They were going to try to sneak up on the guards. Chentelle waved frantically, catching Leth’s attention. “Wait,” she mouthed. “Wait.”

  He looked at her curiously, but nodded in acquiescence.

  Chentelle closed her eyes and focused her attention on her hearing. The goblin voices were unintelligible, but they seemed calm, even bored. Low waves slapped softly against the stones of the pier, and a slight wind whispered out from shore. Good, she could do this.

  She started to sing. Softly at first, almost inaudibly, but with growing strength she reached out with her Gift. She blended her voice with the quiet sounds of the sea, never letting her words become louder than the lapping waves. She wrapped her song around the goblin sentries, embracing them in a soothing lullaby. The guards on the pier were too far away; she didn’t dare raise her voice that loud. But she felt the presence of two more sentries on the warship. Chentelle extended her charm to wrap around them as well. She guided them all gently toward slumber, and they followed.

  She opened her eyes and nodded to Leth. “The sentries on both ships are asleep,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t reach the ones on the pier.”

  The Legionnaire smiled and reached into the raft. He pulled out two sword belts, hanging one over his shoulder and handing the other to Gerruth. They climbed quietly up the chain and slipped over the railing onto the Treachery’s deck. A moment later, two ropes came sliding over the side. Sulmar and Drup fixed them to the raft, and the brothers hauled it up to the deck.

  The ropes came down again, and Chentelle climbed to the deck. She swung herself easily over the rail, then flinched as her feet touched the awful deadwood of the deck. There was no sign of Leth, Gerruth, or the raft, but the hatchway leading below deck was open. The goblin sentries were crumpled in a heap near the far rail. She tried not to notice the rivulet of dark fluid that trailed from beneath their bodies.

  Sulmar slid over the rail to stand beside her, and Drup followed an instant later. Father Marcus had more trouble with the climb, but they were able to pull him up without difficulty. Leth and Gerruth returned just as the High Bishop reached the deck. Each of them carried a long, metal crowbar secured from the Treachery’s hold.

  “Stay low,” Leth whispered. “We don’t need the shore guards to spot any suspicious silhouettes. Make sure the rigging is prepared for a quick departure, but don’t raise any sails. Gerruth and I will be right back.”

  Chentelle watched them crawl over the rail and lower themselves down the ropes. They ducked under the surface and reappeared a minute later near the stern of the warship. They crawled onto the rudder assembly, prying at something with their bars. Then, they slipped back into the water and paddled quietly toward the mouth of the bay.

  Drup didn’t need any help with the rigging, so Chentelle went below to check on A’stoc. The wizard was still in the raft, which was parked just at the foot of the stairs. Father Marcus was kneeling by his side.

  “How is he?” Chentelle asked.

  “Unchanged,” Father Marcus said. “But we should take him to his cabin. He’ll rest better there.”

  Sulmar lifted the wizard out of the raft and carried him down the hall. Chentelle followed with the Thunderwood Staff. They put A’stoc into his bunk and arranged him as comfortably as they were able.

  Chentelle pulled a chair over to sit beside the bed. Then she froze. A goblin voice was calling from outside the porthole.

  They hurried back to the stairs and climbed cautiously up to the deck. Drup was crouched behind the rail, naked sword in hand. He raised a finger to his lips and waved for them to stay where they were.

  Chentelle peered around the side of the wheeldeck. Two goblins were walking toward them from the shore. It was the other sentries. They stopped on the far side of some cargo crates which were stacked on the wharf. One of them called out again, a little bit louder this time. It was not an alarm, but there was a sense of growing urgency to the tone.

  A hacking cough sounded behind Chentelle. It was Sulmar! The Tengarian was creeping toward the rail, grumbling and croaking in a deep, throaty voice. It was a passing imitation of a goblin with a bad cough.

  The sentries seemed confused. They came forward, moving almost to the edge of the gangway.

  Sulmar leaped over the railing. One foot lashed out, catching a goblin in the side of the neck. The sentry fell limply to the stone, his neck twisted almost entirely about.

  The Tengarian landed in a crouch. He pivoted smoothly and sheathed his black sword. The other goblin sank to his knees, hands clasped to his throat. Blood seeped around his clawed fingers, and he slumped to the dock.

  Sulmar dragged the bodies behind the crates and crouched beside them, waiting. No one else came, and there were no more calls or challenges. He slipped quickly up the walkway and back on board the Treachery.

  Leth and Gerruth returned a minute or two later. Their mission was a success. The Treachery was theirs, and the warships were temporarily crippled. Now, all they could do was wait and pray for Dacius and the others.

  Chentelle glanced to the east. The dark horizon gave no hint of Ellistar’s approach.

  13

  Tribulations

  The shouting started just before first-light. It had to be the distraction. Chentelle searched the goblin camp, and saw Brother Gorin stalking back and forth near the fringes of the central fire.

  The goblin priest weaved unsteadily and swung his arms wildly, as if he were very drunk. He beat his halberd against the round metal shield he carried, and shouted challenges at phantoms. Then he started swinging the weapon, battering the air with great sweeping strokes.

  The camp sentries surrounded him in the clearing, but they did not stand too close. More goblins appeared, straggling slowly out of the barracks buildings and forming a crowd around the ranting priest. More shouting broke out; some of the goblins seemed to be yelling encouragement while others called angrily for silence.

  Gorin’s halberd crashed into the fire, sending flaming brands splashing through the air. The blaze roared higher for an instant, then faded into gray embers.

  “What is happening?” Father Marcus asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chentelle said. Without the firelight, she could no longer make out details. The clearing was filled with a mass of shadowy forms. Yelling still filled the air, becoming more angry and strident. Then a yell of a different type sounded from closer to the pier: a scream of pure agony.

  “To the ship!” came Dacius’ bellow. “Run for the pier!”

  A half-dozen shapes ran along the rocky coast, the Legionnaire’s huge outline plain among them. Two guards moved into their path, halberds rising to the ready. Dacius charged through them without slowing. His blade swept the goblin weapons aside and cut down one of the goblins on the backswing. He slammed the other to the ground with his shoulder and kept running. One of the trailing elves sliced downward with curved blade passed, finishing off the stunned sentry.

  The goblins in the clearing screamed in rage as they realized what was happening. Dozens came charging toward the dock. Others disappeared into the barracks. But none of them could stop the escaping prisoners from reaching the pier.

  Dacius scrambled to a stop halfway down the pier, near a pile of cargo. Thildemar took a stand next to him. “Keep moving!” he shouted to the others. “Get the Treachery ready to sail!” He waited until the crew was past, then scattered the crates across the dock. “Bowmen—covering fire!”

  “Please move back, Chentelle.” Leth’s hand gently pulled her away from the rail. He and his brother stepped forward, bows already in hand and nocked. Drup was hard at work, grinding the winch to raise anchor.

  Rone and the others scrambled up the gangway. The captain waved a goblin scimitar frantically in one hand. “Raise the sheets! Make ready to sail! Move, you sluggards, move!”

  Zubec and Pardec bolted for the rigging. Pulleys squealed in protest as the sails unfurled. The canvas flapped feebly in the light breeze.

  Bowstrings thrummed as Leth and Gerruth loosed their shots. Two goblins dropped, falling to the ground in front of the onrushing mob.

  The others didn’t even slow. They trampled their brethren and charged onto the pier. Two more fell to well-placed arrows, but then the mass swarmed into Dacius and Thildemar.

  The Legionnaires stood their ground. The makeshift barricade slowed the charge, forcing the goblins to climb over and around the scattered boxes. Vorpal sword and battle stave lashed out with uncanny speed and precision, wreaking havoc among the first rank of goblins and adding their fallen bodies to the obstacle. But the goblins kept pressing forward.

  Chentelle could see a second line forming behind the first rush, a line both better organized and better armed. “Sulmar, help them.”

  The Tengarian jumped nimbly over the rail. Both swords rang out of their sheaths before his feet hit the dock. He landed in a soft crouch and was running almost instantly.

  A glint of motion flashed above his right shoulder. “Look out!” Chentelle cried.

  A crossbow bolt shot through the space where Gerruth’s head had been a moment before. It shattered against the mast, splattering the deck with hissing fluid,

  The Legionnaire turned and loosed in one motion, his own arrow finding its mark in the chest of the goblin sentry from the docked warship. The second sentry ducked back behind cover. “My thanks, enchantress,” Gerruth said, nocking another arrow without taking his eyes off the goblin’s position.

  “Paun!” Captain Rone screamed. “Piss and rot, man, what are you waiting for? We need a sagewind!”

  “I know that, Master Rone,” Paun said. “But the goblins took my staff. I can’t move the wind without it!”

  “Of all the—A’stoc!” Rone shouted. “Where’s the wizard? He can call the wind.”

  “No,” Chentelle said. “He can’t. He’s unconscious, and we can’t revive him.”

  “You must,” Rone growled. “Or else Paun better whittle himself another sagestaff. We are doomed if we don’t get wind.”

  Something large splashed into the water off their port.

  “Arbalest,” Rone said. “The other warships must have heard the commotion. They’ll move in and cut us off.”

  “They can’t move,” Chentelle said. “Leth sabotaged their rudders.”

  A second splash threw water onto the deck.

  “Well, damn me and bless that lad,” Rone said. “But it’ll do us no good if we can’t get this lady under way. Paun! Now or never, man, it’s now or never.”

  The shipsage had both hands wrapped around the mainmast. His face twisted with strain as he hummed stridently and rocked back and forth. His whole body trembled, and one of his legs gave way. He fell heavily, striking his head against the deck. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

  “Man the harpoon,” Rone shouted. He slapped his scimitar angrily and stalked over to the rail.

  The Legionnaires were retreating steadily toward the ship. Dacius held the center position, giving ground step by slow step. Thildemar was on his right, and Sulmar’s two swords wove a deadly shield on his exposed left. More than a dozen goblin bodies littered the pier, but the tide kept coming.

  A wheezing cry sounded from the deck of the goblin warship. The second sentry had finally exposed himself. He fell, and his crossbow clattered to the ground, spending the shot harmlessly.

  Gerruth turned back to the dock and nocked another arrow. He loosed that missile and one more. Then he and Leth both dropped bows and drew their swords. Dacius’ feet had almost reached the gangway.

  “Cover!” Drup shouted.

  A volley of bolts scattered across the Treachery’s deck, sent by a formation of goblins standing just off of the pier.

  The whaler’s harpoon jumped in response. The huge missile tore through the ground under the archers’ feet, scattering their formation.

  A door slammed open behind them. A’stoc stood at the top of the stairs, gripping the Staff in both hands. The wizard took a halting step forward, then another. Like a drunken marionette, he staggered toward the mainmast—eyes closed, legs twitching awkwardly, Thunderwood clutched rigidly to his chest.

  And Father Marcus walked just behind him. The High Priest chanted slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. His right hand rested on the back of A’stoc’s neck and never strayed as he followed the wizard onto the deck.

  As one, the pair stopped before the mast. A’stoc’s arms wrenched into the air. Marcus shifted his chant, and words grated out of the wizard’s throat. Emerald fire blazed to life, surrounding both mage and High Priest. The flames shot skyward, and a gale ripped into the Treachery’s sails.

  The ship lurched forward, then snapped to a halt. Wooden planks groaned with strain as the mooring lines pulled tight. Sailors and Legionnaires grabbed for support against the blast. Chentelle staggered against the rail, driven to her knees by the screaming wind. Only A’stoc was unaffected, secure in his halo of power.

  Captain Rone scampered for the aft line. “Time to go, Lord Gemine!” he bellowed above the wind. “Pardec, on my mark, cut loose the bow line.”

  The sudden squall had thrown Thildemar and the goblins off balance. Dacius and Sulmar pushed forward, taking advantage of their greater mass and stability. They drove the attackers backward, creating a brief cushion in front of the gangplank. Dacius grabbed Thildemar with a supporting arm, and the three men rushed up the ramp.

  “Now!” Rone screamed, scimitar raised high overhead.

  “Wait!” Chentelle cried, pointing down the pier.

  A figure was pressing slowly through the mass of goblins. It was Gorin. The priest’s head was bowed. His hands were raised before his chest, clawed fingers curled into a circle. And he was surrounded by the gentle glow of sanctuary.

  The goblins near the priest screamed in rage. Several of them lifted weapons to attack him, but as soon as they drew close their weapons dropped harmlessly to their sides. They gazed around in sudden confusion, helpless against the Creator’s peace. The goblins moved out of Brother Gorin’s path, unable even to block his progress so long as the sanctuary held.

  The Treachery bucked wildly against her restraints. The gangplank bounced in the air, scattering several goblins who had been trying to force their way aboard. The sails snapped furiously and the planks around the mast bent with strain.

  “Hurry!” Rone yelled. “She can’t hold much longer.”

  Brother Gorin reached the foot of the plank. The goblins surrounding him gave way, powerless to block him. He jumped nimbly onto the walkway, but another lurch twisted the board under his feet. He fell to the wood and was nearly thrown into the sea. Only his hard claws held him to the board. The jolt broke his concentration and he stopped chanting. The aura of sanctuary faded.

  Sulmar leaped forward. Keeping one hand on the rail, he reached out with the other and grabbed Gorin’s collar. With one great heave he lifted the goblin and threw him onto the deck of the Treachery. Then he dived back to find his own cover.

  “Now!” Rone shouted. His goblin blade sliced through the thick mooring rope.

  The Treachery bounded sideways, shuddering slightly as the bow rope snapped an instant later. Chentelle tumbled across the deck, slamming violently against the far rail. Water sloshed against her face. By the Creator, the ship was canted nearly horizontal. They were going down!

  “Hard aport!” Rone screamed.

  The Treachery’s hull groaned in protest as the captain and crew struggled to make her respond. Somehow, they managed to face her with the wind. The sails ruffled, then cracked full, yanking the goblinship forward. She plowed through the water, slowly righting herself as they gained speed. They ran with the gale toward the open seas.

  “Sound off!” Dacius said. “Is everyone all right?”

  One by one, the company checked in. Everyone was shaken and bruised, but no one was seriously hurt. Only A’stoc and the High Bishop failed to answer. They were both still wrapped in Earthpower, oblivious to their surroundings.

  Dacius pointed toward the east. The shadows of the two warships loomed ominously against the brightening sky. “What’s our course, captain?”

  “Straight between ’em, Lord Gemine,” Rone answered, shouting to be heard above the gale. “No other choice. We’ll have to pray our speed pulls us through safely.”

  Dacius paused for a moment, eyes roaming the deck. “We’ll have a crossfire from their bowmen. Drup, Leth, Gerruth—grab bows. Aim for their artillerists and sorcerers. Thildemar, you and I are shieldmen. Sulmar, will you man the harpoon?”

  The Tengarian hesitated, looking to Chentelle.

  Brother Gorin stepped forward. “I will watch over the enchantress. My sanctuary will shield us both.”

  “Mistress?” Sulmar inquired.

  “Of course,” Chentelle said.

  Sulmar headed for the bow.

  “Good,” Dacius said. “Everyone else get below.”

  Chentelle felt Gorin’s hard fingers grip her shoulder. A rhythm of deep peace and security flowed through her, pulsing in time to the priest’s chant. With mild curiosity, she watched the Legionnaires scramble to their positions. They seemed strangely agitated.

  A hail of arrows clattered across the deck. Several of them ripped through the sails, leaving tattered holes. Most of the missiles targeted A’stoc and Father Marcus. Flashes of red and yellow danced around the fiery shield. The effect blended curiously with the splashes of black acid that hissed across the boards. It was like a painting of a dream, rather pretty in composition and color.

  The Treachery was directly between the two warships, now, and arrows buzzed furiously through the air. Their own bowmen were forced to huddle under cover while the goblin barrage was spent. A large stone slammed through one of the upper spars. Wood and rigging came crashing down, pinning Leth to the deck.