Darkness Descending

“If you say so,” Fernao answered, also raising his voice to make himself heard above the gale. “I must tell you, though, Captain, I have more than a little trouble discerning its charms.”

“Do you? Do you indeed?” Fragoso’s hat was secured by a chin strap. The wind almost blew it away anyhow. After settling it back on his head, he went on, “If you like, then, I will tell you why it is a fine morning.”

“If you would be so kind,” the mage said.

“Oh, I will, I will, never you fear,” Fragoso said, cheerful still. “It’s a fine morning because, during this past long, black night, we sailed by Sibiu--as close as we were ever going to come--and the Algarvians didn’t spot us. If that doesn’t make it a fine morning, curse me if I know what does.”

“Ah,” Fernao said, and then gravely nodded. “You’re right, Captain; it is a fine morning. Of course, the Algarvians probably weren’t looking for us very hard, either, being under the impression no sane men would sail in such a sea. I confess, I was under the same impression myself.”

“Aye, well, such is life,” Captain Fragoso said. “But they could have hurt us if they’d seen us. The one great disadvantage of ley-line ships is that they can only dodge where the lines cross. We wouldn’t enjoy it if dragons started trying to drop eggs on us, not even a little we wouldn’t.”

Fernao shivered at the prospect. He was shivering anyhow, but this was something new and different. But then, looking up toward the dark, scudding clouds overhead, he remarked, “I don’t think the dragonfliers would enjoy going up in weather like this, either.”

“Something to that, I shouldn’t wonder,” Fragoso said. A wave smacked the Implacable broadside, sending spray and water over the rail and drenching the naval officer and Fernao. Fernao cursed and shuddered; Fragoso took it in stride. “Part of my business, sir--just part of my business.”

“Along with chilblains and pneumonia, I suppose.” Something else occurred to Fernao. “We may well be able to get through all right, Captain. We’re a surprise.” He was surprised the fleet had sailed in dead of winter, so he didn’t wonder that the Algarvians were, too. “But we won’t be able to keep it a secret once we’ve landed on the austral continent. If we need reinforcements, King Mezentio’s men will be on the lookout for them.”

“Ah, I see what you’re saying.” Fragoso shrugged. “They’ll just have to do the best they can, that’s all.” No one had thought about anything past this first fleet was what that meant. Fernao had hoped for better but hadn’t really expected it.

Up in the crow’s nest atop the only mast the Implacable carried, the lookout let out a screech: “Ice! Ice off the port bow!”

Fernao had hoped for better than that, too, but hadn’t really expected it. In sailing to the land of the Ice People, he would have been a fool not to expect ice drifting in the water. But the fleet still was farther north than drifting bergs commonly came so early in the season. Aren’t we lucky? the mage thought.

Fragoso shouted into a speaking tube, ordering the mages who drew energy from the ley line to bring the Implacable to a halt and let the ice float past. Then he shouted into another tube, this one sending his voice to the crystallomancer: “Warn the other ships in the fleet what we’ve seen--and warn them not to ram us while we’re stopped, too.”

Fernao hurried toward the bow to get a good look at the iceberg. He’d seen them before, but the fascination remained. That great, silent mass, far larger than the ley-line cruiser, looked as if it had no business existing, let alone being dangerous. But it did and it was; it could smash in the Implacable’s sides as if they were made of eggshells rather than iron. As the ship slowed, Fernao remembered what Fragoso had said about ley-line ships’ inability to dodge. He wished he hadn’t.

Closer and closer drifted the mountain of ice, its surface rocking slightly in the surging sea. Fernao gripped the rail as hard as he could. The iceberg came close enough to let him see a gull--or perhaps it was a petrel--strolling about on the ice as casually as a man might stroll down the Boulevard of Kings in Setubal. If the iceberg hit the cruiser, the bird would fly away. The Implacable^ sailors wouldn’t be so lucky. Neither would Fernao.

A sailor loosed a triumphant shout: “It’s past!” Sure enough, Fernao had to look to his right--to starboard, he reminded himself--to see it. It couldn’t have missed the ley-line cruiser by more than fifty yards. He wondered how many more bergs the fleet would have to evade before drawing up to the ice shelf that formed even on the northernmost fringes of the austral continent every winter. He hoped finding the answer to that question wouldn’t be too expensive.

In the middle of the following night, an iceberg did hit another cruiser. The berg’s weight and momentum carried the stricken ship off the ley line, leaving it helpless and the rest of the fleet unable to go after it for a rescue. The cruiser did have lifeboats. If by oars or sails or current they reached another ley line, the men who managed to board