Had it been just any three Qirsi, he would have refused their gold and left them at the dock in Rennach, where they first sought passage on his ship. Three grown Qirsi were more trouble than any gold could cover. But these three weren't grown, leastaways not all of them. This was a family. A man, broader and taller than any Qirsi he'd met before, a woman as pretty as her man was formidable, and a babe who couldn't have been more than six or seven turns old.
Even so, he still might have refused. But there was talk trailing these three, rumor that gave Rois pause and that eventually convinced him to take their gold and allow them aboard his ship. Usually he didn't credit whispers of this sort. The rumors of ignorant men were worth about as much as weather predictions from a land-bound fool. But these rumors came from guards at the Rennach port, and they echoed things he'd heard in Eardley and Thorald as well. A tall Qirsi, his shoulder slightly malformed, traveling with a beautiful woman who bore his child; that's how they described him.
As to what this man had done, well, that was a bit more difficult to figure. Some said he'd killed the renegade Weaver with his bare hands. Others said he'd bested him with magic, proving that he was a Weaver as well. Still others claimed that he'd been in league with the renegades himself, but had turned on them at the last, just like Carthach, the Qirsi traitor whose betrayal thwarted the first Qirsi invaders, who had come to the Forelands from the Southlands nine hundred years before. Rois wasn't sure what he believed, but he felt reasonably certain that the man was no traitor. He'd seen his share of liars, cheats, and scoundrels in his time, and all of them had a shifty look to them, something in their face or bearing or manner that made him uneasy. However imposing this Qirsi man might have been, he had an open face, and pale yellow eyes that didn't shy from a direct gaze.
For a time, when he first saw this couple and their child, Rois did think the man a brute, and the worst kind. The woman's face, pretty as it was, bore subtle scars, pale thin traces of a razor's blade or a finely honed dagger. In his day, the merchant had seen men brutalize in the most evil ways the women they professed to love, and he assumed that this white- hair was no different. It didn't take long, however, before he realized his mistake. These two never strayed far from one another, and the man doted on her constantly, attending to her as if intent on never letting a moment of pain or fear intrude upon her happiness. And it was no act. Some loves could be feigned; Rois had seen it done. This was the genuine article.
A story followed the woman as well, one that reached the captain's ears after he had first started forming an opinion of this odd pair. She had once been a servant of the evil Weaver and in betraying him had incurred his wrath. It was he, and not the man she so clearly loved, who had given her those scars, despite the fact that she was sheltered at the time by the king of Eibithar himself. That much Rois could believe, and it began to make some sense, not only of what he saw between these two, but also of why they would seek to leave the Forelands for the South- lands. For while he conducted a good deal of trade in both lands, he rarely carried passengers between them.
In every way then, it was unusual for there to be Qirsi of any kind on the Fortune Seeker. It seemed that Rois carried the gods as familiars on his shoulder, the way some captains carried birds or other creatures they found in their travels. Because had it not been for the Qirsi man standing now in the middle of his ship, Rois, his vessel, and his crew would have been lost hours ago.
Clouds had hung low and menacing over the jagged white peaks of the Border Range for the better part of a day, but such was the weather in the highlands, and Rois thought nothing of it as he steered his ship parallel to the coast. But with this day's dawn had come the urgent ringing of the watchman's bell, and shouted warnings from the night crew. The captain could feel that the waters had grown rough, and even before emerging onto the deck from his cabin, he knew that a storm was almost upon them.
Stepping out into a stiff wind and steady rainfall, he saw that it was even closer than he had feared, and that it looked to be a beast of a storm, summoned, it seemed, by Morna herself. The sky was a deep angry purple; the water around them looked as cold and hard as steel. Within moments, a gale began to howl in the sails, nearly tipping the Fortune Seeker onto her leeward side. Swells pitched the vessel to and fro as if she were but a toy, and broke over the sides of the ship, dousing the deck and making the crew's work that much more treacherous. Rois shouted for his men to lower the sails and go to sweeps, but he could hear the hull and deck groaning like wraiths, and he knew that they couldn't possibly carry out his orders quickly enough to save the ship.
It was then that he heard the voice at his back, as even and calm as the sea was rough.
"Can I be of assistance, Captain?"
Turning, Rois saw that the white-hair stood just behind him, with his feet spread wide to keep his balance. He hadn't said more than good morning to the man since he first boarded the ship. At that moment he couldn't have recalled his name for all the gold in Tordjanne. More than once he'd regretted taking him and his family on board in the first place. Whatever the Qirsi might have done for the courts in battling that other Weaver, he was still a sorcerer.
Now, though…
"Can you tame a wind?"
"I can raise a wind against it. The effect will be much the same." "Quickly then, man! Before she's torn to pieces!"
The Qirsi stepped past him and closed his eyes, rain running down his face like tears. Almost instantly, Rois felt a wind rise out of the west, an answer to that fierce gale raging across the churning waters. The force of the storm blunted for the moment, the ship righted itself, and several of the crew scrambled up the masts and started lowering the sails.
"I'm grateful t' ye," the captain said, stepping forward to stand beside the man.
The white-hair still had his eyes closed, but he smiled and nodded. "My pleasure. It was getting a bit rough below."
"No doubt. How long can ye hold this wind?"
"That depends on the storm. If it strengthens further, probably not very long. I'd suggest you get your men on their oars and steer us clear."
Rois nodded. He might not have liked Qirsi, but this man at least spoke plainly.
His was a seasoned crew, and they soon had the sweeps out and were rowing toward shore. This took them into the teeth of the storm, at least for a short while, but with the darkest clouds almost upon them, it made no sense to race this monster farther out to sea. Best to steer them to waters that had already seen the worst of the storm. The seas were high, and it was slow going, but the Qirsi held to his wind. Rois no longer feared for his ship. Those men who remained on deck stared at the Qirsi as they stepped past him, but they said nothing to him, and the captain made certain that they didn't disturb the man in any way.
For nearly an hour now, they had been on sweeps, and at last it seemed that the storm was passing. The waters ahead appeared calmer, and just above the line of shore in front of them, Rois could see faint hints of blue sky in among the clouds. He descended the steps from his wheel and walked to the Qirsi. The man looked terribly pale, and he seemed to be trembling, as if chilled to the bone.
"I think ye can stop now," Rois said.
The white-hair opened his eyes and staggered. He would have fallen had the captain not put a steadying arm around him.
"Thank you, Captain," he said hoarsely.
Rois helped him to a barrel, holding on to him until the man was seated.
"Can I get ye somethin'?" the captain asked. "Water? Somethin' stronger?"
The Qirsi shook his head and glanced up at the sky.
"Aye, it's passing. Ye saved us all, and th' ship." He nodded once. "Again, ye have my thanks."