Takaar’s next breakthrough was to understand that single energy lines almost always represented combinations. For instance, water is the most common element of all and is critical to the make-up of every living thing. Drech had found the idea that he was mostly water absurd, but Takaar had created some demonstrations that persuaded him otherwise.
And there was the third joy: understanding the innate ability to manipulate the energies to produce something different. That had been central to unlocking the potential of the Il-Aryn as a magical force. It had given them a basis for learning and research and the development of a range of castings and constructions. There was no end to it that Drech could see, and that was a thrilling thought.
Drech saw the thundering energy lines that made up the ocean and took time to wonder at the way they clashed and spat at each other but never broke apart and how, despite the apparent chaos, there was an order to the sea that was only truly challenged by the actions of the wind.
Ahead was their target, picked out in ten and more differing pulses of energy density. Water of course was the ship’s greatest constituent, but the complexities that made up wood, and the simple ones representing the sail canvas and indeed the rigging ropes were there for the skilled adept to see.
‘Now then, let’s see how far we can push ourselves,’ said Takaar.
‘What do you plan to do, take out a mast or something?’ joked Drech.
‘I think we can do an awful lot better than that. A shame most of them won’t see this, but we can reprise it another time.’
‘See what?’ asked Drech, excitement edging his mind.
‘Lend me your strength. Keep the flow steady. No spikes, because I’m going to try something a little reckless.’
‘You do surprise me.’
‘Concentrate!’
Drech did as Takaar asked. He placed his hands on Takaar’s shoulders to make the transfer more solid and fed his mind’s energy into Takaar’s body for him to use in bolstering his own. Takaar accepted the gift with a grunt and set to work. Drech watched him and quickly saw what he was attempting.
Every impulse within him bade him pull away and shout at Takaar to try something else, because what he was doing, if it went astray and fed back through the elemental lines, would kill them both instantly. But he resisted. Takaar had never been wrong. He clung to that thought while Takaar teased at the water energies across the divide between the two ships.
Drech was watching elven magic’s greatest practitioner at work, and he never ceased to wonder at the combination of delicacy and strength of will that Takaar brought to bear. It was artistry, and no one could ever hope to better him. Takaar was channelling the unbridled force of elemental water through himself, using himself as a stopper in a bottle, keeping the raw destructive power inside and releasing only that which he required to do his work. No wonder he had need of Drech’s energy.
Drech watched him tease out strand after strand and gather them as if they were threads caught in his fist. And when Drech was sure he had enough, Takaar carried on, never once faltering but whispering words to himself that gave him the confidence to continue.
When at last he was done, Takaar gave a little laugh. ‘So. Let’s see what we have learned today,’ he said.
With his mind he jerked the strands aside. For an instant, ephemeral and terrifying, nothing happened. Then water cascaded from the air around the target’s hull and fell to the sea in a myriad drops. The hull was reduced to dust scattered across the water. Drech caught the merest glimpse of cargo, furnishings and men tumbling towards the water when the ship’s deck, deprived of support, slapped down on the surface.
Takaar roared with laughter.
‘Look what I’ve done! Look!’
Drech stared. For a few moments the hull-less deck slid on, and then the weight of the mast, sails and superstructure defeated it and it tipped onto its side, balanced by the sailcloth and mast timbers before beginning to settle.
‘Yniss preserve us!’ yelled Drech, and his voice bounced across the ocean to their floundering and confused enemies in the water. ‘I see it and only because you did it before my eyes do I believe it.’
Drech turned to call anyone he could to come to the rail and look, only to find himself pressed by Stein and every one of the Il-Aryn, all drawn by the power Takaar had employed. Everyone was charging forward to see for themselves. Well, nearly everyone. Takaar was leaning on Drech’s shoulder, utterly spent.
‘What did you do?’ asked Stein, gesturing weakly towards the remains of the enemy ship.
Takaar, exhausted but drunk on his success, leaned forward and placed a finger on Stein’s chest, tapping it gently as he spoke.
‘Remove water from any of us, a ship, an elf. . or a human, and all that remains is dust,’ he said.
The bell at the helm rang and Esteren’s voice rang out.
‘Ready to bring us about, heading north by north-west,’ he ordered. ‘Stand by. Selas, get up to the forward nest. I don’t want to collide with any wreckage. Bosun, you are not in position. Let’s come around, wait for our passengers and head on. Tell Takaar he is not to employ that casting on any of my timbers, under any circumstances, or he’ll feel my boot in his arse.’
Esteren’s chuckle was as loud as his voice.
‘Good work, everyone. Now let’s get north.’
Chapter 10
It is a strange thing indeed to speak face to face with those whose names and deeds are noted in our history books.
It was full night and calm had returned to the diminished elven fleet. Only topsails, jibs and spankers were running to keep speed low and manoeuvrability high for the skeleton crews during the hours of darkness. The first mate of the Soul of Yniss doubled as the helm. The crow’s nests were empty.
Services had already been held for the lost, and as they drifted across the waves, dirges and prayers for those to be committed to the sea and Shorth’s embrace would continue until first light. Combined with the creaking of ships’ timbers, the rush of the sea, the ripple of sailcloth and the lonely call of stray gulls, the elven voices lent a surreal quality to the darkness.
In the captain’s cabin of the Soul of Yniss, on a rug woven in a likeness of the stone apron of the temple at Aryndeneth, sat Auum, Ulysan, Esteren, Takaar, Drech and Stein. They had been served a herb and boar broth and now had plates of fruit, sweet leaves and steaming broad-based mugs of earthy root tea before them.
They had barely spoken a word, choosing to listen to the songs and chants, occasionally joining in or mouthing silent prayers of their own.
‘We should get to it,’ said Esteren. ‘I don’t know about you, but I require sleep before dawn.’
‘We’ll try not to keep you,’ said Auum, a glint in his eye. ‘So, Ulysan, let’s go through the numbers, depressing as they are.’
Ulysan swallowed the remains of his drink and reached for the jug, talking while he poured and set the jug back down.
‘We lost a single TaiGethen, Gyaam’s Blessing lost four, Spirit of Tual lost two. None of us lost a single crew hand or Il-Aryn adept. That’s the good news. Obviously we lost Capricious. Thirty-seven crew lost including the captain. Eight TaiGethen lost. All the Senserii survived. Twenty-eight Il-Aryn lost.’
Drech hissed in a breath.
‘And the wounded?’ asked Auum.
‘Mainly minor injuries, not a great deal to worry about. The majority were caused by the sinking of Capricious. They range from cuts and bruises to severe sprains, breaks, and we have two nasty sword injuries. The surgeons aren’t going to lose anyone and Stein says he can speed healing along.’