“With Yar-del gone, the pirate problem has exploded, making life more difficult for honest merchants.” This close to his ancestral home, the sting of loss hit Farrell anew.
“Your father leveraged our skills to create a bidding war among the merchant vessels he contacted.” Miceral chuckled even as he rolled his eyes. “From what Darius told us, the captain of the Seafoam Rose invited us to travel with his ship free of charge.”
“That sounds like my father.” Peter searched from ship to stall and back. “Leave it to him to find guards he didn’t have to pay and use them to get out of paying for my passage, as well.”
Farrell looked at Miceral and couldn’t stifle a laugh.
“That shady town square merchant.” Miceral gripped his sword tighter. “He stole our weapons when our heads were turned.”
“Not really.” Farrell gave his partner a wink. “Since we don’t actually work for him, he can’t sell our services. Since he hired us out, he acted as our agent, and he owes us a fee. When he sees what we charge, he’ll wish he’d just paid for our passage instead of trying to strike a bargain.”
“You can’t do that.” Peter’s protest caught them by surprise, but they quickly recovered and began laughing.
“Spoken like a true son of Belsport.” Miceral put his arm around Peter. “And yes, we can.”
WHEN THEY arrived at the ship, Farrell noticed a middle-aged man giving orders to a group of sailors. The man ran his hand over his leathery skin and pushed back a strand of graying hair. When the officer spotted the trio, his face broke into a grin and he beckoned them over.
“Greetings, Your Highness,” he said when they were closer. His attempt at a formal bow came off as comical. “I’m Captain Nathan of the Seafoam Rose. It’s an honor to have you on board.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Peter gave the man the barest of nods. “I’m pleased to be aboard so fine a vessel.”
“I can see Your Highness has an astute eye. The Rose is the finest ship in Glaston.” This came from a large, muscular man dressed as an officer.
“Prince Peter.” The captain politely motioned toward the newcomer. “May I present Mr. Emerson, the first officer of the Seafoam Rose.”
“An honor to meet you, Your Highness.” Farrell noted Mr. Emerson did a much better job of bowing to the prince. “If I can make your voyage any easier, please let me know.”
“Captain,” Miceral interrupted, surveying the wharf. “Permission to take the prince aboard and see to his accommodations.”
“Permission granted.” He pointed toward the deck. “Ask any sailor to show you to the prince’s quarters. As Prince Wilhelm instructed, you two will be staying in the anteroom to the prince’s room. A might cramped, but ain’t that everything on a ship?”
Farrell smiled. It had been years since he’d last been on a vessel like the Rose. The accommodations notwithstanding, he looked forward to the trip. “Sounds about right, Captain.”
Chapter Eight
WELL-BUILT AND sleek—at least for a merchant vessel—the Seafoam Rose raced across the water despite a full hold. Driven by a strong eastern breeze, the vessel left a small wake in its path. Before they’d set sail, Farrell probed the spells used to prevent leaks and rot. What he found impressed him. The ship’s owner must have spent a fair number of coins to pay for the amount of magic used to preserve this ship. Despite that, Farrell had found a couple of spells that needed to be repaired, and he took care of them without telling the captain.
Under the clear, sunny sky, Farrell sat cross-legged, hovering above the quarterdeck, Kel’s open book in his lap. It still amazed him how a centuries-old book could reach out and connect him to a man—nay, a legend—he’d never met. But reading the long, flowing script, he could almost see his distant ancestor thinking himself terribly clever at spots and grinning at others.
Having sat for the better part of the morning, Farrell closed the book and sent it back to their quarters. Lowering his legs, he stretched and breathed in deeply. He’d always enjoyed the times he went to sea with one of his mother’s ships. Aside from being free of Heminaltose and his mother’s watchful eye, occasionally one of the junior officers had proved good company.
Recalling that aspect of his prior trips made him feel a bit guilty, with his life partner mere feet away. He grabbed the stiff leather jerkin he now had to wear at all times and shifted it to make it more comfortable. It still amazed him how people could wear armor all day and not complain.
“Can you come spar with Peter? It will be a lot easier for me to train him if I can step back and watch.” Miceral’s voice in his mind broke his concentration.
“Sure.” He didn’t have anything better to do. “Give me a minute to get ready.”
Peter’s lesson continued for almost an hour. By the time Miceral called an end to their training, Peter and Farrell were sweaty messes.
“You’ve made a big improvement in just three days.” Farrell looked to Miceral, who nodded.
“He’s right. You’ll be the best swordsman in Belsport before I send you home.”
“Go ahead and wash up first.” Farrell gave Miceral back the practice weapon and retrieved his sword and staff. “I’ll fill the tub with clean, warm water.”
Peter grinned at him. “Did I ever mention that you’re the best servant I’ve ever had?”
“Did I mention I could turn the water to ice while you’re sitting in the tub?” He conjured a snowball and tossed it the air.
“Go.” Miceral nodded toward the stairs before swatting Farrell’s snowball out to sea. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”
AFTER LUNCH Farrell went in search of a quieter place to sit than the quarterdeck. He traveled from bow to stern before he settled on the small empty space before the bowsprit. When the spray hit his face, he knew he couldn’t read there, but as a place to sit and think, it was perfect. Sitting cross-legged, he peered at the unbroken expanse of sea before him. The stiff breeze that propelled them made it impossible for him to see much besides the water.
Tentatively he pushed his consciousness under the waves. The vast array of life that dwelled just below the awareness of humans amazed and fascinated him. Under scrutiny of his wizard’s inner sight, the water teemed with life. Ambient energy swirled in a dazzling display of mostly blue and green hues. Tiny organisms, too small for the naked eye, saturated the water. As they moved about, they created a shimmering effect in the energy, something unseen in the pools of power found on land.
Farrell lost himself in the beauty of the menagerie visible only in the deep waters far offshore. Gently he probed the water in search of new creatures. His mind brushed against a myriad of life, most of which lacked the requisite consciousness to be aware of their own existence, or the mind probing them.
As he prepared to end his search, he felt the barest touch of a mind push against his. Curiosity and bewilderment exuded from the counterprobe, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Farrell extended his search, delving deeper into the water in a vain attempt to reestablish the link.
Returning to “his” world, it appeared to be midafternoon. Not wanting to go back to their cramped room, he tried to convince himself to work on at least one of the magical projects he hoped to complete before they reached Dumbarten. Sitting under the warm sun, listening to the ship move and the waves break beneath, he quickly rejected all thoughts of work.
He put his hand into his endless pocket and summoned a black recorder. A gift from his mother when she’d discovered his love of music, the instrument was made of a light, highly polished, and lacquered wood not found in the Seven Kingdoms. Heminaltose had told him it came from Erd and was the work of a highly respected craftsman whose instruments commanded prices only the wealthy could afford.
As much as the gift had cost, Farrell valued far more the time his mother had spent teaching him how to play it properly. Since her death, Farrell rarely took out the instrument. Even holding it proved painful. Yet today, under the clear sky with the s
ea rushing around him, it felt right.
Farrell put the instrument to his lips, and a flood of memories rushed forward. The last time he had played, he knew war would come soon. His master had let him sit on the walls of Yar-del and play while he, the queen, and her advisors discussed plans.
Unsure what to play, he closed his eyes and let the sea inspire his fingers. Reflecting his jumbled emotions, the light, cheery tune he selected had a measure of sadness. He opened his eyes and ignored everything except the water and the music.
The sun had moved much closer to the western horizon when he laid his much-loved instrument in his lap. Released from the almost hypnotic effect of the moment, a faint whiff of consciousness touched him again and vanished immediately. When it passed, he heard people behind him.
Peter and Miceral leaned against one side of the bowsprit and several sailors, including the first mate, stood on the other side.
“Nice playing, master wizard,” Emerson, the ship’s first officer, said. “A welcome change from the bawdy songs the crew favors when they want music.”
“Thank you.”
Miceral grinned when their eyes met. “I’ve never heard you play that pipe before.”
“That’s because when I play it, bad memories of my mother usually creep into my thoughts.” He shoved the recorder back in his pocket.
“Next time you feel moved to play, let me know.” Emerson motioned for the sailors to get back to work. “I’m a fair hand at the lute and would be pleased to join you instead of taking requests from this lot.”
Farrell regarded the man and realized he’d allowed Emerson’s size and commanding presence to mislead him. The first officer had an untold story, but it would have to wait. “I look forward to it.”
FOR THE next week, they kept to the same routine—wake up, morning weapons practice, eat lunch, then Peter spending time with Captain Nathan or Mr. Emerson, learning how the ship worked and how to command the crew. Miceral assumed guard duty most of the time, and Farrell read, worked on some spells, or watched the water.
Ten days from Glaston brought the first overcast day, and the weather threatened to get worse. The rough, choppy water forced the ship up and then released the Rose from its frothy grip to crash back into the sea. Miceral cancelled weapons practice, letting Peter follow the captain closely to learn how to handle a vessel during less-than-ideal conditions.
By noon, the weather had not worsened, so Farrell returned to his favorite spot to observe the sea. Would the agitation caused by the weather change what he saw with his inner eye? Would different life come to the surface in the absence of strong sunshine? Or would things be the same as always?
Since he first detected a consciousness in the water, Farrell had hoped to make contact and let whomever or whatever know they had nothing to fear from him. Having found nothing so far and not know knowing what to look for, Farrell decided he’d change his tactics. Rather than search for something specific, he opened his consciousness and sent it into the water.
The initial rush of impulses almost overwhelmed him. With a bit of effort, he learned to recognize the signals from plants and other inanimate objects. These he let pass through him without touching his mind. The collection of life that remained ranged from the microscopic to a squid bigger than Nerti. Most of the life he encountered barely understood its own existence. If they noticed his presence, they had no way to express their acknowledgment.
Farrell spent over an hour watching and listening with nothing more exciting than a school of fish the size of the Seafoam Rose swimming past. He hadn’t expected he’d be successful in finding the unknown consciousness, so his failure didn’t upset him.
The lack of results, however, made it hard to resist the urge to be more proactive. But he knew he couldn’t force anything, so he maintained his vigil. Taking a deep breath, he shuddered as a presence brushed against his mind.
“Hello.” He tried hard to project calm, peaceful emotions. Maddeningly, the mind quickly darted away at the first hint of his touch. Frustrated, he almost gave up, when an image of Arritisa’s avatar filled his thoughts. He projected the image of the giant white manatee, and the water turned eerily quiet.
“Chosen?”
Unprepared for an answer, the soft, tentative voice struck him like a sledgehammer. Paralyzed by the tiny voice, Farrell feared to respond. Would the speaker flee if he tried to locate it? But if he didn’t respond, the creature would almost certainly leave.
“Arritisa has called me Her Chosen.” When his chest started to burn, he realized he’d been holding his breath. Slowly he exhaled, trying not to alter his thoughts.
“Chosen, we, Arritisa’s servants, bid you welcome to Her domain.” The voice was stronger and more confident. “We felt your presence for many light cycles, but we were fearful you might not be Her Chosen.”
Convinced the presence would not flee, Farrell extended his inner sight in an attempt to locate the source. At first nothing new appeared, only more of the same small, unaware organisms he had been finding for days. Then just at the edge of his probe, a strong, familiar mind touched his.
“How can I assist Her servants?”
“It is not what aid you can give us, but what we must do for you.”
He carefully considered their words. What could he possibly need from Arritisa’s domain that would help him find Kel and free the dwarves? “I do not understand. I am not seeking anything from the Holy Mother of the Sea.”
“Our Blessed Mother told us to seek you out and teach you what we know of the sea. She did not explain why, only that this was our task to complete. Do you reject our offer?”
“No, please.” Farrell almost tumbled over the railing when the ship lurched. “I’m not rejecting Her offer.”
Silence followed his reply. Keeping his senses on the source, Farrell noticed the speaker approach the Rose. At the current pace, he—and he assumed the speaker was male—would be in front of him any moment.
“Please tell the others on the floating wooden shell you sit on not to harm us.” Six dolphins broke the surface of the water. It struck him that this was an amazing act of faith.
Rather than create a scene, Farrell cast a spell hiding the dolphins. “I’ve made sure none on the shell can see you. You won’t be harmed.”
Just to be certain, Farrell created an invisible shield around the slick gray mammals. Twisting until he could see behind him, Farrell noted none of the sailors seemed aware of the dolphins. Miceral, however, made eye contact with him.
“What’s happening, Farrell?”
“Arritisa sent dolphins to give me a message.” He turned back toward the water.
“Give you a message?”
Farrell nodded without knowing if Miceral could see him. “They can speak as clearly as unicorns or peregrines.”
He watched the six dolphins staring at him intently. The intelligence he saw in their eyes reminded him of the playful consciousness of his adopted peregrine brothers more than the ancient wisdom of Nerti and Rothdin. “What message have you for me?”
“You must learn from your sire’s words the way to breathe in our realm. When we return at the beginning of the new light cycle, you must come with us below the waves. Arritisa wishes her servants to provide you with knowledge they possess.”
Farrell stared blankly as the six dolphins swam backward, matching the speed of the vessel. Had he really heard that right? “How long am I expected to stay with you below the waves?”
“We cannot answer that. It is not we who will be teaching you.”
The “how” question he wanted to ask disappeared. “Whom will I be meeting with? Others of your kind?”
“You will be meeting with others who serve Arritisa. You must ask them how long you must stay. But it will take some time for us to reach them.”
“How can Arritisa expect me to go with you? I can’t breathe underwater.”
“We have told you all that we were sent to convey. Arritisa said you would know whic
h sire to ask.” One by one, the dolphins disappeared beneath the water. Farrell thought the last one nodded in his direction before joining the others.
He stared at the empty water, trying to track the pod as they swam away. When he couldn’t sense them, he shook his head. “What now?”
Chapter Nine
“YOU’RE PLANNING to jump in the ocean after them?” Miceral asked.
Any hope Miceral would support his decision dissipated with those words. “Why wouldn’t I? When Nerti showed up and said to come with her, I did. And don’t say this is different. No two situations are identical, but these are similar enough to be the same. Arritisa wants me to follow Her messengers, just as Lenore needed Nerti to bring me to Northhelm.”
“What if Kel’s book doesn’t have the information you need?” The muscles in Miceral’s face relaxed a fraction. “Will you still go?”
“No.” Farrell shook his head. “I can’t. Without some form of help, I’d die in a few minutes.”
“Why would Kel create a spell like that and hide it from the world?” Standing off to the side, Peter drew their attention.
“Arritisa no doubt showed up one day and told him to.” Gripping the rail, Farrell leaned forward to stare at the endless water. “I’m beginning to think Kel had as much interaction with the Six as I have.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Miceral joined him. “Don’t you want guidance from the Six?”
“Guidance is good, but what I seem to get are orders. Fight Meglar. Fortify Haven. Free the dwarves. Save Northhelm. Although that one worked out pretty well.” He winked at his partner. “The point is, every time a god or goddess shows up, I get something else to do. I’m only one person.”
Tapping the wood with his fist, he turned around. Snapping his right hand, Farrell fetched Kel’s book. “Might as well get started.”
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