Love and War

'The galley's ram,' Soren told him.

'Hard a-starboard!' cried the captain. Sargo put the tiller over, but the becalmed Skelter scarcely noticed. Graff ordered the helm kept over. He held the wind cord aloft and undid the knot he'd worked so hard to loosen. 'Elementals of the air, I release you!' he exclaimed.

The sail snapped out with a crack, and the deck dropped from under Sturm's feet. Skelter heeled sharply to starboard just as the phantom galley charged through the dead water where the roundship once plodded.

Wind freed from the cord sang in the rigging. 'How long will it last?' Soren asked the captain. Graff rubbed his ears and shrugged, a confession of total ignorance.

Skelter bounded over the waveless sea, tearing the fog apart like rotted cheesecloth. The galley trailed them, trying to draw nearer. Sturm held on the port rail, the wind in his eyes, as the galley swept clear of the mist. The bronze ram gave way to a black timber hull that cut the water in spurts with each dip of the oars. The galley's upperworks were daubed blood red. Movement on the deck suggested men behind the red planking, and a hedgehog of spears bristled in the air. Below them, blending back into the fog, were the oars, black with water, rising and falling in time with a muffled drum.

'Keep back from the rail, lad,' the captain told Sturm. 'They may have archers.'

The boy forgot his mother's request and stood with Sergeant Soren on the port quarterdeck. The magic wind pushed the roundship without falter for one notch of the candle. At one notch and a half, the galley ran its oars in.

The Skelter's crew cheered. Sturm said, 'Have we bested them, Captain?'

'Not yet, lad, not yet.'

Sturm saw dark triangles billow from the galley's masts. Their pursuers were taking to sail, using Skelter's own wind to keep up with them.

The sun burned a hole in the clouds. Details of the black galley stood out at once. A pennant whipped from the foremast. Sargo squinted his good eye at it.

'That be no pirate,' he said. 'That be a ship of Kernaf.'

'Who is Kernaf?' asked Sturm.

' 'What' be more like it — the isle of Kernaf. That's a ship of their navy,' Graff said.

As Sturm watched, the magic wind diminished, and the Skelter slowed. The galley wallowed in the press of sail and drew along their port side.

'Hail, ship of Kernaf!' Graff shouted through his hands. 'What would ye want with us?'

'Heave to! We mean to board!' was the reply. Sturm could see men massing on the forecastle.

'We're a free trader out of Solamnia. What business have ye with us?' bawled Graff.

'You are sailing in waters claimed by our great Sea Lord,' the Kernaf spokesman said. 'Heave to, or we'll take you by force.'

Oars sprouted from the galley's sides like legs on a centipede. 'Go, young lord. Go to your mother,' said Soren. He plucked a dagger two spans long from his belt. 'You must defend her when all else is lost.'

Sturm accepted the iron blade. It was heavy and keen, and in the guardsman's hand it could easily pierce a single thickness of mail. Sturm darted across the deck to the hide enclosure. Mistress Carin and Lady Ilys stood together by the starboard bulwark, amid the wine casks and clay pots of oil.

'Mother, I am here to defend you!' he said, brandishing the dagger.

'Come here,' she said. She gathered Sturm in her arms and hugged him tightly. 'My brave boy,' she said. 'Carin and I heard all.'

Shouts from the deck: 'The ram! The ram!' Skelter leaped sideways in the sea, rolling far to starboard. Lady Ilys and Carin fell back on the pots and casks. Sturm's head banged onto the deck, and the dagger flew from his hand.

Above came the sounds of fighting — heavy thuds, the ring of metal on metal, the screams of the wounded and dying. Men fell overboard with loud splashes.

A shaft of sunlight slashed into the enclosure. Kernaffi marines had cut down the hides. Sturm groped dazedly for the lost dagger. The boarders charged in. Mistress Carin bravely faced them, but the nearest man grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out on deck. Lady Ilys called for her son. By then Sturm was crawling about, searching for Soren's weapon. The Kernaffi approached Lady Ilys, but she walked out on her own and stood regally in a circle of poised javelins.

Sturm saw his mother confront the rough, kilt-wearing Kernaffi. His throat tightened when the ring of spearpoints closed in. He cast around desperately for the dagger. Back among the crates of cloth the braided handle gleamed. Sturm reached for it…

A rough hand grasped the hood of his cloak and hauled him to his feet. 'KOY ESK TA?' said the Kernaffi, laughing in the boy's frightened face.

By the time Sturm was drag-marched to deck, the battle was over. The Thelite sailors were bunched together by the mast, on their knees and begging for mercy. Sheer numbers of javelin-armed Kernaffi had forced Soren back to the starboard rail. They pinned him there, spearpoints at his throat. Soren's broken sword lay at his feet, as did a good number of wounded Kernaffi.

Carin was weeping. Lady Ilys comforted her. There was a scuffle on the poop deck. Two marines in conical leather hats shoved old Captain Graff down to the main deck.

'Who commands here? I demand to see yer captain!' Graff said, rising to his feet.

'Polo Kamay !' said the Kernaffi holding Sturm. All eyes followed his glance.

Down a narrow boarding bridge came two extraordinary figures. The first, in a gilded breastplate and plumed helmet, was obviously the commander of the galley. Behind him, and taller by half a head, came a woman in mail and black leather armor. A corona of copper-colored hair shone around her conical cap.

'Which one is the ship's master?' said the woman, stepping down onto the Skelter .

'I am Graff.'

'Captain, this ship is ours. Yield your cargo manifest.'

'Demons take you!' he said, spitting at her feet. The woman backhanded him with one mailed fist. Graff's head snapped back, and blood ran from his split lip.

'I am Artavash, lieutenant to our great Sea Lord,' said the woman in a loud, ringing voice. 'You people are now his prisoners.'

The plumed commander went to Lady Ilys and Carin. 'What's this? Passengers?' he said. 'Lady Artavash, look here!'

The tall warrior woman looked down at Lady Ilys. She ran a finger over the nap of the fine velvet dress Sturm's mother wore. 'Wealthy, highborn, or both?' she said. When Lady Ilys failed to answer, Artavash drew a knife and put the point to Carin's stomach.

'It would cost me not a moment's rest to gut this lady like a chicken,' she said. 'Who are you?'

'Lady Ilys, wife to Lord Brightblade of Solamnia.'

'And why is a great knight's lady traveling the open sea without her noble husband?'

Lady Ilys's lips set firmly until Artavesh pushed the knife tip through the first layer of Carin's dress. The maid inhaled sharply.

'We are traveling — for our health,' Lady Ilys said.

Artavash laughed and translated the remark for the Kernaffi. They joined her in mocking laughter.

'Mujat ! Enough!' She turned to the galley's commander and said, 'Well, Sir Radiz, how shall we treat this poor company?'

'They have nothing we want, lady. Why not let them sail on?' the beplumed Kernaffi said.

Just then, Sturm managed to slip his arms out of his cloak. He dropped on his heels and left the marine holding an empty bundle of cloth. Sturm ran to the women. He pushed the knife away from Carin and interposed himself between Artavash and his mother.

Artavash turned her strangely burning eyes on him. 'Well!' said the red-haired warrior. 'Here's a young hero. Another Brightblade, I'll wager.'

'Sturm, Angriff's son,' the boy said.

Artavash smiled. 'How old are you, boy?'