Direfang lumbered forward, intending to order the captain to relay the message to raise those sails and fast. How could any of his ships hope to outdistance the Blithe Dagger dead in the water? But then he knew they were guarding against ripped or torn sails; the ships risked being shredded by the strong storm. He swung around, looking for the wizard, and saw him stumble past the center mast on his way to the stern. Direfang followed, grabbing onto lines and sailors and coils of rope to keep from falling.
The several goblins that had made it up on deck were huddled together near the capstan. They hissed and gestured wildly to Direfang, but the hobgoblin went past them. “Go below!” he shouted, not certain they could hear him over all the ruckus. He lost sight of the wizard for a moment when another wave crashed over.
He thought he heard someone shout that a man had gone overboard.
“Don’t let it be the wizard,” he muttered.
Then he heard goblins scream as the ship rolled to starboard, the wind keening and the rain coming even harder. He leaped to grab the port rail, wrapping his arms around it and feeling his feet fly free. It felt as if his stomach were rising into his throat. He closed his eyes as a wave pummeled him. His eyes burned from the salty water, and when he opened them, all he saw was a wall of gray. A moment more, and the ship righted itself. Dizzy, he stood, still holding the rail, gripping it tighter still when another wave came.
A mistake, he thought, choking on swallowed water. This ship was a horrid mistake.
“Foreman!” the wizard called to him.
Direfang squinted, seeing shapes in the rain but not able to differentiate one from another. He tasted blood and realized he’d bitten his tongue. The saltwater worsened the pain. Spitting, he shuffled toward the stern, ducking once to avoid a flailing line, digging his claws into the rail so tightly that he felt the wood splinter against his palm.
Finally he saw the wizard, holding on to a post on the spar deck. The Clare rose and fell, threatening to pitch Direfang over the side, but he fought his way to the center, grabbing tightly to the aft mast and yelling for Grallik. Direfang could barely hear his own voice and succeeded only in growing hoarse and swallowing rain and seawater. He held his chin tight to his chest and took several deep breaths, then pushed off of the mast and staggered toward the short flight of stairs that would take him up to the spar deck.
Grallik stood there with two sailors, who were steadying the wizard as he worked his fingers as though weaving a web. He mouthed the words to a spell and squinted through the rain to spy the prow of the pirate vessel steadily approaching through the heavy storm. Direfang lunged for the stern rail, holding tight to it just as the Clare climbed another wave and crashed down.
The Blithe Dagger was under full sail. Its main canvas held steady, as though unaffected by the storm. Its pennant flapped only slightly.
“Magic,” one of the sailors cursed. “The ship that dogs us is enchanted.”
“Can’t be, not an entire ship,” the other replied as he grabbed Grallik’s belt to help steady the wizard. “But her captain … it’s said the captain is a sorceress and can keep the ship dry and steady in any gale. Might as well strike the colors and surrender. She’ll take all six of these ships in time.”
“Aye, surrender and pray to Zeboim the pirates let us live,” said the first.
Direfang gaped when he finally caught a good look at the Blithe Dagger. It was as the one sailor said. The ship appeared dry. The rain seemed to be held at bay by some force; he could see it veer off just shy of the ship. The enemy vessel wasn’t nearly as large as the Clare, with only one mast and a square topsail. He saw men and women crowded at the bow, grappling hooks and lines ready. The ship closed fast.
“Wizard, bring down some fire!” Direfang howled.
Grallik was busy doing just that. Just then a column of flame shot down, aimed at the bow of the Blithe Dagger, where all the sailors stood. Steam hissed around the column, clouds roiling away from the flames, the crackling of which could be heard through the storm.
“More!” Direfang encouraged. The sailors holding Grallik up added their encouragement. “Bring down …” But the words died in the hobgoblin’s throat.
The column of flame clearly had struck its mark, but it caused the ship and its crew no apparent harm.
“Their sorceress,” Grallik gasped. “she’s protected them from flames too … fire and the storm. She bends the elements, Foreman.” Still, he tried to send more fire strikes at the Blithe Dagger, concentrating on the sails, with the same result.
“Hold him,” one of the sailors said to Direfang. He tromped away from the wizard. “I’ve got to report to Captain Gerrold, tell him we’re all but done.” He disappeared down the steps toward the main deck.
“I’ll not give up,” Grallik said to the hobgoblin leader. His face was drawn together as he pointed at the enemy ship, which loomed frighteningly close. Fire shot from his fingers, striking the bowsprit and sending steam hissing in all directions.
Direfang grabbed Grallik’s tunic with one hand and with the other squeezed the stern rail as hard as he could.
Once more the wizard drew his best fire down on the ship.
“Nothing!” the hobgoblin spit. “Your pathetic fire magic does nothing.”
The sounds grew louder-the thrumming of the thunder and the groans of the wood, a snap, followed by sailors yelling that a mast had broken. There was a crash, and Direfang knew it was the mast falling; he didn’t have to look to confirm it. There were shouts from the Clare’s crew, feet pounding over the deck; the wind howled amid the constant rain and roaring of the waves. The sailor helping to hold Grallik began praying aloud to Zeboim, nearly shouting the words.
“Your god won’t listen,” Direfang muttered. “The gods never listen. Worthless and empty, the gods.”
He heard shouts coming from the deck of the Blithe Dagger and saw a tall Ergothian dressed in red swing the grapple above his head. The man meant to catch the stern rail of the Clare.
“They’re getting ready to board us,” Grallik said, abandoning the fire spell he’d started. “The sorceress … do you see her?” He gestured with his head.
Direfang saw a woman dressed in a black robe, blood-red cloak gently billowing around her. She was the only one who didn’t have a weapon strapped to her waist or in her hand. Her head was shaved, a gold circlet sitting on it like a crown. Her eyes caught his; he saw her smile, and a shiver raced down his spine.
“She’ll kill us,” Grallik continued. “Her ship’s not big enough to haul your goblins. She’ll kill you and strip everything valuable. She’s not a slaver.”
“Aye,” the sailor who had been praying to Zeboim agreed. “And then she’ll sink the fair Clare.”
A mistake, Direfang thought, swallowing hard. He’d doomed all of them by agreeing to the shortcut to the Qualinesti Forest. His entire life was a mistake, he thought. Thousands of goblins would perish because of him.
The grapple hook sailed out, narrowly missing the Clare.
“Closer!” the enemy sailor bellowed. He tugged the hook back and sent it circling his head again.
Whooping erupted from the Blithe Dagger’s deck as the hook sailed out again, that time catching hold somewhere below the rail, where Direfang and Grallik could not see it. Cheers followed, and the hobgoblin watched the sorceress disappear in the crowd.
Then the cheers turned to yelps of surprise as a glittering fork of lightning struck their lone mast. It was followed by a second bolt, that one splitting the mast in two. A third struck the port side above the waterline. The sails flapped like sheets hung out on a clothesline, one tugging free and floating into the storm, the other coming down with part of the mast, covering some of the crew.