Hamil nodded slowly. “I had a similar impression,” he admitted.
“Aesperus is certainly capable of lying,” Sarth said. “While I have not met him as you have, I studied him through historical accounts and his own correspondence for many months. He probably would not break his word once he gives it, but he has a way of honoring his bargains with unfortunate consequences.” The tiefling stood and paced, his slender tail swishing behind him. “The question that interests me is why Aesperus would choose to give you this warning. He would not do it for your benefit. He hopes to influence your decision to his own advantage.”
“Assume that Aesperus is right, then,” Hamil said. “Something bad will befall Hulburg if Geran keeps after the Black Moon now. But he also said that abandoning the effort to chase down the Black Moon would bring ruin too. Both options would seem to be disastrous. How is that supposed to influence Geran’s decision?”
“Aesperus wants me to seek some third option?” Geran mused aloud. “I suppose it’s possible to abandon both causes, although I hardly see how that could help.”
“Or perhaps he suggests that you should return to Hulburg, leaving Seadrake to pursue the Black Moon pirates,” said Sarth.
“Which might in fact bring down both dooms that Aesperus warned you against,” Hamil answered. “That might be the point of his warning, in fact-choose one or the other so you don’t stumble into both.”
“This is maddening,” Geran muttered. “It might be that his only purpose was to see if he could get me to second-guess everything I do and jump at my own shadow, in which case, he’s well on his way to succeeding. It would have been better if he hadn’t said anything at all.” He shook his head. “In every tale I’ve ever heard told about an omen, prophecy, or prediction, efforts to cheat fate invariably fail. Why try to avoid it?”
“You do not strike me as a fatalist,” Sarth said.
“I don’t intend to surrender meekly to whatever doom is approaching.” Geran sighed and looked away from the window. He couldn’t imagine why Aesperus had deigned to warn him about the dangers ahead. In truth, he wished the King in Copper had no idea who he was. But the lich had taken an interest in him, whatever the reasons, and somehow Geran doubted that Aesperus would bother with any petty falsehoods or misdirections. That meant he had to choose. On the one hand, his family and his home stood in jeopardy. On the other, a woman he cared for deeply, even loved, and her innocent daughter faced a terrible fate … and his traitorous cousin seemed all too likely to escape him again.
Hamil watched him struggle with his thoughts. “So what will you do, then?” he asked.
Geran weighed his words before he answered. “I’ll do my best to forget what Aesperus had to say, and carry on as I intended,” he finally said. “I don’t know what threatens Hulburg, but I certainly know the peril Mirya and Selsha are in. I simply can’t leave them to their fate. And if Hulburg is doomed no matter what I do, then I might as well see to it that Kamoth and Sergen aren’t the ones who bring it about. What happens after that, happens. I have to believe that even Aesperus can’t foresee every outcome.”
The steward returned with their breakfast then, and Geran was surprised to discover how famished he was. Of course, he’d been outdoors in cold, damp weather for most of the last day, and that always left him starving afterward. When they finished, the three comrades went back up on deck and found that young Therndon’s frame was ready for the starry compass. With care Geran, Sarth, and the carpenter installed the dark orb in its new place just ahead of the helm.
When they finished, Geran waited for the pinpricks of starlight he’d noticed the previous evening to appear, but nothing more happened. He looked to Sarth. “I think that’s exactly the way it was fixed to Moonshark. Have we missed something?”
Sarth shook his head. “No, I do not think so,” he said slowly. “The device is enchanted to carry the ship to the Sea of Night, but it’s the middle of the day now. I think we’ll need to wait for the sun to set.”
“Just as Kamoth did the other day with Kraken Queen,”Geran said. He looked up at the sky and frowned. That would explain why the corsair ship hadn’t fled into the skies at the first sight of the Hulburgan warship. “All right, we’ll try again at dusk.” He mastered his disappointment and went back down to his cabin to get a few hours’ rest. He’d been awake for the better part of three nights running, and the time he’d spent unconscious in the cellar in Sulasspryn hardly counted as sleep.
A little before sunset, he roused himself and went back up on deck. Gray ramparts of cloud scudded along the horizon to the north, and the wind was growing stronger again. Geran had Galehand order all hands on deck, since he didn’t know what would happen if the compass worked, and he waited for the last orange gleam of daylight to fade in the south. Then he turned to Sarth. “Let’s try it now,” he said.
“You should remember, this is not my field of expertise,” the sorcerer replied. Sarth murmured arcane words and laid his hand on the surface of the compass. The pinpricks of starlight embedded in the crystal orb began to glow brighter and swirl slowly under his touch. Geran held his breath, watching intensely. Nothing else happened. Sarth frowned and tried a different incantation. That failed as well. Then he attempted a third, with a similar lack of effect. “I am sorry,” Sarth said. “There must be a specific incantation to address the device.”
Geran turned away and slammed one fist against the ship’s rail. “Damnation!” he snarled. Now what were they supposed to do? He’d assumed that the operation of the starry compass would be no obstacle, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.
“Wait!” said Hamil. “I forgot that I had this. Try the incantation from Narsk’s letter!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. “It’s a little sodden from that swim in the harbor the other night, but you can still make out the words.”
Sarth took the paper and looked at the words. “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps the Red Wizards who gave Narsk the compass gave him this incantation to awaken it.” He laid his hand atop the compass again and read aloud from the damp paper. “Jhel ssar khimungon, jhel nurkhme thuul yasst ne mnor!”
Around the circumference of the device, ghostly white runes became visible. A tiny dot of white light appeared near the top of the compass. Geran could sense the arcane power of the device at work. A faint silvery sheen appeared around Seadrake’s deck and masts, like moonlight caught in mist, and the ship leaped swiftly over the wavetops. “I think it’s working this time!” he called to Sarth.
“You have the helm, Geran,” Sarth answered. “The compass should be answering to you.”
Geran nodded. He wondered how he was supposed to steer up. After all, there was no set of sail or rudder he knew of that would carry a ship aloft. But he hadn’t seen any special gear on Kraken Queen in the brief time he’d been alongside the Black Moon flagship, so he didn’t think he needed any. The device was magical; perhaps it answered to the helmsman’s voice or will.
Feeling a little foolish, he fixed his eyes on the compass and said aloud, “Ascend slowly.”
Whether it was the sound of his voice or his simple intent, the starry compass heard him and answered. Its pinprick lights glowed brighter, and Geran let out a startled exclamation as some unseen force began to push the deck up under his feet. From either side of the hull the silvery sheen playing over the deck extended into two ethereal wings, seemingly made of nothing more than stardust and moonlight. He heard the sudden rush of water under the hull, the ruffle of the confused wind in the sails, and the mix of curses, gasps, moans, and whoops from the crew. The bowsprit rose high into the sky, and the ship leaped clear of the Moonsea in a burst of white spray. Almost immediately she heeled over in the breeze, carrying far too much canvas aloft now that there was no longer the weight of her hull in her water to hold her upright. Geran automatically spun the wheel to turn straight downwind and correct the dangerous heel, and the ship answered to his direction easily even though the rudder had no water to bite into.