Wren Journeymage (28 page)

Wren crouched below her swinging hammock, watching the sway of the lamp as the ship rose, rose, rose on monstrous waves, then plunged down into the troughs where the wind did not reach. The sails fell slack, shuddering, then up the ship rose again, until the screaming wind caught the sails with a wrench. Waves broke over the bow with a smash, rushing down the deck and washing over and out to sea again, taking every barrel and tool that had not been securely tied down.

Wren knelt next to her box of arrows, each carefully bespelled, and tested her spells over and over, one after the other.
First
,
the
cloaking
spell
.
If
the
wind
is
with
us
,
the
launches
get
masts
.
If
not
,
then
we
have
to
row
,
and
that
means
cloaking
the
oars
—

Teams. How to divide a fleet to make sure everyone is covered? How to do it quickly, depending on wind, and current, and where the fleet is—

Fleet . . . rain . . . lights . . .
what if?
Images of disaster flittered through Wren’s mind: trying to run through water, leafing desperately through her book just to discover the pages had magically changed to a real herb book—

“Wren.”

It was Connor.

She opened her eyes; she’d fallen into an uncomfortable doze while kneeling next to her box of arrows. She sat back, her legs full of pins and needles. Her book was safe in her knapsack, where it had lain for days, ever since she discovered that she remembered her spells faster than she could read them.

Connor was soaking wet, his hair writhing in dark, ruddy locks down his sodden shirt.

“We’re in the middle of Andreus’s fleet.” He tried to wipe his eyes, but his sleeve was just as wet as his face. “Come now.”

“We’re in Andreus’s fleet?” Wren repeated blankly. They had endlessly discussed the best way to approach, finally deciding on a big cloaking spell. Never had they thought to find themselves already there.

“They must have launched as soon as the wind changed. But the storm probably blew them out of formation. When it began to clear just a while ago, we discovered we’re right in the middle of them.”

Wren gave a cry, leaping to her feet. “We didn’t plan for that!”

“I know. But Captain Tebet says they are too busy repairing damage to pay the least attention to us. Further, they can’t possibly know all the other ships. Meanwhile the storm is passing. We have to act now, for dawn is near.”

Wren looked around.
It’s
now
.
Not
tomorrow
,
but
now
.

“Bring up the box,” she said. “We can start on ships we pass, and send out our launches to take care of the others.”

Connor hefted the box onto his shoulder and followed her up onto the deck, where the crew, tired as they were, had begun their own repairs. Rain slanted out of the east in bands. A sudden shower caught her by surprise the moment she stepped up from the hatch, and made her gasp. She was wet through within three breaths.

Captain Tebet called from the wheel, where she and two sailors held the helm, “What now, young mage?”

I’m only a journeymage
,
and not a very good one
, Wren thought, but didn’t say it. Instead, she looked around. The cloud layer was still low, and fitful lightning revealed plenty of rain still to come. Twinkling lights surged on the rough waters, indicating ships all around them.

Wren lifted her voice. “We’ll start now.”

“Launches,” Captain Tebet shouted.

The crew leaped to action, everyone knowing just what to do.

Wren moved to each launch, just as they had always practiced, and as the rain poured down on them, she bound each boat with an illusory spell. No mistakes. She had drilled too long and hard. Each spell snapped into place, the boats blurry and guided by feel; when the launches fell into the water, it was difficult to see them, as they reflected the water and air around them.

Silently, the three-person crews dropped into each launch, carrying their supplies. One person would handle sail, the second went to the tiller, and the third would shoot. Each shooter carried a bag of Wren’s precious arrows, put there by her own hands. She had made fifty for each boat, knowing that a lot of them might fall into the sea.

One by one the boats sailed away, the only visible mark their wakes, flat for a short time until the wind whipped the waves up to hide them.

Captain Tebet sailed near pirate ship after pirate ship, all too busy repairing after the storm to pay any attention to her little ship.

Connor and Longface, who had the best aim of the
Piper
’s crew, sat high on the main and foremasts, shooting one arrow apiece across to thunk high in the pirates’ masts. Those in the launches only had to hit the hulls, but it was important for all the arrows to go unnoticed, at least long enough for Wren’s spells to activate.

Each arrow that hit was followed by three words, carefully taught to the person handling the tiller in each launch.

On the
Piper
, Wren said the words for Longface and Connor—the latter because his own magic was so unreliable, it was impossible to guess what might happen if he tried a regular spell.

Wren stood directly below Connor, and watched him pull the arrow back to his chin, take aim, and let fly.

Z-z-z-ip!
The arrow sped through the silvery rain, faintly highlighted in the bleak light that was just beginning to smear the eastern horizon. They did not hear the arrow thock into the mizzen mast of the pirate sailing just north of them, but Captain Tebet apparently saw it quivering there, for she nodded to Wren, who spoke the magical release words.

Four launches, plus the
Piper,
sailed along the rough semi-circle into which Andreus’s fleet had been scattered by the storm. Wren peered into the grayish murk ahead, seeking the twinkling lamplight of another pirate ship.
If we each get a dozen ships per watch, then within a day we can have two hundred done, or near it.

All through the dawn and morning they sailed, past ship after ship. At noon the lookout cried, “Birds!”

The sailors kept on with their tasks, but Connor slid down a backstay and joined Wren at the wheel, each scanning the sky.

Wren spotted four birds flying in a carefully spaced line. These birds did not act like birds, but like creatures forced to a human’s will as they flew in that unnatural formation across the sky, their heads flicking back and forth as they watched below.

“Spy birds.” Wren pointed skyward. “Everyone put down your bows!”

“Get busy cleanin’ and repairin’,” Captain Tebet cried, and the crew leapt to obey. She hustled to Wren’s side, and said in a low voice, “You can’t put that cloaking spell on now?”

“Not until we get the launches back—they would never see us,” Wren reminded the captain.

Tebet snapped her fingers. “Right. Right. I was forgettin’. This magic stuff makes my hide itch. But even so, I’ll feel better when you get that spell on us.”

The
Piper
passed one pirate ship completely while the birds were in sight, and had almost passed another before the creatures dwindled to distant specks in the sky. This pirate ship had been dismasted, and the crew was busy jury-rigging new spars.

Captain Tebet gave quiet orders, the
Piper
veered closer, Longface shot an arrow into the stern, unnoticed by the struggling pirates, then they hauled wind and passed on.

And when the sun at last began to sink toward the horizon, though there were no more ships in sight, Wren leaned on the taffrail and tried to imagine her magic working slowly and gently on all those ships, causing the wood to revert to its green state. The surprised pirates would have plenty of time to lower their launches and save themselves—but nobody could go conquering in little lifeboats.

The storm had passed on, leaving a clean, cold eastern wind. As Little Moon rose into the sky, the
Piper
encountered their first lifeboats full of pirates. In the distance, logs sprouting twigs floated on the water—the remains of their ship. The pirates in the longboats were cursing and yelling, many of them drunk, the boats full of weapons and supplies.

Some of them hailed the
Piper
, trying to threaten, cajole, scorn, or bribe the captain into rescuing them, but she sailed on past—only spilling wind when their own launches caught up.

Wren watched the sky. She dreaded seeing more spy birds. They might have fooled the first set, but a second set would mean that Andreus had sent them back . . .

“All right, the last launch is on board,” Captain Tebet yelled, and the bell ting-tinged. The captain turned to Wren. “Should you put that cloaking spell on?”

“Right!” Tired as she was, Wren leaped away from the rail, relief giving her a little more energy.

She took a deep, calming breath. Then she cast the cloaking spell, pulling on as much magical strength as she dared. Her head buzzed when she finished, but she knew the spell was strong, and probably good for several days. “There,” she said.

“The evil Black Hood can’t find us now,” Captain Tebet pronounced with satisfaction.

Wren hesitated, then grimaced.

“What is it, Wren?” Connor murmured.

“Oh, I’m just worried about those spy birds. I hope we looked like everybody else from above. If they saw something suspicious—if they found something aboard to fix as a Destination—”

“Those birds flew over a long time ago,” the captain said. “Don’t worry about what we can’t help. Been a long day, mates. Let’s eat.”

In her cabin, the Cook and Patka were just setting out a supper, which was a tasty tomato soup made with cream, leftover chicken, spiced with sweet-pepper, and had cheese melted on top.

Wren realized she hadn’t eaten all day, and her stomach growled as she sat down.

“Looks like our pirates are branching out,” the captain declared, giving a rasping laugh at her own wit.

“First time pirates have ever been treed.” Connor reached for the fresh-baked bread.

“That’s one way to root ‘em out,” Longface said in his deep voice, without any vestige of smile. But his eyes narrowed, giving him away.

“Let’s leaf them alone,” Wren said. “They can bark . . . their bark . . . oh, I’m too tired to think. And too hungry. I never smelled anything as good.”

Wren lifted her soup bowl. The melted cheese burned a little against her lip, but she didn’t care. She was not only hungry, but for the first time in weeks and weeks, the wind felt a little cold, and she drank down her soup, enjoying the taste, the peppery and cheesy smell, and the warmth.

The others continued to make jokes about trees and pirates, but Wren just sat back, stuffing herself and gloating.
It worked, it worked. No chickens.

“Captain!”

The shout brought them to their feet, Connor looking around for his staff that was probably below.

Wren’s heart thumped as she grabbed up her bread, a hunk of cheese, and an apple and shoved them into her sleeve, hoping there was just some problem with the ropes, or sails, or masts, or maybe a signal from one of the returning launches. But no one would yell
Captain!
like that if a rope had come loose.

She stepped on deck.

And froze.

A slim man with long blond hair stood alone on the forecastle, his long black cloak billowing and snapping in the cold wind.

Andreus smiled.

“Yes,” he drawled, that familiar, faintly metallic voice making her skin crawl along the backs of her arms. “I know you are warded against my touching you against your will. I know the ship is warded. I know your crew is warded. But the mages all along my wall are not. And until you consent to join me for a little conference, one at a time they will smash to the stone court as soon as I return, until you give it up—”

“I’ll go.” Wren’s voice croaked worse than Captain Tebet. “Don’t hurt anybody.”

“Wren!” Connor shouted, running forward.

Andreus tossed something at Wren. As soon as the cold metal met her fingers, she felt the flash of transfer.

“Have you found Wren yet?”

Tyron stared at Teressa in surprise. In spite of all the busy gossip about her being on the verge of announcing a wedding and coronation, she did not look happy.

Halfrid said, “Please, my dear. Permit me to sit down. It has been a hot walk.”

Teressa ran her fingers restlessly along one of the braids looped in her hair. She was dressed with more formality than Tyron remembered ever seeing her.

She said, “I promised you once before. I’ll set you up with a carriage, if you like. Since you don’t want to do that magical transfer thing.”

Halfrid smiled as he settled into his chair in Teressa’s private parlor. “Please recall that transfers are not easy, and we all avoid them when we can.” He glanced at Tyron with faintly lifted brows to remind Tyron of his duty. “As for your generous offer of a carriage, thank you, but no. Perhaps I’ll come to it one day, but for now, our meetings are about the only chance for a stroll that I get. Especially when there’s this much turmoil around us.”

Teressa flushed, then she waved a hand, dismissing the matter. Gold-embroidered lace dropped back from her wrist, and an old and costly ring sparkled on one finger. Tyron frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t look splendid, for she did. But in his experience, the more she dressed up, the more unsettled she seemed to be feeling. “Wren?” she asked again.

Tyron moved quietly to the door and glanced out in both directions. A servant crossed the distant passage with folded linens, but there was no sign of Hawk. So he took up a station at the wall, where he could keep watch.