Mary Herbert: Dragon's Bluff

But Lucy was an optimist. Despite everything that had happened, she had not quite given up hope that her abilities to wield magic would some day return or that Ulin would somehow find an answer. Until then, she would continue to encourage Ulin, try her spells, and hope for the best.

Ulin knew this, and he recognized the set determination on her face. A groan so soft only he could hear it escaped from his clenched teeth. He didn’t think there was much hope for success. Most of his spells failed utterly, but he would try for her. He had been, after all, a Dragon Mage and the Assistant Master of the Academy of Sorcery. He knew the spells. He was comfortable with the glorious feel of magic coursing through his veins, warming his blood and tingling on his skin. He just could not force the power to work for him as it once had, and the empty, bitter feeling of disappointment was almost more than he could bear.

Steeling himself, he put his hands down on the bottom of the stool seat and pushed it into place over the open port. The spell he decided to try was a simple one, one he had performed countless times with little effort: a basic wizard lock that would seal the wood seat to the wooden frame of the porthole. Ignoring the pitch of the ship and the water that sloshed around his ankles, he took a deep, controlled breath and released it. He willed his body to relax and his mind to focus solely on the wild magic he could feel around him.

The power was still there, in the wood of the ship, in the water around him, in the force of the wind and waves that surged against the struggling ship. It was this continued presence of magic that made Ulin so frustrated. It was there within his grasp, tantalizing and mocking, yet every time he tried to form a spell and bend the magic to his will, something seemed to pull a plug and drain the power away, leaving him weak, empty, and somehow diminished.

This time was no different than countless other times. He formed his spell, focused on his magic, and felt it fade from his grasp like smoke. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He dropped the stool in disgust. Something tickled his neck, and he swatted at what felt like insects brushing by his neck. Probably mosquitoes, or maybe fleas from the bunk. He couldn’t tell in the dark. It seemed odd he hadn’t noticed fleas before.

“I’ll find the carpenter’s store,” he said, his voice terse. “We’ll nail it in place.”

Lucy nodded once and sank back on her soggy bed, too disappointed and seasick to stay upright.

“Maybe this will help,” Challie offered. From under her wet pillow, she handed Ulin her small, perfectly balanced hand axe, beautifully wrought and sharpened to a deadly edge. A leather sheath protected the head of the axe, and finely woven strips of leather covered the handle.

Ulin offered his thanks and hurried to his task. From previous explorations on the freighter, he knew where to find carpenter’s store just off the galley one deck below. The difficulty lay in making his way over the wet deck. Theirs was not the only porthole or hatch that had given way under the weight of the giant wave, and sailors struggled above and below decks to keep the bilge pumps working, to find and repair the damage, and to check the cargo. The ship’s carpenter was already in his small storeroom handing out iron nails, boards, rope, and caulking to the crew.

He listened to Ulin’s tale of the porthole, then thrust a handful of nails in his direction. “Take these. Find something to nail over the hole. I’ll be along soon as I can—if we don’t sink first!”

With the nails, a stool seat, and Challie’s axe, Ulin accomplished what he could not do with magic. The porthole was blocked and the relentless rain and seaspray pouring into their cabin dwindled to mere trickles.

To everyone’s relief, the huge wave that broadsided the ship proved to be a rogue, and the rest of the waves that night were not enough to overwhelm the tough freighter. When dawn came, gray and wet, the storm moved on to the east and blew out its fury over Sable’s vast swamp. The ship was left in its wake, her crew battered, soggy, and thankful to be alive. By noon the sky was a serene sapphire.

Ulin and Challie pried the seat cover off the porthole to let the sunshine and warm breeze pour into their wet cabin. Hours of mopping cleared out the water on the floor. They carried their soggy belongings and bedding outside and, with Captain Tethlin’s permission, spread them out on ropes and the rigging. They carried a weak and shaky Lucy out on deck, too, and propped her in the sun. Her normally healthy complexion was a sickly shade of white, and her thick chestnut hair hung in lank strands, but she smiled at the sun and quickly fell asleep.

With the ship now floating on a calm sea, the ship’s cook prepared hot food. His galley boy brought a tray out to Challie and Ulin on deck where they had settled down for a long-needed rest.

Ulin took one look at the thick, steaming soup and groaned. “Chicken and dumpling,” he groaned. “The gods save me from chicken and dumpling.”

Challie’s brown eyes lit with unexpected humor. “Be thankful, Ulin. They almost did. You nearly became seafood yourself.”

He snorted, but he took the bowls from the puzzled boy and served Challie. With a look of resignation on his lean face, he dipped a spoon into the broth and took a long, suffering sip.

Linsha was right, Ulin decided. Sanction was a beautiful city.

From where he stood with Lucy and Challie at the rail of the freighter as it sailed into serene Sanction Bay, Ulin could see most of the broad valley of Sanction Vale set like a green gem in a half crown of towering volcanic peaks. The city’s tall towers, walls, and buildings of pale stone filled much of the valley and gleamed in the early morning sun like alabaster against the stark red flanks of the three Lords of Doom, the majestic, and still active, volcanoes that ringed the city with fire.

Ulin’s sister, Linsha, had spent years in Sanction, and after her return to Solace had described its charms to him in long and admiring detail. She told him of the inns and taverns, the gardens and shops, the large Souk Bazaar where virtually everything that was for sale on Ansalon could be found. She described the City Guards in their scarlet uniforms and the Governor’s Palace set like a white fortress upon a northern hill. Her descriptions had been so complete that Ulin found his eyes searching the city and its harbor for landmarks he felt should be there.

“It is so lovely,” Lucy said beside him. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “Look at those volcanoes. They’re smoking!”

“Yes,” Challie agreed. “It’s not bad, for a city under siege.”

Sadly, Sanction had been a city under siege for a long time. The Knights of Neraka—the Knights who had, until recently, called themselves the Knights of Takhisis—had changed not only their commander and their name in the past year, they had also changed their strategy concerning Sanction. For years they had wanted control of the port city but had contented themselves with minor attacks and blockading the only two major land routes into the city while they studied the policies and activities of the powerful, magic-wielding lord governor, Hogan Bight. However, when magic began to fail all over Ansalon, the Dark Knights’ new leader, Morham Targonne, decided the chance to defeat Lord Bight had finally arrived. He launched a major offensive against the city’s fortifications that nearly overwhelmed the valiant City Guard, still weakened in numbers by the plague that decimated the city three years before. Only the fierce determination of Lord Bight and the courage of the Sanction defenders had kept the dark forces at bay. Eventually, even Lord Bight was forced to admit the city needed help. Against his better judgment, Lord Bight acquiesced to the demands of his frightened city council and made a pact with the Knights of Solamnia.