Mary Herbert - Return of the Exile

Across the warm waters of the northern Courrain Ocean the storm rolled with fire in its teeth and a wind that howled like the damned. A vanguard of the changing seasons, the storm churned over the waters, rolling south and east along the prevailing currents toward the continent of Ansalon. It was monstrous and powerful, armored in dense, gray clouds and clothed in driving curtains of rain that obscured the sky. Its gale-force winds drove huge waves before it that clawed at the horizon and seemed to drown the world in water.

It was, Linsha thought, an appropriate backdrop to her mood, turbulent, angry, and frightened. She yanked her cloak off—for what little good it had done—and tossed it behind her. Taking a tighter grip on the safety line, she leaned forward over the prow of the ship into the teeth of the storm. The wind tore at her hair. The flying spray stung her face. Behind her, the ship groaned in the strain of fighting wind and water. The one sail left rigged for some control snapped in the gale like breaking bones. Voices shouted in Tarmakian, but Linsha ignored them.

The ship crested a large wave and plunged down the far side into the furrow. A green wall of water crashed over the bow. The weight and momentum of the water swept around Linsha’s legs and struggled to break her hold on the rope.

It would be so easy, a perverse little thought whispered in the darkness behind her eyes. All she had to do was let go. Take one more step. Release ten fingers and she could put an end to the pain. The rope burned into her hand. It would be so easy—one small movement, then into the water and peace.

The wave swept by her as the ship began its difficult climb up the next comber. Linsha shook the stinging salt water out of her eyes and spread her feet. She took a step forward closer to the high prow and looked at the oncoming wave. It was a particularly large one crowned with spume and streaked with silver foam.

Her clear green eyes swooped down to see the slope of the water that fell away at her feet. The ship’s prow sliced through the crest of the wave. She stared down, mesmerized by the massive power of the sea around her, unaware that her hands tightened around the ropes. Why not? she thought. What was left for her? Why couldn’t she just let go now?

The ship dropped away beneath her, and water crashed over her. Her feet slipped on the wet deck and were washed out from under her by torrents of rushing seawater. Linsha was aware that her body was being buffeted by the cold, rushing wave, but the one thing that stood out with painful clarity was the feeling of the thick wet rope digging into her hands. Her muscles ached, her shoulders hurt, and the rough hemp tore the skin from her fingers and palms, yet she could not force her hands to let go.

The water subsided, draining away over the timbers of the ship. Aching and drenched, Linsha climbed to her feet on the tilting deck and waited while the ship climbed laboriously up the next wave. She sensed movement behind her and tensed, wishing for the thousandth time that she had a weapon. A sword, a dagger—even an eating knife would be welcome.

Arms came around her and hands clutched the rope beside hers so she was penned in the circle of his arms. His body pressed against her back as if he felt she needed his steadying influence.

“Haven’t you had enough of this?” A strong masculine voice yelled in her ear. He had to shout over the roar of groaning timbers, howling wind, and thunder.

Animosity crushed any other thought or emotion in her mind. She would have given almost anything to slam an elbow beneath his ribs and kick his traitorous carcass into the storm-tossed waters. But she had not become a Solamnic Knight and worked for years to attain the highest rank of Knight of the Rose to lose her temper and kill the only chance she had left to regain her honor. Her honor and a small clutch of brass dragon eggs were all she had left, and because of a vow she made to the dragon overlord Iyesta, the two were inextricably tied together.

With every scrap of self-control she had left, Linsha twisted her lips into something resembling a smile and yelled back, “I like storms.”

“You are the only one,” Lanther replied. “All the other women are seasick below decks.” He seemed as unshaken by the storm as she. “Why are you standing out here on the bow? Are you trying to drown yourself?”

“Why not?” she replied with icy sarcasm. She had lost many good friends, seen an entire Solamnic circle and most of a Legion cell die. Lanther had taken away her companion, Varia, and driven away the one best friend she had ever found. Her life had become nothing but defeat, dishonor, and misery, and she saw nothing but defeat and slavery in her future. She smiled a brittle sneer. “Why shouldn’t I let go and die here before things get worse?”

Lanther laughed, a genuine guffaw of caustic amusement.

“Because you are too stubborn. And I still have your precious eggs locked away in a safe room in Missing City. If you want them to survive, so must you.”

At that moment the ship dropped under their feet and began its rush down the backside of another huge green comber. Linsha took a deep breath and held it. Water slammed over her head. It poured around her, over her, a gray-green monster that roared in her head and filled her ears and nose with salty water. She kept her feet this time, hugging the high prow with both arms. It would be too much to ask, she thought, that Lanther get washed overboard.

The ship wallowed in the heavy water, then slowly righted itself in time to meet the next wave.

Linsha exhaled and shook the water out of her eyes. She had to admit this vessel was well-built. It was a version of a trireme, a sleek, oceangoing warship built by the Tarmaks from a design that borrowed heavily from the minotaurs’ shipcraft. It was tough, fast, and maneuverable. Even so, she decided she’d had enough of her negative thoughts, enough drenching, and enough of the man standing behind her.

She angled her body against the solid wood of the prow and was about to push away from the man when she heard a wild voice cry from the crow’s nest on the mast. She could not see anything in the driving rain, but apparently the lookout did, and the crew accepted it. The shouting and activity below deck grew louder. More Tarmaks came up on the main deck while others took their places at the oars.

Lanther’s arms tightened around her and his dripping face split into a grin. “Don’t leave now. We’re almost there. The seas will grow calmer as we sail around the point. Stay and see the Orchemenarc.”

Linsha’s heart sank. Almost there. The words banged in her head like a sentence of doom. For over fourteen days she had survived on this crowded ship with one hundred fifty Tarmak warriors, twenty female prisoners, trunks and chests full of stolen treasure, one coffin, and barely enough food and water to last the journey. As uncomfortable and miserable as it was, as long as they were still at sea, she could ignore the passage of miles and the increasing distance between herself and her home. Now she could no longer avoid the truth that she had been taken from her homeland and borne into the distant reaches of a far sea, away from home and family and the aid of anyone who might have stirred to help her. She felt the painful sensation tighten her throat still further, and heat rushed into her face. Tears would be next, she knew, and she swore she would never cry in Lanther’s presence.

Another wave came. It surged around her and cooled her skin. She fought back the grief and self-pity, fought back the tears. She was a knight, a Majere, the child of Heroes, and the sole protector of a clutch of dragon eggs. She could not, nay would not, give in now.