Stormwarden Read Free

robed in red gestured with thin splayed fingers at the man in the braid. "You may know your way about a ship, Captain. You know nothing of craft. Anskiere's staff is harmless."
    The captain moved to interrupt. Fast as a cat, the sorcerer in black hooked his sleeve. "Believe him, Captain. That staff was discharged by Tathagres herself. How else could she have raised the sea and ruined Tierl Enneth? You don't believe the power was her own, do you?"
    "Fires, no." The captain fretted uncomfortably and tugged his clothing free. "But I'll certainly have mutiny, a bloody one, unless you can convince my crew that Anskiere can work no vengeance."
    "That should not prove difficult." The sorcerer in red caught the satchel with a veined hand, and in the doorway Taen shrank from his smile. "An enchanter separated from his staff seldom goes undefended. Anskiere will not differ." The sorcerer loosened the knots of the pouch, upended it, and spilled its contents with a rustle onto the blanket.
    Taen strained for a glimpse of what lay between the men.
    "Feathers!" The captain reached out contemptuously, and found his wrist captured in a bony grip.
    "Don't touch. Would you ruin us?" Disgustedly, the sorcerer released the captain. "Each of those feathers is a weather ward, set by Anskiere against need. You look upon enough force to level Imrill Kand, captain."
    The dark sorcerer lifted a slim brown quill from the pile. Taen recognized the wing feather of a shearwater. She watched with stony eyes as the sorcerer tossed it lightly into the air.
    As the feather drifted downward into a spin, it became to the eye a blur ringed suddenly by a halo of blue-violet light. From its center sprang the sleek, elegant form of the bird itself, wings extended for flight. Damp salt wind arose from nowhere, tossing the lamp on its hook. Shadows danced crazily.
    The red sorcerer clapped a hand to his belt. A dagger flashed in his fist. He struck like a snake. The bird was wrenched from midair and tumbled limp to the deck, blood jumping in bright beads across the oiled wood. The bird quivered once, and the breeze died with it.
    Taen shivered in the grip of nausea. The red sorcerer wiped the knife on his sleeve while the dark sorcerer picked another feather from the bed. Before long the hem of his robe hung splattered with scarlet. A pile of winged corpses grew at his feet, and blood ran with the roll of the ship. At each bird's death there was a fleeting scent of spring rain, or a touch of mellow summer sun, and more than once the harsh cold edge of the gales of autumn. At last, sickened beyond tolerance Taen stumbled past the door. Preoccupied with their slaughter, the men within did not notice.
    * * *
    Beyond the chartroom door, Taen heard the wet bubbly snores of the Constable. The lamp had burned low. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Past the chart table and the Constable's slumped bulk, Anskiere sat with his head resting on crossed arms. Enchanted fetters shone like coals through tangled hair, and his robe was dusty and creased.
    Taen stepped through the door. At the faint scrape of her lame foot, Anskiere roused, opened eyes flat as slate, and saw her in the doorway. He beckoned, and the chime of his bonds masked her clumsy run as she flung herself into his arms.
    "The soldiers took Emien, and Dacsen wrecked on the reef." Her whisper caught as a sob wrenched her throat.
    "I know, little one." Anskiere held her grief-racked body close.
    Taen gripped his sleeve urgently. "Warden, the sorcerers are killing your birds. I saw them."
    "Hush, child. They've not taken the one that matters most." Anskiere flicked a tear from the girl's chin. "Can I trust her to your care?"
    Taen nodded. She watched gravely as the Stormwarden made a rip in the seam of his hood lining. He drew forth a tawny feather barred with black and laid it in her palm.
    The girl turned the quill over in her hands. The shape was thin, keen as a knife, and the markings unfamiliar. Anskiere