The voyage fell into a pattern that wore on Teldin. In the morning was Gomja’s fencing lesson, then work for the rest of the day. His progress in nautical matters and close combat was rapid, though the human was still far from being either a captain or a duelist. On some days Cwelanas worked him hard; on others she barely assigned him any tasks. Teldin quickly discovered there was no predicting the elf mate’s moods, which, in a peculiar way, reminded Teldin of his father, before the youth had run off to fight in the war. Cwelanas was as difficult and hard to deal with as Amdar had seemed back then. The only difference was that, instead of lashing back in fiery but futile battles, Teldin quietly kept his peace.
With each evening came the bland and monotonous meal the galley cook prepared, usually boiled beans and herbs. Once or twice there was fish, but on the sea’s deep water the catch was small, and most of it went to the captain’s table. Teldin decided the Silvamori might be brilliant artisans, but their cooking left much to be desired. The farmer longed for the spicy pork sausages of home or even the fiery fish stews of Kalaman. Dinner was followed by sleep. Teldin’s ignorance of ships at least spared him the night watch, since Cwelanas did not trust the human when she was not on deck.
Conversely, Gomja’s spirits rose as the voyage continued, for the giff was far more comfortable on board. It was at least a ship, similar in that respect to the wrecked Penumbra. The elves, struck by his alienness and the sorrowful tale of Gomja’s creation at the hands of the Dark Queen, gave the “big heathen” greater latitude. His plight appealed to their romantic sense of melancholy, though Gomja’s great size also accounted for part of their awe. The slender ratlines of the shrouds, the rope ladders to the mastheads, were far too fragile for his weight, which kept him from working the yardarms.
At most, Gomja could haul on lines to trim the sails, but the elves quickly discovered the giff could handily do the work of several of them, freeing their hands for other tasks. When needed, Gomja laid into the ropes, lustily bellowing what Teldin could only assume were chanteys of the spelljammers, the sailors who, according to Gomja, plied the seas of space. At the end of the day, the giff cheerfully devoured the same meals that made Teldin dream of crisply seared roasts and thick stews.
After three days, the ship left sight of land and beat a westerly path, struggling against the ocean currents. The breeze was often against the small caravel, forcing the captam to tack back and forth rather than sail a direct route. Teldin and Gomja kept at their dueling, the human driven to improve by his memories of the neogi and his feelings of helplessness during the battle with Vandoorm. Gomja was pleased with the speed of Teldin’s training.
On the fourth day, Teldin could not help noticing a current of tension among the rest of the crew, particularly in the eyes of Luciar and Cwelanas. The human could see no obvious reason why anyone should be worried; things on board were otherwise no different than the day before, and he doubted there was any danger of depleting their provisions. Finally, while he was high above the deck, hanging in the yards and struggling with the brails, the small lines that lashed up the forecourse sail, Teldin looked back over his shoulder to see Cwelanas and Luciar in conference on the afterdeck.
Teldin clutched at the yard to keep from falling, then turned to Galwylin, who was beside him, providing the day’s lesson in the proper way to furl a sail. Galwylin was one of the few elves who seemed to have any patience with the yeoman’s clumsy landlubber ways. “Wise Galwylin,” Teldin asked while struggling to keep his balance over the yard, “what do you suppose they’re discussing?”
The weatherworn elf cast a casual glance aft. “Something has the captain worried, Bare Tree,” he laconically replied.
“But what?”
“He does not tell the rest of us. If it is important, he will tell us. If he does not, then it is not important. Trust him.” The elf gave a fatalistic shrug and returned to work.
Teldin shook his head. “I can’t. I nearly got killed once already, trusting someone I thought was a friend. I can’t afford the risk anymore.” He looked back to where Cwelanas and Luciar stood.
A tug at his arm reminded the human why he was hanging in space over the deck. “Then more is the pity for you, Bare Tree,” Galwylin said sadly. While Teldin struggled to keep his feet on the ropes, the elf continued the lesson.
When the work was finished, Teldin gratefully clambered down the shrouds. “Now’s the time,” he decided, intent not to let his trust be betrayed once more. With a resolute stride, he made his way aft to learn from Luciar just what was going on, only to have Cwelanas block his path at the afterdeck stair.
“Where are you going, human?” Her face was grim.
“I want to see Luciar,” Teldin replied with polite firmness. He carefully kept his distrust suppressed. “I want to know what’s going on."
Cwelanas didn’t move. “Captain Luciar has retired to his cabin. He does not want to see you and he has nothing to tell you. Go help Galwylin splice line-Bare Tree.” From her tips, his nickname sounded like an insult.
The farmer did not let her gibe get to him. “Captain Luciar can’t speak for himself? Let’s ask him and see what he says,” Teldin insisted. His gaze locked with Cwelanas’s. He suddenly felt the heart pain again, which Grandfather had described, from something deep in her eyes. Given her attitude toward him, the pain he felt only made Teldin more sarcastic.
“He will not see you,” she said more fiercely, though she was unable to take her gaze from him.
“Or is it that you don’t want me to see him? You’re afraid he might like me-a human,” Teldin blurted. “That would just ruin your day, wouldn’t it?” Even as he spoke, the farmer knew the words were a big mistake.
For a moment, Teldin thought Cwelanas was going to relent. Her hard gaze softened and her pale cheeks flushed with pink. Then, just as suddenly, her old temper returned. “Get back to work, human!” she spat, her finger pointing toward the rest of the crew. “Do as Galwylin tells you."
Teldin could feel his temper rising. Rather than push it over the limit, the yeoman bit his lip and strode back toward the bow. After a few long strides, he vented his rage in a low, fierce mumble. “Damned proud-”
“Human!” Cwelanas angrily called out. “Did you think I would not hear you?” She came down the stairs and walked up behind Teldin. The whole plan was turning into a disaster, but if Cwelanas was going to be so stiff-necked about it, Teldin was damned well not going to apologize to her. He clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from doing anything else stupid, then slowly ruined to face her.
Cwelanas continued her tirade. “Ever since you appeared at our ship, you have been nothing but trouble. When you could not buy your way on, you stole on board. Now, because of some moldering old laws, we’re forced to take you to Sancrist!” Cwelanas was shouting, her voice choked with rage. “You eat our food, you demand to see the captain, and now-now you suggest that I–I-Ohh! I will not be so insulted!” Her hand went to the sword at her side, and before Teldin could say a word in defense, the blade of her silvery cutlass flashed in the sunlight. She lunged blindly forward, but Teldin instinctively threw himself to the side.
“Now wait a-” Teldin tried to say, suddenly very aware that their argument had gotten out of control, but already Cwelanas had recovered and held her sword raised, intent on hewing him. Instead of backpedaling, Teldin remembered one of Gomja’s lessons-”Do the unexpected.”- and so dove forward beneath her arcing blade, trying to knock the elf off her feet. With her quick speed, it was futile; Cwelanas lightly sprang to the side at the last instant, Teldin’s fingers barely brushing her thigh. The cutlass swished through the air behind him, carving out a slice of air.