Flame Singer (Fire Sower Book 2) Page 2

  Cowan led them down the path that stretched through the city of Marath and down to the harbor. Idris felt his stomach clench as he realized where they were heading. He had only been on a boat once before in his life. It had not left a favorable impression.

  Idris cleared his throat, addressing his leader. “Do we have to travel by ship?”

  Cowan’s sharp eyes rested on the young man and a flicker of amusement passed over them. “Afraid of the ocean, young farmer?”

  Idris’s face flushed. “No,” he answered quickly. “But the motion of the water makes me… ill.”

  Cowan nodded in understanding. “I have some herbs you can chew to help with that. A ship will get us to our destination in half the time it would take traveling by land.”

  Idris said no more, but the sinking feeling didn’t go away. He knew that they were in a hurry, but it was almost worth it to him to take the extra time and avoid the ocean.

  Unlike the sleeping city, the harbor was a bustle of activity. Fishermen were bringing their boats into the docks, their nets filled with the day’s catch. Merchants were setting up their booths for the day. Impoverished men and women hurried forward to offer their services—doing any work that needed to be done in exchange for a fish or two.

  “Which ship are we seeking?” asked Aherin, glancing down the long row of docks.

  To Idris’s surprise, Hildar was the one that answered.

  “That one,” she pointed.

  Most of the ships in the harbor looked sturdy and purely functional, made of weathered wood blackened with pitch. The vessel that Hildar pointed out looked as different from the others as a horse did from a pig.

  The design was sleek and beautiful, clearly made for speed. The wood was lacquered to look red, with dark green accents painted along the railing and masts. The name of the ship was painted in gold on the side. The letters were elaborate, and it took Idris—who had only recently learned how to read—several seconds to figure out what it said.

  Dagmar

  “Is that one of your family’s ships?” Aherin asked Hildar.

  Her expression was rather rigid as she replied, “It is mine.”

  “You own a ship?” Idris was unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

  A faint flush colored Hildar’s cheeks. “It was a gift from my grandmother when I came of age.”

  Two footmen in livery stood at the bottom of the gangplank, their backs straight as nails. They gave elaborate bows as Hildar approached; she nodded absently in acknowledgement.

  “Who is Dagmar?” Idris asked, staring at the gleaming letters.

  Hildar stiffened, but didn’t turn as she muttered, “She was my younger sister.”

  The young woman hurriedly marched up the gangplank, avoiding any further questions. Idris could have kicked himself for his thoughtless question. His face burned with shame at the inadvertent pain he had caused Hildar. Aherin shot Idris a sympathetic glance before following Captain Cowan onto the ship.

  Idris was reluctant to leave solid ground, but he knew that he would be scolded if he delayed them needlessly. He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath, walking forward stiffly as if to his own execution.

  Hildar was standing just at the top of the gangplank, waiting for the approach of a stocky man in a tidy uniform of green and red. His black hair was streaked with grey, falling loosely around his shoulders. His brown eyes crinkled around the edges, as if he habitually squinted.

  “My Lady Hildar, welcome to your vessel,” he said in a brusque tone.

  “Thank you, Captain Morn,” Hildar responded carelessly. “I trust all is in order.”

  “The tides are with us, m’lady,” the ship captain answered. “We can depart at your command.”

  “Have the horses been brought aboard?” Cowan inquired.

  “Yes, sir,” answered Morn.

  “Prepare to set sail immediately,” Hildar ordered.

  “Very good, m’lady,” Morn acknowledged with a bow. “Shall I have Lennon show you to your quarters?”

  The sea captain gestured to a young man standing just behind him. The youth had curly brown hair and liquid brown eyes, with his intense gaze fixed on Hildar’s face.

  Hildar waved her hand as she brushed the suggestion aside. “I know my way,” she said, walking away without looking at the young man.

  Lennon’s lips tightened and anger flashed through his eyes. The emotion quickly passed, leaving his expression calm. “I doubt any of you know where to go,” he said with a small smile. “Follow me.”

  As they walked, he introduced himself. “I am Lennon, the second-in-command on this fine vessel. If there is anything you need during your journey, please feel free to ask for my assistance.”

  “You are quite young to have such a post,” Cowan observed shrewdly.

  Lennon nodded amiably. “Yes, it was quite an honor to have Lady Hildar ask for my service.”

  “She requested you for the position?” Aherin asked with a sly smile creeping across his face.

  “She did,” confirmed Lennon. “I have known Lady Hildar since we were children. I suppose she wanted to help an old friend begin his career.”

  “That probably did not put you in the favor of other sailors,” growled the captain of the Royal Guard.

  Lennon shrugged. “If there were any hard feelings in the beginning, I have since proved my worth.”

  The young man led them to the aft of the ship where a cabin sat on the deck. A set of stairs led to the top of the cabin, and Idris could see the ship’s wheel located at the far end. The nearest door of the cabin had gold letters painted on the red door that read Captain. Lennon led the small group around the side to another red door, which he opened without ceremony.

  “Lady Hildar’s room is around the back,” Lennon explained. “These will be your quarters during the journey.”

  Idris stepped through the door and looked around the room. It wasn’t spacious, but it was comfortably furnished. A pair of bunk beds were attached to the wall in the far right corner of the room, and a hammock had been strung up in the opposite corner. Drawers had been built into the base of the bottom bed, where they could place their belongings. A small looking glass was mounted on the wall, a pair of padded chairs were bolted to the floor, and an enclosed case held four books—a clear sign of the luxury of the vessel. The one window in the room looked out to the foredeck, where Idris could see the sailors preparing to cast off.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” asked Lennon politely.

  Cowan shook his grizzled head. “No, this should be just fine.”

  Lennon gave a brisk nod. “Then, I will leave you to get settled.” He exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Captain Cowan sat down on the bottom bunk, pulling out one of the drawers to put his things away. That left the two young men to decide between them who would get the other bed.

  “I do not mind sleeping in the hammock,” Idris said quickly.

  Aherin shrugged. “I do not mind either.”

  Idris gave a small laugh. “What I mean is that I would be happy to take the hammock. I slept in one for most of my childhood, so it is quite comfortable to me.”

  Aherin smiled. “Very well.”

  The ship gave a sudden lurch and Idris suddenly found himself down on one knee. He felt the blood drain from his face as the motion sickness set in.

  We have not yet left the dock and already you are ready to lose your stomach, Iona said with a tangible chuckle in her voice.

  “I think I need some fresh air,” Idris blurted as he rushed for the door.

  He didn’t stop until he ran into the railing, clutching it with both hands and clenching his jaw shut. He took several deep breaths through his nose and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop spinning.

  Marlais loved the sea, Iona said softly. He said reminded him of his home.

  The partisan rarely spoke of her former master—the pain of his loss was still too recent for her—so it
caught Idris off guard to have her volunteer such information. He was always eager to learn more about the legendary Marlais Dragonspear, even in the midst of feeling ill.

  “His home?” Idris asked, his eyes still closed tight against the waves of sickness that rolled over his body.

  Marlais was born in a small village along the coast. Whenever he could not sleep at night, he would think of the sound of ocean waves and it would soothe him.

  Idris found himself focusing on the sound of the water below. “It is a nice sound,” he admitted.

  His father was a ship captain and Marlais rarely saw him as a child. As a result, Marlais developed an irrational resentment of all boats. But he always loved the sea.

  Idris couldn’t help but smile. Iona made Marlais seem so ordinary, in spite of the amazing stories that were told about him.

  “I thought he was the son of a banished warlord,” the young man commented.

  Iona snorted. Hardly, she said in an irritated tone. His mother was part of the local gentry, but she was cut off from her family when she decided to marry a sailor. She lived a life of poverty and rarely saw her husband after they wed.

  Idris’s brow contracted. “That is sad,” he said quietly.

  Yes, it is, agreed Iona.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Idris asked.

  To prove a point.

  “What point?” he urged.

  That you are only as sick on water as you choose to be, farmer.

  Idris was startled by her blunt words. “What?”

  Open your eyes.

  Idris complied and saw that the ship had pulled away from the harbor without him noticing. The Dagmar was sailing smoothly into the open water.

  He laughed. “You told me about Marlais to distract me.”

  Yes, and it worked, Iona said smugly.

  The motion of the ship began to grow with their increasing speed, causing Idris’s stomach to rebel.

  Stop thinking about it, Iona ordered sharply.

  “I cannot help it,” Idris moaned.

  You are a weak and foolish farm boy, Iona reprimanded.

  Idris didn’t dispute her statement. “Exactly,” he said through clenched teeth, “and farm boys belong on land.”

  Perhaps you should go lay in your hammock and pretend the rocking has nothing to do with the ocean. Iona’s voice was laden with disgust.

  Idris was quite willing to follow her suggestion. But not before he emptied his stomach into the rushing water below.

  Chapter Three: Borrowed Power

  Idris awoke to a rough hand shaking his shoulder.

  The majority of the night had been spent curled up in a tight ball in the center of his hammock, wishing that he had never set foot on that cursed ship. He was surprised that he had been able to sleep, and was momentarily disoriented by the direction the sunlight streamed in through the window.

  He looked up into the scarred face of his leader in dismay. “Is it evening?”

  Cowan shook his head with a smile. “No, the day has just begun. We have changed our heading to full south.”

  Idris nodded weakly and endeavored to sit up.

  “Here,” Cowan barked, thrusting a flask in Idris’s hand. “This will settle your stomach enough for you to have those herbs I told you about.”

  “I certainly could have used them earlier,” Idris said ruefully.

  “They would not have done you any good chumming the waters,” Cowan answered shortly.

  Idris took a tentative sip from the flask. He was pleasantly surprised that he began to feel better immediately. The room ceased spinning and his stomach didn’t feel as though it was trying to turn itself inside-out. Cowan watched Idris for a couple of minutes, then he handed him a large leaf with purple speckles along the edge.

  “Do not swallow it,” the captain of the Royal Guard warned. “Only chew it until you cannot taste it anymore. When that happens, spit it out and I will give you another leaf.”

  Idris placed the herb in his mouth and tentatively began to chew. The flavor was almost unbearably sour, but the motion sickness diminished at once.

  Cowan chuckled at Idris’s expression. “You will get used to the flavor, lad.”

  “I hope so,” grimaced the young man.

  His leader waved a rough hand. “Come along. We have work to do.”

  Curious, Idris followed Cowan out of the room onto the open deck. The fresh air was invigorating after the stuffiness of the cabin. Idris took a deep breath, finding that he was able to enjoy the brisk weather.

  Aherin and Hildar were waiting for them by the mast of the ship. Aherin was holding his bejeweled bow; Hildar’s hand seemed conspicuously empty without her dagger.

  Cowan wasted no time with needless talk. “This journey gives us valuable time to continue your training. You will need every moment of practice you can get.”

  “How can I train without Savion?” Hildar asked in a subdued tone.

  “Idris’s partisan was willing to work with you in the past. Perhaps she would be willing to do so again,” Cowan suggested. “If not, Fenris has agreed to help train you.”

  “Is it effective to train with a weapon that is not your own?” inquired Hildar.

  Cowan shrugged. “Not as effective as training with your own weapon, but it is better than no training at all.”

  Idris felt distinctly uneasy. “Iona said that using someone else’s weapon always came with a price.”

  “That is true,” admitted Cowan, “but Fenris has agreed to cooperate, so the price will not be as high as it would be otherwise.”

  “What will that price be?” demanded Hildar.

  “You will be utilizing more of your own energy to use magic, so you will become tired faster,” explained Cowan. “It is a small sacrifice to gain your necessary training.”

  “What are you going to train us to do?” Aherin asked eagerly.

  “I will teach you how to fight with your weapons,” their leader said in a clipped tone.

  Idris experienced a swooping sensation in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or the motion of the ship. “We have already learned to fight with our weapons. We even helped defend the king.”

  Cowan cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is that so? Well, then you will surely be able to repeat one of the attacks you used during that fight.”

  Idris stared blankly at his partisan, his mouth working soundlessly. He reasoned that it shouldn’t be difficult to replicate what he had already done. And yet, he had no idea where to even begin.

  “Exactly,” Cowan grunted.

  Idris got the distinct impression that Iona would be smirking if she had a face. He may have been on friendlier terms with his weapon, but he still felt she could be unbearably smug from time to time.

  “First I will show you the practical application of your training exercises,” Cowan said, straightening his shoulders. “This would have been the next step in your training if you had stayed in Marath.”

  He made swirling motions with the tip of his bo staff to gather a ball of glowing energy in the air. The ball grew brighter with each pass of the weapon. “In your training you were taught how to pass energy to a teammate. Here, you use the same principles but with more force. You turn the ball of energy into a projectile.”

  Cowan flicked his bo staff forward, sending a bolt of lightning crackling over the open water. Idris jumped and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The slightest miscalculation in Cowan’s aim could have been disastrous.

  “How do you give it more force?” Aherin asked.

  “The same way you would do anything else with more force,” Cowan said unhelpfully. “You think it, then you do it.”

  “That hardly illustrates how to do it,” Hildar pointed out.

  The captain shrugged. “Imagine what you want to accomplish, then make it happen.” He pointed past the railing of the ship. “Over the water, if you please. Let us not set fire to the vessel.”

  Idris turned to face
the open water. He chewed on the sour herbs more quickly, as if that would help with the sudden anxiety he felt. His stomach did settle down, which was a minor victory.

  Gather the energy first, Iona suggested. You can worry about what to do with it afterwards.

  Idris nodded. He thought back to his training—calming his mind and focusing on the flow of power between himself and his partisan. He imagined the magic pooling in the end of his polearm. He only needed to swirl it into a ball.

  “Good, Idris,” Cowan approved. “Let the power build.”

  Idris imagined that he was churning butter, adding layer upon layer to what had already formed. The ball of energy slowly grew brighter.

  Interesting technique, Iona mused.

  “Now cast it over the ocean,” Cowan urged.

  Fire likes to leap through the air, Iona said. Right now you are holding it in place, but you can set it free.

  The image of Idris’s fireplace in his quarters at the palace came to mind. He could see the flames dancing in his thoughts. He pointed the blade of his partisan, as if directing the movement of the blaze.

  The glowing orb of energy transformed into an arc of fire, shooting into the air with a flash of heat and smoke. It swirled like a fiery tornado before plunging into the ocean water and extinguishing itself.

  Aherin clapped and cheered. “Well done, Idris!”

  Idris grinned, feeling his cheeks glow. “I did it,” he gasped in amazement.

  Cowan nodded with a proud gleam in his eyes. “Very impressive, Idris. It seems you have finally caught up with your fellow students.”

  Idris would have danced a jig if he had not been concerned with appearing dignified. He often felt like he struggled to do every simple thing that came easily to Aherin and Hildar. This time he had done what was needed without having to fight for it. He had done it on the first try.

  “Now you, Aherin,” Cowan instructed.

  Aherin held his phoenix bow with both hands, closing his eyes as he concentrated. However, instead of the energy forming in a ball, it began to gather along the drawstring of the bow. It grew brighter and brighter until it was a line of pure light.

  “Interesting,” Cowan murmured.

  Aherin drew back the string and released it, sending an arrow of fire out over the sea. Idris stared at his friend. “That was incredible,” he exclaimed. “How did you know how to do that?”