felt what you were doing,” she said with a nervous smile.
“Did you pay attention, little one?” Dormael asked, sitting on the cot next to her after he had put his guitar away.
“I couldn’t really tell much,” she replied, wrinkling her diminutive brow, “but I could hear it.”
“The storm?” D’Jenn asked, and Bethany nodded in reply.
“Good,” Dormael said. “Listen, Bethany—things are going to get...noisy...soon. You might hear a lot of magic being tossed around out there, but I don't want you to worry, alright?”
“Alright,” she said, but the look she gave him was skeptical.
“No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't come out of this cabin until one of us comes to get you,” Dormael said. “Whatever you do, don't use your magic. Understand?”
“But I want to see,” Bethany protested.
“I thought you might,” Dormael smiled, tousling her hair, “but it's too dangerous, plain and simple. You're to stay here, savvy?”
“Savvy,” she sighed.
“And your magic?” he pressed.
“Don't use it,” she muttered.
“Very good,” he said.
On an impulse, he reached out and took the girl into a one-armed hug around her shoulders. He half expected her to shy away from him, but she didn't. She accepted the hug as if it was perfectly natural, and picked up her doll once more.
“If you want, you can listen to our magic, and get a feel for how it sounds,” Dormael said. “Don't try and open your Kai, mind you, but if you hear us, you can listen—just listen. Alright?”
Her face brightened. “Alright.”
“Do you think that’s wise, cousin?” D’Jenn asked, favoring him with a raised eyebrow.
“You and I did it all the time when we were her age,” Dormael shrugged. “It will be fine as long as she doesn't touch her power.”
“Yes, but we weren’t supposed to do it,” D’Jenn said. “There are reasons that you and I weren’t aware of then, if you remember. If she interferes, even by accident, things could go awry very quickly.”
“That’s why she’s just going to listen, and not interfere. Right, little one?” Dormael said, turning a stern eye on Bethany to make sure she had gotten his point.
“Right,” she nodded, beaming.
“Alright, if you say so,” D’Jenn shrugged, “but just remember that I objected.”
“Yes, and if things do somehow go wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it,” Dormael said.
“Exactly,” D'Jenn smiled, though there wasn't as much humor in his tone as usual.
Dormael sighed and turned his eye back on Bethany. “And what are you supposed to do?”
“Stay here, and just listen,” Bethany smiled.
“Good,” Dormael said, returning her grin. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the stress that was knotting the muscles between his shoulder blades. “Let's go, coz. I want to get this over with.”
With that, they gathered up their weapons and left Bethany on the cot to play with her doll.
Rain was lashing the deck by the time they made it back outside. The wind howled over the waves, sending the sea into a churning mess. Water sloshed over the prow of the ship as Seacutter sliced through the waves. The sky had turned a menacing shade of dark gray.
Mikael's crew sailed on despite the weather, holding tight to hand-lines and moving about with casual expertise. Kennick screamed orders as he marched around the deck, stepping in to correct mistakes where he found them, though they were few and far between. To Dormael's amateur observation, it looked as if Seacutter's crew had been sailing together for quite some time, and needed little in the way of direction.
He and D'Jenn made their way to where Shawna stood, gazing out over the port side at the distant sails of the galleon. She nodded as they joined her, but turned her eyes back to the distant ship with a grim expression on her face. Dormael embraced his Kai and used a bit of his magic to warm himself against the cold, driving rain. In the process he caught a nervous, eager energy wafting from Shawna like mist from a river. Judging from their exchange in the gangway, the woman was immersed in thoughts of vengeance.
“I'm not sure if our plan is going to work,” D'Jenn said, squinting his eyes in the direction of the Galanian ship. “Her sails are still up, and she's sailing true—at least, as far as I can tell.”
Dormael followed his cousin's gaze and felt gnawing uncertainty blossom in his chest. D'Jenn was right—the galleon didn't look to be having as much trouble with the weather as they'd thought it would. She had so much laundry hanging from her masts that it seemed impossible for her to stay aright, but the monstrous vessel came on with inexorable certainty.
“This is a race of endurance,” Dormael said, trying to sound hopeful. “If you can hold Mikael's masts together long enough for theirs to be damaged, we'll win through in the end.”
D'Jenn gla
nced back to Seacutter's rigging, but said nothing. Dormael could feel D'Jenn's magic at work, waxing and waning with the strength of the wind. He wasn't sure how long his cousin could keep it up, though—the force of the wind on the masts would be unpredictable. He might hold out for some time against steady pressure, but what happened when it started gusting?
“We shall see,” Shawna said before falling into another brooding silence.
The next few hours were tense. The storm intensified, bringing howling winds with it. Seacutter's crew rushed to and fro over the deck, climbed through the rigging, and labored hard to keep the ship safe in the water. D'Jenn's face took on a look of strain as he held to the masts with his magic, working to counteract the force of the wind. The galleon stayed close on their heels, even gained on them from time to time, but Mikael kept the distance with smart sailing. The Galanian ship got close enough that Dormael could see tiny forms crawling through the rigging, working like ants to keep the monstrosity sailing in the right direction.
Seacutter was no exception to the weather. Mikael's crew worked tirelessly to outrun the galleon, trimming sails and furling them on command with expert speed and determination. On the few chances Dormael took to glance at the Orrisan Captain, Mikael was watching everything on his ship with a studious eye, calling for his men to trim this, furl that, or tighten down something that was flapping in the wind. As far as Dormael could tell, the man was trying to ride the narrow line between getting as much speed as possible while simultaneously ensuring that the storm didn't rip his ship to pieces. It was a mystifying game to Dormael, but he trusted in Mikael's ability to see it done.
He had no choice, after all.
“Dormael!” D'Jenn said, calling his attention back to the churning sea. “Look!”
Dormael trained his eyes on the Galanian ship, and saw that men were crawling over the upper yardarms, furling the topmost sails as best they could in the driving wind. He felt a sudden surge of elation as their plan appeared to be working.
“Well, we just might get out of this after all,” he said, unable to keep a smile from his face. The galleon began to slow, though her mainsails were still full of the wind. Still, he could tell that Seacutter was pulling away from the giant warship. “It worked! It bloody well worked!”
A sudden commotion broke out on deck. Crewmen scrambled toward one of the mizzenmasts, all shouting curses and confused exclamations. Dormael turned to see what was going on, and felt the hope drain out of him like water from a sieve.
The main mizzen sail was stretched tight in the wind, its lines fraying in two places. Dormael wasn't sure what had happened, but there were two sailors tangled in the taught lines, one of them dangling by his foot. Vicious creaking noises cut through the excited shouting of Seacutter's crew, and Dormael summoned his magic. Crewmen swarmed into the rigging, struggling to reach their ailing comrades through the driving rain.
Kennick appeared with a small group of men hauling a pile of what Dormael assumed was sailcloth. They rushed to get the cloth unfurled while the rest of the crew scrambled like ants to save the two crew members. Dormael could hear Kennick shouting at the men as they worked, but the thunder and commotion was too great for him to make out what the man was saying.
There was a loud snap, and the taught sail suddenly luffed away as the wind tore the lines to shreds. A collective shout of alarm went up from the gathered crew, and some of them ducked to find cover as the rigging tumbled into chaos. The two sailors who had been tangled in the lines suddenly fell, and Dormael reached out with his Kai, wrapping them in his magical grip. He felt D'Jenn's song going to work in the tumult, probably trying to hold the rest of the rigging together. Dormael brought the two men to the deck, trying to find a space where other crewmen weren't rushing back and forth.
“Tie her down! Get that sail in before we lose the whole gods-damned thing!” Mikael boomed, striding to the edge of the commotion. He grabbed two men by their collars and shoved them toward the inert bodies of their downed companions. “Get those two belowdecks, and hurry! Once they're snug, start bringing up weapons! Move, gods-dammit!” He turned, his displeased eyes lingering a moment on Dormael's, then shooting toward the galleon in the distance. Dormael understood his meaning well enough.
“Maybe the gods are watching you,” he cursed to Shawna as he turned back to the sea. “You're going to get your chance at vengeance after all.”
Shawna gave him a quick, guarded look, and returned to watching the galleon in silence.
D'Jenn turned away from the chaos on deck, his magic going quiet as the sailors got everything under control. He grimaced in the direction of the oncoming Galanian vessel, and shot his eyes to Dormael, mouthing a silent curse. Shawna continued to stare into the distance, as if the power of her gaze could bring the ship closer.
“You said that thing has ballistae on deck?” D'Jenn yelled into the storm.
“Aye,” Dormael nodded. “Two of them.”
That thought had already crossed his mind. He gazed into the distance, trying to see through the diving rain and gauge how quickly the ship would catch them. Seacutter was still moving, but she'd lost more sail than the galleon had, even with her topsails furled. There was no stopping the bastard now—it would be a fight.
Mikael's men may be able to beat back the occasional assault by pirates, but elite Galanian soldiers were beyond what these men had ever seen. They would be cut down like wheat once it got close enough for knives, and everyone aboard knew it. If any attempt at parley was made, Dormael wouldn't blame Mikael for wanting to give up the lot of them. Something told him that there would be no parley, though.
His eyes went to the crow's nest.
“I've got to get up there, up to the top of the mast,” Dormael screamed into the wind.
“Bloody fool,” D'Jenn said back. “Your leg! You're going to fall, and I'll have to pluck you out of the sea! You just saw what happened to those crewmen—that's what caused this mess in the first place.”
“I'll be fine, you old woman,” Dormael said. “We have to take out those ballistae, hit them hard before they get too close. Maybe it will scare them off.”
“Doubt it. They know what they're up against,” D'Jenn said.
“Then it's still a good idea to kill a few. I'll be back in a moment.”
“Be careful,” Shawna said, turning a skeptical look on his injured leg.
Dormael nodded, and pulled himself along the rocking ship to a place where he could climb the rigging. He summoned his magic and evoked his floating spell, using the relative weightlessness of his body to relieve some pain. It was an odd way to move around a ship at sea, and the weather made it even stranger. His feet would leave the deck when Seacutter went down the side of a swell, and a lurching feeling would fill his stomach as he realized that the only thing holding him to the ship at all was his grip on the hand-lines.
Once he began climbing, though, the spell was effective. He was able to move over the slick network of ropes with relative ease, though there were a few times he had to hold tight as the ship rocked beneath him. His leg did cry out with pain when he was forced to use it, but there was nothing to be done. He had to reach the lookout. Dormael gritted his teeth and concentrated on the climb.
The lookout reached out from the nest to help him over when he got to the top, and Dormael accepted with relief.
“Are you well, Blessed?” the lookout asked him. He had a small crossbow slung over his back, and was looking down at Dormael's leg with interest. Dormael's eyes went to his wound, and he cursed as he saw his pants stained with his blood. He must have reopened the wound on the climb.
“I'm well enough,” Dormael said. “Listen—I'm going to be doing a few things up here. It's going to get loud and violent. If you're staying, then keep your head down and stay quiet.”
“I’ll leave the bucket to you, wizard,” the sailor smiled. “I’ll tie into the rigging, see how many bolts I can get off before the sea drags us all to the bottom.” He
gestured to the crossbow, and snatched up a sealed quiver that was lying in the bottom of the bucket. He ran his hands over a leather harness that was strapped across his torso, then pulled at a long cord that was attached to a mooring in the bucket. He gathered up his life-line, and went over the side of the bucket and into the storm. Dormael waited a moment before moving, letting the dull pain leak out of his leg as he rested. He fed a bit of heat into his body with his magic, trying to counteract the chill of the driving wind and rain. Finally, he clenched his jaw and climbed to his feet, one hand wrapped around the mast.
The view from the top of the ship was terrifying.
Seacutter rocked back and forth, and rolled to and fro with the churning sea. Every movement was amplified in the nest. Dormael felt like he would be launched from the bucket each time the ship rolled with a swell, and it took a moment for him to orient himself and grow used to the motion. The galleon was close enough for him to see forms crawling over her deck, readying the hulking silhouettes of the ballistae. The warship came on like the storm itself—slow, grim, and unavoidable. It wouldn't be long before she was pulling alongside them, and it would come to boarding hooks and knives.
Dormael planned to give the Galanians a proper greeting.
The sky rumbled overhead as the storm threw its fury at the sea. Dormael pulled on his magic, sending it up into the clouds and channeling the chaotic energies within. He could feel the storm like a web of snarling motes of light, each playing a tone back to his Kai in a conflagration of sound. He sent tendrils of charged air whispering up into the squall, tapping into that web of energy. Focusing his magic, he created a conduit around his body—a pathway for the energy to take.
With his other arm, Dormael pointed a single, ominous finger at the approaching warship. He waited for it to crest a large swell and rush down the other side, to a point where Seacutter sat higher in the water. The deck of the galleon pitched toward him, baring itself like a flower to the sun. He pulled on those tendrils of magic, beckoning with a flash of energy to the roiling clouds above.
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 36