The Eighth Warden Bk. 04 Ch. 11-12

The ship jerked to the side as the rigging was pulled tight, the broken mast half on board and half off, dangling over the edge of the ship.

"Cut it loose!" Valen shouted. "Cut it loose!" Sailors drew their belt knives and quickly started cutting the lost rigging rope by rope.

While they did that, Ariadne's seaborn friend ran to the side of the ship and leapt over, diving in headfirst after the man who'd fallen into the ocean. Another seaborn sailor unfurled a rope ladder so they could return—the nearest ladder that hadn't been lost when the railing was crushed.

Captain Valen growled. "We need to heave to, but the storm's coming on too strong. We might lose another mast even if we take the sails down. Can you do something?"

"What do you need?" Sarette asked. They'd learned not to make assumptions about sailing after Valen had lectured them for making his crew do extra work. Instead of increasing the wind from directly behind the ship as they'd been doing, he'd convinced them to send it at an angle. Doing so made better use of all the sails, he'd insisted, allowing the vessel to go faster than if it was running directly downwind. And once the breeze started coming from the direction the captain wanted, the crew wasn't forced to change the sails as often to take advantage of it.

"The storm's blowing southeast. We need to be farther west to get around the worst of it, but we can't do that if we take all the sails down. If we heave to here, it's going to get rough. Can you get us past it and keep us from losing another mast?"

"We'll try," Shavala said.

Valen shook his head. "Do it fast or don't do it at all. I need to give the men their orders."

"We'll do it," Sarette assured him.

He nodded curtly, then strode away, shouting, "Human crew, below decks! Batten everything down and get more men on the pumps! Seaborn, strike the jigger tops'l!"

While Shavala applied more westward wind to the remaining lower sails, Sarette went to work lessening the strength of the storm coming toward them. It seemed a never-ending task, though, with more winds always on the way, showing no sign of abating.

"Can the staff do anything to help?" she asked.

Shavala gave her a curious look. "This isn't its purpose," she said. "It would be just as happy to end up on the bottom of the ocean as anywhere else."

Sarette sighed and redoubled her efforts. "I need a better view," she said. "I can't do enough from down here." A stormrunner should be flying the storm, not looking up from below.

"Can you fly without lightning?" Shavala asked.

"My uncle can," Sarette said. She'd never attempted it before, but there was no lightning in the sky—it was late in the year for thunderstorms. She could call down a lightning bolt herself, but it was too risky to do so while she was on the ship. There were too many people nearby. Even if she pulled it directly into her body, it could still damage the ship or injure the crew. She'd have to wait until she was far enough away.

But even without lightning, there was always some charge in the air, and with a storm, the opposing charges grew more active as they fought each other. It might be enough.

If she thought about it for too long, she'd talk herself out of it. She backed up to give herself a running start, then dashed toward the side of the ship while pulling the charged power into her body. At the last second, she jumped up, bracing one foot on the top of the railing before launching herself into the sky.

There was a brief moment where she wasn't sure she'd stay up, but she extended her reach and pulled in power from a broader area. It worked, and as soon as she was clear of the ship, she summoned a lightning strike. It hit her outstretched hand and immediately suffused her entire body—for the first time, not filtered through a staff-spear. It gave her enough power to fly up into the clouds, where she could use the opposing charges to maintain her elevation.

She hovered high above the ship, staring down at it through the misty lower level of the clouds. The vessel had gradually started turning, but waves were still hitting it from the side, rocking it back and forth. Waves were created by wind—not by tides or currents, as Sarette had assumed before sailing across the ocean for the first time—so, as the wind grew worse, the waves would as well.

She stretched her weather sense out as far as she could reach. Shavala had been right that the center of the storm was too far away, but that distance would also help them. Could Sarette counteract just the small area around the ship? Not by stopping the storm—that was impossible if she couldn't reach the source. But stormrunners were better at starting storms than stopping them.

At the far end of her range, between the ship and the storm, she drew coldness from the ocean up into the air. The storm winds were warmer, and that warmth floated upward naturally, leaving an opening. The cold air drifted into the opening, creating the first hints of wind. Sarette strengthened the wind with magic, to start a reaction that would keep the cold air flying farther than it would have on its own.

The force of her windstorm pushed back against the massive rainstorm in that one small area, countering the winds which had been blowing outward. It wasn't enough to stop the waves, which carried energy from miles and miles of wind, but it lessened their power just a bit.

Sarette kept it up for as long as she could, to give the ship as much time as possible, but when she felt herself losing strength, she dove back down toward the Peregrine. She'd gotten better at landing, but she hadn't mastered it yet and the ship was a smaller target than usual. She missed the deck and slammed against the side of the ship, her head bouncing off the planking.

She plunged into the ocean, the waves spinning her around as she tried to recover from the collision. It was too dark to see through the water. She couldn't figure out which way was up, or which direction would lead her back to the ship. It was all she could do to remember to hold her breath.

With her clothing wet, it became harder and harder to move, but before she had time to panic, a rush of force shot up from beneath her, lifting her up out of the waves on a column of water. Shavala. Sarette wiped the water out of her eyes, blinking as she tried to get her bearings while perched on top of the unsteady pillar. She took to the sky again just long enough to hop over to the ship, then wrapped an arm around the jiggermast rigging and took deep gasping breaths.

The bow raised as the ship hit a tall wave head on, then dropped sharply just before the next one hit, water splashing across the prow.

"Throw out the sea anchor!" Valen shouted.

The sea anchor turned out to not be an anchor at all, but a large piece of sailcloth tied over a frame of wooden poles. Attached to a long rope, it was tossed into the sea from the bow of the ship. Sarette didn't try to figure out what it was used for—her mind was too foggy to concentrate on anything.

"We're through the worst of it," Shavala told her.

Sarette didn't reply. It didn't seem important enough to say anything.

"Sarette?" Shavala said. "Look at me! Wake up! I think you need Treya."

Treya? That sounded like a good idea. Treya would make things better.

She didn't remember anything after that.

###

Chapter Twelve

The clouds broke the next day before the ship made port. The Peregrine's crew had jury-rigged a temporary replacement for the upper mainmast, using a spare yardarm to reinforce the section of the mast that hadn't fallen overboard, and they'd made good time on the last leg of their journey.

The sun was shining while the group disembarked and made plans. The others went to find an inn with enough room for everyone, but Treya's first stop was at the Three Orders chapter house.

"Mother Ola?" she said, peering into the old woman's office.

Ola's face lit up with a wide smile. "Treya!" she said, standing up from the desk to hug her and welcome her in. "I got used to you stopping by more often. We've missed you here."

Treya managed to hide her surprise. She and Mother Ola had never been particularly close—Ola had been unhappy with Treya's decision to join the Order of Mystics, and Treya had unfairly blamed the woman for bringing her from Four Roads to Tyrsall.

"I'm happy to be back," she said.

"How was your trip to Cordaea?"

"We found Tir Yadar."

"Is that the place you were searching for? The lost city?" Mother Ola had come from the Order of Scholars, but even amongst scholars, the ancient Tirs weren't a common subject of study. And, in truth, the scholars in the Three Orders were mostly teachers rather than historians.

"Yes," Treya said. "We found what we were looking for. An entire city inside a mountain, like the dwarves build. It wasn't even in ruins—most of it was intact. We earned some coin on the trip; I'll be able to make a donation to the Orders before I leave."

"That's always appreciated," Mother Ola said. "We have more girls to take care of than ever, and the king has asked us to set up a school for orphaned boys who are too young to be taken in as apprentices. He and the duke have both offered funding, but you know how that goes. It always costs more than you think it will. But you said you're leaving? How long are you here for?"

"At least a few days, maybe more, but then we're heading to Four Roads." Treya quickly explained their plan to draw out Rusol's forces without endangering another village.

"I see," Ola said. "I've sent messages to Mother Idra at Highfell, but I may have been too circumspect with my questions. She hasn't noticed anything wrong, and I didn't want to risk mentioning King Marten's concubine in case Idra passed along my concerns. I wrote to the concubine myself—her name is Sharra—but it was just a simple greeting. I've corresponded with her before, but it's been years, so I wished her well and asked her how things were going. She replied, but her letter was as uninformative as my own."

"Thank you for trying," Treya said. "I'll let Corec know. Has Shana returned yet?"

"Not to Tyrsall, but I was able to get a message to her. She'd taken a job in Chondor—something about recovering stolen jewels. Then she spent some time at her old chapter house in Abildgard. She's on her way to Highfell now to see if she can get any more information out of Idra."

"I don't know if that's necessary," Treya said. "I didn't mean for you to go to so much trouble." Highfell was a long way from Abildgard.

"Well, with you in Cordaea, I told her it wasn't urgent. I'm sure she'll take other jobs along the way, as she always does. I don't have any way to get a message to her now unless she stops somewhere in Matagor or Larso for a while and sends a pigeon. She's already passed through South Corner, and there isn't another chapter house until she reaches Highfell. The Matagor chapter house has been delayed again—they have their own concubine schools there, and their own orphanage system, so they're trying to keep us out."

Treya nodded. Shana had gone most of the way already, so it didn't make sense to try to find her and stop her. And perhaps she'd learn something in Highfell.

Ola suddenly held up a finger. "Oh, I believe we have some letters for you," she said, going over to a wall of shelves labeled with rows of names of various Sisters who received their correspondence at the chapter house. "Yes, something from Enna, and then four letters for your Corec of House Tarwen, but addressed to you." She raised an eyebrow. "Have you become a concubine without telling me? I see you've got some new jewelry."

Treya felt herself blush. "He's just a friend, but he needed somewhere to receive letters here in Tyrsall. We found the bracelets in Tir Yadar." The silver cuffs were too plain to be a gift from an admirer, but they were the first jewelry Treya had ever worn in her life, so it wasn't a surprise Ola would notice.

And maybe there was something to learn from the woman's hints. It could be worthwhile to forge a link between Corec and the Three Orders. He liked to pretend he was still just a caravan guard, but being a warden had changed him—had changed them all—even if he didn't want to admit it. On top of that, he was a trained knight, as well as the son of a baron and a Three Orders concubine. Yelena and Hildra both held positions of influence, informal as they might be. It was reasonable to assume that Corec might one day as well, if he ever cared to. If he allied himself with the Three Orders, it could help him navigate future difficulties, and hopefully prevent any other issues such as the one with Prince Rusol.

Judging by the seals, three of Corec's letters—each addressed in a different hand—were from his family. The fourth letter was addressed more plainly, and just to Corec, without any house name. The wax holding it closed didn't have an imprint of an official seal.

"I'll take these to him, then come back," Treya said. "I want to catch up with Kelis and Nina before supper."

"You'll be needing a room then? I'm afraid it'll have to be one of the guest rooms this time. When we didn't see you for so long, I finally reassigned your room to two of the older students."

Treya had enough coin now that she could easily afford to stay at an inn, but it would be strange to come to Tyrsall and not stay at the chapter house. "I'd like to stay here, if I could."

Ola smiled. "Of course you can. This is your home."

#

Corec had worried Dot wouldn't remember him, but it was clear his fears were unfounded. It was equally clear the horse wasn't going to forgive him anytime soon for leaving her behind for so long. She'd refused to follow when he'd tried to lead her, and only Shavala's intervention had convinced her to come along.

After helping the others get the animals situated, Corec and Katrin went for a stroll around the inner city to stretch their legs after being cooped up on the ship for so long. They ended their walk at a teahouse just across from the inn.

"Are you going to sing tonight?" he asked after the tea had been poured.

Katrin hadn't played her music much toward the end of their time in Cordaea, since the only people who could understand the words to her songs were the ones who'd come along with them on the expedition, and they'd all heard each one dozens of times over.

She sighed. "I don't know. It seems silly to sing for coppers when we have gold coming soon. I know the gold won't last forever, but I'm not sure it's worth just playing in inns and taverns. And it's not like I can spend all day busking the way Anise does, not while we're traveling."

"Do you want to sing? Ignoring the money, would you play tonight if you could?"

She looked thoughtful. "It would be good to play for real again, but not at the Fin and Blade. I don't like the common room there. Besides, I need to get back into practice first. I think I'll work on that while we're here."

Before Corec could respond, Treya came in the door and headed for their table. "Leena said I could find you here," she said. "I spoke to Mother Ola about Prince Rusol, and these came to the chapter house while we were away." She handed over a stack of letters. "I think some of them are from your family."

Corec nodded, recognizing the seal and the handwriting on three of them. "What did you find out?"

"Nothing, really. Mother Ola wrote to the Highfell chapter house and to the prince's mother, but she didn't learn anything new."

"His mother?"

"She was careful about what she said."

"Will you pass along my thanks?"

"Of course," Treya said.

Katrin convinced her to join them while Corec opened the letter he didn't recognize. It proved to be from Mama Wenna at the boarding house in Four Roads, telling him she'd received the payment he'd sent for his room. He'd done that before sailing to Cordaea, though, and he hadn't realized how long they'd be gone. He hadn't sent enough. But, he supposed, even if Mama Wenna had rented the room out to someone else, she would have saved his things. He'd just have to make things right with her when he saw her again.

The proprietor of the shop returned to pour a cup of hot tea for Treya, then left the three of them alone again.

Corec glanced down at the other letters with a sigh. "I suppose I should see what my father has to say." He broke the wax seal and opened the page.

Son,

I don't know when this letter will find its way to you, since you said you'd be sailing east. Your questions, however, have given me some cause for concern.

You ask if there would be any problems if you visit home, yet neglect to mention what sort of problems you might be expecting. As I noted in our previous correspondence, Priest Calwell has been reassigned away from Tarwen Village, so let us hope we can avoid that bit of unpleasantness again. If there is something else you wish to know, you'll have to be more plain in your speech.

As for Prince Rusol's mercenary army, we no longer have hillfolk mercenaries traipsing through our valley on their way to the capital. His Royal Highness has personally assured me that recruiting has come to an end.

Isabel was delighted to hear that you are planning a trip home, but dismayed to learn it will be delayed by the journey you are undertaking to Cordaea. She is eager for your visit.

On to other matters. I was surprised to discover you'd found a concubine in Tyrsall. I trust this means your fortunes have improved. I was worried you'd remain a caravan guard forever. I'll look forward to hearing of your new endeavors, as well as your visit to foreign shores, whether by letter or in person.

Your father,

Ansel, Baron of Tarwen

Corec set the letter down and rubbed at his temples. "Apparently my family thinks Treya is my concubine. I suppose I should have given them more of an explanation in my last letter."

Katrin snickered.

"Mother Ola asked me about that too," Treya said. "She wondered why I was receiving mail for you."

"Ahh, well, sorry about that. I hope it didn't cause any problems. Isabel wrote too—my father's wife. I hope she doesn't make a big deal out of it."

He unfolded Isabel's letter.

Dearest Corec, it began.

He skipped over all the pleasantries and the bits of news about the family and the servants and the village. Isa was prone to writing long letters. Finally, after a paragraph describing an accident with a runaway wagon that had resulted in the loss of two oxen belonging to a family he'd never even heard of before, he found what he was looking for.

I was delighted to hear you've taken a concubine—and from the Three Orders, no less! If only Moira was around to see it. I know she would have been so very proud!

Please do bring this Treya of yours with you when you visit so we can all meet her. And you'll be able to meet Branth's Marisa as well. She's a wonderful young woman who's brought new life to the family, though not in the literal sense just yet. She feels Branth should have an official heir before she gives him a child, yet Branth refuses to consider any potential marriage matches.

I'm truly looking forward to your visit. I'm ashamed to say that when the time comes, Toman will most likely remain at the Tammerly estate to avoid you. I only wish you boys had been able to get over the awkwardness of your younger years, the way you and Branth have. I do have some hope, however, that you and your father might finally be able to make peace with each other.

Will you please consider again giving up that silly magic of yours so you can return home permanently? Whatever could you be up to in the free lands and Tyrsall that's more important than family?