The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [101]
Abruptly a white, shining mist envelops the schooner, invisible but seeming to bar Creslin from seeing anything beyond what his eyes could see from outside the Lightning.
“He’s shielded their ship,” Megaera notes.
“I discovered that.”
“Could you enlighten me as to your companion?” The captain stands behind Klerris.
“Oh, this is Klerris,” Creslin says.
Freigr inclines his head. “The passages didn’t mention you.”
“The Duke did not expect me.”
Freigr shakes his head, then turns to Creslin. “The Lightning will be on our tail before long.”
“Is she that fast?” asks Klerris.
“Not so fast as the Griffin.”
Creslin looks at the captain. “You look like you have a question.”
“Yes,” Freigr says. “How do you propose to save us? The Duke’s orders indicated that you would provide protection for the ship.”
“You just said that your ship is faster than the schooner.” It is clear to the silver-haired man that Freigr is considering his options.
Freigr smiles but only with his mouth. “I’m not worried about that schooner. I’m worried about the one that left the Great North Bay and will meet us in the gulf.”
“Why?”
Freigr gestures toward the stern and the diminishing white triangle that is all they can see of the Fairhaven schooner. “That’s the way they always do it. We all know about it.” He shrugs. “But what can you do? The wizards talk. That schooner would be hard-pressed to take us, even if they caught us. The one in the bay will bear a full wizard, and generally a White one, in this sort of thing, is worth two Black ones.” He nods to Klerris. “They must have guessed that you would be here, or they know.”
“I’m a healer,” Klerris admits. “Most uses of order aren’t helpful in war. The lady will be of more use.”
Freigr looks toward the bow, where Megaera’s hair whips back over her shoulders. Spray sheets past the redhead as the Griffin’s bow digs into a swell. Megaera regards the southeastern horizon without turning.
“I’ve got three of you on board?”
“Happily, yes,” responds Klerris.
“Three?” mutters the captain. “If I ever get back to see Korweil . . . Three frigging wizards. There’ll be at least two ships out of the Great North Bay, and me on a lousy sloop.”
“How long?” asks Creslin tiredly.
“What?”
“How long before they arrive?”
“Not until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, perhaps even late the following day. It all depends on the winds in the gulf, and whether they have their own Air Wizard.”
The ship lurches again, and Creslin finds that his stomach is not exactly where he thinks it is. His guts intend to turn themselves inside out. He refuses to give in to nausea and swallows, but the leaden feeling weighs at him. He can ride ill-mannered horses and ski ice-covered slopes . . . why should a simple ship leave him feeling sick?
Finally he hangs on to the railing, letting the cool wind bathe his flushed face.
“You all right?” asks the Black Wizard, stepping up beside him, carefully upwind.
“No.”
“Can you listen to me?”
Another sheet of spray flies past. “I guess so.”
“Then listen . . .” Klerris edges slightly farther toward the bow.
Creslin burps, hoping that will help. It does not. The bow dips into another swell, and his stomach tightens even more.
“Urrrppp . . .”
“That won’t help. Are you sure that you can listen?”
“I’ll try.”
“The clouds, the winds, the rain . . . all of them are related. Every time you grasp for the high, cold winds, you change something. The storm you created to get to Montgren deprived the farmers of Kyphros of rain for more than two eight-days. The fog and thunderstorm you used to fight your way into Tyrhavven will probably bring a hard and early winter onto most of Sligo. The rain that kept falling while we left was your doing.”
“My doing?”
“Don’t you listen? When you pull the winds from one place, air from someplace else has to move.”
“Ohhh?”
“Think of it this way,” Klerris persists, his voice hard. “The air we breathe