"Crack--!"
The gleaming ice blade struck the mast with a fierce gust, exploding into a skyful of shattered ice and splinters. But Lute reacted just as quickly. He had already leaped from the crossbeam before the attack landed, dodging it.
Then Brando heard a series of swishing sounds as the ropes snapped. He watched the rigging fastened to the crossbeam spring loose one by one from the point struck by the ice blade. The enormous sail rustled as it fell from the mast—like a lowered white flag, it enveloped everyone on the deck.
White Mist let out a low growl, all her fur standing on end like needles. She was about to launch a second attack, but Brando groped his way out from beneath the sail and grabbed her.
"Don't be rash, Lady White Mist!" he shouted.
"Get out of my way! I'm killing this damn bug today!" White Mist snarled repeatedly.
The adjective seemed to anger the haughty elven gentleman hovering in midair. "Who are you calling a mosquito?" Lute answered furiously. He held his hands out as if gripping something, and an elemental sword wreathed in flames appeared in them.
"I said a bug!"
"Enough, both of you!" Brando threw open the canvas and freed the Fae Lady, who was tangled in the rigging. Then he looked up and saw the Flame Sword in Lute's hands. At last, he lost his temper.
This wasn't a joke. Even if Lute's strike wouldn't injure anyone aboard, the ship itself probably wouldn't survive it.
Brando snapped, "White Mist, you're a saint of the ancient witches, and Mr. Lute, you're a scion of Fosedes. Show at least a little dignity!"
Of course, he wasn't merely paying lip service. The power of the laws of space instantly spread out. White Mist let out