Captain's Fury (31 page)

Araris had grown confident and strong again, no longer the broken man he'd become after Septimus's death, and seeing him like that was both immensely gratifying to Isana and more than a little distracting. Her fingertips almost itched with the raw desire to trace those muscles. Instead, she turned back to her sewing, mending one of Kitai's pairs of trousers, where both her eyes and her fingers would have less trouble behaving in an appropriate manner.

"Would you like me to close that for you?" she asked Tavi quietly. "I won't need a tub for something that small."

Tavi glanced at her, and a complex little cloud of emotions drifted around him for a second. Then he shook his head and closed down on them, until Isana could no longer sense anything except for a vague dissatisfaction. "No, thank you. It's not leaking anymore." The words came out with a small, harsh edge. He gave her a guilty little glance, and then a half-forced smile appeared on his face. "Though at the rate I'm going, I might need you to patch up my pride."

Ehren appeared from within the cabin in time to say, waving vaguely at the sea, "I don't think there's enough water available."

Tavi arched an eyebrow. "Why don't you come practice with us and say that again, little man?"

Ehren raised a modest hand. "Thank you, no. I get confused about which end of the sword I should hold. I wouldn't dream of slowing down the advanced class." He turned the gesture into a mocking little fencer's salute and strode off toward the back of the ship, presumably to speak with their captain again.

"Some annoying little person is going to get thrown into the drink someday," Tavi called after him. Then he shook his head, grinning, and turned back to Araris. Isana watched, between stitches. She knew barely enough about sword-play to be able to watch it, but it seemed to her that Tavi was moving more slowly, but also more certainly. She caught a flicker of satisfaction from Araris, as the young man defended against half a dozen swift strokes.

Kitai's voice suddenly rang out from the rigging above. "Sails!" she called. "Dead ahead!"

Men paused in their work. A thrill of apprehension flashed through the air, brushing against Isana like a frozen cobweb. Immediately, Demos's voice began calling out brusque orders, and he swarmed up the ropes into the rigging himself, moving as nimbly as a squirrel through the lines. Isana watched as he gained the crow's nest, where Kitai pointed out something to him. Demos held up his hands in a gesture Isana had often seen used by windcrafters to magnify their view of different objects.

He stared for a moment. Then he came swinging back down through the rigging and dropped the last ten feet to the deck. He shouted more orders, and the ship suddenly pitched sharply to its right. Men scrambled to readjust the sails, while Demos strode back and forth, shouting terms and commands so obscure and confusing to Isana that he might as well have been speaking another language.

Isana rose and walked calmly to Demos's side, once the initial stream of orders trickled off. "Captain," she said. "What's happening?"

Isana took note that Tavi and Ehren had stepped over closer to her, as Demos answered.

"That's the
Mactis
out there," he said, his tone calm. "Red Gallus's ship." He stared out over the waves at a gleam of white sailcloth in the far distance. "I ordered a change of course. Now we'll see what he does."

"The captain of the
Mactis
thinks he's a pirate," Demos replied. "The fool means to board us."

Isana felt her eyes grow very wide. "Oh."

"Can he catch us, Captain?" Tavi asked.

Demos nodded once. "Likely. He picked his position pretty well. The wind is taking us into him, he's got a good current, and Gallus knows this part of the business. Give us a few more leagues, and he might turn back."

"Not exactly," Demos said. He sounded almost bored. "It's where young males who haven't staked out their own territory tend to congregate."

"Oh," Tavi said. "What do they do there?"

"What every group of young males does," Demos replied. "Fight each other for no good reason. Charge around blindly at full speed just for the crows of it."

"And smash ships to tiny pieces," Ehren added in a very small voice.

Demos grunted agreement and turned to the rail again. "My witchmen are better than his. Let's see if he wants to roll the dice today."

"Captain," Tavi said. "No offense, but have you given thought to… well. Taking him on?"

"No," Demos said. "The
Slive
is half the size of the
Mactis
. And Gallus carries extra swordsmen to boot. Three to one odds aren't the kind I like."

"We've got some fairly capable hands ourselves," Tavi said.

Demos looked at him and barked out a short, harsh laugh. "Kid, you're pretty good. But there's a long way between training sessions with a family swordmaster and spilling blood on a rolling deck."

Demos nodded once. "Listen to your teacher, kid. And get comfortable. It's going to be a couple of hours before we get this sorted out, either way. Excuse me. I need to make sure my witchmen aren't drunk again."

Demos strode off to the stairway down to the hold and descended smoothly.

"That was a joke, right?" Ehren said. "About the watercrafters?"

Isana frowned. She could feel a rising anxiety pouring from the young Cursor. His arms were folded, and one of Ehren's feet drummed nervously on the wooden deck.

Tavi noted Ehren's worry as well. "What's got you so twitchy?" he asked.

"If you'd ever actually seen…" Ehren licked his lips. "I'm going to go rifle the bosun's trunk. Bound to be something to drink in there. You want any?"

Tavi watched him go, frowning, and then went to the ship's railing. He stood staring out at the ocean for a time and occasionally stepped away to pace up and down the rail. After perhaps half an hour, he stalked over to Isana's side and frowned down at her.

"So that someone can trip over you?" Isana asked. She tried not to smile, she honestly did, but felt it on her mouth despite her efforts. "Or perhaps you think your sword is going to be of use in trimming sails. Or warding leviathans away."

He let out an exasperated breath. "At least as useful as your sewing."

Isana set the sewing down and regarded her son steadily. "It's going to be hours before anything happens, and it's a lovely day. From the level of anxiety I'm sensing from the crew and Ehren, they expect that we might well be crushed by a leviathan and dragged into the depths of the sea. Failing that, we can look forward to a desperate struggle against a band of pirates who outnumber us three to one." She turned back to her task. "In either circumstance, the light would be less than ideal for sewing. So I think I'll sit here on the deck and enjoy the sunshine while I may, if that's quite all right with you."

Tavi stared at her, and she could feel his complete shock quite clearly.

She spared him a small smile. "I know you're worried about me. And I know how much you've always hated it that so many things were entirely out of your control. This is another such thing. Denying that won't make it less true."

He looked down at her for a moment, frowning, his mood turning from restive impatience to pensive introspection. Isana had always found her son's ability to focus upon whatever he set his mind on to be somewhat intimidating. He could pour tremendous energy of thought and will into any given task. It must be uncomfortable for him, to say the least, to turn that same focus inward.

He sighed and settled down on the deck beside her stool, resting his shoulders against the bulkhead behind them. He lowered his voice. "If I had…"

"The furycraft, yes," she said quietly. "It hasn't solved the First Lord's problems. Even if you had it, you'd merely be faced with a host of different uncontrollable situations."

She tied off the thread, willed Rill into a fingernail to sharpen it, and cut it neatly. She slipped the needle through thread still wound on the spool and shook her hand gently as the nail returned to normal, stretching her aching fingers. "If you truly think that's best, perhaps you should try leading us there."

He blinked and tilted his head, looking at her.

She laughed. She couldn't help it. She leaned down and kissed his hair. For all that he was grown so tall, and for all that he had learned and become, she could still see the infant, the toddler, the mischievous child, all rolled into the man he was becoming.

"Consider," she said. "Were Gaius in your position—"

"As if he'd ever be without furycraft," Tavi snorted.

"But if he were," Isana pressed, meeting his eyes. "Consider it. How would his retinue react to him, hmmm? If he stood brooding at the rail and paced about like a hungry thanadent, snarling and giving orders that made little sense."

Tavi scowled at her. He began to speak, stopped, then shrugged. "If I was there with him? I'd be worried."

"Quite," Isana said. "Such a display might soothe his own anxiety—but he would be doing so at a cost to others. Is that the kind of person you want to be?"

Tavi tilted his head again, frowning. He said nothing.

"Now consider: If staying locked in the passenger cabin truly was the wisest course of action, would you rush into it if it seemed that Gaius was determined to stay on deck, despite the futility of the gesture?"

"Probably not."

Isana nodded. "That's because Gaius, for all that he is a manipulative old serpent, is also a leader. He acts. Others follow." She glanced around, and said, "They follow you, too."

Tavi's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Those with us," she said. "Even many of the sailors. They recognize intelligence, competence, confidence. They regard you—and your evaluation of our situation—with more respect than they would another."

Tavi chewed on his lower lip, and murmured, "I'm frightening them."

Isana saw no need to confirm what Tavi had finally realized. "If Gaius thought his people were all safest in the cabin, what do you think he would do?"

Tavi nodded slowly. "He'd go there. Give them a chance to protest. Save their pride. Help their morale. If he thought that was best."

Isana reached into the garment bag on the deck beside her and drew out one of Ehren's sets of trousers—all of which bore tears and ham-handed repairs that were arguably worse than the rips they'd replaced. "Well, then. It might be wise for you to practice. What do
you
think is the best thing to do?"

Her son shook his head. "That question has been on my mind a lot, lately."

Here it came. She steeled herself against another reflex-flutter of panic. That wasn't what Tavi needed right now. "Oh?"

"The thing is," he said quietly, "that I'm not making this choice just for me. If I'm not killed today, or when we get to the capital, or in the fighting after that, or in the trial after the fighting, then… what I do will affect a lot of people."

Tavi looked up at her, searching her eyes with his. They looked brilliantly green against the dark brown wood stain of the ship's timbers. "What if I can't handle it?" he said quietly. "What if I'm not capable of it?"

"Tavi, you've never needed—"