And as the dagger punched upwards and his head roared with brief pain before the end, the skipper knew Selik would soon be joining him, embraced by the Gods of the Sea.
They would make their own judgement and exact their retribution.
Chapter 35
The going was occasionally tricky but never particularly dangerous. While the Protectors drove on, oars biting into the choppy waters, a picture of precision synchronisation, The Raven, sail full, skimmed quickly down the channel, soon leaving the long boats in their wake.
With soaring cliffs to the left, lost in the low cloud, and a jagged series of smaller rock islands to the right, the wind whistled across the skiff, forcing The Raven to sit to starboard to balance the pull of the sail.
One hand on the main sheet, the other gripping the tiller, Denser sailed under the watchful but approving eye of The Unknown who still stood, hand on mast or mainstay.
Denser’s heart raced, his mind a fog of excitement and sorrow. Their speed was a joy, rushing them towards Lyanna, the daughter he hadn’t seen in too long but who would cost him the life of Erienne. He looked at her. She sat on his right, one hand clasping the gunwale, the other on his shoulder. She was staring at him from under the hood of her cloak.
He smiled at her and her hand gripped his shoulder a little more firmly, massaging it through his heavy cloak. He nodded, unable to say anything. They’d been inseparable these last few days and had known a closeness, a oneness, that they had never experienced before.
It had been born partly of desperation of course but there was far more to it than that. The sense that what they had to do was right and that though they would be parted forever, the love they knew would live on in Lyanna. Denser was sure already, though, that he would never get over losing Erienne.
But they were cried out now. What could or should have been was unimportant. Dreams and plans could not be made. Now, there was reality to deal with, and Denser had to focus on saving his daughter so that his wife could die for her.
He looked away again, adjusting the tiller slightly and edging out the main sheet as the latest gust grew stronger. Not far now.
The Raven had their initial view of Herendeneth as the afternoon began to drift towards dusk. It looked at first sight a blank wall of unapproachable rock, but all over its grey face, green poked out as if through part-open doors, fronds cut off unnaturally though the remnants waved in the wind.
Erienne drew sharp breath. ‘The illusion’s breaking up everywhere. They’ll be able to see the house from above, I’m certain of it.’
‘We need to know the situation,’ said The Unknown.
‘Why don’t you fly up there and take a look round now, love?’ suggested Denser. ‘Let them know we’re coming, spend a little time with Lyanna before we have to get busy.’
Erienne beamed. ‘What a lovely idea.’
‘I am known for them occasionally,’ said Denser.
Erienne half-stood and flung her arms around the Xeteskian, kissing him passionately.
‘Disgusting display,’ said Hirad, mouth wide in a grin.
‘Certainly is,’ said Denser, disengaging himself and pulling the tiller back towards him from where Erienne had pushed it with her body.
She steadied herself, prepared the spell and took to the air, hovering behind and above Denser, and leaning down to kiss the top of his head.
‘Don’t be too long,’ she said.
He reached up and cupped her face in one hand. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She flew away south, keeping low and out of the worst of the wind that blew hard above the cliff line, soon becoming a small dot in the dull sky. Denser watched her go, jealous that anyone should have the benefit of her love bar him. Even his daughter.
‘Tell you what,’ said The Unknown, looking down on an increasingly green Ilkar. ‘Fancy a look behind us, Ilkar? We need to know if there’s anyone coming after us and how far they are away.’
Ilkar nodded. ‘Anything to get off this rickety assortment of bobbing logs.’
‘Don’t get too close,’ said Hirad.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Ilkar pointing at his eyes. ‘These are very good.’
Jevin sailed down the right of the channel as Ren had advised. His lookouts kept watch fore and aft and when the shout came and the sign was relayed from the crow’s nest, he wasn’t surprised. But the sight saddened him.
There she came, emerging from the periphery of his vision in the lowering dark afternoon, the Ocean Elm slewing from side to side like some giant drunkard. At her helm, someone with no notion of the rudder in relation to the wheel, the strength or direction of the wind or the inertia of the beautiful vessel. It was no elf that steered and in that moment he and his crew mourned the dead on their sister ship.
Jevin acknowledged their passing and led a prayer to the Gods of the Seas and the winds to keep their souls safe in the bosom of the ocean. And then he watched and waited for the inevitable.
He shook his head time and again as he observed the Elm’s progress. Saw her wander this way and that under full sail. No one stood ready in the rigging, no one swung lines. Not one of them would be ready and in that he would take some satisfaction. Perhaps most of them would drown and spend eternity in a twilight of pain, just too far from the surface to draw breath. He wished for it.
He briefly feared collision but in truth, the fools on the Elm could not steer well enough to orchestrate any such thing. He wondered whether they had paused to question why he travelled under such little sail, content to amble while his crew took soundings from every part of his ship. He wondered whether they had even seen him at all.
So he watched, and when it happened he heaved a sigh. Beauty destroyed. The sight came to him before the sound. Perhaps only a mile distant, the Elm slowed suddenly as if the hand of a God had grabbed her prow. She rose up, still driving forward, then toppled sideways, still coming, the holes in her hull awful and mortal. It was a horrible sight.
The sound came a heartbeat later, a rending, tearing, grinding sound. The death wail of a helpless ship. He imagined . . . he hoped, he could hear the screams of those onboard as they pitched into the merciless sea or were dashed against rock and timber. The water around her boiled as she foundered, sinking quickly.
‘Bows ready!’ he ordered.
A dozen crewmen lined the port quarter, arrows nocked, ready to draw and fire.
They came like he knew they would. Cowards too scared for their own skins even to attempt the launch of a boat. And while their surviving ship-bound companions made desperate attempts to save themselves, the mages flew. He tracked them, his gaze skipping across the sky, one carrying another like Denser had done Hirad.
‘Don’t let them close,’ warned Jevin. ‘None of them will touch my deck while they still breathe.’
Strings were drawn, longbows bent, arms strained. Jevin waited while they approached, aiming to fly along the channel, presumably in the hope of finding their Dordovan friends. Jevin found that, although they presented no danger to his ship, he couldn’t let them fly free from what they had done to the Elm or her crew.
‘Shoot them down.’
The volley of a dozen arrows flashed away into the sky. Five dropped screaming, their magical wings gone, the sea closing over their thrashing limbs, the gods helping them to hell. Three remained, including the carrier, wheeling away. More arrows nocked, the thrum of bow strings again, the sight of the black shafts whipping out after their prey.
Another mage fell and the carried man cried out. Jevin couldn’t quite make out where the arrow had struck. He trusted the wound would bring him a slow death. Perhaps a lung. He nodded.