Free Lord of the Silver Bow by David Gemmell

priesthood or the army. Of them all he lavished what passed for affection on only two: Kreusa and Hektor. His daughter understood the secrets of gathering wealth; Hektor was unbeatable on the battlefield. Both were assets that needed to be maintained.
    It even seemed to amuse the old man that many of his children plotted his death, seeking to overthrow him. His spies would report on their movements, and then, just before they could act on their plans, he would have them arrested. In the last three years Priam had ordered the deaths of five of his sons.
    Pushing aside thoughts of Priam, Helikaon gazed up at the sky. It was a cloudless brilliant blue, and the southerly breeze remained strong and true. Mostly, as summer ended, the prevailing winds were from the northwest, making the crossing a hard day’s work for the oarsmen. Not today. The
Xanthos,
sail billowing, cut through the waves, rising and falling with grace and power.
    Helikaon saw Khalkeus pacing up and down the main deck, one hand holding his straw hat in place. Occasionally the pitch of the ship would cause him to stumble and grab for a deck rail. He was a landsman and completely out of place at sea. That made it all the more strange that he should have designed and built a ship of such beauty.
    Up at the prow Zidantas left the makeshift tent where the shipwrecked man had been carried and made his way to the rear deck.
    “Will he live?” Helikaon asked.
    “Yes. Tough man. He’ll survive, but it’s not him I’m worried about.”
    Helikaon looked the giant in the eye. “You are always worried about something, Ox. You are never happy unless there is a problem to grind your teeth over.”
    “Probably true,” Zidantas admitted, “but there’s a storm coming.”
    Helikaon swung to gaze back toward the south. Zidantas’ ability to read the weather bordered on the mystical. The southern sky was still clear, and at first Helikaon thought the Ox might at last be wrong. Then he concentrated on the line of the horizon behind them. It was no longer clean and sharp, signaling rough water. He glanced at the black horse sail. The wind was still fresh and favorable, but it was beginning to gust. “How long?” he asked.
    Zidantas shrugged. “We’ll see it before we see land, and it will be upon us before we beach.”
    The stocky figure of Khalkeus came marching toward them, head down. He climbed the three steps to the rear deck. “I have been thinking about what you said,” he told Helikaon. “I think the fins may be the answer. As you know—”
    “Fins?” queried Zidantas.
    The shipwright stared at him coldly. “Interruptions are irritating. They disturb the flow of my thoughts. Kindly wait until I have finished.” He leaned forward for extra emphasis, but his hat flopped down over his eyes. Angrily he wrenched it from his head and swung back toward Helikaon. “As I was saying, you know I had deep planking bolted to the hull, fore and aft, to help keep the ship upright when beached.”
    “A sound idea,” said Helikaon.
    “Indeed so. However, it is serving a separate and wholly beneficial purpose while at sea. The jut of the fins is countering the shallow draft. I should have realized it when I was designing them. I might have extended them farther. They should also make it easier for the steersman. It is my understanding you have to aim the boat at a point above—or below, depending on the current and the wind—the point at which you wish to beach. My feeling is the boat will sail straighter with less drift. Very pleasing.”
    “Well, let’s hope they also add some speed,” said Zidantas. “There is a storm coming up behind us. It would be nice to beach before it hits.”
    “Oh, you can’t do that,” said Khalkeus.
    “We can’t beach?”
    “Of course you could. But then the storm you speak of would wreck the
Xanthos.
”
    “It can’t wreck us on land!”
    Helikaon cut in. “What Khalkeus is saying, Ox, is that we cannot
fully
beach