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Winia tapped gently on the door to Raekar’s cabin, then pushed it open just enough to slip in. Even though Raekar financed the ship, he left the grand cabin to the captain. The smaller one he shared with Winia was still impressive for a room in a ship this size, but years of collecting arcane paraphernalia had left it too cramped to open the door fully.
Raekar looked up as she entered the room. He was a thin man with a close trimmed beard that had gone gray more fully than the hair at his temples. His eyes matched the color of slate, and his skin was just beginning to show wrinkles around them. He dressed like a well-off merchant and sat in an overstuffed armchair – a ridiculous waste of space, in Winia’s opinion – where he was sipping hot tea from an old tavern tankard.
“Any change?” he asked mildly.
“The pirates were attacked. And something bad is coming to meet us on the shore. Sir Dedran wants you to stop wasting energy trying to get us out of the current and start preparing to fight whatever it is.”
Raekar chuckled at this, and the scroll that had been floating in front of him rolled itself up and drifted to its place in one of his sea chests. “It would only have been wasted if I’d been trying to begin with. Remember that: it’s a good lesson. Know your limits and do what can be done to achieve your goals, not what can’t.” The sea chest’s lid fell closed, and it’s locks snicked shut. Raekar stood and dusted his hands against his tunic. “Anything else?”
Winia shook her head. “Not that I could See. But I’m also supposed to get the soldiers up and update lady Halana on what’s happening.”
Raekar snorted. “Full of himself, eh? I lend him your eyes for a bit of reconnaissance, and our good nobleman helps himself to a bit more of your time.” Raekar shrugged. “Meet me on deck when you’re done, and don’t forget your kit.”
Winia nodded and squeezed herself against the bunks to let her master pass. As soon as he was gone she dove into her single, much smaller, chest. Spellbooks, notes on loose pages, her sling, lead marbles, silver marbles, a few clay vials – stoppered and sealed in wax – a polished metal mirror and a dozen other odds and ends disappeared into the satchel on her belt. She grabbed the small, ever packed travel sack under her bunk and gave the cabin one last check. It wasn’t so much her kit as it was everything she cared about owning. With a last glance over her shoulder, she grabbed her cloak and headed for the soldiers’ berth.
Getting Dedran’s men moving was easy: very few were sleeping despite the late hour or relatively calm sea. Once Winia passed on Dedran’s orders his lieutenant – a younger, landless knight named Seril – took charge and she was free to retreat as men shucked their normal wear and pulled on the padded tunics that went under chain and plate.
That left only lady Halana to speak to. With some trepidation, Winia made her way back to the cabin across from Raekar’s. She sucked in her breath and smoothed out her tunic, then knocked on the cabin door – far more gently than she had on Raekar’s.
“Please, enter,” came a serene voice from beyond. “The latch is undone.”
Winia pushed on the door and it swung open wide. Unlike Raekar’s cabin, Halana kept her living space almost austerely tidy, though the severity of it was muted by small decorative touches here and there.
“Sir Dedran requests your presence on the deck,” Winia said from the door. “I’ve Seen evil coming to meet us on the shore, and he wants you to bless the soldiers before we land.”
Halana was kneeling on the cabin floor, her robes pooled around her and her hands folded before her. Winia couldn’t help but feel she’d interrupted the lady in prayer, but Halana did not dissemble for time. “Of course,” she said in that unconsciously aristocratic voice, and rose to her feet. Winia shivered. In her estimation, it took a brave person to put the gods on hold for the sake of comforting mere men.
Halana smiled at her, and Winia knew the lady could see her thoughts as clearly as she herself Saw evil. Her face flushed in embarrassment at being so exposed, and Winia ducked away from the door. At least that one was somewhat better than some of the other thoughts she’d let slip around the priestess. She stood there a moment with her mind spinning in similar circles, and then Halana glided out of her room.
“Help me with this,” the priestess said. “Please? I so rarely wear it anymore.”
Winia choked on an indrawn breath. The elegant, immaculate priestess wore a battered plate cuirass over her rich vestments, and was threading a flanged mace through a thick leather belt.
“Ah-yes, of course,” Wina blurted, and hurried forward to check and tighten the armor’s straps.
“Thank you,” Halana said, and tugged at her sleeves to make the robe lay flat beneath the plate. “You know, I’ve been meaning to mention this since your master introduced us. You have a gift, my dear. If I could see evil the way you do, I would probably still be in one of my old temple's constabulary orders.”
Winia had no idea what to say or about that, or the sick filling that flooded her gut in hearing it, and was quietly grateful that Halana didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, the priestess gave the skirt of her vestments a final tug, then smoothed them with her palms and strode to the deck hatch. Mutely, Winia followed her.
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