Ouroboros.'
The comment stopped John cold. He stared out at the two men in the small boat, then thought of a plague spreading through the ship, killing everyone on the Sarnath. I'll die, too, he realized. And Kiri. That thought, above all, disturbed him terribly.
He met the cold, hard gaze of the first mate. 'Why me?'
She smiled a malevolent, evil grin. 'Because you're a soldier now, Cormyrian, and I'm an officer. You do what I say. Besides, do you want a ship full of crusaders to die because of two men? You won't beat the Tuigan that way.'
Closing his eyes, John came to a decision. He hesitated for only an instant, pulling his black, fingerless gloves tight on his hands, then snatched a blue-fletched arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bow. The sailor in the small boat looked up just as John let the arrow fly.
The Sembian sank down, an arrow through his heart. The cleric wailed once and got to his knees. 'I can cast a spell!' he cried. 'I won't spread the plague.'
'We just can't take that chance,' the captain replied coldly. He turned his gray eyes to John and casually flicked two fingers toward the ship's boat.
The fletcher sighted the cleric's heart and pulled back on the bowstring. The fine cord bit into his fingers, then he let another arrow fly. The Lathanderite futilely tried to get out of the way. Instead of striking him in the heart, the blue-fletched arrow hit his shoulder, knocking him from the boat. He struggled for a moment, then sank. The cleric's wooden holy symbol was left floating on the surface, but soon it, too, dropped beneath the water.
'You eight archers to my right,' the first mate yelled, 'get some pitch and lob flaming arrows onto the Ouroboros. I want her fully engulfed before we leave.'
After glancing at the still form in the boat, she turned to John. 'You do your job well. Now all you have to do is get used to following orders.' When he replied with only a blank look, the first mate added, 'This is a war, fletcher, not a contest of skill at the spring festival.'
Silently John walked back to the bowsprit. Along the way, a few sailors slapped him on the back and congratulated him on his fine marksmanship.
As he leaned back against the gunwale, the fletcher pondered why no one seemed especially chilled by what had just occurred. After a little while, he decided that the first mate was correct: he'd only done his job. Razor John wasn't proud of the task he'd reluctantly completed, but he went back to working arrows convinced that King Azoun would at least understand he'd killed only to save the ship and further the cause of the crusade.
The port of Telflamm was crowded with ships of every sort. As King Azoun scanned the harbor from the deck of the Welleran, he estimated that about two hundred vessels from the crusaders' fleet lay moored nearby-almost half the total armada. Boats of many sizes shuttled between the docks and the larger ships, carrying soldiers and sailors to shore. The piers were filled to capacity with cogs and carracks, which were being unladen by longshoremen. Crates of food and weapons, horses and livestock, even parts for mobile forges and supply wagons, covered Telflamm's docks.
'We're ready to go, Your Highness.'
Azoun nodded. 'Then let's be on our way,' he said to Farl Bloodaxe. 'Will we be to Torg's camp before nightfall?'
The general shrugged. 'I don't know these waters very well. I would say more likely before sunrise tomorrow morning.' The dark-skinned man shielded his eyes with his hands and looked toward the sun, which was now high in the east over the onion-shaped domes of Telflamm's temples and civic buildings. 'Yes, definitely by dawn tomorrow.'
'King Torg awaits,' Azoun noted cheerfully, motioning for Farl to give the orders to proceed. The Welleran was quickly under way north along the coast of the Easting Reach, two other Cormyrian carracks following close behind.
Azoun glanced back at Telflamm once, then began a leisurely stroll around the ship. For the first time since the carrack had left Suzail-a little over a month before-the Welleran was quiet. Most of the passengers had been dropped in port so that extra supplies could be loaded aboard the Cormyrian tri-masters. This food and other essentials were destined for King Torg and his dwarven troops, and whatever soldiers Zhentil Keep had seen fit to send. Only a skeleton crew remained aboard the flagship, commanded by Farl Bloodaxe, who had won the men's support during the storm.
With Lord Harcourt and General Elventree secure in Telflamm, keeping the troops in line, Azoun had time to discuss the use of magic in the upcoming conflict with Vangerdahast. The king's trusted advisor was along on the crusade to supervise the use of the War Wizards against the Tuigan. Azoun had no doubts that his old tutor would wreak havoc upon Yamun Khahan's army given the chance.
'From everything I've heard,' Vangerdahast had said during one meeting, 'the Tuigan don't like magic very much at all. In fact, their permanent capital-if you can call a tent city a capital-is set up in a magic-dead area. Spells won't work there.' The mage had stroked his beard then and looked wistfully at the flickering lantern. 'A few well- placed lightning bolts ought to shake them up quite a bit.'
Azoun leaned on the base of a mast. He laughed to himself, thinking of the gleam that shone in Vangerdahast's eyes whenever he spoke of using spells against the horsewarriors. Azoun was sure that his old friend was getting at least a little caught up in the adventure of the crusade.
In fact, from what the king had seen during the sail from Suzail, the entire army seemed to be growing more excited, more enthusiastic about the campaign. The Welleran had come close to many other transport ships during the trip across the Inner Sea. Every time the flagship got near enough that another vessel could see she flew King Azoun's standard, she was welcomed with cheers of greeting.
That joyous sound kept Azoun's spirits buoyed through the quiet trip along the coast that day, and the king's growing confidence in his army began to show in his demeanor. He spent little time during the night worrying about the battles to come. Instead, he thought about his wife and wondered how she was faring back in Suzail. Before he went to sleep, he resolved to have Vangerdahast contact Filfaeril as soon as possible, once the supplies were delivered.
Vangerdahast even noticed that Azoun seemed relaxed and well rested on the morning they reached their rendezvous point, on the northern shore of the Easting Reach, just south of the port town of Uthmerg.
'Why so animated this day, Your Highness?' the royal wizard asked as he watched the king briskly pace back and forth at the rail.
'I am happy because our goal is almost in sight,' Azoun told the mage. He stopped pacing, then pointed east to the tall-grassed, rolling hills that stretched away from the shore. 'And King Torg is sure to be ready to join our army by now.'
The wizard squinted toward the shore. The choppy, shallow water prevented the Welleran and the two ships accompanying her from getting closer than a few hundred yards from the beach's dark sand. 'Then I suggest we get a move on. Do you see any envoys yet?'
Now the king scanned the dark shoreline, too, but saw nothing save a few white birds running in the surf. 'No. You contacted them already, didn't you, Vangy?'
'Hours ago,' the wizard sighed. He rubbed his chin, then nodded. 'If you have no objections, Azoun, I'll have us in the dwarves' camp in a few moments.'
With that, the royal magician fell silent and noiselessly mouthed an incantation. His eyes rolled back in his head, revealing milky white orbs. 'That will do nicely,' Azoun heard the mage mumble. His voice sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a great distance. Before long, Vangerdahast closed his eyes, then shook his head briskly.
'I've located the camp, and I think I've spotted a fine location for us to teleport to. We'd best move right away, however.' The wizard grabbed Azoun's wrists. 'Don't want some fool dwarf to park a horse or a cart there.'
'Farl,' the king called. When the general appeared from a hatch nearby, Azoun said, 'The escort hasn't shown up, so we're going ahead to the camp. We'll send word as soon as the dwarves are ready to receive their supplies.'
The ebony-skinned man nodded, then asked, 'Is there anything else I should do while you're gone?'
'Just keep the ship afloat,' Vangerdahast said quickly. 'Come, Your Highness, we really can't dawdle.'
