Free The Ring of Winter by James Lowder

aboard ship. The costly vessel had once flown the flag of Cormyr’s navy, but Captain Bawr had gathered a fleet of pirate ships together in the Inner Sea and taken her by force. Next she cut a deal with the villainous masters of Zhentil Keep, who provided her with the services of a group of stupid but extremely brawny giants. The monstrously strong creatures carried the Narwhal across the bulk of Faerun, from the land-locked Inner Sea to the wide-open Sword Coast. Now Bawr alternated between outright piracy and high-paying cargo runs for the Refuge Bay Trading Company, carrying supplies to their outposts in the jungles and returning with the ship’s holds full of near-priceless Chultan teak and ivory.
    Of Captain Bawr herself he could learn little. The crew spoke of her in hushed tones, but always in glowing terms. They were loyal, but fearful, too. They’d all seen her transform at various times, though no one dared venture a guess as to her true nature. The only thing Artus discovered was she never came on deck during the day; when the sun shone, Master Quiracus and the other officers ran the Narwhal.
    Artus shook his head. The contrast between the sweet young woman and the creature she became … He shuddered. It was horrifying to think on the matter too closely.
    All thoughts of the captain fled his mind in that instant, driven away by sudden panic. Lost in his musings, he’d taken a wrong step. For a moment, the realization he was going to fall overwhelmed Artus. Then he toppled head over heels down the shroud. The net of ropes burned his arms and legs as he slid. He reached out, but discovered painfully he was moving too fast to stop his fall. It seemed he was going to either roll right down the shrouds and over the side, or slip from them and plummet to the deck.
    Fortunately, Skuld was not about to let his master break his neck on the quarterdeck or drop into the sea like so much shark bait. A glowing silver hand shot from the medallion and clamped down on the shroud. Artus gasped, then choked as the chain pulled tight. His momentum gone, he slipped limply between the ropes. The explorer hung below the shroud for an instant, the medallion’s chain and the silver arm suspending him like a hangman’s noose. Then he was falling again, this time like an autumn leaf drifting slowly to earth.
    When the chain had loosened its chokehold and the blood ceased to throb in his temples, Artus tried to sit up. The silver arm was gone, but it was clear everyone near the mainmast had seen his unearthly rescue.
    “What’s this all about?” Nelock shouted. He stood over the dazed explorer, his hands on his hips. “No sailor’s allowed to use magic without the officers knowing about it. The captain will want you—”
    “Sent to the surgeon to see about his wounds,” interrupted Master Quiracus. The first mate was at the boatswain’s side. When Artus looked up, a halo from the sun ringed the blond man’s bead. “Go on, Cimber. Have Pontifax see to those cuts.”
    It was then Artus realized his shirt collar was heavy with blood. The chain had dug into his neck, but only enough to draw a ring of crimson. When he moved to lever himself to his feet, he found his hands gouged and bloody, too.
    “It looks worse than it is,” Quiracus noted calmly. “Still, better to clean out the wounds before they become infected. Don’t you agree, Master Nelock?”
    The boatswain muttered his agreement, then turned to the crowd of sailors who had paused in their work. “Awright, back to yer duties, ya bilge rats.”
    As Nelock looked around, he saw men and women pulling lines out of synch, and midshipmen caught in idle speculation about the strange magic that had saved Artus’s life. The crew had been working at top form, like the well-tended engine they were trained to be. Now they were at odds, slowing the ship and making their own tasks harder by working against each other.
    In his deep, growling voice, Nelock began to sing. The