Chapter 3

Wil studied the wards along the hull, following the swirls and patterns of the runes as they traveled the length of the storage hold, all while ignoring the complaints and curses hurled in his direction.

Concentrating on filtering out his companions, he traced the lines with a finger, feeling how they cut into the wood. They enhanced the strength of the structure, repelling water and keeping the storage dry as a bone. He even spotted a couple glyphs responsible for keeping out pests and rodents, buried in amongst the others.

Crash!

Spinning around at the sound of smashed pottery, he saw Bell and Garman staring down at a spreading pool of wine, the clay jug in pieces around their feet. Immediately, the pair shared a glance, an evil grin spreading on Garman’s face.

“Well, Junior, looks like you got a handle on things down here. Shame you broke that jug. The young miss is going to be so disappointed. Come on Bell, we better break the news to her.” Garman said, not even waiting for Bell before briskly leaving the storage hold, his boots leaving tracks in the red wine.

“Tut tut tut, poor Willy. She’s going to have a fit. Good luck with everything!” Bell said with a wave as he ran away faster that Wil thought the bony man was capable of.

Mouth open, Wil hadn’t even had time to say anything before he was left alone, stacks of goods in the center of the hold. At least the pair had managed to push everything away from the walls, giving him access to the wards.

Shaking his head, he idly waved his hand, casting his familiar cleaning spell on the mess, magicking away the evidence. Turning back the runes, he followed them around the entire room.

Ending up where he started, he came to two conclusions. First, the wards on the Drake were excellently constructed. A true masterpiece, they used the ambient mana in the air and water surrounding the ship to power them. They were even connected to the lights in the lower decks and provided heat automatically when the temperature dropped.

The second conclusion was that he was decades too inexperienced to copy, alter or improve any of them. He was like a child who had just learned the alphabet, trying to read a technical manual. He could spot some familiar runes, the functions of small sections of the wards, but he had no idea how they were all connected.

Sitting down on a crate, Wil rested his head in his hands, thinking about what to do.

He could already feel Martin’s healing fading, the seasickness returning, and a headache was forming behind his eyes. He wished healing worked like the wards, just a steady relief provided by the ambient mana, and if a wound was serious, he could just pump his own mana into it, healing his injuries…

Standing upright, the idea still fresh in his mind, he took a step forward, before doubling over, his belly in knots. He instantly regretted the quick movement, taking deep breaths to calm his stomach, all the while the idea turned and rolled in his head, a match for the deck beneath his feet.

The wards were powered by ambient mana, maintaining a steady flow. They weren’t designed to be changed and couldn’t be increased, even if more mana surrounded the ship. But, what if he could pump his mana into the wards? Or the mana from his companions. Could he improve them, at least for a short period of time?

His stomach settling, he carefully stood upright, moving to the wards, he traced them again. Not content with just those in the storage, he needed to track them throughout the ship.

Engrossed with his inspection, Wil forgot his seasickness, and the movement of the ship as he looked for an answer.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Wil broke an amphora of eastern ‘Vinum’? You realize those are worth a thousand coin each!” Annabelle hissed, her face flushed with anger as she stared daggers at the two men in front of her.

Although both were higher ranked and could probably snap her in half with barely any effort, they were both very careful not to further upset their boss.

Technically, Garman worked for House Brookmoor and was assigned to protect Wil, but on the Drake, Annabelle Quentin was everyone’s boss.

“We know. The lad was in a mess, stumbling all over the hold. Seasick again, poor bastard.” Bell explained, slowly walking backwards towards the cabin door.

“We told him to be flamin’ careful, but you know how bloody headstrong he is. Wouldn’t listen to a word we said.” Garman backed up Bell’s story, also inching his way towards the door.

“That’s bullshit and we all know it. Now, I’m going to dock both your pay and…” Quentin was interrupted by the cabin door being flung open, an out of breath Wil rushing into the room.

Panting and off balance, he stumbled across the floor, smacking into the desk in the center of the room. Leaning over the wood, he dry heaved as his stomach turned again.

“Oh, for the love of the goddess! Do not vomit onto my desk, Wil!” She shrieked, rushing to his side and handing him a bucket she kept in the room for Wil’s visits.

“I’ve got an idea…Urk!” He stopped talking as he retched again, his face completely inside the wooden bucket.

“Ok, that’s great. Should I ask Martin to help?” She asked, comforting her friend as she gently rubbed his back. After a minute, Wil straightened, his face flushed and covered in a cold sweat. He waved away the offer to fetch the cleric, before sitting in Annabelle’s desk chair.

“No need, I’ll be fine. Besides, we’re going to need all the mana we can spare. I have an idea!” Wil said, wiping his brow from a handkerchief Bell offered.

“Alright Lad, we knew you could come up with a solution. You spotted something in the wards?” Bell asked, sitting in one of the others chairs in the cabin. Wil nodded at the question, before taking a deep breath to explain.

“The wards are designed to always be active, drawing ambient mana from the surroundings to fuel them. They’re not nearly strong as the ones we saw in Aachen.” Wil looked at Garman when he said this, before turning back to the others.

“But they’re steady, and efficient. Always providing a nice, even flow of power to strengthen the hull, keep the decks dry and the lights on. The thing is, we can sail without them, a lot of ships do, but it’s like fighting a battle without armor. Sure, you can do it, but who would be dumb enough?” Wil said.

“Why would we need to bloody sail without them? You would need to be a suicidal moron to want to shut off the wards.” Garman said, before pausing and eyeing Wil. The look of guilt on the young man’s face told him everything he needed to know.

“You’re a suicidal moron, Junior! Why in the nine layers of hell would you want to do that!?” Garman shouted.

“Bell, can you bring the captain here? I want his input for this.” Annabelle ordered.

Bell climbed to his feet quickly, eager to leave the room. The discussion was on hold until the captain returned. Walking into the room, the tall, tanned older man could instantly tell something terrible was about to be discussed.

“Alright Junior, explain your dumb plan.” Garman ordered, sitting in Bell’s vacated chair while the captain occupied the one opposite it. Quentin, out of chairs in her own cabin, was forced to lean against the windowsill, waiting for an explanation.

“Like I said, the ship doesn’t need the wards active to sail. We can do without them.” Wil said, looking at the captain for confirmation.

“We can, if the seas are calm, the hull will have no difficulty holding. But for the storm you forecasted, we will need the wards to survive.” The captain explained, before continuing.

“But the wards are not designed to be operated manually, they function continuously. I do not know if they can even be turned off, nor do I understand why you would want to.” He finished, looking at the young mage for an answer.

“I don’t want to turn them off, quite the opposite in fact. I found a way to overcharge the wards, direct more power into them than they could normally provide. I believe that by having myself and a few of the others channel mana into the wards, we can double or even triple their strength. Hopefully that would be enough to see us through the worse of the storm.” Wil explained, gesturing with his hands.

“There’s a ‘but’, Junior. What is it, spit it out! Let me guess, there’s a chance we’ll explode?” Garman interrogated, standing from his chair and pacing the room.

“No no no, I doubt that would happen. Maybe it could, I’m not sure. It’s very unlikely the ship will explode.” Wil waved away the possibility.

“The most likely scenario is that the overpowered wards will burn out, and I’m not sure how long we can maintain them in once we start funneling mana into them.”

“The options, Mr. Brookmoor, If I understand them correctly, is we attempt to ride out the storm with the wards running normally. If we cannot endure, we ‘overpower’ the wards, risking explosion or irreparable damage to them, for an unknown amount of time, whereby they will be stronger.” The captain summarized, his face looking grave.

“Yes, and if we do manage to survive, we’ll have to complete the rest of the voyage without them. We won’t be able to rely on the wards if we encounter more bad weather.”

“That’s a hell of a roll of the dice, Junior. Do nothing and we die, do something and we may explode and die. Then, if we’re lucky enough to survive, we’re a fart away from sinking.” Garman said, pausing in his pacing for a moment.

“Yes, I’ll admit, it’s not a great plan. But, you wanted a miracle, this is all I have to offer.” Wil said, resting his head in his hands and covering his eyes. The headache was back in full force, threatening to split his head apart.

The only thought that swirled in his mind now, as the others discussed the strategy, was that he should have studied enchanting and runes in the Academy, instead of history.