The Society of the Sword Trilogy by Duncan M. Hamilton

Author:Duncan M. Hamilton [Hamilton, Duncan M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The following morning proved that Joris’s prediction was correct. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky over the horizon, and the air had become noticeably colder. The clouds reminded him of the shroud over Vellin-Ilora and the memory made him a little uncomfortable, but there were new things to worry about now. The wind had shifted into the north and increased steadily over the night. Joris said he expected the storm to be upon them by midday. The western coast of the Middle Sea was still a long way off, and there was no hope of making landfall before it hit.

Soren spent all morning feeling useless. The sailors worked frantically, doubling up each of the lines and sheets used to control the sails so that if one broke there would be a backup. All of the rigging was checked for wear and reinforced where necessary. All of the cargo and loose items on board the ship were secured down and everyone on board enjoyed their last hot meal before the galley fire was extinguished. Everyone had a job to do but Soren, leaving him to watch the angry black clouds crawl across the sky toward them and wonder how nervous he should be. The sailors maintained their usual patter of fatalistic humour, but there was noticeable tension on board.

The first indication of the storm being close came with an increase in the sea state. Where before there had been a steady and regular pitching of the ship, now the waves were larger, more confused and the Honest Christophe felt as though she was being thrown in several directions at once. Soren’s earlier hopes that he had become accustomed to a life at sea proved unfounded as the familiar nausea returned and he vomited that last hot meal back over the side.

The day darkened quickly and Soren felt as if he was back in Vellin-Ilora. The wind whistled through the rigging and spray started to break across the deck of the Honest Christophe. The crew were not chatting now; the fatalistic humour was replaced by silence and gritted teeth. Joris stood determinedly at the wheel, his face showing ever greater strain as he wrestled with it, struggling to keep control of his ship and ensure she remained on his chosen course.

As the wind continued to build, the whistling increased to a constant screech that made it impossible to hear even his own voice. Joris had one of his crew tie him to the binnacle so he could concentrate on the wheel and not have to worry about hanging on to the ship. Soren didn’t need to be told twice when one of the crew instructed him to go below and lash himself into his hammock.

The next several hours were a nightmarish blur. Strapped into his hammock, Soren’s body was flung back and forth with each violent pitch and roll of the ship. Sleep was impossible and, isolated in the darkness below the decks, he had no idea what was going on.

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