Even before he had completed the shape and cast his spell of rapacious flame and heat, he was imagining the screams of the burning shaman and how satisfying it would be to destroy the last of those who had broken Capricious.
The body shuddered and grasped at the bow rail to steady itself. Slowly Ystormun gained control. He found the legs and made the body stand. He found the arms and adjusted the grip on the rail to lever himself upright. The view gradually melted into focus, giving him a view of glorious clear water ahead and Calaius on the horizon.
But then the hearing cleared from its muted roar and he could hear anxiety in every command and a harsh edge to the shouts of Wesman warriors. And when the sense of smell finally came to him, the stench was of magic and fire. Ystormun shook the head — his head — but nothing changed.
Gasping in a breath, he turned, looked back down the ship and wasn’t sure what to stare at first. Way back now, he could see two of his vessels on fire. Others sat dead in the water, sails limp. Another was sailing off into the east and the open ocean to nowhere. Only one other of his ships was still with him, and chasing them were two, no three, elven cutters.
A howl of alarm dragged his gaze from the disaster in the distance. He saw elves swarming over the stern. Like rats, or perhaps it was monkeys, they came. Ystormun cursed: TaiGethen. What in all the hells were they doing here? How in all the hells could they possibly be here?
But here they were. They engulfed the wheel deck, executing captain and helmsman and murdering shamen in mere moments. The ship began to turn to the east, the wheel set over hard. And on they came, vaulting the rail, hurling their damned jaqruis as well as themselves at the defending Wesmen.
And however courageous the tribesmen might be, they had little chance. The elves were so fast. Perhaps his memory had dimmed over the centuries, but he didn’t remember this speed.
Ystormun moved. He raced to the forecastle rail and bellowed down to the main deck, ‘Defence! Shamen get up here and prepare. I want two lines of warriors in front of us now and I want elvish eyes smoking before we crest another wave. Move!’
Shamen and Wesmen scrabbled to obey, knowing instantly who was in possession of the body. In an instant nine shamen had joined him with Wesmen guarding the stairs.
‘Get line of sight down the ship. One rank. Cast on my word,’ said Ystormun.
The wave of TaiGethen washed around the mainmast. Ystormun saw a Wesman begin to raise his blade to defend himself, but a sword pierced his gut and a foot crushed his windpipe so quickly he didn’t manage to cry out when he fell. TaiGethen ran along the rails, slashing sheets and lanyards. Sails flapped lazily.
‘Ready!’ called Ystormun. ‘Cast.’
He heard a mourning sound repeating over and over. The air was full of flashing metal. He threw himself to the ground behind his shamen who screamed and jerked as dozens of crescent blades thudded home. Blood sprayed in all directions and a body fell on top of him, its owner trying to pull the jaqrui from his forehead though his brain was oozing around it.
Ystormun shovelled the twitching body off him and stood, preparing to cast, determined to take at least one of them before this body was slain. He was greeted by the sight of a single elf leaping high over the last of the Wesmen, turning a somersault and landing directly in front of him, blades poised.
Ystormun stared, his casting forgotten.
‘You,’ he gasped.
The TaiGethen’s eyes widened slightly but his mouth twitched up in the shadow of a smile.
‘Yeah,’ said Auum. ‘Me.’
The edges of his blades were so cold.
The Soul of Yniss had joined Gyaam’s Blessing in the pursuit of the one remaining enemy ship still sailing south. Drech with the rest of the survivors of Capricious had come alongside the fast-moving elven vessel and clambered up rigging thrown over the starboard rail. Lines had been secured to the longboat and it had been hauled up the side, complete with its injured passengers.
Ahead, the enemy flagship was wallowing, sails flapping in the breeze as it gradually came into the wind. TaiGethen were in longboats heading back to them. Others were going back through the enemy vessels. Each one was to be scoured and stripped of anything useful. Spirit of Tual had been tasked to stand on station to take any cargo on board.
Drech was standing in the prow of the Soul with a strangely calm and thoughtful Takaar. Stein was aft, reporting to Esteren, and was intent on sleep, having spent every mote of spell-casting stamina he possessed. Drech didn’t blame him for keeping his distance from the Il-Aryn’s finest but most flawed practitioner. The enemy ship before them was under full sail and they would not catch her before nightfall. Drech felt the tension across the ship.
‘Can we not impel a wind to speed us up?’ asked Drech. ‘Surely we can find something in the paths of Ix that governs the heavens.’
‘Wind is too chaotic,’ said Takaar. ‘Harnessing it would take more skill than we possess. We’ve barely touched research on the powers that rush above our heads.’
‘Over six hundred years of study, research and practice and we have done no more than scratch the bark of a single tree in the forest of our potential.’
Drech smiled at his own metaphor. Takaar was staring at him, a smile on his face that made Drech nervous.
‘Now there is something we might try. It should work, even at this range because there is nothing to block its path, and no other fuel directly ahead as long as the impression is cast directly outwards. I wonder if any would mind if I tried. I would need your help of course, your strength and your focus; mine alone will not be enough, but together we can do it. I doubt we’d even need any of the others. The poor souls are exhausted anyway. Better they rest in case we need the shield again. The Ixii and Gyalans possess such ability but their stamina is so much less than that of the Ynissul, don’t you think? So we must attempt this. Nothing to lose and so much time to gain. Another day, even. What do you say? Will you help me? Shall we try? Just think how much it would advance our knowledge if I was proved correct, and I very much think I am. Another step taken. Another notch in the tree of understanding.’
Drech was desperately trying to follow what Takaar was saying. The elf was staring at him, eyes teetering on the brink of a sharp descent into the pit of his madness, unless it was tears that threatened.
‘How much of that were you saying directly to me?’ he asked carefully.
Fury shot across Takaar’s expression, but he forced a faint smile and nodded.
‘All of it,’ he said, his stare intensifying. ‘All of it.’
‘And what are we going to attempt?’
Takaar’s smile became conspiratorial. He took Drech’s arm and turned him to follow his gaze to the enemy ship.
‘We’re going to make it sink.’
‘From this distance?’
‘You doubt me?’
Drech thought about that for a moment.
‘No, not at all.’ He gestured ahead. ‘Lead on.’
‘Let yourself see the energies of Ix,’ said Takaar, closing his eyes.
The first joy of the Il-Aryn was the moment the lines of energy that travelled the earth and everything living on it or under it became visible. Until you made sense of it, the scene was nothing more than the heaviest of rainforest deluges travelling in every direction. But slowly every adept could unpick sets of threads from the flood because, as Takaar first preached, every individual plant and animal has a different density of energy. Wood has energy of a deeper density than a liana but not as deep as stone. A panther’s energies are less dense than those of an elf. The energies of the core elements of earth, air, fire and water have signature flows and enormous strength to set them apart from any individual creature or plant.