“He’s going to kill us, Jerick. We’re as good as dead,” Gibbous warned.
“Better us than the captain, Gibbous,” Jerick reasoned, and Kjell watched himself take steps he would never remember, watched his men struggle to get him to the inn, a plastered drunk with a lolling head, watched them lay him across the bed in his rented room, lifting his feet and removing his boots, setting his sword beside him, as if he could possibly wield it. He watched them close the door and leave him behind, and watched his world go dark.
He was floating, absent, unaware for too long. When he awoke, it was to pain and light, and he struggled to resurface, if only to annihilate the source.
“Wake up, Captain.” Padrig was pleading with him, slapping his face. He’d been doused in water—repeatedly, it appeared, from the pool he lay in—and he wore nothing but a pair of breeches and a grimace.
“Why am I wet?” Kjell groaned.
“I’ve been trying to revive you for an hour. They’re going to leave us, Captain. I’ve paid off the first mate and one of the ship’s captains, but the queen is insisting we depart, and your men have worked themselves into a lather over recent events. When Jerick said you weren’t coming, I knew there was something afoot.”
“Can you help me? I seem to be lost.” Jerick spoke up from somewhere nearby. Kjell attempted to turn his head, to find his lieutenant, but the bed was in the way.
“I know who you are,” Padrig soothed. “Your name is Jerick. And I will help you, kind sir. But I need your assistance,”
“You know who I am?” Jerick cried.
“Yes. I do. But this captain needs to get to his ship, and he’s ill. You are young and strong, and you can help us. Then I will tell you everything I know,” Padrig haggled. “But we must hurry.”
“What is wrong with Jerick?” Kjell whispered. Dust coated his mouth and whirled in his thoughts, but beneath the haze he was beginning to remember.
“He’s currently sitting mindless in the corner. I don’t have your strength or your size, but I have my own ways of debilitating my opponents. I am quite good at plucking thoughts right out of people’s heads, Healer, remember?”
“Explain, Spinner. Slowly,” he demanded, and he commanded his numb arms and liquid legs to obey him. The room tipped and tossed him back to his knees.
“Lieutenant Jerick’s memories are currently the newest star in the sky. He was determined to keep you from Dendar, so I had to change his mind.”
Padrig helped Kjell rise and eased him down on the bed, handing him his shirt before trying to shove his boots on his feet.
Kjell swatted him aside and, swaying, managed to do it himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Kjell hissed.
“Doing what?” Padrig said, retrieving the confused Jerick from where he huddled against the wall. Jerick looked blankly at Kjell, displaying no recollection whatsoever. Padrig handed the befuddled, young lieutenant Kjell’s satchel of personal belongings and two other bags. “One of these is yours, Jerick. Can you carry them to the ship?”
Jerick accepted them hesitantly, clearly not knowing what else to do.
Kjell tried to sheath his sword, and Padrig rushed to his side, guiding the blade home before Kjell stabbed himself in the leg.
“Helping me.” Kjell kept his eyes closed, his blurred vision compromising his ability to stay on his feet.
“I’m not helping you, Captain. I’m attempting to help Dendar,” Padrig replied. “Now lean on me, and I’ll do my best to keep us both standing.” Padrig stepped under Kjell’s shoulder and slipped a thin arm around his waist.
They tottered down the stairs, Kjell trusting the Spinner to keep him moving in the right direction, while he concentrated on using his legs and staying upright. Jerick followed behind with constant reassurance from Padrig that all would be well.
“How is helping me helping Dendar?’ Kjell asked, reeling.
“You must take this journey with us.”
“Why? You said I would only cause Sasha pain.”
“There are worse things than Saoirse’s pain,” Padrig huffed, staggering under Kjell’s considerable bulk. “I am more worried about what she has seen.” Padrig shook his head as if dismissing one thought for another. “Dendar doesn’t need a warrior, Dendar needs a Healer,” he said, inexplicably.
“What aren’t you telling me, Spinner?” Kjell pressed, trying to order his thoughts and summon his comprehension.
“I am telling you that there is a reason Saoirse has had visions of you since she was a child. Dendar needs you both, as painful and impossible as it might be,” Padrig muttered. “And I don’t dare leave you behind.”
Kjell could see the ships still moored in the harbor, and he focused on the white sails, the draped rigging, and the bunk he could fall into once he locked the faithless Gibbous and the traitorous Jerick in the brig. He hadn’t decided yet what to do about the stubborn Sasha.
“Praise the Creator,” Padrig panted. “I thought she would insist on leaving us both, Captain. I don’t think the queen is as fond of me as she once was.”
A shout went up. They’d been seen. Suddenly, Isak and Peter were bearing him up, taking his weight from the breathless Padrig.
“Captain Kjell! What is the meaning of this?” the captain of one ship—a man named Lortimer—was striding down the gangplank toward him.
“Where is the queen?” Kjell muttered to his men.
“She’s down below, Captain,” Isak answered immediately. “In her quarters. Gibbous put a man outside her door and the two maids inside with her. We thought you weren’t coming. Jerick told us you were ordered back to Jeru City.”
“Jerick lets his heart make a fool of him.” He wasn’t the only one. “Go fetch Gibbous. Tell him his captain would like a word.” Isak ran to obey, and Kjell addressed the Spinner. “Give Jerick back his head, Star Maker.”
“I will return the lieutenant’s memories.” Padrig said, but he hastened to add, “But maybe it is better if we leave him in Brisson Bay. Can you trust him, Healer?”
“Padrig, I don’t trust anyone—not you, not Jerick, not even myself. Do as I say.” Kjell was on the verge of collapse, and he didn’t need Padrig’s wheedling or interference. He also didn’t need a mindless Jerick. Seeing his lieutenant afraid and disoriented made him angry. It made him think of Sasha, robbed of everything—home, family, even her self—walking to Firi, to bondage, because she didn’t know where else to go.
“Very well, Captain.” Padrig shrugged. He flung his hands upward and a beam of light shot down from the sky, drawing gasps and cries from the crew and guard. Villagers on the docks gaped and a few screams were heard.
“Bloody hell, Padrig.” Kjell groaned at the theatrics.