The Silberwelle’s sails flap once and then hang from their yards, limp, in the sudden stillness that surrounds the Ranuan trading vessel, a stillness at variance with the roaring and rushing sounds that rumble toward those standing on the deck.
Alcaren’s eyes dart from the massive water spouts that have begun to shred the Sturinnese fleet to the slender, almost-fragile redheaded figure who grasps the railing overlooking the main deck of the Silberwelle. He swallows as he watches her fingers spasm and her body shudder, as if pummeled by forces no one else can see or hear.
As she grasps the railing to steady herself, Richina’s eyes are fixed on the white-hulled ships being shattered by the dark spouts, as are those of the ship-mistress of the Silberwelle.
Only the gray-blue eyes of the Ranuan overcaptain see Secca crumple, see her slide down beside the railing, her fingers limp, her eyes closed. Lutar case in hand, Alcaren takes two steps, then rushes toward the forward railing and the fallen sorceress.
At the sight of Secca collapsing, Palian turns from the players and the destruction on the sea to the south and begins to scramble up the ladder.
Richina turns, slowly, her mouth opening into a soundless cry.
The redheaded sorceress lying on the deck on her back opens her eyes, then her mouth, as if to speak, then shudders, her eyes wide, seemingly sightless.
Alcaren fumbles open the lutar case, snatches Secca’s lutar from within, and stands over her. He clears his throat and begins to sing, his voice true, but carrying an edge that threatens to overwhelm training and past discipline.
“With my voice and with my song,
Keep her safe and make her strong.
Still within her that darker spell,
so all within her is mended fair and well.
With my voice and with my song…”
Palian stops at the top of the ladder and shudders, her eyes flicking back and forth between the sorcerer and the dying sorceress.
Richina moves step-wise toward the pair by the railing, as if uncertain as to what she could or should do even as Alcaren’s voice completes the spell.
A single long note—somehow half-harmonic, half-Clearsong, and half-dissonant, half-Darksong—vibrates through the air, and the entire ship shivers. Crystalline shard notes slash at those who can hear the Harmonies. Richina and Palian shiver again, as if slashed by unseen knives.
The strings on Secca’s lutar snap, and the metal ends flay Alcaren’s hands and jaw, leaving long red lines. His legs fold under him. He topples forward, like a tree cut with a single swing of an axe, and the lutar drops from his limp fingers and strikes the deck with a single half-melodic thunk that echoes far more loudly than it should.
Richina and Palian stare for a long moment before rushing toward the fallen couple.
“Darksong,” murmurs the chief of players. “Twice.”
Tears stream down Richina’s cheeks as she looks helplessly down at both figures on the deck before her.
Palian drops to her knees, her fingers searching for signs of life.