Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [2]
The ship gave a sudden lurch as it pulled away from dock, followed by a shift as it righted itself that would have left the Harper sick to the stomach had he not already been in so much pain.
The injured sailor, oblivious to the departure of his shipmates, was still up in the rigging, trying to untangle a knot desperately when the sudden lurch and shift through him like a boulder from a catapult towards the shore. He crashed into deck of another ship, breaking his neck in the process.
Witter, now alone on the ship with the exception of corpses, had come to the conclusion that a disaster was at hand, and that it was more or less his fault. Had it been someone else blaming himself, he would have said they had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and that there wasn't anything else to do but make the best of it.
Which was precisely what the man planned to do as sheathed both sabers into his belt and ran back to the wheel. Grabbing the pegs, he pulled with his considerable strength and muttered a prayer to whatever gods were watching.
And thanked them many times over as the ship altered its course and started a healthy pace across the waves. For a mere moment time itself seemed to freeze and he was tempted to dive overboard. No, the wheel was too unsturdy. It would be better to simply stay and pray.
He was still counting himself as lucky when the bow burst upward into the heavens like a geyser of splinters. This was immediately followed by the main hull exploding.
For a record forty miles, over land and sea, the sound greater than a cannon shot across the land and in the distance faded into a sound akin to rolling thunder on a morning that had christened the sky a shade of baby blue. It was a sound many men, women and children would speak of in awe for years to come.
It was the last sound a number of spectators lining the docks would ever hear. Those that weren't killed in the heat wave that boiled their skin, were forever deaf.
The sound had been foremost among the history texts that scholars lined up to write. Next was the wave of heat that killed over a dozen people. Then there was the wave of water that had followed and left much of the docks in ruins. The last part, that only a few of the more detailed texts recorded, was the death of a Harper by the name of Witter.
No one, as far as history was concerned, mourned for this man. The essays written about the incident, and it was indeed recorded as only an incident and not a real threat to Waterdeep, were more concerned with the destructive power of smoke powder. Some essays were in favour of this invention, despite being frowned upon by fellows, while others declared that it was a pinnacle point in Waterdeep's history when it came to the banishment of guns and smoke powder.
Chapter 1
A chill breeze swept across Waterdeep's habour. The leaves had already started to turn colour for the autumn and the birds were heading south early. Today, in every inn, tavern and pub lining the many streets, alleys and boulevards of the great city, bards were singing a different tune.
In the harbour the flags flew at half-mast and nothing moved. The crowds were still there of course, plying their wares, but an unnatural silence had crept across the city. To many eyes this was perhaps a good sign, Waterdeep's populace humbled in an obscure way, to others it was a slow down in the market with the exception of the number of white wine sales that went up.
There was a sharp splash from the single ship in the harbour and Doctor Pierce O'Hiram closed his eyes as the body of his friend disappeared beneath the waves. Today was a day of mourning for a respected adventurer and, until recently, a little known Harper: Witter. The silence that followed the departure of his friend chilled the doctor to the bone and as he looked about the ship he could feel the grief of his comrades.
The cowled figure beside him spat and lit a cigar. Pierce glared at the elf for a moment, and then