Beyong the Moons

Chapter Fifteen

Although the tension between Teldin and Cwelanas was officially eased by the rite of harmony, Gomja found it hard to tell by judging from the mood on the ship. It seemed everyone save the giff was in a dark humor. The lookouts constantly were on guard, waiting for a menacing sail to appear on the horizon, while the rest of the crew stopped work at times to look beyond the gunwales. The giff, with the captain’s reluctant approval, began organizing the crew for a possible sea battle. While not inexperienced fighters, the crew was made up of elves who were sailors first and warriors second. Still Gomja diligently tested and instructed, refreshing the elves’ seldom-used skills until he was able to divide the crew into two simple platoons, one of archers and another of swordsmen. The work took the better part of each day, drawing on whatever elves were not involved in tasks at the time. Teldin stayed out of the way, watching the giff hesitantly attempt to command.

Afew mornings later the apprehension of the crew were rewarded by a cry from the mainmast. “Sail to the port, captain!” At those words, the elves assigned to the rigging scrambled among the yards, straining for a view of the ship the lookout had sighted.

On deck, Luciar and Cwelanas likewise peered to the port, their gazes sweeping over the expanse of gently swelling waves. Teldin looked over the ocean and failed to see a thing. Apparently the captain and the mate had, though, for the two were in quiet conference. Luciar shook his head and pointed in the direction of the wind. Cwelanas looked back to port, cupped her thin hands, and hailed the lookout. “What’s her rig?”

After a pause, the lookout shouted back. “Three masts, two square and a lateen aft. Showing a lot of sail-red sails, Captain Luciar!” Again Luciar and Cwelanas conferred, their faces so grim that Teldin wondered what it all meant. It was Galwylin who, seeing the human’s puzzled expression, gave him the answer.

“We are in for it, Bare Tree. Red sails mean our visitor is out of the Blood Sea. It must not pay to raid draconian ships these days.”

“Blood Sea? That’s beyond Estwilde, clear on the other side of Ansalon!” the stowaway exclaimed.

“I know,” Galwynlin commented, “but when the draconians get irritated, the minotaurs sail west to raid.”

From the afterdeck rail, Cwelanas ordered, “Full sail and quickly!” There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. She spotted the giff and singled him out for special duty. “Boardbreaker, to the arms locker and bring up the weapons.” Gomja crisply nodded and set about his task. Teldin, meanwhile, scrambled up the ratlines.

For the next hour, the Silver Spray tacked and veered, struggling to catch every ounce of breeze available. The crew, Teldin included, worked constantly to adjust the running rig and trim sails to match new headings and variations in the wind. Each change of the wind, each slip of a rope, triggered another string of orders and corrections from Cwelanas. Their pursuer was close enough now to be seen by all; a three-master, it was flying before the wind with red sails billowing full.

The pirate vessel dogged the Silver Spray, shifting over and across the sea for every knot of speed. The elves watched to the stern with worried looks, fingering the swords they now carried at their belts. It was clear, even to a lubber such as Teldin, that the Silver Spray was outmatched. The pirates steadily gained.

“Bring her about!” Luciar shouted from the afterdeck. Teldin didn’t understand-such a move would send them directly back toward their pursuers. He collared Galwylin and asked the experienced sailor why.

“The captain figures that since we cannot outrun the foe, we are best to fight with the advantage of the wind. They will have to sail close-hauled, which makes them slow to turn. If the Silver Spray can break past, we might just lose them.” Galwylin’s voice was barely hopeful as he explained Luciar’s intentions. Before Teldin could ask further, Cwelanas called out more orders in her clear voice. Some of the elves scrambled into the shrouds, slender bows in hand. Each carried quivers filled with white-plumed arrows.

Gomja went to the aft stairs and, with a deferential salute, spoke a few words to the elf maiden above him. She gave him a quick nod of approval and turned to give the crew new orders. Soon, all the hands, including Teldin and Gomja, were hauling tables and benches from the mess hail belowdecks. The giff single-handedly carried the heaviest of the ship’s few tables and, under his close supervision, these were now turned on the side and lined along the starboard rail. Cwelanas looked over the crew’s handiwork approvingly as the last barriers were lashed in place. “What now?” Teldin anxiously asked Gomja as they levered an oaken bench onto the wall.

“I don’t know, sir. Boarding nets would be good,” Gomja explained, giving the mismatched furniture a condescending nod. “A proper spelljammer would have nets roofing the deck to discourage boarding. At least with these we’ve got a wall to fight behind.”

Running fast with the wind, the Silver Spray was almost upon its foe. The Blood Sea galleon had closed the gap, trying to work close enough to touch the elven ship’s hull. The feared red sails were almost parallel to the pirate ship’s keel, trying to catch the wind that blew against them. Captain Luciar had obviously chosen his tactics well, for the bulk of the minotaur crew was occupied with trimming the sails. Still, there were many others lining the sides, great bows and spears in hand.

Feeling the need for what little security the cloak might provide-it was, after all, magical-Teldin took a few moments and willed his cloak to its full length. Galwylin’s eyes widened in surprise, but the elven sailor made no comment. Instead the sea dog followed his fellows’ lead and hunched behind the improvised shield wall. Those aloft took shelter behind the masts. Only the captain, Cwelanas, Teldin, and Gomja-the giff positioned foremost in the bow-stood ready to receive the foe.

The first shots of the sea battle were fired well before the ships were within the range of even the strongest elven bowmen. There was a faint twang from the pirate ship, then a smoldering bolt arced across the sky. Before it had a chance to hit anything, another fiery missile took to the air. These two shots ended in hisses of steam as the flaming bolts fell into the ocean, one splashing short and the other soaring well over the Silver Spray’s sails into the water beyond. “Ballistas, sir!” Gomja bellowed from the bow. “They’re ranging us, Captain!”

Two more bolts quickly followed, this time both striking home. One passed so close to Teldin’s head that he could smell the oily, black smoke of burning rags. The bolt hit the deck but did not bite. It instead skittered across the planking until it lodged at the base of the aft cabins, where it splintered the thin wall. Along its path was a trail of fitfully burning oil. The broken wood where it had held blazed furiously, the pine-tar caulking catching fire. The second shot went high, tearing somewhere into the rigging overhead, but Teldin had no time to follow its course. He grabbed the bucket that was thrust into his hands and hurried to douse the blaze on deck. As the crew smothered the last of it, Teldin could heat shouting from above. “I don’t understand, Galwylin,” Teldin yelled to the elf. “If they’te pirates, why ate they trying to burn the ship?” he asked while hastening back to the wall’s shelter.

“Not the ship, Bare Tree, the sails. Look aloft.” The elf nodded upward to the masts. There Teldin discovered the cause of the shouting. The second bolt had struck the mainsail squarely, leaving a gaping tent in the canvas. The missile had torn through to land in the ocean, but not before gobbets of pitch had rained over the elven sail. Already the blaze had spread from the edges of the teat, the flames racing along the sun-bleached fabric.

“Cut the sail!” commanded Cwelanas. “Do it now!”

Ahoy below!” sang a voice from the shrouds, followed by a rapid series of whiplike cracks. The mainsail sagged in the middle, then drooped at one end, and finally crashed through the rigging to tumble, aflame and aflutter, to the deck below. Teldin leaped out of the way, the flaming cloth driving him toward the stern. A bellowing cheer echoed from pirate ship’s deck.

“Night watch, hoist it overboard and hurry! Day watch, to your positions!” dictated Luciar amid a swirl of sparks and ash. His thin, old voice strained to shout above the growing noise. The designated crewmen struggled with the tangled mass of burning sail, beating back the flames and swearing vehemently as the cloth snagged on every projection. Spear in hand, Teldin worked his way back up to the barricade neat the base of the afterdeck ladder. Looking forward, he saw Gomja still in the bow. The giff was coolly loading his pistols, ignoring the havoc astern.

With the mainsail gone, the advantage the Silver Spray had was suddenly trimmed. Teldin could hear the snap of bowstrings from the elves aloft, bowshots the minotaurs paid back in kind. The table barricade in front of Teldin reverberated as the barbed head of a harpoon savagely rammed through. The stowaway jumped back, realizing the crude barricade did not provide immunity. He was just as astonished when the table started to back over the gunwale.

“Cut the rope, human!” Cwelanas shouted from the top of the ladder. The elf maiden was dressed in chain mail, finely woven but oily gray, and she held a brightly painted shield to block any arrows from her unprotected face. With her cutlass she pointed to something on the outside of the hull. “The harpoon!”

Teldin scrambled halfway up the afterdeck ladder and thrust himself over the wall until he could reach over the barricade. A light line ran back from the harpoon that transfixed his table, all the way to the minotaur vessel. Their ship was so close now that Teldin could see the horned monsters hauling on the thin cable that stretched across the open space. The barest glance down the length of the Silver Spray showed other lines, some in the hull, others in the barricade. Suddenly a set of bookcases from Luciar’s cabin toppled over the side, banged against the hull, and splashed, broken, into the ocean. As he hung over the edge, the stowaway glimpsed minotaur archers aiming in his direction. Teldin fumbled a dagger from his belt and quickly sliced through the line. He wasted no time and tumbled back behind the wooden wall. The table shook with a series of thuds as enemy arrows struck moments too late.

“Well done,” said Cwelanas with a faint smile. They were the first kind words she had said to Teldin. “More voyage than you expected?” She stepped away as an arrow struck the deck at her feet.

Teldin nodded. “Do we have any chance? It looks as if we’re badly outnumbered,” he shouted up at her.

The smile vanished and was replaced by a grim look for the minotaurs. “That is true, Teldin Moore, but we still have a few tricks for them-or we all may die. They are almost upon us now. Fight well, human. I will be watching you.” At that Cwelanas hurried toward the stern.

A flurry of spears announced the next phase of the minotaur attack, but the elves were unscathed behind their wall. The spears were immediately followed by the loud clangs of metal hitting wood. Grapples bounced over the barricades or hooked into the railings. A few elves leaped forward to cut the thick cables. One fell, gurgling, to the deck as a spear jutted out the back of his throat.

The minotaurs were then upon them. With a rending crash, large sections of the barricade gave way, clattering into the ocean. Teldin’s table teetered and fell, leaving him uncovered. The breach was immediately followed by a small series of charges along the line of the deck as the fiercest of the bullheaded men leaped across the narrow gap between the two ships. Their faces were bestial- fanged mouths flecked with foam, thick manes fluttering in greasy strands, and dirty yellow eyes filled with hate. Jabbing with his spear at the man-beast’s rage-twisted face, Teldin struck the creature closest to him as it sprang across open space. The minotaur roared with insensate pain and plunged into the ocean as it clutched at a mined eye. The creature’s fall bought the stowaway a little breathing time.

Elsewhere along the rail, the first wave was going against the elves. The minotaurs were breaking through the gaps, fighting their way onto the Silver Spray’s deck. Clangs of metal, howls, and screams filled the air. Overhead, the elyen archers were having greater success. Practically clinging to the rigging by their toes, they poured arrows down upon the pirate ship’s deck. A desultory sprinkle of arrows came in reply, since most of the minotaur bowmen were already slain or injured.

At the bow, Teldin saw a sudden cloud of white smoke, followed almost instantly by a sharp crack. A minotaur at the rail flopped backward, clutching at its face. The smoke and sound repeated and another beast sank to its knees and disappeared in the surging mass of battle. As the wind blew the smoke away, Gomja strode into view, hewing and lunging his way toward the stern with his broadsword. Teldin could hear the giff bellowing, already trying to whip the elves into a counter-boarding party to carry the battle to the pirate decks. Those minotaurs who saw the giff recoiled at the appearance of a creature as formidable and bizarre as themselves.

Just as abruptly, Teldin’s attention was forced back to his own surroundings. A pair of minotaurs hurtled over the rail, a single axe stroke from one brutally sweeping the elf closest to Teldin aside. More elves sprang to replace their fallen comrade, who writhed on the ground at their feet, but one of the horned creatures, foam on its lips and nostrils, bore down on Teldin. The horned creature towered over him, hefted an axe, and brought it down in a wicked slash. Teldin was trapped against the aft cabins but managed to scramble up the afterdeck stair just as the axe blade hacked through the bottom rung. The farmer thrust his spear’s tip deep into the minotaur’s shoulder. The creature snorted in fury and swung the axe again, gradually driving Teldin up onto the afterdeck. Teldin was vaguely aware of Cwelanas engaged in her own battle behind him.

Somehow, over the noise of the battle, Teldin heard a voice reciting a tortuous incantation not far behind him. As he dodged his opponent’s blow, the human saw Luciar, dressed in red ceremonial robes, engaged in a brief ritual. He was preparing to cast a spell, the farmer guessed. “Keep them away from Father,” Cwelanas shouted, her voice strained as she parried a savage blow from the beast in front of her. Teldin grunted in understanding, the best he could manage at that moment.

Teldin dodged a hack from his bullheaded opponent, then lunged forward to drive the beast away from Luciar. With an easy swing of its axe, the minotaur swatted Teldin’s thrust aside and struck back with lightning quickness. The beast-man’s blade sliced through shirt and cut a bloody gash across Teldin’s chest. He hardly noticed the pain and lunged again, just as Gomja had taught him, aiming for the minotaur’s exposed shoulder. The thrust was rewarded with another howl of pain.

“How much longer?” Teldin shouted to Cwelanas as he pulled the blood-stained spear back. He was strong and fit, but already his lungs were sore from the exertion.

As if to answer, Luciar’s voice rose in pitch and volume. Complex syllables floated over the din, then, all at once, they were replaced by a sizzling roar. The noises of battle- the grunts, bellows, clangs, even the wails of the wounded and dying-were muted. A blast of heat seared the farmer’s beard-stubbled face and burned his hair. At the same time, the farmer was dazzled by the flames. Fortunately, the minotaur facing him was in a similar muddle.

Teldin shielded his eyes and was amazed to see a curtain of fire ripple down the gunwale of the minotaur ship. The flames leaped and dodged in strange colors of blue, green, and gold, yet held their rippling shape as a wall separating the two vessels. Already the grappling ropes and gangways smoldered with fire. At the near end, the curtain abruptly bulged then parted as a minotaur, cloaked in flame, crashed through the blazing wall and howled in piteous agony as it plummeted into the sea below. The salty waves quenched its pain with a steaming hiss. Overhead, covetous fingers of fire reached upward for the pirate’s red sails.

The spell’s effect was profound. The shouts and screams began anew, though with a much different tenor than before. A ragged cheer went up from the elves as they quickly recovered from their astonishment. The tide had turned against the minotaurs. With reinforcements cut off, those bull-men that remained on deck were quickly being surrounded and overwhelmed. The elves showed no quarter, and the minotaurs, realizing this, made desperate attempts to escape by plunging over the side or furiously wading into the midst of their attackers. Gomja, bellowing an alien war song, cheerfully walked into the battle, his attempts at organizing a boarding party pointless now.

His own opponent still distracted by the spell, Teldin seized the opportunity and drove his spear past the beast’s lowered guard, slipping the point in deeply just under the jaw. The minotaur gave one last strangled cry and crashed off the afterdeck. It hit the deck below with a bone- breaking crack and hung limply, half over the side. Not wasting time gloating over one victory, Teldin turned to help Cwelanas, only to see her strike a deathblow to her opponent. The giant creature toppled sideways and broke through the flimsy railing along the edge. At the last instant, the near nerveless fingers reached out and seized the elf maiden by the hair, and as Cwelanas screamed in shock and terror, the dying minotaur pulled her over the side. Their splash barely echoed over the noise.

Teldin instinctively ran to the edge. Ripples were already spreading on the ocean’s surface where the pair had plunged. There was no sign of Cwelanas or her captor. Teldin dropped his spear, gulped a huge breath, and dove. The arc carried the farmer just clear of the hull and he sliced into the warm water. The salt stung his eyes, but Teldin kept them open, searching for the submerged elf until he saw shapes sinking into the gloom below. Driving with his legs and arms, the human swam after them.

As Teldin went deeper and deeper, the pressure built, squeezing his head and ears. His lungs began to hurt. Vision dimmed, whether from the depth or lack of oxygen, he had no idea. Then his hand brushed a supple skin of metal. Teldin groped frantically and caught a hem of Cwelanas’s chain mail, then pulled, trying to reverse his descent. He was horrified to realize that he, too, was being dragged down. He kicked harder, his oxygen-deprived lungs tearing in his chest. The chain mail wriggled and jerked in his grasp. They sank farther. Beneath him Cwelanas kicked one more time, then went limp. Darkness closed around his eyes and his ears throbbed with pressure, but Teldin gave one last try, knowing that if he couldn’t free Cwelanas this time, he would have to let go. With his last effort, he found them rising-ever so slowly.

Teldin fought to gain the surface. His eyes burned, and the cut across his chest felt on fire as the saltwater mingledwith blood. The searing pain kept him conscious, until finally the water broke over Teldin’s face. With a frantic gasp, the human gulped air and half-choked as saltwater splashed into his mouth. He paddled furiously, forcing Cwelanas’s head above the waves, and swam for the Silver Spray, barely visible through a pain-induced haze. The ship was the only thing he could focus on.

When he finally did reach the Silver Spray, the elves were already at the side, fishing out their fallen comrades. Teldin thumped against the hull and eager hands seized him and his load. The farmer’s body went limp as his spent mind could comprehend nothing further.