Dormael let his magic sleep as the spell took its course, and the music was replaced with howling wind and churning seas. D’Jenn stood and offered him a hand. Dormael grunted as he put weight once again on his injured leg. The crew regarded the storm with awestruck, fearful expressions, and Dormael couldn’t help but feel a little strange when those looks were turned on him and D’Jenn. Even Mikael looked a little white in the face, but he held his incredulity in check.
“I’m not so sure I like this plan anymore.” Mikael’s eyes were pinned to the storm.
“Not exactly a plan,” D’Jenn said. “More like a last-ditch effort.”
“All we did was stir things up a little.” Dormael hefted his guitar. “We gave the storm some energy and a direction.”
Mikael scoffed. “You say that like you just went for afternoon tea.”
“My cousin has a talent for understatement.” D’Jenn smiled.
“Still,” Mikael returned to eyeing the darkening storm, “I’m not so sure I like the cure more than the sickness. I hope you can keep your end of the bargain, Blessed. If we lose a mast—or a sail—in this weather, we’ll die just as surely as if that warship catches us.”
“We’ll do our part,” D’Jenn said. “You just keep us above water, Captain.”
Mikael nodded and strode away, calling vociferous commands as rain pelted the deck.
“I’m going to get this guitar out of the rain.” Dormael moved for the gangway.
D’Jenn looked up at the rigging. “I’ll meet you after I take care of the masts.”
Dormael nodded and ducked into the creaking interior of the ship. Rain pelted the deck as he slipped inside, and Seacutter tilted as she sailed down a swell. Dormael steadied himself against the wall, wincing at the pain in his leg.
Shawna opened her door and backed out, coming face-to-face with Dormael as she headed outside. She was armed for battle and wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, her hands tapping on the hilts of her swords. Her eyes were haunted, her jaw clenched.
She took a tight, nervous breath. “Are they close?”
“Closer. We’re hoping the storm will help us outrun them.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
Dormael raised his eyebrows. “Well, it has been the point, hasn’t it?”
“Maybe I’m tired of running. It’s time to get this over with.” She reached down and fingered the hilt of one of her swords, looking toward the galleon as if she could see it through the hull. “If I die, so be it, but I’m going to find the man responsible for my family’s murders and pay him back with steel.”
Dormael was taken aback by the vicious tone in her voice. “That warship has enough men to do for us all, not to mention the weapons on board. Mikael’s men won’t be any help—they’re not warriors. We’re on our own out here, and no one but the gods are watching.”
“I hope they’re watching.” Her eyes narrowed. “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—for the most part—but his experiences had taught him justice was not something in which the gods were interested. Prayer might work for priests but taking one’s own destiny in hand was a much better strategy.
The look on her face silenced him. Dormael sighed and rubbed his temples. His leg throbbed with another roll of the hull.
I’m supposed to be on holiday.
“Just don’t get yourself killed,” he said. “I’d hate for our efforts to be for naught.”
Shawna looked at him, eyes focused and bright. “Dormael…I like you. For all your faults, you’re not bad—even if you have no idea how to treat a lady. You’re even handsome, after a fashion. But let’s make one thing clear.” She moved forward, grabbing him by the cloak and pulling him close. “This isn’t about you.”
She held his gaze until Dormael was unsure if she meant to kiss him or head-butt him. Her expression registered how close they were, and she backed away. Shooting him one last guarded look, she ducked into the rain. D’Jenn appeared when she marched through the door, 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. 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. Besides, weren’t you telling me not long ago 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.”
“My ward?” Dormael raised an eyebrow.
“Come on.” D’Jenn pushed past him.
They found Bethany seated on D’Jenn’s cot, playing with a doll made from pieces of a frayed rope. She brightened as the two wizards came in, setting the doll aside. The ship shuddered as it took another swell.
Bethany gave them a nervous smile. “I felt what you were doing—with the storm, I mean.”
“Did you pay attention?” Dormael moved to put away his guitar.
“I couldn’t tell much.” Her diminutive brow wrinkled. “But I could hear it.”
“Good.” Dormael finished with his guitar and sat on the cot beside her. “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.”
“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?”
Bethany frowned. “But I want to see.”
“I thought you might.” Dormael smiled, tousling her hair. “It’s too dangerous, plain and simple. You’re to stay here, understood?”
She sighed. “Understood.”
“And your magic?” he pressed.
“Don’t use it,” she muttered.
“Very good.”
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. Once he let her go, she picked up her doll again.
“If you want, you can open you Kai and listen to our magic, get an idea how it sounds,” Dormael said. “Don’t try and draw any power, 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 gave him a skeptical look.
“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. There are reasons 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.” Dormael turned a stern eye on Bethany. “Right, little one?”
“Right.” She nodded, beaming.
“Alright, if you say so.” D’Jenn shrugged. “Just remember—I objected.”
“Yes, and if things do go wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“That was implied.” D’Jenn smiled, though there wasn’t much humor in his tone.
Dormael sighed
and turned his eye back on Bethany. “And what are you supposed to do?”
“Stay here and listen.” Bethany smiled.
“Good.” Dormael returned her grin. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the stress 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.
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 held tight to hand-lines and moved about with casual expertise, though the mood on deck was tense. 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 needed little in the way of direction.
Dormael and D’Jenn made their way to Shawna, who was gazing over the port side at the distant sails. Dormael embraced his Kai and used a bit of magic to warm himself against the cold, driving rain. He heard a nervous, eager energy wafting from Shawna like mist from a river—her resonance in the ether.
“I’m not sure if our plan is going to work.” D’Jenn squinted 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, uncertainty gnawing at 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. There was so much laundry hanging from her masts it seemed impossible for her to stay aright, but the monstrous vessel came on with inexorable certainty.
“This is a race of endurance.” Dormael tried to sound hopeful. “If you can hold Mikael’s masts together long enough for theirs to be damaged, we’ll win through.”
D’Jenn glanced to Seacutter’s rigging, but he said nothing. D’Jenn’s magic was at work, waxing and waning with the strength of the wind. Dormael 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 ground her teeth and stared across the water.
The next few hours were tense. The storm intensified, bringing howling winds and a heavy downpour. 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 flapping in the wind. Dormael held to the hope that Mikael was a better sailor than the Galanian captain.
He had no choice, after all.
“Dormael!” D’Jenn pointed to the churning sea. “Look!”
Men crawled over the upper yardarms of the Galanian ship, furling the topmost sails as best they could in the driving wind. A sudden surge of elation rushed through Dormael’s chest. He turned a fierce smile to D’Jenn.
“Maybe we’ll get out of this after all!”
The galleon slowed, though her mainsails were still full of the wind. Seacutter pulled away from the giant warship. Some of the crewmen gave a tentative cheer.
“It worked!” D’Jenn chuckled. “It bloody well worked!”
A commotion broke out on deck. Crewmen scrambled toward one of the mizzenmasts, shouting curses and confused exclamations. Dormael turned to see what was going on, and the hope drained out of him like water from a sieve.
The main mizzen sail was stretched tight in the wind, its lines fraying in two places. Two sailors were tangled in the taut 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 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 as they worked, but his words were lost in the thunder and commotion.
There was a loud snap, and the taut sail 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 tangled sailors fell, and Dormael reached out with his Kai, wrapping them in his magical grip. D’Jenn’s song went to work in the tumult, trying to hold the rest of the rigging together. Dormael brought the two men to the deck, setting them gently down in a clear space.
Mikael marched into the chaos. “Tie her down! Get that sail in before we lose the whole gods-damned thing!” 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!”
Mikael caught Dormael’s eye and shot a meaningful look at the galleon.
Dormael scowled and turned back to the sea. “Maybe the gods are watching you. 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 kept staring into the distance, as if the power of her gaze could bring the ship closer.
D’Jenn grabbed Dormael’s shoulder. “You said that thing has ballistae on deck?”
“Aye.” Dormael nodded. “Two of them.”
He peered into the distance, trying to focus through the driving rain. Seacutter was still moving, but the galleon still had her mainsails out. There was no escape—there would be a fight. Mikael’s men 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.
His eyes went to the crow’s nest. If I can get higher, maybe I can do something.
Dormael turned to D’Jenn. “I’ve got to get up there, up to the top of the mast!”
“Bloody fool. Your leg! You’re going to fall, and I’ll have to pluck you out of the sea! You saw what just happened to those crewmen—that’s what caused this mess in the first place!”
“I’ll be fine, you bloody old woman.” Dormael patted his cousin on the shoulder. “We have to take out those ballistae, hit them hard before they get too close. Maybe it will scare them off.”
“Doubt it.” D’Jenn shook his head. “They know what they’re up against.”
“Then it’s still a good idea to kill a few. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Be careful.” Shawna turned 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 stranger. His feet le
ft the deck every time Seacutter went down the side of a swell, and his stomach lurched with each roll of the ship. The only thing holding him to the ship was his grip on the hand-lines.
The spell was more effective once he struggled into the rigging. He was able to move over the slick network of ropes with ease, though there were a few times he had to hold tight as the ship rocked beneath him and his body threatened to float over the side. His hurt with each movement, but he did his best to ignore the discomfort.
When he finally reached the crow’s nest, a sailor reached over the edge and helped him up.
“Are you well, Blessed?” The lookout glanced at Dormael’s leg—his pants were stained with blood.
Dormael gave an irritated sight at his wound. “I’m well enough. Listen—I’m going to be doing something up here. It’s going to get loud and violent. If you’re staying, keep your head down and stay quiet.”
The sailor went a little pale. “I’ll leave the bucket to you, wizard. I’ll tie into the rigging, see how many bolts I can get off before the sea drags us to the bottom.”
He levered a small crossbow and sealed quiver from the bucket and slung them over his back. With a nervous glance, the sailor climbed over the side of the bucket and into the rigging. Dormael winced and grabbed his throbbing leg until the pain subsided enough to ignore. With a nervous sigh, he wrapped his arm around the tip of the mast and stood.
The view from the top of the ship was terrifying.
Seacutter rolled back and forth with the churning sea, and each movement was exaggerated at the top of the ship. A slight roll to the side would be a long, stomach-lurching trip for Dormael. He was afraid he’d be launched from the bucket each time the ship rolled with a swell.
The Galanian warship was closer than it was when Dormael started his climb.
Forms crawled over the galleon’s deck, readying the hulking silhouettes of the ballistae. The galleon 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.
Let’s give those bastards a proper greeting. Dormael opened his Kai.
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 29