by David Cook
Two more bolts quickly followed, this time both striking home. One passed so close to Teldin’s head that he could smell the oily, black smoke of burning rags. The bolt hit the deck but did not bite. It instead skittered across the planking until it lodged at the base of the aft cabins, where it splintered the thin wall. Along its path was a trail of fitfully burning oil. The broken wood where it had held blazed furiously, the pine-tar caulking catching fire. The second shot went high, tearing somewhere into the rigging overhead, but Teldin had no time to follow its course. He grabbed the bucket that was thrust into his hands and hurried to douse the blaze on deck. As the crew smothered the last of it, Teldin could heat shouting from above. “I don’t understand, Galwylin,” Teldin yelled to the elf. “If they’re pirates, why ate they trying to burn the ship?” he asked while hastening back to the wall’s shelter.
“Not the ship, Bare Tree, the sails. Look aloft.” The elf nodded upward to the masts. There Teldin discovered the cause of the shouting. The second bolt had struck the mainsail squarely, leaving a gaping tent in the canvas. The missile had torn through to land in the ocean, but not before gobbets of pitch had rained over the elven sail. Already the blaze had spread from the edges of the teat, the flames racing along the sun-bleached fabric.
“Cut the sail!” commanded Cwelanas. “Do it now!”
Ahoy below!” sang a voice from the shrouds, followed by a rapid series of whiplike cracks. The mainsail sagged in the middle, then drooped at one end, and finally crashed through the rigging to tumble, aflame and aflutter, to the deck below. Teldin leaped out of the way, the flaming cloth driving him toward the stern. A bellowing cheer echoed from pirate ship’s deck.
“Night watch, hoist it overboard and hurry! Day watch, to your positions!” dictated Luciar amid a swirl of sparks and ash. His thin, old voice strained to shout above the growing noise. The designated crewmen struggled with the tangled mass of burning sail, beating back the flames and swearing vehemently as the cloth snagged on every projection. Spear in hand, Teldin worked his way back up to the barricade neat the base of the afterdeck ladder. Looking forward, he saw Gomja still in the bow. The giff was coolly loading his pistols, ignoring the havoc astern.
With the mainsail gone, the advantage the Silver Spray had was suddenly trimmed. Teldin could hear the snap of bowstrings from the elves aloft, bowshots the minotaurs paid back in kind. The table barricade in front of Teldin reverberated as the barbed head of a harpoon savagely rammed through. The stowaway jumped back, realizing the crude barricade did not provide immunity. He was just as astonished when the table started to back over the gunwale.
“Cut the rope, human!” Cwelanas shouted from the top of the ladder. The elf maiden was dressed in chain mail, finely woven but oily gray, and she held a brightly painted shield to block any arrows from her unprotected face. With her cutlass she pointed to something on the outside of the hull. “The harpoon!”
Teldin scrambled halfway up the afterdeck ladder and thrust himself over the wall until he could reach over the barricade. A light line ran back from the harpoon that transfixed his table, all the way to the minotaur vessel. Their ship was so close now that Teldin could see the horned monsters hauling on the thin cable that stretched across the open space. The barest glance down the length of the Silver Spray showed other lines, some in the hull, others in the barricade. Suddenly a set of bookcases from Luciar’s cabin toppled over the side, banged against the hull, and splashed, broken, into the ocean. As he hung over the edge, the stowaway glimpsed minotaur archers aiming in his direction. Teldin fumbled a dagger from his belt and quickly sliced through the line. He wasted no time and tumbled back behind the wooden wall. The table shook with a series of thuds as enemy arrows struck moments too late.
“Well done,” said Cwelanas with a faint smile. They were the first kind words she had said to Teldin. “More voyage than you expected?” She stepped away as an arrow struck the deck at her feet.
Teldin nodded. “Do we have any chance? It looks as if we’re badly outnumbered,” he shouted up at her.
The smile vanished and was replaced by a grim look for the minotaurs. “That is true, Teldin Moore, but we still have a few tricks for them – or we all may die. They are almost upon us now. Fight well, human. I will be watching you.” At that Cwelanas hurried toward the stern.
A flurry of spears announced the next phase of the minotaur attack, but the elves were unscathed behind their wall. The spears were immediately followed by the loud clangs of metal hitting wood. Grapples bounced over the barricades or hooked into the railings. A few elves leaped forward to cut the thick cables. One fell, gurgling, to the deck as a spear jutted out the back of his throat.
The minotaurs were then upon them. With a rending crash, large sections of the barricade gave way, clattering into the ocean. Teldin’s table teetered and fell, leaving him uncovered. The breach was immediately followed by a small series of charges along the line of the deck as the fiercest of the bullheaded men leaped across the narrow gap between the two ships. Their faces were bestial-fanged mouths flecked with foam, thick manes fluttering in greasy strands, and dirty yellow eyes filled with hate. Jabbing with his spear at the man-beast’s rage-twisted face, Teldin struck the creature closest to him as it sprang across open space. The minotaur roared with insensate pain and plunged into the ocean as it clutched at a mined eye. The creature’s fall bought the stowaway a little breathing time.
Elsewhere along the rail, the first wave was going against the elves. The minotaurs were breaking through the gaps, fighting their way onto the Silver Spray’s deck. Clangs of metal, howls, and screams filled the air. Overhead, the elyen archers were having greater success. Practically clinging to the rigging by their toes, they poured arrows down upon the pirate ship’s deck. A desultory sprinkle of arrows came in reply, since most of the minotaur bowmen were already slain or injured.
At the bow, Teldin saw a sudden cloud of white smoke, followed almost instantly by a sharp crack. A minotaur at the rail flopped backward, clutching at its face. The smoke and sound repeated and another beast sank to its knees and disappeared in the surging mass of battle. As the wind blew the smoke away, Gomja strode into view, hewing and lunging his way toward the stern with his broadsword. Teldin could hear the giff bellowing, already trying to whip the elves into a counter-boarding party to carry the battle to the pirate decks. Those minotaurs who saw the giff recoiled at the appearance of a creature as formidable and bizarre as themselves.
Just as abruptly, Teldin’s attention was forced back to his own surroundings. A pair of minotaurs hurtled over the rail, a single axe stroke from one brutally sweeping the elf closest to Teldin aside. More elves sprang to replace their fallen comrade, who writhed on the ground at their feet, but one of the horned creatures, foam on its lips and nostrils, bore down on Teldin. The horned creature towered over him, hefted an axe, and brought it down in a wicked slash. Teldin was trapped against the aft cabins but managed to scramble up the afterdeck stair just as the axe blade hacked through the bottom rung. The farmer thrust his spear’s tip deep into the minotaur’s shoulder. The creature snorted in fury and swung the axe again, gradually driving Teldin up onto the afterdeck. Teldin was vaguely aware of Cwelanas engaged in her own battle behind him.
Somehow, over the noise of the battle, Teldin heard a voice reciting a tortuous incantation not far behind him. As he dodged his opponent’s blow, the human saw Luciar, dressed in red ceremonial robes, engaged in a brief ritual. He was preparing to cast a spell, the farmer guessed. “Keep them away from Father,” Cwelanas shouted, her voice strained as she parried a savage blow from the beast in front of her. Teldin grunted in understanding, the best he could manage at that moment.
Teldin dodged a hack from his bullheaded opponent, then lunged forward to drive the beast away from Luciar. With an easy swing of its axe, the minotaur swatted Teldin’s thrust aside and struck back with lightning quickness. The beast-man’s blade sliced through shirt and cut a bloody gash a
cross Teldin’s chest. He hardly noticed the pain and lunged again, just as Gomja had taught him, aiming for the minotaur’s exposed shoulder. The thrust was rewarded with another howl of pain.
“How much longer?” Teldin shouted to Cwelanas as he pulled the blood-stained spear back. He was strong and fit, but already his lungs were sore from the exertion.
As if to answer, Luciar’s voice rose in pitch and volume. Complex syllables floated over the din, then, all at once, they were replaced by a sizzling roar. The noises of battle – the grunts, bellows, clangs, even the wails of the wounded and dying – were muted. A blast of heat seared the farmer’s beard-stubbled face and burned his hair. At the same time, the farmer was dazzled by the flames. Fortunately, the minotaur facing him was in a similar muddle.
Teldin shielded his eyes and was amazed to see a curtain of fire ripple down the gunwale of the minotaur ship. The flames leaped and dodged in strange colors of blue, green, and gold, yet held their rippling shape as a wall separating the two vessels. Already the grappling ropes and gangways smoldered with fire. At the near end, the curtain abruptly bulged then parted as a minotaur, cloaked in flame, crashed through the blazing wall and howled in piteous agony as it plummeted into the sea below. The salty waves quenched its pain with a steaming hiss. Overhead, covetous fingers of fire reached upward for the pirate’s red sails.
The spell’s effect was profound. The shouts and screams began anew, though with a much different tenor than before. A ragged cheer went up from the elves as they quickly recovered from their astonishment. The tide had turned against the minotaurs. With reinforcements cut off, those bull-men that remained on deck were quickly being surrounded and overwhelmed. The elves showed no quarter, and the minotaurs, realizing this, made desperate attempts to escape by plunging over the side or furiously wading into the midst of their attackers. Gomja, bellowing an alien war song, cheerfully walked into the battle, his attempts at organizing a boarding party pointless now.
His own opponent still distracted by the spell, Teldin seized the opportunity and drove his spear past the beast’s lowered guard, slipping the point in deeply just under the jaw. The minotaur gave one last strangled cry and crashed off the afterdeck. It hit the deck below with a bone-breaking crack and hung limply, half over the side. Not wasting time gloating over one victory, Teldin turned to help Cwelanas, only to see her strike a deathblow to her opponent. The giant creature toppled sideways and broke through the flimsy railing along the edge. At the last instant, the near nerveless fingers reached out and seized the elf maiden by the hair, and as Cwelanas screamed in shock and terror, the dying minotaur pulled her over the side. Their splash barely echoed over the noise.
Teldin instinctively ran to the edge. Ripples were already spreading on the ocean’s surface where the pair had plunged. There was no sign of Cwelanas or her captor. Teldin dropped his spear, gulped a huge breath, and dove. The arc carried the farmer just clear of the hull and he sliced into the warm water. The salt stung his eyes, but Teldin kept them open, searching for the submerged elf until he saw shapes sinking into the gloom below. Driving with his legs and arms, the human swam after them.
As Teldin went deeper and deeper, the pressure built, squeezing his head and ears. His lungs began to hurt. Vision dimmed, whether from the depth or lack of oxygen, he had no idea. Then his hand brushed a supple skin of metal. Teldin groped frantically and caught a hem of Cwelanas’s chain mail, then pulled, trying to reverse his descent. He was horrified to realize that he, too, was being dragged down. He kicked harder, his oxygen-deprived lungs tearing in his chest. The chain mail wriggled and jerked in his grasp. They sank farther. Beneath him Cwelanas kicked one more time, then went limp. Darkness closed around his eyes and his ears throbbed with pressure, but Teldin gave one last try, knowing that if he couldn’t free Cwelanas this time, he would have to let go. With his last effort, he found them rising – ever so slowly.
Teldin fought to gain the surface. His eyes burned, and the cut across his chest felt on fire as the saltwater mingled with blood. The searing pain kept him conscious, until finally the water broke over Teldin’s face. With a frantic gasp, the human gulped air and half-choked as saltwater splashed into his mouth. He paddled furiously, forcing Cwelanas’s head above the waves, and swam for the Silver Spray, barely visible through a pain-induced haze. The ship was the only thing he could focus on.
When he finally did reach the Silver Spray, the elves were already at the side, fishing out their fallen comrades. Teldin thumped against the hull and eager hands seized him and his load. The farmer’s body went limp as his spent mind could comprehend nothing further.
Chapter Sixteen
Teldin realized he was lying chest down and soaking wet on the deck as Gomja knelt over him, gently massaging the saltwater out of the farmer’s lungs. The giff gave a gentle push and Teldin coughed and choked. Somewhere he heard one of the elves say, “That is a good sign.” It certainly did not feel like one.
Gradually Teldin saw Cwelanas lying on the deck beside him, one of the elves firmly massaging her back. At first, nothing happened. The elf looked at his fellows with concern, then applied himself more furiously to the task. Finally there was a strangled cough, then another. A small, murmured prayer of thankfulness rose from the onlookers.
It was some time later that Teldin was finally able to sit up. He leaned against a mast, watching the elves work on Cwelanas. The risk of death had passed and she was slowly regaining a little strength and color. Finally able to comprehend what was going on around her, she choked out a question to her attendant. The elf listened, then pointed toward Teldin, causing a baffled look to pass over the elf maiden’s face. At last she croaked, barely loud enough for Teldin to hear, “I have you to thank for my life. I may have misjudged you.” She weakly stretched a hand to him.
Teldin gave a feeble shrug, triggering a coughing fit. “Maybe,” was all he could think to say. He leaned forward and took her hand in his. Neither had the strength to squeeze. “Humans sometimes do that, too,” he allowed with a sardonic smile. She gave a half-smile back, then they both collapsed into sleep.
Later, Teldin, wrapped in his mysterious cloak against the ocean’s salt spray, watched from the deck as the elves checked the last of the brails on the new mainsail. At a shouted command, the folds of canvas dropped, billowing out to catch the wind. The Silver Spray, battered and limping but once again under full sail, neared the headlands of Sancrist Isle two days after the nearly disastrous encounter with the minotaur pirates.
Thanks mainly to Luciar’s spell, the elves had won the battle. The sheet of flame raised by the old captain’s conjuring had ended the bloody assault. Those minotaurs who had been trapped on board were not offered any quarter, and instead were cut down by archers in the rigging. By the time Teldin and Cwelanas were rescued, the fight had been all but over. The surviving pirates had stayed to their own vessel, too busy battling the blaze aboard their raider to keep the Silver Spray from limping away. Since there had been no pursuit, it became apparent that the beasts had no desire to taste elven magic again.
Still, the victory had not been without cost; seven crew members were dead, eleven wounded. The elves had none of the healers, with their prayers and mystical cures, whom Teldin had seen during the war, but they did all they could with herbs and common sense. Awnings erected on the deck sheltered the dying from the sun, and there they lay, groaning in the midday heat.
Already, though, the attack seemed distant to Teldin. The memorial, repairs, and constant fear of more minotaurs were enough to keep his mind occupied. Still, even though the crew was short-handed, Cwelanas no longer sent him into the masts. She claimed that his cut would reopen with such hard work. The tasks she did assign him were light. Teldin figured her sudden solicitousness had nothing to do with his wounds, but he certainly was not about to complain about her treatment now.
Ever since the battle, the elf maid’s mood had changed with the suddenness of a wind shifting off the bow –
an expression Teldin had learned since coming aboard. Cwelanas even addressed the human by name now, no longer using the pejorative “human’ or even the slighting “Bare Tree” every time she spoke. When their glances met, the elf maiden neither glared nor tore her gaze away. Without her smoldering hate, the hard edges of Cwelanas’s face softened and Teldin found her even more seductive than before. The farmer doubted that the elf mate had abandoned her general dislike of humans, but at least in his case she seemed to make an exception.
Teldin could only assume her feelings paralleled his own, which were confused and a little disturbing. He did not know exactly how to feel. Before the battle, Teldin was still stung by Vandoorm‘s treachery and dared to trust the elves no more than they had trusted him. The possibility that they might betray him had always lurked at hand. Now he was not so sure. They had fought together, and that had provided a bond greater than any he had ever felt with Vandoorm or other humans. Elves, at least those of the Silver Spray, seemed to deserve his trust.
Teldin’s feelings toward Cwelanas were particularly unsettled. Her conversion from animosity to warmth was too abrupt for him, too flighty by his standards. He could not decide whether it was because she was female or because she was elven. Whichever it was, her moods left him pleased but confused.
Teldin sat in reflection, watching the rocky, brown mountains of Sancrist Isle slide slowly past, until Cwelanas, awkward and self-conscious, strode up and stood beside him. Her cutlass tapped against the top of the elf maiden’s boot, scraping in rhythm with the ocean swells. “The captain says tomorrow you will be set ashore in Thalan Bay. That is as close as we can come to Mount Nevermind. Tonight, dinner will be served in the captain’s cabin at evening tide,” she said in blunt, graceless tones, though there was no trace of anger in her voice.
