The Hammer of the Sun (7 page)

Ils jerked a stubby thumb at the sternpost, where a gilded wind-vane in the shape of a gull creaked to and
fro, swinging with each slight shift of the ship. "The
wind, it would seem… a few points short of favourable, by the look of it, so we are windrode, with scant space to manoeuvre. The small craft think they will clear the harbour mouth close-hauled, the larger longships and dromunds fear they cannot; it is hard to be sure."

"And getting them out under oars could take all day," said Roc uneasily. "We could miss the wind and sit wallowing for hours…" He looked somewhat green already.

Elof nodded, stepped forward and tapped Kermorvan unceremoniously on the shoulder. "Would it help you to have a true gauge of the wind?" he called out against the breeze.

"Would it not!" snapped the tall man over his shoulder, brushing his bronzen hair out of his eyes. "Why, can you shape us such a thing in time? It would help us to know whether to risk sail -"

Elof reached into his pack. "I was going to give you this today anyway, as a luck-gift for the journey." He handed the glittering quarter-moon of metal to Kermorvan; his brows lifted as he looked at it, then he grinned to Elof.

"Amicac, eh? Well we've sailed under his sign before, you and I; it shouldn't hurt us to play the corsair again!" He reached up to the carved stern-post and lifted the golden gull from its socket; into its place he slid Elof's vane, the raised finial that was the head of the pattern gleamed gape-jawed to the wind.

"Once it takes the wind properly," called Elof hopefully, "it should hold it tight with every twist and turn -" He watched it saw from side to side a little, just like its predecessor, then… "There!"

The vane had stopped sharply, quivering slightly, gripped as if by vast hands in the dead centre of the wind. "Remarkable!" said Kermorvan, "Even though its tidings are not hopeful… What if it were pushed out of line?"

Elof shrugged. "It should centre itself once more. But it should not be so easily shifted."

Curiously, Kermorvan reached up and pushed at the blade of the vane; it did not move. He pressed again, and then harder, with a real effort. "Like… trying to close a door in a fierce gale," he gasped, "though the… breeze is no more… than middling…" He pushed with both hands, and ail his weight, and now, very slowly, the blade began to shift. And as it did so Elof caught his breath, felt Kara's hand tighten suddenly upon his arm; a sudden chill grew in the pit of his stomach. Something else had shifted also, he knew not what. But it felt like the balance of the world…

Ils cried out suddenly, and pointed, not to the vane but to the streamers on the mainstays, the signal flags above; it was hard to see at first, but… had they also shifted? Kermorvan had released the vane, staggered back; it stayed where he had placed it, as firmly as before. He threw his weight upon it again, and once again the streamers shifted, the flags flapped to a different angle. Elof swallowed.

"That's all!" panted the king, releasing the vane and doubling over, hands on knees. "You, Elof, your thews might shift it a fraction further, but no more…"

"That's scant surprise!" said Ils, a little shakily. "To alter the wind at all… Winds are not single things, says our lore of weather, but a net of flows and currents, vaster than the oceans. To shift one, even a few points… I cannot conceive of it!"

"Nor I!" muttered Roc. "What've you gone and done this time, my lad?" Elof could only shake his head, feeling like an idiot.

Kermorvan leaned back against the gunwales, waving off the messengers clamouring for his attention, abruptly very much the ruler. "Elof, did you plan this?" he asked with a grim quiet in his voice.

Elof drew a deep breath. Kara's hand lay tight upon his shoulder, and somehow that gave him the wit to speak "I planned no more than I said. Now I see it, though, I can see… something of how
it
came about. It is logic, of a sort. I sang over it, I whistled .. old songs of the North, to encourage sea-luck, fair winds… They are part of me, those songs, they run deep in my memory; they must have drawn more out of me than I guessed
… I never dreamed of
giving
it the power to
compel!"

Kermorvan nodded. "I can believe that. This… it is a startling power, but perhaps also a dangerous one -"

"My lord!" cried one of the messengers suddenly, desperate to be heard. "The dromunds are all signalling! The wind has changed, it will serve them now!"

"And the longships!" called another. "My lord, we may lose the hour, the tide -"

Kermorvan snapped to his feet. "Well," he muttered, "What that power has already given us, let us not waste!" And cupping his hands to his mouth he shouted out to his crew "To your places, all men! Winch and cable crews, ready! Mainmast men, ready! Slip the stern moorings! Hoist the mainsail, ready the headsails! Bow moorings, haul in!" Tumult broke out on the maindeck, and the shipmaster and his mates came running aft to the sterncastle. Kermorvan rounded on the messengers with a blast of orders that sent them scurrying to the signal halyards, then back to his own crew. "Do you take command, Master! Warp her around into the wind, mainsail first, out into the main channel and through! We'll lead them all out!"

The shipmaster saluted him, and turned to bellow across the decks. In the bows a capstan winch began to clank, and they felt the stern swing suddenly free
of its
moorings, the long hull begin to sway and sidle in the choppy harbour waters. The huge mainyard creaked and rumbled up the mast, the hemp-stiffened mainsail fluttered and boomed as the breeze caught and shook it. "Keep hauling, the bows!" bellowed the master. Into the wind swung the great ship, and for the space of a breath the mainsail hung limp; then it was across, and almost at once the wind caught the sail, bellied it out with an explosive crack. "Slip moorings, the bows!" roared the master. "Helm, steer for the harbour mouth!" The great ship surged forward, the deck leaped under them and then began to dip and raise more smoothly as it gathered way. Behind them the wheel spun, hauling on the tiller lines that rose up taut through the deck; Kermorvan cast a glance at the helmsman, who nodded calmly. This manner of rudder was a new thing, learned from the duergar, and still unpredictable; but it seemed to be working smoothly enough now. The
Prince Korentyn
nosed her sleek bows out into the main channel, while all around her sails blossomed out upon the other ships of the fleet, and their standards dipped in salute.

Kermorvan gathered up his armour of black and gold from the bench where he had laid it, and moved forward to stand at the rail of the sterncastle, proud and resplendent; he wore no helm, and his long locks shone like bronze indeed in the morning sun. From the walls of the palace came a fanfare of trumpets, the call of the garrison who would remain to defend the town, from tower-tops a loud pealing of bells, and from the shore a great cheer went up; as ever, all the town had turned out to watch their king and his great fleet depart. He waved, and from the bows his own heralds answered the town's salute; then at his command the rest of his music, gathered by the companionway, struck up a strong and buoyant tune. Like sudden wings the head-sails spread out above, white water swirled at the bows. Kara, still clutching Elof s arm, positively danced with excitement as the great ship swept towards the harbour mouth, its fellows sliding out one by one into its wake in the order the king had laid down. As it glided between the tall towers that flanked the mouth, the music of the other ships took up the tune, and the notes of thudding tabors, shrilling flutes, silver cymbal and brazen horns and trumpets rose and rang around the whole shore of the bay, as their white sails spread out, dazzling against its sparkling waters. Thus in pride and splendour that great fleet set forth; and though from shore it must have been no less splendid a sight, no account describes it so. Those who chronicled it were among its numbers.

Hard on the flagship's heels the greatest of the dromunds came, still spreading its great fields of sail; the creak of ropes, bellowed orders, the dull boom
of
sailcloth shook the air. Flanking it raced two smaller craft, chase cutters rigged in the strange new patterns derived from duergar ideas, their sails slanting
fore and oft instead of square to the hull. Kara went
running to the sternrail to watch them, bouncing and skipping impudently up through the wake like puppies snapping at the ankles of a bull. "They're
so
beautiful!" she breathed. "If we could only sail one of those!"

Elof laid his arm around her. "There'll be time enough, on this voyage; no doubt their crews'll be glad of the rest, for a day or two. We should ask Kermorvan."

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes sparkling like the waters beneath. He felt her quiver from head to toe with excitement. "So light, so fast, it would be almost like…" But there she stopped herself, and said no more.

As in previous years, the first few days of the great fleet's voyage were leisurely, more like a ceremonial royal progress than a venture of moment. By day the ships would race each other, or contest in manoeuvering and skill, which Kermorvan encouraged for the practice it gave crews and commanders alike; Elof and Kara had their chance then to sail the new-rigged cutters. Each night they would anchor in sheltered waters, or the harbours of lesser ports where the king would receive deputations and petitions, settle disputes, and renew acquaintance with those of his people who seldom or never came north to Morvanhal the City itself. In the remoter areas the fleet was greeted with almost delirious relief, as a living token of the strength and solidarity of the land; the wounds of the Ekwesh occupation, short as it had been, were slow in healing there.

Those were pleasant days for most; yet for Elof they were marred. For Kara grew more restive, spoke less and seldom settled; she would pace the decks, or sit for long hours in the bows, gazing at the empty expanse of the ocean off the port bow. She did not object to his company in such times; she would smile at him as he came to sit by her, perhaps rest her head upon his shoulder, yet ever her gaze was turned away into the void of earth and sky. Once he found her still there in the midst of a storm, clinging to the forestay and squealing with delight as the bows clove the wavecrests and showered her with chill spray; he grew angry then, and upbraided her for courting foolish perils. She made no complaint, but took to climbing, in clement weather, to the lookout's place at the summit of the mainmast. Elof followed her up, admiring the grace of her tanned legs on the rigging above, the animal ease with which she swung herself up onto the narrow platform. Elof bent and struggled through more cautiously, and once up he hastily looped his belt through the ring provided. Kara took no such precaution, but leaned out over the rail, rejoicing in the feeling of height and pointing down delightedly to the flocks of dolphins come to race around the fleet's bows. Elof smiled, only a little thinly, and sought to share her joy without looking down too often at the deck; he found himself too ready to notice how distant it seemed, and how narrow, and how unsteady, heaving wildly back and forth beneath him on a surface of churning green and white… But if he studiously ignored that, the view was worth it, and so was the sense of space after many days cramped and confined aboard ship. He felt a sudden pang of sorrow for Kara; she had come of her own will, she would say nothing, yet if her life on land was confining, how much worse must this be?

"Would you like your cloak back?" he asked impulsively, forgetting his other concerns for now. "Without… obligations. So you can…" He shrugged. "Take the air whenever you wish. As you wish."

She leaned on the rail, her crisp dark hair ruffled by the wind and tinged with a corona in the clear light, and looked at him speculatively a while. Then she smiled, shook her head again, and put her hand affectionately on his arm. "No need. This is enough for me, to feel the rushing airs and see afar, far. I'll wait till you need me."

Elof shrugged again, and took her arm. But within himself he felt slightly resentful; she was still paying him back, it seemed. He glanced at her, watching those fierce bird-like eyes, green as the water beneath, flicker this way and that across the vast horizon, and was suddenly glad she had not accepted. What could he have been thinking of? Dislike it though he might, his chosen way would be the safest, after all.

It was not long after that that they passed beyond the southern borders of the realm of Morvanhal, and into the Wild, beyond the habitations of men. Yet still it was a rich and wholesome country along the shores, well watered by many rivers, and they were able to land for water and provisions at many anchorages they had charted and explored upon previous voyages. The worst perils here were wild beasts, and an occasional nest of human outlaws many times more savage, ready to sally out and assail any small vessel in difficulties or separated from the body of the fleet. Kermorvan had taken strong measures to guard against this, however, and such attacks were swiftly dealt with. On one occasion such a straggler was attacked by two pirate longboats in fog; Kermorvan brought the
Korentyn
alongside with sweeps and himself led the clearing of its decks. Out of some thirty raiders no more than three escaped him, and that by leaping overboard, swimming for a boat and rowing frantically off into the shadows. "Were it clear, I would have pursued them in the cutters," he remarked, wiping clean his grey-gold sword. "As it is, let them save their hides, if only for the sake of times past…"