The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [106]
“Wizards closing!” a lookout cries.
“Creslin, I can’t answer that question. That involves the whole lifetimes of scores of people.”
“I’ll put it simply. Is this crew’s survival worth the deaths of those on the White ships?”
“You can’t balance lives that way,” protests the older wizard.
“That’s all I have to go on.” Creslin takes a deep breath and calls forth to the cold upper winds, then begins to tease the warm currents above the water into a rising dance.
Rhhhssttt!
Megaera concentrates, and a small fireball swerves past the foresail. A second fireball follows.
Less than ten cables away, a White ship appears.
“Veiled approach . . .” mutters Klerris.
“Hard port! Sails!” bellows Freigr.
Creslin grabs the railing as the sloop heels.
Rhhssttt!
Sweat beads on Megaera’s forehead.
Off the starboard bow, a darkness comprised of mist and swirling winds begins to solidify.
The Griffin shudders as the winds build.
Rhhhsttt! Rhhstt! Rhsssttt!
Fire clings to the foresail for a moment, but Klerris, sweating, murmurs something and the flame winks out.
“Dead ahead!”
Megaera looks up to see a black-green tower whirling, slowly and ponderously, toward the nearest White schooner.
The schooner turns toward the waterspout, as if to knife through it, or past it, but the water engulfs it in a tower now more than three times as broad as the schooner is long.
The second schooner turns south to take advantage of the wind. But the towering black-green spout swings south even more quickly.
Another fireball blazes through a corner of the sloop’s sail. The loose canvas flails, but none of the crew moves, too intent on watching as the spout bears down on the fleeing schooner.
Klerris’s forehead beads with sweat, and the flames on the canvas flicker out, leaving only a charred semicircle.
The schooner rises into the swirling darkness, then falls.
“Mother of darkness . . .” murmurs Klerris as he sees the white timbers, canvas, and debris strewn across the swells.
Creslin’s eyes remain absent, unfocused, as the sloop eases back onto a southeasterly course.
In time, Klerris and Megaera watch as a distant darkness again turns, this time northwest and toward a fleeing dot of white, a dot that vanishes into that swirling darkness.
Creslin’s eyes focus again. He grips the railing convulsively and pukes over the railing. Then his knees buckle. Klerris manages to catch him before his head cracks against the deck planks.
“Still overdoing it,” says Megaera wearily.
“Did we give him any alternative?” Klerris asks softly as he lifts Creslin over his shoulder.
The crew looks away as the Black Wizard carries his burden to the Duke’s cabin, Megaera following a step behind.
Freigr glances back at the debris, human and otherwise, that litters the swells behind the Griffin. Then he looks toward the Duke’s cabin. The captain swallows once, twice.
LXV
CRESLIN WAKES WITH a start. “No. Nooooo . . .”
In the darkness, he jerks upright.
Clunk.
“Ooohh . . .”
“Idiot,” observes Magaera unsympathetically from the lower bunk. She rises and pours a tumbler of juice, her movements in the darkness are sure as Creslin’s.
“Idiot?” protests Creslin. “For what?”
“Nothing. Just for being you.” Her voice is tired rather than harsh. She hands him the tumbler, careful not to touch his hands as she does.
He sips slowly for a time. “Thank you.”
“For what? For calling you an idiot?”
“For the redberry. How late is it?”
“After midnight sometime. Klerris carried you in like a sack of grain.”
Creslin takes another sip of the juice. He hears the sound of heavy rain on the planks overhead.
“How long has it been raining?”
“Ever since you tore those three ships apart.”
Creslin rubs his forehead with his free hand. “You’d better take this.”
“I’m not—” She reaches for the tumbler as she sees him sway, takes it from his limp hand and sets it on the table.
Then she touches his brow lightly, drawing her fingers away at the heat and dampness, wincing at the pain that lances at her as his barriers again dissolve.
Tears streak her cheeks. “Why? Damn you .