As the carpenter went on his way, I glanced towards the stern but D’Alsennin wasn’t up there. He was down on the main deck and seeing me, came over. “How much longer, do you think?”
I looked back across seawaters calm with the stillness of early morning. Somewhere, just out of sight, were the islands we’d come to reclaim. Somewhere, beneath the featureless cloak of trees, Kellarin’s mercenaries were prowling with murderous intent. Quiet as a squirrel too mean to share his nuts, Ryshad on one headland, Halice on another, they would be creeping up on the watchposts Allin’s scrying had betrayed to us. Somewhere, two of Kellarin’s coasters lurked in the inlets they’d crept into under the scant cover of the moonlit night and every mask of magecraft and Artifice that Allin and Guinalle could summon. Dastennin, Halcarion and every other deity grant the ships would bring our people back to us.
“Not long.” I spoke with more hope than certainty.
“We’ll make those bastards sorry they ever thought of staking a claim to Suthyfer,” Temar muttered. Kellarin men still asleep in the Eryngo’s capacious lower decks would help make sure of that.
I glanced up at the sun, still broad and soft gold this early in the day. “It’ll take as long as it takes.” That would be Ryshad’s answer and Halice’s too but they’d better hurry, if we were to launch our attack to catch the pirates still fuddled with sleep.
The deck swayed beneath my feet as the Eryngo made a slow turn. The Nenuphar and the Asterias did the same, square-rigged mainsails furled like the Eryngo’s, just relying on the triangular sails on their stubby aftmasts for steering in circles. I sincerely hoped all the sailors were pulling the right ropes to stop us colliding as we marked time in the same patch of sea.
“I should have gone too,” muttered Temar, frustrated.
“This is a very different fight to sweeping across the Dalasorian plains with half an Imperial army at your back,” I pointed out.
“As Ryshad and Halice keep saying with all their talk of skulk and strike and cut and run.”
I made a non-committal sound by way of reply. It was plain his exclusion from the fun still rankled with Temar but Ryshad and Halice had been adamant. The Tormalin wars of lordly conquest back in the days before history had been a very different affair from the base civil war that was Lescar’s running sore. It was dirty fighting that was wanted here.
Still, I didn’t like sitting on my hands aboard ship any more than D’Alsennin. This inaction came all the harder after the ceaseless hectic days since Parrail had raised his alarm. All of us had roused yeomen, miners and artisans to hone their tools and fury to a murderous edge. Halice and I had set every mercenary to scouring rust from swords and summoning old ingenuity for scavenging supplies.
Temar turned to look at the sterncastle and the doors to the rearward cabins under the raised afterdeck. “Allin may have news. Guinalle might be able to reach Parrail without so much water between them.”
“We let them sleep,” I told him firmly. If I couldn’t help my friends with a weapon in my hand, I could ensure this expedition’s magical resources were carefully husbanded. Guinalle was an even worse sailor than me and the stresses of working Artifice while actually afloat left the noblewoman with a headache like a poleaxed cow. Allin wasn’t so tired but seeing the pirates’ captives daily beaten, degraded and filthy distressed the mage-girl dreadfully. After breaking our backs to get Vithrancel’s ships sailing, we’d had to stand off the islands for three frustrating days waiting for Shiv and Usara’s ship to make the longer crossing from Toremal, even with wizardry clearing a path through the waves and swelling their sails with mageborn winds.
Temar glared at the closed door. “I want to know how Shiv’s men are getting on.”
“Sorgrad and ’Gren have been fighting for more years than you’ve been living.” Saedrin curse it, I sounded more patronising than reassuring thanks to my own apprehension. The runes can always roll wrong, no matter how much skill my friends might have to weight them. “Oh, come on then.”
Temar took time to smile and wave reassurance to curious sailors, as nobles always seem to, no matter how fast the ground’s crumbling beneath their feet. I knocked a brisk double tap on the door.
“Come in.” Allin sounded contemplative and sad but that was better than outright anguish. She sat scrying at a table hanging from the beams of the deck above. Its raised wooden rim and a dampened cloth offered her bowl some stability but pools of fading radiance showed where ensorcelled water had slopped over the edges.
“So much for me trying to make sure you got some rest,” I chided her. Next time I’d empty the cabin of anything she might use for magic. Then she’d probably go back to scrying in the butt of water kept on deck for the sailors’ refreshment. She’d only stopped when she realised none of them wanted to drink from it, even if all she were using was citrus oil.
“How goes it to the north?” Temar twisted his hands absently together.
“It’s all over bar the grieving.” Eerie reflections turned Allin’s sombre face into a mask of light and shadow.
I looked into the scrying bowl to see a triangular cove between two spurs of brittle grey rock where even the hardiest plants were defeated by the combined assaults of wind and wave. Temar’s pennant was waving on the roof of a sizeable if crudely built hut tucked beneath a crag. Bodies lay among the stumps of a recently felled grove of trees.
“Kellarin’s writ is in force on this islet at least,” said Temar with satisfaction.
“It’s a start,” I agreed. An important one; Shiv’s scrying had detected a sizeable outpost of pirates on this jagged diamond north of Suthyfer’s westernmost isle.
Allin looked up. “If you want me to bespeak Usara, I’ll have to give up the scrying.” A gleam betrayed the sorrow brimming in her eyes.
“Don’t waste your tears on these vermin,” Temar said severely but he gave her half a hug for comfort.
I tried to pick out familiar outlines among the anonymous figures looting the bodies, a yellow head bent over a dead man’s hand. ’Gren, surely? I bent closer but stepped back with an oath as a sudden conflagration erupted on one side of the cove.
A smile teased Allin despite herself. “Is that your friend Sorgrad?”
Sure enough, I saw a blond man warming ostentatiously casual hands at the blaze. “It is, and burning longboats by the look of it.” He looked small within the miniature world of the scrying, more so beside a hulking figure that could only be Darni. I still felt a sour resentment as I looked at the big warrior. I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t blackmailed me into working for Planir. All I’d wanted was to sell the bastard a valuable piece of silver before its unpleasant owner realised it was missing, but Darni had recognised it and my cooperation had been the price of staying out of irons. Still, I reminded myself, reverse those runes and I’d never have met Ryshad. That put me ahead of the game, didn’t it?
“None escaped?” Temar’s voice was tight with concern.
If they had, our venture wasn’t exactly sunk but it would be taking on water fast. To beard this pirate captain in his lair, we needed to attack from both ends of that crucial inlet dividing the two main islands of Suthyfer. We had to know nothing lurked behind us ready to stab us in the back.
“No one got away.” Allin gestured and her spell swooped backwards over the water to show the pirate fleet’s pinnace prostrate in the surf, barnacles and green fouling on her shallow hull exposed to derision from the deck of a tall three-masted ocean ship drawing close to the wide beach.
“That must be the Maelstrom,” breathed Temar.
“Something to show for Ryshad’s coin,” I commented. Shiv and Usara had found a ship easily the length of the pirate predators, more heavily built with higher sides and deck castles but rigged for sailing just as close to the wind. As we watched, it anchored well clear of the pinnace’s three mastheads now digging deep into the pale sand and the tangle of sodden ropes and sails on useless spars. Corpses bobbed among nameless flotsa
m and the beach sand was stained muddy red with the blood of those few who’d made it to shore.
“Whose work was that?” asked Temar with admiration. For myself, I was none too keen to see how easily a ship could be knocked on its beam-ends.
“Larissa and Shiv between them.” Allin gazed into the bowl. “I wish I had such power.”
“When you’re working your own element, you do.” Guinalle was lying on one of the cabin’s bunks with a damp cloth on her forehead. I’d thought she was asleep.
“Feeling better?” Temar’s eyes stayed fixed on the scrying bowl.
“No,” replied Guinalle curtly.
“Can I get you anything?” I was glad of the distraction. The way the scrying was swaying at odds with the motion of the Eryngo made me distinctly nauseous.
Guinalle managed an infinitesimal shake of her head, mouth tight.
“I wish you’d try some of Halice’s tincture.” They say let a lame dog that snarls well alone but my beloved might need this stubborn girl up and ready to hunt. I looked at Temar. “Shiv used some sorcery to cure me of seasickness once. When we meet up, he can treat Guinalle to it.”
The demoiselle flapped an impatient hand, which at least proved she wasn’t entirely incapacitated. “All I need are some of the right herbs fresh picked.”
“Have you managed to sense anything of Parrail?” I wondered if Temar’s neutral tone masked a mutual irritation with Guinalle. Sympathetic as I was to her seasickness, I found her manner increasingly irritating.
Guinalle swung her feet down from the bunk and sat up, putting her cloth carefully in a lidded jug. “He’s hurt his arm. I can’t tell how badly.”
“So the chances of working Artifice between you are on a par with me winning a game of Raven against Livak.” Temar’s rueful attempt at a joke fell flatter than my baking.
Guinalle coloured furiously. “I have done the very best—”
“Have you any idea if Naldeth’s hurt?” Allin interrupted with what was either supreme lack of tact or the precise opposite.
Guinalle visibly reined in her emotions. “I’ve no sense of that.”
“It shouldn’t matter.” Temar patted Allin on the shoulder. “We’ll have them out soon enough to heal any hurts.”
Allin looked up at Temar with irritation. “Wizards in pain or delirium often have trouble controlling their influence on their element. They work magic without meaning to. That’s what set Planir looking into Soluran healing traditions in the first place.”
Which were based on fragments of aetheric lore. Which had set the Archmage on the trail first of Artifice and ultimately the lost Kellarin colony. I wondered if Planir felt like a man at a Solstice fair who’s seen his winnings doubled and redoubled in a series of lucky bets at the racetrack. Or did the Archmage know the hollow disbelief of walking away from a gaming table with cumulative losses to indebt his unborn grandchildren?
“While we who use Artifice find ourselves entirely unable to work enchantment if pain distracts us,” Guinalle commented sourly.
“Things bursting into flames all around him will betray Naldeth as a mage at once.” I’d bet enough loot to gladden ’Gren’s heart that things would go badly for the wizard after that.
“The sooner Shiv and Usara can lift them out of there, the better,” Allin breathed fervently.
“We just have to get close enough,” agreed Temar.
Running feet sounded on the deck outside. “Messire!”
Temar only got to the door before me because I was the wrong side of the table.
“They’re on the way back.” The sailor was grinning from ear to ear.
Temar and I ran to the rail to see for ourselves. The Dulse and the Fire Minnow were indeed labouring towards us, favourable winds needing no wizardly assistance but the run of the tide already turning against them. D’Alsennin pennants streamed from their mastheads and cheering men lined each vessel’s rails.
“How far does noise carry over water?” I asked Temar in sudden alarm.
“The wind’s in our favour,” he assured me with a boyish grin.
I masked my impatience better than him but it still felt like half a season before the Dulse drew alongside with exquisite care. The Eryngo’s crew dangled woven straw fenders over her rails and sailors on the Dulse’s deck below held boathooks ready to save us from too hard a clash. They need not have worried. The ships came together as gently as a lover’s kiss and climbing nets and ladders were flung down from the Eryngo. I looked down from the height of our ship’s three additional decks.
“Ryshad!” Temar saw him and hailed urgently. He tucked the oily red cloth he’d been cleaning his sword with into his belt, sheathed his blade and came to climb up to us. He leaned on the rail for a moment and kissed me before swinging himself aboard.
“We were on top of them before they knew it.” Ryshad grinned through smears of leaf mould and green grime. A dark stain on his buff breeches was probably blood and the rusty smears on his shirtsleeves certainly were.
“They were barely keeping a watch,” Vaspret amplified behind him. “All tucked up nice in a nest in the woods.” He dug in a pocket and began untangling a waxed cord garrotte.
“Not a rat escaped,” Ryshad said before Temar could ask.
“You took no prisoners.” Guinalle was in the cabin door, face accusing.
Temar stifled a snort of irritation but Ryshad met the noblewoman’s gaze calmly. “No, but we did take casualties who’d appreciate your care.”
A few mercenary men and women, with bloodied dressings around slashes to arms and legs, were being helped across the Eryngo’s rails.
“Here’s the Fire Minnow.” Allin had come out on deck as well and pointed to Halice’s ship. The Eryngo lurched as it came alongside with less precision and Halice was already climbing a rope with a fine disregard for the crushing gap between the smaller ship and the Eryngo.
“How many got away?” Ryshad demanded.
“A handful, maybe more,” spat Halice, bitter as aloes. “Some cursed hunting party dallying their way back but sharp enough to take to their heels when they realised what was afoot.”
“We chased them,” protested Rosarn, her face taut with chagrin.
“It was a difficult assault,” Temar offered but Halice’s expression was perilously close to a sneer.
“Even if they know the ground, they’ll be slower through forest than we’ll be over water.” Ryshad was thinking through the implications. “We’ve seen no sign of beacons so they shouldn’t raise an alarm before we can attack.”
“We’re committed, whatever they do. The tide’s already on the turn.” Halice was determined to take full advantage of the phases of the moon. With the greater at full and the lesser at half, the tides wouldn’t be running this strong again until the double full towards the end of For-Summer. “Sieur D’Alsennin, who can I have to make up my numbers?” The Fire Minnow’s wounded were coming aboard.
As Temar hastily produced the list of those who’d thought themselves unlucky to draw a rune to miss out on the initial assault, Guinalle unbuttoned the cuffs of her grey gown and shoved the sleeves above her elbows. “Come on, Allin.” The women headed for a man writhing in silent agony as he clutched gory belly wounds, head pressed back against the board he’d been tied to.
Ryshad looked after them. “I do wish Shiv had been able to raise a surgeon,” he muttered. I caught him in a fierce embrace. His shirt smelt of age-old trees and wood smoke.
He kissed the top of my head. “Have they taken the sentry island yet?”
I nodded, catching his chin and hearing his teeth click. “Sorry. Yes, Allin was just scrying.” I tugged at the red cloth in his belt. “What’s this?”
“A present for you.” He pulled it free with a wicked smile. “The watchpost’s snake.”
“You’re sure none of your family ever turned pirate?” I teased. “You’re taking to this like a cat to cream.”
“Just doing what I’ve been trained fo
r.” He drew me to him for a lengthy kiss that promised a sleepless night as soon as we got the chance.
“Just be careful.” I looked deep into his velvet brown eyes.
“I will.” He gazed down at me for a moment of heartwarming stillness. “You too.”
“I can’t come to much harm nursemaiding Allin and her ladyship,” I said caustically.
“You’re the best woman for the job.” Ryshad’s smile acknowledged my frustrations.
A piercing whistle from Halice called him away. They exchanged a few words before returning to their respective ships. Temar intercepted Ryshad who nodded his head reluctantly after a moment. D’Alsennin ran across the deck and disappeared over the side, intent on getting himself to one of the other coastal boats. He didn’t see the resigned shake of Ryshad’s head that I did.
“Livak!” Allin was beckoning, on her knees beside a wounded man, a coarse apron from somewhere protecting her gown. She swabbed blood from an encrusted gash across his chest, pausing only to throw his torn and stained shirt to me. “See what you can salvage from that.”
I got out a knife to strip the cleaner cloth into bandages. The Eryngo heaved beneath me as our reunited flotilla headed directly into the sound between the islands. The run of the tide carried us ever faster while I cleaned, salved and bandaged blessedly trivial wounds, binding wrenched ankles and bloodied knuckles, fetching and carrying at Guinalle’s command and Allin’s polite requests. The Lescari mage-lass applied those skills learned at her mother’s side in the battle-worn dukedom of Carluse. She kept up a murmur of reassurance while Guinalle worked with a steady litany of soft incantation. I’d wager the Old Empire owed a good measure of conquests to its adepts’ ability to limit casualties with Artifice. Most aetheric learning had centred on the Bremilayne shrine to Ostrin in an age when the god had been more concerned with healing than hospitality. I had no quarrel with that, not if Guinalle’s skills meant more of our people came home unscathed.
The waters narrowed as the land advanced on either side, hills leaning ever closer to the strait’s edge. The trees were taller than our mast and here and there an outcrop of dark rock hung ominous overhead. Sailors in the Eryngo’s crow’s-nests looked in all directions for any sign of the enemy. Lookouts in the prow fixed their eyes on the shadowed waters, searching for reefs and skerries. The Dulse and Fire Minnow slid stealthily in our wake, their sister ships Asterias and Nenuphar not far behind.
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