Once he felt himself flagging from maintaining the flight spell, he marked his position as best he could given his knowledge of the lands around Kavris. This was fairly easy to do, for now, because the mountains around Kavris were well-explored and accurate maps of these various peaks were available. Farther west, he’d lose track of his exact position, but that mattered little if he knew the rough distance to Lian.
Landing in a sheltered glade (after several quick passes to look for anything dangerous), Ammon stretched out his legs and worked his hands to get the cramps out. He didn’t have to grip the staff too tightly, as the magic kept the acceleration and motion from being a problem of that kind, but he did have to grip it the whole time. Nor could he shift his grip much; it was the nature of the spell.
He drank from his waterskin and ate some dried beef, and then produced a pan that he filled from the skin just enough to float the cork. He placed the cork and frog on the water and sat down beside the pan to unroll his best map and to place the compass he’d bought from the marketplace upon it, shifting himself until the map was oriented to true north. It wasn’t a magnetic compass at all, rather one of the more common variety that simply pointed north at all times by force of magic. The map was already marked with the heading from his Kavris apartment, and Ammon carefully marked his position and the frog’s heading.
Pulling a small leather-bound journal from his pack, he carefully calculated the distance to Prince Lian, smiling at the answer the meticulously written figures gave him. Celewyn was yet too far from Lian to reach him before Ammon could. Covering three hundred miles a day—the limit of his endurance with this spell—would put him in striking range of the prince more than a week before the Avani could possibly reach him. If he had magic to reach Lian quickly, he’d have used it already…unless it was too expensive and now he felt it was worth using to keep me from beating him to the boy, Ammon thought, second-guessing himself briefly, then shaking it off.
No, even if it was an expensive single-use item, if he could have reached Lian already, he would have, given what they have to have offered him, the mage reassured himself. Celewyn was a professional and would realize that one must often spend money to make money. He rested for another half-hour before returning the map, pan, cork, and compass to their respective places. The frog went into the small leather pouch he wore around his neck, inside his shirt, and he took up the staff once more to streak into the sky, this time on a dead bearing toward Lian.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Ammon had, as Celewyn had expected, taken only a short while to work out the frog’s function, and also as expected, had first headed south, no doubt to get a range estimate on his target. Based on how far he’d shifted south, he clearly had access to flying magic that would allow him to move much farther than Wavecrest’s meagre seven knots would allow. Even though the ship would continue its motion at night, it would be fortunate to make a hundred and seventy nautical miles in a day, while he guessed Ammon would probably be able to move double that distance, given the skill and power he’d displayed to this point.
Even in his most optimistic estimate, Ammon would reach Lian days, if not a week, ahead of the Avani, and there was little to be done about it. So far, the tradewinds were nearly constant, and at his urging, the caravel was making the best time it could, but they’d only be able to shave off a day to Lian’s estimated position. However Ammon’s attack played out, Celewyn knew that he could have no influence on it whatsoever. It was a supreme effort to quash the anxiety that had been plaguing him. He’d reach Lian alive, or he would not. Only the gods knew which.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The waves had grown even though the storm itself hadn’t intensified, and while that made keeping her head to the wind an easier task, it also meant they were closer to shore. Lian had learned this bit of seacraft from Cedrick and Ylen, but neither man had known why it was so, merely that it was.
They’d been fighting the storm for two days now, and Lian was physically exhausted. Although he didn’t have to fight the wheel, he couldn’t sleep, even momentarily, with the spray and wind driving into his unsheltered position at the helm, and he couldn’t go below without compromising the sword and skull’s ability to cast countermeasures against Radiel. She wouldn’t be affected overmuch by the storm, as the wraiths had all too well demonstrated in the initial attack.
The other four sailors were up on the afterdeck with him, each lashed to the rail on the port side in the lee of the wind and waves. It was night once more, and all of them had their magic knives securely tied to their persons, not trusting their grip (or the blades’ sharp edges) in the storm. All six of the living crew also had several large pieces of cork nearby, tied together and to themselves, against the possibility of going into the water.
“What I wouldn’t give for some holy wort now,” Lian said loudly as he sat on the deck next to Snog, his left arm through the wheel spokes to hang on as the ship pitched and rolled. He was drenched, the saltwater irritating every crease and fold in his clothes, and he was somewhat concerned about his feet after spending countless hours in his wet boots. In addition to healing the effects of the wraiths’ touch from the Tower of Firavon, Lord Grey’s holy wort-based herbical concoction had given Lian the energy to move without rest for days.
Snog knew what Lian was talking about—he had told the goblin all about the encounter at Whitefall, including why they’d landed there in the first place—and grinned. “The draught I have won’t last as long, milord,” he said quietly in his now-fluent Dunshorian, too soft for Lian’s normal senses to pick out the words but knowing Gem would hear it through Lian’s ears; her abilities made more use of his senses than he could. “I’ve been saving it because you won’t be able to take more than one dose, but I’ve got something what’ll make you perk back up. I’ve only got enough for me and you, though.”
Lian would have downed the goblinish potion in a heartbeat, as exhausted as he was, but instead said, facing away from the men, “Save it until one of us sights shoals, rocks, or land. No telling how long it’ll be until we’re up against the shore, and I’d hate for it to wear off in the middle of swimming for land.”
Snog nodded grimly. Denser than humans, swimming was more challenging for goblins, although their inherent strength made up for a lot of it, and the cork rings he had tied to him (and laying on the deck at the moment) would make up for the rest.
Virinos is wondering what you’re talking about, Gem reported, and Lian mentally “nodded” to acknowledge her message.
“Don’t worry, Snog,” he said loudly enough to carry to the paranoid half-crazed man’s ears, clasping the goblin on the shoulder without having first glanced toward the seaman. “The storm will break soon, my friend.” Snog managed to look properly worried as he nodded gratefully to Lian’s reassurances, and the paranoid Virinos relaxed somewhat. He might not have if he’d realized Gem and Lian could communicate telepathically.
Lian wrestled himself to his feet, stretching out as he scanned their surroundings. The ship creaked and cracked much louder than normal, and had he not weathered a number of storms aboard Searcher (admittedly, with masts intact and the sails properly storm-reefed), these sounds would have frightened him. The storm seemed to have settled down somewhat, and the winds, while steadily pushing them southward, were slacking slightly. This gale was a powerful northern blast, perhaps the last remnant of the winter that should be abating back in Dunshor and the western kingdoms, and after the worst of the front, it was evening out and Lian could see a bit farther out to sea.
“Keep a sharp eye out!” he ordered the men, and Jinian and Virinos struggled to their feet as well, quickly scanning the waters in the aft port quarter, for Indigo Runner was being driven due south, and it was from that direction that rocks and shoals would be encountered. Naryn and Mikos stayed seated; neither man had sharp eyes like Lian, Snog, and the other two. Lian loosened his tie-line and produced a bottle of rum from his pack, waiting for the trough of the wave—and its
inevitable splash of spray and water across the lower deck—to pass before making his way to the railing.
He handed Virinos, the closest of the men, the bottle. Lian had never picked up the taste for strong drink that most sailors seemed to have, but he did appreciate how rum or whisky seemed to boost morale among them. He also appreciated how dangerous unrestricted drinking could be, and Qan had apparently understood this as well, for the rum stores were accessed through a locked trap door in his cabin.
After the wraith attack, Lian had given each survivor a half a bottle of rum, and he’d rationed it carefully afterward, letting the men blunt the edge of their fears without falling down drunk. Naryn, he knew, had booze of his own in the galley, but he wasn’t the sort to share his bounty with the others. He also knew that the men had made short work of the wine in the Quivells’ cabin, and he’d worried about that briefly given Olivia’s apparent predilection for poisoning, but no harm had come of it.
The wild-eyed sailor took the bottle eagerly, tugging the cork out with his teeth and then taking the stopper in his fingers as he took a long pull from the bottle. He then recorked it and handed it to Naryn, the next in line. “Thank ye, cap’n,” Virinos said. “No sight o’ land, but the wind’s abating if I read it right.”
Lian nodded, clasping Vir’s arm firmly. “If I’ve got to unpin the wheel and try to turn her head southerly, I might need your help,” he said loudly enough for all four men to hear. “Bring Jinian, ‘cause it’s going to fight like a dragon, especially when the rudder comes shallow.”
Virinos and Jinian both answered their assent, Vir’s face pleased that the captain once again put him in charge of one of the others. He liked being in charge, Lian had noted. His terror of being alone was still powerful, so he used the phlegmatic Jinian and the subtle and deceptive Snog to give him someone to be in charge of when he gave out assignments. “Afterdeck’s going to get mighty wet in a following sea, sir!” Virinos said back, also loud and clear against the gale.
Lian nodded. “I know, but we’ve got to have some steerage if we sight rocks or shoals,” he replied. “It’s not much, but with the Coin Lord’s blessing, it might be enough to keep us from breaking apart on the shallows.” It was a deep superstition in most of the world, and especially among sailors, not to mention the name of either the Lord of Luck or his arch-nemesis Bes in dangerous or trying circumstances. One wanted Ashira on his side, of course, and for the hand of Bes to remain far away, but actually asking these things to be true often seemed to cause the reverse. Lian didn’t know if this was superstition or the two deities’ capricious natures, but he wasn’t about to offend either god by taking liberties.
He could feel Gem’s touch on his eyes as he made his way back to the wheel and secured himself, and as he looked out to the starboard bow at the crest of the wave, she said, I see a star, I think. She could, and did, let him see what she’d picked up out of his visual field with their deep bond, and Lian smiled.
Well spotted, Gem, he thought back to her. The cloud cover’s got a break in it, maybe we’re seeing the end of the storm, and none too soon. The coast can’t be too far off.
It’s hard to be sure against the howl of the wind, Gem replied, but I don’t hear any breakers yet, and in this sea, they’ll be loud as hell. Believe me, if I do hear something like that, you’ll be the first to know!
Lian decided not to share the gap in the cloud with the others quite yet; it could just be a single hole and not the beginning of the end of the storm. Worse than keeping the morale where it was, he had been taught by his father, was raising it only to have it dashed when hopes fled before a harsh reality. But Gem’s discovery was followed in the subsequent hours by other gaps in the cloud cover, and the prince caught a brief glimpse of the sliver crescent of Aliera in the western sky, which meant it was close to dawn.
“Is it brightening?” Lian asked aloud. Despite the witchsight, he and the men could tell the difference between darkness and light, and he got a round of hopeful assent from the men.
Softly, Lord Grey commented wryly, “I was wondering when you’d notice, Lian.”
Snog snorted but didn’t say anything.
Shortly afterward, the clouds began to break apart as they passed over the ship, and the temperature began to drop. It had already been a bracing northern wind, but now it was feeling more like a wintertime northeaster, as some of the nobles from the northern provinces called the late-winter storms that blew in across the mountains dividing Dunshor from Greythorn and the western kingdoms. This far south, Lian doubted that the temperature would drop enough to freeze, but in their soaked clothes, it wouldn’t take icy conditions to kill them. “Naryn!” he yelled to the cook, who raised his gaze to meet the acting captain’s.
“Aye?” the cook asked, though he undoubtedly knew what order Lian was about to give.
“As soon as the waves stop breaking across the main deck, take Mikos with you and get the galley working,” Lian ordered, and the cook nodded. “Nothing fancy, but something hot for us all to fight off this damned cold. I’ve got one rum bottle left in my pocket and you can spike the tea with some of it.”
The prince knew that alcohol actually reduced a man’s tolerance for cold, but he also knew that drinking men believed the opposite. He also knew that Naryn would keep as much of the rum for himself later as he could, so he didn’t need to bother to ask the man to ration it. Men like Naryn were easy to spot in any army or navy, with the telltale rosacea of a lifetime of too much drinking. It didn’t seem to affect his ability to cook, so Lian didn’t do anything about it, as his predecessor Qan had not. In fact, it probably does affect your ability to plot against me effectively, so drink up, Mr. Naryn, drink up, he thought cynically.
By late morning, the skies around them were clear, although stormclouds still filled the southern horizon. The waning quarter moon of Lushran and the tiny dark disk of Dalshana alongside the big moon could be seen overhead with the clarity that often came after a big front passed. He knew that the waxing quarters of both Ashira and Sterath should be visible in the western skies behind Lushran’s track as well, but they were both too faint and distant to pick out in the daylight. In point of fact, he was surprised (and felt a measure of dread as well) that he could make out tiny Dalshana at all; in a few more weeks, she’d be far too distant to see with the naked eye. When she swung behind Lushran on the outermost arc of her orbit, even a seeing lens or telescope wouldn’t be able to find her, of course.
Lian chose not to mention spotting Dalshana to the men.
Once the rain was done and the spray was down to only a fraction of its former force, the men untied themselves from the railing. It was still rough, but they all had their sea legs and kept their balance as the ship bobbed up and down the large waves. Lian gestured them all close, and they stood about the wheel. “My sword knows a spell to dry you out,” Lian said. “You can just go dry off and change clothes if you like, but she’s going to cast it on me and the goblin so I can stay on watch while you get something to eat.”
As he expected, the men declined, having stashed clothes and spare boots—after the wraith attack, there were clothes and boots to spare—in the galley already. Snog, though he’d long grown used to traveling with the two unusual sorcerers, made a sign against evil, and Lian patted him on the head patronizingly. “Mr. Snog here doesn’t care for the spell, either, but I need two pairs of eyes up here, and we’re soaked to the bone,” Lian said, not forcing the matter on the men. “Once you get something hot in you and put on some oilskins against the cold, I need everyone but Naryn back on deck to check for damage. He’ll have more than enough to do getting the galley sorted out, and I’d appreciate one of you bringing us something to eat.”
Lian was drawing the short straw for himself and the goblin, and the men knew it, so they agreed to his instructions without complaint. They’d have some time out of the worst of the wind and water, while he’d still be up on deck in the freezing cold.
“Y-y
ou’ll ring the bell if…” Virinos stammered, then stopped himself. “Sorry, Captain Alan, sir, forgot it’s daytime!” His voice was considerably more cheery as he realized—incorrectly—that Radiel couldn’t be around. It was well known that sunlight was the enemy of wraiths and that they couldn’t withstand Rula Golden’s light, but Virinos was missing a vital piece of information.
Lian and the others had wisely never pointed out to him that she could be underwater, out of Rula Golden’s reach, or that her form could be shielded by magic from Rula’s rays, albeit temporarily. Lian believed that the daylight still made them safe, simply because a shield against light would be very easy for Lord Grey or Gem to disrupt, and Radiel would never risk a confrontation during the day if circumstances didn’t force her to.
Lian nodded. “As soon as you take care of checking her for damage or leaks, all four of you bunk down until nightfall. I’ll ring four steady bells when the sun goes down, and if the sea permits, I’ll let two of you take over so I can get some sleep, too.” The all clapped their captain’s arm or shoulder as they went forward and down to the galley, and before long, smoke was coming out of the galley’s stack. Naryn had a magical coalstone similar to one Snog carried for his pipe but much larger, so he could always get a fire going in his stove in short order.
After they were all inside the galley, Gem sang her drying spell, followed by a cleansing spell Lord Grey had taught her, for both Lian and Snog. The removal of the wet and salt made them both feel much better, and warmer, and Lord Grey added a ward against cold he knew—the very one he’d used to shield Lian from the flight aboard the gryphon’s back—to the sword’s efforts. The sudden cessation of cold was a shock of seeming warmth to Lian and Snog, but both knew from long association with the necromancer that they weren’t actually warmer, they just weren’t affected by the additional leaching effects of the cold. If either of them had been suffering from hypothermia, for example, and their core body temperature had fallen dangerously, the skull’s spell would do nothing to help.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 36
