by Jean Johnson
I suppose it’s a good opportunity for Rahina to try her hand at command, he allowed. Not that I expect I’ll be giving up my post any time soon. But she needs to know just how difficult it is to lead people, not just command them. It takes flexibility to deal with different kinds of personalities, and an understanding of human nature. If she simply barks out a command and expects, say, Sergeant Briss to follow it without questioning ... well, I myself earned the right for him to follow me, by listening to his complaints, taking them seriously, and explaining in terms he could understand why certain things needed to be done in the Royal Guard way, rather than the way he thinks best. Some of his ideas have been quite good enough to implement, and that softened him ...
Ellett’s thoughts trailed off as the bo’sun shouted up at him from the middeck. “Hey, mage! Stop daydreaming and start working! We’re almost clear of the breakwater!”
And thus begins circuit number five ... Lifting a hand in acknowledgment, Ellett sighed and straightened, tugging the folds of his plain, pale blue eta jacket more neatly into place. Brushing his fingertips over the forecastle railing, he traced strengthening runes onto the wood, tightening the hull and supporting the masts so that they would withstand the coming stresses.
Learning in his initial investigation that the Parrot’s Ride, a common, broad-bellied, Aurulan cargo ship wasn’t due to pull into the port nearest the winter palace for a handful of days, Ellett had given his prophecy a bit of thought. He’d realized quickly enough that if he tried to ride around on the ship as a member of the Royal Guard—captain or otherwise—every single sailor around the entire sea would talk about it.
That meant subterfuge, and it meant establishing himself as a more common sort of man. He had known he wouldn’t make a very good trader, though; most of the cargo carried by the Parrot’s Ride was purchased and hauled by its owner, the independent-minded Captain Livit, and very little of it freight bought by other people. Nor did Ellett think he had the right mind-set to be a good trader, since that required a different sort of diplomacy than juggling the personalities of some of the best battle-trained spellcasters in the kingdom. And he definitely couldn’t hide the fact that he was a mage for very long, though at least he could hide most of his magical strength.
The best option, therefore, had been to present himself as a ship’s mage. It had also meant a bit of maneuvering. Not only a two-day crash course in various nautical spells, but also a thorough investigation of the ship’s mage currently serving on board the Parrot’s Ride. A bit of manipulation, a letter from “an addendum to the estate of your late great-uncle, only just now uncovered” which detailed the funds to send said mage to one of the best Mage Academies, and the mage in question gleefully jumped ship as soon as he finished reading his mail and explaining this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—room and board and books included in the tuition price, which were actually being provided by the government and not any dead relative—to his captain.
Ellett had then arranged to be on hand when Captain Livit sent out word for any interested parties to audition for the vacancy in a series of tests ranging from a display of nautical spellcrafting to a set of Duels Arcane. The only part he had sweated was the display of spells. One did not become a member of the Royal Guard, never mind its commanding officer, if one were magically weak ... and one did not become a ship’s mage if one were exceptionally strong. There were far more lucrative positions available to the truly powerful spellcasters, after all.
More lucrative, and more interesting. Any mage who could manage the power and the responsibilities would go after the best possible job he or she could get, and ship’s mage wasn’t exactly the highest-paying career.
Once the ship was strengthened, Ellett cast two more spells. One was a downward curl of his left hand and a mnemonic murmur of words, which lowered the water pressure in front of the ship just a little bit. The bow dipped downward slightly, giving them a touch more in the way of speed.
The other spell required a swirling, cupping twist of his right wrist, fingers and spell spread to capture and entwine the winds blowing in from the west. Not that much was needed in the way of redirecting the wind, but in order for the ship to travel swiftly to the east, it actually needed to blow in slightly from one side or the other, and blow consistently. The bright red, green, and yellow sails snapped and filled, straining at the sheets—which weren’t the sheetlike sails, but which were instead the nautical term for ropes—holding them in place. He still didn’t know all of the terminology involved in sailing ships and other seaworthy things, but he was learning.
Tying in the threads of power to the rigging, which would anchor the spell and allow it to funnel the wind more accurately, Ellett relaxed his arms. Part of his mind had to stay cognizant of the trio of spells, but only as long as it would take them to reach the next port, half a day’s steady sail from here. Relaxing, Ellett leaned on the rail again, the short, pocketed sleeves of his eta bumping lightly against the rails.
In one of those pockets, he had tucked a kerchief and a viewing loupe, similar to the sort used by the slightly nearsighted Master of the Royal Retreat, back at the royal court. Unlike Master Souder’s looking glass, his was enchanted to act like a telescope, giving him an enlarged, stereoscopic view of the horizon. It was a very popular tool among those sailor types who could afford the expensive Artifacts. In the other pocket, he had tucked a small, hastily scribbled grimoire filled with his notes on nautical spells.
After having traversed the entire circumference of the great Jenodan Sea four times and a titch—their next port of call would be a city in the neighboring kingdom of Keket, and four ports farther along than his original starting point in Aurul—Ellett didn’t have to refer to his notes very often. Unless the weather changed noticeably, he would have nothing else to do. Of course, the sky was more cloudy than clear, with some tufts moving faster than others. That might herald the beginnings of a windstorm, or it might simply mean rain. Right now, the wind was in their favor, and a little rain wouldn’t hurt, given how hot and dry even the months of early summer could be.
I will have faith in my God ... I will have faith in His prophecy ... I will be bored out of my wits ... Sighing, Ellett pulled his loupe-on-a-stick out of his sleeve. Giving the lenses a cursory polishing with the scrap of linen serving as his kerchief, he peered through the eye-pieces at the shore. They were pulling away from the eastern half of the port city of Cerulean Cove, easternmost town of any size on the Aurulan coast. From this angle, the magnification spells on the lenses allowed him to peek into the upper floors of the houses and other buildings they were leaving behind.
Such as the inn at the edge of the docks, which had several of its second-floor windows open, letting in the midmorning light. Oh, here we go! Ellett bit his lip, stifling the urge to laugh. Someone not only loves the morning sun, but apparently has no compunction against making love to his or her companion . . . up against the wall, if I’m not mistaken. Although it’s such a small view, I could be mistaken.
The loupe came with a rune-chased band near the bottom of the shaft. If he chose to do so, he could have twisted it and heard an amplified version of whatever he was hearing, at a distance suitable to the focal point of the lenses ... in other words, just barely close enough to have heard, faintly, some of the louder, lustier sounds the pair were undoubtedly making. Especially with her mouth that wide ... but I think I shall refrain.
Lowering the viewing glass, he sighed for a different reason. That’s another thing I haven’t had in a while. The crew is off-limits; Captain Livit carefully, monotonously explains it every few days, no fraternizing among the crew or the few passengers we may take on board. At least while on board the ship. We can romp all we like onshore, but that sort of thing isn’t meant to be brought on board.
Not that he’d had a lot of that lately. There had been a few casual liaisons with fellow Aurulans before he and thirty of his fellow Royal Guards had been sent into the somewhat new kingdom of Guildar
a to fetch the Seer King’s foretold bride. In the interim, nothing had happened. Barely a week had passed from his fetching and presenting the charming Gabria Springreaver, mage and engineer, to her new life, to the day when his king had prophesied his place on this vessel.
Stuck on a ship for the last two months, staying in various ports of call only for a night or two at a time, Ellett hadn’t cared to find a stranger. Not only would it have run the risk of missing his ship if he got too distracted, plus the threat of possibly letting something slip regarding his mission—not that there was much to tell about that, given how vague a prophecy it was—but there were certain health risks he didn’t care to take. As convenient and widespread as contraceptive amulets might be—including the fact that Ellett could and did enchant his own—there were certain diseases associated with pleasures that were shared too freely. He knew some medical magics, but didn’t care to test his prowess, designed for a battlefield, against ailments from a dockside tavern.
I hope whoever that is, he or she knows a good healer, just in case, he thought. Curiosity had him lifting the stereoscopic loupe back into place. The angle of the speeding ship, however, precluded a second view. Idly, he turned his attention to the coastline ahead. The view was a little blurry, so again he fished out his kerchief, polishing the lenses more carefully this time.
The view was still a little blurry. Or rather, not so much blurry as just ... odd. Frowning, Ellett tried to pinpoint what made the combination of shoreline, waves, sunlight, water, and cloud-cast shadows tug at the back of his mind. All he could see were the rock-strewn beaches, the wind-stirred ripples on the surface of the water, and the shades of blue green and green gray that delineated the portions where the morning sun fell on the water and where the clouds blocked its rays.
Shadows ... something about those shadows ... He stared at those patches of cloud-shadow in the distance as the Parrot’s Ride sailed closer. They were now far out enough from the shoreline, the possibility of shoals and sandbars shouldn’t be a problem. So there shouldn’t be any anomalies of shadow under . . . that’s not under the water, Ellett realized as one of the shadows bobbed against the horizon. Bobbed much like another ship would, if it were sitting at anchor in semi-shallow water.
A cloaked ship, disguised by illusion. Squinting, he evoked mage-sight, looking for the telltale glows and other traces of a spell in action. With the sun slanting in from ahead, it was hard to tell. Only by comparing the two views, with the loupe and without, did he note the slightly brighter-hued patch where the sun-and-shadow shape of that ship might be. Impressed, Ellett carefully refrained from making any sort of startled reaction. Just in case someone on that hidden ship was watching him through an enspelled, telescopic loupe.
I am impressed. Very impressed, he decided, shifting his gaze to other parts of the horizon. A bit of careful searching showed nothing else out of place. Whoever cast that hide-me spell is very good. Where there is nothing but sunshine, I can’t see a thing. Where there’s nothing but shadow ... the same. Only at the borderlines of all four, sun and shadow, water and sky, do the hues and the tones subtly change.
It was quite possibly one of the best camouflaging illusions he had ever seen, on or off a battlefield ... and this would be a battle. He bit his inner lip a second time, this time to avoid a satisfied smile, rather than a mirthful one. The only reason a ship would be cloaked this close to a port city is to disguise itself for an ambush ... because if it needed shelter from being attacked, it need only sail within the protective range of our port authority mages and signal for help. All the crews who ply Aurulan waters know we don’t tolerate piracy along our shore. And how audacious of them, to establish this ambush so close to those protections!
The pain in his lip kept him from grinning. No, I do not doubt You, Ruul. I may have been impatient, but You do indeed see all, even through this particular piece of witchery. Now ... given how we’ll be approaching within striking range in ... mmm, a quarter of an hour ... what to do about it?
The previous reports of Jettan piracy had said the attacking vessels had appeared out of nowhere, attacking from the east in the midmorning and from the west in the afternoon. Never at night, never at dawn or dusk, never at midday. Because only that particular angle of sunlight which produces rainbows can hide most of the glow of a spellcast aura from a well-trained, observant mage, powerful or otherwise. Skill trained to a specialized degree can make up for a lack of sheer strength. And, within its own field of expertise, can be preferable.
Clever, clever mage. And undeniably skillful. The biggest questions remaining are whether or not this mage is as powerful as he or she is skilled, and how trained in combative magics?
Shifting his loupe-augmented gaze to the right, starboard of that not-entirely-perfect blend of daylight and cloud-shadow, Ellett considered the section of water where the Parrot’s Ride, with its golden hull and colorful sails, would most likely pass. How are you going to ambush us?
There was no question in his mind that he would let it happen, or at least let it begin. His destiny lay in a conflict with the pirates plaguing Aurulan ships, not in avoiding one. The residents of Jetta Freeport claimed it was because we did nothing to stop predations against their merchant ships. But it’s gone well past a simple reprisal of a cargo for a cargo. Not when this will be the ... eighth such attack? Presuming what I’ve heard is the most recent and accurate report on such matters.
Someone has to stop the cycle of violence. And according to His Majesty’s prophecy, that someone is me. Which is highly ironic, he thought, squinting through the loupe at a tiny, bobbing object further rippling the rolling, flexing surface of the sea. I’m a warrior by profession, yet I’m supposed to defeat these pirates with my “gentlest touch,” whatever that means. At least I can guess with some confidence it’ll be a confrontation with this mage, because someone this skillful is surely the source of their pride.
Shifting away from the railing, legs braced against the steady bobbing of the foredeck, Ellett made a show of stretching, scratching his back with the end of the loupe-stick, then strolled over to the other railing. With the aid of the loupe, he peered up the length of the bowsprit and the lines holding the jib sails in place. Whatever that object was in the water, it wasn’t very big. In fact, it looked like a simple piece of driftwood.
Ellett started to lower his loupe, then lifted it again, frowning. Squinting through the lenses, he tried to make out what the lump at the midpoint was. Is that a ... rope? Yes, there’s a rope knotted around it, I’m sure of it. But ... why would a piece of driftwood have a rope knotted around it?
He wasn’t a lifelong sailor, but even he could reason that a chunk of a wrecked ship, maybe some spar or beam or even a bit of railing, might have a rope knotted about it. But not something that looked like a weathered piece of beach trash. Squinting, he tried mage-sight. The angle of the sun wasn’t as much of a bother on this side of the ship, and he was reasonably sure he saw the faint glow of a spell.
Possibilities flashed through his mind, at that. Some sort of entrapment spell? Something to entangle the ship? Or something that requires a spell set on both sides? Something from the ship? No, that driftwood is closer to us than the ship-shadow. Carefully, as if he were simply bored, he strolled back to the port side. Even without the loupe, he could see a similar dot in the water, and with the loupe ... another piece of plain, weathered tree limb bobbed in the water, knotted near the middle with a bit of rope. It, too, glowed faintly, though discerning that cost him precious minutes.
If the rope stretched between the two pieces, he couldn’t tell. Not even with the augmentation spells of the lenses, allowing him to peer somewhat under the waves. Concerned, he murmured a true-seeing spell over the Artifact and lifted it back to his eyes.
The shadow-blur of the lurking ship was now quite prominent from this close, but it was still just a blur, as if a smear on the lenses. The driftwood looked like driftwood. In fact, there was another one farther along, and
another beyond that, forming a line that curved out around that ship-sized blur. Ellett couldn’t figure it out.
There wasn’t any time left to do anything about it, anyway. The Parrot’s Ride sailed blithely between the two scraps—and Ellett felt his spells falter. The bowsprit creaked, the jibs fluttered and snapped, and the hull bucked and rose upward, the ship shuddering and slowing as it lost both strength and speed. At the same moment, the world fogged around him, turning thick with sudden mist. As the ship continued forward, the sounds of his fellow crewmen shouting in alarm rippled down the length of the mid- and poopdecks.
Hastily raising the loupe back to his eyes, Ellett saw the reality behind the mist.
The blur was now a ship, a long, sleek, white-sailed, black-painted vessel that would probably cut through the water nearly twice as fast as the Parrot’s Ride could run, with or without magic. Black was the hull color for Jettan ships, painted on from some sort of resin that was far less sticky and more water-resistant than mere tar.
He could also see its crew, clad in black-dyed clothes augmented by what looked like boiled leather armor, preparing hooks, lines, and weapons for a boarding party. Their faces were covered from the nose down in black kerchiefs, further obscuring their identities. In fact, the only point of identification on the ship was the name of it, painted in trade-tongue lettering near the bowsprit. The Slack Sails. That was the name reported by the captains of the Aurulan ships which had been attacked. He hadn’t heard any rumors of this particular ship docking at Jetta, though several Aurulan captains had searched for it among the docks and wharfs of the walled freeport city, but the name was familiar.
At least the line of rope-tied driftwood made sense, now. In essence, it was a net. Not one meant to capture fish, but one meant to snare and haul in a much different sort of prey. Given the complexity of these illusions, I’ll bet we either vanished from view of the land the moment we crossed it, or there’s an illusion of us just sailing merrily on our way. Probably the former; the latter would be difficult to maintain from all directions. It’s also complex enough that their crew doesn’t seem to be affected, even though we ourselves are.
