The Burning Sea

by Paul Collins

  ‘Bad day for young Pandas from your sister’s squad,’ said Gyan.

  How does he know it’s me? Dantar wondered.

  ‘I heard he shot himself in the foot,’ Dantar replied.

  ‘He did that too.’

  ‘Aren’t fire shapers too special to be flogged or caned?’

  ‘Nah, lad. While at sea they’ve got no magic. Anyway, flogging is good for an officer’s career.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Dantar, astounded. ‘How so?’

  ‘Sailors and marines respect an officer who knows what they go through. A few scars on an officer’s back inspires loyalty.’

  ‘Pandas is getting caned on the bottom.’

  ‘That’s a child’s punishment, it doesn’t count. When he’s seventeen, he’ll need to get himself flogged properly – on the bare back.’

  Dantar glanced to the forecastle. His sister was tossing green practice balls back and forth with Shapecaster Latsar. He would know what to do if he heard voices plotting treason. I wish I’d never heard the voices. Had one of them really said ‘traitor’? Perhaps he’d said ‘trader’? He shook his head irritably. It wasn’t his business either way. The speaking tubes were strictly for officers, not cabin boys. If anyone knew he’d been eavesdropping, he’d be caned – on his backside.

  Someone set me up, he concluded. Seamen were notorious tricksters, everybody knew that. Then again, perhaps the ship would be sunk if he did not tell someone what he had heard. What to do? Overhead, the sails and tarry rigging flapped and creaked in the wind. It all sounded reassuringly normal, apart from the occasional thump of a misload, whack of a cane, and cry of pain from Pandas.

  Velza looked authoritative wearing the high, flared collar of an officer. The ship’s marshal-at- arms was watching her at practice. I bet she gets a promotion soon, thought Dantar. Hope she doesn’t get to command me.

  There was another misload, a whack and a shriek. Coins were exchanged between laughing sailors, betting on how many strokes Pandas would get.

  ‘Bet you a copper he reaches fifty without another misload,’ said Gyan.

  ‘Done,’ said Dantar.

  Poor sod, Velza must wish it were me getting caned, thought Dantar. He looked across to his sister again. She was looking right at him, and staring at an officer meant a caning, so he turned to Gyan and folded his arms tightly. Dantar’s mother had died when he was born, so until Calbaras remarried, Velza had provided the discipline in Dantar’s life. Dantar had been nearly twelve before he realised that not all girls shouted at you continually and swatted you with a cane. Now she was an officer, and could order other people to cane him.

  ‘I wish I could do it,’ he said.

  ‘Give people a caning?’ asked Gyan.

  ‘Magic.’

  Gyan reached out a gnarled hand and patted Dantar’s arm.

  How does he always know where to reach? Dantar wondered. He’s blind. Or maybe he’s not quite blind.

  ‘Being good at magic isn’t everything,’ said Gyan.

  ‘You can say that because you are good at it,’ said Dantar.

  Gyan shrugged. Dantar looked at the old man’s face. It had so many wrinkles, it might have been a map of all the places he’d been. Had each place left a line on him? Would they both get a line to mark this voyage?

  ‘Fifty!’ called the sergeant of irregulars.

  There was the jingle of more coins changing hands as wagers were settled. Dantar handed a copper to Gyan, then looked across to Pandas and saw Velza give him back his tunic and cloak. Latsar took Pandas by the arm as he began to limp away, but was shaken off. Pandas immediately tripped and fell. Dantar was tempted to laugh, but he could get caned for laughing at a shapecaster.

  Gyan was still moving his hands up and down the blade of the sword, caressing the metal. Earth magic worked over water, but was not as potent.

  ‘Why are there four separate human magics?’ Dantar asked. ‘Dragons have four magics in one.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s why dragons’ fire castings work over water,’ replied Gyan. ‘Which is your favourite magic?’

  Wait a moment, Gyan’s trying to change the subject! thought Dantar.

  ‘Why does human magic come in four types?’ Dantar insisted. ‘Why can’t our wizards master more than one?’

  Gyan pretended to sew his lips shut. ‘If I told you, I’d have to cut your throat!’ he whispered.

  ‘How would you know where I am?’

  With a movement as smooth as water pouring from a jug, Gyan swung the blade to press gently against Dantar’s throat.

  ‘All right, enough. I’ll just read a book about it,’ said Dantar, pushing the sword away.

  ‘Cabin boys don’t have books.’

  ‘I’m the son of Calbaras. He has lots of books.’

  ‘Why read books about it if you can’t do it?’

  ‘So I can learn how to do it.’

  ‘Have they helped?’

  ‘No,’ sighed Dantar.

  Suddenly Gyan sniffed the air. ‘Not long now,’ he said. ‘I can smell land.’

  Dantar stood up and peered ahead, but he could not see anything beyond the bank of fog.

  ‘There’s only fog ahead,’ he said.

  ‘Tomorrow our air and water shapers will disperse the fog,’ said Gyan. ‘The Savarians will think we appeared out of nowhere, or so the admiral says.’

  Gyan did not seem excited by the plan. He sounded tired, even bored.

  ‘Wait a minute, if there’s land ahead, it has to be downwind!’ exclaimed Dantar. ‘How can you smell something downwind?’

  ‘Magic.’

  Dantar gave up. Gyan was always friendly, but he talked in riddles. Even though the sun was still above the horizon, it was Dantar’s bedtime. His next shift began at midnight, and he needed to be well rested to stay awake on watch. You could get flogged for many things on a warship, but falling asleep on watch got you hanged.

  DRAGONS

  Three miles above the fleet, the dragon continued to circle. The tiny spark of familiar life was still down there, on the ship he had spared. The spark’s essence had even grown a little stronger.

  Why do the humans have a dragon chick with them? he wondered again. Do they know I would spare the ship carrying the infant dragon? Does some puny human dare to shield himself with a young dragon?

  He fought the urge to swoop down, rip the ship apart with his talons and carry the chick away to safety, but knew that humans would treasure it almost as much as himself, so it was not in danger.

  Then there was the matter of where it had come from. All dragon eggs were known and accounted for. Study was required, not rescue. Humans had to be watched carefully and closely.

  A thousand years ago, the human Dark Hands had grown more powerful than wise, and caused the most terrible war in all of history. The intervention of dragons had wiped out the Dark Hands, and they had woven the master spell to break human magic into four parts.

  Perhaps they have forgotten the power of dragons, Dravaud decided. Perhaps they have forgotten the lesson we taught them, and pretend that it was they who won the victory. We can teach it to them again.

  DANTAR

  Being on watch meant pacing the decks while looking out for enemy boarders sneaking over the side to set the ship a-fire. One also had to be alert for officers pretending to be enemy boarders. There were five strokes of the cane for him if he was caught out by an officer. Aside from that, it was easy work. The new admiral had ordered the fleet to furl sails and drop sea anchors. The ships drifted with the current, lit only by Moon and Moonlet.

  Moon was high in the sky, casting green light on the fleet. Circling Moon every two hours, Moonlet was said to be a huge dragon guarding Moon. Dantar had believed the story until the day before, when he had seen his first real dragon. Moonlet is round, and goes through phases, just like Moon, Dantar decided, looking up at the sky.

  Who made up that stupid legend?

  A shadow moved, ever so slightly. Dantar seiz
ed his alarm whistle with one hand and raised his patrol stick in the other, then spun around. As he expected, another figure was behind him.

  ‘Halt!’ he barked. ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘Sergeant of irregulars,’ came the reply.

  ‘Advance and be recognised.’

  By Moon’s green light Dantar saw the sergeant’s face.

  ‘I wish to report movement by the hatch cover,’ said Dantar.

  ‘There’s nobody there.’

  Around his neck Dantar was wearing a watchman’s eye, a phial of seawater full of tiny animals trawled from the sea at the start of his shift. He now drew this out and shook it until the creatures glowed brighter green than Moon’s light, lighting up a hooded figure crouching beside the hatch cover. Dantar put the whistle to his lips.

  ‘Stop!’ said the sergeant. ‘Congratulations, Deckhand Third Class, you passed inspection. Handor, get below.’

  How did I know there were two of them? Dantar wondered once he was alone again. It was like I felt the sergeant’s life force. Did Gyan feel the life force of the people in Savaria, even though they were downwind? Perhaps I have some magic in me after all.

  VELZA

  As dawn lightened the sky, Velza took one of the pigeons from the coop under the forecastle and presented it to Gyan. The old wizard englamoured the bird, then released it. A quarter hour later it returned and reported to Gyan in a liquid, warbling language.

  ‘The Savarian coast is close,’ he translated.

  ‘Lead me to the captain.’

  Velza guided the blind man to the quarterdeck, where he reported what nobody in the entire fleet could see. The admiral was informed, and he gave the order to signal the fleet to haul in the sea anchors and unfurl the sails.

  On either side, and as far behind as Velza could see, ships great and small began slicing through the waves, their canvas sails tight from the wind. Until this voyage, she had not realised that there were so many ships in the entire world. She almost felt sorry for the Savarians, but some of the admiral’s tactics did not make sense and doubts nagged at her.

  ‘Master Gyan, do the Savarians have oversight birds like your pigeon?’ she asked.

  ‘That they do.’

  ‘So they might have sent one to scout behind the fog?’

  ‘Sure to have.’

  ‘So they’re ready for us?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Then why did we bother with the fog?’

  ‘Admiral’s orders.’

  ‘Why did he order it?’

  ‘He’s an idiot.’

  ‘You can’t say that, he commands five hundred ships!’ Velza exclaimed. So far as she was concerned, the world would be a better place if everyone read rule books, followed orders, and respected people in authority. ‘Admirals deserve respect.’

  ‘He’s still an idiot.’

  ‘Then why is he in charge?’

  ‘His brother’s daughter married the king’s grandson.’

  So he got his position through family influence! thought Velza. She too had got her position through her father’s position, but as a point of honour she went out of her way to prove that she was worthy of the appointment. Most others did not. Well, with such a large fleet under his command, he can hardly lose, she decided.

  DANTAR

  Dantar was taking his mid-shift break and looking for Marko when the oversight pigeon was sent up. Conversations with sailors were generally confined to gambling, wine, girls, fighting, how bad the food tasted, and how much the last flogging hurt, but Marko could talk intelligently about more interesting things. Not only did his friend have shapecasting skills, like Dantar, he could read.

  As books had to be copied out by hand they had great value. Marko had told Dantar his father had been a book thief so there were always books in the house. The youth had read dozens of books while they had waited to be sold to new owners. His father had been caught, and his head set upon a pike in the marketplace as a warning to other book thieves. Marko changed his name and found work as a sailor. He was unlucky enough to get caught up in a battle, but lucky enough to do some heroic things while trying to stay alive.

  The older boy was on the mid-deck, sitting on a loading hatch-cover and splicing rope damaged by the dragon’s attack. There was a large pile of coils of damaged rope beside him. On ships it was always wise to look busy, or someone would put you to work bailing bilge water or scrubbing the decks. Dantar was on a real break, but telling that to an officer would be reported as insolence, and insolence got you punished.

  ‘Need a hand?’ said Dantar as he sat down.

  ‘Thanks, but I need more hands than the entire crew has,’ Marko replied. ‘There’s hundreds of bits of damaged rope to splice, and those fixing the rigging are calling for more all the time.’

  ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘Just take any two coils and splice them together, and make it strong but nothing fancy. Everything’s sure to get damaged again in the battle that’s coming.’

  Dantar sat down, trimmed the char away from the rope ends, then began to unravel them.

  ‘You were talking to Gyan yesterday,’ said Marko.

  ‘He bet Pandas would only get five strokes,’ said Dantar. ‘I lost a copper.’

  ‘Pandas might look pathetic, but he does strong fire castings. Once we’re on land he’ll be worth a hundred marines.’

  Yet dragons can do fire castings over water, thought Dantar. Why can humans only master a single magic – and in my case, no magic at all?

  ‘I heard that the four human magics used to be one,’ Dantar said aloud. ‘Do you think that’s true?’

  Marko nodded. ‘Aye. Our magic was split into four parts a thousand years ago. It was too dangerous to have it all together, controlled by a human. Some warlocks could work fire, water, earth and air, all at once. They were called the Dark Hands, because they could reach anywhere. They could even make fire magic work over water.’

  ‘What happened? Nobody can do that today.’

  ‘The kings got all the lesser wizards together to fight the Dark Hands in a magical war. The Dark Hands lost, and the dragons broke human magic into four parts to stop anyone getting too powerful.’

  ‘But why didn’t the Dark Hands win if they were so much better?’

  ‘They were overwhelmed. The warlocks could possess people weaker than themselves, but only one at a time, and only while keeping focus. It was like holding down a lever in your head.’

  ‘I’ve seen heads that were smashed open,’ said Dantar. ‘There’s only grey, squishy stuff inside.’

  ‘That’s right, grey, squishy levers,’ said Marko, and laughed.

  Dantar noticed Velza climbing the steps to the foredeck, followed by Latsar and Pandas. Pandas had his right foot wrapped tightly in sailcloth, and was walking with the aid of a stick.

  ‘Poor sod,’ said Dantar. ‘I bet it hurts more than his caning.’

  ‘The surgeon charmed the wound,’ said Marko. ‘He’s only feeling a little pain.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Velza told me.’

  ‘My snobby sister, the officer? She spoke to you, a common seaman?’

  ‘Lots of important people talk to me. I’ve been to Savaria and seen their weapons.’

  Dantar felt slightly betrayed. Marko was his friend, and friends were meant to have the same enemies. Velza was definitely Dantar’s enemy.

  ‘I wish I could do magic,’ said Dantar. ‘I feel like someone who knows how to cook, but doesn’t have any pots and kettles.’

  Marko shook his head at the bitterness in Dantar’s voice. ‘Nothing wrong with being non-magical,’ he said. ‘I can only raise a strong enough fire casting to light a candle.’

  ‘That’s more than I can do.’

  ‘Young Lord Zandale had a ship sunk from under him during the last invasion, but he escaped the Savarians! He did it all without magic.’

  ‘Don’t believe that. Anyway, I would have drowned when the ship
sank. I can’t swim.’

  Marko stopped splicing. ‘Neither could Zandale.’

  ‘But you said his ship was sunk.’

  ‘Aye, and he held onto a bit of wreckage. Few sailors can swim, but he learned during those ten hours.’

  Dantar was not convinced.

  ‘Still wish I could do magic,’ he said.

  ‘If you’re unlucky, your wish may come true.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Lord Zandale told me he once wanted to be a hero, and when he reported back about the Deathlight weapon he became a hero. He’d been a common seaman, but the emperor made him a noble and nobles can’t be friends with common sailors. The other nobles didn’t want to be friends with him because he was too, well, common. Poor Zandale told me he was going to vanish and start a new life as a commoner.’

  Dantar cut the charred end off a new length of rope and began unravelling the tarry strands.

  ‘Well then, I wish I had a nicer family.’

  ‘At least you’ve got a family.’

  ‘My sister despises me, and my mother . . . don’t ask. Father’s ashamed of me because he’s a battle warlock and I’m a nothing. He’s only spoken eleven words to me since we sailed.’

  ‘He brought you both on this voyage.’ Dantar’s chest tightened. ‘Lots of families send their younger sons off to war, hoping they’ll die heroically and solve inheritance problems. All four of us cabin boys are from rich families.’

  He said the last words in a rush, then looked down. He’d never told anyone about this fear before, and was afraid Marko might laugh. Instead, Marko reached over and punched his shoulder.

  ‘Dantar, do you think the emperor’s son sees much of him? Your dad’s the most powerful wizard in Dravinia. He’s in demand, like the emperor.’

  That was true. Battle Warlock Calbaras never had a harsh word for Dantar, but neither did he show warmth. He had heard Velza telling his father that she could only get his attention threatening to set his shoes on fire. At least she could set his shoes on fire. All Dantar could do was put them out, using water.