“Might be a good idea to have them at hand, just in case.”
Mikael narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Dormael. “Listen, Blessed, I’m as patriotic as any man. I respect the Conclave, as any Sevenlander does. I know better than to get on the wrong side of it, at least. But my men aren’t fighters. They’re hardy, they’ll sail right into the teeth of a storm and laugh at the gods, but they’re not fighting men. What in the Six Hells has Hadrick gotten me into?”
“Probably nothing.” Dormael shrugged and waved his concern away. “It’s probably running from the storm, like you said. I just want to be sure.”
Mikael narrowed his eyes further before turning away to scream at his First Mate. “Kennick! Hang out all the laundry she’s got! Time to get her moving!”
“Aye.” Kennick gave an offhand wave before turning to scream the command to the crew—albeit with more vitriol and colorful descriptions of what he’d do should anyone fail at their task.
Mikael turned back to Dormael. “Have your look, Blessed. But if you get us into the shit, I expect you and yours to defend Seacutter and her crew, understand? This is your fight, if a fight is what we have.”
“You don’t have to worry. We’ll do our part.”
Mikael waved him off and returned to his duties.
Dormael worked his way belowdecks, where his companions had taken residence in Seacutter’s guest cabins. The corridor joining them together was little more than shoulder-width, and Dormael took the opportunity to lean against the wall for support. He made his way down to the room he shared with D’Jenn and opened the door.
The cabins weren’t much better than closets, with fold-out cots fastened to the wall. There was just enough space for one man atop the other in the tiny rooms, and a box under the lower cot for storage. There were only four such cabins aboard the Seacutter, and Shawna had squeezed into a second with Bethany. The other two held Mikael’s First Mate and Quartermaster.
Dormael found D’Jenn in their cabin running through a meditation exercise with Bethany. He sat on the floor, his back planted against the hull, watching Bethany breathe from her place on the lower cot. The girl was at a critical stage in her magical development, and she needed all the training they could give in the meager time they had. Now that she had learned to hear the song of her Kai, she would be tempted to reach out to it on her own.
If she walked around with her Kai singing all the time, it may bleed out and change things in her carelessness. It was imperative the dangers of being caught in that temptation were made clear to her, and she learned how to resist. The lessons were painstaking and slow-going, but disciplining her mind was necessary.
D’Jenn looked up as Dormael came in, and Dormael spoke to him in the Hunter’s Tongue.
There’s a ship on the horizon. They’re headed our way. Mikael says they could be outrunning the storm, but I have a bad feeling.
I don’t like it, D’Jenn’s hands replied. I didn’t expect we’d see many ships this time of year, this far out to sea.
Me either.
Can we out pace them?
I think Mikael is trying, but I’m going to fly over and have a look.
Bit windy for that, isn’t it? What about your leg?
Mind-flight, then. Dormael gave a grudging nod. I’ll let you know something.
D’Jenn nodded, and Dormael shut the door as quietly as he could. He hobbled back toward the deck, but he caught himself on the way out. He looked to the door to Shawna’s cabin and sighed. She would probably want to be updated.
He knocked on the door, and she called for him to enter.
She was seated on the lower cot, turning one of her blades around and gazing at the candlelight playing over the steel. She motioned him over to the cot without taking her eyes from her sword, patting the space beside her. Dormael sat, leaning away from the sword as she turned it around.
“I was so proud the day my father gave me these.” She smiled at the sword. “He fought me, you know—about training. Fought me tooth and nail until he realized I wouldn’t be dissuaded. The swords…they were an apology. They were my father’s way of saying he was proud of me, that he accepted me. It was his way of saying he loved me.”
Dormael had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“These are all I have left of him now. Of my mother, just a lock of her hair…and that thing. It’s fitting, I think. The one thing of my father I have left is the thing I’ll use to avenge him. It’s enough to make me see the hand of the gods in this. What a clever little joke they’ve played. Do you see the humor?”
“Shawna—”
“I’m sorry.” She sighed, lowering the sword. “I’m in a dark mood. The sea does not agree with me.”
“I thought you’d been feeling better.” Dormael gave a sigh of relief. “You stopped emptying your guts every day.”
She snorted. “Better than the first day, but not so good I feel like dancing.”
“Well, you might want to try a few steps. There’s a ship on the horizon. I’m going to find out more, but I figured you should know.”
“I see.” She turned a considering glance on him, and a ghost of a smile flashed on her face. It was gone before Dormael could register what it meant. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean, and…all of this. Everything.”
Dormael gave her a thin smile and rose to leave. “No thanks are necessary. I’ll let you know what I find out about the ship.”
She grabbed his arm. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Shrug and try to escape when people get serious with you.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Turned once again to leave.
Her hand tightened on his arm. “You’re doing it now.”
Dormael smiled. “Let me go, Shawna.”
“Admit I’m right.” She grinned back.
“That will never happen.”
Shawna’s smile took on a feral cast. “Fine.”
She punched him in his wounded leg, crumpling his balance and toppling him back to the cot. Dormael winced, but laughter burst around his pained growl.
“Fine!” He held a hand up for peace. “You’re welcome. Is that good enough?”
“I’m not sure if I believe your act, you know.”
“Oh?” Dormael levered himself to a seated position.
“Yes.” She pushed against his shoulder. “You strut around, flirting with everything that breathes, and act like you don’t care about anything. But you dote on that little girl like she’s your own, and you took the time to patch me up when you shouldn’t have.”
“Maybe I just wanted to bed you.”
She punched him hard in the shoulder. “Maybe you should learn how to talk to me properly.”
Dormael laughed and struggled back to his feet. Shawna watched him with a wry expression as he made his way to the door. He stopped on the verge of leaving and turned back to her.
“Why did you tell Bethany not to believe anything I said?”
Shawna smiled and waved him away. “That’s something my mother told me when I was a girl. You wouldn’t understand.”
Dormael paused. “Your mother? Shawna, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“To you, maybe—it’s girl stuff. Let me know if I need to move from this cot.”
Dormael sighed and made his way outside.
He tried to pick an out of the way spot on deck—the seas were high, and he didn’t want to be underfoot. Mind-flight would leave his body unable to react if the ship rolled and tossed him overboard. The last thing Dormael wanted was to drown while his mind was flying over the waves. Such things had happened to wizards before.
The noises of Seacutter faded as his mind soared upward, leaving his body huddled in its corner on the deck. Dormael looked over the sea, and was suddenly apprehensive at the breadth of the churning ocean. Seacutter stayed upright with surprising
ease, but every swell she crested made Dormael nervous. From the sky, the ship looked too small to handle the sea.
He turned to the horizon, shaking off the awe. The coming storm stretched over the whole northeastern section of the sky. Its clouds were dark gray, angry thunderheads, and the haze of falling rain hung beneath them.
He spotted the mysterious vessel to the southeast and took off in that direction.
Dormael was no expert on ships, but he could tell when a vessel had been built with war in mind. Even from a distance, he spotted the high-sided hull, and a sail plan so crowded he was surprised the sails stayed lashed to their yardarms. She was beating through the seas on an intercept course with Seacutter and turning to take on more speed. Her standard, a huge rendition of a black fist over a halved red and white field, whipped out from the mainmast in the heavy winds.
That’s the Imperial flag.
Dormael cursed and flew low for a better look. The ship was immense, and crewmen crawled all over the deck. Two massive ballistae sat fore and aft, each designed to hurl three spear-sized missiles at a time. Armed men stood on deck, either checking over the ballistae, or conversing in tight groups.
At least fifteen men on deck, which means more below.
Seacutter was fast, sleek, and true, but she hadn’t built on the scale of this massive warship. The Galanian ship was a full deck taller than the Orrisan ship and looked as if she could plow through Seacutter’s hull and keep on sailing. The siege engines on deck would rain death on them, and there would be nowhere to hide. Mikael’s men were no warriors, as he’d said, and there was no telling how many trained soldiers were waiting belowdecks.
The gods have certainly shit on us today.
He blinked his physical eyes back open, wincing to feel the cold wind again. It took him a moment to stand and work some feeling back into his thawing limbs, and his wound hurt from the chill. His eyes went to the southeast, where the huge warship was hurtling in their direction like death herself.
Dormael turned from the railing and went in search of Mikael.
***
Mikael scowled across the map table at Dormael and D’Jenn, puffing on a nondescript pipe. With all three men smoking, the cabin was full of the smell of tobacco. Mikael’s knuckles tapped a steady rhythm on the table.
“Far be it from me to sour on a deal well struck,” Mikael said around a cloud of smoke, “but I’ve a few questions on why a gods-damned warship is bearing down on us. Hadrick said your girl was an Imperial fugitive. A criminal, he said. Only I’ve never heard of a fully outfitted warship chasing a gods-damned fugitive.”
“It’s definitely something we didn’t expect,” D’Jenn said. “Who could have known they’d have a ship?”
Mikael’s scowl darkened. “She’s close enough now that I’ve gotten a look at her sails. She’s a poor imitation of a Sheran galleon, but good enough that it won’t be much of fight when she catches us.”
“When, not if?” Dormael asked.
Mikael nodded. “Seacutter would out-sail her in lighter conditions, when the seas weren’t such a concern. We have a lighter keel, and a sleeker beam than she does, and with all the sail we can hang, we’d outrun her in steady wind. Even in moderate seas.”
D’Jenn narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t you outrun her now?”
“The bloody storm,” Mikael cursed. “The seas are too rough. That galleon has a deeper keel, she’s heavier and can take the churn better than we can. That means she can hang more sail in higher winds. We’ll tear our sails, or crack a mast, before we outrun her in this chop. I know my ship, and she won’t take that much stress.”
“So, it’s a fight either way.” Dormael grimaced. “That’s not good. They’ve got ballistae on board. Damned things can put a spear through two men at once. There aren’t enough crates on board to put up any barriers, and I’m not sure they’d do the trick, anyway.”
Mikael shook his head. “Not a good idea to have crates bouncing around the deck in this weather. No bloody crates.”
“We won’t be able to guard against the spears and fight—not with magic.” D’Jenn rubbed his chin. “Good magical defenses take time to construct, and we don’t have time.”
“My men won’t be much help.” Mikael sighed, shaking his head. “Not against Red Swords. They’ll fight for their lives, but against that…I don’t know. I almost wish the bloody storm was on top of us.”
Dormael gave him a confused look. “Why?”
“Only a man with a death-wish would fight in a storm, Blessed. There’d be no way to get a bead on us with those ballistae, and I doubt they’d try to board in a churning sea with rain beating down on them. Might as well tell men to jump in and drown themselves.”
D’Jenn gave Dormael a significant glance.
Mikael raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“How long can you sail in that storm before you have to pull everything in?” D’Jenn asked.
Mikael grimaced. “Not long. The ship can only take so much force from the wind and the sea in the first place—lots of things could give way. My crew will be crawling over the rigging and pulling lines, which is always dangerous in bad weather.”
D’Jenn nodded. “What if I bolster your mast a bit, will that buy you some time under sail?”
Mikael shrugged in response. “A bit, maybe. I’ll sail her as long as I feel safe.”
D’Jenn nodded again, a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s something we can do, then. It might work, and it might not. It’s dangerous, but the warship is coming no matter what we do. This will buy us a little time, maybe give us a slight advantage.”
“If you can buy us a little more time under sail, we might be able to outrun her, but it will be a slim chance.” Mikael tapped his pipe out on his boot. “The galleon can still take the sea better than Seacutter, but if she has to pull her sails down first, there’s no way that tub will catch us.”
“What do you think we should do?” Dormael looked to D’Jenn.
D’Jenn smiled at his cousin. “We bring the storm a little closer.”
***
Dormael stared into the wind, surveying the storm chasing them over the water. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distant murk of clouds, and the swish of breaking water around the bow answered in kind. The galleon was close enough now for the flag to be visible, and see her sails poked over every swell in the sea. Crewmen shot fearful glances at the ship as they hurried about their duties.
Dormael leaned toward his cousin. “What did Shawna say when you told her it was a Galanian vessel?”
“She said it was time she bloodied her swords, anyway.” D’Jenn shook his head. “She was practically fondling the things when I came in.”
Dormael nodded and gazed back into the storm. D’Jenn punched him in the shoulder.
“Are you ready?” He proferred his Doomba—the drum he carried around under his rucksack. It was carved with intricate geometrical patterns, and made from wood, bone, and goatskin. It produced different tones when struck in various ways, and D’Jenn was well practiced.
“Aye, I’m ready,” Dormael grumbled, gesturing to his guitar. “I hope this doesn’t take too much out of us. We’ll still need a little fight left over if they catch up to us.”
“If this works, then they won’t catch us, and it won’t matter. All we can do is what we can.”
“Are you quoting our grandmother to me right now?” Dormael regarded his cousin with a raised eyebrow. It had been something she’d said to them as children—all we can do is what we can.
D’Jenn shrugged. “Even an old woman gets something right every once in a while.”
“I’m going to tell her you called her old.”
“She’ll never believe you.” D’Jenn smiled. “If, however, I turn it around and say it was you who said it…well, it is the sort of thing we expect from you.”
“Fuck yourself.” Dormael laughed. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“You take the le
ad.” D’Jenn nodded. “You were always better at wild magic.”
Dormael took up his guitar. He opened his Kai and pulled on his magic, letting it flow into the world and twine itself with the wind. D’Jenn’s song rang out as Dormael felt the familiar tingling sensation. Dormael melded his power with D’Jenn’s, taking control of the link, and closed his eyes.
He began to play his guitar, letting his fingers pick out the tune his heart wanted for the situation. Something melancholy began to take shape, but with a deliberate rhythm of a military marching song. It came slowly at first, as Dormael settled into the tune, but once he started on the melody, it had grown into something with form and direction.
D’Jenn beat an accompaniment on his drum, reinforcing the menacing sound of the tune. It evoked images of a faceless army on the move, like an unstoppable force of nature. The magic surged with each beat of the drum, as if their power was being struck right along with it.
Throom-throom-throom-ratata-throom-throom-throom.
Dormael’s perception expanded as he sank into his magical senses. The storm behind them was a roiling cloud of energy, a conflagration of nature’s raw power. The wind sang to him like the music of existence, and the thunder vibrated his bones.
Throom-throom-throom-ratata-throom-throom-throom.
He sent their power whispering into the clouds, spinning webs of energy into the boiling storm above. The sky responded with thunder, the clouds thickening in the air. Lighting flickered somewhere in the darkening clouds.
The world crawled over Dormael’s skin, tickling Kai with sensation. Odd things happened when wizards used wild magic—especially if it was augmented with music. The crew of Seacutter tapped out D’Jenn’s rhythm on whatever surface was at hand, entranced by an eldritch side effect of the spell. Dormael felt every beat like flashes of light across his mind’s eye, and it sent the magic into a frenzy.
Throom-throom-throom-ratata-throom-throom-throom.
A strong gust blew past the ship, causing the sails to flutter and snap. Fingers of dark clouds reached toward the ship, as if the storm was a giant hand trying to catch them. Lightning flashed into the water in random strikes, and thunder rumbled across the sky as the storm awoke to its purpose.
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 28
