Colors of Chaos

CXLVII

THE WHITE SERPENT pitched forward, riding the downside of the swell before spray cascaded over the bow. Cerryl swallowed hard, hanging onto the heavy wooden railing and glancing toward the west, wondering if his stomach would hold for the remaining two days of the voyage from Lydiar to Spidlaria.

The ship was a faster way to get to Spidlaria, but not terribly comfortable, especially in the heavy swells.

“How ye be, mage?” The ship’s second stood at Cerryl’s elbow, standing there without holding onto anything.

“Fine.” Cerryl forced a grin. “Except I don’t seem to be able to walk anywhere without holding on.”

“Must be a storm to the northwest…a mite unseasonable this far north in summer. Hope the Black ones haven’t been calling their storm mages.” The second gestured off the starboard bow quarter, almost into the sun that beat down out of a green-blue sky that held but the faintest hint of high, hazy clouds. “Don’t ye worry. We’ll have ye ashore afore the worst reaches this far south.”

“Good.” Cerryl paused. “Did you see the Black ship-the one that needed no sails?”

The second’s face clouded. “Aye. Demon-driven it was, and the Black one skirted the reefs and left us near becalmed. The mages’ fire-it washed over the ship, scarce touching it. Evil as anything I ever saw upon the deep, that it was.”

“It’s anchored off Recluce,” Cerryl volunteered.

“I’d wish it were anchored twenty-score cubits deep.” The second laughed. “Not that chaos listens to a poor sailor.” With a nod, the man turned back aft.

If the Black ship worked, Cerryl knew, there would be more on the Eastern Ocean, just as there had been more chaos mages once the ancients had unleashed the White power, just as Recluce had become inevitable after the fall of Westwind.

He glanced to his left, in the general direction of Fairhaven. He hoped Leyladin would be all right. Once at sea, with the swirls of order and chaos, he couldn’t use his glass, even in the times when the ocean was calmer.

Kinowin would watch out for her, and Anya wouldn’t seek her harm, scheming as the redhead was, because Anya wouldn’t want to upset Cerryl, not while she still had uses for him.

The reluctant arms mage’s lips quirked. You’d almost rather deal with the Black smith than with Anya-except that you have no choice.

The White Serpent pitched again, and his fingers tightened on the railing.