Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

Arutha came awake in his cabin Martin Longbow was sitting by his side. “Here.” The Huntmaster held out a steaming mug of broth.

 

Arutha levered himself up on his elbow, his bruised and tired body protesting. He sipped at the hot broth. “How long was I asleep?”

 

“You fell asleep on deck last night, just after sundown. Or passed out, if you want the truth. It’s three hours after sunrise.”

 

“The weather?”

 

“Fair, or at least not storming. Amos is back on deck. He thinks it might hold most of the way. The damage below is not too bad, we’ll be all right if we don’t have to withstand another gale. Even so, Amos says there are a few fair anchorages to be found along the Keshian coast should the need arise.”

 

Arutha pulled himself out of his bunk, put on his cloak, and went up on deck Martin followed. Amos stood by the tiller, his eyes studying the way the sail held the wind. He lowered his gaze to watch as Arutha and Martin climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck. For a moment he studied the pair, as if struck by some thought or another, then smiled as Arutha asked, “How do we fare?”

 

Amos said, “We’ve a broad reach to the winds; had it since we cleared the straits. If it holds from the northwest, we should reach Krondor quickly enough. But winds rarely do hold, so we may take a bit longer.”

 

A lookout shouted, “Sail ho!”

 

“Where away?” shouted Amos.

 

“Two points abaft port!”

 

Amos studied the horizon, and soon three tiny white specks appeared. To the lookout he shouted, “What ships?”

 

“Galleys, Captain!”

 

Amos mused aloud. “Quegan. This is a bit south for their usual patrols if they’re warships, and I don’t think it likely they’re merchantmen.” He ordered more canvas on the yards. “If the wind holds, we’ll be past before they can close. They’re fat-bottomed tubs under sail, and their rowers can’t maintain speed over this distance.”

 

Arutha watched in fascination as the ships grew on the horizon. The closest galley turned to cut them off, and after a while he could make out the hulking outline of the galley, its majestic sails above a high fore and aft deck. Arutha could see the sweep of oars, three banks per side, as the captain attempted a short burst of speed. But Amos was right, and soon the galley was falling away behind. As the distance between the Wind of Dawn and the galleys slowly increased, Arutha said, “They were flying the Royal Quegan standard. What would Quegan war galleys be doing this far south?”

 

“The gods only know,” said Amos. “Could be they’re out looking for pirates, or they could be keeping an eye out for Keshian ships straying north. It’s hard to guess. Queg treats the whole of the Bitter Sea as her pond. I’d as soon avoid finding out what they’re up to as not.”

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and Arutha enjoyed a sense of respite after the dangers of the last few days. The night brought a clear display of stars; he spent several hours on deck studying the bright array in the heavens. Martin came on deck and found him looking upward. Arutha heard the arrival of the Huntmaster and said, “Kulgan and Tully say the stars are suns much like our own, made small by vast distances.”

 

Martin said, “An incredible thought, but I think they are right.”

 

“Have you wondered if one of those is where the Tsurani homeworld lies?”

 

Martin leaned upon the rail. “Many times, Highness. In the hills you can see the stars like this, after the campfires are out. Undimmed by lights from town or keep, they blaze across the sky. I also have wondered if one of them might be where our enemies live. Charles has told me their sun is brighter than ours, and their world hotter.”

 

“It seems impossible. To make war across such a void defies all logic.”

 

They stood quietly together watching the glory of the night, ignoring the bite of the crisp wind that carried them to Krondor. Footfalls behind caused them to turn as one, and Amos Trask appeared. He hesitated a moment, studying the two faces before him, then joined them at the rail. “Stargazing, is it?”

 

The others said nothing, and Trask watched the wake of the ship, then the sky. “There is no place like the sea, gentlemen. Those who live on land all their lives can never truly understand. The sea is basic, sometimes cruel, sometimes gentle, and never predictable. But it is nights like this that make me thankful the gods allowed me to be a sailor.”

 

Arutha said, “And something of a philosopher as well.”

 

Amos chuckled. “Take any deep-water sailor who’s faced death at sea as many times as I have, and scratch him lightly. Underneath you’ll find a philosopher, Highness. No fancy words, I’ll warrant you, but a deep abiding sense of his place in the world. The oldest known sailor’s prayer is to Ishap. ‘Ishap, thy sea is great and my boat is small, have mercy on me.’ That sums it up.”