The Sea Devil's Eye - Mel Odom [64]
Iakhovas was among them. Laaqueel swam, watching as Iakhovas's arms became hard-edged with bone and dorsal edges that ran the length of the appendages. His finned arms and legs slashed through the ixitxachitls.
In minutes, the last demon ray had been executed. Sahuagin and koalinth alike made a meal out of their conquered enemies. Laaqueel swam above Tarjana's deck and surveyed the battlefield that stretched for almost a quarter mile. Bodies of sahuagin, ixitxachitl, and koalinth alike littered the water, twisted into inelegant poses.
The survivors moved through the dead with large nets in their wake, gathering them up. Meat was meat, and none of it needed to go to waste.
* * * * *
Jherek was on Steadfast forecastle deck, whirling the cutlass and hook around him as he moved from attack to defense and back again.
Finished for the moment, standing on quivering legs, his arms trembling from the exertion, the young sailor took a deep breath and looked over the bow at the eastern horizon. Steadfast tacked into the wind now, rolling first port then starboard as she plowed through the oncoming waves. The Whamite Isles were two days back and she made for Aglarond.
When his legs were steady again, he stepped over the bow railing and stared along the thirty-foot bowsprit. The wood glistened with salt spray. Ratlines ran down from the forward and mainmasts, helping hold the lanyards square and in place.
Concentrating, anything to keep from thinking about what and whom he'd walked away from thirteen days before, Jherek stepped cautiously and steadily along the bowsprit. The long pole measured nearly a foot across where it buckled into the caravel and narrowed to something less than four inches at the end. Nearly halfway out, the ratlines dropped too low to be any good to him if he fell. Still, he continued, his knees bent as he rode out Stead-fast's, rise and fall.
Long moments later, he stood within only a few short feet of the bowsprit's end. He reveled in the feel of the wind and the sea's uneven terrain. All around him, he could see nothing but the sea and the sky. He closed his eyes, turning his face up into the wind.
If he lost the anger that filled him, what would be left? The question had haunted him over the last few days. The answer terrified him. Whatever drove him wanted him broken. Perhaps it didn't know how close he already was. Perhaps it would have been satisfied if it had known. He'd even wished for a while that he could break, but he couldn't. He simply didn't know how.
"Jherek."
The call was soft, not meant to startle. The young sailor moved his feet carefully, turning to stare back at the ship. Captain Tarnar stood in the bow, arms folded across his chest.
"It's almost time to come about and tack into the wind the other way. I didn't want to lose you when we re-rigged the canvas."
"Thank you, Captain."
Carefully, Jherek walked back along the bowsprit, then hopped onto the forecastle deck.
Tarnar gazed at him in open speculation and said, "I've never seen a sober man try to do what you just did, and even drunk I never saw it accomplished."
Jherek flushed with embarrassment over drawing unnecessary attention. Since boarding Steadfast, he'd been the object of enough of it.
"Most of my crew is convinced that you're cursed, but a few think of you as some kind of holy man. Which of them have it right?"
"I'd say cursed," Jherek replied bitterly. "I don't know."
"Personally, I was thinking you might be blessed."
Jherek glanced at the captain to see if he was joking.
"All these days at sea, and us staring the Alamber in the teeth the most of it, and we've not suffered one sea devil attack. Most ships aren't finding passage that easy."
"The voyage isn't over yet," Jherek said harshly.
"You're not a man to ever see a glass half full, are you?"
"I've had reason not to," Jherek said. "Most days, it's not even been my glass to look at."
Shouts suddenly