Then a wave rose opposite the wall, as tall as the mast of a ship. Incredibly enough, it remained that tall for longer than any natural wave could-until it broke on the wind and the wall. Where there had been foam before, now there was a caldron of white, leaping so high that the wall sometimes disappeared.
Wind and water fought each other. Gusts and waves spread out in all directions from the battlefield, like ripples on a pond.
But these were not ripples. Gullwing heeled under the combined force of wind and wave, until water slapped at its leeward railing. The aftersail blew off its yard like a kerchief snatched from a child’s head. Most of it flew away on the blast, flapping like a dragon’s wings; a few forlorn rags remained standing out from the yard.
Darin did not need to order the foreyard down; men were already cutting its ropes with axes and knives. The broken rope ends lashed about, knocking men into the scuppers, and the yard itself came down with a crash that drowned out the storm.
But Gullwing now rode under bare poles, and men were already dashing below to close the oarports. Lightened both below and aloft, the ship had at least more than a prayer of staying afloat. If the wave storm and the wind-wall storm balanced each other long enough, it might even make enough headway to learn if the newcomers were Jemar or someone else, friend or foe.
* * * * *
Pirvan and Haimya had risen early and ridden out with a small escort, to scout possible landing places outside the cove, for friend or enemy. The cove’s entrance was narrow, for all that this made for a sheltered, deep anchorage inside and easy defense.
Enemies would need to land somewhere else; friends might wish to. Hence the scouting.
Pirvan did much of the actual climbing, though Haimya scrambled up and down many of the steeper slopes along with him. She was less agile, and certainly kept her eyes fixed firmly on the sky, but in a few more years she would be able to climb wherever she needed to.
Sirbones had offered a spell to remove the fear of heights from her mind; Haimya had refused it so fiercely that it took a while to soothe the priest of Mishakal back into an equable temper.
It was Haimya, with her eyes on the sky, who first saw the motion in the clouds. “Pirvan!” she called. “We’d best ride for home. That storm’s breaking!”
Pirvan looked up. It seemed that an immense whirlpool had opened in the sky, with the clouds swirling into concentric circles. If they were moving, it was too slowly for the eye to catch; it was as if the whole sky had been conjured into this shape in a moment.
A storm was indeed breaking, but Pirvan’s instincts told him that it was no natural storm.
“Hulloooo!” one of the horse-holders up the slope shouted. “Someone says there’s a waterspout out to sea, the biggest he’s ever seen! Can’t see it from down there, but up on the cliffs you can see everything. They say there’s ships out to sea, two or three squadrons of them right to each side of the waterspout, too.”
To Pirvan, that settled the question of the storm’s causes. He could only wait and pray, to see its consequences.
A wave higher than usual broke over the rocks only a man’s height below Pirvan. A second wave followed it, at an impossibly short interval. This one was solid green water.
It rose like the river’s flood, and if Pirvan had not leaped for the next higher rock, it would have risen as high as his knees, perhaps pulling him off in the backwash. But Pirvan leaped, then leaped again, then Haimya was pulling him up past the last bad ground, squeezing his hand, and kissing his cheek where he’d grazed it bloody on one leap.
“Send messengers!” he shouted to the horse-holders. “Everybody is to stay a good height above the water.”
“How good?”
“If you’re washed away, you know it’s not good enough.”
The horse-holders laughed as if Pirvan had made a fine jest. He did not feel in the least amused; magic unleashed did not always stop where the magic-workers intended it to-and in this battle, one side might not intend to stop at all.
* * * * *
Windsword took several large waves as gracefully as it usually did. Jemar had just begun to let pride in his favorite ship overcome his doubts about the unleashed magic when two waves struck together.
They were the vanguard of two chains of waves, which chose to collide exactly at Windsword. Jemar had heard of such wave chains and how they could produce monster waves by their collision. He had never seen one. Still less had he expected to ever be in the middle of the collision.
Windsword did not heel. There was too much water pouring onto the ship’s deck from both sides. It merely sank lower, then lower still, until the entire main deck was awash. The railings dipped under, boats and deck gear began breaking loose, stays flew free, and the foremast swayed and crashed over the side.
Jemar was too busy clinging to anything that offered a handhold and thanking the gods that Eskaia was below, to think about his ship for a moment. Then he knew that he’d have to get men forward to cut away the foremast, take in sail on the other masts, do what he could for the injured-
The waves rolled on away toward the horizon, the water drained from Windsword’s deck, and like a pig rising from its wallow, it lifted.
As it did so, the last ropes holding the broken foremast snapped. Instead of remaining to batter at Windsword’s bow, the foremast went sailing off on a voyage of its own.
Jemar fought a ludicrous urge to wave farewell to it.
Instead he looked down. The decks looked as if they had been ravaged by drunken minotaurs with axes, with wreckage everywhere and more than a few men sprawled flat. But most of them were moving, some cursing lustily, and the two who did not move had shipmates helping them.
His own ship was afloat, for now, and its crew needed no help from him in rigging it for foul weather, magical or otherwise. Jemar turned his own eyes outward, to look first for Gullwing, then the rest of his ships.
He had to count twice before he could begin to believe that every ship-his ten and Gullwing-was afloat. Some of them looked as if they’d met gale-force gusts or deck-swamping waves, too, but so far he had no lost ships to mourn.
Also, he had lost none of the strength he would need to remove Waydol and his band from that stronghold behind the beacons.
Just to be sure that his wishes were not deceiving his eyes, Jemar started a third count. He was halfway through it when a sailor popped up the ladder.
“Captain! You’re needed below! Your lady’s hurt!”
* * * * *
Waydol was trying to meditate when Birak Epron ran in so suddenly that the Minotaur had snatched a katar from a side table before he recognized his visitor.
“If you wish to tell me of the magic storm at sea, that is stale news,” Waydol said, mustering as much patience as he could.
“This is more. We have sighted the main body of the town levies. Two thousand at least, with half that many soldiers of Istar with them.”
“How close?”
“Their vanguard is already past the place of your trial.”
“Honor lingers there. May they hear its voice,” Waydol said, in a voice that made Epron flinch. “Is there other word from the sea?”
“Istarian ships in two squadrons. One close to shore, likely carrying a landing party for when the sea goes down. The other is on the far side of the storm from Jemar’s squadron.”
“That is certain? Jemar has come?”
“He has come as far as he can while the wizards conjure up this ravening sea!” Epron snapped.
Meditation at this time would not only be dishonorable, it was becoming impossible as well. Waydol rose and began opening his weapons chests.
At least he would not have to wait on wizards to finish their games before he found enemies within striking distance.