A buzzing of fearful exchanges sprang up among the crewmen at that. Barrel set his mouth tightly, almost as if In imitation of the thin-lipped priest. Gord frowned and thought furiously. Could he repair the damage the cleric's words had done? "Grist for our mill," Gord said with a jauntiness that he hoped would hearten the men. "They've tossed their best at us and failed. Whatever else might happen along can be something to batten on. What with our good abbot's powers, master Dohojar's magics, and the stout steel of our weapons, no fiend of the netherworld can harm us now."
"Never tempt demons!" This new admonition from the cleric countered whatever bolstering of flagging spirits Gord had just managed to accomplish. Abbot Pauncefot cared not a whit for anything but the truth... as he saw it. The benisons bestowed by mine own Great Lord are but petty powers when compared to those of the evil ones who seek to destroy this vessel and all aboard. It is no fault of Rao that I am too small to channel more than a trickle of the benefit he could bestow."
"You have seen to our drink and sustenance, good abbot," the homely Barrel said. "Your prayers and divinations have brought us all through 'til now...."
The elderly priest squared his thin shoulders and looked grimly at the men who had gathered close to hear the exchange. Forsaking the compliment Barrel had just paid him, Pauncefot saw instead an opportunity to address a higher issue. The abbot spread wide his arms and spoke loudly for all to hear. "Salvation of the sort I have provided is temporary. To be truly saved, you must give yourselves unto Him who is All." Before the priest could say more, growls and mutterings arose from the crowd.
"We are of the sea," one crewman called. "We trust and believe, abbot, but there are times and places for—"
"Silence!" Gord shouted. "I am your captain. All of you, quiet!" Then the small, dark-haired thief turned to the cleric, saying, "It is your good counsel and great spells we need. Abbot Pauncefot, not preaching. Even now the evil might be again massing to attack us."
It was as If the cleric had been awaiting just this sort of opportunity. His face was stern and his voice thundered. "It is not these men whom the demons and dark forces seek to destroy — no! It is you, Gord ~ you, the disbeliever. I cannot fathom you, but I think you are not far removed from those who threaten to carry us all into some watery hell!"
First the
Sovereign Sea Lion,
next
Stormeater,
then
Seablade,
and now
Silver Seeker
— many of those present had been on each of those ships with Gord. What the priest had just uttered was worse than blasphemy to them, a blasphemous lot anyway. Dirks suddenly appeared in clenched fists, and threats flew thick and fast. Perhaps this self-righteous priest would make an acceptable sacrifice to Brocam the Sealord! Even the young thief, though he did not give the cleric's words any credence, felt a surge of hatred and a desire to see the abbot's blood stain the dun waters around the ship as it lay becalmed.
This is the next attack of the enemy, Gord Ze-haab! Listen, friends, bold sailors and shipmates all!"
This voice of reason came from Dohojar, the only man among them all who seemed unaffected by rage. The dark man native to far-off Changar was a spell-worker, an aspiring mage, but despite his uniqueness one of the group nonetheless. His magic was of the West, his inner powers thus slightly different from what the others were used to, and he sensed the black force that lay unseen upon
Silver Seeker
as a dark octopus surrounds a mollusk it is about to devour. "Think now," Dohojar continued when all ears were turned to him. "Would you harm the one who has given us our lives this past fortnight? And you, holy man — do you really dare to condemn this one who champions the fight against all evil?"
Dohojar's admonition contained sufficient accuracy to give everyone pause. The old abbot started a chant to counteract malign sendings, while the Changa used his own spell-working art to ward off dark magical forces being visited upon them. Gord, Barrel, and the two dozen crewmen stood sheepishly by. It was humiliating to realize that the enemy had almost managed to bring another of its attacks to fruition so insidiously that none but the perceptive little Changa had noticed. "Use whatever rituals and talismans you have to assist our comrades." Gord told the officers of
Silver Seeker.
"And tell your men the same," he added in a hushed voice as the priest and the mage continued their work.
"I cannot make the magic leave," Dohojar finally said with a gasp.
"Nor can I do more than force the evil of it but a little way from us," Abbot Pauncefot said slowly. "Yet that may be enough for the time if we are carefully on guard. To know the presence of the enemy is to be armed against attacks."
"Well and good, stout friends." the burly Barrel said. "I still have the problem of being dead in the water, and the Azure Sea is no place to be becalmed in for long!"
The old cleric prayed and gave the crew his blessings against the black anger sent upon them by the forces of the netherworld. Then Pauncefot retired to his tiny cabin to meditate. "What now, cap'n?" Barrel asked. He was grim faced, for the sun was near the horizon. Soon it would vanish to the west, and then they would be pinned to the flat sea with the darkness surrounding them. "In the dark, our powers will wane, and those of evil grow — and not even a sliver of a moon to lend us strength."
Gord motioned for Barrel and Dohojar to come to his side, and then he addressed the full assemblage of crewmen. "We must hold moot now. I need your counsel. Unless a strong course of action can be determined, I will have to accept the abbot's advice."
"What do you mean, Zehaab?" Dohojar looked at his comrade with true puzzlement, for he had heard nothing from the priest that he could interpret as advice to Gord. "The man said nothing but the ugly things put into his head by demonshine!"
"Not quite, Dohojar, not quite. The enemy doesn't care a jot for the life of anyone aboard
Silver Seeker
but for me. That much of what the abbot said was pure truth. Somehow, those vile ones who seek me have managed to succeed. If I get away from the ship, then it... and all of you... will be safe."
"You have no proof of that, lad," Barrel said, neglecting for once to address Gord by his official title — an office conferred by Barrel, Dohojar, and the rest by vote during the time when they sailed aboard the
Sovereign Sea Lion
more than a year ago. Since then most of their original band had left for home or some personal quest, but the new members who had Joined were of like mind. Gord, once beggar-boy, then thief and swordsman, now buccaneer, was their leader. "I say we lower our boats and row us the hells out of this demon-made calm!"
The other crewmen had muttered among themselves while these exchanges were taking place. They were all anxious to strike back at their unseen tormentors in any fashion they could.
"We're all with you, captain," one of the newest of the lot called. He was an ordinary sailor but felt emboldened to speak because of the easy relationship on this ship between officers and men.
"I jined up when the old
Lion
lef fer southern waters, matey-boy," a leathery-visaged salt said to the first speaker. "You've jes' said what all o' us think!"
Gord took in that and more of the same kind of commentary from the rest of the men. Thanks, all of you," he said, "but I think I have to say a bit against myself. You just listen up a tad. Many of you have been a part of our band for as long as we've been one. We've sailed to the savage coasts together, been to exotic ports, fought pirates and sea monsters, and done a bit of privateering ourselves in the process." There were nods and murmurs at that, and several of the men grinned as they patted a girdle or fingered a gem-set earring or golden bracelet taken as their share of booty. The young adventurer allowed them their moment to recall that, then went on. "And during that time you'll recall I managed to call most of the decisions right, aye?"
"Aye, that you did, cap'n," Barrel said, speaking for all of the men.
"Well, we're in a pickle now, my lads; it's a devilish tight place, too. If the priest isn't actually one of us, Abbot Pauncefot is a good man and true nonetheless. He said that I was the target of the attacks, and I vow by the green beard of Brocam he was dead accurate!"
"There is no way we can sacrifice you, Gord Ze-haab, to save ourselves," the Changa said loudly.
Gord looked absolutely astounded at that. "Sacrifice? Who the hells mentioned that? I'm not ready for Brocam's Briny Bier or any other grave quite yet, mate!"
There was nervous laughter at that, and Dohojar was embarrassed. "But you said..."
"I said that I'd get you and Seeker off the demons' hook if I could. That doesn't mean I'm consigning myself to drowning or anything like it. Most of you know that I have fought against lesser sorts of demons and others who serve evil. Just as you know that once I was a city-bred thief. Somehow I seem to be singled out, not to say cursed, to forever get in the way of the great forces that contend for mastery of our world. Like you, I would be content to fight a little, frolic more, and seek excitement where I may."
Because there were comments of ribald sort at that, Gord allowed a momentary pause before he spoke further, but time was short, and he had to press ahead rapidly. "Listen well now, lads! In my dreams of late I keep hearing a call. It has come to me more and more frequently these past few weeks. I have ignored the omen so far, thinking it imaginary and meaningless, but now I rue that choice, for it has put you all at peril."
The young man allowed that to sink in a moment. "I am indeed being called elsewhere," he continued. "The foes of the evil ones who hunt for my soul are in need of me. Had I heeded their summons sooner, then you would all be in Safeton's snug harbor now, drinking and wenching. The priest spoke naught but fact when he said I was the target of the demonkin who plague
Silver Seeker
now. Somehow they have found me and now use their fell sendings to try to destroy me."
"If that be the case, Gord, then I'll join ye in the fight," Barrel said firmly.
Dohojar nodded agreement. "I too am by your side, Zehaab!"
Before there was a general rush of that sort of thing, Gord raised his hand. "Hold! Avast! Then we'd be back where we are now. I am here to tell you that I will have to leave you — all of you.
Seeker
needs you all to survive the side effects of whatever dark things have been sent for me. My departure will draw off some of the ill, but much might still find its way to you!"
"Will you stride across the waters of the sea? Or have you wings?" That sarcastic query came from one named Reppon, first mate of the ship and a doughty sea-warrior who had seen much of the world in his travels.
"Neither," Gord replied with a laugh. "But I have certain friends, shall we say — beasts of the ocean. I think it likely that I can call upon them to carry me safely hence to wherever it is I must go — and that destination will be known to them."
The rim of the sun was Just touching the watery horizon when the moot finally ended. What decided it all so quickly was not entirely Gord's decision. An immense wall of black clouds was suddenly visible to the north — great, anvil-headed clouds that shot upward in contorted forms, nightmare shapes with writhing bodies and leering, fearsome faces. Dark layers overtopped even these mighty clouds, and bright lightnings made the looming wall flicker and flash eerily. It was Barrel who concluded the assembly then and there. "That there's a hellstorm, boys!" he announced. "If the cap'n can leave and take it from us, we just might live to tell of it!"
Dohojar dithered and fretted as Gord began a ritual to summon the "friends" he had referred to. "I am willing to help you with this calling, Zehaab," the dark-skinned man pleaded. "How can you refuse?"
But the young adventurer would not relent. He was confident that he could manage. "My friend," he finally said to the Changa, "even though you are a mage, you aren't acceptable to the ones who might agree to bear me from this place. Now go away so I can finish!" Dohojar slunk off, and Gord completed his ritual. The words he uttered and the gestures he made were the parts of a cat-summoning dweomer that had been taught to him by Rexfelis the Catlord. His dreams, he thought, were messages sent by Rexfelis, so perhaps the Catlord would supply the means of transportation. After all, he reasoned, weren't the great sea lions faithful subjects of Rexfelis? That remained to be seen. He waited a few minutes but got no results, so he began the ritual again, performing it more carefully this time.
A gurgling and a growl made Gord start. He had been so wrapped up in repeating the charm properly that he hadn't seen the darker shape rise in the darkening gray of the sea's depths. The lionlike head that suddenly broke the surface was huge — thrice the size of a true lion's — and of a greenish tinge.
"Who braves the calling of Leoceanius?" The challenge came in a roar, sounding like the rush and retreat of a huge breaker.
"Gord, associate of Rexfelis and friend of all cats, summons one who is vassal to the Lord of Felines."
Before the young man could say or do anything more, the monstrous sea cat rose up and grabbed him with its gigantic forepaws. "About bloody time, too," the creature growled, as it bore Gord from the ship's deck off into the leaden-hued waters. "Get on my back and hold fast to my mane, or I'll not be held accountable for your fate," said Leoceanius gruffly. There was no chance to protest. Floundering, Gord managed to do as the sea lion demanded, grasping and holding fast for dear life, for even as he spoke the creature was swimming off at a speed unimaginable to a man.
"What of my belongings, O Master Lion of the Seas?"
The sea lion gave a coughing roar, its version of a laugh. "You have much of power with you, man. I read clearly in your own mind that what is behind on that wooden float is naught of importance to you. Even were it otherwise, there would be no help for it. Ere you could get your possessions, the black sending would strike."