Novel 3. The Last Autumn

— What... is... something wrong, Captain? — Armando asked, dropping his bare feet to the floor.

— No, just... — Valria took a step back, and to the don's surprise, she hesitated. — I need some personal advice... of a romantic nature.

— From me? — He blinked a lot, not yet awake.

— Yep.

— Why... why me?

— Who else? — The girl spread her slender fingers, covered in brown leather gloves, and began to curl them one at a time. — I can't ask Dallan about such things, Carlon will snicker instead of give advice, Maria knows romance only from books, Green won't be able to understand the subtleties, and I've known Alex for a week. I need advice. You're the best candidate.

— Well, what's the matter? — To hide his embarrassment, de Gorazzo bent down to pick up his boots. The floorboards were cold on his feet, and it would be a bad time to get sick.

— I... — Valria looked back at the door, wiggling her ears. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper: — I'm starting to be... attracted to Elena.

— To the navigator? — Don clarified, just to keep quiet.

— No, to the ship! — The elf growled in the same whisper. — I want to hug the mast and kiss it passionately.

— And what should I advise you? — Armando looked up at the captain as he put on his boots.

Valria took another step back, leaned her back against the bulkhead. She took a deep breath:

— I... don't know what to do about it. I love Dallan, that's out of the question. I don't need anyone else. But the more I see Elena, the more I'm... drawn to her... She's a boring bore, but she's smart, honest... beautiful... unusual. Her little ears, her dark skin... It's more of a physical attraction. — The captain clenched her fists. — It's getting stronger. When we were leaning over a map of the bay together the other day, I almost kissed her on the lips. Scared myself.

— Is this the first time this has happened to you? — Don asked in a more serious tone.

— Yes, — the elf confessed after a pause. — It was different with Dallan. And... it's still different.

— You're just growing up, Captain, — Armando smiled. — You'll have to learn to control your feelings, that's all. Separate the attraction of body and soul, as one of the town priests used to say.

— I'm older than your grandmother. — Valria grinned, her ears drooping parallel to her shoulders. — You haven't forgotten, have you?

— What if you were to confess to Elena? — De Gorazzo suggested cautiously. — What if she doesn't mind? From what I know of elves, sharing a bed with three of you is normal.

— It's fine for me, — the girl agreed abruptly, lowering her ears even further. The sharp tips were almost touching her shoulders now. — It was fine for Elena. Dallan is human. I've learnt to understand you a little. For my sake she will accept this. But she will not understand. I'll never hurt her in my life.

— Then just bear with it, — Armando said. — Stay close to Dallan. Not much more, though.

Valria sighed. She looked at the don with a sidelong glance and said:

— I have...

— A plan? — Armando raised his eyebrows

— Yes. As commander, I'm instructing you to start flirting with navigator Elena.

— Why? — De Gorazzo wasn't even particularly surprised.

— Because I'm a decent girl, — the captain wagged her finger at him. — It would be a lot easier for me to hold back at the thought of Elena is not free.

— You know that I have already... — De Gorazzo began, but suddenly there was a loud shout and a clatter of feet from above. There was a commotion.

— Do you hear that? Something's wrong. We should go upstairs and see, — Valria decided without even listening to Armando's objections. She slipped out the door, and the former bailiff had no choice but to follow.

The morning was overcast. A fresh wind was blowing, the sky was grey, and a black band of clouds was visible at the horizon. The caravel swayed gently on the waves, meeting them head-on. Most of the crew huddled along the sides, craning their necks to look astern. A few sailors were climbing up the cables.

— I can guess what the fuss is about, — Valria frowned, and de Gorazzo nodded in agreement. Together they went up to the shelter, where they found the skipper, Elena, and master Carlon.

— We're being chased, ha-ha! — the master of the caravel cheerfully informed the new arrivals. — The lookout had noticed a few minutes ago.

— Who? — Armando asked quickly.

— What do you think? An Iolian galleon, with two big, heavy carracks alongside it. — Dorlt pointed back with a wave of his hand, as if the ships in question were standing right there, a few feet from the "Elena". But Armando saw only whitish dots where the greenish sea met the grey sky. They must have been sails.

— They fixed the rudder fast, — Vlria said, resting her palms on the bulwark.

— This is not the galleon we damaged at Innoto's," — he skipper shook his head. — This one is bigger and faster. The squadrons blockading Erdo's other ports must have joined the hunt.

— How did they find us, I wonder? — Carlon muttered. The Imperial mage seemed even more sullen and disgruntled than usual. — How do our pursuers find us all the time? Both on land and sea...

— What's the use of looking for us, ha-ha-ha! — The skipper laughed, throwing back his head. — The sea is not as big as it looks from land, master. There are paths and trails, too. We have two roads to the imperial ports, and they're checking both. They have enough forces.

The question of how the "Bright Heads" would get home was a thorny one. According to Dorlt's words, there were only two options: to sail east or west. Alas, in the east, the shape of the continent itself prevented them from reaching the shores of the Empire. One would either have to circle the continent from the south, which required many months of sailing, or land and make their way across the southern steppes on foot, with only three horses for a dozen men. With the Great Steppe now resembling an anthill, the chances of reaching the borders of the Empire or one of the southern vassal duchies looked slim. The western tip of the continent was much closer. Once round it, the "Elena" could follow the northern coast all the way to Elvart. The problem was that the entire western bulge of the continent was occupied by the Luminous Republic of Iolia, whose fleet the caravel was currently dodging. It was this fortunate location that had once brought wealth to the alliance of three free trading cities. Ships carrying goods from the north to the south of Old Daert and back again invariably called at Iolian ports. To the west of the mainland lay the archipelago known as the Thousand Isles, a great many pieces of land either uninhabited or occupied by pirate lairs and Republic garrisons. A dash westward for the "Elena" looked like a risky gamble, where much depended on whether news of the mercenaries' escape would overtake their ship in time. Of course, Captain Valria had insisted on this option. Surprisingly enough, she was supported by the navigator. "It's simply unseemly to disembark passengers halfway through the journey and have them travel overland,"— Elena explained, tapping her fingers on the shank of her shiny black thigh-high boots: — The western route has a chance to get them directly to their destination in the shortest time possible, so it's the best". Thus, after breaking the blockade, the caravel set course for the lion's den, the home waters of her pursuers.

— Can they catch up with us? — Valria asked, not taking her eyes off the distant sails.

— Depends on the wind. — The skipper scratched his beard, like master Carlon in his moments of thought. — We have slant rigging, they have more straight sails. That gives an advantage in different situations. But I think the galleon is faster than the "Elena". And we'll have to look at the carracks.

— And we can't be sure these ships are the last ones on our tail, — the Imperial mage added. — Maybe there will be others soon.

— Or we might even be blocked by ships coming from Iolia, — the elf nodded in agreement. — Ha! A good reason to add risk and the Lord's will to the campaign.

— Even more? — The mage asked sceptically.

— What do you mean, skipper? — De Gorazzo asked at the same time as the magician.

— Storm! — The master of the caravel turned to face the clouds coming from the horizon, spreading his arms as if he wanted to embrace them. — Ha! The summer storm season has begun. Before leaving Innoto, I visited the harbour astrologers. They gave me the storm schedule for the month. There's gonna be a storm today. If we go ashore, we'll be caught on the very edge. But we'll go seaward. Straight into the storm. We'll go right through it and throw off the chase. If we do it right, the storm will also give us speed in the right direction.

— Give me the dinghy, I'll get off right here. — Valria turned sharply to the skipper. The blood rushed from her face, and her eyes widened. It was the first time Armando had ever seen the golden-haired elf so frightened. To be honest, he'd never seen her seriously afraid of anything before. — Which way to the shore?

— Calm down, Captain, — navigator Elena said softly. She stepped towards Valria and put her hand on girl's shoulder. The touch made the pale elf shudder. — The storm is not the strongest, our ship is strong and our crew is experienced. Everything will be all right. I swear you won't be in any danger.

...Armando remembered the words of the swarthy elf on the third day of sailing through the storm, when he returned from the deck wet to the skin. The sailors were exhausted, and the "Elena" had to not only keep on the waves, but also to follow the right course. Skipper Dorlt asked all the male passengers to join in the labour of the crew. Lady Maria and Sergeant Dallan also volunteered to help, but the bearded elf only accepted the sergeant's request. To the Guardswoman, however, he said with a smile: "Sorry, lady, your bone is too thin. Ha! Better talk to the ship's doctor, he's sure to find something for you to do." It didn't seem very fair, considering that the skipper's daughter had spent two or three shifts in a row on deck, being even more frail-looking than Maria. De Gorazzo, however, was happy for the lady, but in time his joy began to turn to envy.

Entering the superstructure, an exhausted and shivering Armando pulled his water-soaked cloak from his shoulders. Wringing it out on the floor, the don took a step towards the gangway... and froze. Through the roar of the wind and the creaking of the spars, a cry came to his ears. Very close by, someone was crying, coughing, choking, crying again. It took de Gorazzo a few seconds to determine that the sounds were coming from the ajar door of a cabin. The "women's" quarters. "Elena's" master had put the men of the mercenary company in a cramped cabin below deck, where hammocks were stretched between the beams. To the girls he gave the best apartments in the aft superstructure, near his study. It was there that the don looked in with some apprehension. The door must have opened from the rocking, and through the narrow slit Armando saw something he should not have seen. On a wide bed nailed to the floor sat Dallan, recently returned from watch, the sergeant's blond hair still damp, sticking to her forehead. Valria, clad only in her undershirt, lay there on the crumpled sheets, both hands clutching her friend... and crying aloud. The elven girl had her nose pressed against the sergeant's stomach so that de Gorazzo could not see her face, but her shoulders shook with sobs, her pointed ears went up and down, and her legs twitched convulsively. At times the crying was interrupted by a hiccup or a cough. Dallan sat upright as if she had swallowed a spade and stroked the commander's head with a stony face. At the folding table, Lady Maria, without gloves or jacket and with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, was concentrating on mixing some ingredients in a wooden bowl.

"I'm a dead man," Armando thought. If the captain found out he'd seen her like this, she'd throw the extra witness overboard as soon as she recovered. Or launch a woodworm bug up his nose at night, which she's personally train to devour his brain. Or kiss him in front of Dallan. Or invent another way to condemn him to a painful death... Stepping as silently as possible in the swaying corridor of a ship sailing through a storm, de Gorazzo backed away from the door, sneaking towards the gangway. No sooner had the former bailiff taken a dozen steps than the sash slammed behind him. Armando turned round frightened. He exhaled with relief. Lady Maria, having closed the cabin door tighter, nodded to him in greeting. When she came closer, she grasped the iron bracket in the wall and asked quietly:

— How are you, Don Armando?

— I'm tired, — de Gorazzo admitted frankly, admiring his companion. She looked even more beautiful than usual in a thin white blouse, black trousers, and high boots. Her hair was carelessly pulled back in a ponytail, and the loose strands framed her pale face.

— Don't you feel seasick? — The girl continued to enquire.

— I'm a little dizzy, but I can take it. — The caravel "bowed" to a particularly large wave, and Armando leaned against the railing of the gangway.

— That's good. Captain Valria, on the other hand, is not well at all. — Maria sighed. She said with genuine bitterness in her voice: — It seems that the mountain elves do have a problem with the sea... physically. I've never even heard of a human being suffering so much from the rocking. Are you going down? Let's go together. I'm preparing a potion that should ease the symptoms. I want to borrow something from the ship's doctor's supplies. And I need clean water.

The two of them went below deck, and Armando suggested:

— I'll get a bucket of water, you go get the medicine. I'll put the bucket in the corridor. I don't want to go into the cabin and distract the captain.

— Better go to your room and get some sleep, Don. — Maria shook her chin, smiling faintly. — I can handle the bucket on the dancing deck. When my sisters and I were training to be guardswomen, we had a similar ordeal, only the bucket had to be carried over timbers driven into the ground under the fire of archers. The arrows, of course, were blunt. Well, we were sixteen years old, too.

— Erm... — Armando replied. — You're holding up well, I see.

— Yes, thankfully. — The pale lady smiled a little warmer. — I feel great, which means I can help others. The less fortunate. It's heredity. Guardsmen aren't supposed to know their ancestry, but I'm a northerner, from the islands — you can tell, if only by my height. And Northerners are all pirates and sailors. Born for the sea. Go, Don. I'll take care of Valria and get you something for your nausea.