So much for explanations, Arvin thought. Quick as a blink, he summoned energy from points deep in his throat and his third eye and sent it down into his right foot. A droning noise filled the air as he stomped the deck, sending a flash of silver shooting through the planks toward the guard holding the sword. The deck below hook-nose’s feet bucked, sending him staggering. He grabbed at the rail and managed to steady himself, but lost his weapon overboard. “My sword!” he shouted. Cursing, he stared at the dark water that had swallowed it.
The gray-haired guard by now had a hand crossbow leveled at Arvin’s chest, but Arvin’s chief worry was the spellcaster at the stern. The elf, however, seemed oblivious to what was happening on the main deck. His attention remained focused on the riverboat’s main sail. By feel alone, he was directing the magical wind, his fingers moving in complicated patterns as if he were knotting a net.
Arvin bowed to the captain and manifested a second power—this one coercive rather than confrontational. “Sorry to have startled you, sir,” he said. The base of his scalp prickled as energy coiled there. He let it uncoil in the direction of the captain and saw the fellow tilt his head as if listening to something as the power manifested. “I’m no slaver, but a simple stowaway. I snuck aboard to avoid a woman who… ah… thinks I should marry her.”
The captain’s lips quirked in a smile. “Got her in the family way, did you?” He walked down the short flight of steps to the main deck, motioning for the gray-haired guard to lower his crossbow.
As the guard complied, Arvin sighed with relief. His charm had worked. He reached into his boot, pulling out his coin pouch. “I’ll gladly pay for my passage to Ormpetarr.”
The hook-nosed guard stomped over to where the captain was standing, muttering under his breath. “What about my sword, then? Who’s going to pay for that?”
“Do not worry,” a female voice said from the bow. “This man is on his way to a meeting with Ambassador Extaminos. If he does not compensate you, the ambassador surely will.”
Arvin whirled around. “Karrell!”
“Hello, Vin.” She stood, smiling, a pace or two behind him. She’d obviously been aboard all along; she must have been wearing or carrying a magical device that protected her from mind-probing magic. That would explain how he’d missed her last night, when he sifted the thoughts of those at the inn. She’d been standing up on the bow until a moment or two ago, screened from view by the sail, which was why Arvin hadn’t seen her. The wind of the boat’s passage had tangled her hair. Somehow it made her even more beautiful.
The captain tilted his head slightly in her direction and spoke to Arvin in a low voice. “Is she the one you’re—”
“No,” Arvin said firmly. “She’s not. We met on the wagon to Riverboat Landing. I got to know her during the journey.”
The gray-haired guard smiled knowingly. “Lucky man,” he said, a chuckle in his voice. “I can see why you wanted to slip the other woman.”
The wife clucked her tongue in disapproval and tucked one of her hands possessively into the crook of her husband’s arm. The merchant rolled his eyes.
“What about my sword?” the hook-nosed guard complained. “It was dwarven-forged steel.”
The captain gave him a disdainful stare. “It was a standard trade sword, and cheaply made.”
Hook-nose lowered his eyes.
“But I’m sure this man—Vin, his name was?—will pay for it,” the captain continued. Then, to Arvin, in a low voice, “Five plumes is more than enough. And nine more, for your passage.”
Arvin nodded, rummaged in his pouch for the gold coins, and handed them to the captain, who counted five of them into the hand of the guard.
Karrell, meanwhile, moved closer to Arvin. “I am glad you are aboard, Vin,” she said, taking his arm. “Come. We will talk.”
Arvin picked up his pack and followed her to the bow. As they passed the sail, the wind of the ship’s passage hit them full force, whipping Arvin’s cloak. They were traveling up the broad, open river at the speed of a galloping horse; already the cluster of inns that made up Riverboat Landing was far behind.
The windblown how was empty; the closest person was the lookout, who sat on a swing-like perch that had been hoisted to the top of the mast. He was a teenager, judging by the cracking of his voice as he called out hazards on the river ahead. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted back at the captain. “Snag! Snag dead ahead, two hundred paces!”
The yard creaked as the sail shifted, swinging the bow slightly to port. Arvin glanced over the bow and saw a submerged log, its tangled root mass just below the surface and barely visible. The roots were wound around something round and gray, probably a large stone that had been uprooted with the tree when the wind blew it over. Arvin heard a thump and scrape as the hull grazed the snag, and the riverboat continued on its way, having avoided the worst of the hazard thanks to the lookout’s keen eyes.
