"There!" Cale shouted above the storm, in his excitement using his voice rather than the mindlink.
"I see it," Jak hollered in answer. The little man slipped and nearly fell as Demon Binder slid down a trough. The slaadi's ship was lost to their sight.
Did you see it? Cale asked Magadon. We are closing.
I saw it, Magadon answered. So did Evrel. He's concerned for the ship, Erevis. And his crew.
Cale knew. He was concerned for them too.
Above them, the billowing square sails strained to contain the fierce wind without shredding. Rigging frayed. The masts creaked, bending under the force of the wind. Thunder rolled. Cale did not know how much more the ship or its crew could endure.
Below them, the water elementals Jak had summoned pulled Demon Binder through the churning sea, keeping her prow square to the waves. Watery appendages stuck out of the rolling sea to clutch the hull. Cale caught snippets of their rushing voices above the storm. They, too, must have been shouting to one another.
Tell him to hold on, Mags, Cale projected. We're getting close. We'll have them soon.
Before Magadon could reply, Cale felt a pressure in his temples, an itching under his skull. He looked to Jak, whose expression told him that he was feeling much the same thing. At first Cale thought it was a side effect of the storm, but the pressure intensified, as did the itching. Both grew painful. Cale squinted, clutched his brow.
"You feel that?" he shouted to Jak.
Jak nodded, holding two fingers to his temple and wincing with pain.
Mags? Cale asked. Do you-
I feel it, Erevis, Magadon answered, and Cale heard the strain in his mental voice. More intensely than you, I think. The whole crew feels it. I can see it in their faces.
What is it? Cale asked, and felt the connection between him and Magadon waver.
I.. not know, Magadon answered, his reply partially cut off. Not an attack. .
The pressure grew worse as they moved deeper into the storm. Cale's eyes ached. His head throbbed. He felt as though his eyes soon would pop. He looked back and saw that many members of the crew were balled up on the deck, writhing.
A wave of dizziness hit Cale and nearly sent him over the side but he managed to get both hands on the rail and his feet stable beneath him. He reached out and took a fistful of Jak's cloak to ensure his friend did not tumble into the water.
"What is this?" Jak screamed. He pulled at his hair.
Cale would have ordered Evrel to turn back if it were possible, but he knew it was not. Any change in course risked swamping the ship.
The pressure grew worse, caused his senses to deceive him. He imagined that he saw flashes of color dancing across the waves-not the green of the slaadi's ship, but will o'wisps of red and blue, flames of violet and orange, a sunset, a moonrise. Too, he thought he heard music and mumbling voices behind the roar of the storm. A huge shadow formed above him, a floating city. He cowered, then it was gone. He tasted ale in his mouth, beef, anise, onion.
Beside him, Jak shouted in a slurred voice, "What in the Nine Hells isth happening? I'm stheeing things. Hearing voices in the wind."
Cale could only shake his head and answer, "As am I. Hang on to the rail and do not let go, no matter what."
He was conscious of shadows gathering protectively around him.
Cale projected to Magadon, but the mindlink flickered in and out.
What is hap … Mags? Is there.. you can do?
For a time, Magadon did not answer and Cale feared for his safety. He looked back but could see nothing through the storm and pain.
Wait, Magadon said, and Cale heard wonder in his tone. Wait. …
Without warning the pressure in Cale's head decreased, then ceased altogether. Cale gasped, sagged. Jak did the same. Cale's senses returned to normal. The storm still raged around them but Cale felt a peculiar, inexplicable calm.
Magadon's mental voice sounded in Cale's and Jak's minds, and the connection was clear, powerful.
There is a presence here, Erevis. An ancient presence.
Dolphin's Coffer rose and fell in the swells like so much flotsam. Lightning split the sky. Thunder rolled. Rain poured down, thumped hard against Azriim's adopted flesh. Above him, the sails billowed outward in the breeze, straining the masts.
Azriim, Dolgan, and Riven stood on the maindeck near Captain Sertan, just in front of the helmsman's station. Lifelines were strung across the deck to form a web of rope over the entire ship. The crew clutched the lines tightly as they moved. Azriim and Dolgan, too, kept their grip on a line. Only Riven and the captain seemed able to hold their balance unassisted on the listing ship and slippery deck.
"Keep us square to the wind, Nimil!" Sertan shouted to his helmsman.
Veins stood out on Nimil's temples, his forearms. He held the tiller so tightly that Azriim figured he had left an imprint of his hands in the wood.
"Aye, Captain," grunted Nimil, his thin hair pasted by rain against his head. "This gets much worse, we'll lose the rudder."
"She'll hold," Sertan answered. He stared out at the storm and the sea, evaluated his sails and masts, eyed his crew.
"Sharp about your business, lads!" he shouted to every crewman within earshot. "Sharp about your business and the Coffer will carry us through. This blow cannot last much longer."
Sertan looked at Azriim, squinted through the rain. "If we get sideways to this, Umberlee will claim us all this day. How close are we?"
Azriim clutched the Sojourner's compass in his hand. He had taken it from the table beside Nimil the moment the storm had hit. He did his best to hold it flat in his palm and examine the needle. The movement of the ship made it difficult. Finally, he took a satisfactory reading: the needle in the center of the sphere pointed westward and slightly downward.
"Very close!" Azriim shouted, and added for effect, "Hang on, my friend."
The enspelled Sertan put a comradely hand on Azriim's shoulder and grinned.
"We will make it!" Sertan said. "And the first round of drinks is on your coin!"
Azriim only smiled in answer.
Not more than a quarter hour, Azriim projected to Riven and Dolgan, as the Coffer rose up another swell, then plummeted back down. Then-
He cocked his head, sensing mental contact. At first he thought it might have been the Sojourner, but realized quickly that the sensation was too severe for his father. He looked at Dolgan and saw that the big slaad was wincing.
Do you feel that? asked his broodmate.
Azriim nodded. Riven and the rest of the crew looked around, rubbed their temples. The pain intensified until slaadi and men clutched their heads in pain. Two seamen lost their grip on the lifelines and went over the side. The storm's wail swallowed their shouts. No one else witnessed their fate and Azriim did not care.
What is this? Riven projected, his mental voice tight. He had a hand on his blade and the other on his brow.
"What sorcery is this?" shouted Sertan, holding his massive head in his hands.
Azriim was not certain. The mental contact was incredibly powerful but also primitive, as though born of a consciousness only half-formed. He had never encountered anything like it before.
He tried to answer the contact with an innocuous mental touch but felt no connection. The mental abilities with which the Sojourner had gifted Azriim and Dolgan were quite limited and the consciousness did not seem to sense him….
Azriim looked at his compass, at the sea, and a realization hit him. It was the only explanation for this strange mental contact. No wonder the Sojourner had been unable to scry Sakkors.
The mantle was sentient, or nearly so.
We are closer than I realized, he projected to Dolgan and Riven, and smiled through his discomfort.