by Jean Johnson
“Ellett! Ellett! Damn you, mage! Can’t you see we’re under attack?” Captain Livit yelled, charging up the ladderlike steps from the middeck. “Dispel this fog! Shield the ship!”
“Prepare to repel invaders!” hollered the bo’sun from somewhere near the aft end of their ship. He blew a pattern on his pipe, too, just in case some of the other sailors couldn’t hear.
“Speed us up, man!” Livit shouted. Grabbing Ellett by the elbow, he shook the taller man. “Damn you, do something!”
Ellett almost lost the loupe, at that. Clutching it firmly before it could fall into the water, he turned his head and leveled a stern look at the upset merchant-captain. Livit got the message and released him, but only to lift a finger and shake it in his face.
“I hired you not only because you could speed this ship on its way but because you seemed to be a competent battle-mage!” he threatened. “We’re losing speed, and I just know we’re about to be boarded. If you don’t do something, and do it right now—!”
Making up his mind in a flash, Ellett straightened and tucked his loupe into his sleeve. “You’re right. I should do something. I resign. Sartorlamanit!”
Shouts from belowdecks were followed by a sturdy linen bag flying up out of the hold, the bag containing the few belongings he had brought on this trip. He didn’t have to pack anything, since it was already stuffed into his duffel sack; his “bunk” was nothing more than a hammock belowdeck, anyway, the same as the rest of the crew, save for the captain.
“You ... you resign?” Captain Livit sputtered.
“Yes. Don’t worry for your ship,” Ellett added, catching his duffel as it swerved up onto the foredeck. Setting it at his feet, he fished his nautical grimoire out of his other sleeve. “I’ll send it on its way in a moment ...”
Gaping, the merchant-captain drew in another breath to protest, but it was too late. Grappling hooks came flying through the air. With a curse that blistered Ellett’s ears, the merchant-captain hurried down to the middeck to start cutting the lines before the other ship could heave to, literally pulling the two vessels together.
Left alone for the moment, Ellett quickly found the spell he wanted. It stood to reason that, if the net was a spell laid on the rope-lashed driftwood in the water, then it caused its slowing and mist-cloaking and whatever other effects because the ship was connected to these things by touch. If nothing else, by the Parrot’s Ride touching the same water that touched those spellbound ropes. Remove direct contact, and you negate the majority of the spell’s strengths. Ah, here it is. The glasswater spell, the one with the shaping variant . . .
Casting the spell, he tucked the book back into the plain beige square of his pocket sleeve, shouldered his bag, pulled out the loupe again, and stepped up over the railing just as a column of flat-topped water rose to meet him. He could feel the net-spell trying to sap his energies now that he was touching the water, but it couldn’t break through his personal shields, nor could it dissolve the column of water swaying him away from the Aurulan ship.
A peek through the loupe lenses showed the two vessels within a few body lengths of each other. Close enough that some of the pirates were hauling up boarding planks. Enough was enough. Raising his free hand, ignoring the way the strap of the duffel bag threatened to slide off his shoulder, Ellett chanted the words of his second-most-powerful levitation spell.
The last time he had used it, he had been helping the people of Guildara lift and remove the chunks of their humongous battle-machines from the fields near their capital. The Parrot’s Ride was easily as large as any of those strange war-engines, and just as slowly lifted. In fact, there was enough time for a good five or six, maybe seven pirates to have scrambled onto the decks of the Aurulan ship before the planks slipped free and the grappling hooks stretched to their limits, before the cleats they were lashed around broke free with crunching cracks of broken wood.
Some of the Jettan pirates were even lifted off their feet, hollering and still clinging to the ends of their ropes, while others narrowly avoided a tumble into the sea. The ones on the ropes gave up and let go, crossing their ankles and covering their noses as they plunged several body lengths into the sea, where they bobbed to the surface and started calling out for rescue, treading water.
A slow, hard shove of his hand sent the Parrot’s Ride spinning sideways just enough to put the sails parallel to the wind to reduce drag, and another shove sent it sailing backward over the water. Back toward their last port, the Aurulan docks with the Aurulan mages who would be watching for any anomalies. Like a ship flying several yards above the waves.
Not that it would stay up there for long; his spell would let it sag slowly downward until it scraped the waves, then it would drop fully into the water. By then, he gauged it would be about a mile or so away. And by then, he intended to have the attention of these would-be pirates.
TWO
Leaving the cargo ship to sag slowly into the west, Ellett directed his column of glass-hardened water toward the other vessel. He had to do so while still looking through the loupe lenses. The moment he looked with his own eyes, the thick mist was back, obscuring everything beyond the reach of his arms. The sailors who were still on board that black-painted ship didn’t have his problem, however. The nearest of them drew their weapons and faced him as he approached, while the others did their best to haul their fallen comrades and tumbled boarding supplies out of the low-rippling waves.
They didn’t attack him, which was a good sign. In fact, they backed up enough to give him room to step onto the foredeck of their ship. They didn’t release or sheathe their weapons, but they didn’t strike, either.
A quick peek without the loupe showed what he had suspected was true; touching this ship negated the mist-illusion. Since no one was attacking him, Ellett took the time to tuck the loupe back into his sleeve once more.
The black-clad men and women, their expressions half obscured by those kerchief-masks, were joined by a tall woman clad in a much more elaborate, highly tooled version of their black armor. The deference they gave her as soon as they noticed her told him this was someone important. Squinting with mage-sight revealed the shimmer of personal shields, and the glow of several protective runes subtly carved into her armor. They were as intricate and as elegant as the whole mist-illusion net. I wonder if she’s not only the mage behind those spells but also the mind behind all those raids.
“Well.” She planted her hands on her hips, facing him. Her voice wasn’t muffled much by the black cloth covering half her face; it was low, feminine, and piqued with curiosity. “You seem rather determined to spoil our fun. Not to mention rude, coming aboard without an invitation. You also have no right to interfere in our business.”
“Robbing ships of their rightful property isn’t fun,” Ellett chided her. The other sailors bristled, but he continued smoothly. “Which, I think, was your original point, wasn’t it? You started these raids as acts of retribution for the theft of your fellow Jettans’ cargoes. The only problem is, a lot of people think you have lost your way. That you have gone well beyond restitution by now, and are as bad as the original pirates who plagued you. If you want to be considered a civilized nation ... perhaps you should return to your original civilized ways?”
“You Aurulans still owe us a considerable amount of restitution,” she countered sharply, giving the square pocket sleeves of his eta jacket a disdainful look. “And what you call civilization, I call overbearing arrogance!”
That accusation lifted one of his brows. “It could be argued that, as you were so eager to board the Parrot’s Ride without waiting for permission, it would only be fair that I should be equally free to board the Slack Sails, here. It could be argued that your arrogance began first, in this particular encounter, for we offered no insult whatsoever. Then again, I merely think you’re projecting someone else’s arrogance onto my own actions.
“Be careful, milady,” he cautioned her, lifting a finger in gentle warning. “Be very
careful, that you do not become so wrapped up in your efforts to tar the hulls of your ships, you end up tarring every other piece of wood in sight. You might not find it so easy to walk around, should your overzealous efforts glue your chair to your ... pants.”
One of the others snerked. Ellett couldn’t have said who it was, for their mouths were masked, and by the time his gaze traversed the lot, there were no shaking shoulders to be seen. The mage-pirate dropped one of her hands from her hip, flicking her fingers at him. “At least you have a reasonable sense of humor. That’s more than your bastard of an ambassador can say. I find his jokes to be utterly unfunny.”
Ellett blinked at her words, taken aback. “... Ambassador? There is no ambassador to Jetta Freeport. Not from Aurul.”
“Yes, there is,” she countered.
“No, there is not,” Ellett repeated.
“Yes. There is,” she insisted.
“And I say that no, there is not. In fact, I am the closest thing Aurul has ever had to an ambassador,” he stated crisply, cutting her off before she could argue the rest of the matter. “I have been sent to find the Jettan pirates—which I have—and put an end to your predations on Aurulan ships. Which I will.”
That caused a growl from the other crewmembers, and the lifting of more than a few weapons which had been lowered, though not yet sheathed.
“—In my own way,” he asserted quickly, loudly. “I can do it via violence, or I can do it via discussion. I would prefer discussion.”
They subsided, though their mood remained palpably unpleasant. Ellett kept his expression calm, his stance relaxed, swaying gracefully with the movement of the anchored ship under his feet. The clouds in the west had darkened half the sky, and rain was falling in the distance, but this moment was more important than the weather, however wet they were about to get.
“Now, I am a reasonable man, and I am willing to listen to your complaints ... which I’ll admit is more than you’ve received from Aurul in the past. I suggest you calm yourselves, order your thoughts, and present your cases and complaints to me in a peaceful, factual, and nonviolent manner,” he said, holding the mage-lady’s gaze. “Starting with why you think Aurul has an ambassador assigned to your autonomous city, when we do not.”
Her free hand returned to her hip. “We do, because we do. Lord Stelled, ambassador for and second cousin of His Majesty, Seer King Devin.”
That narrowed his eyes. “Lord Stelled, who was His Majesty’s third cousin, died two years ago in the northeast mountains while gathering rare herbs for his alchemical work.”
“Lord Stelled is very much alive and causing massive headaches for my people!” she countered heatedly. “His outrageous tariffs on importing Aurulan goods have forced our merchants to sail to other lands in search of replacements—if anyone is robbing anyone, it is your people robbing us, and on a daily basis!”
“Milady, I was there when they brought his remains back for identifying,” Ellett countered just as firmly. “The healers and scryermages were able to determine he died of a heart attack, and his body half eaten by scavengers before it was found and recovered. If there is anyone in Jetta Freeport pretending to be Lord Stelled, then that is exactly what he is doing. Pretending.”
“So you say,” she scoffed.
“Yes, I do. This is why we need to talk like two civilized beings, rather than thugs interested only in a bit of theft and a street brawl. Something wrong is going on here,” he told her, “and it is beginning to look a lot worse than a few pilfered cargo holds. Now, put your weapons away, and let us discuss the problems at hand.”
She stared at him, her hazel eyes mulling over his blunt request. Her tone didn’t sound very convinced. “So you say. You say you have the authority to ‘deal’ with us ... but all I see is a ship’s mage bluffing his way out of combat, and buying his crew the time they need to escape back to a safe port. Just who do you think you are, the son of the Seer King?”
“Considering he only just married his destined bride, that would be physically impossible,” Ellett retorted dryly. “As for my status, all that matters is that I was sent here by His Majesty to seek out why you Jettans are targeting Aurulan ships, and put an end to your thievery. How I do so is entirely up to my own discretion ... which in turn depends on your level of aggression.”
“So you say,” she repeated. She lifted her black-swathed chin. “If you want our respect, give us your name and your title.”
“My name is Ellett. As for my title ... that does not matter.”
“Why not?” she challenged him. The approaching rain started pattering down around them, dampening the deck and the crew in darkening splotches.
“Two reasons. You clearly don’t know much about Aurul, if you think Lord Stelled is still alive. And you’re pirates. You might think my title valuable enough to try to hold me for ransom,” Ellett said, smiling slightly. He didn’t trust any of these people, and had no reason to do so. He wanted them to know it. “All that would do is make me a lot less inclined to discuss how to put an end to your excessive thefts and more inclined to act in an uncivilized manner.”
She snorted and lifted her chin at him, though she addressed her crewmates. “Listen to him! He thinks he’s powerful! He thinks he can take on a whole shipload of us—Netherhells, he probably thinks he can take me!”
That caused a wave of laughter in the others.
“... Fine. You think you can take me? Provocave, pacicave!” Her words physically pushed the others back and to the sides in a small, glowing semicircle. She lifted her hands in a formal dueling stance. “I, Mita, challenge you, Ellett, to a Duel Arcane! Mage against mage, might against might, mind against mind.”
Dropping his duffel bag onto the deck, Ellett wordlessly called up the other half of the Dueling shield. Its edges met and matched hers as he spoke. “I, Ellett, accept your challenge, Mita, to a Duel Arcane. Wrath against wrath, word against word, will against will.”
Phantom hands flared into existence. Glowing fingers interlaced and clasped. Braced for a hard, swift squeeze of sheer magic, Ellett found instead that his opponent ramped up her energies slowly, almost probingly, rather than opting for a swift, crushing defeat.
They rose slowly enough that the deck was thoroughly wet and the winds of the rainstorm were tugging at the rigging, tilting the ship sideways, before he had to work to maintain his own magical efforts. The crewmembers who had crowded onto the foredeck grimaced and glared at the clouds drenching each of them, but they didn’t move. Wrapped in their Dueling shield, the two of them remained quite dry. Stress for stress, he matched her efforts, letting her set the pace of their duel. The fact that he did so made her eyes widen with what looked like dawning wonder.
A corner of his mind noted the change from her former narrow-eyed belligerence. She almost looks pretty. At least, from the eyes up. I wonder . . . what does she look like from the nose down? Certainly her figure, armor notwithstanding, looks to be rather nice. And probably quite fit, given she’s a ship’s mage. She’s also wearing a pair of long daggers and looks like she knows how to use them ...
Such thoughts were somewhat distracting. They did, however, give him an idea. The Royal Guard of the Seer King were, one and all, mage-warriors without compare. One of the things they did on a near-daily basis, as part of their training, were Duels Arcane very similar to this one, but with one notable exception. Rather than just standing in place while their minds battled, Ellett and his fellow Guardsmen and -Women were expected to move while their minds met and fought.
Increasing his own side of the pressure, he tested her. She fought back with force of her own. He increased it further, until his fingers threatened to tremble, and he could see a slight tremor in her own. Once he saw them shaking subtly, Ellett made his move.
Lowering his hands, he deliberately stepped closer to her. The other black-clad men and women exchanged quick, puzzled looks. Ellett looked like he was no longer fighting mind-to-mind against her, but their illusion-han
ds were still visible, still clearly locked in brute-power combat over their heads.
Two more steps closed the distance between them, until he was barely a hand-span away. Lifting his fingers—which did tremble, since she increased her magical pressure sharply, no doubt in an effort to warn him away—Ellett reached behind her head and gently teased apart the knotted ends of her kerchief. Brow furrowing, she strained harder. The pressure between her effort and his resistance formed more than just a giant pair of illusory hands; tiny sparks formed and dropped, glowing bits of expended life force compressed into existence between the hammer and anvil of their clashing wills.
Unfortunately, he had picked the wrong kerchief. That was the knot for the cloth that covered her hair. Given her tanned skin, he wasn’t expecting the rich, dark auburn hue of her hair. Trying again, he found the other knot under her shoulder-length locks and lowered the other scarf, the one covering her from nose to throat.
The sight of her lower face pleased him. Her suntanned nose was slightly hooked at the tip, her mouth more than a bit generous, her lips wider than most, but he liked them; they went well with her broad cheekbones and the sharp jut of her chin. With those large hazel eyes and that broad forehead, she seemed larger than life, like the illusory palms representing the powers held locked in combat between them.
A lot of power, in those hands over their heads. More than he had expected, even given the complexity of her illusions. Certainly far more than the average ship’s mage possessed, and probably equal in strength to the weakest member of the Royal Guard. If not more powerful.
To keep the peace, and fell your foe, he reminded himself, shifting one of his real hands so that he could glide a finger down the soft curve of her cheek, ... your gentlest touch will be your hardest blow. So say the words of Ruul, as prophesied by His Seer King.
