Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

She drew a small handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately wiped her nose. Then she smiled at him. “Thank you for saying that, but I think you’d have done better. Martin has told me a lot about you over the last few weeks, and you are a rather brave man by his accounts.”

 

 

Arutha felt embarrassed by the attention. “The Huntmaster has a tendency to overboast,” he said, knowing it to be untrue, and changed the subject. “Amos tells me if we don’t sight that ship for two days, we’ll have won free.”

 

She lowered her eyes. “That’s good.”

 

He leaned forward and brushed a tear from her cheek, then, feeling self-conscious, pulled his hand away. “You will be safe with us in Crydee, free from Guy’s plottings. My sister will make you a welcome guest in our house.”

 

She smiled faintly. “Still, I am worried about Father and Mother.”

 

Arutha tried his best to lay her fears to rest. “With you safely gone from Krondor, Guy cannot gain by causing your parents harm. He may still force a consent to marry from your father, but Erland could do no harm by giving it now. With you out of reach, it’s a hollow betrothal. Before this is all done, we shall have an accounting with dear cousin Guy.”

 

She sighed, and her smile broadened. “Thank you, Arutha. You’ve made me feel better.”

 

He rose and said, “Try to sleep. I’ll use your cabin for the time being.” She smiled as she went to his bunk. He closed the door behind him. All at once he felt little need for rest and returned to the deck. Amos stood by the helmsman, eyes fixed astern Arutha came to stand at his side. Amos said, “There, on the horizon, can you see it?”

 

Arutha squinted and made out a faint white speck against the blue of the sky. “Radburn?”

 

Amos spat over the transom. “My guess. Whatever start we’ve had is being slowly eaten away. But a stern chase is a long chase, as the saying goes. If we can keep far enough ahead for the rest of the day, we might blip them at night—if there’s enough cloud cover so the moons don’t mark our passage.”

 

Arutha said nothing, watching the faint speck in the distance.

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout the day they had watched the pursuing ship grow slowly in size. At first the tiny speck grew with maddening slowness, but now with alarming speed. Arutha could see the sails clearly defined, no longer a simple blur of white, and he could see a hint of a black speck at the masthead, undoubtedly Guy’s banner.

 

Amos regarded the setting sun, directly ahead of the fleeing Sea Swift, then watched the following ship. He shouted to the watch aloft, “Can you mark her?”

 

The lookout cried down, “Three-masted warship, Captain.”

 

Amos looked at Arutha. “It’s the Royal Griffin. She’ll overtake us at sundown. If we had but ten more minutes, or some weather to hide in, or she was just a trifle slower . . .”

 

“What can you do?”

 

“Little. In a broad reach she’s faster, fast enough that we can’t shake her with any sort of fancy sailing. If I tried to turn to a beam reach just as she came near, I could put a bit of space between us, for we’d both lose speed, but she’d fall off faster for a time. Then as soon as they trimmed sails, they’d overhaul us. But that’d send us southward, and there’re some fairly nasty shoals and reefs along this stretch of coast, not far from here. It’d be chancy. No, she’ll come in somewhat to the windward. When she’s alongside, her taller masts will cut our wind, and we’ll slow enough for them to board without so much as a by-your-leave.”

 

Arutha watched the closing ship for another half hour Martin came on deck and watched as the distance between the two ships shrank by a few feet each minute. Amos held the ship tight to the wind, driving her to the limit of her speed, but still the other closed.

 

“Damn!” said Amos, nearly spitting from frustration. “If we were running east, we’d lose them in the dark, but westward we’ll be outlined against the evening sky for some time after the sun sets. They’ll still be able to see us when we’ll be blind to them.”

 

The sun sank and the chase continued. As the sun neared the horizon, an angry red ball above the black-green sea, the warship followed by less than a thousand yards.

 

Amos said, “They might try to foul the rigging or sweep the decks clear with those oversized crossbows, but with the girl aboard, Radburn might not risk it for fear of injuring her.”

 

Nine hundred, eight hundred yards, the Royal Griffin came on, rolling inexorably toward them. Arutha could see figures, small silhouettes in the rigging, black against sails turned blood-red by the setting sun.

 

When the pursuing ship was five hundred yards behind, the lookout shouted, “Fog!”

 

Amos looked up. “Where away?”

 

“South by west. A mile or more.”

 

Amos sped for the bow and Arutha followed. In the distance they could see the sun setting, while off to the left a hazy white band stretched across the top of the black sea. “Gods!” shouted Amos. “We have a chance.”