CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CONNOR FLOATED IN A PLACE BETWEEN WORLDS. He remembered feeling fear, then exhilaration, and finally, overwhelming exhaustion.

Rest. You did well. The Wraith Lord’s voice sounded in the darkness, a reassuring presence.

If you could do your magic through me, why wait until now? I can think of a couple dozen times it would have been quicker to just ‘poof’ the enemy out of existence. Exhausted as he was, Connor had enough energy left for a bit of righteous annoyance.

Do you remember the toll it took on you, just to allow me to use your body to fight with a sword?

That’s not the kind of thing you forget. When the Wraith Lord had first begun to possess Connor, even a short battle had taxed Connor’s strength to the breaking point. More than once in those early days, Connor had nearly died from hosting the Wraith Lord’s greater power that burned through him like a candle held to a roaring fire. Permitting the Wraith Lord to fight through him in those dire situations had saved countless lives. Yet the injuries Connor sustained and the depletion of his own life force had forced Penhallow to take desperate measures to heal him. Those measures had bound Connor even more closely to Penhallow through the kruvgaldur, a bond that was telepathic and empathic. Over time, the depth of that bond had begun to make Connor stronger, more resilient, but at the cost of making him less and less mortal.

I dared not channel my magic through you, the Wraith Lord said. Look at how just my essence taxed you sorely.

That might be an understatement, Connor thought. It damn near killed me. Possessed by the Wraith Lord, Connor moved faster, struck harder, fought without fatigue, felt less pain—until his body could withstand the strain no more, and he collapsed.

You’re only now strong enough to withstand such power, the Wraith Lord continued patiently. And even so, only for short bursts.

When you were… embodied… you could do more magic at one time? Connor’s curiosity about the man Kierken Vandholt had been before he became the Wraith Lord won out even over his exhaustion.

Oh yes, the Wraith Lord replied. I was an equal to any of the Knights of Esthrane, and perhaps even more skilled than some.

So that’s what it feels like to actually do magic? It had never occurred to Connor that he might experience the thrum of a mage’s power through his own body, though he had occasionally wondered what it would be like to be able to harness that energy.

He had been in the presence of devastatingly strong magic more times than he cared to count, over the last year. First, the night of the Great Fire, and then at Valshoa and Mirdalur, when Blaine attempted to restore the magic. In between, in so many battles, Connor had seen what mages could do, and the sheer raw power of it, compared with his more subtle skill with spirits, had always awed and humbled him. And, to be honest, scared the shit out of him.

The Wraith Lord’s laughter was a low rumble, like distant thunder. For someone with so strong a gift as yours, your humility is amusing. You never cease to amaze me, Bevin Connor.

Connor thought for a moment. Could Nidhud have done what you—we—did?

You saw his power, the Wraith Lord replied. But talishte-mages have a fundamental problem with fire magic. Even if they can cast it, the risk to themselves is so great most will not do so unless they intend it as a death strike. Mortals are much less flammable.

They fell silent for a moment as Connor mulled over what he had seen in the battle.

Am I damaged from tonight’s work? Did I die? Until that moment, it had not occurred to Connor that he and the Wraith Lord might be conversing in the Unseen Realm, the place between life and death where souls barred from the punishment of Raka or the rest of the Sea of Souls drifted for eternity, the wasteland of the afterlife, where Kierken Vandholt was condemned to wander.

You did not die, the Wraith Lord assured him. But I erred in pushing you too far, though it was necessary to save the ship. We are still exploring the limits of your new strength, both through your bond to Penhallow and what you gained at Mirdalur, as a Lord of the Blood.

Now that we know it’s possible, can you call the magic up through me again?

The Wraith Lord chuckled. Your spirit intrigues me, Connor. In one thought, you check to see if you are dead, and in the next, ask to channel the same power again.

It’s not meant to be funny, Connor replied peevishly. I didn’t know magic was even an option. Now that it is, even briefly, it might save me from getting sliced up in so many sword fights.

I have no desire to damage so fine a host as yourself, the Wraith Lord said with fond amusement. You serve me well, as you do Penhallow. And like Penhallow, I have sworn to protect you as best I may. You are the pivotal person in this journey. If you don’t survive, the journey fails and so may any attempt to use the Elgin Spike. So I will judge when and how we draw on my magic, and we will learn those limits together. Fair enough?

More than fair, Connor acknowledged. Now I think I’d like to sleep.

“I was afraid we might not get you back.” Zaryae’s voice reached Connor through the last wisps of sleep.

He opened his eyes, finding himself in their quarters belowdecks. His hammock swung gently with the motion of the ship, and the light streaming in from the single porthole let him guess how much time had passed since the battle. “I’m here,” he rasped.

Zaryae put a hand behind his head and helped him sit up enough to drink from a wineskin. “You had us worried.”

“I thought everyone was used to this by now.” Connor still felt weak and spent. His right hand was wrapped in strips of cloth.

“Not sure exactly what kept your hand from being burned to a cinder,” Zaryae said, “but the skin is slightly blistered, so I made a salve and wrapped it.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied, dropping back against the hammock. “How is the ship?”

Zaryae sighed. “Worse for the wear, but not as bad as it would have been without your help. Borya and Desya are up on deck helping rig the spare sails Captain Whitney brought with us, thank the gods. Verran is lending a hand fetching and carrying, and helping spool the ropes.”

“And I’m lying here, useless.”

Zaryae chuckled. “You were plenty useful last night. And to tell the truth, I think it’s probably for the best that you not make an appearance right away. From what I heard, the sailors are spooked about what happened.”

“Which part? The monster or the mages?”

“Both,” Zaryae said. She helped him sit once more, and spooned broth for him from a bowl of warm soup. “Whitney may be kruvgaldur-bound to one of the Elders, but I’m betting he’s seen precious little magic, or at least, nothing of battle magic. Nidhud kept him away from you after the fighting was over, and made it clear that Whitney’s oath to his talishte patron meant that Whitney had personally secured your safety with his own life.”

Connor groaned. “I bet that went over well.”

Zaryae lowered the empty bowl. “Whitney strikes me as a reasonable man. Anyone who’s been at sea for a length of time has seen a lot of strange things. And I’m betting he had heard tales of such magic, whether he believed them or not. He’ll come around.”

“What about the crew? Do I have to fear being tossed overboard as a jinx?” Connor asked, feeling the warmth of the soup in his belly. Hosting the Wraith Lord took more than psychic strength and borrowed energy. That level of full body-and-spirit magic left Connor depleted as if he had fought a physical battle. With the heightened strength of the kruvgaldur, it might take only one or two days for Connor to get back on his strength, compared with the much longer recuperation he had required without the bond.

“I think you’re more at risk of none of them wanting to come within twenty feet of you,” Zaryae responded. “They were already leery of Nidhud, since he’s talishte. But they don’t know what to make of you.” She chuckled. “If you’ll forgive me saying so, you’re far more powerful than you appear.”

“That’s the Wraith Lord, not me,” Connor replied.

“Really? I’ve seen how you use your power,” Zaryae differed. “You’ve done things with your abilities that didn’t involve the Wraith Lord’s magic or skill that turned the tide of battle. You don’t fully comprehend just how powerful a gift you have.”

“I know that it keeps nearly getting me killed,” Connor grumbled.

“More to the point, it’s saved you and your friends—and their cause—on more than one occasion,” Zaryae pointed out. As she talked, she made a mixture of leaves and powders from her pouches, then moistened it with a few drops of water and made a small wad of it.

“Let this dissolve in your mouth. Don’t chew it, but it won’t hurt to swallow the juice. It will replenish your energy, and take away some of the pain.”

“What about the ship?” Connor pressed.

Zaryae sighed. “Even with what you and Nidhud did, the Nomad took some damage. Broken railing, torn-up decking, and of course, the sails and rigging that were burned. It’s going to cost us some time to fix what can be set right before we can move on, but Whitney believes we’ll be under way soon. He’s hoping he can repair the more serious damage in Edgeland, while they’re waiting for us to do what we need to do.”

“And in the meantime, we’re sitting ducks.”

Zaryae looked away. “Yes.”

Connor frowned. “Talk to me. You’ve seen something, haven’t you? We’re in danger.”

Zaryae fixed him with a matter-of-fact look. “Any ocean voyage involves danger,” she said. “Many things could happen, but that doesn’t mean they will happen. Unfortunately, my foresight sees the possible, not merely the probable.”

“What have you seen?”

Zaryae shivered and set aside the empty bowl, wrapping her arms around herself. “I see storms and darkness. I see danger in the dark water. I feel that death will brush close to us. And regardless of which possibilities come to pass, I fear that not all of those now on board will be among the living when we return to Donderath.”

Connor sighed. “I’m not sure which is worse—me channeling the spirits of the dead, or you getting a glimpse of every possible thing that could go horribly wrong.”

Zaryae managed a sad smile. “Our gifts, our magic, make us who we are. They’re a tool, and a burden. No different than a sword that has to be wielded carefully so that it doesn’t cut its owner as well as its foe.”

Connor grimaced. “I can sheath my sword, and be done with it. No one’s shown me yet how to sheath my ‘gift.’”

“Unknown ship, closing fast!” the sailor on watch shouted from his perch high in the rigging.

Three days after the fight with the hesper, Connor had finally ventured onto the deck. The last few days had been sunny and still. This day was overcast, and the wind had picked up. Connor lifted his face to the sky, wondering if it would rain.

The weather had held long enough for the crew to rig the replacement sails and fix the worst of the damage to the ship. Connor had stayed in his quarters, recovering. Zaryae and Verran brought him food and supplied him with news. Borya and Desya remained with the crew, and their dexterity and fearlessness climbing the rigging won them the admiration of the sailors. Verran pitched in when he could, and kept the sailors entertained with music when there were no tasks for him to do.

Up by the ship’s wheel, Connor could see Captain Whitney with his spyglass, scanning the horizon in the direction indicated by the scout. “How soon will you have the rigging finished?” he shouted down to the crew.

“A few more candlemarks, sir,” Trad, Whitney’s second-in-command, shouted back. “Bit more of a challenge in the wind, but we’ll get them in place.”

“We need to get moving right away,” Zaryae said, staring at open water. “If that ship catches up, there’s going to be trouble.” She gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs, and Connor hurried behind her, though he was leery of coming face-to-face with Captain Whitney after what had happened.

“Captain!” Zaryae hailed Whitney. “That ship you’ve spotted. It’s trouble. We need to keep it from catching up to us.”

Whitney’s gaze went from Zaryae to Connor. His eyes were suspicious, and Connor was sure he saw a glint of fear as well. “What’s so important? We’re not fully rigged yet.”

Zaryae took a deep breath. “I see things, Captain. Things that haven’t happened yet. And I know that if we close with that ship, there will be trouble.”

Whitney raised his glass again. “Maybe. Maybe not. Here’s the thing. The wind’s picking up. My storm glass says we could be in for some bad weather. I’d hoped the men would have the rigging fixed before this, but there’ve been problems.”

“Problems?” Connor asked.

Whitney’s gaze narrowed as he looked at Connor. “One man died when the rope he used for support gave way under him. The replacement sail had a rip in it, so that took time to mend. The cordage was tangled, although my men swear it was stored properly. It’s been one damned thing after another, which is why we’re still sitting here when there’s a storm brewing.”

His eyes glinted angrily. “After the fight with that monster, I’ve now lost several good men and more are injured. We were running a slim crew to begin with, so that means fewer hands for more work. Now we might be in for another attack.” He shook his head. “And we’re only just into the voyage.”

Zaryae shrugged. “My foresight isn’t perfect, Captain. I could be wrong, but when my instinct is so strong, I’ve learned to trust it. Perhaps it’s not the intent of the new ship to harm us. Maybe it’s something about them drawing close that will cause a problem. All I’ve got is a warning. No details.”

Whitney gave a harrumph and made a face that gave them to know exactly what he thought of vague predictions. “I’d thank you to keep your predictions between the three of us,” he replied. “My men are still buzzing about what happened the other night.” He turned to Connor. “If we get into a tight place with these newcomers, can you do something about it?”

“That would depend on what needs to be done,” Connor replied.

“Can you magic up the rigging, fix it, and get us under way?”

Connor sighed. “Maybe there are mages who can, but I can’t. I’m more use in a fight than anywhere else. My power comes and goes.” That was technically true. If he’s jumpy about magic, I doubt he’d like the real explanation, that I’ve got to let a thousand-year-old talishte-mage possess my body in order to do anything he’d consider to be ‘magic.’ “And Nidhud won’t be able to help until after nightfall.”

Whitney nodded. “All right, then. We’re not entirely without defenses. Mister Trad—a word with you!”

Trad hurried across the deck and climbed the stairs to join them. “Sir?”

Trad and Whitney were a study in contrasts. Whitney was short and wiry, bald and hawk-faced, with a shrewd, intelligent look in his eyes. Trad was a head taller, broad-shouldered and brawny, with brown hair tied back in a tail and a scar that cut across his right cheek and eyebrow and a look that was street-smart, if not book-learned.

“We’re vulnerable, and there’s an unknown ship heading our way. Best to assume the worst. Make sure the weapons are in easy reach, and prepare for hostilities. But no one fires except on my order, or in response to their first strike. Clear?”

Trad gave a sharp nod. “Clear, sir.” He headed back to the main deck, shouting orders to the riggers and calling out a few of the men on deck to follow him.

“It could be a merchant ship,” Connor offered, although he feared Zaryae’s premonition was correct.

Whitney gave a curt nod. “Maybe. But there’s precious little of that, since the Cataclysm. Where would it be coming from, or going to? It’s only been in the last month or two that small ships are making their way up Donderath’s coast again, trading fish for crops. We’re far away from the coast. So what are they doing way out here?”

“Could they be from the Cross-Sea Kingdoms?” Connor asked. “We never did find out what happened to them in the Cataclysm.”

“Possible,” Whitney allowed. “We’re in the main shipping paths, or at least, what used to be the main routes before everything fell apart. More likely they’re from a chain of islands off the northern end of the Continent. We’ve been sailing parallel to the coast, so while we’re a good ways from Donderath, we’re closer than you might think to the northeast reaches.”

Connor had heard about those islands. They were known for only one thing. Pirates.

Whitney turned to Connor. “We’re not defenseless, but we’re at a disadvantage. Anything you can do to help would be mightily appreciated.”

Connor swallowed hard. “I’ll do what I can.”

Out on deck, the sailors had split into two teams. One group remained hard at work on repairs, rigging the new sail. The other group prepared for attack. The ship’s two ballistae were rolled out from beneath their tarpaulins, and sailors carried up boxes of stones and flammable balls of pitch-soaked rags with a stone core, wrapped in rope and vines. Others hauled out large rope nets and hung them from the rail to the rigging wherever they could do so without interfering with the repairs overhead.

Bowmen slung their crossbows across their backs along with quivers full of bolts, preferring them over the regular bows, given the strength of the wind. Spears stood at the ready in their racks around the masts, and marlin spikes were readily available, as were belaying pins. Every sailor carried a long knife or a sling, and some had both, along with pouches to hold their ammunition. Connor and his friends had their broadswords, as did Whitney and Trad, and some of the sailors had wicked-looking small axes that were shoved in their belts, close at hand.

From other lockers came a supply of bucklers and short swords, grappling hooks and caltrops. “Voss made sure that we were well provisioned,” Whitney remarked drily. “He expected that you and your friends might attract the wrong type of attention.”

Connor felt a surge of relief. The crew had fought well against the hesper, with no notice of an impending attack. He reminded himself that the sailors were drawn from Traher Voss’s mercenaries, more than able to protect themselves. That meant the Nomad might be able to stave off any danger presented by the foreign ship without needing Connor’s magic. He fervently hoped that would be the case.

I would advise reserving magic as a last resort, the Wraith Lord’s voice sounded in Connor’s mind. Your strength is finite, and we have unknown dangers ahead of us in Edgeland.

Thanks for reminding me of that, Connor replied, unable to keep the nervous edge out of his voice.

The mission on Edgeland may go smoothly, without peril, the Wraith Lord answered. But I would not bet on it. Best to hold some defenses in reserve, until there is no choice.

Just stay close, Connor warned. This could go very bad, very fast.

The Wraith Lord gave a low chuckle. I am always close.

Captain Whitney turned the wheel. Wind fluttered in the undamaged sails. “We can’t move fast until the repairs are finished, but we can shift course a bit. If our newcomers have good intent, that should mean our paths don’t intersect.”

And if the other ship changes course to intercept, we’ll know for certain they’re up to no good, Connor thought.

“They’re changing tack, sir!” Trad shouted. “Shadowing us!”

“Get ready for a fight, then, because they’re going to catch us,” Whitney yelled. “Keep those sons of bitches from boarding us.”

As the other ship drew closer, Connor got a better look. Where their own ship, the Nomad, had seen use, it was as well maintained as circumstances permitted, not counting the recent damage. The hull was painted, the deck and railings stained, the sails were mostly undamaged and otherwise neatly patched, and the rigging was in good repair.

None of those things were true of the ship bearing down on them. Large tears in the sails were patched with black stitching, giving it a scarred and seedy appearance. The hull was painted a variety of mismatched colors, and the paint was peeling in places. The incoming ship’s decking and railings were gray from the sun, and its rigging looked dangerously frayed. On the bow of the ship, painted in rough letters, was its name: Lammergeier.

“They’re mad to go to sea in a bucket like that!” Connor exclaimed.

Zaryae had been watching so quietly that Connor had nearly forgotten that she was with them. “They aren’t mad. They’re desperate—and dangerous,” she murmured. “I see… blood. It’s not their habit to leave witnesses alive.”

Whitney regarded her for a moment, then set his jaw. “Then we’d damned well better not let them get a foothold,” he resolved.

Overhead, the sky had turned a steely gray. The wind had picked up enough that the men trying to repair the rigging were struggling to finish their work. And while the wind worked in favor of the Lammergeier’s crew, the Nomad was at a disadvantage, two sails short of fully rigged.

Whitney was already maneuvering the ship upwind. “If we’re holding the weather gage on them, they can’t easily ram us,” he muttered. “Though we can dance around each other for a while.”

Trad came to the bow of the Nomad holding a speaking trumpet. “Attention, Lammergeier! We wish to pass through these waters peacefully. Draw back, and we will not harm you. Engage us, and we will sink your ship to the bottom of the sea!”

Connor glanced at Whitney. The captain’s eyes held a stubborn glint, and his lips were drawn back across his teeth in a determined grimace. Perhaps there’s a reason he is kruvgaldur-bond to one of the Elders, Connor thought. I may have underestimated him.

The Lammergeier continued to bear down on the Nomad. As the pirate ship grew closer, Connor could see that it was outfitted with its own ballistae, and its crew was armed with grappling hooks and war axes, along with a ferocious assortment of pikes and swords.

“Cut them off!” Trad commanded.

Whitney steered the Nomad at the Lammergeier as Trad opened fire with the ballistae. The heavy rocks crashed down onto the deck of the Lammergeier and through the worn planking, sending the pirates scattering. As the pirates moved to return fire, Borya, Desya, and two other archers high in the rigging of the Nomad leveled their crossbows and fired at the men working the ballistae. The wind made it difficult to aim. Only one of the arrows found its mark, but it took a pirate through the shoulder, dropping him to the deck.

The pirates launched their own ballistae, and the Nomad’s crew ran for cover. Two heavy, round rocks hit the deck with a thunderous bang, but although the Nomad’s decking splintered, it did not give way.

Borya and Desya were used to shooting while standing astride galloping horses, so the motion of the ship did not faze them, though the wind was a challenge. They and the other bowmen fired again, and two of the quarrels reached their targets. But as Connor watched, he could see that what the Lammergeier’s men were loading into the ballistae this time were not more heavy rocks but iron harpoons with long, trailing ropes.

“They mean to try boarding us!” Trad warned the crew. “Send them back to where they came from!”

The harpoons launched with a heavy thud, and their weight made them better able to fight the wind than the lighter quarrels. Both of the harpoons hit the side of the Nomad, but only one embedded itself into the ship’s hull.

Whitney had a white-knuckled grip on the ship’s wheel, maneuvering the crippled ship to keep its advantage upwind, as the Lammergeier tried to slip around it and gain the upper hand. On deck, Borya and Desya were still intent on picking off the ballistae men on the enemy vessel, while Trad’s men kept up a consistent pounding from the ballistae. One daring sailor slung a buckler over his back and swung off the side of the Nomad with a battle-ax, slicing cleanly through the rope that attached to the harpoon before being quickly drawn over the side and out of harm’s way by his mates.

The flicker of fire caught Connor’s attention. Bowmen on the Nomad’s forecastle shot flaming crossbow bolts toward the Lammergeier, only to have the wind snuff out the flames and drop the charred quarrels into the sea. The ballista crew had better luck with their stone-weighted, rag-stuffed missiles, set aflame an instant before their release. One of the burning missiles hit the Lammergeier’s shrouds, catching the ropes on fire.

Two more crossbow bolts struck their targets, sending their victims tumbling over the side of the Lammergeier and into the water. A shot from the Lammergeier knocked one of the Nomad’s men from the rigging, and he fell screaming into the ocean. Both crews traded curses and obscenities, and as the ships maneuvered for position, it was clear that although the pirates did not expect an easy victory, they were unwilling to give up even in the face of well-armed resistance.

Connor eyed the clouds warily. Since the Lammergeier’s approach, the clouds had grown heavier and darker. Both boats were rocking harder now, and the horizon had grown nearly black, though it was candlemarks until sundown. Whitecaps rose in the waves, and the wind was growing steadily colder and stronger. The storm was coming up hard and fast, but neither ship seemed willing to run.

“They’re crazy to force a fight in this weather,” Connor said, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

“Don’t underestimate what men will do when their pride is on the line,” Zaryae replied. “Or when their backs are to the wall. By the looks of them, they may be desperate for anything they can steal.”

“We’ll all end up at the bottom if we don’t get away soon,” Connor said, gripping the railing tightly as the ship pitched on the waves.

Bodies floated on the sea between the ships, tossed by the waves, trapped between the two hulls. But as Connor watched, one of the corpses suddenly vanished beneath the water’s surface.

“There!” Connor shouted. “Did you see that? Something snatched a body from the water!”

From the cry that went up on both ships, Connor realized he was not the only one to notice. The water between the two ships roiled, forcing them apart, and sailors began pointing and shouting from both of the warring vessels. A second body vanished, plucked from below and dragged into the depths.

“I don’t know what that is, but we’re getting out of here,” Whitney muttered, turning the wheel to widen the gap between the two ships. The Lammergeier was already moving away, having lost its belly for a fight. Or maybe, since we’re in the pirates’ home waters, they know better than we do what we’ve stirred up, Connor thought.

A third corpse vanished into the waves, but this time, Connor caught a glimpse of an expanse of dark, slick skin that disappeared as quickly as it came. “There’s a creature down there,” he said, staring at the ocean, hoping it had just been a trick of the light.

Something slammed the hull of the Nomad hard enough to nearly knock Connor off his feet. “Was that the pirates?”

Whitney shook his head. “No. We got hit below the waterline, but we’re nowhere near shore or rocks.”

Whatever did that had to be big, Connor thought, fear rising in his throat. The water seemed to boil with the thrashing beneath the waves, and turbulence pushed the two ships farther apart. The Lammergeier’s crew had already abandoned the fight and changed their tack, heading out to sea and southward.

Whitney attempted to maneuver the Nomad northward toward open waters. He signaled Trad, who shouted for the men to fill the sails. Thanks to the pirates, the two damaged sails had not been replaced, although the ship had taken no additional damage in the fight. Now, the lack of those sails might be the difference between outrunning what swam beneath the water and being eaten by a monster from the deep.

“There!” shouted one of the sailors on the main deck. Connor squinted to see better in the storm’s gloom. A huge creature rose from the water. Its smooth skin was dark gray, and its snakelike body was as big around as a large hay wagon. Before it splashed beneath the waves once more, Connor got a glimpse of its head. The cylindrical body ended not in a head so much as in an open, gaping mouth with a strange protuberance that extended over the opening and dangled limply, like bait.

“Tanoba!” The cry went up from the crew, echoed one man after another. Some made the sign of the gods over themselves to ward off harm, while others raised their hands to the dark sky in supplication. A sick feeling twisted the pit of Connor’s stomach.

“If that flying monster, the hesper, was left over from the wild storm magicked beasts,” Connor said to Zaryae, “then so is the tanoba—”

She nodded. “It’s an unnatural creature, like the gryps and the other monsters we’ve fought back in Donderath. And we both know just how dangerous those beasts can be.”

“Look! It’s going after the pirates!” One of the Nomad’s sailors pointed toward the ocean, where the huge, gray water serpent snaked after the unfortunate Lammergeier. The pirate crew saw the monster coming, and filled their sails in a desperate attempt to outrun the creature.

Connor watched in horrified fascination as the tanoba undulated through the waves. Once, he had seen a small snake swimming in a pond. It had amazed him that a thing without arms or legs could power through the water so effortlessly. Now, that wonder became utter terror.

The water rippled like the wake of a fast boat as the tanoba slipped through it, curving its powerful body to propel it through the waves. Just the portion of the tanoba visible above the water was frightening enough in size and strength, but Connor guessed that half or more of the sea serpent remained submerged. Someone had once told Connor that on land, snakes could slither as fast as most men could run. If so, then the tanoba’s speed had increased by the same factor as its size. The tanoba was closing the gap with the ill-fated Lammergeier, even as Captain Whitney sailed the Nomad away from the danger.

“Here,” Whitney said, handing Connor his spyglass. “Watch if you want to. I’ve got a ship to steer.”

Below on deck, Trad barked commands to the sailors, who were only too glad to comply. Repairs to the sails were put on hold as the crew worked to compensate for the missing canvas. Borya, Desya, and a few other sailors moved up and down the rigging like squirrels, sure-footed and quick.

“What do you see?” Zaryae had come up close behind Connor and stood by his right side.

“It’s catching up to them,” Connor reported. His gut tightened as he watched the tanoba close the distance to the Lammergeier. The pirate crew, realizing they could not outrun the monster, had turned the ship to present the narrowest target possible. Ballistae hurled rocks that either bounced off the tanoba’s taut, gray skin or splashed harmlessly into the ocean.

The storm that had threatened throughout their battle now hit with full intensity. High in the dark clouds overhead, lightning flared, and far out to sea, brilliant white streaks touched down amid the waves. Wind lashed the water to whitecaps, sending spray high into the air, and thunder rumbled.

The wind was too strong for the pirates to use any flammable missiles. Slings were laughable against the muscular heft of the great sea worm. The crew of the Lammergeier tried to fend off the tanoba with their long, bladed pikes, but they could do little against its tough hide.

“Sweet Charrot,” Connor said, his jaw tight with fear. Watching the tanoba strike was like something out of a minstrel’s fantastic tale. The huge creature sank nearly out of sight beneath the water, and then with an explosive burst of speed, propelled itself straight up like a jumping dolphin.

“Torven and Esthrane keep my soul,” Zaryae murmured, squinting to see better against the wind.

As they watched, the tanoba’s horrific size became clear. A creature easily twice as long as the Lammergeier burst from the surface of the sea and brought its writhing bulk down amidships. The mainmast fell like a tree to a woodsman, slapping hard against the water as it hit. The tanoba’s bulk and the force of its blow thrust the Lammergeier down into the sea, swamping its decks. The beleaguered ship rose on the next cresting wave, with the giant sea worm draped across its midsection. Then the tanoba began to thrash, its powerful, muscular form writhing against the deck of the rickety old ship. The foremast toppled next, then the mizzenmast, leaving the pirate ship dead in the water. The sea snake’s movement rocked the ship violently, sending men screaming into the waves along with their puny pikes and useless ballistae.

The tanoba constricted its strong muscles, and its tail end whipped up out of the water on the opposite side of the ship, so that the monster’s body wrapped itself around the hull. Connor caught his breath as the creature squeezed the ship so hard that its popping joints and breaking boards sounded like a thunderclap across the water. With slow, remorseless power, the tanoba rolled the ship onto its side.

The Lammergeier’s broken hull floated like a corpse for a few moments, then the monster gave another brutal squeeze, snapped the ship in half, and dragged it down into the depths.

Thunder boomed so close and loud that Connor jumped. Cold rain pelted them as the clouds opened and the storm caught up with them. So fixed on the lethal struggle between the Lammergeier and the tanoba had Connor been that he only now realized the new peril.

“What are you doing?” he asked as Whitney fought the wheel to force the ship to his chosen course.

“We can’t outrun that thing, if it doesn’t eat its fill of the pirates,” Whitney said, tight-jawed. “The ship is already at a disadvantage for a fight without full sails. So I’m doing the only thing I can to keep that monster away from us.”

“Steering into the storm,” Zaryae breathed. “Gods preserve us.”