The Wind Dancer

Jandar knew a real ship the moment he saw one.

The Wind Dancer was not large by the standards he had grown up with, but size had never been the best measure of a vessel. She sat well in the water. Her mast was straight, her lines were clean, and nothing about the crew suggested they expected the harbor to forgive mistakes.

That was enough.

After the patched riverboat they had dragged around a waterfall, she looked magnificent.

Jandar stopped at the edge of the dock.

Behind him, Deacon nearly walked into him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You stopped.”

“I am appreciating competent construction.”

Deacon looked at the ship.

“It floats.”

Jandar turned.

“You know, I have been very patient with your opinions about boats.”

“You bought one because it had a sail.”

“It also floated.”

“Eventually.”

Jandar ignored him.

The Wind Dancer rode against the dock on heavy lines while her crew loaded the last of several crates into the hold. She was broad enough for a proper cargo deck, narrow enough to make good speed and armed more seriously than most merchant ships had any reason to be. Two heavy crossbows sat mounted along the rails, with a larger weapon fixed near the bow.

Not military.

Prepared.

That interested him.

So did the woman giving orders from the center of the deck.

Captain Tawetta was perhaps ten years older than Jandar, though years at sea made such judgments unreliable. Dark hair had been tied tightly behind her head. A weathered coat hung open over practical armor, and she moved with the absolute confidence of someone who did not need to remind anyone aboard who was in command.

Jandar approved immediately.

Captain Tawetta noticed him watching.

Her expression suggested the feeling was not mutual.

“Can I help you?”

Jandar smiled.

“I hope so.”

Deacon sighed behind him.

Jandar produced the small box Eticus had given them before they left the Citadel.

Captain Tawetta's attention shifted to it.

That helped.

“Eticus sent us.”

“That explains less than you think.”

“It usually does.”

She stepped onto the dock and took the box. Whatever was inside, she recognized it without opening it.

Her eyes moved across the rest of the group.

Zook stood beside Deacon, red hair shifting in the river breeze. Xil had chosen not to disguise himself inside Windmarch, though his hood remained up while they were in public. Vegon carried only a small pack now. The Grimoire had stayed with Eticus.

Mills stood at the back holding his lute and trying to look as though he belonged.

He failed.

Captain Tawetta looked at Jandar again.

“Misty Isles?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Jandar blinked.

“That was fast.”

“I said I would take Eticus's people if he ever needed it. I did not say I wanted to.”

“Those sound similar.”

“They are not.”

She handed the box to one of her crew.

“How much do you know about where you're going?”

Jandar glanced toward Vegon.

Vegon took that as permission.

“Very little.”

Captain Tawetta waited.

Vegon appeared offended.

“That was the answer.”

“I was hoping for more.”

“So are we.”

Tawetta looked toward the river mouth, where the water widened toward the distant coast.

“There used to be a city on the Misty Isles. Oron.”

Jandar had seen the name on old maps.

Barely.

One of those places chartmakers continued copying because no one was willing to be the person who removed it.

“No one sails there?” Zook asked.

“Not anymore.”

“Why?”

Captain Tawetta shrugged.

“Ask ten sailors, you'll get twenty answers. Fog. Bad currents. Missing ships. People seeing lights where there shouldn't be any. Then there's the maelstrom farther south.”

Mills raised a hand.

Everyone looked at him.

He lowered it slowly.

“Sorry. Habit.”

“What?”

“Is the maelstrom called something?”

Captain Tawetta stared at him.

“It's called the maelstrom.”

Mills looked disappointed.

“I can work with that.”

Jandar closed his eyes.

Tawetta looked at him.

“He yours?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Mills said.

Jandar opened his eyes again.

“We rescued him.”

“That was your first mistake.”

“I like her,” Deacon said.

Captain Tawetta smiled for the first time.

Then she rolled back one sleeve.

A mark showed faintly along her forearm.

The same purple-silver light Jandar had seen beneath his own skin when the Order's magic stirred.

Silver Crown.

He glanced at her.

“You're with the Order.”

“Sometimes.”

Jandar smiled.

“Voluntarily?”

Her eyes narrowed.

Interesting.

“That is an impolite question.”

“It was meant to be.”

“Then yes.”

Jandar's smile faded slightly.

He had forgotten people did that.

Joined willingly.

Captain Tawetta looked at his own arm.

She had noticed the mark beneath his sleeve.

“What about you?”

“Long story.”

“That means no.”

“It means the story improves when I tell it.”

“That also means no.”

Deacon walked past them and started loading his pack aboard.

Jandar followed before the captain could become any more perceptive.

The Wind Dancer left Windmarch before noon.

Jandar stood near the stern as the city fell behind them.

The cliff remained visible long after the lower docks disappeared. Above it, the Citadel caught sunlight against pale stone. Somewhere inside, Eticus was bent over the Grimoire of Orozon, attempting to read a language he had admitted he did not understand.

Jandar found that reassuring.

Not because Eticus was confused.

Because for once Vegon was not the only one.

Vegon himself stood near the rail looking slightly green.

Jandar noticed.

He said nothing.

For almost a minute.

“You look unwell.”

Vegon stared at the horizon.

“I am fine.”

“The deck has moved perhaps twelve inches.”

“I am aware.”

“You have spent weeks on rivers.”

“A river goes somewhere.”

“So does the sea.”

“That is philosophically true and practically useless.”

Jandar leaned beside him.

“You'll adjust.”

“I have no intention of adjusting to anything.”

The ship rolled gently.

Vegon swallowed.

Jandar smiled.

“Of course.”

Zook was doing better.

Much better.

The gnome had already explored enough of the ship that Captain Tawetta had ordered him out of the rigging twice, which Jandar privately considered a sign of progress. Deacon remained suspicious of the entire concept of water but hid it beneath the same expression he used for most inconveniences.

Xil seemed indifferent.

Mills was delighted.

That was unfortunate for everyone.

By sunset he had learned the names of half the crew, convinced one sailor to teach him three verses of an obscene harbor song and discovered the best place on deck for his lute to carry without competing with the wind.

Jandar found him at the bow.

“No.”

Mills looked up.

“I haven't done anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was tuning.”

“You tuned twenty minutes ago.”

“The sea changed.”

“That is not how instruments work.”

“You're not a musician.”

“And you are barely one at the moment.”

Mills stopped.

Jandar regretted the words immediately.

The minstrel looked down at the lute.

For a moment only the wind moved between them.

Then Mills touched his throat.

“Fair.”

Jandar leaned against the rail.

“No.”

Mills looked over.

“That was badly said.”

“By you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ill?”

“Probably.”

Mills smiled slightly.

Jandar looked out across the water.

The river mouth had widened until neither bank felt close anymore. Beyond lay the open sea.

Something inside him settled.

He had not realized how much he missed it.

Not ships exactly.

Movement.

A horizon that did not ask permission before continuing.

He had grown up with decks beneath his feet and ropes in his hands. Before the Silver Crown, before prison, before five strangers became something inconveniently close to friends, the sea had been the only place he understood without having to translate himself first.

Mills watched him.

“You're different here.”

Jandar looked at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You stopped talking.”

“That is slander.”

“You did.”

Jandar considered arguing.

Instead he looked back across the water.

“Ships are quieter than people.”

Mills glanced around at the crew shouting between deck and rigging.

“They are literally not.”

“You know what I mean.”

Mills smiled.

That was irritating.

Jandar pointed toward the lute.

“You may play.”

“Thank you.”

“Not the swamp song.”

Mills immediately began the swamp song.

Jandar left.

Three days into the voyage, Vegon stopped being sick.

On the fourth, he began practicing with the light crossbow taken from the drow attackers in Ilbus.

Deacon taught him.

Jandar considered this one of the strangest things he had ever witnessed.

The wizard stood near the stern with his feet positioned too carefully while Deacon adjusted his shoulders.

“Stop thinking about it.”

Vegon looked offended.

“That is poor instruction.”

“It is a crossbow.”

“Yes.”

“You point it at something.”

“I understand the principle.”

“Then stop explaining it.”

Vegon fired.

The bolt struck the target hanging from a rope off the stern.

Not the center.

But close.

Deacon nodded.

“Again.”

Vegon began reloading.

Jandar watched from the rail.

“I like this.”

Neither man looked at him.

“You two bonding.”

Deacon lifted one finger without turning around.

Jandar chose to interpret it as affection.

The Wind Dancer continued east and south.

Windmarch vanished.

Then the coastline became a distant dark strip.

Eventually even that disappeared.

The first week settled into routine.

Captain Tawetta ran a disciplined ship without running a joyless one. Jandar respected that distinction. Meals happened when they needed to. Watches changed cleanly. Crew members knew their stations but were not afraid to laugh while working.

He found himself helping almost by accident.

A line handled incorrectly.

A sail taken too late.

A knot that would hold but take too long to release under strain.

Captain Tawetta noticed.

“You said you weren't a sailor.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You avoided saying you were one.”

“Different.”

“You've captained.”

Jandar kept his eyes on the line he was coiling.

“That sounded like a statement.”

“It was.”

He looked at her.

Tawetta waited.

Jandar smiled.

“Once.”

She knew he was lying.

Not about captaining.

About the size of the answer.

“Merchant?”

“No.”

“Military?”

“Absolutely not.”

She studied him.

Jandar returned to the line.

Captain Tawetta laughed quietly.

“Pirate.”

Jandar looked at her again.

“That's an ugly accusation.”

“You tied a reef knot one-handed while watching my helmsman and criticized the turn under your breath.”

“He started too late.”

“He did.”

“Then I was correct.”

“You were.”

Jandar smiled.

“See? No evidence of piracy.”

Tawetta let him keep the lie.

He appreciated that.

The others did not ask either.

Perhaps they knew more than they let on.

That possibility bothered him less than it once would have.

The attack came at dusk.

Jandar was near the bow with Mills when the lookout shouted from above.

“Port side!”

Captain Tawetta was moving before the second call.

Crew rushed toward lines.

The helmsman turned the wheel.

Jandar looked over the rail.

At first he saw only water.

Then the sea rose.

Something long and dark broke the surface beside the ship, wrapped in streaming vegetation that made its body look half-grown from the ocean floor. Its head lifted above the rail, broad jaws opening around rows of uneven teeth.

Blue-white light flickered beneath its skin.

Jandar drew the moon-touched rapier.

“That's new.”

Mills stared.

“I don't have a song for that.”

“Live first.”

The creature struck.

Lightning erupted from its mouth.

Not toward Jandar.

Toward Vegon.

The bolt crossed the deck in an instant.

Vegon barely had time to turn.

Jandar saw something happen around him.

The air tightened.

Magic bent inward toward the wizard like a cloak caught suddenly by wind. The lightning hit the distortion and split around his body, still striking him but with far less force than it should have.

Vegon staggered.

Stayed upright.

His own expression showed surprise.

Jandar grinned.

“It works!”

Vegon stared at his smoking sleeve.

“This is not the time.”

“It seems exactly the time.”

The creature surged farther over the rail.

The Wind Dancer heeled beneath its weight.

Captain Tawetta fired her hand crossbow into its neck.

“Get it off my ship!”

Jandar was already moving.

The creature's head snapped toward him.

He stepped inside the jaws before they could close, drove the moonlit blade upward through the softer flesh beneath its jaw and twisted away as the animal recoiled.

It screamed.

The sound vibrated through the deck.

Another shape moved in the water.

Jandar saw it too late.

A second creature rose along the opposite side.

“Two!”

Deacon fired from near the stern.

His first bolt struck deep.

The second creature answered by climbing half across the rail and biting down on him.

Deacon disappeared beneath it.

“Deacon!”

Zook ran.

Jandar could not.

The first creature was still between him and the rest of the deck.

It lunged again.

He ducked under the head, cut along the throat and felt the blade catch against something hard beneath the weed-covered hide.

Not deep enough.

The monster twisted.

Its body slammed into the rail beside him hard enough to crack wood.

Mills had backed toward the mast.

Good.

Jandar pointed without looking at him.

“Stay there.”

“I am very comfortable here.”

Xil moved toward Deacon.

The second creature tore its head back.

Blood covered its mouth.

Deacon fell.

He did not move.

Something cold passed through Jandar.

Not fear.

No time.

Xil reached him.

Divine light flared beneath his hands.

The taint moved through the spell, dark at the edges, but Xil forced the healing into Deacon anyway.

The fighter coughed.

Then gasped.

Alive.

Jandar breathed again.

His creature tried to bite him.

He stabbed it in the eye.

That helped.

Zook appeared on its other side and cut into the slick body with both hands on his weapon, using the monster's own movement to deepen the wound.

The creature reared back.

Jandar moved with it.

There was a rhythm to fighting on a deck.

Most people fought against the movement.

Jandar never had.

The ship rolled and he rolled with it, shifting weight before the boards rose beneath him. When the creature snapped toward Zook, Jandar stepped along the tilted deck and drove the rapier between two heavy scales behind its jaw.

This time the blade went deep.

The monster shuddered.

Its weight slid backward.

Jandar tore his sword free.

The creature dropped into the sea.

For half a second he watched it disappear beneath the surface.

Then Deacon shouted.

The second creature had him again.

Of course it did.

Deacon had gotten back to his feet only long enough to become an attractive target.

The sea beast struck once with its jaws and again with the side of its head, driving him against the rail.

He fell hard.

Still conscious.

Barely.

Captain Tawetta fired.

Zook rushed across the deck.

Jandar followed.

Vegon stood near the mounted bow weapon.

Jandar almost laughed.

The wizard had abandoned the small crossbow entirely.

He had swung the ship's heavy weapon toward the monster.

“Can you use that?”

Vegon looked at him.

“I understand crossbows.”

“That is considerably larger.”

“The principle remains.”

He fired.

The heavy bolt tore into the creature's side.

The monster convulsed and turned toward him.

Electric light gathered beneath its skin again.

Vegon saw it.

So did Jandar.

The wizard did not move.

The lightning came.

Again magic folded around him.

This time Jandar saw the structure clearly: not a shield appearing after thought, but power reacting with Vegon before he had finished deciding what to do.

The bolt struck.

Vegon staggered backward against the weapon.

Stayed standing again.

His eyes widened.

Something like wonder replaced the fear.

The War Mage.

Eticus had been right.

Jandar hated when that happened.

“Later!” he shouted.

Vegon blinked.

The creature lunged at the rail.

Deacon fired from the deck.

Jandar had not even realized he was back on one knee.

The bolt entered the creature's open mouth.

Zook hit from the side.

Captain Tawetta fired from above.

The monster sagged against the rail.

Jandar ran.

He planted one foot against the broken timber and drove the rapier down with both hands.

The creature jerked once.

Then slipped back into the sea.

Its body vanished beneath dark water alongside the first.

For several seconds nobody moved.

The Wind Dancer continued forward.

Sails snapped overhead.

Water rushed along the hull.

Jandar looked around the deck.

Blood.

Broken rail.

A smoking scorch across the boards where the lightning had struck.

Deacon sitting with his back against the mast while Xil knelt beside him.

Vegon still holding the mounted crossbow.

Zook breathing hard near the port rail.

Captain Tawetta reloading as though she expected the ocean to send another one.

Mills remained exactly where Jandar had told him to stay.

Jandar pointed at him.

“Excellent.”

Mills looked startled.

“What?”

“You listened.”

“I was terrified.”

“Whatever works.”

Deacon groaned.

Xil looked down at him.

“You were nearly killed.”

“Again?”

Jandar walked over.

“That is becoming a habit.”

Deacon opened one eye.

“You're one to talk.”

“Not recently.”

“Give it time.”

Good.

If he could be unpleasant, he would live.

Jandar leaned against the mast and looked toward Vegon.

The wizard was staring at his own hands.

“You did the thing.”

Vegon looked up.

“What thing?”

“The War Mage thing.”

Vegon frowned.

“That is not what it is called.”

“What is it called?”

Vegon hesitated.

Jandar smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Arcane deflection.”

“That is worse.”

“It is precise.”

“It is dull.”

“It saved my life.”

Jandar considered.

“Then we keep it.”

Vegon looked away.

But not before Jandar saw the smile.

Captain Tawetta joined them.

Her attention went to Deacon first.

“You staying alive?”

Deacon nodded.

“Apparently.”

“Good. Dying passengers complicate payment.”

Jandar liked her more every day.

She looked toward the broken rail.

“We'll repair that before dark.”

Then at Jandar.

“You fight well on a deck.”

“Lucky footing.”

“No.”

He waited.

Captain Tawetta did not press.

That was twice.

Jandar suspected he might actually respect her.

Mills finally moved away from the mast.

He crossed the deck carefully, stepped over a widening smear of blood and looked toward the water where the creatures had vanished.

“Did anyone see enough to describe them?”

Six people stared at him.

Mills lifted the lute.

“For the song.”

Jandar laughed.

The sound came harder than it should have.

Perhaps because Deacon had almost died.

Perhaps because Vegon's strange new power had worked.

Perhaps because danger followed them with such persistence that laughing at it had become easier than asking what that meant.

He took a breath and looked west.

No land.

Only water.

Captain Tawetta followed his gaze.

“Still want the Misty Isles?”

Jandar looked at the damaged deck.

Then at his companions.

Zook was helping the crew repair the rail. Xil had begun wrapping Deacon's wounds after magic had done what it could. Vegon was already explaining his deflection to anyone unfortunate enough to stand near him.

Mills was writing.

Of course he was.

Jandar slid the moon-touched rapier back into its sheath.

“How much farther?”

“Two weeks if the weather favors us.”

“And if it doesn't?”

Tawetta looked south.

Far beyond the horizon, the maelstrom waited somewhere between them and the old islands.

“Longer.”

Jandar smiled.

“Then we'd better keep moving.”

The captain gave the order.

The Wind Dancer turned east.

Night settled over the sea.

Behind them lay Windmarch, the Grimoire and every answer they had managed to recover so far.

Ahead waited the Misty Isles.

A vanished city.

A route no one wanted to sail.

And, if the pattern held, several excellent reasons they should have stayed home.

Jandar went to help with the lines.