A Distant Magic Read Free Page B

in the thick of the fight, the Scot slashing about him with a broadsword and Polmarric armed with a pair of pistols. Nikolai wanted to run to Macrae, but he was too weak to move. Crunched into the angle of the bow, he watched the battle with horror and wondered why the Guardians weren't using magic to end this. Surely they could do something! Or was that sharp wind Macrae's work?
    Nikolai gasped when a corsair slashed Macrae's arm with his curved sword. Blood splashed darkly across the Scot's white shirt as he ran his assailant through. Coolly Polmarric aimed and took down one pirate with the pistol in his right hand, then a second with the left-hand pistol. As the pirates looked for less dangerous game, Polmarric reloaded and Macrae stood guard over his friend.
    Nikolai tried to stand, and almost blacked out again as vicious pain stabbed through his ribs. He must have cracked one when he fell. Since he couldn't fight, he made himself observe, using all his senses.
    The
Hermes
was winning the battle. Several crewmen were wounded, but most of the bodies on the blood-stained deck were pirates. He guessed that the attackers hadn't expected such a fierce defense, and that they were wondering if it was worth it. Corsairs preferred to assault people who hadn't much ability to protect themselves.
    As the last of the fog and smoke dissolved, a grappling hook banged to the deck near Nikolai's feet. The line that held the schooner to the galley snapped. One by one, the other lines broke and the galley began drifting away.
    Another gust of wind caught the galley's sails, and it heeled over to starboard, the port oars thrashing in the air like the legs of a spider. A commanding voice on the galley shouted out in Arabic,
"Fall back!"
    A cursing pirate retreated along the deck of the
Hermes,
most of his attention on the schooner's crew in case one came after him. He tripped over Nikolai, sending jangles of agony through Nikolai's ribs. The pirate glanced down, then scooped Nikolai up with one powerful hand.
"Here's one at least." He spoke a crude form of North African Arabic that Nikolai had heard on the Valletta waterfront.
    Nikolai struggled against the pirate, but he dangled helpless as a puppy in the giant's grip.
"Macrae!
Macrae!
" he screamed.
    The Scot started to turn toward him, but another volley of musket shots came from the galley, and Polmarric collapsed. Macrae whipped around and knelt by his friend, no longer in Nikolai's view.
    The galley had righted itself, and floated only a few feet from the
Hermes.
Nikolai's captor called to one of the pirates on the galley,
"Catch this brat!"
    He threw Nikolai down to the galley. After a few dizzying seconds of flight, Nikolai was caught roughly and deposited on the slanting deck. He slid across the galley, fetching up in the starboard gunwales. Water sloshed around him, and he gasped from the agony of his cracked ribs, fearing he would drown.
    He must fight the pain. Macrae had spoken of that. The trick was to detach, to think of the pain as distant, belonging to someone else.
    Nikolai concentrated on detachment, and the pain diminished a little. He staggered to his feet, desperate to return to the
Hermes
before the ships separated.
    Macrae was standing amidships the schooner and looking toward the galley, his brows drawn into a frown. As he ran across the galley, Nikolai waved his arms frantically to get the Scotsman's attention. Surely Macrae had some magic that would rescue Nikolai! He was Macrae's foster son, a great mage in the making!
    Macrae looked right at him. Then he turned away, his face like granite.
    Nikolai watched in disbelief as the man who had promised protection and family abandoned him to his fate. Panicked, he started to scramble over the railing. Better to risk the sea than slavery.
    Hard hands caught him again. This time he was in the grip of the galley's captain, the
reis,
a burly man with gold chains around his neck and eyes cold as death.
"So all we have to