Riza smiled. "Then you're not blind. There is dissatisfaction among some of my countrymen. They believe the Vanguard of the Drakebane enforces ways of life that haven't been necessary in generations. They argue that years of peace and plenty have proven that the old strictures are outdated. But does this necessarily follow? What if we have peace because of these strictures, and this proves the Drakebane in fact does his duty very well?"
"Fine questions all around, but here's the one my superiors will be concerned about. Are these divisions serious enough to disrupt trade?"
The lord made a rolling motion with his shoulders. "If the Drakebane misreads the current, his opponents could become disruptive. But the swamps are deeper than anyone knows. In hidden waters, there are always other paths."
They moved on to other matters. When dinner concluded, Ki informed Dante that Volo had arrived. She was waiting for him in a courtyard that seemed to serve as a foyer for those who weren't good enough to enter the manor itself.
"We need a rope," Dante told her. "Of highest-quality Tanarian fiber."
She gave him a dubious look. "The best rope comes from the Hana Oso family. And it goes for an ounce of silver per foot."
"Correction: we need a rope of second-highest-quality Tanarian fiber." He handed her a small sack of silver. "Just make sure it's light and strong."
"Those are the only qualities good rope has."
"If you're such an expert on ropes, then I'm sure you'll get me a great one. I need it by tomorrow night. Then we're also going to need a ride to the Bastion—and out of Dara Bode. Can you do that?"
"If this is what I think it is, I can do anything you need."
She jogged off into the darkness. Dante spent the next day surveilling both the Bastion of Last Acts and the Blue Tower. Right after dawn and shortly before sunset, the crane-like contraption on the nearby turret was lowered, creating a bridge between it and the Blue Tower. During these times, guards and servants arrived to serve food, swap buckets, and clean out cells and the occasional corpse. Otherwise, the prison tower was left to itself.
That night, Riza provided them a Tanarian spirit called adda yin. It was made from adda, the plants they grew in the paddies. The liquor was a cloudy purple and tasted mildly sweet. Dante drank as sparingly as he could, but by the time the house went quiet, and he and Blays stole down to the dock to find Volo, his head was still a little loose on his neck.
Volo waited in her canoe. They nodded to each other and embarked. She paddled away with the stealth of someone who'd spent her life on the water. The night smelled like rain and mud and snails frying in nut oil. It was raining again and they only passed one other canoe on their way to the Bastion.
Volo guided them up to the mound encircling the fortress. A brick retaining wall rose to a height of four feet. Carefully, Blays stood, got a hold on the top of the wall, and pulled himself up. Dante followed. They flattened themselves to the dirt as Volo pushed off, heading for the lee of a nearby island.
The moat was two hundred feet across to the front dock of the Bastion, but the distance to the Blue Tower was half that. Dante had brought a pillowcase with him. He upended it, spilling a cohort of skeletal rats to the dirt. They looked up expectantly.
He set up a coil of rope and nicked his left arm. Moving his mind into the inner retaining wall, he opened a narrow hole in one of the bricks, burrowed half a foot into the hard-packed dirt beyond, then turned and ran parallel to the wall's surface. After two feet, he looped back toward the wall, emerging through a second hole two feet from the first one.
He nodded to one of the rats. It took one end of the rope in its teeth and lowered itself down the wall, reaching one of the holes. It scampered inside, dragging the rope behind it. A few moments later, it emerged from the second hole. As Blays leaned over the side and tied the rope fast, Dante sealed the dirt and bricks tight around it.
With one end secured, he motioned to the team of rats. They bit down on the free end of the rope, pulled it to the edge, and plopped into the water. On the bank, the rope uncoiled inch by inch as the submerged rats dragged it forward.
A nerve-rackingly long time later, dim white shapes appeared at the base of the Blue Tower. Dante coaxed a finger of stone from the side of the building. Using the rats' eyes for guidance, concentrating with everything he had, he wrapped the prehensile stone around the end of the rope. Barely able to feel what he was doing, he slid the rocky finger—now a loop—up the blue granite. Once it was eight feet up the side of the tower, he pulled the rope into the thick wall, embedding it firmly before clamping the rock down as hard as he could.
"Well," Blays said. "Now to find out if you should have sprung for that Hana Oso rope."
He unpocketed a short length of finger-thick cordage, looping it over the main rope and through the belt of his jabat. Once it was knotted tight, Blays spit on his hands and shimmied out on the rope, hanging beneath it. As he advanced, the rope sagged, lowering him closer to the black moat. Dante's attention darted back and forth between the two sections of brick and dirt anchoring the rope, seeking any sign they were about to crumble.
Hand over hand, Blays crossed to the other side, hunkering down on the narrow lip of earth surrounding the base of the Blue Tower. Dante had sobered to the exact wrong point where his head was still muddled, but not so much that it gave him any extra courage. He tied himself to the rope, grabbed on, and swung out over the moat.
Cool air floated from the water. The rope was neither rough enough to hurt his hands or smooth enough to make him lose his grip. It was light and strong, too, without too much give to it. Really, it was remarkably woven. As he climbed forward, he had the rather absurd thought that he should try to import some to Narashtovik.
A third of the way across, he glanced down. Flecks of silver moved on the surface. At first, he attributed this to the moonlight, but he'd never seen moonlight swim in expectant circles. He cursed and continued on. Halfway across, with the rope sagging him within two feet of the water, something splashed beneath him. Looking down, he glimpsed a fish spring into the air, tail flapping, jaws snapping. He would have sworn he could count every one of its arrowhead-shaped teeth.
He hurried on, gaining a few inches in elevation as he came closer to the tower. Another minute, and he swung his feet down to solid ground. He made doubly sure that his footing was solid before he untied himself from the rope.
Blays flashed a grin that looked a little too close to one of the ziki oko, then vanished. Dante listened to the frogs. Moments later, Blays reappeared a quarter turn around the outside of the tower, beckoning Dante over. Dante joined him, flicking the scab off his arm to feed the nether anew. He nearly squeezed a drop of blood into the water to taunt the fish; imagining the sound of the entire moat boiling, he thought better of it, and proceeded with the business of creating an opening through the wall of the tower.
The smell of sewage wafted from inside. They entered a room of barrels and boxes, pausing to let their eyes adjust to the near-total darkness. The skybridge to the Blue Tower had been pulled up hours ago and Dante was virtually certain the interior was unguarded, but he sent one of his skeletal rats bounding up the stairwell, placing a second to stand guard in the portal he'd opened to the outside.
He took the lead up the dank stairwell. Pale, chubby lizards clung to the walls. Dante exited on the penultimate floor. Behind one of the doors, a man sang softly to himself, voice dimming to nothing, as if the man had forgotten where he was, before resuming with the next line.
Naran's cell was clasped shut. Dante struck the lock with a blade of nether and stepped inside. The singing stopped—it had been Naran, singing a song of the sea, a sea he'd feared he'd never see again.
"Oh no," Naran said. "I've finally gone insane."
Blays strolled forward. "If we're the best your fevered brain can come up with, you really need to meet some more interesting women. Unless they don't interest you at all, in which case I'm flattered."
Naran grinned
and tried to stand, but he couldn't get his feet beneath him.
"No, sit there all night." Blays extended a hand. "It's not like we're in the middle of a jailbreak."
Naran clasped Blays' wrist. The captain pulled himself halfway up, then fell back. Gritting his teeth, he strained his legs, neck bowing with effort. He rose.
Naran gave them a severe look. "Took you long enough."
Blays laughed and wrapped him in a hug. Naran burst into laughter, too, deep gasps of it that veered toward anguish before resolving into relief. Dante hesitated a moment, then hugged the captain as well. Naran smelled ghastly, but Dante only felt anger. The sailor's once-strong body had been reduced to a dry stalk.
Naran withdrew and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "I don't know what I've done to deserve such friendship. But I will work to earn it."
"My life has always depended on my friends," Dante said. "And they can always depend on me."
"Anyway, don't thank us yet," Blays said. "Not until you see what you're going to have to do to get out of here."
Naran quirked a brow. "After the last few weeks, I wouldn't care if we have to walk across hot coals."
"Let's make this a little easier on us." Dante called to the shadows and sent them over the captain, healing his cuts and erasing his aches.
Naran cocked back his elbows, nodding once. "Ready when you are."
They left the cell. Dante thought about using the ether to restore the broken lock, then thought it might create more confusion among the jailers to suspect Naran might have had help from one of the Bastion's own guards. As they descended the stairs, Dante found himself having to slow down to avoid outpacing Naran.
"So what are you going to do first?" Blays said. "Eat? Drink? Or eat and drink and eat?"
"I think," Naran mused, "that I will take a bath."
At the doorway Dante had opened in the base of the tower, he surveyed the Bastion and the distant rampart, then stepped outside. "Can you help him across?"
Blays rubbed his palms against the side of his tunic. "We'd better hope so. If his life depends on your arm strength, he's got a better chance trying to jump across."
Naran didn't have a belt and they hadn't thought to bring another. Blays looped the thinner cord over the rope spanning the shores, passed it around Naran's waist, and tied it off. Naran gave him a disgusted look, untied the knot, then redid it with a sailor's aplomb.
Blays secured himself to the rope and took the lead. Naran followed shortly behind him. Initially, it looked like it would be an uneventful crossing, but Naran soon slowed. A quarter of the way across, he stopped altogether, breathing hard as he let the cord around his waist support most of his weight. His breathing slowed. He advanced after Blays, but only made it a few more feet before exhaustion forced him to stop again.
Pressed against the tower, Dante frowned. If the rope pulled loose, or one of them fell, what could he do? Try to slaughter every fish in the moat? Raise an island under Naran and elevate him above the feeding frenzy? Wait, there was a better route: rather than worrying about saving them from disaster after it happened, he should worry about preventing that disaster in the first place. He could simply refresh Naran's muscles, allowing the captain to advance without getting tired out.
As he was about to execute this plan, Blays flipped around, grabbed Naran's collar, and pulled him along toward the other side. Dante laughed silently. He'd been out-clevering himself. Sometimes, the mundane solution was all you needed.
The two of them reached the other side and climbed up to solid ground. Dante hurried across the rope, giving the silver fish following beneath him a disapproving look. He got to the rampart, checked that the other two were okay, then moved to the outer retaining wall, draping his arms over the edge and waving slowly back and forth.
A canoe materialized from the darkness. Dante and Blays helped lower Naran down, then joined him in the boat. Volo shoved off from the wall.
"You should know something," Naran said. "Gladdic is here."
Dante grunted. "I saw him threatening you. Do you want to leave Dara Bode right now? Or do we stash you with our ally and go back for Gladdic?"
A shadow passed over Naran's face. "I can't ask you to do that."
"But you want us to."
"I do. But I also believe that if you leave him be, he'll come for you. He is obsessed with learning how to strengthen his demons. I believe he thinks that if he can cure them of whatever weakness you exposed, he would become unstoppable."
"Better to hit him before he knows what's coming than to wait for him to hit at us. Blays?"
"We already had a personal and a moral reason to go after him," Blays said. "At this point, he's practically begging for us to detach his head from his body."
Dante had a number of questions for Naran, but there would be time to ask them when he was back. Or after they were all dead. They continued in silence to the dock at Riza's manor. Above, the house was quiet.
"Best if you two stay here," Dante said. "We can get ourselves back to the Bastion. Volo, if we're not back by three o'clock, take Captain Naran to Aris Osis. Naran, wait for the arrival of our friend from House Osedo. She'll take you wherever you need to go."
"I've seen too many storms to share your full faith in the gods," Naran said. "But if they care for this world at all, they'll be with you tonight."
Aware they might find themselves on the run and in desperate straits, they took their packs with them, carrying a small amount of food and necessities. Riza kept two small canoes at the dock, unadorned vessels meant for servants' errands. Dante and Blays climbed into one and headed north. Though it was now after midnight, lanterns burned in the windows of several island manors.
They came to the brick retaining wall, securing their boat and climbing up to the top of the dirt. Dante heard paddles churning somewhere in the distance, but the moat itself was silent. They crossed their rope over to the Blue Tower and entered its base. Dante had left his skeletal rats there as lookouts. He scooped all but two into his pillowcase, leaving one inside the bottom floor of the tower and sending the other scampering up the steps to scout.
The tower remained as silent as a blown-out candle. They came to the top and exited through a hatch. A soft breeze coursed through the night. Exposed on top of the tower, with no trees above them and no water within eighty vertical feet, Dante took a deep breath. Ever since leaving Aris Osis, he'd been trapped beneath the trees, confined to a boat, and surrounded by water filled with creatures that wanted to drink his blood, eat his flesh, and lay their eggs in his bones. This was the first time in days he hadn't felt claustrophobic and on edge.
Blays was clubbing him with a look that roughly translated to "Quit sightseeing and go murder our worst enemy." Dante glanced between the fortress and the city. In the brief time since they'd left Riza's estate, nearly all the lights on the other islands had been put out. The Bastion was just as dark.
Dante moved to the edge of the roof and faced the crane-like structure on the tower across from him. He'd spent a good deal of the previous day studying it—along with other aspects of the Bastion of Last Acts, such as the location of Gladdic's quarters. He removed one of the rats from the pillowcase, wound up, and hurled it across the gap in a high arc. It came down in the middle of the crane, claws snagging on a twist of rope.
The undead vermin got its bearings and climbed down to the crane's controls. In truth, it was more of a trebuchet than a crane, albeit a very low-powered one. The rat found the appropriate rope and started gnawing for all it was worth. A minute later, the last strand popped. A counterweight fell on one side, swinging a long wooden platform down toward the top of the Blue Tower.
Dante and Blays moved to see if they could cushion the racket of its impact without getting crushed. It came down on their uplifted hands with an uncanny lack of weight, as if it was made from a wood of cork-like lightness. They lowered it to a depression in the rim of stone hemming in the rooftop.
Blays climb
ed up on the platform, extending his right foot beyond the roof and pushing down on the lightweight wood. It neither snapped nor creaked. Blays made an expression so dour that he might as well have been walking into his own grave—remembering Blays' fear of heights, Dante bit his teeth together to stop himself from laughing.
Mumbling curses the way some men might pray, Blays hitched up his pack and walked onto the platform. The boards jogged under his weight. He altered his gait so his feet swept a fraction of an inch above the platform. The good news was this stopped the platform from jogging up and down. The bad news was it made him look like an idiot, and took twice as long as walking like a normal person would have.
Eventually, Blays reached the other side. He hopped down next to the contraption and folded his arms impatiently.
Dante rolled his eyes and started out. The platform was a full three feet across. If he'd been walking down a forest lane three feet wide, it never would have crossed his mind to worry about falling down, but now it was all he could think about. Ironic that after his days-long bout of low-key claustrophobia, he was now hampered by some rather serious agoraphobia. He really needed to teach himself how to fly.
He came to the other tower and stepped down beside Blays, who was happy to turn his back on the bridge across the sky. Dante pulled on a rope handle, lifting a trap door set into the roof. He motioned his rat ahead. It hopped down from step to step.
Dante nodded to Blays and started down. They reached the bottom of the tower without incident, emerging into the lawn between the outer curtain wall and the inner. After a quick glance around, they walked to the inner wall. Blays shadowalked through it. Dante opened a narrow passage for himself. Guards overlooked the bailey and the keep's front doors, so they moved to the rear of the keep instead. There wasn't a door, but they didn't need one.
They found themselves in a dark room that smelled like books. Odd. Dante hadn't seen a book or so much as a quill since coming to Tanar Atain. Interesting though this was, it had nothing to do with the heinous blasphemy he was about to commit against Taim. He'd already mapped his route out for himself and had no trouble finding the servant's stairs. They ascended to the sixth story and crept out into the hall.
The Wound of the World Page 39
