“The storm moves east with us. The two ships with the mages remain in the same relative places.”
“Meaning them, and the storm is playing a game of Can’t Cross the Bridge with us.”
“Yes. Just like that. The mages match our moves, so they can tell where the ship is at. Or one of the wyvern overhead is telling them, I think. There has been one circling all morning.” She pounded a fist into her palm with a smack of sound.
I hesitated to mention my thoughts but holding back possibilities was not for us. Too dangerous. “It might not be you they sense.”
She squinted like just before blasting me when I said something stupid. Then, she relaxed as the thought took hold. “Okay . . . it might be you they are tracking, in which case it might as well be me. But it could be someone else. Not Flier or one of the crew, I’d guess. But a passenger?”
“Not Princess Elizabeth, I added. But someone traveling with her? We know some mages communicate over distances.”
Kendra said, “True. Or they are following her and reporting, but I sense no mage on our ship.”
“Can you sense where I am?” the question came naturally, and it was one we hadn’t discussed, even as it was so obvious.
“No.”
“It could be another passenger, but I doubt it. It is you, me, or someone in Elizabeth’s company. I think we can rule out the rest.” I glanced at Flier and found him awake and confused at our conversation. From the corner of my eye, the chamber pot and a fresh pitcher of water sat beside Kendra’s feet.
He said, “Sorry. You’re discussing private subjects. I should leave.”
Kendra said, “It concerns you, too. Just understand that you can never talk about what we say.”
Flier said, “You rescued me from the life of a beggar. Had an arrow pulled from my knee. Gave me back my walk and are returning me home, and all you ask in return is silence? I can never repay the two of you.”
She didn’t back down. “We appreciate all that, but you have to understand there is danger in what we are doing. Great danger, to us and anyone with us. We have placed you in danger, too.”
“You work for Princess Elizabeth of Dire?” he asked.
“No,” Kendra said, then relented. “Well, yes, technically we do. But we are also friends and more.”
He nodded. There was no trace of a smile on his face as he peered into her eyes. His voice grew soft and intense. “Your friends are mine. My fist is yours.”
“Your sword is mine,” Kendra completed the old oath. They were simple words every child seemed to know, but few said aloud. Legend made the words of the oath ring with solemnity and meaning. The old ways said the two of them were now closer than family. They were sworn to each other. Forever. They would give their lives to protect the other.
How and why Kendra had taken the oath on the spur of the moment surprised me as much as if she had pulled a rotten peach from her pocket and smashed it in my face. She was not the sort of doing either lightly, nor without consideration. It was a lifelong commitment with Flier.
How and why she placed such trust in a beggar we barely knew was beyond the scope of my understanding. However, I had known her my entire life and trusted her decisions more than my own. She wouldn’t have taken that oath ten or twenty days ago. However, she was a different woman back then, one without powers yet to be revealed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
K endra flashed a weak smile in my direction as if she suddenly understood the magnitude of the oath she’d taken with the cripple. It was something of an apology and a commitment at the same time. It appeared Flier had taken the oath just as seriously. I felt left out in the cold on a dark winter’s night.
Kendra abruptly said, “I should get back to care for the girls.”
“What about the mages blocking the Gallant with their storm?” My question was spontaneous and assumed facts we didn’t know for sure.
She shrugged. “We really don’t know how far they will go to stop us, or if they are trying to only stop you and me, but we also don’t know who else on this ship they might be trying to prevent from reaching Dagger. This may be about stopping Elizabeth and her secret mission. Let’s sleep on it. The captain will let us know our options, tomorrow.”
After she departed, I climbed down and mixed the sleeping powder while avoiding Flier’s eyes. He said, “Forgive me. My knowledge is slight in your travels and objectives, but there is an observation to share. If the rulers of Dagger are so intent on keeping someone on this ship from reaching there, they must consider that person extremely dangerous.”
“No matter who it is.” My flat agreement ended our conversation, for now. His observation made sense. If they were willing to sink our ship, everyone on board would swim. For a while. Then die.
Flier accepted the sleeping powder gratefully. I could see how rigidly he held his face, trying to fight the remaining pain in his knee. My admiration for him grew.
As soon as he slept, I replaced the pitcher in the recess designed to keep it from spilling. The chamber pot went back into its small area, where it was blocked from sliding across the floor in any direction with the ‘normal’ shifting of the ship, in ‘normal’ storms. Then, I left the cabin. The salon was my natural goal. There I would find conversational tongues loosened by wine, passengers with pent-up anxieties and cabin-fever, rumors, lies, and perhaps a small amount of truth if I listened carefully.
“Damon,” a talkative little man who was chubby and whose face tended to get very red when he consumed wine or ale—which he did at every opportunity. He viewed himself as tall, thin, and attractive, in my opinion, a common instance in those men short, heavy, or both.
For all his faults, I liked him, and he talked incessantly about everything with only the slightest provocation. He knew all the dirt on the ship. Leading him into the conversational direction I wished, I asked in a friendly voice, “How are you doing after the storm?”
He leaned closer, but his voice remained too loud. “Be doing better if we were sailing south to Vin and Dagger instead of east, know what I mean?”
“I heard we are sailing east to try and get around that terrible storm.”
“If we’d have pushed ahead instead of turning and running, we’d be through it and heading into the port of Vin by now. I fear our captain is a bit of a coward.”
His attitude offended me on many levels. My impression was the captain realized we were not making headway, to choose a new option, one that considered the welfare of his passengers. My trust was that the Gallant was a well-built ship, but no ship can withstand the pounding of endless storms. It would take a single hull plank with a flaw or insect damage to weaken it, just one, to send the ship to the bottom. In calm waters, it might never rupture, and if it did, the repairs would be easy and swift. In a raging storm, the danger increased by several magnitudes.
I said, “Better to be safe than sink our ship—especially with me aboard.
He laughed and agreed. A seat at the gaming table opened up, and I offered it to my seatmate, but when he refused, I took it. There were five of us, all but one known to me. After a brief introduction, the blocks were sorted, passed to each of us, and serious play began.
The new player, a middle-aged man called Tome, a resident of Kondor, bid high. Higher than any wager I’d seen since sailing. Three of us instantly folded, but one of the regulars matched the bet. The next tile dealt resulted in the same. The eyes of the regular player gave his intentions away. He didn’t wish to meet the bet, it was beyond his means and far beyond the bounds of a friendly game, but he did. He slid the required amount to the center of the table. His eyes narrowed, he nervously bit his lower lip.