The Flying Hound was back on the sea, this time setting out across the Bay of Nordos with no land in sight. The massive bay was filled with clear blue water, and the shining sun filled it with light. They had passed no ships in a few days, but they saw a massive Numa coupled barge on the horizon that morning.
In the makeshift infirmary, Vaenuth asked, “How is he doing?”
Tagg was resting in a bed, without blankets. They had made him comfortable with the best cot they could find, but kept his shoulders low by giving him only a small pillow for his head. His bandages were changed daily, but he was feverish and weak still.
“The wound festers still,” muttered Natch, the ship’s doctor. He was grinding herbs in a mortar when Vaenuth stood in the threshold of the infirmary.
Tagg squinted at her. “Vae, ‘morning…” he sighed.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” Natch said. The man was tall, and had to walk with his neck bent over when he was in the cabins. Thankfully, the hallway was lower than the rooms, and he stretched as he brushed past Vaenuth.
Vaenuth sat down on the small wooden stool beside Tagg’s bed. Her friend was pale, and the skin around his bandage was swollen and pink. “How do you feel?” she asked him.
“Great,” Tagg replied. “We should be able to resume sparring in the morning…”
“It is the morning,” Vaenuth said. He laughed, but then winced. She frowned. “Don’t worry about sparring, don’t worry about anything. We’re good. Pressip and the others are still doing drills, and I join them too. And I’m still eating.”
“Hah. Then you don’t even need me,” Tagg said, smirking.
“I do,” she retorted. “Tagg, I—”
The mercenary shook his pale face. “No,” he said, “You don’t apologize for a good fight. I was reckless, I know I was. But you don’t need to say sorry for picking a fight where a fight needed picking. Ha-hah! The look on that big oaf’s face when he realized you weren’t actually going back to your room with him.”
Vaenuth laughed. She had to. “Thanks,” she managed. They had left Varravar the day after that stupid brawl with no problems, and were a third of the way to the point of Var Nordos, where the Sinking City of Noress-That-Was awaited. From there it was a quick voyage with Steaming Winds around the barren point of Radregar to Sheld.
“Does it discourage your vengeance quest?”
She blinked. “What?”
“If we kill the slaver you’re after, and we kill his family… men like those won’t blink an eye. You’ll still get insulted the next time you’re in the wrong bar,” Tagg said.
Vaenuth shrugged. “I’m not changing anything. This is something I have to do for me, not for the world. I don’t care one bit about the world.”
Tagg nodded. “Good. You’ve never been a fool, have you?”
“No, just a whore, and a caravaneer, and a blade of revenge,” she said. “When I want to fight, I’ll still fight. Nothing changes. But hopefully my friends take less knives in their shoulders.”
“Hopefully,” the warrior said, smiling. “I won’t let it happen again, boss.”
Vaenuth scoffed. “Better not. And you’d better heal up on the double.”
Tagg nodded. He gingerly touched the skin above his heart, and sighed. “As soon as I can, boss,” he said. He inhaled, and gently exhaled.
Vaenuth marched down the hallway, and Natch returned to his bedside post. She clambered up the ladder to top-deck and watched the clear waves passing them by. There was a whale half a mile away, a big black hide cresting the surface and letting loose a spray of water from its blowhole. She glanced up at Captain Smetter. The man’s big cheek scar was not visible from this vantage, though it still looked like he had only half a beard because of it. He had claimed he lost half of his cheek to a shark’s fangs, but the scar had looked more like a smooth edged blade than an animal’s teeth. He nodded to her, as she went off to find her healthier friends.