Erin Hoffman - Sword of Fire and Sea

“Ariadel Windhammer,” she said, hesitating slightly upon reaching him. She extended her hand-a small, petite thing. Delicate though she might be, the priestess had a strong, firm grip. She was complete and total trouble.

Finally, he managed, “Vidarian Rulorat, captain of the Empress Quest .”

Her smile was morning breaking over the eastern sea. “Rulorat, truly? I should have trusted Endera to find me a stalwart guardian. Your family is renowned on the seas.”

Vidarian was about to answer when a soft, plaintive mew echoed up from one of the crates stacked beside the pier.

Ariadel blinked. “Do you hear that?”

“Just a dock cat.”

“Nonsense. I doubt if its eyes are even open yet.” Like a predator herself she crouched and listened intently, moving silently among the crates on the dock. The source of the mew made the mistake of scuttling from one crate to the next, and Ariadel pounced.

She pulled it from the crates as one might an unsuspected treasure. The molten light of the setting sun flashed in the kitten's green eyes, and then across Ariadel's dark ones.

Vidarian blinked, then squinted suspiciously at the kitten. It was more a ball of grey fur than a creature, though punctuated with pink ears and nose. Despite being fluffed into a rather rotund shape, bones showed through its skin where the patchy fur exposed it. Doubtful it would be much of any use at all as a mouser.

“I feel she must come with us,” Ariadel said, curiously fixated on the creature's eyes.

He nodded, diplomat enough to hide his skepticism. One picked one's battles. “If it's your will, Priestess.” Vidarian swept his arm in an invitation toward the gangplank ahead.

The Empress Quest was a sleek double-masted schooner of eighty-five feet in length, carved from red teak, light and strong. Shallow-bellied for a seagoing ship, she rode high in the water, with pennants snapping in the breeze. She was currently one of the larger ships in the harbor, built for the rugged coastline, barnacled where her waterline had once been higher from prolonged exposure to rough waters. There was nothing in the world lovelier than the sight of her bobbing at port, and so it was with some misgiving that Vidarian observed the priestess's reluctance to board.

Finally he held out his hand to her, and she stared at it for a moment before accepting his assistance. As she stepped onto the plank, she murmured, “Pardon my moment. I've never been on the high sea before,” but it was with the curious calm one would observe a foreign delicacy at dinner. Still, her grip on the kitten gave her away-its eyes looked about to pop out in her firm grasp.

“Windhammer,” he said, partly to distract her. “Strange name for a fire priestess. Have our families met before?” She did not look at him, but seemed bent on taking in every detail of her surroundings as they stepped onto the Quest 's fine deck.

“My father's name,” she said distractedly. “The fire in my veins is from my mother. A remote cousin of Priestess Endera's. Oh!” She exclaimed in surprise as the grey kitten suddenly squirmed loose (likely in protest to her death-grip, though Vidarian certainly wouldn't say so) and landed on the deck with a thump. In a shot the kitten was off, streaking toward the galley as if it knew exactly where it was going.

Vidarian watched in chagrin. Then, raising a hand to his cheek, he called out, “All hands prepare for sail! Ms. Solandt, bring us out!” The sudden loudness of his voice startled the priestess slightly, but she recovered, watching the stream of men that poured out of the forecastle with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Oughtn't I meet the crew?”

He grinned. “After we're settled on route. My Empress grows impatient if docked too long. Shall we?” He raised a hand toward the main hold, and she followed his gesture, but somehow managed to make it look like it had been her idea all along. Trouble indeed.

The forecastle's anteroom, by his grandmother's tradition, was as ornate as a wealthy landsman's stateroom, and used to honor individuals of the crew on special occasions. Heavy mahogany cabinets and a massive matching table, all intricately carved with water nymphs and merfolk, were bolted to the polished teak deck, their fixtures hidden by carved clawed feet. A pair of runners covered the deck to either side of the table, patterned in the voluminous chrysanthemum designs peculiar to the continent-island nation of Targuli. Each was of thin but surprisingly soft silk, woven at an astronomical thread count and also stapled discreetly to the boards. Vidarian shut the thick door behind them, cutting off the bustle of the crew's quarters.

Ariadel took it all in with cool aloofness, thick lashes masking her half-closed eyes. She, of course, was used to much greater splendor than this-but Vidarian guessed that the watery theme was not quite her cup of tea.

Speaking of which, he moved to a silver tea service that he'd asked Marks to lay out prior to their journey. Sitting in a polished rack fixed in the center of the lacquered table, the teapot was a tall silver affair rimmed with filigreed roses. Two matching cups sat on silver saucers nearby, and Vidarian deftly measured out portions of dark honey-colored tea for both of them. Ariadel accepted her cup gratefully, exclaiming over the detail and skill of the worked metal. “My mother's,” Vidarian explained, not diffident, and Ariadel turned her attention to the tea.

However, as she took her first sip, she worked quite obviously to avoid spitting the liquid back out. “It's cold!”

Vidarian cleared his throat to hide the start of a laugh. “Your pardon, Priestess. The tea is from Insartia, and intended to be enjoyed chilled. It's been quite warm out.” Taking up his own cup, he swallowed a mouthful of the tea, enjoying its herblike, minty overtones. “We'll be under way shortly, and I'm afraid I must leave you to attend the launch. So if you'll pardon my directness-” he looked over his cup for permission, and continued at her cautious nod, “you are not, of course, obligated to tell me, but why are they searching for you?”

Ariadel stared into her cup as if the answer would rise from its glassy surface. After a long moment she said, hollowly, “I know where they live.”

Vidarian frowned. “You are only one person. Surely others know the location of their operation. They must have spies, staff, orderlies?”

The priestess shook her head, increasingly subdued. “Not that simple, I'm afraid. They migrate, but they have a single unmoving fortress on an island in the Farwestern Sea. I happened to stumble upon its location, and they read the signs of my presence.” She took a quick draught of the tea. “It was not intended that they should be able to do so.”

Cradling his cup between his hands, Vidarian traced the silver roses with his eyes for a moment. “I gather this is somehow Endera's mistake.”

“She knew the risk.” Ariadel abruptly set down her cup. “The knowledge was worth it. And she knew that her sister at Zal'nehara would protect me. The Daughters of the Sea have been searching for the Vkortha fortress unsuccessfully for years.”

Knowing it would be futile to mask his ignorance, Vidarian simply asked: “The sea is their domain, and they could not find the island? And if you have told others, why are you alone hunted?”

“Their domain was their weakness. They are too familiar with the environs of water, and the Vkortha have many layers of telepathic camouflage on the island. It took fire to penetrate them, for they were woven in with the patterns of the ocean itself, with which the Zal'neharans were too familiar. And I have told no one else. Endera has a certain latitude from Kara'zul, but they would not have approved of any such official cooperation with Zal'nehara, and know nothing of my efforts or hers.”