Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (34 page)

 
          
"A
warning," ek'Jemm murmured, studying the dark shafts that thrust from the
planking.

 
          
The
warboat came back along their port flank, dancing over the waves, driven by the
steady sweeping of the oars. Calandryll saw that the stem rose up, fashioned in
the shape of a dragon's tail, a massive, paddlelike rudder at its base. Two men
held shields raised to protect the helmsman. The archers stood on a small deck
behind the prow and on a raised aisle that ran like a spine down the length of
the warboat, the oarsmen sat on recessed benches to either side. They appeared
to follow the orders of a slim figure wearing fine silver mail that glittered
proudly in tne sun, the face hidden beneath the shadow of a beaked helm.

 
          
 
"That's their captain?" Bracht
asked. And when ek'Jemm gmnted an affirmative: "Give me a bow and I'll kill
him."

           
The Kand studied him
speculatively, as if considering the possibility, then shook his head. "A
wounded animal's worse than a healthy beast."

           
"Two shafts at
most," Bracht said confidently, "and he's dead."

           
"The deck of a
ship's no steady platform," ek'Jemm returned.

           
"Nor's the back
of a running horse," said Bracht. "I can do it."

           
Ek'Jemm smiled briefly and shook
his head again. "No," he said firmly, "I'd not anger them. If
you're all they want, I escape easy."

 
          
Bracht's
eyes blazed contempt; the Kand ignored him, turning to stare at the warboat.

 
          
The
dark craft swung dramatically to port, cutting close under the merchantman's
stem. Calandryll stared at the armored figure commanding the archers, wonder;
ing if he looked on Azumandias; wondering then why a mage should employ so
physical a means of attack when surely magic must serve him better than arrows.
Something about the stance, the drape of the hauberk, was wrong and he gasped
as realization dawned.

 
          
"That's
a woman!" he cried. "The captain's a woman!"

 
          
"No
woman commands a Kand warboat," ek'Jemm grunted.

 
          
"No
corsair vessel sails out of Lysse," Calandryll snapped. "But this one
did, and that's a woman."

 
          
The
figure raised gloved hands then, removing the helmet, and his point was proven:
a thick spill of flaxen hair tumbled loose, framing a strong face from which
eyes grey as storm-tossed waves studied the
Dancer,
a wide, full-lipped
mouth issuing a command that slowed the
warboat.               
.

 
          
"Burash
take me!" ek'Jemm muttered. "You're right.”

           
"And she's lovely,"
Bracht softly. "Ahrd, but she's a beauty!"

           
The woman seemed
oblivious of their stares and the arbalest alike, contemptuous of the danger,
although ek'Jemm might then have hit her square, or bowmen picked her off. Her
order brought her craft almost to a stop, drifting close under the
merchantman's stem, protected there from the great crossbow. She tossed her
helm to the deck and cupped her hands about her mouth.

 
          
"You
carry two passengers, Captain—I'd have them."

 
          
Her
voice was melodious, carrying clear across the gap between the vessels.

 
          
"You'll
leave my ship be?" ek'Jemm shouted,

 
          
"I
have no quarrel with you," the woman called. "It's your passengers I
want. Hand them over and you're free to go your way."

 
          
"I've
a man wounded," the Kand returned.

 
          
The
woman's face clouded for an instant, then she cried, "I regret that, but
you fired on us."

 
          
Calandryll
could not help staring at her. Would likely have done so even had she not
represented such a threat: her beauty compelled attention. He started when he
felt Bracht's hand grip his arm.

 
          
"Be
ready," warned the Kem.

 
          
He
nodded, instinctively reaching for the stone at his throat, mouth opening to
utter the spell. Then gaping as he felt the smooth surface bum his fingers,
looking down to see. the dull red transformed to flame, as if he clutched fire.

 
          
Abruptly,
the air about him shimmered, filled with the heady scent of almonds, stronger
than he had ever smelled it, cloying in his nostrils. The air seemed brilliant,
as though the risen sun fell from the sky to hang between the two vessels. He
heard Bracht shout; ek'Jemm cry out. Then he, too, shouted as he saw the sea
boil, a great surge of turbulent water rising from the gap between warboat and
merchantman, as if some vast, unseen beast rose from the depths, angry. Water
seethed, rising to hang in a swirling glittering pillar that joined sea and
sky. A sheet of liquid drenched the poop, draping a rainbow across the
Sea
Dancer's
stem, and he felt his hair tom back by a wind that sprang from nowhere.
Dimly through the spray he saw the warboat engulfed by the spout, tossed like a
cork, spun round and round, the archers tumbling like stricken.pins to the
deck, falling into the scuppers. He saw the woman thrown against the prow,
embracing the dragon's neck, pressing herself hard against the wooden effigy as
her long legs flung over the side. For an instant he thought she must lose her
grip and topple into the maelstrom, but then the very spinning of her craft
hurled her back onto the deck and she rolled inelegantly across the planking to
crash down among the terrified oarsmen.

 
          
The
warboat was lifted by the wave, the sweeps in disarray, the furled sail ripped
loose to flap uselessly, a tom rag in the grip of elemental fury. Then the air
reverberated with an ear-splitting blast and the spout was gone. The warboat
fell seaward, taking on water as it crashed against the waves. The wind grew
stronger and he saw the impossible happen: saw nature divided against itself.
The 
Sea Dancer's
sails filled, drumming with the rhythm of the
wind, the merchantman gaining headway, surging away from the warboat. Which was
driven in the opposite direction by a gusting no less fierce than the gale that
propelled the cargo vessel. Waves crashed over the ducking prow, the black
sail, tattered now, driven out straight, the oars helpless. He heard ek'Jemm
shout again, and saw the portly Kand stagger to the wheel, lending his bulk to
aid the helmsman, holding the
Sea Dancer
stem-on to the ferocious wind.

 
          
Within
moments the warboat was a dwindling speck, then it was a blur on the skyline,
then gone. Calandryll realized that he still clutched the red stone. He
released his grip and the wind dropped. He looked about. Bracht clung soaked to
the arbalest, a wide-eyed seaman on the weapon's other side. The four armed
sailors sprawled gaping against the taffrail. Ek'Jemm and the helmsman clutched
the wheel as if fearing they might be tom loose and swept overboard. The
wounded sailor lay at their feet mumb
ling
a prayer to Burash, and all
along the deck men hung from sheets, or held the rails, not quite believing in
the calm that fell. Calandryll alone had sought no support: he stood
brace-legged on the poop, dazed by the magic that had saved them.

 
          
"Burash
protect us," ek'Jemm said slowly, his voice hushed as he stared at
Calandryll. "What are you?"

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head. The wave, the wind—neither had been things of his conscious
making: he had no better idea than the captain what had happened. He opened his
mouth to speak, but Bracht intervened.

 
          
"You
had done better to have listened to him, Captain," the freesword said
quickly, casting a warning glance in Calandryll's direction.

 
          
Ek'Jemm
nodded dumbly, eyeing them with a newfound respect that bordered on open fear.
Calandryll looked at Bracht with eyes widened by amazement; the Kern winked.
The wind still blew, no longer a gale, but strong enough. Ek'Jemm asked
wonderingly, "Are you a mage?"

 
          
Calandryll
caught Bracht's eye and shrugged.

 
          
"Would
you have him demonstrate again?" asked the mercenary.

 
          
The
Kand swallowed and shook his head.

 
          
"That
was sufficient. Why did you not tell me?"

 
          
"I
prefer to travel incognito," Calandryll extemporized: it was not,
entirely, a lie.

 
          
"Had
I known, I would not have ... Forgive me ... Lord Varent made no mention of
it... I could not know."

 
          
Calandryll
found that he enjoyed the man's discomfort: it was some small recompense for
his imprisonment. "I would not have it published abroad," he said.
"And I trust you will hold your tongue—see that your men keep it to
themselves, too."

 
          
It
was a slender hope: to ask a crew that had just witnessed so miraculous an
event to remain silent was ... as unlikely as the maelstrom or the gale, he
decided. Nonetheless, ek'Jemm nodded enthusiastically.

 
          
"As
you command."

 
          
"We
are merely two passengers traveling to
Kandahar
on private business," Calandryll said.
"No more
than
that—you
understand?"

 
          
"Aye.
Indeed, aye!" Ek'Jemm's head bobbed vigorously, threatening to dislodge
his headdress. "Two passengers. Quite."

 
          
"Good.
And now we shall leave you."

 
          
He
grinned at Bracht and led the way down to the deck. The sailors still avoided
them, but now it was out of respect, as if they feared the unleashing of
further magicks, and they found a place amidships where they might speak
privately. Calandryll was suiprised to see anger and suspicion in the Kem's
eyes. His amusement at ek'Jemm's newfound humility evaporated, replaced by
confusion.

 
          
"How
did you do that?" Bracht demanded harshly. "Are you a mage? Have you
hidden that talent from me?"

 
          
"Dera,
no!" he answered. "I have no more idea than you how it happened. I
touched the stone and the sea boiled—I know no more than that."

 
          
Bracht
stared at him for a while. "Your word on it?" he asked at last.

 
          
"My
word," Calandryll promised. "I am no wizard, if that's what you
fear."

 
          
"Then
how?" Bracht frowned, his innate distrust of sorcery writ clear.

 
          
Calandryll
shrugged helplessly.

 
          
"I
was about to speak the incantation—as you suggested!—and I saw the sea boil.
Dera, Bracht! if I was a wizard I'd have used magic to persuade ek'Jemm against
handing
us over. Or sunk that
warboat before it reached us. I'd have used my own magic to flee Secca! I
understand this no better than you."

 
          
"But
you touched the stone," the Kern persisted.

 
          
"To
hide," Calandryll answered, "only that."

 
          
"Then
how was the magic worked?" The freesword's anger was diminished somewhat,
but suspicion still grated in his voice. He fixed Calandryll with a hard blue
stare.

 
          
Calandryll
thought for a moment, then said, tentatively, "Lord Varent spoke of my
possessing the ability to work magic—do you not remember when he first gave me
the stone?—so perhaps, in moments of danger, some power is released. But how, I
cannot say. I sought only to ecome invisible as we agreed."

 
          
"Varent
taught you how to become invisible," Bracht said, "Nothing
more."