And then he broke through. Moorin suddenly had weight upon his shoulder and he took in a deep breath, then felt himself sink again as a wave washed over him. He kicked and rose again to take another gasping breath, and recognized the dark bulk of the ship moving away from him, and he heard shouts of recognition as men spotted Moorin’s white figure back on the surface.
There was a slightly phosphorescent glow in the water, the dim presence of the rope that Moorin had been carrying towards him, and he stroked desperately towards it, trying to keep Moorin’s limp body in front of him, along with him. He corralled the limp flesh with his arms, his shoulders, and his head and then rose up in the air and grabbed hold of the end of the rope with one still painfully raw hand as the other secured itself in the front of the white gown Moorin wore, and he let the ship pull his through the water as he gasped and tried to recuperate from the exhaustion and numbness of his experience.
He held on to each, though the rope burns were stinging horribly, and he felt the rope give tug after tug after tug. It meant, he realized, that the crew aboard the ship was hauling on the other end of the rope pulling him closer to the side of the ship. He didn’t know how he would climb up the sheer side of the wooden ship, but then he realized he didn’t have to figure it out as he saw a small boat being lowered into the water with several men on board.
The boat quickly pulled alongside, and Kestrel made them haul Moorin aboard, then let himself be lifted out of the cold water. Moorin was lying on her back on a bench, her pale face and lifeless eyes facing upward. Kestrel swung his arms free of the hands that tried to help him, and he scrambled over to the drowned woman.
Moorin? Moorin!” he cried. He placed his hand beneath her and flipped her over onto her stomach, then pressed down on her back with a hard thrust that caused a torrent of water to gush out of her mouth, then did it again, paused, and did it again, forcing decreasing volumes of water out with each press.
“My lord,” one of the men tried to interrupt the seemingly pointless exercise, but Kestrel savagely threw the man’s gentle hand away, and gave one more thrust on her back, then roughly flipped her again so that her face was up.
It was like his effort with Picco far away in Graylee two years earlier; it was his elven training coming back to him. He placed his mouth over her blue lips and blew in as he saw her chest rise, then he let her chest fall as he took another breath, and he blew in again.
Kestrel moved himself rapidly around so that he could place his hands on her chest, and he pressed down hard. He shuddered as he felt one of her ribs snap from the pressure he exerted, but he only released momentarily, then pressed down and released, pressed and released, and repeated the cycle several times rapidly.
“You can’t die now,” he chanted each word every time he compressed her chest, over and over.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re the real Moorin or a fake, and it doesn’t matter if I’m Ruelin or Kestrel, you’re not going to die now,” he spoke between gritted teeth, then switched positions and placed his mouth on hers again. And as he breathed into her lungs there was a sudden momentary glow at the point where their mouths met, and in the illumination of the glow Kestrel saw life flood back into the eyes of the elven countess. Her lips suddenly clamped shut, and he lifted his mouth from hers as she began to cough.
“My lord, you’ve done it!” one of the men cried.
Moorin’s eyes were closed as she continued to cough, and Kestrel sat upright, his head back and his own eyes closed in relief and exhaustion and fear at what had just passed.
“My lord, bless you my lord,” one of the sailors said. He felt strong hands grip his arms, and realized the small boat was attached to ropes and being raised back up to the deck of the ship.
“Take her to our cabin,” Kestrel told the crew members who gathered around the boat as it returned to the deck. He watched as multiple strong arms grabbed the weakened Moorin and lifted her. “Be gentle,” he spoke up. “She’s got a cracked rib.”
He let men’s hands pluck at him and help him rise, at which point he discovered how weak his own legs were, and he placed each of his arms around a man’s shoulders so that he could be carried downstairs.
“We need to put some salve on those hands, my lord,” one of the men told him as they sat him on the edge of the bed where Moorin’s wet body was dampening their mattress.
“Go bring me a pot of the stuff, then let us rest,” he said wearily. The room was dark except for a single candle that was held in a glass lantern as it swung from the low ceiling, and the last of the red sunset light was gone.
The men left and Kestrel sat with his shoulders slumped forward until one of the officers brought the salve to him.
“Thank you sir, for saving Latons up aloft. It made quite an impression on the crew,” the man said, then quickly closed the door behind himself.
Kestrel took another deep breath, then turned his head and looked at Moorin, her eyes were open and she was staring at him.
“You’ll be sore for a few days,” he told her. “It’s going to hurt to breath, or laugh, or bend the wrong way, but you’ll get better. You’re still alive.
“Here,” he grabbed the bottom of her gown and began to pull it upwards towards her waist. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” he told her. “Let me help,” he held her hands and slowly pulled her upward as she winced, then he pulled the gown away and threw it into a sodden mass in a corner of the floor. “Stay up for a moment,” he commanded, and he found a dry blanket that he lay down beneath her, and lowered her back onto the mattress.
She remained silent as he stood and took off his own wet clothes, then finally smeared salve on the rope burns on the palms of his hands, and turned off the light. Kestrel carefully reached over to find the edge of the mattress, and he climbed over Moorin, conscious of his bare skin rubbing against hers, so that he could lay down beside her.
“You saved my life, didn’t you?” she finally spoke when he was still and silent.
“I did,” Kestrel agreed, too exhausted to dissemble modestly.
“Now sleep, Moorin, sleep,” he told her. He reached over and let his fingertips tentatively travel over her body to find her head, and he massaged her scalp gently for several seconds before he fell asleep.
Chapter 22 – Another Pirate
Kestrel awoke in the morning to discover that Moorin was putting salve on the palms of his hands. She was dressed, and had a tray of food sitting on the narrow mattress next to her.
“Apparently sailors get rope burns on their hands pretty often,” she told him moments after his eyes opened. “Here, you keep your palms open and let them rest. I’ll feed you this morning, just like a momma bird at a nest in a tree,” she spoke in a pleasant tone, one that was perhaps even warm and affectionate, and it took Kestrel a moment to remember and realize that she was speaking to the body of Ruelin – her husband-to-be – not to him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the crestfallen look on his face. “Don’t you want to be a little baby bird?” she showed a gentle smile.
Kestrel grinned. “There’s hardly anything I’d rather be at this moment.”
She held up a grape, and Kestrel obediently opened his mouth and let her fingers delicately place the fruit on his tongue.
“Thank you for coming out on the water to try to save me last night,” Kestrel told her.
“Thank you for succeeding in saving me,” she said. “The crew told me this morning that you ended up rescuing me, and they have some amazing stories about what you did.” She placed a bite of bacon in his mouth. “Did you really bring me back from the dead?”
Kestrel took his time chewing the bacon as he thought about his answer. “I just used a trick to make you start breathing again.”
“Yes,” Mooring fed him a thick piece of toast, one still warm with butter spread across it. “But they all know how to do that. They said you shared the breath of life, and there was something more, a light like you were givi
ng my life back to me?” her voice ended in a questioning tone.
“I’m flattered that they ascribe divine abilities to me,” he smiled, then opened his mouth and waited for the next bite, a piece of apple.
She looked at him expecting more information, but he silently chewed his fruit, and she gave him another bite of bacon. “The captain says that we should reach Seafare tonight, perhaps before sunset.”
Kestrel paused. He needed to tell her who he was, to end the masquerade.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she startled him by saying, setting his heart pounding.
“Yesterday you woke from a coma, and went immediately into battle, where you single-handedly defeated two ships. Then you turned down your opportunity,” she blushed lightly, and her eyes strayed from his momentarily, “so that you could go help a mere crew member, even though you had to put your own life at risk, and then you saved both of us from drowning to death.
“I apologize Ruelin. I thought you were a much more self-centered, egotistical man,” she said. She leaned forward and lay against him, her chest against his, and gently kissed his lips. “My father tried to give me a pep talk; he told me that marriage would be a voyage of discovery and there were going to be many surprises. I just didn’t expect them to come so quickly or be so pleasant.” Kestrel stared into her eyes, astonished again by how bright and beautiful they were, just as they had been when he had stared into the face of the false Moorin in Graylee.
“Now, here let’s feed you some more. You need to keep up your strength,” she pressed herself upward to his disappointment, and spooned oatmeal into his mouth.
“Moorin,” he knew he had to end the charade, “I have to tell you something.”
She looked at him attentively.
“Your highness,” a voice called through the door, and there was a pounding. “My apologies your highness, but there’s been a sighting of Exmoor’s ships on the horizon, and it appears they’ve added a third villain.”
“I’ll be out in a moment,” Kestrel called. He looked at Moorin, then looked at his injured hands. “I think I’ll be able to hand a bow. I’ll just be slower at it this time,” he told her. “Could you help me up, and hand me my clothes?”
“Where are your dry clothes?” she asked as she helped him raise up.
Kestrel looked around the room. “Better go ask the crew; I don’t know,” he admitted. He only saw the wet pile of clothes he had discarded the night before, still on the floor.
Moorin returned within a minute with a set of non-descript clothing. “I’m sorry my lord,” she said apologetically, “but these were the first things available, and everyone seemed in a hurry to work the sails.”
She looked scared, despite her recent conversation about the unexpected personality Ruelin had shown. Kestrel smiled at her, and held out his hands.
“Put your arms up and let me dress you,” she said. We’ll save those hands until you have to use them.” She pulled the shirt sleeves down his arms and popped his head through the neckhole, then held up the pants.
“I’ll do that, hands or no hands,” he told her immediately. “Turn around,” he said, and motioned for her to spin.
She gave a wry smile as she handed him the clothes, and he hastily pulled the pants legs up and fumbled with the buttons on the front. “Okay,” he told her as he sat down, and he let her pull his boots up over his feet.
“Let’s go see what we’ve got,” he grabbed the bow someone had placed in his cabin for him, and went out into the sunlight of the morning on deck.
Three ships were visible in the near distance, individuals distinctly visible on the decks of each ship. “They have shields, my lord,” the captain of his ship observed to Kestrel. “They’re afraid of you.”
Kestrel looked at the approaching attack. His ship could not outrun them with the damage it had sustained to its sails, which prevented it from sailing at full speed. “Who are your next two best archers?” he asked the captain. “Place one at either end of our ship. If they raise the shields to protect them from my shots from above, we should be able to sink some shots into them from the deck level.”
The captain gave orders, and Kestrel stepped over to the mast. “Ruelin,” Moorin called. “Ruelin!” she repeated, and Kestrel belatedly realized she was calling him, calling the identity she thought he held.
“Good luck, my lord,” she said softly as she came to him, and she gave him a warm kiss on the lips.
“I’ll be back down for lunch and this will all be over, my pet,” he said with forced jollity, and then began to climb slowly.
“I need as many arrows as you can supply. Have someone bring three quivers up to me,” he called as he settled into the high spot on the yardarm.
Kestrel and his ship were fortunate that between shifting winds and bad navigation, the flotilla of attacking ships did not manage to bring more than one ship at a time to try to attack, and so Kestrel aimed his arrows at any vulnerable person he saw on each ship as they approached.
“Do you have any pitch?” he called after the first ship veered away. Kestrel’s arrows had killed three helmsmen and two officers before the ship had even come within range of the other archers positioned to help defend their ship.
“We do,” one of the crewmen called up in reply.
“Here,” Kestrel carefully dropped a half dozen arrows to the deck below. “Dip these arrows in the pitch. Put a good thick coating on them, well up the shaft, then have someone carry them and a candle up to me.”
“My lord, we don’t allow open flames in among the sails,” a junior officer protested.
“With good reason,” Kestrel agreed. “But my plan is to put an open flame in the sails of our tormenters, not ourselves, so have someone be careful, and bring those things up here as quickly as possible.”
By the time a pair of crew men climbed up to Kestrel – one with the blackened arrows and one with the candle inside a lantern, the second attacking ship was drawing close, closer than Kestrel had allowed the first attacker to reach. And it was better prepared, using both extra shields, and also covers to hide the location of its men from his view.
“Now,” Kestrel directed the two men, “take two arrows, and light them both, then hand them immediately to me.” He held his bow ready, not wanting to risk a spark or a flickering tendril of flame resting in his hands any longer than necessary.
The crewmen obeyed him nervously, and one of them swore as he nearly fumbled one of the arrows while pulling it out of the lantern’s enclosure.
Kestrel grabbed the arrows, laid them on his bow, and fired immediately. The two blazing arrows streaked through the sky, their paths separating by only a few feet before they struck the enemy ship. One struck high on a mast, while the other passed through one sail, then another, then came to rest in a tangle of rope high above the deck.
All eyes on both ships watched as tendrils of smoke began to rise from the locations of the arrows and from a burning hole left in one of the sails, and the attacker immediately veered away from its pursuit in panic as the deadliest threat known to a wooden sailing ship began to spread.
“Drop our sails!” Kestrel called to the deck below. “Slow us down; let the third ship catch up to us and we’ll give them a taste of fire as well!”
The officers began to shout out orders, following Kestrel’s direction without hesitation, leaving their ship suddenly dead in the water, and the last of the attackers found itself unexpectedly pulling closer and closer to the dangerous quarry, as its officers were distracted by watching the disaster burning upon their sister ship.
“Give me two more arrows,” Kestrel said urgently to his new assistants when he guessed the target was close enough. He glanced down at the deck, and saw to his surprise that multiple buckets of water were sitting on the deck, and the crew was lifting more from the sea. It was a prudent step to take as insurance, he realized with a grin. And then the two arrows were suddenly in front of his face and he grabbed them, placed th
em on the bow, raised the angle of his aim to allow the shots to travel further before they fell upon the enemy ship, and he released the shot.
Everyone on board the ship stared into the sky, as the arrows flew high above the water, then slowly fell downward. One fell into the water immediately next to the targeted ship, raising a small instantaneous plume of steam, but the other passed through two sets of sails and landed on a pile of tightly coiled rope on the deck. Kestrel and the others watched as crew members immediately began beating out the small flames on the deck, then one pulled the arrow free and threw it over the side of the ship. But up above them two sets of sails were rapidly catching fire, as flames spread and rose along the canvas sheets, and pieces of burning material began to fall and float away.
“We can go down now,” Kestrel said in a satisfied voice, and he spryly climbed down the rigging with the two crewmen.
“Ruelin, that was so clever!” Moorin told him as he landed on the deck. “What made you think of that?”
“You’re an elf; what’s more frightening than a forest fire?” Kestrel asked. “I just thought of all the wood in these ships and I knew what would make them vulnerable.”
“Oh, look at your poor hands!” Moorin said, grabbing his free hand and turning it over, revealing that fresh blood was seeping through his injured palms as a result of his efforts.
“You can go below and tend to your wounds, my lord. We won’t be troubled any further,” the ship’s captain told him, gesturing towards the two flaming pyres that floated on the sea’s surface.
“Or we could go up into the rigging together to enjoy the sun and the air,” Kestrel said, looking at Moorin. “You like to climb trees, don’t you?”
“I know humans expect all elves to climb trees, but I haven’t climbed one in several years,” she answered. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind trying,” she added after a moment’s pause. “Though I don’t know that I could climb as well as you do. I’d say you were part elf if I didn’t know better, watching the way you’ve been up and down these past two days.”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 04 - A Foreign Heart Page 32
