Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [32]
Unfortunately, the terms of my agreement with Amn have conferred all the power of the council into this weasel of a man, including control of the finances backing the expedition. I will have to ensure his understanding of one fact: The legion answers to me and me alone!
Darien moved quietly in the shuttered privacy of her small cabin. A candle flickered with the swaying of the Fa/con, but its light was sufficient for her purposes. Indeed, she preferred its soft illumination to the harsh glare of the sun, so painful for her sensitive eyes.
Lifting a sturdy rucksack from her bench, she sought a hidden flap. Her white, dextrous fingers flipped a simple catch, and she pulled a soft volume out of its secret compartment. The leather-covered book contained dozens of sheets of fine vellum, and on each was inscribed one or more of her powerful incantations.
She took her spellbook to the small desk in the cabin, in the shadow, away from the flickering candle. The darkness caused her no difficulty, however, as she gently lifted the leather binding and began to read.
She turned the parchment pages carefully, silently mouthing the words as she read. Her full concentration focused on the tome before her as she studied and learned. Underlying her concentration was a powerful challenge burning at the core of her being.
She would be ready.
Thirty-second day, aboard the Falcon
Complaints and cowardice grow more apparent. This morning a near mutiny on Swallow. I sentenced two men to hang, commuted one, and watched the other swing.
Still nothing but the sea-not a bird nor a floating log to give us hint of land. The tumor of faithlessness must be controlled.
Evening. Now we've had wind drop away to nothing. The fleet sits with limp canvas, becalmed in the tropics. We must take action; we must do something!
"What are they doing?" Halloran asked, squinting into the setting sun. Falcon stood still in the water a few hundred yards away, her flaccid sails hanging in pathetic emphasis of their situation. The pennant of the Golden Legion hung straight down from the mainmast, its golden eagle concealed by listless contours of fabric.
The hour was late, but still the sun burned with a penetrating fire, casting nearly horizontal rays as it sank toward the western sea. No ripple disturbed the flat, lifeless surface of endless water.
"Eh? Who's doing what?" Daggrande put down his freshly oiled crossbow and joined Halloran.
"Look for yourself."
They saw the crew of the Falcon gathering amidships, leaving the raised afterdeck clear.
"That's the elf," spat Daggrande as a hooded figure emerged onto the Falcon's deck and climbed the steps to the rear. She stood alone there, turned away from the sun, away from the facing of the little fleet.
The sound of her voice carried across the water as she raised her hands and barked harsh syllables.
"Black magic, by Helm!" chuckled the dwarf. "That pointy-eared faerie might come in handy after all!"
"What magic?" Halloran felt a chill and was unable to shake off the feeling of eeriness. He remembered the magic of a decade before, the apparition that had claimed his tutor and sent Hal himself fleeing panic-stricken into the desert. He had used none of the few spells he knew since that fearful day. The feeling of his sword beneath his hand now gave him some comfort, but he could not shake his apprehension as he watched Darien finish her casting.
Abruptly the elven mage dropped her arms and ceased speaking. Halloran jumped, as startled by the sudden halt as he had been nervous during the casting.
For a moment, the supernatural stillness closed in again, no breath of wind stirring the water or the fleet. The sun seemed to touch the water as it set, and Halloran half-expected to hear the hissing of steam from the scalding contact that looked so near.
He felt it first as a cooling touch against his right cheek. He heard a