by Deborah Hale
He nodded toward the stern of the ship. “Let’s go talk to Gull. Find out what he means to do and what part we can take. The Giver knows, we’ve had plenty of practice fighting the Han.”
Hand in hand, they moved toward the rear of the vessel, trying to stay out of the way of crewmen rushing here and there. They found Captain Gull standing on a raised section of the deck peering through the strange instrument Maura had seen him use earlier.
Langbard had told her about such devices. The far end of the tube was enchanted with flesh from the eye of a great northawk preserved in a thin coating of clear sap from the giant hitherpine. It allow the person who looked through it to see as far, and as well, as one of those keen-eyed birds perched atop that tallest of trees.
First Gull peered behind to the east then to the west. “Slagging scum!” he muttered, just loud enough for Maura to hear. “They should have sailed a week ago, rot ’em!”
Maura and Rath exchanged a look. Had the sailing of the Ore Fleet been delayed by the miners’ rebellion?
“East south east!” cried Gull. “Can you get me no more speed?”
From high in the rigging a crewman called down, “Not with these sails and this wind, Captain! Do you reckon it’ll be enough to let us slip through their noose?”
Gull laughed. “The Han have been trying to get a noose around my neck for a while now and never succeeded. They will have no better luck today!”
Again Maura met Rath’s gaze. Did Gull’s crew recognize a desperate boast when they heard it?
“How close are the Han?” asked Rath. “And what ‘noose’ you are trying to dodge?”
“What are you doing here?” Gull lowered the seeing tube and stared at them, a look of puzzlement and annoyance wrinkling his brow. “Did I not order the pair of you belowdecks?”
He sounded much more vexed than when he’d ordered their deaths, yet Maura did not find herself intimidated. “Answer Rath’s question! Our lives are as much at risk as any on board. Perhaps more. We have a right to know what is going on!”
“Very well, wench. I will tell you what is going on.” Gull pointed off to the east with one hand and to the west with the spy tube. “A line of Hanish fighter ships from either side of the ore convoy is moving up like a pair of pincers. Damned if I know how they signaled one another to spring this trap, nor do I care. Unless we can break through one way or the other, they will catch us between them and crack us like a roasted bristlenut.”
His gaze flickered in a strange manner as he spoke. Maura wondered if it was a sign of the fear he dared not show his crew.
Rath glanced toward the setting sun. “Did you not say we might make the Islands before nightfall? Can we outrun the Han long enough to reach the enchanted coastal waters you told us about? The ones that can sense metal and sink Hanish ships.”
Gull shook his head. “To repeat my crewman—not with these sails and this wind. I don’t suppose your pretty enchantress could make the wind change course for us?”
“I wish I could.” As Maura reached toward her sash, rough hands seized her from behind and she heard Rath cry out.
Too late, she realised Gull’s skittery eye movements had been wordless orders to his crew.
“What treachery is this?” She put up a token struggle and shot Captain Gull an indignant glare. “Our enemy is out there! We have done nothing but offer you our help against them!”
Glancing at the cat draped around his shoulders, the smuggler addressed his next words to it. “Ah, but is our enemy only out there? I wonder. Or was I right about this pair in the first place—figuring them for Hanish spies? Perhaps we had better toss them overboard.”
“Gull,” Rath growled, “you do not have time for this. If we were spies, we would have jumped into the sea already. I am not a strong swimmer, but I could stay afloat long enough for one of those ore tubs to retrieve me, rather than stay here to be cut to pieces by their warships!”
An instant of silence greeted his words, as if Gull and his men were trying to work out whether they might be true. In that instant, an idea blossomed in Maura’s mind. Seizing the chance to be heard, she blurted it out before she could question her own ignorance of seafaring or reject the notion as madly dangerous.
“Turn on the Han!” she cried. “You said they are too fast for you with the wind behind them, but the Phantom is nimble and can sail against the wind. Prove it!”
Time seemed to slow as Gull stepped toward her, his mouth opening. Maura thanked the Giver there were no metal weapons aboard the Phantom. If Gull had held a sword, she feared he would have run her through for daring to tell him what to do with his ship.
The words that came out of the captain’s mouth were the last she expected. “You heard the wench! Turn and dart in among the galleys. That should take the Han by surprise!”
The crew leaped into action and slowly the Phantom swung about to meet the Ore Fleet head-on.
“Captain,” called the man holding Maura, “does that mean we can let go of these two?”
Gull looked from Maura to Rath and back again. Then he nodded. “But keep a close watch and seize them again if they make any move to jump overboard. I swear if this goes awry, I will kill them with my own hands.”
Rath shook off the hold of the two large crewmen it had taken to restrain him then gathered Maura into the shelter of his embrace.
“A bold plan, love!” He chuckled. “Ordered like a true—”
“I know,” muttered Maura. That jest had no power to amuse or soothe her now. “Like a true outlaw.”
“No.” Rath shook his head then lifted her hand to his lips. “I was going to say, ordered like a true queen.”
It was a bold plan. Rath pressed his lips to Maura’s hand, in admiration and homage. But would it work?
The Phantom was only one ship and small compared to the monstrous vessels bearing down on them. Her crew was not even armed to repel boarders. It was one thing for Gull to boast of sailing circles around the Hanish ore galleys. If the Phantom got caught in a squeeze between two of those big iron hulls, the wooden ship would be smashed to splinters.
“Oh, Rath—” Maura gripped his fingers so tight that he almost cried out “—what have I done?”
“Only what you needed to do and what you bid me do.” For her sake, Rath cast all his doubts adrift. “Trusted in the Giver and in our destiny.”
“But what if...”
Rath knew what she was feeling—the weight of leadership pressing down upon her. The fear that a bad decision of hers might harm more than just herself. He had no advice to give her for he had never learned how to overcome that feeling. The best he’d ever been able to do was ignore it until the crisis passed.
He pressed his forefinger to her lips. “We have no time for what-ifs now. Besides, the plan may have been yours but the decision was Gull’s. I do not suppose he is a man to heed bad advice when it comes to his ship and crew. He must believe this is our best chance.”
Or perhaps he had decided, since there was no hope of escape, he would rather die in some grand, hopeless attack on the Ore Fleet. Rath remembered the day he had turned to face a whole host of Hanish warriors, and how astonished he’d been when they had all run past him. He also remembered a fight with the Han at Raynor’s Rift and an idea he’d feared he would not live to try.
But he had lived and here was his chance to give it a go.
“Have you any madfern left in your sash?” he asked Maura.
She looked puzzled by his question. “Two or three pockets full. Why?”
“Come!” He tugged her toward Captain Gull. “Perhaps there is something we can do to help, after all.”
Action was the best antidote he had ever found to the paralysing venom of doubt and fear.
“Are you daft?” demanded Gull when Rath asked if there were any bows aboard the ship. He pointed toward the frontmost of the ore galleys, now close enough for their bulk to strike cold terror into the stoutest heart. “Do you reckon those hulks w
ill feel a few pinpricks?”
Either their crews had not seen the small wooden ship turn to charge them, or they could not believe their eyes. Rath was eager to foster that disbelief. In as few words as possible, he explained his plan to sow confusion with Maura’s madfern.
“Very well,” snapped Gull between issuing other orders, “we have bows, but I am not fool enough to place one in your hands.”
He called four of his men bidding them to arm themselves and take their orders from Rath... provided those orders did not endanger his ship.
As the men rushed off to find their bows, Rath turned to Maura. “Have you any more of that linen for binding wounds?”
She had listened to what he’d told Gull, so she did not ask why he needed it. Instead, she lifted the flap of a large pocket at the base of her sash and pulled out a roll of the bleached cloth. She handed it to Rath, who began tearing the linen into small scraps. When he gave these back to her, she placed a large pinch of madfern into each one, then tied it closed with a bit of thread pulled from the torn edge of the binding cloth.
“This may not work, you know,” she muttered as she knotted the last fragment of thread.
“We will never know unless we try.” In truth, Rath did not care a great deal whether his plan worked. As long as it gave him and Maura something to think about besides the danger into which they were sailing and over which they had not the least control.
The Phantom slipped between two of the ore galleys as Rath fitted the first of the madfern bundles onto a wooden arrowhead.
The archer grimaced. “It won’t fly well with that thing on the tip. An arrowhead must be sharp to cut the air.”
“Do your best.” Rath pointed toward the mast of the nearest Hanish ship. “It does not have far to travel. Loft it as high as you can and try to hit something so the arrowhead will burst the pouch.”
“Aye.” The young archer did not sound very confident. He fired off the arrow, while Maura chanted the madfern spell.
Rath wished he could borrow that seeing tube of Gull’s to watch the arrow’s flight and be certain it hit. Since he doubted Gull would lend it and since everything was moving so swiftly around them, he murmured a plea for the Giver’s help, instead. Then he bid the other archers to fire as the Phantom threaded its way among the ore galleys. Maura’s madfern supply was soon exhausted, with no effect that Rath could tell.
Then one of the archers nudged him, “Look back there!”
Rath surged up on his toes and craned his neck. At first he could see nothing remarkable. Then he noticed that one of the ore galleys they had passed was drifting toward the one nearest it. The other ship did not make any effort to avoid being hit. Closer and closer the two vessels drew with lumbering grace until they slammed together in a thunderous shriek of metal.
The deck of the Phantom erupted in cheers. A dozen hands appeared out of nowhere to thump Rath on the back. The crewmen suddenly looked at Maura with the respect she deserved.
“Well done, inlanders!” Captain Gull cried.
Rath caught Maura by the hand and the two of them exchanged a questioning look. Had those little packets of madfern caused the ore galleys to collide?
Perhaps they would never know, but for now Rath was more than willing to take the credit. A new energy seemed to sweep over the deck of the Phantom, as if the wind had suddenly begun to blow in a more favorable direction.
“Look sharp, men!” shouted Gull as the galleys on either side of them edged closer together. “Don’t get cocky!”
From high in the rigging, a scream pierced the air and a crewmen plunged to the deck below, knocking down one of his mates who had been standing near the mast.
“Hanish archers!” someone called. “Firing from the galley!”
Rath pulled Maura down as an arrow whistled over their heads, ripping through one of the Phantom’s sails.
She shook off his protective grasp and began crawling across the deck toward the tangle of twitching limbs. “I must see if I can help those poor men!”
The four bowmen on the Phantom returned fire and Rath had the grim satisfaction of seeing a Hanish archer plunge from his ship into the sea.
Maura quickly checked the injured men lying on the deck. “They’re both still alive.” She unwadded more linen from her sash to staunch the bleeding of the man who’d been hit by the arrow. “It is in his shoulder and may have hit bone. I won’t be able to push the barb through the way Langbard did for you... even if I knew how.”
Both men had been knocked senseless. Now the fellow who had been struck by the falling body began to waken, moaning.
“We must get them below decks,” said Rath, “where you can tend them properly.”
And where she would be in a little less danger... for now.
The rest of the crew were occupied, returning bow fire and navigating the Phantom through the perilously narrow strip of water between ore galleys.
Rath reached for the arrow shaft sticking out of the wounded man’s shoulder. Grasping it near the base where it stuck out of the flesh, he snapped off the rest of the shaft, thankful the injured man could not feel what he was doing.
“So it will not catch on anything when we move him,” Rath explained to Maura as he hoisted the injured man under his arms. “Can you get his feet?”
The words had barely left his lips before Maura lifted the fellow’s ankles. Fortunately, he was not too heavy and the hatch that led down to the ship’s hold was not far off.
“Set him... right here,” Maura gasped when they had wrestled the unconscious man down the ladder, “so I will have... some light coming through the hatch... to see what I’m doing.”
Rath did as she bid him, laying the injured man out to one side of the ladder. “You stay here and see to his wound, I’ll go back for the other fellow.”
“Are you sure you can manage on your own?” Maura rummaged in the pockets of her sash for healing herbs.
“If I can’t, I will fetch you to help me,” Rath lied. He would find some way to get the man down here without summoning Maura from the relative safety of the hold.
As he squeezed past her to reach the ladder, his hands closed over her shoulders in a swift caress.
She reached up to cover his hands with hers, making him linger for a moment, which he was glad to do. “The other man may have broken bones. Check if any of his limbs are twisted at odd angles. If one is, tie it to a piece of wood or anything you can find to keep the break from shifting worse.”
“Aye, aira.” He dropped a fleeting kiss on her neck before heading off. “I may not have your gentle touch, but I will do my best for him.”
“Water,” he heard her mutter as he climbed back up to the deck. “A whole sea out there, but not a drop where I need it.”
“There’s a barrel over in that corner.” Rath pointed. “If it is empty, I will find you water as soon as I get back.”
He had just crawled out of the hold when he met two crewmen carrying their injured comrade toward the hatch. The fellow was conscious now, his features twisted in pain.
Rath caught the injured man’s eye. “The lady will soon set you to rights, friend. She has healed me of a good many wounds and always left me better than I was before.”
He made a hasty circuit of the deck, looking for more wounded he could send down to Maura, but found none.
When he asked Gull, the captain shook his head and answered in a tone of grim pride, “The Han are better swordsmen than archers. They got one lucky shot. We hit four times that many. You know, inlander, I am beginning to think we might get out of this alive after all.”
Gull pulled hard on the rudder and the Phantom veered to squeeze between another pair of ore galleys.
How many did that make? Rath had lost count. He wondered that there was any ore left in the Blood Moon Mountains, with this much hacked out and shipped away every year since the Han had conquered Embria. How many men had sweat, bled and retched away their lives to fill this fleet with its vile
cargo year after year?
Impotent fury seethed within him. His fist ached for a weapon powerful enough to channel and purge it, but even the Han did not possess one that destructive.
A harsh chuckle from Gull roused Rath from his fruitless rage. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that open sea beyond those cursed tubs?”
Rath peered ahead, his rage ebbing for a moment. “I am only an inlander, so you might not want to take my word for it. But that looks a good deal like open sea to me.”
Something about the tone of Gull’s laughter told Rath it was partly directed at himself. “I will take your word for it. And I reckon I had better find something else to call you... friend.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Gull thought for a moment then he grinned. “So do I. And to think this was all the idea of a pretty wench. If you ever tire of her...?”
“The lady will tire of me long before I tire of her.” Though Rath meant the words only in jest, somehow they turned back to sting him hard and deep.
He did not have time to fret about it, though, for just then the Phantom broke through the final row of ore galleys.
“Slag!” muttered Gull. “Nothing’s ever that easy, is it?”
Rath glanced up to see one last Hanish cutter sailing toward them.
“We didn’t come through all that to let them get us now!” Gull snagged Rath’s arm and hauled him toward the tiller. “Hold on to this and keep it pulled as far that way as you can until I tell you different. Aye?”
“Aye!” Rath struggled to hold the tiller that had seemed to take no effort at all from Gull.
Meanwhile, the captain strode the length of his ship, calling out orders for setting the sails. From what little Rath had learned about wind and sails, he reckoned Gull was putting the Phantom on a course that would force the Hanish ship to veer out of the wind. But would it lose speed quickly enough to keep it from ramming the smaller vessel?
Rath guessed it would be a near thing one way or the other. With each passing moment, as he strained to hold the rudder firm, his fear grew that they would not make it. He glanced toward the hatch, willing Maura to climb up looking for something she might need to tend the injured men.