Crusade - James Lowder [54]
7
Blood and Thunder The storm caused by Umberlee's wrath was the last bad weather the fleet saw on its way across the Inner Sea. Most of the days were bright and breezy, and the cogs, coasters, and carracks made good time toward the free city of Telflamm. Still, each day presented new problems for the ragtag navy and the soldiers unaccustomed to life at sea.
This particular morning, on a Sembian ship in the crusaders' fleet, Razor John rubbed his shoulder in a futile attempt to work out a knotted muscle. The fletcher's back had begun to ache continuously after his first night aboard the dark-hulled, square-sailed cog, and he'd been unable to shake the pain since.
The constant damp and perpetual hard labor he faced each day only aggravated the problem.
Sighing, John pushed his rough, spray-soaked blanket aside and sat up.
Like most of the other passengers onboard the Sarnath, he slept on the open deck. In fact, the shortage of storage space on the cog meant that many of the sailors and soldiers on her slept, ate, and passed their free time on deck.
Still, Razor John was a hearty soul, and he quickly acclimated to the everpresent dampness and the aches it caused.
He couldn't get used to the lack of privacy. Only high in the rigging could anyone escape the bustle of the deck, and that was certainly not the safest place to be. Four sailors had already plummeted to their deaths from the masts, the victims of a single misplaced step. Picking up half the survivors of the ship struck by lightning during the storm hadn't helped the overcrowding either. The refugees from the burned ship had swelled the ranks aboard the Sarnath almost to capacity.
Clasping his hands high over his head and stretching again, John said,
"Time to get up, Mal." When the snoring lump next to the bowsprit didn't move, the fletcher kicked it softly with a toe.
"Leave me be, son of a Sembian pig," Mal grunted. He pulled his blanket up over his head, muttering incoherent curses.
Razor John frowned. Mal-or Malmondes of Suzail, as John had discovered his full name to be-had proved himself quite adept at starting brawls with comments like that one. Though Mal was seemingly a goodhearted man, the fletcher found it hard to see beyond his many prejudices.
The fact that John, Mal, and their other companion, Kiri, were traveling on a Sembian cog only made the problem worse.
John nudged the ham-fisted soldier again. "Don't give the first mate an excuse to start in on you again, Mal." As the lump beneath the spray-soaked blanket grumbled, the fletcher pulled on boots and placed a shapeless felt hat on his mop of sandy hair.
"Won't get up again, eh?"
Razor John started, then turned to face the person who'd just posed the question. "No, Kiri," he said. "Just like every morning."
The thin, brown-haired woman handed John two hard biscuits and a piece of fruit. The fletcher let his gaze wander over the woman's lithe form to her slightly round face. As usual, her brown eyes were bright and made John glad to see her. In fact, he had recently found himself using images of Kiri and her smile as shields against the boredom and fatigue that assailed everyone aboard ship.
"Don't fret, John. If Mal sleeps for much longer, we'll split his morningfeast."
Kiri began to juggle the biscuits as she waited for a reaction from the blanketcovered warrior.
She didn't have to wait long, for Mal soon rolled over and scowled at her.
The blond soldier quickly held one of his large fists in front of his eyes, shielding them from the bright morning sun. "Only you would think of something that low, Kiri Trollslayer."
The soldier spoke the woman's name with as much venom as he could muster so early in the morning. He knew that Kiri hated her family name of Trollslayer. She hadn't revealed it to John or Mal at all; they had learned it from another adventurer onboard the Sarnath. Kiri had denied the name at first, but then reluctantly admitted that her father was indeed the famous Cormyrian freebooter, Borlander the Trollslayer.
"At least I have a family name, Mal. I