Free Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura by James Barclay Page A

needed greater speed to get perishable goods to Balaia quickly, and their hulls and rigging
had developed along a different path as a consequence.
    Auum smiled.
    ‘I could get used to sailing.’
    ‘You’re only saying that because we’re sailing towards a fight.’
    Auum punched Ulysan’s shoulder. ‘Cynic.’
    They moved to the wheel deck. The skipper, Master Esteren, was standing next to his wheel hand, his view of his ship uncluttered. Auum was yet to see him smile, and a trademark frown dominated
his weathered and deeply tanned face. His powerful arms were folded and he rolled with the ship without need of support, muttering corrections to the helm or barking orders to his hands that
carried clear from stern to bow. His crew, plainly in awe of him, snapped to fulfil his orders with an alacrity and accuracy that Auum could only admire.
    ‘Master Esteren,’ said Auum.
    ‘Auum,’ said Esteren. ‘Enjoying the view from aloft?’
    ‘It has improved considerably of late. You need your lookout up there to give you an accurate measure because there are sails a way off to the north-west. Distant yet but we don’t
have time to waste.’
    Esteren barely acknowledged Auum, switching his gaze along the deck.
    ‘Selas, to the nest. Sails reported north-west. Distance, course and closing speed, please.’
    ‘Done, skipper,’ came the reply.
    ‘The accepted term is aye, Selas. Be right or . . .’
    ‘. . . be off. Sorry, skipper.’ The lithe, small and very young
iad
streaked up the mainmast rigging and onto the iron spikes to the crow’s nest.
    ‘Auum, find me your chosen adept. We need to set up ship-to-ship communication.’
    ‘To back up your signals?’
    ‘No, to relay my true orders. When the time comes, all my signals are going to be lies.’
    Auum smiled. ‘I like that.’
    ‘That’s why I’m in charge,’ said Esteren.
    Selas’s voice echoed down from the crow’s nest.
    ‘Ten sails. Seven points off the port bow, heading south-south-east, on a run. Our speed, five knots on a long starboard tack, closing speed approximately nine knots. Distance sixty
nautical. That’s all, skipper.’
    ‘Stay up, Selas.’ Esteren nodded. ‘Less than seven hours to contact. Enough time to set ourselves properly and come on them in the right formation. I need that adept. Have your
people rest. If this goes right it’ll be over quickly enough, but even for a TaiGethen it’s going to be draining. I’ll call you when you need to prepare.’
    ‘Seven hours?’ said Ulysan. ‘I thought we were faster than that.’
    ‘We’re close-hauled, Ulysan,’ said Esteren. ‘And we aren’t going to get any quicker until we can turn with the wind for a return attack if we need it.’
    ‘Thank you, skipper,’ said Auum. He turned to go, but Esteren called him back.
    ‘They outnumber us comfortably, more than two to one. My crews are going to have to perform miracles to get us where we need to be to get you aboard and fighting. That means you have to be
ready to go on my word. And the adepts have to be ready to combat any magic they deploy. We’re vulnerable when we’re close.’
    ‘So are they,’ said Auum.
    ‘Don’t let me down.’
    ‘Aye, skipper.’
    Esteren almost smiled.
    Takaar watched the enemy vessels approaching, and with them came a growing dread.
    ‘Can you feel that?’ asked Drech, standing by him near the bow.
    Takaar stared at Drech and could only feel sorry for him.
    ‘I have been feeling it for some time,’ he said. ‘It is the energies of the Wytch Lords. An amazing force, isn’t it?’
    ‘You admire it?’
    ‘I respect it and I try to understand it. How else can we seek to defeat them?’
    Drech looked forward. In a little less than two hours they would be in the thick of combat. Takaar could tell he was scared, although he sampled exhilaration and anticipation himself.
    Until the first attack comes and you scurry below decks to cower under a tarpaulin. Were you ever a mighty