The ships twisted in the wind. They were blown north and then east. Nikandr could see crewmen standing on the deck, could see them in the rigging. Some of them saw him as well, for they waved back and seemed to then call toward the master to come to the gunwales.
Nikandr never found out if the master had heard, for just then, the Lihvyen, the closer of the two, twisted, nose down, until it was nearly standing on end. They had pulled in a good half of the sails, but the spars were beginning to snap. The rigging was ripped away from its belaying pins. White canvas flapped like burial pennants in the wind.
And then the Lihvyen shot down with such speed that Nikandr knew it was going to crash.
A pattering sound could be heard, coming from behind them. Nikandr glanced back and saw sheets of hail falling from the sky. It rushed toward them and fell upon them like wolves. It stung their face and hands and shoulders. It caused them to slip and fall, so thick was it in moments.
They continued on as they could.
The Lihvyen rushed toward the ground. Through the haze of hail, Nikandr could see men falling-or perhaps leaping-from the ship. Most flew wide, but several were caught in the whipping sails and rigging.
But then Nikandr saw a form flying free from the ship, not downward, but to one side. It was Jahalan. His robes whipped fiercely about his frame as the wind held him aloft. The alabaster gem glowed brightly upon his brow, much brighter than Nikandr had ever seen one become. He was like a bright star, his arms wide-taken, perhaps, by the havahezhan he’d bonded with.
“ Nyet, Jahalan.” It was too much, Nikandr knew. He was giving too much.
The wind changed. It became less chaotic, more focused on the Lihvyen. By the ancients who protect, the ship was slowing down.
But there was only so much Jahalan could do.
Nikandr wanted to add his own effort to Jahalan’s, but he still couldn’t feel his havahezhan.
In the sky, as the ship plummeted past Jahalan, he arched back as if he were offering all of himself to the hezhan if only it would save the ship.
The alabaster gem upon his brow burst in a spray of scintillating light as the Lihvyen crashed. The speed was not as great as it might have been, but still the forecastle crumbled beneath the weight of the ship’s impact, perhaps lessening the blow to those who remained. Snow and earth erupted as the bow gouged deeply. The stern tilted high and then tumbled over, snapping masts and rigging as it went.
Jahalan’s body plummeted and was lost among the rubble of the Lihvyen.
In the distance, dropping much faster than the Lihvyen had, the Opha struck the crest of the angled plain they stood upon. Nikandr knew immediately that everyone onboard had died.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
W hile Nikandr and his men searched through the wreckage of the Lihvyen, the hail continued to fall mercilessly. The sound of it was deafening, and for a time it grew so bad that all they could do was huddle beneath the wreckage of the ship as fist-sized hailstones broke and sprayed against the earth.
For nearly an hour it continued, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, but then at last the hail-if not the wind-subsided and they were able to search once more.
They found six men alive, though all had sustained terrible wounds, and most likely two of them would not last until morning.
As the others searched the surrounding land for bodies that had flown free of the ship, Nikandr climbed the Lihvyen’s deck, which was tilted at a sharp angle. As he came amidships, he heard moaning coming from the lower square sail of the starward mainmast. He slid down to it and hiked up to the Spar until he reached the source. After pulling the sails away, he found Anahid, unconscious. He called to her, but she would not wake, but thank the ancients she seemed to have sustained little damage. She must have been thrown into the sail as the ship crashed. Or it may have been Jahalan’s final act, protecting his cousin before he was consumed by the spirit of the wind.
Nikandr called men over to help him get her down. It was easy enough. They simply pulled the remains of the sail taut and allowed her to slip slowly down to the ground.
As Nikandr slid along the canvas himself, he saw something lying near the wreckage. He recognized Jahalan’s peg leg immediately, but the rest of him was lost beneath a section of the ship’s bulwark and hull that had broken away. As he pulled the wreckage away, his jaw tightened to the point of pain.
Jahalan lay there in the snow and the hail, broken and twisted. Just like the Lihvyen. Everyone would have died, Nikandr thought, had Jahalan not slowed its descent. Because of him, seven souls had been given a new chance at life.
“Goodbye, dear friend,” Nikandr whispered.
“My Lord Prince?”
Nikandr looked up. Styophan stood several paces away, staring down at Jahalan with a sadness that Nikandr wouldn’t have expected from him. He had never spoken with Jahalan with anything akin to friendship, but the ties of the crew-Landed and Landless alike-grew deep over time.
“What is it?” Nikandr asked.
“There are men coming.” He pointed eastward. “Men of Anuskaya.”
Nikandr stared eastward. The hail was beginning to abate, allowing him to see further down the gentle slope leading toward the sea. Two dozen men wearing not the uniforms of the streltsi, but the heavy, oiled coats of farmers and shepherds, were marching toward them. Many bore muskets, but some had only swords and axes to hand. Their muskets were held at the half-ready, and they were scanning the landscape as they came, as if they expected the forces of Yrstanla to leap from the boulders that dotted the landscape.
“Tell them what’s happened,” Nikandr said. “Have them help if they would, but otherwise let them stand aside while we finish.”
Styophan nodded, glancing down once at Jahalan before turning away and heading for the men.
Nikandr kneeled by Jahalan’s side, wondering if he’d already crossed over. He combed Jahalan’s wet hair from his forehead, brushed the dirt and grime and ice from Jahalan’s gaunt face, until at last he looked like the man Nikandr remembered.
Many things could have gone through Nikandr’s head-they should be going through his head, he thought-but he could think of nothing more than the time Jahalan had nearly died on the shores of Ghayavand. He’d been saved by the Gorovna’s windsmen that day, and whether it was borrowed time he’d been living on since or whether Nikandr should be furious that he hadn’t lived longer, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that his dear friend was gone, and that he would miss him.
After leaning down and kissing his forehead, Nikandr said, “Go well,” hoping dearly Jahalan could hear him.
The windows rattled as Nikandr entered the office of Dyanko Kantinov Vostroma. Sleet struck the diamond-paned glass so harshly that Nikandr wondered whether they were going to shatter from the force of it. As Nikandr took a seat before Dyanko’s desk, the wind died down, but it seemed only to be taking an inhalation in preparation for another onslaught. The wind had not let up since they’d left the wreckage of the ships and returned here to Skayil, Elykstava’s only sizable village.
Nikandr looked to the rook on the iron stand in the corner of the room. Telling was the fact that the rook had a golden band around its leg. A man like Dyanko-even though he was the Boyar of Elykstava and the Posadnik of Skayil-would not normally be afforded such an honor. The golden band marked it as one of Galostina’s, which meant that it had probably been sent when the hostilities with Yrstanla erupted, or perhaps when the first of the spires had been felled.
“What news from Galostina?” Nikandr asked as he accepted a healthy serving of vodka from Dyanko.
Though his round cheeks and that nose were already flushed from drink, Dyanko took a drink himself and poured another before sitting down and facing Nikandr. “The bird has not spoken since it arrived two days ago.” Dyanko squeezed his eyes shut tight and then reopened them, blinking several times before focusing on Nikandr once more. He looked as though he could slump forward onto his desk at any moment, snoring before his head hit the wide leather blotter.