Scimitar War by Chris A. Jackson Page B

Cammy,” Paska said.
    “Good.” Camilla stepped aboard.
    Paska and Tipos exchanged glances; he shrugged and muttered, “Dis gonna be a short trip, wit’ no wind and chained to de bloody dock.”
    Camilla stood in the cockpit of the little smack and stared down into the water around the piling. The chain was short enough that it could not be lifted up over the top of the foot-thick post, and the lock—an iron padlock as big as Camilla’s hand—was closed through the chain plate of Flothrindel ’s aft stay. She couldn’t break the chain, and forcing the boat forward would break the chain plate and dismast the little boat before it broke the piling. But the piling was surrounded by water.
    Camilla had learned with some simple experimentation that she could not coax the sea like Cynthia did. Her power was darker, and the demon within her despised the salty wetness of this world. Hatred and loathing forced the sea to her will, and now she loosed the reins on the demon’s bottomless well of malevolence, and commanded the sea to obey. Water roiled as she grasped the piling in a vice of her power and pulled it away from the dock. Nails screeched free, and the wood of the dock creaked and snapped, the piling tearing away from the planking.
    “Holy Odea!” Tipos muttered, staring at her.
    There was a muffled crack, and the piling tipped over until its top was at the sea’s surface. Camilla eased the sea’s grip on the piling, then pushed the little smack forward. The chain slipped over the top of the piling, and Flothrindel was free. Camilla heaved a breath, fighting against the heady rush of the demon’s power, the seduction to wield it at will.
    “How you doin’ dis?” Paska asked, her wide eyes pale in the darkness. “And what happened to dem guards?”
    “Never mind how, and forget the guards. You were ready to kill this afternoon to get this boat so you could save your kinsmen,” Camilla snapped. She didn’t need their distractions. “Now you have the boat, and you didn’t have to kill anyone. What’s the problem?”
    Paska shared a stunned look with Tipos, then said, “All right, Miss Cammy, you got us de boat. Now, how we gonna go anywhere wit’ no wind? Dem longboats’ll be on us afore we can—”
    Camilla exerted her will, and the boat surged forward.
    Paska and Tipos started to whisper again but she ignored them, guiding Flothrindel toward the channel. Unfortunately, there were two warships anchored in the bay, and they would have to pass by them to reach safety. Camilla pushed them steadily forward, hoping to slip past unnoticed under cover of the light mist she had created. But she was new to this power, and in propelling the boat forward, she let slip her control over the fog. It began to dissipate.
    “Hey, it’s the smack!” called a voice from high in the closest warship’s rigging. Other voices shouted orders, and an alarm bell clanged.
    Faster ! Camilla commanded the sea. Move us faster !
    Flothrindel leapt forward as more shouts rang out. Paska steered toward the harbor mouth, gripping the tiller hard, but by the time they neared the second warship, a full alarm had been raised. A row of archers stood at the rail, and the ballista crews were cranking furiously at their weapons.
    “Dis ain’t gonna be pretty,” Tipos said as they drew within range.
    “Get down!” Camilla snapped, and the two natives flung themselves to the floor of the cockpit.
    Camilla concentrated on the interface between sea and air, and let the demon’s power flow. In the span of a heartbeat, the air became so thick with moisture that she could barely breathe. Fog rose from the water, obscuring the warship and eliciting an entirely new cacophony of cries and alarms. Camilla stood in the cockpit, her pale hands clutching the hatch coaming until her nails bit into the wood.
    “Miss Cammy, you should be gettin’ down, too!” Paska suggested.
    But she couldn’t get down, not and control both sea and mist.