monsters lost, the Therans would be wounded and their numbers reduced. An even better opportunity.
"J'role!" I shouted without looking at him, so as to not call Redbeard's attention to him.
"Now's Our chance!"
The tip of Redbeard's whip slapped into my face, blocking my view of J'role's reaction.
For a moment I could think of nothing as blackness stuffed its way into all my senses, blocking any sight, sound, or touch. When I came awake again, it seemed that hours had passed, but I knew it had only been seconds. I felt a thin, ticklish stream of blood dripping down my cheek and soaking into my black slave robe. Redbeard shouted at me, his face close and red, his mouth wide in frantic panic. More screams came from the upper decks. The other slaves began screaming as well, holding up their chains to Redbeard pleading for their freedom.
I glanced past Redbeard, and saw J'role huddled over and quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was working on his lock, using his thief magic to free himself.
My sigh of relief was the first mistake I made that day.
Redbeard saw my reaction, whirled around, searched for what had given me moment of respite. He spotted J'role and rushed toward him. "J'role!" I cried. Your father ignored me and continued to work.
When close enough, Redbeard snapped the whip at your father's back. The clown outfit was long gone, replaced now by a black slave robe already pockmarked with ragged holes from the whip. J'role's body jerked in response to the blow, but he kept working, his attention—as much of it as he could retain—focused on picking the lock.
Again and again Redbeard snapped his whip at J'role. Blood rained down on the slaves behind your father. "Stop him!" I screamed, standing. "Stop him! J'role's our only chance." I do not know whether it was from fear or lack of understanding, but no one stirred to lend a hand.
In his frantic desire to stop J'role, Redbeard gripped his whip with both hands and slid it around J'role's neck. He jerked the whip back and began to strangle your father. Panic seized me and then rage at all those around J'role who refused to help. Options for spells raced through my mind, I had to risk drawing a Horror to me. If a risk must be taken, now was the time. Air blast was unavailable, for I could not fling my chained hands wide enough to cast the spell. Earth darts would have been wonderful—but of course I had no dirt. In fact, I had no spell components of any kind near me.
J'role called out for help, his breathing like the gurgle of a drowning man.
Then I thought of icy surface. Could I lean down far enough? I could only try.
Straining my spine as much as possible, I brought my face as close to floor as I could.
The oar squeezed deep into the flesh of my stomach and thighs. I focused on tapping into the astral plane with my thoughts, drawing the magical energy needed to collect the moisture in the room's air. My mind slipped into the strange place between our world and all the worlds around ours.
Were Horrors near? Would they sense me in my weakened, magically exposed state?
The ship tossed back and forth in the rough winds of the rain storm. Screams filled the air during the tiny gaps between the storm's howling. I heard someone shouting from up the stairs, making Redbeard look up and call back. Then he returned his attention to J'role.
I exhaled, my breath turning as misty and white as it might on the upper reaches of a mountain. The mist flowed down from my mouth, and a thick layer of ice formed on the floor. It spread out five feet across, then rushed forward, a blue-silver carpet of ice unfurling, slipping around the legs of the benches the other slaves sat on, racing toward Redbeard, who was still struggling to strangle J'role.
20
The ice rushed up under Redbeard's feet. In that moment he tugged hard on his whip, making J'role gasp sharply. The momentum of the tug rocked Redbeard back, and he uttered a cry of surprise as his feet slid
"J'role!" I shouted without looking at him, so as to not call Redbeard's attention to him.
"Now's Our chance!"
The tip of Redbeard's whip slapped into my face, blocking my view of J'role's reaction.
For a moment I could think of nothing as blackness stuffed its way into all my senses, blocking any sight, sound, or touch. When I came awake again, it seemed that hours had passed, but I knew it had only been seconds. I felt a thin, ticklish stream of blood dripping down my cheek and soaking into my black slave robe. Redbeard shouted at me, his face close and red, his mouth wide in frantic panic. More screams came from the upper decks. The other slaves began screaming as well, holding up their chains to Redbeard pleading for their freedom.
I glanced past Redbeard, and saw J'role huddled over and quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was working on his lock, using his thief magic to free himself.
My sigh of relief was the first mistake I made that day.
Redbeard saw my reaction, whirled around, searched for what had given me moment of respite. He spotted J'role and rushed toward him. "J'role!" I cried. Your father ignored me and continued to work.
When close enough, Redbeard snapped the whip at your father's back. The clown outfit was long gone, replaced now by a black slave robe already pockmarked with ragged holes from the whip. J'role's body jerked in response to the blow, but he kept working, his attention—as much of it as he could retain—focused on picking the lock.
Again and again Redbeard snapped his whip at J'role. Blood rained down on the slaves behind your father. "Stop him!" I screamed, standing. "Stop him! J'role's our only chance." I do not know whether it was from fear or lack of understanding, but no one stirred to lend a hand.
In his frantic desire to stop J'role, Redbeard gripped his whip with both hands and slid it around J'role's neck. He jerked the whip back and began to strangle your father. Panic seized me and then rage at all those around J'role who refused to help. Options for spells raced through my mind, I had to risk drawing a Horror to me. If a risk must be taken, now was the time. Air blast was unavailable, for I could not fling my chained hands wide enough to cast the spell. Earth darts would have been wonderful—but of course I had no dirt. In fact, I had no spell components of any kind near me.
J'role called out for help, his breathing like the gurgle of a drowning man.
Then I thought of icy surface. Could I lean down far enough? I could only try.
Straining my spine as much as possible, I brought my face as close to floor as I could.
The oar squeezed deep into the flesh of my stomach and thighs. I focused on tapping into the astral plane with my thoughts, drawing the magical energy needed to collect the moisture in the room's air. My mind slipped into the strange place between our world and all the worlds around ours.
Were Horrors near? Would they sense me in my weakened, magically exposed state?
The ship tossed back and forth in the rough winds of the rain storm. Screams filled the air during the tiny gaps between the storm's howling. I heard someone shouting from up the stairs, making Redbeard look up and call back. Then he returned his attention to J'role.
I exhaled, my breath turning as misty and white as it might on the upper reaches of a mountain. The mist flowed down from my mouth, and a thick layer of ice formed on the floor. It spread out five feet across, then rushed forward, a blue-silver carpet of ice unfurling, slipping around the legs of the benches the other slaves sat on, racing toward Redbeard, who was still struggling to strangle J'role.
20
The ice rushed up under Redbeard's feet. In that moment he tugged hard on his whip, making J'role gasp sharply. The momentum of the tug rocked Redbeard back, and he uttered a cry of surprise as his feet slid
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