The Magehound

"No," Matteo said calmly. He noticed the speculative gleam in his new patron's eyes, and at this moment he understood that this was not pointless folly, but a test. If he meant to win Procopio's respect, he had to see this through. "You bade me win this battle for you, and that is precisely what I am doing."

"Victory is sweet, but I'd rather have my ship, whole and skyworthy!"

"Then stand by. To turn aside now would be dangerous." To add weight to his words and to signify the seriousness of his intent, Matteo stepped between the incredulous wizard and the helmsman. He held the little man's eyes with an unflinching gaze, one that held a different sort of challenge. This was clearly not what Procopio had been expecting. The wizard's face turned purple with a mixture of anger and bruised pride. He could not compel Matteo by magic, and it was equally certain that he could not enforce his will by strength of arm. Procopio stepped back, his eyes black with anger, and began the gestures of a spell that would sidestep the jordain and impose his will on the helmsman.

Matteo recognized the spell and deftly countered it. He seized the wizard's right wrist and swept it up high, then hooked his thumb around the small finger of the left. This altered the gestures, turning the intended spell into a harmless illusion. Colored lights began to dance upon the sail, casting images of lithe women dancing in a circle, dressed in the feathers of the painted starsnake's wings. Procopio dropped his hands to his sides and stared incredulously at the flickering image, all that remained of his interrupted spell.

"You take too much upon yourself, jordain. An enormous risk, with a ship not your own! Do you know the worth of such a vessel?"

Matteo told him precisely what it was worth, give or take a handful of gold pieces. The flash of surprise in the wizard's eyes told Matteo that he had hit the mark. But more truth remained unspoken, and Matteo didn't shrink from it. "Great risks were taken, that is true, but not by me."

Procopio's eyes narrowed, but his expression remained unreadable. "How so?"

"I spoke against venturing over the lake. The winds are strong and unpredictable. Once you determined to follow this course of action, my task was to keep you alive. I turned at the proper time, not before. It was not cowardice but calculation. Will you let me finish the task you gave me without further interference? If not, speak now. Soon there will be no time for disputation."

"I swear it," Procopio grumbled. "The ship is yours to command."

Matteo nodded and turned his attention to the rapidly approaching skyship. He could see it now in more detail. Upon the sail had been painted elaborate runes and symbols, and the polished plates of the sea turtles that armored its hull had been gilded with electrum in similarly ornate patterns. But it was on the sails that Matteo concentrated. The winds were strong, and they filled the sails of both ships. If even one of the Avariel's sails rippled and went slack, he would know that Basel Indoulur had lost his nerve. But if the approaching ship held course, then Matteo would evade it and leave Procopio to deal with his bruised pride and lightened purse.

Yes, there it was, a soft fluttering of the foresail. The Avariel was taking evasive action. One uncertainty remained: Which way would Lord Basel turn?

"How will he evade us?" Matteo demanded. "Will he turn toward port or starboard? Which sails will he drop, and which will he tack?"

"He will not turn aside," Procopio asserted. He gave Matteo a sour look. "Until today, I would have named Basel Indoulur the most stubborn and arrogant whore son in all Halruaa. Now he stands close behind you for that honor. He will not turn aside."

"Is this your opinion, or the word of a diviner?" Matteo's words were a potent challenge. If Procopio were wrong, he would lose not only his ship, but his reputation as a wizard who could foresee what was to come.

The wizard locked stares with his young counselor, then hissed and turned aside. "I will do the divination."

"Quickly," Matteo urged.

The wizard swept a hand over the globe and stared intently at something Matteo could not see. In a moment he looked up, and a wry smile touched his lips. "I'll be a necromancer's apprentice! You were right: Basel will turn aside. He will drop jib and foresail, tack hard to starboard with the aft sails, and use the lake winds to turn him hard out to sea." Even as he spoke, the sails on the approaching starship began to flutter and shift. Matteo marked the arc of the starship's turn and concentrated on the winds that whipped at his hair and cloak. Suddenly he felt a shift in the airflow, the outer edges of a small circular maelstrom, a storm in miniature.

Matteo touched the helmsman's arm. 'Turn toward the Avariel ten degrees, on my mark. One-"

"This is folly!" sputtered Procopio. "The ships will surely collide."

"Two," Matteo said coolly.