“It wasn’t the storm,” Sir Ralston said. “That ship has been there too long.”
Leshie looked up at him. “How do you know?”
“The bodies on deck. They’re entering a later stage of decomposition. Those men have been dead for several weeks.”
Saska took a grip of her Varin dagger, which she had come to find enhanced her sight just a little more than regular godsteel. There were several dead men on deck wearing sun-scorched cloaks and bits of rusting armour. That alone suggested they’d been lying there a while. The fact that there were crabs picking at what remained of their flesh was a better sign, however.
She nodded. “A few weeks sounds about right.”
Leshie frowned at her. She wasn’t able to see so far, not in such detail anyway. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Or I guess we could just ask the innkeeper. He’ll be able to tell us when they ran aground.”
“Several weeks ago,” Rolly repeated. “There’s no need to trouble the man.”
The Red Blade shrugged. “If you say so. So who are they, then? Tukoran?”
“It would seem likely,” Sir Ralston said. “By their clothing.”
“But not the ship,” Saska pointed out. She knew enough about the styles of northern and southern ships to see that this caravel was of Aramatian design. The differences were subtle, if noticeable for someone looking for them, and what remained of the figurehead showed a snarling sunwolf. “It’s Aramatian.”
Leshie bit her lip, trying to puzzle it out. “Shall we go down and investigate?” She took a step forward, looking over the edge of the cliff. “I can get down there, no problem.”
“And how would you reach the ship?” the Wall asked her. “It’s a hundred metres from the beach.”
“Hmmm, I wonder,” the girl said, rubbing her chin. “I don’t know, maybe I’d…swim? And not in my armour, before you ask. I’d take that off first, obviously.”
The Wall shook his head. “These are shark-infested waters. You would only be risking your life and for no profit whatsoever. Most likely this ship was a part of the coalition armada that sailed south from Eagle’s Perch. By the damage to the vessel it was likely attacked. Torn masts and holes in the bulwarks suggest the work of a kraken.”
Leshie whistled through her lips. “That’s a battle I’d have liked to see.”
“Wasn’t much of a battle, by the look of the ship,” Saska remarked.
“I think I know who they are,” said Del.
Everyone looked at him. Leshie jabbed him in the arm. “Go on then, Squire. Enlighten us.”
“Sir Clive Fanning,” Del said, in that way of his, as though he wasn’t quite sure. Sometimes he made answers sound like questions, by the cadence of his voice, the unsure frame of his eyes. “I think, anyway.”
“And who’s Clive Fanning?” Saska asked him.
“He was a knight. One who spoke out against Lord Kastor, and the alliance he made with the sunlord. Sir Bernie said that he escaped, from the port at Kolash, after we’d won the city. There was a lot of trouble, after what happened with Sir Alistair. Lord Kastor killed him, for mutiny, and after that Sir Alistair’s men tried to leave, but were caught and killed at the docks. But Sir Clive…he got away, I heard. Him and seventy men.”
“Well…they didn’t get far,” Leshie said, deadpan. “We passed Kolash only days ago.”
But he clearly made it through the Solapian Channel, Saska thought. That meant he must have avoided the attention of the krelia, only to then come upon a kraken instead, if what Sir Ralston said was true. That was like avoiding dying in a blazing fire, only to suffocate from ash fumes anyway. Poor men. To get away from that bastard Kastor only to die screaming at sea…
“Do you think anyone survived?” Del asked. “They might have swum to shore and climbed the cliff.”
Sir Ralston nodded at the possibility. “I will ask the innkeeper if he has heard anything.” He turned to leave the cliffside, marching away. There seemed no further reason for them to remain there, staring at the wreck, and the sun was growing fierce, so the three of them returned to the shade of the trees.
As soon as they arrived they were joined by the master archer, Kaa Sokari, who paced right up to Del with a look of hard disapproval cast onto his leathery face. “How does the spider catch the fly?” he asked. “How does the eagle snare the vole?”
Del looked stumped. “I…” He managed nothing more than a croak, then turned to look at Saska.
“No, do not look at her. You must learn to think for yourself. You must learn not to rely on others. Look at me.”
Del looked back into Kaa Sokari’s stern eyes.
“I ask again. How does the spider catch the fly? How does the eagle snare the vole?”
Del swallowed, trying hard not to look away from him. “They…they’re born to…to…” His eyes flickered to the side, then back again.
Kaa Sokari leaned in. “Yes?”
“They’re born to…to do it. To catch their prey. It’s instinct.”
“Yes. Instinct. It is something written into them, to catch these creatures on which they prey. Yet instinct is not everything. They still will fail, and try again, and fail and try and fail and try until this instinct of theirs is honed and mastered to an art. Sometimes the fly will wriggle free of the web. Sometimes the eagle will mistime its plunge and give the vole a chance to escape. But they do not stop, they do not give up. They try again, and again, and again, because they must. If they do not they will die, they will starve, and this is how you must think.” He lifted his chin, peering down with those keen eyes of his eyes. “Where is your bow?”
“I left it…” Del pointed. “It’s with my horse.”
“Your horse should have a name by now,” Sokari said. “You will name him by the end of this day. Yes?”
“Yes...”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes…Master.’
Kaa Sokari gave a nod. “Better. Now go, and fetch your bow. You must take these chances to train, every chance possible, to hone this instinct of yours into something worthwhile, and not be drawn to idle interest.” He peered over to the cliffs, the seas beyond a hard flat blue, calm after the passing of the storm. “What were you doing out there?”
