Soulwoven

Chapter Thirty-Three

He hoped.

Off the Rokwet’s port side, six or seven small fires burned on a hill covered in yellow heather. The sea washed onto a gray beach below them.

“Have they spotted us?” Litnig asked.

None of the sailors responded.

A high layer of clouds covered the sky. For a moment, the sun broke through it and painted the hill in shades of orange. Litnig spotted tall figures scampering along the beach between silhouettes that looked like twin-hulled canoes.

His stomach twisted.

Anticipation had been the worst part of danger for him since his childhood. Once a crisis was on him, he could trust his body, trust his heart, trust his mind. But if he watched a problem come on, he had time to think. Time to wonder about the mistakes he might make, and about what might happen if he made them.

His brother staggered onto the deck, pale as the sails above him and leaning on Dil’s shoulder. Ryse, Leramis, and Len followed. Quay emerged last, looking as sick as Litnig had ever seen a man.

At least the sea is calm, he thought. Maybe their heads would clear in the crisp, morning air.

The minutes passed slowly. The Rokwet’s sails flapped lifelessly above. A few birds circled high in the sky. Litnig stood with his friends at the ship’s shoreside rail.

The kobolds launched their canoes one by one.

Litnig counted maybe twelve boats, with six or seven tall, shadowy figures in each. The Rokwet’s crew numbered thirty-five. Forty-one if he counted himself and his friends. Forty-two if he counted Leramis.

He spared a glance for the necromancer. The blackrobe was standing on the ship’s forecastle, near the stairs to the main deck. His eyes were focused on the kobolds. His brows plunged sharply toward his nose. His lips were drawn thin, like he was planning, or maybe even soulweaving already.

Litnig shivered and turned away.

Derimsun said something in Aleani. Len answered. Cole’s arms shook as he held the rail. He was mouthing something that looked like come on, come on, come on, come on, come on.

Litnig had seen his brother fight before. He would do pretty well, if he could get his guts together and keep his feet under him.

And if he couldn’t, then Litnig would just have to protect him.

Dil stood trembling at Cole’s side. She had her old, battered bow in one hand and an arrow in the fingers of the other. Ryse said something to her, and the shivering girl shook her head.

A bead of sweat rolled down Litnig’s cheek. He slipped the breaker from its belt loop and swished it through the air a few times.

He hoped he could trust it.

Never put too much faith in a weapon, his father had once said. Unless that weapon is yourself.

The words still sent goosebumps skittering over Litnig’s skin.

Litnig had never tried to make a weapon of himself. He’d watched Cole spend hours playing with his daggers, learning how to move with them, strike with them, parry with them, and throw them. But he’d never joined in. A part of him had been afraid of what would happen if he did. Afraid he might be too good at violence. Afraid he might even enjoy it.

The breaker felt solid and heavy in his hand, like an extension of his body.

A voice in the back of his head whispered that if it betrayed him, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret trusting it.