He studied me for a long moment, searching my face with his steely, gold-shot eyes. These were deep waters, cold and fast, but my body was alive with chimeric, my thoughts wylde with chance. Skin burning, but it didn’t hurt. Heart racing, but I didn’t fear. I should have. This was new and raw and uncharted territory. I should have been terrified. Instead, I was alive. Alive with aRhi’Ahrcaptain who would teach me how to wield chimeric for the king. What did that say about the war? What did it say about our helms?
It didn’t matter. His currents would take me where I needed to go.
And I would take him with me, for good or for ill.
Be wary. Be wise.
Finally, he looked away.
“I will teach you this,” he said. “But at the first sign of problem or ill health…”
I gazed up at him. He was so tall, so broad, while I was wiry and slight, but I swear he was the one holding his breath.
“Aye, Captain,” I said.
“Come with me,” he said.
14. The Gundeck
We made our way swiftly between the decks, and I struggled to keep up with his long strides. Swabs parted before him as he strode through the companionways like a ship cutting through choppy waves. He was hot and cold at the same time, breath on a faltering flame. Singular of purpose yet able to see the patterns in all things. Not just see them, I realized, but manipulate them, weave them, bind them to his will.
It was incomprehensible to me, the patience required for such skill. Patience had never been one of my stronger traits. Get in, take what you needed, get out, and stay alive. One step ahead, another dawn met. That was my life, or had been, until the Ship of Spells.
Down the steps to the gundeck, where twenty-two nine-pounders waited for me. The gunner knuckled a salute at the sight of the captain on his deck, and Thanavar slowed by a brass monk filled with shot. He reached out and snatched one with his left hand. He held it a long moment and turned to look at me now.
“As you said, Ensign, the chimeric may well kill you sooner than you expect,” he said. “So, while you live,trulylive.”
He looked at my hands.
“Your gloves.”
I swallowed, quickly tucked them into my belt, and he handed me the ball. It was only nine pounds, but it was as heavy as the whole world.
He slid his other arm out of the sling, raised his hand over the ball, and flexed his long fingers. He paused, sent me a glance under his brow.
“Donottell the doctor.”
I grinned. Even the captain was afraid of the recriminations ofa faun.
“Shroud spell,” he said, and he began to cast, his lyrical fingers speaking to the air—plucking the Worldrune, as Fahr had said.“Benedictum concellis.”
I repeated the words in my mind. Traditional spell casting, with aRhi’Ahraccent.
“Translatus sate in chimeris.”
Nothing.
“Again,” he said. “And aloud.”
We repeated the incantation together, our voices an arcane harmony.
Nothing.
“Concentrate,” he said.
Nothing.
“Not shroud, clearly.” He frowned. “Imbue?”
