Voyage of the Fox Rider (79 page)

Whoom!
Again the hull crashed down into the brine, and Alamar groaned, “If I have a brain or guts or a kidney left when all this is done, I’ll light a candle to Elwydd! Lor! No wonder sailors are half-daft!”

In that moment the door opened and wind and howl
and spray raged inward. Battling the blow and wash, Jatu stepped into the wheelhouse and slammed the door to, shutting out the yowl and drench. “Captain, a storm comes abaft.”

“Nigh?”

“Aye, Captain. It flies on the wind.”

Again howl and spray raved through the wheelhouse as Aravan stepped out the door and peered aft. Moments later he stepped back in.
“Vash!”
he spat, “it will be on us in less than an hour.”

“Damnation!” quavered Alamar, “if the storm is anything like the one before, Durlok will lose us in a blizzard.”

“Father, I have his lexicon. He cannot lose us forever.”

Jinnarin turned, her face grim. “But he can ram us in the storm, when we are blind to him, as he did in the Northern Sea. But should he ram us here, in these seas we will not survive.”

“Damn and blast!” gnarled Alamar.

Once more Aravan stepped out and peered aft through the blow, and the hull of the
Eroean
slammed down. Moments later Aravan reentered. “Rico, pipe the full crew and rig the gallants and up.”

“But Kapitan,” protested the bo’s’n, “this wind! By damn, all sail will break mast!”

“Rico,” snapped Jatu. “you heard the Captain. Full crew. Rig all sails but the studs. And caution the Men to clip up.”

Like a monstrous harp the rigging howled in the brutal wind, the masts groaning in mortal agony, and racing across the South Polar Sea plunged the
Eroean
, riding up curling crest after curling crest to slam down and plummet into the churning depths beyond.

“Adon!” cried Farrix. “The black galley! There it is!”

As the
Eroean
rode up the next crest and over, all eyes peered where the Pysk pointed. Through the snow flurries forerunning the storm, the top of lateen sails could just be seen ere they disappeared down, the black galley plunging into a trough. The Elvenship, too, slid down the roiling face of a wave and into a deep hollow beyond.

“A mile I would say,” muttered Alamar, Aravan agreeing.

“Armsmaster, signal thy warriors. We will be on him within two hundred heartbeats.”

“Aye, Captain!” cried Bokar. And he threw open the trapdoor and slid down the ladder to the deck below, and all could hear the sound of his horn as Bokar ran forward. Out on the decks, hatches flew open and Dwarven warriors swarmed up and out. They hooked their safety harnesses to specially rigged lines and made their way across the pounding, plunging ship to the loaded ballistas, where they cast loose the stays.

“Eh, I should be out there to guide their fireballs,” Alamar grunted as the ship whelmed down into the icy brine.

“Father, it is all you can do now to take this pounding, much less stand on the deck in this sea.”

“Damn, Daughter, don’t you think I
know
that?”

“Oh Hèl!” shouted Farrix in frustration as suddenly the ship was enveloped in blinding snow. “The storm! The bloody storm!”

“Can you see the black galley?” cried Jinnarin. “I’ve completely lost it!”

No!
cried Farrix and Alamar simultaneously, rage filling each voice.

“Stay the course, Boder,” snapped Aravan. “‘Tis likely we will pass close enough for Bokar’s warband to sight it and cast fire.”

Onward plunged the
Eroean
, her rigging shrieking, her masts groaning, her timbers moaning, the hull booming down into the polar brine beyond each curling crest. Monstrous waves rose up and smashed down and the storm-strengthened wind thundered past. Of a sudden through the hurtling snow, fire flared at the forward ballista and a streak of flame shot larboard, another flying forth immediately after. A heartbeat later the midship ballista loosed fire, too.

“Did ye see aught?” snapped Aravan.

“A dark shape larboard,” replied Farrix. “Yes,” concurred Jinnarin. “Nothing!” spat Alamar. Aylis shook her head,
No
.

“But I don’t know if Bokar’s fireballs struck home,” added Farrix.

“By now we have overrun the galley,” muttered Aravan, as the hull thundered down, “and we cannot come about in these seas, else we’ll founder broadsides.”

“We might slow and let him run past,” suggested Rico.

“Oh no, Rico,” protested Jinnarin, “I think he would ram us instead.”

“If he can find us,” muttered Alamar, peering out into the wall of white shrieking past as the ship pitched up to a crest and cut through to smash down beyond.

Cursing, Bokar came climbing up through the hatch. “We may have set a sail on fire, but if we did it was by sheer fortune.”

“See,” querulously snapped Alamar. “I told you I should have been there to guide Bokar’s fireballs.”

“Alamar,” cried Jinnarin, “that’s old ground already gone over. Besides, you did not even see the galley.”

“Well, had I been on deck, I might have! —Hèl, if a Dwarf saw it, I
would
have!”

“Regardless, Father,” said Aylis, “we can always come at him again. After all, we have this.” She held up Durlok’s lexicon, and in that very moment, it burst into furious flame.

Suddenly, Alamar howled, fire flaring forth from his robes. And a pocket in Bokar’s parka blazed up.

Jinnarin screamed as Aylis dropped the lexicon to the deck, and Aravan stamped on it to put out the fire. Bokar ripped off his jacket and threw it down. Alamar shouted,
“Abi!”
and forth from his robes flew a burning page, even then turning to ash.
“Exstinguete ex omni parte!”
he called, and all fire was quenched.

And as the
Eroean
thundered into the waves, “What is it?” cried Jinnarin.

“Durlok!” spat Alamar. “The fireballs alerted him that we are on his trail, and he seeks to destroy that which we use to trace him.”

Aylis looked at the scatter of ashes on the deck where the lexicon had fallen. “I deem he has succeeded, Father, for I fear all is burned.”

“Oh, Adon!” cried Jinnarin. “Our pages are in our under-bunk cabin with Rux!”

As Jinnarin and Farrix leapt down from the shelf to head for the door, following after Jatu—for his page had
been in his cabin as well—above the roar of the wind, from the deck there came a great creaking groan, and suddenly the mizzenmast shattered, silks and halyards and yardarms thundering down, crashing into the mainmast, and that great timber, too, burst and hurled forward to the deck slain; and along with her silks the mizzen took with it the spanker and gaff and two staysails, while the main shattered down carrying her own sails and hurtled into the foremast and ripped through the fore lower topsail and the foremain as well.

And then in the blinding storm, as monstrous waves roared across the deck, the hull crashed against a mountain of ice.

Deliverance

Summer, 1E9575

[The Present]

A
don!” cried Farrix, pulling Jinnarin behind him as the masts and silks and yardarms and halyards thundered down. And then a great judder jolted the ship, hurling Jatu and Artus and Rico to their knees and slamming Aravan and Aylis and Bokar to the wall. Both Jinnarin and Farrix kept their feet as they managed to grasp one of Alamar’s anchored chair legs. Boder, too, remained standing, for he held onto the wheel.

“Oh bloody Hèl!” cursed Alamar as he sighted a monstrous white wall looming to starboard, the ship scraping and grinding alongside.

“Ice!” shouted Jatu, gaining his footing, but of a sudden the
Eroean
was past, the wall gone, the grinding no more.

“We are free of it,” gritted Aravan, as the hull rose up then slammed down into the brine.

Jinnarin stepped past Farrix, her words coming in a rush: “Love, I will make certain that Rux is all right. And if our quarters are aflame, I’ll get help. You remain here, for your eyes will be needed if the wretched snow ever abates.” Without waiting for a reply, Jinnarin darted from the wheelhouse.

As she vanished into the corridor leading to the aft quarters, Jatu barked, “Artus, see after her. Too, in a metal box in my sea chest is one of the pages. Make certain that no fire burns.”

As Artus turned to go, Aravan snapped, “Artus, in the log on my desk is another lexicon page. See to it as well.”

“Aye, Captain,” replied the young Man, and he ran after Jinnarin.

“I’ll go, too,” said Aylis, and she followed Artus into the passage.

Again the
Eroean
thundered down into the waves.

By this time, Farrix had regained the window ledge and he braced himself and peered outward. The blizzard yet raged and the Pysk could but barely see past the wreckage of masts, his vision not quite reaching to the bow of the ship. As Aravan stepped to his side, Farrix said, “Blast, Aravan, I cannot tell what lies before us, but this I do know—we are dismasted.”

Boom!
down hammered the hull, water thundering across the decks, bearing downed spars and silks and halyard to slam into rails and ladders and cabin walls.

Bokar took up his jacket and briefly inspected it; the pocket where the page had been was no longer burning. As he shrugged into it, he said, “Captain, I’m going to see if any of the Châkka were injured then do something about the ruin.”

The armsmaster opened the trapdoor, and in that moment up popped Tivir, the lad dressed in his arctic gear. “Cap’n, Oi’m t’ tell y’ wot Frizian said: ‘e’s got a party t’gether, ’n’ they’re goin’ up ’n’ out t’ gauge th’ damage ’n’ secure th’ wreckage.”

“Well and good, Tivir. Tell him I need a report and swift, for the Black Mage is yet somewhere nigh.”

As the ship whelmed down in the water, “Aye, Cap’n,” replied Tivir and slid down the ladder. Bokar followed, the Dwarf slamming the trap to.

“Bah!” snarled Alamar. “Durlok can no more see in this blizzard than can we.”

Without turning around, Farrix asked, “Don’t you have some kind of magery that will allow you to look through the storm?”

“Magesight is all I have, Pysk. In some things it serves me well; in others it is no better than your own.”

“And in the blizzard…?”

“In the blizzard, Pysk, your eyes see better than mine.”

Again the Elvenship thundered down in the waves.

Jatu stepped from the wheelhouse and into the howl, and after a while he returned, snow and wind whirling in after.

“Captain,” said the black Man, “we are now but barely faster than the following seas. Should the wind fall the slightest, these greybeards will get behind us and swing us about until we are rolled and founder.”

“I know, Jatu,” replied the Elf, his features grim, and again the hull slammed down.

“If we don’t get some sight, we’re likely to run into more ice,” snapped Alamar. “Only Dame Fortune guides us now.”

“Well why don’t you use your magic?” called out Jinnarin, entering the wheelhouse once more, Artus at her side.

“Argh!” growled the elder, but saying no more.

Artus said to Jatu, “Your metal box was filled with ashes; nought else in your sea chest was harmed.”

Jinnarin clambered up beside Farrix. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She answered his unspoken question: “The pages burned, but nothing else, although some of the wall was scorched. Rux is all right, though he was upset by the fire and whatever hit the ship. I found him outside in the passageway, coming after me.”

Jinnarin turned. “Aylis is in your cabin, Aravan. The ship’s log was smoldering when she and Artus got there. Durlok’s page was destroyed, and a number of pages in the log were charred beyond recognition. Aylis cast a spell, and she is now copying all that was lost while it’s still fresh, she says, though I don’t know how she can tell what used to be there.”

“Magic,” muttered Farrix.

“Pah!” snorted Alamar.

Jinnarin turned to the eld Mage. “Speaking of magic, Alamar, why not cast a spell that allows you to see through the snow?”

“I already asked him that,” hissed Farrix. “He says he doesn’t know how.”

“What I said, Pysk,” growled Alamar, “was that magesight made my eyes no better than yours.”

“Oh,” said Jinnarin. “But wait, if you could—”

Again the
Eroean
slammed down into the sea, and at
the very same moment the trap popped open and Tivir stuck his head through. “Cap’n, Frizian says th’ mizzen ’n’ main ’r’ gone. Th’ fore yet stands, though th’ foremain ’n’ fore lower top ’r’ ripped down. Th’ jibs ’n’ forestay ’r’ worthy, as is th’ fore upper ’n’ all above, ’n’ those ’r’ th’ sails wot yet carry us. Th’ mizzen is shattered f’r more’n half her length; th’ main f’r a quarter. ‘E says it looks loike th’ mizzen failed ’n’ carried th’ main adown wi’ it. ’N’ Finch says that ‘e’s got below a timber wot’ll fix th’ main, but nothin’ f’r fixin’ th’ mizzen. But ‘e says there’s nary no way t’ fix ’er in these seas, ’n’ that y’ve got t’ find shelter or flat water afore repairs c’n begin.”

“Damn!” spat Jatu. “Where in Hèl are we to find flat water in the middle of the South Polar Ocean?”

“‘N’, Cap’n,” added the cabin boy, “there’s smash everywhere ’n’ Frizian ’n’ Bokar has all hands trying t’ lash it adown so as t’ keep it from crashing th’ ship apart.”