My eyebrows shot up and he grinned.
“Trust me. Use the pillows to get comfortable. Here, let me help.”
I shifted around on the blanket under William’s direction, placing the pillows beneath my head, adjusting them until my neck no longer felt crooked. I could feel the planking of the deck beneath the thin blanket, the motion of the ship more pronounced lying flat like this. William rustled around beside me, his elbow digging into my side once. He murmured an apology, shifted around some more—
And then we were lying side by side, staring up at the stars. A few ropes and blocks from the rigging blocked our view, but here at the prow they were minimal. If I moved my head slightly, I could see the top of the main mast, could see the moonlight on the bellied-out sails and the lookout’s post.
“Do you know anything about the stars?” William asked, his voice rising into the night. The sky was clear, the pinpricks of the stars bright, glittering against the blackness.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. That’s how we know where the ship is, where we are in relation to the coast. We use the stars to figure out our position.”
“How?”
“We use a compass and an instrument called a sextant. And a lot of mathematics.”
“Never mind, then.”
I heard him chuckle and I hit him on the thigh. He quieted instantly although, on the river, I could still feel him grinning.
“There’s a simpler way. Less exact of course, but still worthwhile if you need a reading of position.” He pointed up into the night. “See that star? The bright one just off to the left?”
“Yes.”
His arm fell. “That’s called the Northern Guide. Since from this perspective the Guide appears to the left, that means we’re actually headed southwest, away from the mainland and out into deep ocean. We’ll have to change course tonight.”
I frowned, wiggling around to find a better position. “Why?”
“Because we’re heading out of the sea-lane between the Boreaite Isles and Bosun’s Bay. We passed through the most congested portion of it two days ago, but Bullick is playing it safe, taking us farther out to sea before turning back and heading to Venitte. If he doesn’t turn back, we’ll end up sailing into empty ocean.”
I thought about this a moment, then said, “Except we know it’s not empty.”
“What do you mean?”
I rolled my head to the side so I could see William’s profile in the darkness. “The Chorl. They came from islands somewhere out there. The White Fire came from the west as well, and it didn’t come from the Chorl. So there must be something more out there, something even beyond the Chorl islands.”
“If there is, it must be fairly distant. Ships have sailed to the west, but they’ve either returned to report nothing but ocean . . . or they never returned at all.”
“The Seven searched as well,” I said, thinking back to what I’d learned from Cerrin and the Seven while connected to the Skewed Throne, to what I’d dreamed of since. “After the first Chorl attack. They found nothing.”
“But we have larger ships now. They can carry more cargo, sail farther without the crew starving. And if we can find the Chorl islands, or other islands like them, use them as a place to stop and restock . . .”
I thought about Borund telling Eryn he could build larger ships using whatever technique the Servants had come up with to strengthen and shape the wood. Perhaps, with the new ships, we would be able to find the Chorl’s homeland . . . or what was left of it.
Perhaps we could find the source of the White Fire.
The thought sparked a desire to set sail immediately, a different kind of fire that burned deep in my gut, but I pushed the fire back. Nothing could be done about it at the moment.
But the fire didn’t die. I could feel it seething deep inside me, throbbing with heat. Like the coals of a fire that had burned down, waiting for fresh fuel so it could reignite.
“What else can you tell me about the stars?” I asked.
William turned to look at me, brow creased, as if he thought I were simply humoring him. But then the creases smoothed out and he relaxed, settling back against his blanket. He pointed up into the night sky again. “Those three stars over there, the ones that form a triangle?”
“I see them.”
“They’re called Omarion’s Tryst. . . .”
And with that all of the tension—over Avrell, over Brandan—drained out of the night.
* * *
The next day, I woke to find Marielle and Trielle hovering expectantly, eyes full of questions.
“Don’t ask,” I said, swinging out of the hammock. “I’m not going to say anything.”
“But the crew of the Reliant won’t say anything either,” Marielle protested. “Captain Bullick warned them off, and they’re all keeping quiet, even the Zorelli!”
“And they’re the worst gossips of the bunch,” Trielle threw in.
“Then you’ll just have to live without knowing what happened.”
“Ooo, she’s evil,” Trielle said mockingly. “How have you managed to put up with tutoring her for the past eight months?”
“It hasn’t been easy,” Marielle muttered darkly.
The good humor lasted until we reached the deck, where Avrell, Keven, Captain Bullick, and William all stood in a cluster staring out behind the ship, their faces serious. I could sense the tension on the river the moment we emerged into the sunlight, knew that Marielle and Trielle sensed it as well. Their laughter cut off abruptly.
I slid up to William’s side, shaded my eyes against the sun’s glare. “What is it?”
He glanced down briefly. “Two ships. They’ve been following us since dawn.”
“They’re Chorl,” Bullick said, lowering his spyglass and handing it off to Avrell.
“But they haven’t approached?”
Bullick shook his head. “They’re probably keeping their distance because there are five of us.”
“Can we outrun them?” Avrell asked. He’d taken the spyglass and now held it up to his eye.
“No. Not at our current weight and not with these winds. The three Chorl ships might be able to, but not the two traders.”
I glanced up at the sails. I couldn’t see any difference in the configuration between now and earlier, but it did feel as if the ship were moving at a slower pace.
“Perhaps we’ll get a chance to test out those modifications to the ship after all,” Keven said.
Bullick grunted, then bellowed a command, men to either side scurrying below decks.
“What modifications?” I asked.
“Since The Maiden and the attack at Amenkor, we’ve tried to add a few additional defenses to the trading ships,” Keven explained.
“Even if they do attack,” Bullick said, “it will be hours before they catch up to us. No need to continue watching from the deck.”
It was a clear dismissal, but no one moved. Avrell passed the spyglass to Keven as the crewmen began to reappear on deck, carrying buckets, ropes, grapnels, and a few large trunks.
William turned to me with a grimace. “And we were almost out of the sea-lane.”
I ordered Marielle and Trielle below and told them to keep Heddan and Gwenn there as well. Trying to keep out of the way, I watched as the buckets were lowered and filled with seawater, then set aside on deck in case of fire. More trunks appeared, revealing hatchets and axes, swords and daggers, crossbows. Bullick disappeared for fifteen minutes, returned dressed in a more formal captain’s uniform, including a sheathed sword belted to his waist. Keven, William, Avrell, and the guardsmen armed themselves as well. Signals flew between the five ships, the grouping reorganized since the Chorl ships had been spotted so that the two traders sailed close together in the center, surrounded by the three smaller defensive ships. I could see
individual people on the deck of the other ships now, although they weren’t close enough for me to pick out faces.
At noon, Bullick reported, “They’ve started to gain on us. I estimate three hours before they catch us.”
A grim tension settled over the ship.
I wandered below deck, found Marielle, Trielle, Heddan, and Gwenn huddled outside Ottul’s room, Gwenn curled up close to Trielle. In Erick’s room, Isaiah was gathering together equipment, his pace methodical, his expression severe. He glanced up when I entered.
“Captain Bullick requested that I set up in the crew quarters,” he said. “He expects casualties.”
“Of course.” I stepped to Erick’s side. Isaiah continued collecting supplies behind me.
Erick’s face was drawn, the grayness more pronounced now than it had been a few weeks before. His eyes looked sunken, the skin around them bruised almost black, and his breath came in long, ragged gasps.
“He’s declining faster than I expected,” Isaiah said, abruptly at my side. I jumped. “The rigors of traveling at sea are taking a toll. We need to get him to Venitte.”
“I’m trying,” I said. But I wasn’t certain we could make it in time anymore.
I stayed with Erick until Isaiah had finished setting up, but didn’t dare Reach for him. Not if the Chorl attacked. I might need my strength. Then, setting one of the crew to watch over him, I returned to Ottul’s room.
“Gwenn,” I said, squatting down beside her on the deck. Her eyes were strained with the effort of keeping her fear at bay, Trielle holding her protectively. “Gwenn, I’m going to need Marielle, Trielle, and Heddan up above, in case the Chorl ships have Servants on board. I want you to stay here and guard Ottul. Can you do that?”
She considered this a moment, then nodded, pulling slightly out of Trielle’s embrace. “I can do that, Mistress.”
Her voice was surprisingly calm and serious.
“Good,” I said, and stood. Marielle and Heddan stood as well, smoothing out the folds of their dresses. Gwenn pulled out of Trielle’s arms completely, and Trielle ruffled her hair as she joined us.
On deck, the Chorl ships were shockingly close. So close I could see movement on their decks, although I couldn’t pick out individual people.
But I did catch a flash of green.
“They have Servants,” I said, and a sickening stone of heat and anxiety formed in my gut.
“At least two,” Avrell said. We’d moved to join the cluster of guardsmen and crew at the aft deck. “They’ll catch us within the hour.”
I frowned. “They seem closer than that.”
“They aren’t traveling much faster than us. We’re using the same winds.”
Battles at sea involved a lot of waiting, I thought. On the Dredge, the fight would have been resolved hours ago, daggers drawn and blood spilled. I didn’t remember the fight on The Maiden taking this long.
But then I’d come into that battle after it had already begun.
I’d just drawn breath to comment on this when a panicked voice yelled, “Ho! Sails off the starboard bow! Coming in fast!”
“What!” Bullick bellowed from midship.
“Starboard bow!” the lookout yelled again, and glancing up, shading my eyes against the glare of the midday sun, I could see him gesturing sharply to the right. “Ships to the starboard!”
Bullick swore, began booming orders at the top of his voice, crew leaping to the rigging, others scrambling for weapons. Everyone’s attention in the aft deck turned from the two Chorl ships trailing us to the starboard bow—
And the four Chorl ships heading directly toward us, closing in fast.
“They drove us right into them,” Keven said, respect mixed with grim horror in his voice. His hand rested on his sword hilt.
Sails snapped above, and the Defiant suddenly listed to port beneath us, all of the guardsmen on deck caught off guard, stumbling. To either side, all of the other ships in our group began turning as one.
“We aren’t going to make it,” Avrell said flatly.
And suddenly, power surged on the river, gathering quick and deadly, from the direction of the four new ships.
“Marielle!” I barked, but she and Trielle were already moving, already shaping the river into a tight shield, throwing it up and across the starboard side of the ship, covering the sails.
Fire arced out from the Chorl ships, shattered against the shield in a coruscating sheet of flame that rained down the barrier’s length and fell harmlessly into the sea.
“Heddan,” I said, “try to protect the Prize.”
Heddan darted through the suddenly active deck to the prow, Westen’s ship the closest of the defensive ships in front of us.
“Behind us,” Keven said in warning.
I turned. The two Chorl ships had leaped forward, were almost within reach of Catrell’s ship. The other two ships in our group—Tristan’s Reliant and the Booty—were to port, away from the direct line of fire.
“They gained ground because we were forced to turn,” Keven growled.
I stepped forward to the rail while sinking deep beneath the river. The world grayed around me, grew thick and dense, and I settled into the smooth, calm, focused power of a Seeker. Everything collapsed to a single goal, the details of the ships behind the Spoils of War bright, brittle, harsh in the sunlight, the crew on its decks—dressed in the garish, vibrant colors of the Chorl—visible now, the green dresses of the Chorl Servants clear, one per ship. I focused on them, on their long black hair, on their cold blue skin, on their almost black eyes, so arrogant with power. And then I stretched out beyond the Spoils of War on the river, not quite Reaching, not quite separating from my body—
And with a cold precision learned from Westen and Erick, with a heartlessness learned on the Dredge, I slashed across the first Servant’s throat with a blade-eddy.
She hadn’t raised a shield. Blood flew as she fell back onto the deck, arms rising in belated shock, the Chorl warriors around her stepping away, stunned. Then they roared in outrage, the ululating cries weak and distant from the deck of the Defiant but hideously raw on the river, shuddering on the edge of the Chorl ship’s deck.
I’d already turned to the second Servant, already readied the blade-eddy for another cut. But the Servant had been forewarned. She held a shield around her, the barrier almost glittering beneath the Sight. Her face contorted with raw hatred. With an outstretched arm, she seized the river and flung fire toward the Spoils of War.
I spat a curse, erected a shield, but not quite fast enough. The fire exploded over its edge and spattered down onto Catrell’s ship, the guardsmen and crew of the ship leaping to the buckets of seawater as fire scorched the deck, caught in one of the sails. All flames were quenched within moments, my shield preventing the Chorl Servant from guiding the fires as the Servants had done on The Maiden, keeping her from sending it trailing out, seeking victims. But her rage grew. She began flinging fireball after fireball at my shield.
“Keven,” I said, and heard the strain in my voice already. I wasn’t used to directing the river from such a distance. Every encounter on the Dredge had been up close and personal, every battle with the Chorl in Amenkor confined to the gates or a single room.
Not over such a distance. The effort to stretch as far as Catrell’s ship hurt.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“See if you can get Bullick to bring the ships in closer together. It will be easier to defend them from the Chorl Servants if he does. And see if you can pick off some of the Servants with crossbows!”
“I’ll do it,” William barked, and moved instantly toward Bullick.
Beneath my feet, I felt the Defiant shudder. I wondered how Marielle and Trielle were faring, but didn’t dare look. I could feel the surges of power on the river behind me, could feel the heat as fire exploded on shield, knew that w
hatever Marielle and Trielle were doing, it was holding. Farther back, I could feel Heddan’s shield holding steady as well.
Ahead, the second Chorl ship, the one I’d killed the Servant on, slid forward toward the Spoils of War, and I growled low in my throat. Keeping the shield steady from the Servant’s relentless attack, I gathered the river into a spear and hurled it, following it with another, the effort causing sweat to break out across my forehead.
The first struck, wood splintering from the side of the ship, Chorl screaming as chunks flew up into their faces. The second tore a hole in the side of the ship, well above the waterline.
But the ship didn’t falter. It began to draw up alongside the Spoils of War on the starboard side, the other ship coming up to the port. Chorl stood at the railing, ready with grapnels and rope to tether the two ships together, most with swords raised, screaming across the span of ocean between the two ships. Guardsmen on the Spoils of War roared back. A few crossbow bolts were unleashed, Chorl men falling back from the onslaught. I could see Catrell on the deck, talking to the pilot, gesturing frantically with his arms, strain written in the lines of his face—
And suddenly the wheel spun beneath the pilot’s hands, the Spoils of War lurching to the left, away from the ship threatening to board.
Straight into the Chorl Servant’s ship.
The two ships collided with a hideous crunch of cracking wood, men thrown to the decks on both ships with short cries. Groaning, the two ships ground against each other, the pilot fighting the wheel, and then they broke apart.
On the Chorl ship, the Servant stumbled, the barrage of fireballs faltering. I dove into the opening, sliced hard across her arm, heard a biting cry as I tasted blood, coppery and thick, struck again with deadly swiftness, but encountered a shield.
And then the Defiant truly shuddered. I heard a sigh, felt the ship slow with a sickening motion, and glanced upward.
The sails were falling limp, whuffling as they went slack, men scrambling in the rigging to draw them in tighter.
“The bloody bastards stole our wind,” someone close murmured.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 95
