Through it all, Dormael watched Bethany, who would sit there with her legs kicking over the edge of that chair for awhile, then gaze out of the window into the street outside. He realized then that she was sort of sullen, and he reached out to comfort the small girl by rubbing her shoulder a little. She placed her little hand over his and he stood there like that with her for a few moments, like two silent statues in the middle of a busy street. He could feel the same thing that he suspected the girl was feeling. It was a sense of the unknown just over the horizon, a sense that from here on out they were in uncharted waters, and there was a storm brewing.
****
Chapter Eleven
The Stormy Sea
Cold salty spray frothed over the bow into Dormael’s face as the Seacutter sliced over another swell of the dark, grey ocean. Dormael had drawn his cowl over his head to protect it from the icy cool wind, which flowed unchecked over the sea and bit into his back with a vengeance. Seacutter had her sails full of the wind, and she rode the rough seas with ease and with only the ever present creaking of her planks to let on about the thrashing she was receiving.
Seacutter was a long and sharp-bowed ship. She had three masts, and each one was opened at full sail to take advantage of the storm winds before they became too strong. It was on the port side of the bow that Dormael now stood, gazing out at the rolling sea and leaning on the rail to keep his footing. He didn’t have the sureness of foot at sea that Mikael and his men did, and oftentimes he had to keep hold of something lest he fall or stumble.
Oddly enough, it seemed that D’Jenn did not have this problem, and Bethany of course trotted up and down the deck when she was outside without one foot placed wrongly. More than once he had caught her leaning out a little too far over the railing and had pulled her back in, and there was even one time that she tried to climb the netting into the crow’s nest atop the mainmast. The little girl was full of energy, and she was very excited to be aboard the ship and heading to a new land.
Shawna had spent the first two days at sea in her cabin, green with seasickness and ill-tempered about it. Today, their third day at sea, she had awakened with a little more vigor and had taken breakfast. The girl, though a privileged noblewoman, certainly had a fighting spirit about her, and Dormael could respect that in anyone. Then of course, there was that thing about her being a Marked Blademaster. Show the girl disrespect, and she just may cut you in half. Dormael had no fear of that of course, but he liked to say it often enough and earn reproachful looks from the golden-haired beauty.
The day was cold and grey, and storm clouds threateningly sat on the horizon. The clouds had loomed over them since the morning of their departure, blowing cool winds down from the north and chopping the sea to a rough but manageable churn. Dormael had seen the storm the night that he and D’Jenn had flown into the Darkroot to take care of the syndicate leaders camped there. At that time, though, it had been a blizzard over the frozen land of Dannon. Now, he knew, the storm would gain strength and fury as it raged over the sea. Shaking his head, Dormael moved his hands deep into his Sevenlander cloak for more warmth.
Turning his gaze to the south, Dormael squinted to scan the horizon for the ship that had been tailing them since last night. One of Mikael’s men had spotted it in the late hours of the evening from the crow’s nest. Then, she had been just a beacon somewhere out in the darkness. Now, Dormael could almost make out a sail against the churning sea and grey sky. Seacutter was indeed a fast ship, but there could be no denying that the mystery vessel on the horizon was gaining on them, and she was definitely giving chase.
Mikael had kept them travelling north from the mouth of the natural harbor that Borders was built upon, citing the fact that the currents from the Maelstroms flowed in that direction from the northern side, and if one kept his ship turned toward the land along the coast he could avoid being sucked down by the phenomenon. If one was a good sailor, that is, and Mikael was definitely that. He had turned the ship to the west only yesterday, riding the edge of the same currents and gaining a little speed to slip them all quickly towards Mistfall. By nightfall they had cleared the edge of where Mikael believed the Maelstrom Field ended, and it wasn’t long after that his man had spotted the unknown ship’s beacon on the horizon, far to the south.
“There’s not many ships on the sea that could cover that much distance in so short a time, especially riding cross to the wind the way that one is,” Mikael’s voice spoke up behind Dormael.
“What do you make of it?” Dormael asked the Orrisan, not turning his gaze from the ship on the horizon.
“A galleon, most likely…maybe pirates, maybe not; if they are pirates, then they’re rich ones, I’ll tell you that. If not, well then my guess would be she’s a naval galleon,” Mikael replied.
“Military, eh?” Dormael mused.
“Aye, military,” Mikael replied, “she’ll only gain while she’s riding cross winded; as soon as she turns westward, we’ll be outrunning her. Seacutter is a fast one, surely, but a galleon like that can ride faster cross wind than my ship.”
“If she’s a naval ship, she’ll have ballista,” Dormael stated drily.
“Aye, and a mass of fighting men on board to boot,” Mikael stated darkly.
“What do you plan to do, captain?” Dormael asked him.
“We’ll push a little harder westward, mayhap turn north a bit, and try to ride into the outlying winds of that storm. The Galleon will have more trouble staying aright in the storm than Seacutter, and that may prove to be of use to us.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Dormael asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Then you and your colleague will need to help, Blessed,” Mikael replied, and with that he strode off toward the stern, barking orders to his men. Dormael groaned inwardly and turned to head below decks. The wind buffeted him a bit as he made his way to the stairs leading under, but he made it with only a slight stumble and climbed the narrow stairs down to the small passenger cabins.
They were really no better than closets with fold-out cots that fastened to the wall with hinges and clips. There was enough space for one man atop the other in the small cabins, and a built in wardrobe on the opposite wall to store one’s meager belongings. As it was, Dormael and D’Jenn were sharing a cabin, and Shawna and Bethany shared another. There were only four such cabins aboard the Seacutter, for most of her crew slept above the cargo hold in hammocks.
The captain had his cabin at the stern of the ship, a large and luxurious room in comparison with these passenger dwellings, but in reality it was small and meager as well. Dormael thought that one must love the sea to wish to live this way day-to-day, and sometimes when he watched Mikael steer the ship or plot a course, he knew it to be true. The Orrisan was a born sailor.
He found D’Jenn in their cabin, running through a meditation exercise with Bethany, teaching her to feel her magic and only grasp hold of it, but not to use it or let it get out of control. It was an old exercise that both men had learned long ago at the Conclave. D’Jenn sat on the floor, his back planted comfortably on the wardrobe as Bethany sat cross legged on his bed with her eyes closed and her face relaxed in a serene expression. Dormael chose not to disturb the youngling during her lesson and instead caught D’Jenn’s eye and signed at him in the Hunter’s Tongue.
Mikael thinks that ship following us is a galleon, maybe a navy ship, his hands said.
Not pirates then?, D’Jenn’s hands replied.
It’s a possibility, but he seemed to like the idea of a military ship, Dormael signed back to him.
Can we lose them?, D’Jenn said silently.
He plans to take us to the edge of the storm to give us a slight advantage, he says that the galleon will have more trouble in rough water than this ship, but that we may be in for a battle, Dormael signed.
I don’t like the idea of getting into a fight in these waters, especially with that storm kicking up winds. Mayhap you should do a little investigating?, D’Jenn made a fl
apping motion with his hands to indicate flying, and Dormael shrugged in return.
I’ll let you know something, Dormael replied, and turned back into the hallway, closing the door behind him as silently as he could manage. He didn’t want to take off with the winds being as strong as they were in this storm, as he could easily be blown off course and have trouble making it back to the ship. Sighing, he turned down the hallway to the next room over and decided to look in on Shawna.
He found the young woman seated on her bed, repacking some of her clothing into her saddlebags. She motioned him inside and indicated the spot on her left for him to sit. Dormael obliged her and plopped down on the cot, his elbow just rubbing hers because of the closeness of the room.
“Feeling any better, dear?” Dormael asked her amiably.
“Much better than the first day out, yes, but this rocking motion is churning my stomach to butter,” Shawna grumbled. She pushed one raven-dyed lock behind her ear in frustration, and Dormael noticed that her natural golden color was beginning to shine through the riverroot dye.
“We’ll have to retreat your hair with that substance that Nan gave us back at Alton’s; your hair is beginning to lose its color again,” Dormael commented.
“Can’t you just…?” Shawna wiggled her fingers in an expression she had started using to indicate him using magic, a wry smile on her pretty face.
“I could, yes, but why waste the energy if we can just do it the normal way?” Dormael smiled.
“To save me the trouble of doing it,” Shawna quirked, her attitude almost flirtatious with the way she leaned toward him to say it. Dormael was a bit caught off guard by it.
“Ah…yes, well Mikael has told me that this ship that is following us may be a galleon, and probably military,” he stammered, trying to change the subject from idle small talk.
“Is that so? What do we plan on doing about that?” Shawna said, with her attitude more serious but her eyes were still locked onto Dormael’s. He felt his cheeks growing a bit hot.
“He’s going to um…take us closer to the storm, and hope that the rough waters give us a slight advantage. I just wanted you to be ready for a fight, just in case,” Dormael warned, his voice going a bit quieter.
“Worried about me, were you?” Shawna asked, one corner of her mouth quirking up in a strange, knowing grin. She leaned slightly closer to him, just enough so that he perceived it happening, but not enough for it to be obvious. He felt warning bells going off in his head.
“Well, yes…I, um, have to go do some scouting. I’ll let you know something when I return,” he said, slapping his knees in an awkward gesture and standing up more quickly than he meant to. Shawna’s eyes followed his every movement.
“Do be careful,” Shawna breathed, “Its getting windy out there.”
“Indeed,” Dormael replied, and with a quick bow of his head he was out the door and limping up the narrow stairs that led to the deck. What had gotten into the girl? She had never shown behavior like that before, and though she was pretty, Dormael had never thought of her in that sense before. Well, not openly and as nothing more than a passing fancy. Still, her actions unnerved him a bit. He had to tell D’Jenn.
After some thought, he decided that it would be best if he didn’t bother D’Jenn while he was in with Bethany. He may break the girl’s concentration, and at this stage it was very important that she learn to touch her magic. Painfully reaching the deck, Dormael felt that cold wind buffeting him once again.
“Blessed!” Mikael’s voice rang out, “come up to the wheel, have a look!” Dormael turned and saw Mikael standing by the large wheel that steered the ship with a brass telescope in his hands, motioning him to climb the steps to the stern castle. He had a grim look upon his face.
Dormael hurried up the steps and came to Mikael’s side. His first mate, a man named Kennick who had the same startling plaited hair as Mikael, plus a full beard, stood at the wheel and gave Dormael a curt nod as he approached. Dormael returned the gesture and took the telescope from Mikael’s offering hand. Raising it to his right eye, Dormael turned the lens in the direction of the pursuing ship.
It was hard to make anything out since the waves of the rough sea were constantly jumping into his viewpoint and blurring his vision, but eventually Dormael made out the ship. It was a three-mast ship, and it rode low in the water, though not as low as Seacutter. Atop the mainmast Dormael could almost make out a flag, but from here it only appeared as a reddish blur flapping in the wind. Still, red was not a good sign. Sighing, Dormael lowered the sighting glass.
“She’s a galleon, alright,” Mikael said, “flying a red flag from her mast. What do you make of it?”
“Not much, not from here,” Dormael replied, “Though I do see that I’m going to have to take a closer look. In the meantime, captain, do what you can to outrun her. We don’t want an open battle on the Stormy Sea.”
“Aye,” Kennick spoke up from the wheel, “we have good men aboard Seacutter, but they’re smugglers all. Not trained soldiering types with armor and swords, just good sailors with belaying pins and a few cutlasses. We’ve put off our share of pirates, but pirates usually don’t have ballista and chainmail.”
“Turn us north, Kennick, into the storm. Ready the men for a rough ride and tie down the ship, I’m going to find us a good heading,” Mikael commanded. Kennick began barking orders immediately as the captain began to mount the steps down to the deck. “You, friend Dormael, what is it that you are going to do?”
“I’m going to go have a look at our friends,” Dormael replied with a smile on his face, “don’t be alarmed, good captain, there is magic involved.”
“I’ll leave that to you, Blessed,” Mikael assented. With that being said, Dormael climbed the wooden railing atop the stern castle. He balanced carefully as Seacutter sliced through another large rise in the sea, and as she was coming down the backside of the wave he threw himself off the sleek ship. He heard Kennick curse as he poured the magic into himself, and in a short second he was zooming over the waves in the form of a gyrfalcon.
The wind was horrendously strong, and it threw him over the waves with more speed than he intended. Turning his nose into the wind, he used it to gain a bit of altitude and then wheeled off to the south toward the pursuing galleon. It was hard to stay airborne in the pre-storm winds, but Dormael eventually righted himself and was able to manage the sky with only a small struggle.
With the wind at his back Dormael flew swiftly toward the mysterious ship, his wings cutting through the wind as it buffeted him along, pushing him ever faster. He flapped them for a few moments, gaining some altitude and adjusting his path of flight to take him in close to the bobbing galleon. The spray from the rough seas was magnificent in his heightened vision, each frothy droplet outlined against the gray ocean underneath. Taking in the spectacle only momentarily, he turned his sight toward the galleon.
She was coming up fast now in his field of view. As he got closer he could make out the hulky ballista, one on the fore castle, and one on the stern. Bolts the size of spears sat piled in a box next to each, and Dormael could see that the wooden monstrosities were designed to hurl five of the large bolts at once. His insides turned to ice at the sight. Mikael’s men had nothing to stand against such weapons.
He could see men on the deck now, armored in leather and each with a belted sword of some short type. He only counted fifteen above decks, but he was almost sure that there would be more beneath. There were extra men as well; the sailors manning the ship, but Dormael didn’t bother to count them. Fifteen was bad enough. As the wind died down for a second then caught up again suddenly with force, Dormael made out the flag. It was a black fist on a halved white and red field; the standard of the new Galanian Empire. Dormael cursed inwardly, his worst fear confirmed. They were most definitely in for a fight, at least if the galleon caught them.
Coming lower, Dormael changed his course again to buzz the crow’s nest atop the mainmast. The lookout sta
nding in the bucket took him in with confusion in his eyes. The gyrfalcon was no sea bird, and any good sailing man knew that. Dormael tucked his wings in close and dove for the nest and the lookout inside of it.
With a curse, the man ducked as quickly as he could as Dormael flew through the spot where the lookout’s head had just been. He uttered a long and defiant cry as he did so, and many eyes on deck turned upward to see what had just transpired. Dormael dove down and to the right through some rigging lines, and then turned upwards and left, back into the prevailing wind. He gained as much altitude as he could manage in the strong winds, and tried desperately to beat his way back northward towards the Seacutter.
He could see the low and sleek ship slipping through the rough seas, the whitecaps of the churning ocean turned aside by its sleek bow. Beyond it, just to the north, the wind was picking up, and Dormael could see the dark gray skies and the bluish sheets of rain falling. Lightning arced within the closing storm, and gusts of wind blew southward out from the gathering gale. With each gust Dormael had to right himself and beat his way back into a flyable position, but eventually the Seacutter came within landing range, and he began to wheel carefully down toward the deck.
He hadn’t expected the rocking motion of the ship to affect his landing, but the first time he came in to land the deck dropped suddenly from underfoot as it rode down the backside of another swell, and Dormael had to climb sharply to avoid hurting his injured leg again. Turning this time northward and then coming in over the stern castle, Dormael tried landing with the wind to his right. This time he accounted for the rocking motion, and the deck came up to meet his talons as he stuck the landing. He poured the magic into himself once again, and shimmered into his own form amid cries of awe from the crew. Standing, he saw Kennick rushing over.
“What did you see, Blessed?” Kennick queried.
“Galanian military,” Dormael replied grimly, “we’re in for a fight, Kennick. They have two large ballistae aboard, each designed to fire five bolts a shot, and I counted fifteen fighting men on deck, though there are surely more below. I must speak with the captain.”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 33
