by Mel Odom
“That’s me part,” Khlinat said in surprise.
“Yes,” Pacys told him, smiling. The music was so vibrant and true, even after hearing only brief pieces and snatches of it in the middle of so many others, the dwarf was able to remember the different verses. He cut out the other music for a moment, leaving only the notes he’d blended for the pipeweed smoke.
“Me pipe?” Khlinat asked.
Pacys smiled and opened his eyes. “You knew?”
“How could I not?” the dwarf asked. “By Marthammor Duin’s long strides, how can ye capture pipe smoke in a song? I’ve heard bards doing that for people’s voices and animals and the like, but not this.”
Pacys shook his head. “It’s as I’ve said, my friend, this song is truly meant for my hands and ear alone. I am come into my own.” The old bard’s heart trip-hammered as he recognized the truth behind the bold statement. He calmed himself through the music, playing out his excitement until he brought it to a steadier place.
The only thing that bothered him was knowing what he was supposed to do next. Narros’s story hadn’t included that. He paused in his playing, watching embers caught up in the rising smoke die only a short distance above the flames. Moonlight kissed the breakers rolling against the shoreline only a short distance away. He pulled their sound into him and made it his.
“Oghma help me,” Pacys whispered to the dwarf, “but I have never in my life felt so alive. It should be sinful to feel this good.”
“Aye,” Khlinat agreed. “But ye and me, we know the truth of life, songsmith. That every day you trod upon this earth, a bit more of ye dies. Ye soon run out of new things, new places, new people. A wandering man, that’s what I always wanted to be, but I’ve stayed in one place for far too long. This quest ye be upon, now there’s a true calling for the measure of a man. That’s part of why I wanted to tag along with ye, to sup the dregs from your adventures. Marthammor Duin willing, there’ll be no few of those.”
Pacys touched the yarting’s strings, exploring all that was new to him. “I only wish I knew better where we were supposed to go. Starmantle is the closest city of any size.”
“Ye worry too much about things that will take care of themselves,” Khlinat said. “When it’s a quest ye be following, why ye are the compass rose on the map. Ye can’t help but go in the right direction no matter how wrong it may seem at the time. Ye mark me words, songsmith, and mark them well.”
The old bard believed in his new friend’s confidence, melding it with his own, but a cold tingle touched him as well. With a sense long born of traveling and being on his own, Pacys knew they were being watched. He caught the dwarf’s eye and said, “We’ve attracted attention.”
The dwarf slid one of his hand axes free and ran a thumb across the sharp blade. “I thought I felt something nosing around. Maybe I’ll go take a look.”
Pacys put a hand on the little man’s arm. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary.”
A shadow stood in the forest, lean and somehow regal, part of the dark landscape, yet somehow apart from it as well. Moonlight flashed from the shiny surface of what Pacys believed to be the man’s clothing.
When the man first stepped forward and his dark skin and silver-white hair glistened wetly in the campfire light, Pacys thought they’d drawn the attention of a drow elf. The man had the easy, liquid movements all the elves exhibited. He went naked save for a harness that supported a brace of knives and shiny leggings. He carried a long-bladed spear in his right hand.
Khlinat swore fiercely and bounded to his foot, swiveling on his peg as he set himself with axes in both hands. “All right, ye black-hearted backstabber, let’s have at ye!”
XVI
9 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
As Jherek rushed the mage in the enchanted chair, the pirate behind him leaped forward and went for the sword scabbarded at his waist. He had it out before Jherek reached him.
The action attracted the ship’s mage’s attention. The man threw himself from the chair. Abandoned without a strong hand at the keel, Breezerunner listed out of true, wallowing against the river current now instead of cutting through it cleanly. The wind and sails warred with the push of the river, rocking the ship with bigger and bigger swings.
Jherek moved easily with his stolen cutlass, parrying the helmsman’s blow and listening to the yells of the pirates as they woke the ship. Still not quite back to his fighting trim, the young sailor moved too slowly to get his return blow back on time after a successful parry. The pirate blocked it inches from his face.
Swearing, calling on darkest evil to descend on Jherek, the pirate slid his steel along the young sailor’s and stepped inside his guard. Before Jherek could anticipate it, his opponent headbutted him in the face. Blood streamed from Jherek’s nose, leaking the salty taste down into his mouth, and it felt like the back of his head was exploding all over again.
Jherek staggered back, barely able to get his cutlass up in time to keep from having his leg hacked by a foul blow that he wouldn’t have tried himself. Steel rang, clear and strident.
“Get that damn rudder, Malorrie!” Captain Tynnel roared. Two pirates blocked his way up the stairs to the stern castle. He fought them with a belaying pin he’d taken from the ship’s railing. “If you don’t get control of her, Breezerunner’s going to end up as a pile of kindling on one of those river-banks!”
Jherek knew it was true, and the thought filled him with fear. He didn’t know where Sabyna was, but he thought first of the ship’s mage. He wouldn’t allow himself to fail. He leaned into his swordcraft, pulling up all the tricks and shortcuts Malorrie had taught him.
His fever and his weakness felt like they put him a half step behind what he tried to do. Perspiration burst out on his body from his efforts, and it made the night chill ghosting across the ship’s decks even more harsh. A flurry of furious clangs sounded across the deck and the river, held in close by the overhanging trees. Breezerunner listed again, starting to come broadside into the river current. If it did, Jherek knew the ship could be lost from control forever until they ended up smashing somewhere.
Redoubling his efforts, Jherek concentrated on his foe, fighting the other man’s skill as well as the effects of the fever. Everything from the waist up was a target. The young sailor allowed himself no foul blows, fighting his battle fairly and with honor. He tried a slash of his own every fifth blow, turning aside the pirate’s frenzied attacks. His forearm and shoulder ached with the effort, then gradually warmed, responding better.
He stepped up his own pace, cutting now once for every three parries. He circled the deck, staying in close to his opponent, forcing the man to keep his blows short and not use his strength. When the man tried for the young sailor’s head, Jherek dropped to the deck. His senses reeled enough that he had to catch himself on his empty hand. He brought the cutlass around in a sideward slash under the man’s elbow that cleaved into his ribs.
The pirate yelled hoarsely, gazing down at the cutlass buried in his side. Blood spilled down his waist. Jherek locked eyes with the man, both of them knowing the mortal blow had been struck. The young sailor stepped back and pulled his cutlass free, feeling ribs grate along the sword. Holding his blade before him, he circled around the dying pirate who struggled to stay on his feet.
“By all the pirate’s blood in me, and all the blood of my forefathers before me,” the pirate croaked in a hoarse voice, “I curse you to never know peace, to never know a time when death isn’t lurking at your door.”
A chill fear raced down Jherek’s back as he moved to the stern and captured the tiller. As a seafaring man, the young sailor knew to give credence to a pirate’s curses.
Still, it wasn’t as frightening as it might have been. He already wore his father’s tattoo on his arm. “You’re too late,” he told the pirate. “I was cursed at birth by a man much more powerful than you.”
With a howl of rage, the blood loss already weakening him, the pirate rushed at
Jherek and swung his blade. Jherek hauled on the rudder, trying to pull Breezerunner back to true. The ship fought him, rising and falling like a wild animal. He held the rudder in the crook of his left arm so he could put all his weight into the effort. He parried with the cutlass, standing his ground as the pirate rushed into him.
The pirate’s weight slammed Jherek back into the railing, knocking the wind from his lungs. The man clamped his free hand around the young sailor’s throat and forced him back over the railing.
“Die!” the pirate screamed, drawing his blade back. Moonlight shimmered along the length of the sword as he raised it high and readied himself to bring it down.
Shifting, Jherek shoved his sword arm under the man’s grip, hooking him solidly in a wrestling hold. He swept the man’s legs from him with a foot, twisting at the same time to lever the pirate over the railing.
The man fell with a great splash into the River Chionthar. The dark water, trimmed in whitecaps trailing after Breezerunner, sucked the man down.
“Cut the damn ship hard to starboard,” Captain Tynnel roared. “Cut her now!”
Turning back, Jherek watched as the rough and rocky riverbank on the port side came up fast on Breezerunner’s prow. Branches from the overhanging trees clawed at the rigging. Rope shrieked with the pressure, then parted with loud snaps as a cacophony of breaking branches accompanied the sounds. Limbs and leaves showered the cargo ship’s deck, while other branches ripped through the sailcloth.
Jherek dropped his cutlass and grabbed the rudder in both arms, aware of the two pirates streaking up the starboard steps leading to the stern castle. The young sailor set himself, pulling at the rudder with all his strength, getting his back against the railing. The ship, the current, and the wind all fought him, and Breezerunner twisted violently like a live thing. She crested the current, then listed wildly on the other side, throwing everyone on deck from their feet.
Hanging on fiercely, Jherek manhandled the rudder, keeping it in the river by standing up with it. Grudgingly, Breezerunner’s prow came starboard, away from the riverbank. Branches and leaves continued hitting the deck, and sections of sailcloth came spilling down. A lantern slid from the mainmast and smashed against the deck, igniting a pool of fire that whirled up in blue and yellow flames.
“Fire!” someone yelled, and Jherek didn’t know if it was ship’s crew or pirate.
The young sailor pulled hard on the rudder, knowing he couldn’t let go or he’d lose the ship. He watched the two pirates running up the steps, hoping that they’d see the danger all of them would be put in if they attacked him and knowing it was in vain.
The pirates topped the steps, rushing onto the stern castle deck and coming right at him.
* * * * *
Sabyna Truesail raced across Breezerunner’s main deck. She’d planned on finding Vurgrom and his wizard, thinking that she stood the best chance of interfering with the man’s spellcraft. For days she’d helplessly watched the mistreatment of the crew she’d sworn to defend and care for as ship’s mage, telling herself that biding her time was the best decision to make.
Now there was no waiting, no need to hold back, and everything she cared about was at risk.
She pulled her power close to her. Most of her training and learning she’d done on her own centered around the care and upkeep of ships, not waging war against other mages. She loosed the bag of holding at her side. “Skeins,” she commanded, “guard.”
Immediately, the raggamoffyn spewed free of the bag of holding in a flurry of cloth pieces and took shape in the breeze that flowed across Breezerunner. The creature formed a serpentine shape, coiling restlessly around her.
She stood against the cabin under the forecastle. Normally Captain Tynnel lived there, but Vurgrom had seized it upon taking over the ship. Fear clawed at her stomach, turning it slightly sour but she mastered it and kept her wits. The battle raged across the deck, and swords reflected the wavering light from the fire charring into the wood.
She ran to the railing near the fire and lifted the top from the water barrel. It was half full, sloshing with the ship’s uneven movement. She glanced at her familiar. “Enter,” she ordered.
Obediently, the raggamoffyn sailed into the water bucket and thrashed in the water.
“Out,” she commanded.
Unable to float on the wind now, the waterlogged familiar crawled out of the bucket and plopped onto the deck at her feet.
Sabyna concentrated on the fire. The raggamoffyn’s intelligence was about that of a well-trained dog, so complicated instructions were impossible. “Attack,” she told it.
The raggamoffyn slithered across the deck toward the fire, wriggling through men’s feet. Reaching the oil-based fire, the creature unfolded its myriad pieces and sloshed across the flames. The water and the creature’s own mystical nature served to keep the raggamoffyn from harm. Gray smoke curled up from the fire as the flames were extinguished.
Sabyna heard Tynnel’s shouted commands to Malorrie. She glanced up and saw the young sailor in the stern, fighting the rudder, then she spotted the two pirates climbing the starboard steps to the stern castle. She knew he couldn’t handle them and steer the ship.
“Skeins!” she called, running for the ship’s mainmast. She knew she’d never get through the men fighting across the deck in time.
The raggamoffyn sped across the deck, leaving oily black residue in its wake. It reached her by the time she got to the mainmast. She extended an arm down and Skeins curled around it. The creature was already partially dried from exposure to the fire and the wind.
As the raggamoffyn spread its weight across her shoulders, Sabyna climbed the mainmast. Her feet slipped in the rigging twice as Breezerunner rocked from side to side, but she kept pulling herself up.
When the two pirates reached the top of the stern castle, the ship’s mage stopped halfway up the mast, hoping she had enough room to maneuver. Holding onto the mast with one hand, she slipped the leather whip from her side. She uncoiled it with a flick of her wrist. Drawing the whip back, she cracked it forward, aiming for the rear mast rigging.
The whip snaked across the distance and curled around a yardarm. Pulling it tight and saying a quick prayer, fully aware of the twenty-five foot drop that might land her on the ship’s deck or in the river with the way Breezerunner was swinging, she grabbed the whip handle in both hands and leaped. Her father, Siann Truesail, had never approved of her mode of travel in ship’s rigging, considering it not only risky but too showy as well. Her brothers were envious because none of them had ever quite mastered the skill.
She dropped almost three feet, then the give in the leather and the yardarm played out. She arced toward the stern, pulling her feet outward and forward to gain more momentum. At the apex of her swing, practiced in the maneuver, she popped the whip and relaxed the hold on the yardarm. The whip came loose immediately.
Sabyna somersaulted in the air, letting her momentum carry her, and gained an extra two feet that placed her securely on the stern castle. Still, she’d missed her chosen mark by a good eight feet or more.
The pirates closed on Malorrie, who still hadn’t given up his death grip on the rudder. Only the young sailor knew she was there.
“Attack,” she told her familiar.
Skeins uncoiled from her shoulder, breaking apart into a swirl of pieces that glided toward the pirate on the left. The creature was on the man before he knew it, wrapping around his upper body and stripping his self-control, reducing him to a zombie state.
The other pirate raised his arm to strike the young sailor, who ducked around the rudder for protection and set himself to attack. Sabyna cracked the whip, coiling it around the pirate’s sword wrist. Grabbing the whip in both hands, she pulled it taut, then yanked the pirate from his feet before he could react.
The pirate’s face darkened with anger as he pushed himself to his feet again and cursed her. He tried to shake the whip from his arm, but Sabyna yanked on it again, pulling him
off-balance. Jherek took one step forward and kicked the man in the head, sprawling him unconscious to the deck.
“Sandbar!” someone shouted.
“Where away?” Jherek yelled, getting a fresh hold on the rudder.
There was no time for an answer. In the next instant, Breezerunner ran aground. Forced up and out of the river by the current, the wind, and the magic that pushed her, the cargo ship heeled over hard to port. Men tumbled from her deck, some into the water and some onto the long, quarter-moon shaped sandbar.
Sabyna tried to grab the railing but missed. She fell only inches, dangerously close to getting pulled under the stern section as it whipsawed around. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist, tightening and halting her fall.
“I’ve got you, lady.”
Looking up, Sabyna saw that Malorrie had grabbed hold of the railing with one hand and her with the other. She watched helplessly as Breezerunner shifted and jolted across the sandbar. The deck hammered Malorrie and her mercilessly, and she didn’t know how the young sailor managed to maintain his hold, but he did, even pulling her in close to him. She grabbed him around the waist, fisting the sash around his slim hips and helping him hold her weight from dangling. He still supported both of them from one arm. His pale gray eyes, gleaming like new silver, met her reddish brown ones.
“Lady, I’m sorry,” he said. “I did my best.”
“I know,” she told him. “No one could have done any more.”
He looked like he wanted to say something further but couldn’t.
With a shriek of tortured wood, Breezerunner came to a rest on her side on the sandbar. The river current slapped at the mired ship, and the sound echoed inside the empty cargo hold.
“Lady,” Malorrie said quietly, “I fear I can’t hold any longer.”
Her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed to his stomach, she felt the tremors vibrating through him. Yet, somehow she knew he wouldn’t release the hold until she told him she was ready. “It’s all right,” she told him. “Let go.”