Black wizards - Douglas Niles [22]
Slowly but mightily he marshalled clouds heavy with water vapor, coaxing them from the highlands and forcing them out to sea. The force of his magic pushed and prodded the air, and gradually a breeze flowed from the shore. The breeze would become a wind and then a storm, if the cleric could maintain his spell.
And Hobarth knew that he could.
* * * * *
Canthus settled comfortably into the bow of the Lucky Duckling, while Daryth helped Rodger trim the lone sail. Ponstwain relaxed easily against the gunwale, staring at the water. He had removed his armor, wrapping it with their weapons in oilskins and storing the package in the hull.
"Fine offshore breeze," Rodger commented. "If it holds, we'll cross the strait in two days."
Tristan had been skeptical of the old seaman's abilities when they had first met, for Rodger must have seen at least six decades. His build was slight, and his permanently stooped shoulders enhanced his look of frailty. His face was leathery, creased by hundreds of lines, and he did not have a tooth left in his mouth. After seeing the easy confidence with which he guided the Lucky Duckling, however, the prince felt considerably reassured.
They soon passed the mouth of Kingsbay and entered the Strait of Alaron. For a moment he looked over his shoulder at Gwynneth. As the island of his birth fell away behind them, he felt that he should feel excitement and anticipation. But instead, he wrestled with the feeling that he might never see his homeland again.
I won't think of that, he told himself. Or of Robyn. Or of Father. He peered resolutely over the bow. It was time to look before him again.
He watched the keen, albeit weathered, bow of the Duckling slice through the brine and enjoyed the sight of the wake foaming out to either side. He turned to see it spreading apart like a feathery trail behind the boat and saw that Gwynneth was practically out of sight. Daryth was relaxing in the bottom of the hull, his eyes closed and his head pillowed on a coil of rope.
"I hope the old fool can keep us on a straight course," said Pontswain, coming over to join him.
"Of course he can!" Tristan retorted, annoyed.
"It must be nice to have such faith in people," said the lord, with a sidelong glance at the prince. Shaking his head in amusement, Pontswain settled into the hull to sleep.
Tristan continued to watch the rolling waves, but gradually the experience became less pleasant. He began to feel his stomach heave upward every time the boat climbed a wave, and then threaten to lurch into his throat as they sliced down the other side. He began to dread the crest of each wave, his discomfort growing more acute. His footing grew shaky, and the strength seemed to drain from his arms as he tried to brace himself.
"First time at sea?" Rodger cackled the question from the back of the boat.
Tristan could only manage a mute nod, for his jaws were tightly clenched.
"This is nothing," laughed the fisherman. "It'll get lots worse in the middle of the strait."
This remark pushed the prince over the brink of self control, and he hung his head over the side, sending the remains of his breakfast to the fish. At least Pontswain and Daryth are still asleep, he thought, nauseated. He clung to the side of the boat as the constant motion of the waves seemed to grow more pronounced.
The long day seemed endless, and his condition worsened as the wind picked up. The Lucky Duckling seemed to fly from one wavetop to the next, and the prince noticed that the waves themselves were growing considerably higher than they had been at the start of the journey.
"Best trim the sail," grunted Rodger to Daryth as the latter arose to look around. "Sea's getting higher'n I expected."
Daryth loosened a line, pulling the boom higher up the mast so that the amount of sail exposed to the wind was reduced dramatically. Tristan felt the boat slow beneath him and could sense more control returning to the fisherman. The wind still tugged fiercely at the exposed canvas, but Rodger was able to guide the little vessel carefully over