When they had left there this morning, they did so by boat. The horses had been left behind. This fact concerned Gerard as much as getting onto the boat did. He had never been on a boat before. Shaella explained that their destination was deep in the southern marshes, and horses couldn’t travel there without sinking.
“We’re leaving the world of men behind,” she said, leaving him to wonder what other sort of worlds there might be.
It didn’t occur to him that there would be terrible dangers on this portion of the journey, at least not until he was brought out of his pleasant recollection by the sound of steel being drawn directly behind him on the river boat deck.
The huge Seawardsman, Greyber, swung his big sword in a wide sweeping arc slicing the abdomen of one of the deckhands open, and gashing into the thigh of another. Terror jolted through Gerard’s blood like ice. What was happening? Why? His eyes searched for Shaella, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Not on the fore deck. Not down either side of the railed walkway that ran past the sides of the box-like pilothouse, sitting in the middle of the boat’s flat-topped deck. He didn’t see her inside the pilothouse either. He did see the boat captain’s head suddenly twist to an impossible angle, before he slumped out of view. Where was she? What was happening?
There! He saw her! A brief glimpse when the pilothouse door had swung open as Cole left it. She was on the rear deck. He started to go there, with this heart hammering in his chest, but his way was suddenly blocked.
From around the walkway, to the right, men were approaching. Greyber stepped in front of Gerard protectively, and took up a readied stance. Gerard was forced back into the triangular area formed by the side rails coming together in a point, and Greyber’s rippling tattoo covered back. From where he was, he could see Flick standing on top of the pilothouse. The black-robed mage was chanting and pointing a finger down at something on the rear deck. Gerard thought he saw tiny streaks of crimson light shooting forth from Flick’s fingers, but he wasn’t sure. The man’s back was to him, and the sun was bright. It could have been glinting reflections, but he was fairly certain that it had been some sort of magic.
One of the men in front of Greyber lashed out with a long dagger, forcing the big man to jump back. Gerard was pinned into the bow rails, and had to lean out over the water to see around his protector. Another man had appeared, making it three. This one held a crossbow, trained in their direction, but he was behind the others, so he couldn’t fire it yet. He was jostling to get past his mate at the corner of the pilothouse so that he might get a clear shot at Greyber.
What happened next was more instinct than decision. Had he thought about it, he might’ve curled up into a fetal ball. Instead, Gerard dropped down to his hands and knees, and crawled forward between Greyber’s legs. He felt them tense as the big man swung his sword. Gerard didn’t rise up immediately, for fear of the blade. When he was sure he was clear, he rolled to the right, and screamed into his mind for the crossbowman to fire into his fellow’s back.
Instantly, the rush of the ring’s magic filled his body. His senses grew sharper, and the fear was forced completely out of him. He rolled to his feet in front of the two men, just as the crossbow bolt flew. The face before him contorted in shock and pain, as the steel-tipped bolt tore into him from behind. He started to fall to the ground, and Gerard wasted no time making his move. He reared back, and swung his fist as hard as he could into the face of the bewildered man, who had just shot his friend. The man stumbled backwards, down the walkway, and fell in a tangle of limbs. Before he could recover, Gerard began to savagely kick him. Within moments, the man was a bloody, unconscious heap.
Leaping over the man’s limp body, Gerard charged to the rear of the boat. Shaella’s sword was glowing pale yellow, where it wasn’t streaked with blood. At her feet, Trent and three of the deckhands, lay dead or dying, and before her, a huge burly man seethed with anger, while clutching a severe gash in his side. A few hundred yards behind them, shouts erupted from the deck of a flat barge that was heavily loaded with crates.
“Go!” Shaella commanded.
Gerard looked up at where Flick was standing over them on the top of the pilothouse. The bald man’s image shimmered and sizzled into a misty, blue color. Then, to Gerard’s open mouthed amazement, Flick disappeared altogether. Cole stepped out of the pilothouse then. He glanced approvingly at Gerard, and then strode towards the back of the boat, fading into nothingness as he went.