Mercifully, she directed her hostility at him only for as long as it took to tuck her brown hair back beneath her bandana, then looked back down at the singed arm she was carefully dressing with bandage and salve. The man who possessed said arm remained scowling at him, but Dreadaeleon scarcely noticed.
He probably wants you to apologise
, the boy thought.
He deserves it, I suppose. I mean, you
did
set him on fire.
His fingers rubbed together, lingering warmth dancing on their tips.
But what did he expect, getting in the way like that? He’s lucky he escaped with only a burned arm. Still, she’d probably like it if you apologised . . .
If she even noticed, he thought with a sigh. Behind the burned man were three others with deep cuts, bruised heads or visibly broken joints. Behind
them
were four more that had already been wrapped, salved, cleaned or stitched.
And they had taken their toll on her, he noticed as her hands went back into the large leather satchel at her side and pulled out another roll of bandages. They trembled, they were calloused, they were clearly used to working.
And
, he thought with a sigh,
they are just so strong.
He drew in a resolute breath.
All right, you’ve got to say something . . . not that, though! But something. Remember what Denaos says: women are dangerous beasts. But you’re a wizard, a member of the Venarium. You fear no beast. Just . . . use tact.
‘Asper,’ he all but whispered, his voice catching as she looked up at him again, ‘you’re . . .’ He inhaled sharply. ‘You’re being completely stupid.’
Well done.
‘Stupid,’ she said, levelling a glare that informed him of both her disagreement and her future plans to bludgeon him.
‘As it pertains to the context, yes,’ he said, attempting to remain bold under her withering eyes.
‘The context of . . .’ she gestured to her patient, ‘setting a man on fire?’
‘It’s . . . it’s a highly sensitive context,’ he protested, his voice closely resembling that of a kitten being chewed on by a lamb. ‘You aren’t taking into account the many variables that account for the incident. See, body temperature can fluctuate fairly quickly, requiring a vast amount of concentration for me to channel it into something combustible enough to do appreciable damage to something animate.’
At this, the burned man added his scowl to Asper’s. Dreadaeleon cleared his throat.
‘As evidenced visibly. With such circumstances as we’ve just experienced, the risk for a triviality increases.’
‘You set . . . a man . . . on fire . . .’ Asper said, her voice a long, slow knife digging into him. ‘How is that a triviality? ’
‘Well . . . well . . .’ The boy levelled a skinny finger at the man accusingly. ‘He got in my way!’
‘I was tryin’ to defend the captain!’ the man protested.
‘You could have gone around me!’ Dreadaeleon snapped back. ‘My eyes were glowing! My hands were on fire! What affliction of the mind made you think it was a good idea to run in front of me? I was clearly about to do something
very
impressive.’
‘Dread,’ Asper rebuked the boy sharply before tying the bandage off at the man’s arm and laying a hand gently on his shoulder. To the sailor: ‘The wound’s not serious. Avoid using it for a while. I’ll change the dressing tomorrow. ’ She sighed and looked over the men, both breathing and breathless, beyond her patient. ‘If you can, you should tend to your fellows.’
‘Blessings, Priestess,’ the man replied, rising to his feet and bowing to her.
She returned the gesture and rose as well, smoothing out the wrinkles creasing her blue robes. She excused herself from the remaining patients with a nod and turned away to lean on the railings.
And Dreadaeleon could not help but notice just how hard she leaned. The irate vigour that had lurked behind her eyes vanished entirely, leaving only a very tired woman. Her hands, now suddenly trembling, reached to the gleaming silver hanging from her throat. Fingers caressed the wings of a great bird, the phoenix.
Talanas, Dreadaeleon recalled, the Healer.
‘You look tired,’ he observed.
‘I can see how I might give off that impression,’ Asper replied, ‘what with having to undo the damage my companions do as well as the pirates’ own havoc.’
Somehow, the softness of her voice cut even deeper than its former sharpness. Dreadaeleon frowned and looked down at the deck.
‘It
was
an accident—’
‘I know.’ She looked up and offered him an exhausted smile. ‘I can appreciate what you were trying to do.’
You see, old man? That fire would have been colossal! Corpses burning on the deck! Smoke rising into the sky! Of course she’d have been impressed. The ladies love fire.
‘Well, it would have been difficult to pull off, of course,’ he offered, attempting to sound humble. ‘But the benefits would have outweighed the tragedy.’
‘Tragedy?’ She blinked. ‘I thought you were going to try to scare the rest of them off with a show of force.’ She peered curiously at him. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘
The exact same thing
,’ he hastily blurted. ‘I mean, they’re pirates, right? And Cragsmen, on top of that. They probably still believe wizards eat souls and fart thunder.’
She stared at him.
‘We, uh, we don’t.’
‘Hmm.’ She glanced over his shoulder with a grimace, towards the shadows of the companionway. ‘And what was the purpose of that?’
He followed her gaze and frowned. He wasn’t quite sure why she looked at the sight with disgust. To him, it was a masterpiece.
The icicle’s shape was perfect: thick enough to drive it into the wood of the ship, sharp enough to pierce the ribcage in which it currently rested comfortably. Even as the Cragsman clung to it, hands frozen to the red-stained ice in death, Dreadaeleon couldn’t help but smile. He had expected something far messier, but the force used to hurl it through the air had been just enough.
Of course, she probably won’t understand that.
He rolled his eyes as he felt hers boring into his.
Women.
‘Prevention,’ he replied coolly. ‘I saw him heading for the companionway, I thought he might try to harm Miron.’
She nodded approvingly. ‘I suppose it was necessary, then, if only to protect the Lord Emissary.’
Well done, old man, well done.
The exuberance coursing through him threatened to make him explode. He fought it down to a self-confident smirk.
Talking to girls is just like casting a spell. Just maintain concentration and don’t—
‘After all,’ he interrupted his train of thought with a laugh, ‘if he died, who would pay us?’
... do anything like that, idiot.
She swung her scowl upon him like a battleaxe, all the fury and life restored to her as she clenched her teeth. She ceased to resemble a priestess at that moment, or any kind of woman, and looked instead like some horrific beast ready to rip his innards out and paint the deck with them.
‘This is what it’s all about, then?’ she snarled. ‘Pay? Gold? Good Gods, Dread, you
impaled
a man.’
‘That hardly seems fair,’ he replied meekly. ‘Lenk and the others have killed far more than me. Kataria even made a game out of it.’
‘And
she’s
a shict!’ Asper clenched her pendant violently. ‘Bad enough that I should have to tolerate
their
blasphemies without you also taking pleasure in killing.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Oh, shut up. You were staring at that corpse like you wanted to mount it on a wall. Would you have taken the same pride if you had killed that man instead of just burning him?’
‘Well . . .’ His common sense had fled him, his words came on a torrent of shamelessness. ‘I mean, if the spell had gone off as it was supposed to, I suppose I could have appreciated the artistry of it.’ He looked up with sudden terror, holding his hands out in front of him. ‘But no, no! I wouldn’t have taken pride in it! I never take pride in making more work for you!’
‘It’s not
work
to do Talanas’s will, you snivelling heathen!’ Her face screwed up in ways that he had thought possible only on gargoyles. ‘You sound like . . . like one of
them
, Dread!’
‘Who?’
‘Us.’
Lenk met the boy’s whirling gaze without blinking, even as Dreadaeleon frowned.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘Well, the comparison was rather unfavourable,’ the wizard said, shrugging. ‘Not that I’m not thrilled you’re still alive.’
He still sounded disappointed, but Lenk made no mention of it. His eyes went over the boy’s head of stringy black hair, past Asper’s concerned glare, through the mass of wounded sailors to the object of his desire.
The smaller escape vessel dangled seductively from its davits, displaying its oars so brazenly, its benches so invitingly. It called to him with firm, wooden logic, told him he would not survive without it. He believed it, he wanted to go to it.
There was the modest problem of the tall priestess before him, though, arms crossed over her chest to form a wall of moral indignation.
‘What happened at the railings?’ she asked. ‘Did you win?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘In a manner of . . .’ She furrowed her brow. ‘It’s not a hard question, you know. Did you push the pirates back?’
‘Obviously, we were triumphant,’ chimed a darker voice from behind him. Denaos stalked forwards, placing a hand on Lenk’s shoulder. ‘If we hadn’t, you’d like have at least a dozen tattooed hands up your skirt by now.’
‘
Robes
,’ she corrected sharply. ‘I wear
robes
, brigand.’
‘How foolish of me. I should have known. After all, only proper ladies wear skirts.’ As she searched for a retort, he quickly leaned over and whispered in Lenk’s ear. ‘She’s never going to let us by and she certainly won’t come with us.’
Lenk nodded. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been a problem. He would just as soon leave her to die if she insisted. However, she could certainly call the sailors’ attentions to the fact that they were about to make off with the ship’s only escape vessel. Not to mention it would be exceedingly bad judgement to leave the healer behind.
‘So just shove her in,’ he muttered in reply. ‘On my signal, you rush her. I’ll cut the lines. We’ll be off.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ Asper’s eyebrows were so far up they were almost hidden beneath her bandana. ‘Are you plotting something?’
‘We are
discussing
stratagems, thank you,’ Denaos replied smoothly. ‘We are, after all, the brains of this band.’
‘I thought I was the brains,’ Dreadaeleon said.
‘
You
are the odd little boy we pay to shoot fire out of his ass,’ the rogue said.
‘I shoot fire out of my
hands
, thank you. And it requires an
immense
amount of brains.’ He pulled back his leather coat, revealing a massive book secured to his waist by a silver chain. ‘I memorised this whole thing! Look at it!
It’s huge!
’
‘He raises a good point,’ Denaos whispered to Lenk. ‘He might try to stop us.’
‘I can handle it,’ a third voice added to the conspiracy. Kataria appeared at Lenk’s side, ears twitching. ‘He weighs even less than me. I’ll just grab him on the way.’
‘I thought you didn’t like this idea,’ Lenk said, raising a brow.
‘I don’t,’ she replied, sparing him a grudging glare. ‘It’s completely unnecessary. But,’ she glanced sidelong at Lenk, ‘if you’re going to go . . .’
The moment stretched uncomfortably long in Lenk’s head, her eyes focusing on him as if he were a target. In the span of one blink, she conveyed a hundred different messages to him: requests for him to stay, conveyance of her wish to fight, a solemn assurance that she would follow. At least, he thought she said that. All that echoed in his mind was one voice.
Stop staring at me.
‘Yes, good, lovely,’ Denaos grunted. ‘If we’re going to do this, let’s do it now.’
‘Do what?’ Asper asked, going tense as if sensing the sin before it developed.
‘Nothing,’ Denaos replied, taking a step forwards, ‘we’re just hoping to accomplish it before—’
‘
By the Shining Six
,’ the voice cut through the air like a blade, ‘
who wrought this sin?
’
‘Damn it,’ Lenk snarled, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching figure.
Despite rumours whispered in the mess, it was a woman, tall as Denaos and at least as muscular. Her body was choked in bronze, her breastplate yielding not a hint of femininity as it was further obscured by a white toga.