Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Now the ropes hung loosely from the spars and canvas limply from the yards. The ship rocked lazily with the rise and fall of ground swells. The hull groaned as planks and timbers shifted and flexed. A hundred blocks and pulleys swung on loose ropes, cracking into masts or each other, setting up a clatter that was constant. Planks creaked, hinges squealed, and always there was the distant sound of the surf upon the shore.

  The rowers had pulled the ship nearly five miles, with no relief. Nakor had decided the spell was moving with the ship and was at a loss as to how to counter it. ‘It’s a very good trick,’ was all he would say on the matter.

  For the rest of the day they had watched in frustration as the black ship sailed off. Amos had ordered the crews in the longboat relieved, and the ship was now drifting on the current as those in the boat rowed back to the ship to turn it over to their replacements. He swore and paced the quarterdeck, then left to join Nicholas and the others on the bow. ‘Is there anything you can do?’ he asked Nakor.

  The little man shrugged and said, ‘Maybe, if I think about it long enough. Maybe not. It’s hard to say.’

  Anthony said, ‘There’s a spell I’ve studied, but never used: a weather control incantation. But it may not work.

  Amos fixed him with a baleful eye. ‘And what else?’

  ‘It’s dangerous.’

  Nakor said, ‘Doing tricks you don’t know how to do is always dangerous.’

  Amos scratched his beard. ‘What’s your guess about this spell we’re trapped in?’

  Anthony said, ‘It’s the same sort of magic –’

  ‘Trick,’ interrupted Nakor.

  ‘– that I’m proposing to try. If we do nothing, it will linger for at least another day, perhaps longer. If the magician who cast it is especially gifted or learned, it could last as long as a week.’

  Amos swore, then said, ‘What other choice do we have?’

  Nicholas said, ‘If we can get to that ship before they dock or not long after, we stand some hope of finding the prisoners. But if they reach port more than a few days ahead of us, it might be impossible to find them.’

  Amos didn’t look pleased, but he nodded agreement. He said to Anthony, ‘Do you need anything special?’

  Anthony said, ‘Just all the luck you can muster.’

  Amos shouted, ‘I want all hands on deck, Mr Rhodes.’

  When the crew was mustered, Amos addressed them from the foredeck. ‘Men, we’re going to try to break this spell that becalms us. We have no notion of the consequences, so I want every man at his station ready to jump to any task needing to be done.’ He said nothing more, and Mr Rhodes gave the order for the men to rig for foul weather.

  Some of the sailors paused a moment to say a silent prayer to this or that deity, but all of them were standing by when Amos nodded to Anthony.

  Anthony said, ‘Nakor, if you can give me any help, now is the time.’

  Nakor shrugged and said, ‘I don’t know this trick, so I wouldn’t know if you were doing it right or not. Better just do it and trust the gods are not too angry with us today.’

  Anthony closed his eyes and said, ‘In my mind I see the matrix, and in the matrix is held the power. The lock to the matrix is my will, and in the matrix my will becomes the power.’ He repeated the chant and his voice grew softer, until Nicholas and the others could no longer hear him. His lips continued to move and he swayed rhythmically.

  A faint gust touched Nicholas upon the cheek and he glanced at the others. Marcus and Brisa both looked at the mast above them. Nicholas also looked up and saw canvas beginning to stir.

  With what sounded like a sigh of relief, the wind freshened, and the ship began to turn as the wind filled her sails.

  ‘Trim your sails, Mr Rhodes, and set a course after the black ship!’

  The lookout reported that he could still make out the faint form of the large ship on the horizon to the south, and gave a position. Amos bellowed, ‘AH lookouts aloft! Keep a sharp eye for reefs!’

  Anthony continued to chant and Nicholas glanced at Nakor. The little man shrugged. ‘I said I don’t know this trick.’

  The wind picked up in strength, and Amos shouted, ‘Keep a watch for weather, Mr Rhodes!’

  Nicholas glanced behind them and shouted, ‘Look!’

  To the northeast, a large roiling mass of dark clouds was forming in an otherwise blue sky. As if someone poured them from a bowl, the clouds spilled down and spread out behind the ship, forming a line of dark fury in the air.

  A drop of wetness struck Nicholas’s cheek and he saw rain begin to fall from the clouds, blown toward them by the rising wind. Amos ordered the sails trimmed for a storm and men scrambled about in the rigging, reefing the larger sails, trimming others.

  Men hurried below and returned and began rigging storm lines across the deck, while others handed out oiled-canvas coats. Moment by moment, the sky darkened as the black clouds spread from above, and through the entire process, Anthony stood motionless, his eyes closed, his lips moving.

  Nicholas shouted over the rising wind, ‘Nakor! Should we stop him?’

  ‘How?’ said the little man. ‘I don’t know what he’s doing.’

  Ghuda said, ‘Sometimes the direct approach is best.’ He gripped Anthony by the shoulder and shouted his name. The magician failed to respond. Ghuda shook harder and still was unable to get through to the blond mage, who now stood drenched to the skin. ‘If the storm’s not distracting him, my shouting won’t.’

  ‘Do something else!’ demanded Brisa, who now looked thoroughly terrified. The wind was doubling in fury and large waves were picking up the Raptor as easily as a child moves a toy, and the lurch of the deck as it seemed to fall out from under her feet was more than she could endure. ‘Do anything!’

  Sailors aloft hurried frantically to reef sails, for they were carrying too much canvas for a wind that blew stronger with each second. Spars and yards groaned in protest at the strain as winds began to howl through the rigging.

  Nicholas joined Ghuda and shook Anthony, calling his name. A cry from the stern caused them all to turn, and Amos’s voice cut the fury of the wind like a knife. ‘Banath, preserve us!’

  A wave larger than any before was building off to the northeast. ‘Hard aport, Mr Rhodes. Put her into the wind!’ To those nearby he shouted, ‘Grab something and hold fast! If that wave hits us broadside, we’re going to lose a mast or worse.’

  Nicholas gripped the rail nearby and watched in terrified fascination as the water rose up higher and higher as it bore down upon them. Like a black wall, the water advanced while the crew fought to turn the ship bow-first to face it.

  When the ship was not quite turned, the water struck. The ship seemed to try to climb the water, its bow lifting high into the air as it heeled far over to starboard. Brisa screamed as she hung desperately to a rope that had come free of a davit. Marcus reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him as he clung to a deck line.

  The ship kept trying to climb the water, and Nicholas watched in amazement as it seemed the world tilted. He nearly lay on his back, or so it felt, as the ship climbed still higher up the wave, then suddenly everything pitched forward.

  Men screamed as they were thrown from the rigging, while others cursed as they clung to anything nearby for their lives. Now Nicholas saw the ship heading downward into the trough, at as steep an angle as they had climbed, and knew that magic was changing the laws of the sea: this wave was nearly as steep behind the crest as before. Then he saw water swamp the bow of the ship.

  Down into the water the ship plunged, and Nicholas knew in that moment they were doomed. He closed his eyes as water washed over him, hitting him like a solid wall, threatening to tear his arms out of his shoulders as he clung to the rail, and then he felt himself get suddenly heavy as the deck lifted up under him.

  He lost his footing and fell, but still he clung to the rail as he thrashed about underwater, then abruptly he was again in the open air. W
ater streamed away in all directions as the bow of the ship burst upward out of the brine.

  Gasping for air, Nicholas blinked salt water out of his eyes and looked around. Everyone was still in sight, clinging to some part of the ship. Ghuda stood like a rock against the tide, clutching Anthony around the waist with one arm, and clinging to a line with the other hand. The ship continued to roll to starboard, then when it almost seemed about to lie over on its side, it rocked back to port, and they all clung desperately to stay aboard. Then it righted itself and for a moment seemed to be on an even keel.

  ‘Look!’ shouted a nearby sailor.

  Nicholas turned to see another wave, larger than the last, bearing down on them. As the bow began to lift again, he shouted to Ghuda, ‘Do something!’

  Ghuda nodded and let go of Anthony. Before the magician could move a foot away, the big mercenary struck him hard across the jaw with his clenched fist. Anthony slumped unconscious to the deck.

  Instantly the sky was again clear, but to Nicholas’s horror the wall of water bore down upon them still as the Raptor’s bow rose to meet it. ‘Hang on’ was all he could shout as the ship once more began its impossible climb.

  Shouts and screams filled the air as men were thrown once more from their stations, and loud crashes echoed through the now still air as gear lashed to the deck broke loose and smashed against the mast or quarterdeck.

  Higher and higher the ship climbed, and this time Nicholas felt even more terrified, for he could see clearly, with no rain blinding him. Only spray from the advancing mountain of water filled the air as the ship struggled to keep afloat. Nicholas was vaguely aware of Brisa screaming and Harry cursing, and he realized he had lost sight of Calis during the last wave.

  Then, as it seemed the ship would tumble over on its back like an overturned turtle, they crested the wave. Down the other side they raced, and Nicholas’s voice joined others in voicing incoherent terror. The absence of magic had robbed the sea of its fey driving force, and instead of another rising wave behind, the sea was at its normal level. Against any reasonable expectation, the water was collapsing back to its former calm state, rather than carrying through its fearful onslaught, so rather than their having survived the worst of the giant wave, its dissipation was adding impetus to the ship’s downward plunge. Nicholas could see the sandbars and reefs through the ocean below, as if staring through green glass. He knew with certainty they would not survive this plunge, for there was not enough water ahead to cushion the ship’s bow.

  The floor of the ocean rushed upward and Nicholas felt the water strike him like a blow from the hand of a giant. He felt the ship drop away beneath his feet as the water claimed him, then felt the grinding crash of wood against rock. The ship cried out as it died, a screaming tearing of wood and iron, joined by the terrified cries of its crew.

  Then Nicholas was pulled under the white foam. Holding his breath as well as he could, he felt himself being dragged deep into the water. Blind from the water in his face, Nicholas was dragged downward by a force he had never experienced. He was cast into a world of sounds and vibrations, tossed around so violently that direction was confused. He kicked as hard as he could against the undertow as the mass of the ship created a vacuum around it, sucking down everything nearby.

  Then suddenly he felt his feet strike wood, as if he had landed hard on the floor of his room. Hot pain stabbed through his left foot, and he gasped. Suddenly his mouth and nose filled with water. Nicholas felt his lungs burn as seawater choked him. He flailed about, water churning around him, hurling him to his knees upon the deck and forcing itself deeper into his lungs. In a shocking moment of clarity, he knew he was going to die. A detached sense of peace settled over Nicholas, and he could feel the pounding blood in his own temples and chest as a distant thing, and the burning in his lungs a faint echo of the pain he had endured a moment earlier.

  Then suddenly he was moving upward at amazing speed, as if a giant hand had lifted him. The ship had bounced off the sea floor and rose back up on the air trapped inside its hull. It shot upward, clearing the less than fifty feet of water between the floor of the ocean and the surface.

  The ship broke through the surface, and Nicholas was tossed into the air. He gasped, spitting salt water from his lungs, his arms flailing as if he were trying to fly. Then the ship dipped back into the waves and he struck the surface of the water. As the ship righted itself beneath him, Nicholas half crawled, half swam to the rail, where he clung for his life. Like a wounded animal, the Raptor heeled over to port, water filling its hold and throwing it out of trim.

  Nicholas spat and coughed, and gasped a painfully deep breath, then coughed again, retching out the last of the water. He blew salt water out of his nose, wiped his face with one hand, and looked around. All three masts had been shattered, the foremast snapped above the main yard, and the others below. The deck was littered with debris, bodies, and seaweed. It took almost a minute for the confusion to sort itself out.

  Marcus and Calis both clung to what was left of a line from the forechannel, and Brisa gripped Marcus around the waist with both arms. Ghuda still held Anthony tightly with one arm while the other was wrapped around a capstan. Blood ran down his face from a messy-looking scalp wound. Nakor was enmeshed in what remained of one of the foremast ratlines, and he was shouting for someone to cut him loose.

  Then Nicholas realized who was missing. ‘Harry!’ he shouted. Suddenly his stomach constricted and he vomited seawater.

  The ship groaned and rolled and Amos pulled himself out from under a broken spar. Heaving himself to his feet, he glanced around at the damage. He came to give Nicholas a hand up and said, ‘What a mess.’ Turning to the stern of the ship, he shouted, ‘Mr Rhodes!’

  No answer came. Amos set about examining his ship and quickly came back to Nicholas. ‘Gather everyone on the main deck, and salvage whatever you can. Get as many water casks and skins into the longboats as possible, and whatever food you can find. We’re sinking.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Nicholas.

  Amos shook his head and turned away. Nicholas went to where Calis was cutting Nakor loose from the tangle of ropes that confined him and said, ‘Everyone to the main deck. We’re abandoning ship.’

  Word quickly passed and Marcus and Nicholas hurried to their cabins, where water could already be seen coming up through the planks of the deck. They grabbed whatever they could from the jumble and hurried up above. Calis had retrieved his bow and arrows, both protected by oilskin, but Marcus’s bow was lost. Knowing that they were about to be cast adrift on a hostile shore, Nicholas forced his way past a tangle of debris and bodies and entered Amos’s cabin. He opened the small trap and removed the pouch of gold Amos had shown him when Brisa had been brought aboard. He began to hurry out, then remembered something and sloshed through the rising water to Amos’s desk. He pulled it open and found a red-leather-covered logbook, which he picked up. Putting the gold in his tunic and the log under his arm, he entered the companionway and saw water swirling. The ship was going down fast.

  Hurrying up the ladder to the main deck, Nicholas felt another stab of pain in his foot and almost dropped the log. He made it to the deck in time to see a few surviving sailors leaping off the railing into the water. Amos stood on the deck and motioned him over.

  Reaching Amos, Nicholas gave him the logbook. ‘I’ve got the gold from your cabin, too. We’re probably going to need it.’

  ‘Bless you, boy, for keeping your wits about you.’ He hugged the book to his chest. ‘With this, we can get home someday.’

  Nicholas climbed over the rail and found a longboat waiting only five feet below. Glancing upward, he said, ‘Amos?’

  ‘I’m coming, Nicky.’ He took one last look around the deck. ‘I’m coming.’

  They climbed down into the longboat, and Ghuda and a sailor pulled hard to put as much distance as possible between the longboat and the dying ship.

  When they were less than a quarter m
ile away, the Raptor formerly the Royal Eagle, pride of the Krondorian fleet, rolled over into the water.

  Bitterly Amos said, ‘Damn, I hate losing ships.’

  Nicholas didn’t know why, but he found the remark terribly funny, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself from laughing. He tried to hold it in, but in a few moments he was nearly convulsed in mirth. Amos bristled, but Brisa and Ghuda both joined in, and even Marcus couldn’t help himself. Nakor never seemed to need an excuse to laugh, so he made no attempt to hide his mirth. After another minute, only the unconscious figure of Anthony and a bristling Amos Trask were not laughing.

  ‘What’s so damned funny?’ demanded Amos.

  Ghuda said, ‘How many ships have you lost?’ His face was covered in sticky blood, but otherwise he looked all right.

  Amos said, ‘Three,’ then suddenly his face split into a grin and he found himself infected as those in the longboat nearly collapsed at the answer.

  From outside the boat a hoarse voice said, ‘If you’re not enjoying youself too much up there, can someone give me a hand?’

  Nicholas glanced over the gunwales of the boat and saw a familiar figure clinging to a broken spar in the water. ‘Harry!’ he shouted, and leaned over to help his friend into the already crowded boat.

  ‘I’d thought you drowned,’ said Nicholas.

  With a wince from a bruise somewhere on his person, Harry said, ‘I see it caused you a great deal of grief.’

  Nicholas’s expression turned somber. ‘We were just a little giddy after escaping,’ he said.

  Harry nodded. ‘I got tossed overboard. I saw the bow bounce off the bottom and thought you had all been killed.’

  Amos said, ‘I’m surprised more of us aren’t. Look.’ He pointed and they turned to see another pair of longboats drawing toward them. When they were within shouting distance, Amos shouted, ‘Is Mr Rhodes with you?’

  A sailor answered, ‘I saw a spar take his head off, Captain. No doubt but he’s dead.’

  ‘How many are you?’