Miro made a decision and snapped into action, almost with a sense of relief to finally be doing something.
“It’s time to mobilize. The only part of the plan that must wait is the lighting of the signals, and we won’t evacuate Sarostar until we have final confirmation. Beorn, I want you to leave a skeleton force here and take the rest of the men from Altura to the defenses at the free cities. Send word to Scherlic. He must find the enemy fleet.”
“What about the men who ambushed Jehral?” Beorn said.
Miro turned to Jehral. “Did you leave any alive?”
“No, High Lord. I was unable to question them.”
“Then we have to trust they were just brigands; there’s always some around. Beorn, tell our scouts in the vicinity of Sarostar to be vigilant. Jehral, I need you to . . .” Miro halted. “My apologies, Jehral, I realize you’re not Alturan . . .”
“Do not apologize, High Lord. Just tell me what I can do.”
“Are you well? Do you need attention?”
“Scrapes only.” Jehral grinned.
“Good man. Go to the Academy of Enchanters and find my sister. Tell her we’re putting the plan into action. She needs to stop work and move everything to our defenses at the free cities. I need every enchanter, every blade, and every trick she’s devised sent west.”
Jehral wheeled and rode away.
“Where will you be?” Beorn asked.
“I’ll head directly for Castlemere while you round up the last of our men here and see to Sarostar. Come quickly, Lord Marshal, I will need you.”
Beorn nodded. “I’ll see you there.”
A brisk wind blew from the west, carrying the scent of salt. A fine mist of spray filled the air as the bow of the graceful vessel smashed through one cresting wave after another. High in the crow’s nest, in the rigging, and on the decks, rugged sailors scanned the horizon, always searching, each man privately fearing what the crew of the scouting vessel would uncover in the void of ocean west of Altura.
Sailmaster Scherlic called out orders and chanted activation sequences, lighting up the shimmering sails and feeling the deck heel beneath his feet. The Infinity was far from shore, and the horizon clear in all directions. With the blazing sun at a perfect midpoint high in the sky, it was noon, and only the seekers at the helm and mainmast told him which way was east and which west. Scherlic kept the symbols lined up in one clear direction as he traveled east, his path taking him further and further into the deep blue waters of the Great Western Ocean.
The slim ship rode the peaks of the waves, carving the water as she rose up and down, hitting the troughs with a regular series of resounding booms. With the wind gusting strong behind him, Scherlic turned the Infinity across the wind to head in a more northerly direction. He chanted in a deep voice, calling on the lore of the Buchalanti to pocket the main sail and catch more wind, tightening other sails, feeling his beloved vessel pick up speed until she flew like a bird.
“Ship, ho!” the man in the crow’s nest called down. Without waiting for a response he called again. “Sails.” After the space of ten heartbeats he cried out again. “Sails! Many of them!”
Scherlic frowned as the sailor’s voice fell away in what could only be astonishment; he’d never heard one of the disciplined men and women that made up his crew react in such a way.
“Where away?” Scherlic called up.
“Dead ahead!” the sailor cried.
Scherlic was unable to leave his place at the ship’s helm; he was the sailmaster, and every turn was a chanted rune, every close-hauling of the sails required his attention. There were fail-safes, of course, but to Scherlic the spokes of the huge wheel at the helm were decorative only.
He wished he could rush to the front of the ship and peer ahead, but made do with the Louan seeing device he carried at his belt. Scherlic activated the lens and turned it in his hands, bringing the distant horizon into focus.
He couldn’t see anything.
The sailors in the rigging ceased moving as every man and woman stared ahead, usually a terrible breach in discipline, but even Scherlic had ceased chanting and let the symbols on the sails begin to grow dim.
He scanned the horizon to the left and right, waiting with pent breath, willing the Infinity forward, but dreading what would be revealed.
Then he saw them.
At first he thought it was a dark cloud, or perhaps he’d come across a new land, with a series of buildings rising from the ocean from one end of the horizon to the other. Surely these could not be ships?
There were just too many of them.