Voyage of the Fox Rider (16 page)

Finch removed one of the boards of her chamber wall. “Now you arrange it like as you want it, Miss Jinnarin, and I’ll fix it so as it won’t slide about in a big blow, wot?”

Over the next few nights, Men and Dwarves alike came to look down the passageway hoping to see the glow of candlelight shining out through the wee window of the Lady Jinnarin’s cabin. This was especially true of Finch and Carly and Arlo and Rolly—carpenter, sailmaker, cooper, and tinsmith—even though they knew that she had Fairy sight and probably didn’t need the candles; still, she might burn them just to please the crew. And burn them she did, the soft yellow taperlight glimmering, and the four Men would look at one another and grin and nod; at other times the tiny portal would be dark, and they would sigh. But always they would go away marvelling over
their
Pysk.

Rux quickly adapted to
his
new door, ingress and egress to
his
den, where his mistress also happened to live. Even so, still he spent much time below decks hunting, though his take for the day was one or two at most, for the fox found the ratting and mousing on the
Eroean
to be slim pickings when compared to the
Flying Fish
. Throughout all the ship roamed Rux, becoming a familiar sight to the crew. From keelson to hold to crew’s quarters, from lower deck to locker, from the tiller wheel on the stern to its mate in the sheltered wheelhouse forward of the aft quarters, from bow to bilge ranged the fox. The fact that his hunting ground pitched and rolled and yawed, and canted starboard or larboard depending on the wind, seemed of no consequence to Rux. The only thing that mattered at this juncture was rats and mice and exploring.

Of all the crew, Rux would only allow three to touch him: Jinnarin and Jatu and Aravan. Why, not even Alamar could gain the fox’s trust—perhaps especially Alamar, for the elder yet snapped and fumed and fussed frequently at Rux’s mistress, though now that she lived in Rux’s own den, the Mage’s opportunities to rail at her were severely curtailed. And so, although the crew often saw the fox, and tried to coax him and pet him, enticing him with tidbits of food, the animal was far too wary, his ways were much too wild.

On some of Rux’s expeditions, Jinnarin would accompany him, or he her, for she, too, was exploring the
Eroean
, getting to know the ship from stem to stern and hatches to ribs.

On the dark rainy night of the autumnal equinox, Jinnarin and Rux on one of their forays came up to the deck, where they saw Aravan pacing a stately intricate gait in the wetness. Jinnarin stopped ‘neath the shelter of a gig and watched as the Elf stepped, paused, stepped, turned, stepped, paused, stepped—Aravan moving through a complex pattern, something between a dance and a rite. And he was chanting under his breath.

“He does this four times a year.” Jatu’s soft voice startled the Pysk, the Man having come upon her unawares.

“What…?” Jinnarin’s voice trailed away, the rest of her question unsaid.

“It is an Elven thing,” responded Jatu. “He celebrates the equinox.”

Jinnarin watched as Aravan paced, seemingly oblivious of the rain. “You said four times a year, Jatu.”

“Aye, Lady, the two equinoxes—autumn and spring—and the summer and winter solstices.”

“Ah, I see. Then that is something like the celebrations of my Folk, Jatu, Year’s Long Night and Year’s Long Day the same as Aravan’s solstices, but our other two times are at the Moon of Spring and the Moon of Autumn, when the Lady’s Light is full.”

“Lady’s light?”

“Elwydd, Jatu. She is the Lady.”

Jatu smiled. “I see. And Her light is the Moon, I take it.”

“As Adon’s is the Sun,” answered Jinnarin.

The rain ran down Jatu’s slicker and dripped on the wet deck. Beneath the stern of the gig, Jinnarin and Rux were out of the drizzle, the fox waiting patiently. And still the Man and Pysk watched Aravan.

“‘Tis the dark of the Moon,” said Jatu. “When—?”

“The next full Moon,” interjected Jinnarin, “that’s when this autumn season will be welcomed by the Fox Riders—a fourteen-day from now.”

Jatu grunted in acknowledgement and after a moment said, “I wonder if there is a Folk upon this world who do
not
celebrate the turn of the seasons?”

And as Jinnarin and Jatu both pondered this question and Rux waited stoically, out on the deck in the drizzling rain Aravan paced through his step-pause-step, turn-and-step ancient Elven ritual.

On the sixth night after leaving Port Arbalin, the rain stopped, and morning found a bright Sun rising in the sky and the wind shifting abaft. And with all sails set, the ship running braw, the
Eroean
came to the northern Straits of Kistan. Into the narrows she plunged, running at seventeen knots, her sharp prow slicing through the rolling swells, lookouts aloft.

“Straight down the middle we’ll run with the wind,”
called Aravan to Boder, pointing slightly to starboard, setting the course.

“Aye, Cap’n,” replied the steersman, turning the wheel a bit deosil, the Elvenship answering the helm.

“Trim her up, Rico,” called Aravan, “catch every puff of this air.”

“Aye, Kapitan,” replied the bo’s’n, and began piping the crew; and sheets were hauled and belayed, the crossbeams adjusted slightly, the staysails and jibs adjusted as well.

And blue water slid sternward past the hull, beneath the tiers of studding sails jutting out above.

“Eighteen knots and some,” called out Frizian, standing aft with two of the crew.

And into the straits hurtled the
Eroean
, a white wake churning behind.

Two hours she ran thus, and of a sudden—“Sail ho, maroon!” called the mainmast lookout. “Sail ho to the fore larboard!”

“Sail ho, maroon!” called the foremast lookout. “Sail ho, starboard fore.”

Motioning Rico to follow, Aravan strode to the bow. Long he looked at the blood-dark sails, first to larboard then to starboard. “They run an intercept course,” he said at last. “Rico—”

“Sail ho, maroon!” cried the foremast lookout. “Sail ho, dead ahead!”

“Rico, pipe all hands, the Drimma, too.”

“Sails ho, maroon,” called the foremast lookout again. “Sails ho, starboard ahead! Larboard ahead! Hoy, Cap’n, ‘tis a bloody fleet standing across the way.”

“Rico,” barked Aravan, “lookouts down. The Rovers have a gauntlet for us to run.”

As Rico piped all hands, sailors and warriors alike, and piped down the lookouts as well, in the hue and cry Jinnarin and Alamar came rushing to the deck, Rux at their side. The ship seemed a madhouse, Men running hither and yon, gaudy-helmed Dwarves boiling up from the hold, bearing axes and crossbows and rushing to the ballistas, loosening tie-downs, opening javelin crates and fireball boxes. “Stand back,” called Frizian to the Mage and the Pysk, “do not get in the way. In fact, ‘twould
be best if you’d go below to your quarters, for safety’s sake if nought else.”

“Pah!”
snorted Alamar. “Here I stand and here I’ll stay, like it or not.”

Jinnarin found her heart hammering, and she turned and bolted back inside…to emerge moments later, bow in hand, quiver of arrows—deadly arrows—strapped unto her hip.

Alamar glanced down at her and smiled approvingly. “Boars or pirates,” he growled, “they’re all pigs.”

Out on the ocean ahead, lateen sails both starboard and larboard turned on downwind courses set to converge upon the Elvenship, cerulean silk running straight ahead swiftly, maroon canvass intercepting.

“Hegen,” ordered Aravan, now astern, “to the wheelhouse. Should Boder get hit, thou wilt take the helm.

“Frizian, Rico, stay aft with me. Jatu, Reydeau, go with Boder, but first list:

“Running as we are with the wind, I would not have us lose speed trying to turn their end. Instead, I plan on breaking their file dead ahead. Given our rate and theirs, the Rovers far aflank will see nought but our stern. But those running on the wind in the fore quarter arc, aye, they are the threat.

“Bokar, I would have thy Drimma cast fire at any who draw nigh. Place thy best at the ballistas in the bow.

“Heed, that is my plan—the best I can conceive at short notice. Be there any suggestions? Be there any questions?”

None said aught. “Then away. And let us give these Rovers Hèl!”

As the crew carried forth with Aravan’s plan, the Pysk turned to the Mage. “I had a question, Alamar, but I did not wish to interfere.”

Alamar glanced down at her. “And it was…?”

Rico piped his pipe, and sailors made fine adjustments to the sheets. The
Eroean
slid even faster through the crystal waters. And still the bloody sails to fore and flank closed in.

“Well, Alamar, this seems to be a trap laid by the Rovers. Was it set for all ships or just for this one? If set for this one, how did they know that we were coming? Why spend so many ships to set a trap for one?
And last, why oh why do the Rovers fly maroon sails? I mean, if they would hope to surprise unwary ships, to sneak up on unsuspecting prey, then their sails would seem to be contrary.”

Alamar shook his head. “I thought you had but one question, Pysk, and here you’ve asked four.” The Mage glanced at the foe hurtling toward them, distances and courses rapidly closing. “Perhaps I can answer all before it’s time to fight.

“As to maroon sails, they are to strike terror in the hearts of those they would plunder. And of those merchants and captains who pay tribute, the maroon sail signals ‘stand and deliver.’

“As to a trap laid, I think you are correct, Pysk—it is an ocean-going ambush, set specifically, I believe, to ensnare this very ship, the
Eroean
, for she represents a mighty prize. Look, if the Elvenship were to become a freebooter, it would be the terror of the seas, and so these pirates would dearly love to have it be theirs.

“As to how they knew we were coming, I can think of many ways…the most likely of which is that some pirate ship must have seen the
Eroean
on her way toward Port Arbalin. And given that Aravan stays but a short while at that city…well, they knew he was due back through within a Moon. And what better place to set a trap than right down the center of the narrows, where he is likely to go?”

Jinnarin looked at the dark sails closing in and the racing ships they drove—sleek two-masted dhows, each vessel bearing a pair of lateen-rigged sails. On the decks could be seen dusky Men rushing about, trimming sails, readying ballistas of their own.