Into the Wind Read online

  “But you still don’t need a nursemaid.” Rider’s laughter rumbled through the cabin.

  In spite of himself, Ian smiled. “You know me too well.”

  “You want my ship.”

  “The Phantom will need several more months of repairs before she’s seaworthy,” Ian explained. “By then, it will be too dangerous to make the crossing. I’ll not risk my men to the winter storms.”

  Rider narrowed his eyes and frowned. “You believe the Council will attack again.”

  Ian sighed. Of course Rider would have guessed who was behind the attack on the Phantom. “What do you know about the Council’s doings?” he asked.

  “Not much more than you, I venture. But before we set sail, I received word from a merchant I know on Lurat that several Derryth ships were spotted in the waters near Ea’nu.”

  To a passing ship, Ea’nu would not be visible—there would be no reason for any ship to be sailing in that area unless they knew of the island’s existence or were rendezvousing with another ship. An Ea ship. The Council wouldn’t allow humans on the island, of this Ian was sure. But if the Council wished to join forces with the humans….

  “What else did you learn?” he asked.

  “Only that Seria was spotted on Lurat not long before. No one saw him leave, but there were several unfamiliar ships in port. Fast ships.”

  “Brigantines,” Ian said under his breath. “No doubt he swam to the island for the sole purpose of meeting them.”

  “Aye.”

  Ian stood up and ran a hand through his hair. Seria was playing a dangerous game. Was it possible the Council didn’t know about the humans’ involvement? “Derryth ships, no doubt.”

  “It seems someone may have alerted the king that your people possess something of value,” Rider said. “The mainland settlement may be at risk.”

  “Vurin’s enchantments are powerful. Now that you’ve warned him, he’ll be able to protect them.” Ian didn’t add that he feared the Council had hidden some of its most powerful mages away. Until now, he’d planned on bringing Renda with him, but Vurin might well need Renda’s help back at Callaecia. He’d send Renda and his men back to the mainland with the Phantom once repairs were completed.

  “How can we assist you?” Rider asked after he’d set his tankard down on the table.

  “It will be dangerous. More so now that Seria seems to have allied with Derryth’s king. I would understand if you—”

  Rider’s rumbled laughter interrupted Ian’s words. “You know full well I have no fear of Derryth’s navy,” he said. “Nor of your Ea Council. Although,” he added with a smirk, “I might exact a higher payment from Vurin for it.”

  “I always said you were a mad fool,” Ian said, affection belying his words. He knew Rider didn’t need Vurin’s gold but longed for the excitement of the voyage. Ian felt the same. How he longed to be upon the open seas once more!

  “Where do we sail, then? Derryth? Ea’nu?”

  “The Eastern Lands.”

  Rider’s eyes widened, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to smooth. “Better still,” he said. “It’s been some time since I’ve made the crossing.” As boys, they’d dreamed of sailing to the Eastern Lands together.

  “I’ll bring a few of my best men to assist your crew. Barra and your navigator can chart us the safest course.” When Rider raised a knowing eyebrow, Ian nodded and said, “Aye. Not the easiest course but the one that will garner us the least attention. We will sail south around the islands, then turn northward and set our course. There are a few islands along the way where we might hide, if need be.”

  “The winds from the north are far less favorable.”

  “Are you saying your crew can’t handle the challenge?” Ian asked.

  The edges of Rider’s mouth turned upward in a crooked grin. “I’m saying it’s far more exciting a passage.”

  “Good. Then we’ll leave as soon as we can provision the ship. I’ll send word to Vurin. It may be many months before we can sail back to Callaecia, with the winter close at hand.”

  “Then I will have enough time to show you some of the pleasures of the Eastern Lands,” Rider said. “It is more beautiful than we ever imagined.”

  “I will look forward to it, once our business there is done.”

  “Not going to tell me your business, then?” Rider said as he clapped his hand on Ian’s back.

  “If we’re successful,” Ian said, “you will know of it. I promise.”

  “There is one more thing I wish to speak of.” Rider pursed his lips and his expression grew pensive.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I wish to speak of Taren.”

  Ian nodded, though his outward calm was a sham—the mention of Taren and the reminder of Taren’s contract with Rider always made him feel unsettled. He could control many things as captain of the Phantom, but this was something in which he had little say. “Speak, then. I’ve already told you he is not yours to keep.”

  “Nor yours,” Rider pointed out with the shadow of a grin. “But regardless what we believe, Taren believes it is his duty to fulfill his contract to me.”

  “Aye.” Ian wouldn’t quibble with Rider, especially since the man had just consented to help them make the crossing to the Eastern Lands.

  “I have decided to release him from his contract,” Rider said.

  “You—?”

  “Aye.” Rider sighed and rubbed his beard. “Much as I wish him to remain here, he is, as you like to remind me, a free man. The only thing that keeps him bound to me is his deep sense of loyalty.” He walked over to the nearby table and picked up a piece of parchment, which he handed to Ian. “After we reach the Eastern Lands,” Rider said, “I want you to give this to him.”

  Ian opened the parchment and quickly read its contents. “I… I don’t know what to say.” He rolled the parchment up again and shoved it into his breast pocket.

  “There is nothing to say. I’m not doing this for you.” Rider turned to the open aft windows and gazed out at the harbor.

  “Regardless. I thank you.”

  Rider waved his hand dismissively but did not turn back to Ian. “Go and gather your men,” he said in a gruff voice that Ian guessed was meant to disguise his obvious emotion. No matter that they knew each other too well for that—Rider was not a man to show his vulnerable heart. “We’ll plan our route tonight and sail with the sun tomorrow.”

  “Will you dine with us tonight?” Ian asked.

  “And be subjected to your tedious conversation?” Rider laughed, though Ian also knew this for the jest it was.

  “Then I’ll return with my men this evening.”

  “Off with you, then.” Rider still hadn’t turned around. Ian thought he heard a sigh as he closed the cabin door behind him.

  Twenty-Seven

  One week later

  AS THE first bands of light announcing the dawn cut through the blackness of night, Taren stood by Bastian as he steered the Sea Witch. He’d been unable to sleep and had worried he’d wake Ian from his slumber as he tossed and turned. He’d dreamed about fire and of eyes that glowed in the darkness and followed him until he had nowhere else to hide. The unusual dream—not a vision, but perhaps a portent?—disturbed him. Something was wrong, and the sensation had only grown stronger throughout the night.

  “Have you noticed anything strange?” Taren stifled a yawn as he felt for the rune stone beneath his shirt. He hadn’t even thought to ask Ian where they might safely keep it. Much as it had caused him so much grief in his visions, he felt—no, he knew—there was no other place for it than around his neck. Why had it felt warmer still against his skin since he dreamed last night? “Any ships on the horizon?”

  “You worry far too much.” Bastian’s hair caught the wind as he gazed out at the first hint of sunrise. They’d left the most dangerous part of the trip behind—the passage around the southern tip of the Gateway Islands—and had turned northward toward the Eastern Lands. “The ocean is
large. The sentries have seen nothing.”

  Red, fuchsia, and yellow streaks beckoned like fingers of light, leading the way east. Taren knew he should be excited to finally be making the crossing to the Eastern Lands, but instead he’d been dogged by a feeling of foreboding he could not shake.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be cured with a bit more sleep,” Taren said. Perhaps the encounter with his former self in the caves had affected him more than he cared to admit. Ever since Odhrán had left, Taren had felt out of sorts. Anxious. Uneasy. The visions hadn’t returned since he’d recovered the stone, though he felt quite sure he wasn’t rid of them. Still, being aboard the Sea Witch once again comforted him. Bastian seemed to understand this, for he smiled knowingly as he adjusted their course once again as the wind shifted. Taren felt the pull of the ship against the sails and the slight vibration of the hull as the Witch picked up speed.

  “It’s good to have you back aboard,” Bastian said. “When you left, I feared it would never be the same. I was right, you know.”

  “There are times I wish I were back as well. It was simpler then. I knew my place.”

  “Are you happy with him?”

  Taren nodded. “Aye. Much as there are days I’m tempted to throttle him.” Taren chuckled softly. “More often, though, I feel my heart is incomplete without him.”

  “Love is a powerful balm,” Bastian agreed. Taren knew he was thinking of Rider. “Ian says you still insist on returning to us when the year is up. But you know Rider would release you from your indenture if you only asked.”

  Taren didn’t want to admit that he feared the alternative. Treande’s question—What do you want?—still echoed in his mind. Taren understood what answering that question might mean. He’d answer it in time, but since he’d returned from recovering the stone, he’d tried not to think too much about it. He’d been too tired and too overwhelmed. A few weeks at sea would help him sort things through—the wind and the water were his safe harbor.

  “Mind you,” Bastian was saying when Taren forced his attention back to the present, “I’d be happy to welcome you back, even if you no longer shared our b—”

  Bastian’s words were cut short by the sound of an explosion. A cannon! Before either of them could react, the gut-wrenching sound of splitting wood and the shudder of the ship told Taren the Sea Witch had taken a hit to her stern.

  “Taren!” Bastian shouted as he struggled to steer the ship. Without a rudder to balance the pressure of the wind on the sails, the Sea Witch began to turn into the wind and lose speed. “Have the men arm themselves. If they’ve taken out the rudder, they’ll be trying to board us soon enough.”

  “Aye!” Taren ran toward the locker where the weapons were stored, all the while shouting for the other deckhands to rouse the rest of the crew. He’d nearly reached the locker when the ship veered sharply to port with a gust of wind, knocking him onto the deck. He hit his shin hard against one of the metal winches as he fell, then slid farther toward the rails. He struggled to grab on to something but found nothing within reach.

  “Catch the rope!” he heard Ian shout over the commotion on deck. Sure enough, Taren noticed the rope Ian had thrown to him and wrapped one end around his wrist. Ian pulled him up to standing. Tight-lipped, Taren nodded his thanks and tried to calm his racing heart. Falling overboard would not have hurt him, but he couldn’t imagine watching another battle, helpless to do anything to assist.

  As he and Ian handed out weapons, some of the men at the stern struggled to adjust the aft sails. Bastian would try to steer the ship with the wind alone. It might work until they rigged something more permanent to replace the missing rudder, but the Sea Witch would hardly be nimble in battle. “Humans,” Ian said as he glanced aft. “Another brigantine. But there are Ea aboard as well.”

  “Seria.” This explained the strange sensations Taren had experienced the night before. “He used a mage to hide their location.” Taren shivered to contemplate what Seria and the Council might do to them both if they were captured. Surely they cared nothing for the Witch’s human crew. Once again he saw himself back at the Ea prison, felt Seria’s touch and the searing, burning pain that accompanied it as it worked its way into his body, squeezing his heart, causing his breath to hitch. He remembered how he’d screamed until his throat felt raw and his voice sounded rough.

  “Taren?”

  Ian’s voice brought Taren back to his senses. He wiped his forehead, which had beaded with perspiration. He fought the urge to vomit by taking deep breaths. “Yes?”

  Ian reached for Taren’s hand and clasped it tight. “I will not let them take you again,” he said with such fervor that Taren believed him in spite of his fear. Ian wore an expression full of hatred and self-recrimination. Taren understood Ian’s regret at not having killed Seria when he’d had the chance. He also knew it took all of Ian’s self-control not to suggest that Taren dive overboard and save himself. Ian knew well enough that Taren would never abandon his former shipmates to save his own skin.

  “But how did they find us?” Taren wondered aloud as he regained his composure once again. Was it possible for a mage to be powerful enough to locate a single ship on the open sea?

  “I don’t know.” Ian clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “But if we survive this, I will find out.”

  If they survived. Death would be preferable to what awaited them on Ea’nu if they were captured.

  Ian offered Taren a loaded pistol, which he refused. He’d never used the weapon before, and even if he managed to shoot straight, he doubted he’d be able to load it quickly enough to do him any good. “I’ll take a sword,” he told Ian, who nodded and picked one up, weighed it in his hand, put it back, then did the same with a second sword. He nodded, then handed it to Taren, who slipped it in his belt alongside the silver dagger he always wore. The words “Be safe” remained unspoken, but Taren heard them nonetheless.

  By now, without a rudder to aim the ship, the Sea Witch had lost most of her speed and the brigantine had pulled along her port side, where the water was calmer. Ian handed the last of the weapons to the men, then shoved the pistol into his belt just as the first of the attacking ship’s crew began to board. He and Taren ran to join the other men who were fending off the wave of humans who swung on the ropes and landed on the Witch’s deck.

  Taren heard shouts from the foredeck. “Stay with Bastian,” Ian said. “See what you can do to help.”

  “Aye.”

  Ian took off at a run for the foredeck.

  Taren immediately set to helping defend the crew working the sails. Bastian shouted commands over the battle cries and the clanking of metal against metal. Above where they stood, several men had climbed the mast to free the ropes that had become entangled before Bastian was able to bring the ship about.

  One of the brigantine’s men lunged for Taren, who met the man’s sword with a powerful blow from his own weapon. The vibration from the metal caused Taren’s wrist to ache, but he ignored this and set himself to parry again.

  The sound of gunshots rent the air. One of the Witch’s crew fell from a crossbeam and hit the deck. Taren pushed his opponent back, hoping to knock him down and see to the man with the pistol, but his opponent would not be dissuaded. He swung his weapon and Taren moved out of its trajectory, though not quite fast enough: the point of the sword cut through the fabric of his shirt and he felt the sting of the wound. A shallow wound, but one he might have avoided had he not lost his focus. “You must never anticipate the next fight,” Rider had once told him, “or you may not live to see it.” Until recently, Taren hadn’t understood just how much Rider had taught him.

  Taren’s opponent jabbed at him. This time Taren was ready. He aimed his sword forward and turned the blade to shield himself from the attack. The wind caressed the back of his neck, then traveled past him and blew hard enough at his opponent’s face to make the man blink. Taren grasped his sword with both hands and charged. As the blade met its mark and en
tered the enemy fighter’s chest, Taren felt a slight resistance. Later, he’d remember this feeling well, and it would haunt him. He’d never taken a life before, yet he could almost sense the man’s soul leaving his body.

  Goddess rest his soul, he prayed silently.

  Another shot rang out, this time missing its mark but burning a hole in one of the sails. Taren guessed it would take the shooter less than a minute to reload. He shouted and ran at the man who had fired the shot, dove for his legs, and pulled them out from underneath him. The pistol clattered to the deck and Taren kicked it hard enough to send it over the side of the ship, then turned and kicked the startled man in the gut.

  He joined Bastian a moment later and helped some of the men pull the ropes tighter to sheet in the sails and increase their speed. “You’ve gotten stronger,” Bastian said, clearly pleased to see him.

  “And your sailing is better than I remember.” He nodded toward where the enemy vessel was struggling to raft alongside the Sea Witch. “Where is Rider?”

  “Forward, helping your captain keep the launches from tying up.” Drops of sweat ran down Bastian’s furrowed brow, and his long hair stuck to his face. He had a wild look about him, but his eyes were keenly focused on the sails, his cheek turned so that he could feel the direction of the wind.

  Indeed, Taren saw Ian and Rider, along with Barra and Aine, as they held off the launches. Already one of the small boats had lost its hold on the Sea Witch’s deck and was quickly being left behind.

  “We’re fine here,” Bastian told him. “See what you can do to help them. There are plenty of men aft.”

  “But Rider—”

  “Worries far too much for my safety. I’ll be fine. I promise,” Bastian said. “Go now. We’ll be fine here—there are more than enough men to keep me safe.”

  Taren glanced around, hesitated once again, then set off for the foredeck.

  Twenty-Eight