Vol 2: Chapter 7

Raekar dusted his hands and rolled up the intricately embroidered cloth he'd been using as a workspace. Establishing the spell to purify water was a painstakingly detailed process. Keeping the appropriate circle pre-drawn sped that much of it up immensely.

"That will have to suffice for today," Raekar cheerfully told his companions. The cook nodded sharply and the two guards Dedran had placed on the ship's larder moved to haul the barrel Raekar had finished with over to the others.

"Thank you, good master," the cook muttered. He was a small man who seemed perpetually vexed. He wrung his hands habitually and had practically oozed distaste through the day. "I can stretch our supplies further with plentiful water. The crew will complain about so much stew and gruel - they complain about everything! But they'll feel a little more full."

"Good to hear," Raekar replied, clapping the smaller man on the shoulder. "And I'm always glad to do my part. But if you'll excuse me, I intend to retire for the night." He chuckled. "I won't be good for anything tomorrow if I don't rest after all this."

It wasn't entirely true, Raekar admitted to himself as he made his way back to his cabin. But exaggerating the thought-intensive nature of his efforts to restore their provisions seemed as good an excuse as any to beg weariness without admitting it was caused by the other man's attitude.

Unfortunately, begging off for the day meant he no longer had an excuse to avoid Winia, and he really didn't have the stomach to face her again. At the end of the first day since the wards on her eye had bee n broken, Winia had asked him to cast them again. In a half dead voice she'd asked him to please, please, ward her eye again. When he'd refused, Winia had wept.

If she asked him again, he didn't know that he could say no - but if the wards weren't strong enough; if the demons chose to break them again...it could destroy her. And there was no handy stock of restorative elixirs to save her, now. No...it was better for her to run the risk of torment; even to suffer it! Better to go through it and live than to chance wards that had already been broken once: to suffer that again and die.

When he reached the door to his cabin, Raekar steeled himself before entering. He would stay firm on this: even though he'd somehow gathered two more hangers on, he'd rather his first apprentice keep living, too.

Inside the cabin, Winia was asleep. Raekar sighed with relief and eased the door shut. She was curled up in his easy chair, and a book lay open in her lap. She snored softly and Raekar shook his head bemusedly. He carefully stepped around the clutter between himself and his bunk.

Anawyn was sleeping in Winia's bed, where she'd collapsed nearly from the moment they'd finally set out. She moaned in her sleep, a pathetic mewl that faded into whimpers. A nightmare? Or just the sea sickness plaguing her even in her sleep? Raekar had no way to judge.

He tossed his meditation mat to the foot of his bed and sat. The gentle rocking of the ship at sea always made him a little queasy; he had no fear of falling asleep before he desired. Indeed, most nights he would avail himself to certain powders to induce slumber - most nights at sea, anyway.

Raekar wondered idly if Anawyn might benefit from the same, but dismissed the notion out of hand. His sleeping aids were primarily alchemical in nature, and he had no idea how their effect might differ when introduced to an elf's physiology. Worse, given Anawyn's habit of leaking magic into whatever spells were nearby even a weak enchantment of drowsiness could potentially keep her under for longer than was desired.

Again, the potential for disaster far out measured the seeming benefit. There was nothing Raekar could do for either of the young women under his charge. The thought was vaguely depressing, and Raekar fished out a paper wrapped packet from the pouch by his pillow. He contemplated it wryly and then returned it.

Anawyn's leaking magic had suffused the dose. None of them were safe, even for him. Raekar sighed glumly, stood, and plucked the book from Winia's lap.

A tome of bardic romances. Of course. As long as he was doomed to spend the night awake and slightly nauseous anyway, he couldn't think of anything more appropriate to read. He kept an eye on Winia between pages, checking for the telltale signs of nightmares or demonic possession.

It's going to be a long night, Raekar thought after the first few dozen pages. Winia's quiet snoring and Anawyn's intermittent cries of distress continued unchanged, the only other sound being the crackle of paper as he turned another page. The bards never get romance right.