Don Bassinghtwaite - The Binding Stone

Lightning on Water was moving so fast that her hull had lifted almost entirely clear of the water. Previously hidden below the waterline, a long wooden fin arced gracefully down from the ship's side to slice through the water like a paddle held sideways.

"There's another on the other side," said Singe. "As I understand it, because they're thinner than the hull, the ship can go even faster."

"That's good," gulped Geth. "Because we need to go faster." He looked at Dandra. "Now I know," he said, "how you feel on a horse." He forced his hands open and slid down to sit on the deck with his back against the rail and the racing water out of sight.

The first two days of the voyage were among the most physically miserable of Geth's life. Most of his time-day and night-was spent on deck. Even with the rushing wind of their passage, the fresh air was far more comforting than the disturbing creaks and eternal shifting below. It also alleviated the worst of his seasickness. Water and plain bread were the only things that could pass his lips without sending him rushing to hang over the ship's rail.

Some time on the third day, it seemed as if his body made a bargain with the sea. The shifter found that he was actually hungry and cautious sampling showed that a little food would stay settled in his stomach. The sea wind felt good on his face and in his hair and there was thrill to the rise and fall of the ship as it surged over the waves. The crew had grown used to his presence on deck; they seemed genuinely pleased when they discovered that he had started to enjoy the journey.

The only thing he couldn't get used to was the sensation of being below deck while the ship was moving. He'd never been afraid of tight spaces before, but onboard Lightning on Water, it was disquieting. Fortunately, the weather was warm in spite of the wind. If he'd survived two nights on deck while puking his guts over the side of the ship, he told himself, he could survive a couple more.

As the sun set over water and darkness fell, he found himself alone in the bow of the ship. The crew had gone to their hammocks and blankets. The other passengers, Singe and Dandra among them, had made a habit of remaining in the captain's cabin after dinner. It seemed that sharing Vennet's table wasn't exactly the exclusive invitation Singe might have thought it was. Geth stared out at the broad horizon-at the moons and stars above and the shining Ring of Siberys in the south-and finally allowed himself to mourn Adolan. The druid's loss was an empty ache inside him. Geth reached up and brushed his fingers over the collar of black stones, feeling the deep grooves of the ancient symbols that had been carved into them.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Vennet's voice came from right behind him, so close that it made the shifter jump. He twisted around, his teeth bared out of instinct. Vennet raised a hand. "Easy," he said. "Sorry to startle you. If you'd prefer to be left alone…"

Geth hesitated, then relaxed. He'd been alone with his thoughts long enough, and he'd seen little of Vennet through the voyage. By day the captain manned the wheel, controlling both the ship and the elemental. A junior officer, also a bearer of the Mark of Storm that gave House Lyrandar its distinctive powers, took over by night. Geth patted the rail beside himself. "Stay," he said. "Plenty of room."

"I'd thank you for such a gracious invitation, but she is my ship." Vennet leaned against the rail, his back to the sea. In one hand he held a bottle. He offered it to Geth.

The shifter accepted it and took a cautious swig. The liquor inside was strong and harsh. He passed the bottle back to Vennet. "I would have expected something a little better of the captain," he wheezed.

"It's crew rations," the half-elf admitted. "But it's how you can tell a working windwright from a pampered drizzle-whistler in House Lyrandar." He raised the bottle to the starry sky. "We sailors develop a fondness for the rot." Vennet took a drink, then ran his gaze over Geth. "You're looking better than you have been."

Geth grunted. "It would be hard not to."

Vennet chuckled and put the bottle back in Geth's hand. "We missed you at the table tonight. I thought maybe you'd come now that you'd found your sea legs."

The shifter made a sour expression as he took another pull at the bottle. "I like it better on deck," he said. "Why? Have I missed anything?"

"Not much," confessed Vennet with a shrug. "The run from Yrlag to Zarash'ak is generally pretty much the same every time, although this voyage isn't going particularly well for Natrac. Some of his 'clients' have been getting out of hand, and he's finally realized that Singe works for House Deneith." He grinned. "He's been groveling like a goblin all night. Singe is drinking it up."

"I'm sure he is," Geth growled.

He drank again, then returned the bottle. Vennet looked at him over its end as he drank as well. When he lowered the bottle, he commented, "There's no love lost between you two, is there?" "We served together," Geth said curtly.

"Ah." Vennet turned around to look out across the sea. "Where?"

The way he asked the question made Geth glance at him with new respect. When conversations turned to the Last War, he'd found over the years, people generally asked about his experiences in one of two ways. If they'd managed to stay out of the fighting, their questions tended to be curious and polite.

If they'd seen fighting themselves, on the other hand, their questions were blunt, tempered less by curiosity and more by a need to share their own experiences. While he'd avoided discussing the War through his years in Bull Hollow, Geth found himself opening up to Vennet. "All over," he said. "That's how it was with a Blademarks company."

"Was?" Vennet raised an eyebrow.

"Singe stayed in the Blademarks. I left."

Geth didn't offer anything more and Vennet didn't ask. "I can understand moving around," the captain said. He looked back at the water again. "I earned my commission doing transport work along the coast of the Bitter Sea, from Aundair across the Karrnathi coast to the Lhazaar Principalities. Sometimes a run down Scions Sound to Cyre or Thrane. That was a touchy trip."

The shifter gave him a smile. "I manned a ballista on the Cyran side of the Brey River for five months, shooting at any ship trying to make that run."

"Did you ever hit anything?"

"Did you ever get hit?"

Vennet laughed and they swapped the bottle again. "Where else?" he asked.

Geth dug into his memories, trying to remember the best of his time with the Frostbrand. "All over northern Cyre. Up into Karrnath. A little bit on the Talenta Plains. Wherever our commander drew a contract." He looked at Vennet. "Transport work sounds more peaceful."

The captain shook his head. "I saw trouble enough. It's hard to catch a Lyrandar ship if the captain doesn't want to be caught, but there are always pirates and hostile ships willing to give it a try. Lyrandar doesn't float warships, though. We leave the hard fighting to those on land-and they're welcome to it." Vennet rubbed his thumbs across the bottle. "There was one assignment. Transport accompanying an Aundairian raid on a Karrnathi logging town. After the Eldeen Reaches broke away, Aundair came up short on quality timber for shipbuilding, but Karrnath's forests were still thick." His voice dropped. "The town should have held out against the raid, but somehow the Aundairian soldiers broke through. I didn't get any further from my ship than the docks, but it was like they turned into monsters when they got into that town. What they did…"

Geth's mouth went dry. A queasy nausea returned to his stomach. "You're talking about Narath."

Vennet looked at him with haunted eyes. "You've heard of it." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Of course you have. Who hasn't?"