* * *
Five days’ continuous favourable winds driving the fleet south-west was good luck enough to draw Urko from his cabin to endure the company of his High Mage, Bala Jesselt. Ullen steadied himself next to his commander, noting how the man remained rock solid no matter the shock of each swell or shudder of a fall into a deepening trough. Yet every league gained seemed to deepen furrows at the old admiral's brows.
‘Unexpected reach and influence this new ally possesses, yes?’ said Bala from mid-deck. Ullen glanced back to her; somehow, the woman's voice, pitched no higher than usual, penetrated the howling winds and crashing seas. An eerie calm also surrounded the giant woman, no spray or winds touching her layered robes, or her intricately bunched hair.
The latest count?’ Urko growled.
‘None missing. The transports are still falling behind, though.’
‘Have the lead elements drop sail. Hold back, if necessary. No sense arriving without the damned army.’
‘Yes, sir. If I may, Admiral …’
‘Yes?’
‘Our speed – does this not change our plans? Will we not arrive ahead of schedule?’
Scowling, Urko eyed Bala. ‘Anything new from Choss?’
The Dal Hon mage edged her head side to side, her fan flickering so swiftly as to be invisible. ‘Nothing, dear Urko. A word perhaps, to my resource – congratulations? He has earned as much surely.’
‘That or my fist in his face. I'll decide which once all this is over and done. Until then, nothing. Understood?’
Bala gave an exaggerated huff that shook her broad bosom. She muttered under her breath, ‘All my efforts …’
Ullen could only shake his head. Here they were running ahead of typhoon winds threatening to swat them from the face of the sea, shouting to be heard, and she's fanning herself, able to communicate her faintest complaints. ‘Will they be there, in Cawn, to rendezvous?’ he called to Urko.
The admiral shook his head; spray glistened on his scar-mottled mostly bald pate. ‘No. At this rate, we'll beat them. Mind you, making the Horn could be touch ‘n’ go. No matter, when we arrive in the harbour those Cawnese'll come around. Always able to tell which way the wind's blowing, them.’ And he laughed then for the first time in months. ‘Get it? Wind blowin’? Ha!’
Ullen smiled, relieved to see his commander in a lightened mood. Yet he could not keep his gaze from returning to the glistening dark face of their High Mage. She sat where she always had, at centre deck, where she'd first positioned herself, and, thinking on it, Ullen could not call to mind a single time when she could not be found there. She even took her meals there, and slept sitting up, her fan shimmering and hissing through the night like a giant insect. He had to admit to being impressed – she reminded him of their old powerful cadre mages, A'Karonys or Nightchill.
Her eyes rose then, capturing his – huge brown pools, and she smiled as if guessing his thoughts. ‘They don't know you have me,’ she said, or seemed to say; he could not be sure. ‘They think this will be a contest of hedge-wizards and wax-witches. But I am of the old school, friend Ullen. I was taken in by Kellanved – and expelled by Tayschrenn. And for that I will teach him regret.’
The fan seemed to snap then with a slash that Ullen could almost feel above the storm driving them on. He glanced to Urko but the commander seemed oblivious to the exchange. Keep her in check –Urko had expressed every confidence he could keep the woman in check. Yet even now she hinted at larger ambitions and her own motives, playing her games undeterred by, or contemptuous of, his presence. What sort of a viper had they taken into their midst – a viper even too traitorous and unreliable for the emperor and his kind?
All the while the fan hummed, almost invisible, shimmering, and Ullen wondered, was it this ally of a priest of a sea cult helping them along, or were they all merely at the mercy of a flickering fan?