Storms of Destiny (50 page)

The Pride of Pela
lurched, and, groaning, Talis let herself slip down until she was seated on the deck, bracing her back against the railing.
This is so humiliating!

“Talis?”

Hearing the soft, reedy voice, she managed to open her swollen eyes a slit, and saw Khith bending over her. “Please, Doctor, I’m not well. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“So I see,” the Hthras said. “If you will but place this lozenge under your tongue and let it dissolve, I believe you will be much improved.”

Talis gave the little physician a dubious glance, but slipped the large bolus beneath her tongue. Khith placed its hand on her forehead. “Relax,” it told her. “Relax …”

The Hthras began to chant softly, so softly that even Talis had difficulty hearing over the creak of the ropes and the shouts of the crew. Not that it would have made any difference, for the language was one she’d never heard before.

She sighed, tasting the sharp, astringent taste of the lozenge as it dissolved. Her stomach spasms lessened, then stopped.

When Khith’s chanting ended some minutes later, Talis dared to open her eyes. The ship was still rolling, but the terrible vertigo and nausea had stopped. Talis glanced up at the Hthras gratefully. “Thank you, Doctor. You are a wonderful healer.”

The corners of the Hthras’s mouth turned up, ever so slightly. “You are very welcome, Talis. It would not do to have Prince Eregard’s bodyguard incapacitated, would it?

Now rest, and then get something to eat.”

“Will the seasickness return?”

“No. I have made an adjustment. It will not return.”

Wondering what an “adjustment” was, Talis nodded and stood up. The fresh ocean breeze was invigorating, and the Narrow Sea sparkled blue beneath a nearly cloudless sky. A gust of wind tautened the sails, and the deck tilted. Talis braced her legs, but her stomach stayed steady. She took a long, deep breath and grinned with profound relief. “Thank you, Doctor!”

The Hthras did not smile as humans did, but the corners of the creature’s mouth quirked and the eyes narrowed slightly. “You are most welcome, Mistress Talis. It would not do for our royal companion to have to go without one of his bodyguards.”

Talis nodded. “No, it wouldn’t. I’ll go and take over for Jezzil.”

“First, have a moment to enjoy the sea air,” Khith suggested. “My pupil will not mind.”

Talis began walking along the rail, feeling the ocean roll beneath the ship’s keel as they surged through the water under full sail. It was exhilarating now, like riding a horse at a fast canter. “Oh, yes,” she said to Khith, who was keeping pace with her. The movements of the ship didn’t seem to disconcert the physician at all. “Jezzil is learning magic from you, right?”

“That is correct.”

“He really can do spells and that kind of thing?”

Khith nodded. “He really can.”

Talis stopped when she reached the more open deck up toward the bow, watching the sailors as they performed their assigned tasks. One was swabbing the deck, another splicing rope, and still another scuttled up and down one of the masts, making minute adjustments to the billowing white canvas. Khith watched them, too. “A fine day at sea,” it said.

She shaded her eyes with her hand, gazing out across the expanse of water. “Wait a minute, is that land? We can’t have reached Pela yet! Or is it one of the smaller islands? I thought they lay farther south.”

Khith’s gaze followed her pointing finger. “That darkish line on the horizon? No, that isn’t land, child, it is one of the floating seaweed beds. Some are almost as large as small islands.”

“I’ve heard of them. Some of the sailors told me about how they can get so thick farther south, they have to burn them to open up channels to reach inland harbors.”

“They provide a valuable resource for the coastal farmers.

Some of them harvest the weed tips that grow above the beds, then dry it to feed livestock. A sort of sea hay, one might call it. Farmers tell me cattle thrive on it,” Khith told her. “My people trade for it, and it is considered a delicacy. I’ve also heard the seaweed is used in some classic Pelanese dishes.”

“How do they harvest the weed?” Talis wondered.

“The weed grows in mats that will support human weight, at least to some extent. Women and boys harvest it using a special type of scythe. After it is cut and dried, they bag it up for shipment.”

Talis turned to the physician wonderingly. “How do you know so much about human society, Doctor?”

“When I was a youngling, I traveled with my father, who was one of the few Hthras traders who went on regular voyages to human lands. I have visited the Meptalith Islands, Pela, and many ports in Kata. I … enjoy human society—”

The physician broke off abruptly.

“You enjoy human society?” Talis repeated, making it a question. When Khith did not answer, she prompted, “Is that unusual?”

“Yes. My people are insular. Most of them look down on humans.”

“But you like us? That’s fortunate for us,” Talis said with a smile. Putting out a hand, she touched the doctor’s furred forearm. “And bless you for all you’ve done to help us. Without you, Jezzil would have died. Don’t think we don’t realize that.”

“Do not credit me with too much altruism, Mistress Talis,” Khith said. “From the moment I encountered him, I could not allow Jezzil to die—and that was for my own self-ish purposes. I realized immediately that he was very special, that his abilities, if trained properly, might one day exceed my own.”

The Hthras stared off into the distance, across the deep green of the ocean.

“Really? I knew Jezzil was an expert warrior, but I never dreamed …” She shrugged.

“Oh, yes,” Khith replied. “If he is properly trained, I believe Jezzil could someday become a very powerful Adept.

And it is the duty of an ethical mage to encourage and nur-ture a talented pupil. My people call the ability to control and use what you would term ‘magic’ avundi. The possession of avundi carries a heavy price for those who are not properly trained to harness and employ it.”

“I understand better now why you didn’t want to be separated from Jezzil,” Talis said. “And, Doctor, you’ve certainly been useful on this passage. I can swear to that!”

The little healer’s mouth quirked in what Talis now recognized was its version of a smile. “Thank you, Mistress Talis.

If only all ills of this world were as easy to cure as a case of seasickness.”

* * *

The fair weather continued, and
The Pride of Pela
made good time toward Minoma harbor. Having demonstrated Falar’s obedience, Jezzil was permitted to lead her around the deck for a little exercise. The captain had originally wanted to stable her down in the hold, where they carried a cargo of cattle, but extra coins had convinced him to construct a makeshift stall amidships, on deck, beneath a hastily erected awning.

Jezzil found his days full. In addition to caring for Falar, he gave Eregard lessons in beginning swordsmanship, and practiced each day with Talis, who was becoming quite proficient. He also continued her lessons in unarmed combat and knife-fighting.

Most taxing of all, however, were his sessions with Khith.

The Hthras was teaching him to conjure fire, and that was no small undertaking.

Now that he could “touch” the place in his mind that was the center of his avundi, he realized that he could affect the air enough to move objects … small ones, to be sure, but Khith assured him his mastery would grow with time and experience. But creating fire involved changing the air itself, causing its nature to alter, to
accelerate
what Master Khith referred to as its “elementals.” The theory behind the entire concept was more than Jezzil could comprehend, but he was beginning to learn how the feat was accomplished.

Their sixth day out, sweat pouring down his face, he caused a candle wick to smolder for a few seconds. The next day the wick ignited and burned steadily. Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Jezzil slumped over, exhausted but exhilarated. Khith reached over and grasped his hand, raising it in a gesture of victory.

“You make your teacher proud, Jezzil,” the Hthras said solemnly. “You have accomplished in little more than a week what it took me more than a fortnight to learn.”

Jezzil smiled. “I suspect I have a better teacher than you did, Master Khith.”

“Nonsense,” Khith replied, but Jezzil could tell the Hthras was pleased. The bond between them had grown, so that Jezzil thought of the doctor as his new Amato, his leader, his battle comrade. There was no higher honor recognized among his people. He cared more for the Hthras, he realized, than he had even for Barus.

As they neared the coast of Pela, he learned to summon light without heat, a feat Khith referred to as “coruscation.”

Just one day out from Ninoma Harbor, they entered a dense fog bank. The captain reduced sail, then reduced it more, until the ship was barely moving. “Shoal water ahead,” Eregard said. “Many captains would have to heave-to and wait it out. It’s a good thing our navigator is Meptalith. They have their own methods of navigation. With them it’s an art, or perhaps some type of magic. They keep their secrets closely guarded.”

Jezzil stood with him at the bow-rail. “I’ve never seen such a dense fog.”

“I have,” the Prince said. “Pelanese fogs are legendary, and this one is a fine example. It’s so thick you can’t see from one end of this ship to another.”

Something large bumped gently against the bow, then slithered away to become part of their wake. Jezzil caught only a glimpse of a dark mass, so thick was the mist. “Was that a sea creature?”

“No, one of the seaweed mats,” Eregard told him. “We’ve gone a bit north of what should be our course, to make sure we stay far away from any shoal water.”

“Will this fog delay our arrival in Minoma?”

“Probably, unless we pick up a very good wind tomorrow.

Assuming the fog is gone when we wake up.”

“Is that likely?”

Eregard chuckled. “There’s an old Pelanese saying: if you don’t like the weather in Minoma, just wait. It will change.”

Jezzil laughed. “We have the same saying in my homeland.”

“I suspect everyone does,” Eregard said. “Jezzil …” He hesitated.

“What is it, Eregard?” He looked at his companion, then

smiled wryly. “Or should I get used to saying ‘Your Highness’?”

The Prince made a dismissive gesture. “Certainly not when we’re alone. I wanted to ask you, that is, make sure …”

“What?”

“Well, Thia. You two are friends, right? Just friends.”

Jezzil stood there, taken aback, unable to think of a reply.

Eregard seemed to take his silence as confirmation, for after a moment he nodded. “That’s what I thought. Like brother and sister, or a priest and priestess. Which is, from what I understand, what you both are.”

Jezzil shook his head. “I used to be what you might call a priest, but no more. I broke my vows.”

Eregard raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Tempted by a woman?”

Jezzil turned back to the rail, stood looking out into the smothering grayness. “Not exactly. It’s a long story.”

“Well, if you ever decide to tell it, I’d like to hear,” the Prince said.

Jezzil cleared his throat, spat over the railing. “Why did you ask about my relationship with Thia?”
What
is
my relationship with Thia? That night at the tavern, I felt so strange.

It was more than simple—
He groped for a word, finally settled on one the priests had used incessantly to warn them about the dangers of women: lust.
Or was it? Could it have
been the wine?
He shook his head. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so confused.

“When I reach Pela, I’ll be expected to take back up where I left off. All those powdered, perfumed court ladies, all the dalliances, and the backstairs gossip about who’s cheating with whom … it’s all so tawdry.” Eregard turned, and leaning against the rail, regarded the Chonao. “I must have changed, Jezzil, because I can’t stand the thought of all those nobles throwing their daughters at me. It would be good if I arrived home with an affianced bride.”

Jezzil stared at him, incredulous. “You—You can’t mean Thia?” he managed finally.

“Why not?” Eregard asked. “It seems to me she’d make a fine Princess of Pela. She’s educated, scholarly, a lady with good manners and delicate sensibilities. Why not Thia?”

“She’s not wise in the ways of the world,” Jezzil said after a long moment. “She grew up in a cloister.”

“I know that. So did my brother’s wife. Princess Ulandra.

That was no bar to her marrying him.” Eregard fell silent.

Jezzil studied him, thinking that there was obviously more to the story than that, but the Prince volunteered nothing more.

“Thia is very shy,” Jezzil said. “She’s not had … I mean, she’s never …”

“If you’re trying to tell me she’s a maiden, I already guessed,” Eregard said dryly. “That’s actually considered an advantage in a royal match—for the bride, that is.”

Jezzil stood at the rail staring down at the black water he could barely glimpse through the grayness. The fog seemed to hang on him like a shroud. Finally he said, “You don’t love her.”

Eregard drew breath, then let it out slowly. “You’re right,”

he admitted. “But I care for her. I am very fond of her. If she agreed to be my bride, I would be the best husband I could be, Jezzil. No court dalliances for me. I leave that sort of thing to my brother,” he added, and Jezzil heard the bitter-ness in his voice.

“Besides,” Eregard added after a moment’s consideration, “they tell me love often grows after the marriage vows are spoken.”

Jezzil’s throat was tight. He swallowed to ease it, thinking he should just remain silent. Thia would never again have to hoard a handful of coins and live for a week on mush, beans, and wild greens gathered from the pastures, as she’d had to sometimes in Q’Kal. But the words erupted, heedless of his wishes. “She deserves someone who loves her!”

Eregard was regarding him, eyes narrowed.

Jezzil turned away from that steady gaze. “She does,” he said, his voice even and controlled.