Kaz wasn't one to bother with idle turns of phrase, but he could appreciate the momentary literary irony of their situation. After all, he knew the power of words and visuals. He knew that right now, a literal mountain range divided them between safety and the enemy, and that the ships heading their way would want to sway them on the wrong side of that equation.
Numbers and angles. Those he felt more solid when working with, because wasn't even poetry a type of math when one got down to it?
Kaz couldn't keep the little raft afloat, and he couldn't keep the farthest away at bay. He could however maneuver his friends and family into the position to where they could best show their talents and keep everyone alive. He worked best from that position, the man behind a massive array of talent that everyone else underestimated. He simply put proverbial and literal knives in their hands and told them they were dangerous until they believed it.
Or, like Kate, he convinced to work alongside them. Just as she'd convinced him to work alongside her.
He tasted the bitter salt of the water, felt the waves rapidly throwing them as they made their way to shore. Lucky snarled and bit the arm of someone who tried to get too close, with Kaz taking care of the rest of them. Nina lulled people who veered near into a stupor as their long-range fighters held back the massive army.
Then the water fought back.
A man that Kaz had just stabbed, about to sink under, looked at him with a terrible blue smile. Eyes bled red with watery rage filling his veins, and the voice of ancient Tides said through his puppet mouth, "We are owed what was stolen from us."
The raft then capsized.
Kaz was thrown. Owed? Did they mean the drugs? Did they mean the man Kaz had stashed and proclaimed dead who had made the jurda parem? Did they mean the grave he should have joined Jordie in?
Did they mean something he didn't even know?
Kaz grasped Wylan, thrusting him towards Jesper. He then reached out to Kate, trying to tug them both along, with her doing plenty of the heavy lifting, to shore.
Almost there.
Nina behind them with terrible power cast the dead who tried to rise in the waves back against them. A bit of necromancy she hated to show and didn't want to talk about when they all were washed to shore, bedraggled, bloodied, and without any way home.
Kaz forced himself to his feet, stumbled as the watery edges tried to pull him back. "Northeast," he rasped hoarsely, like a destination was both the question and the answer needed right now.
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Kaz wasn't one to bother with idle turns of phrase, but he could appreciate the momentary literary irony of their situation. After all, he knew the power of words and visuals. He knew that right now, a literal mountain range divided them between safety and the enemy, and that the ships heading their way would want to sway them on the wrong side of that equation.
Numbers and angles. Those he felt more solid when working with, because wasn't even poetry a type of math when one got down to it?
Kaz couldn't keep the little raft afloat, and he couldn't keep the farthest away at bay. He could however maneuver his friends and family into the position to where they could best show their talents and keep everyone alive. He worked best from that position, the man behind a massive array of talent that everyone else underestimated. He simply put proverbial and literal knives in their hands and told them they were dangerous until they believed it.
Or, like Kate, he convinced to work alongside them. Just as she'd convinced him to work alongside her.
He tasted the bitter salt of the water, felt the waves rapidly throwing them as they made their way to shore. Lucky snarled and bit the arm of someone who tried to get too close, with Kaz taking care of the rest of them. Nina lulled people who veered near into a stupor as their long-range fighters held back the massive army.
Then the water fought back.
A man that Kaz had just stabbed, about to sink under, looked at him with a terrible blue smile. Eyes bled red with watery rage filling his veins, and the voice of ancient Tides said through his puppet mouth, "We are owed what was stolen from us."
The raft then capsized.
Kaz was thrown. Owed? Did they mean the drugs? Did they mean the man Kaz had stashed and proclaimed dead who had made the jurda parem? Did they mean the grave he should have joined Jordie in?
Did they mean something he didn't even know?
Kaz grasped Wylan, thrusting him towards Jesper. He then reached out to Kate, trying to tug them both along, with her doing plenty of the heavy lifting, to shore.
Almost there.
Nina behind them with terrible power cast the dead who tried to rise in the waves back against them. A bit of necromancy she hated to show and didn't want to talk about when they all were washed to shore, bedraggled, bloodied, and without any way home.
Kaz forced himself to his feet, stumbled as the watery edges tried to pull him back. "Northeast," he rasped hoarsely, like a destination was both the question and the answer needed right now.