I gritted my teeth and nodded. “I understand. We’ll stop this plague from spreading, no matter what.”
44
Wolves Live Hard Lives
Unable to free myself from my dream prison, I paid attention to the details of the memory, my inner child curious to see the conclusion of this swashbuckling tale.
How long would Adelgis keep me trapped here? I tried not to think about it.
The colors swirled and coalesced back together, reforming into the cold and uninviting quarters of Maddox, the Marshall of the Southern Seas. The griffin pelt on the back of his desk chair was the only piece of decoration I needed to identify the room.
Calisto stood next to me, but not for long. He handed over a serrated dagger. “Here. Coated in manticore venom.”
Just like the bullets I used with Equalizer, my pistol, the dagger would cause magic to shut down. Unlike my pistol, with which the effect was short, fresh venom would surely result in a longer period of magical disruption.
Calisto left, and I waited in the room, the weapon tucked in my sleeve. The portholes looked out on a sea wrecked by storms. The waves lifted ten feet into the sky, and black clouds overhead pelted everything with icy rain.
When the door to the marshall’s quarters opened, I leapt for it. Before Maddox could comprehend what was happening, I sank my dagger into his gut. He lost the ability to use his magic, but unfortunately for me, he still retained the ability to use his bulging muscles. Maddox punched me across the face, his knuckles busting my nose and eyebrow, and I staggered backward. A stray chair got in my path, and I tumbled to the floor, my eyesight spinning.
I figured Zelfree wouldn’t lose, since he hadn’t died here, but a piece of me wondered if Maddox would make Zelfree regret every decision that had brought him here.
Maddox held the dagger in his belly as he lumbered toward me. I rolled out of the way, jumped to my feet, and then withdrew a second dagger, this one without manticore venom.
Maddox swung wide. I ducked under his fist and then sliced his arm, filling his sleeve with blood. When he swung again, I slashed his elbow. Even if I didn’t land a finishing blow, death by a thousand cuts would still get the job done.
I never hesitated during the fight—and I could see why Zelfree always told me to do the same.
Even when my back hit the bulkhead, a certain sense of calm helped me avoid getting trapped. I waited for an attack, rolled to the side, and then pivoted around behind Maddox. The man had muscles, but I clearly had speed, and in this case, it made the difference.
I stabbed at his neck when he whirled around, the blade sinking deep into the fleshy veins. He fumbled, grabbing at his wound, and then collapsed to the ground.
That was the end of Maddox, the Marshall of the Southern Seas.
After a deep breath, I stepped away from the convulsing corpse. The storm outside picked up speed and power. The rain rattled the porthole, and a terrible rumble shook the whole ship. Typhoon dragons lived in the deepest depths of the ocean, or so I heard. Their body could withstand the pressure of the abyss, and their claws could rend a ship in two.
I ran out of the marshall’s quarters and met Calisto on the main deck. Maddox’s men were rushing around, trying to secure their cargo, but I knew that was all pointless.
Calisto motioned to his eldrin. Hellion had his wings outstretched, his lion-like face focused on the black, storm-infested sky.
A twenty-foot wave rose up on the port side of the ship, easily capable of capsizing a whole fleet. The slick, rain-coated deck made it difficult for me to run, and instead of allowing me to make my own way, Calisto picked me up and dashed to his eldrin’s side. His superhuman speed and strength saved us from the sea’s wrath—the moment we climbed onto Hellion, the manticore took to the sky, avoiding the wave with a couple beats of his wings.
Sleet and wind made flying difficult. Hellion’s leathery wings hadn’t been designed to fly through hurricanes, and while he was strong, it was obvious we’d never make it high enough to clear the cloud line.
Hellion used what stamina he had to fly toward a ship floating on the troubled sea. The waves didn’t approach this ship, and I already knew why. Ruma was a leviathan arcanist—his eldrin altered the flow of water.
In a show of impressive determination, Hellion flapped his wings against the storm, carrying both Calisto and me all the way to the ship. He panted and took breaths the moment he landed on the deck.
Ruma and Eventide were waiting for us, both of them soaked from head to toe. Eventide held Traces in her arms, and the little cat-like mimic mewed in irritation. No matter how deep she tucked herself into Eventide’s shirt, she couldn’t escape the weather.
We didn’t have time to exchange pleasantries—the winds prevented most verbal communication, anyway. Out in the distance, emerging from the depths like a monster from a nightmare, was Maddox’s typhoon dragon.
“Curse the abyssal hells,” I said through gritted teeth, the fierce rain getting in my mouth the moment I spoke.
The typhoon dragon lifted its long neck into the sky, its mouth open and its many fangs visible whenever thunder flashed through the clouds. It had the weight of a blue whale and the muscle of a jungle cat. Fins jutted from its spine and cheeks, and everything from the corners of its mouth to the area between its claws was webbed. The coloration of its scales covered the entire range of blue, from sapphire to aquamarine.
Unlike normal typhoon dragons—who were described as regal guardians of the ocean—this monster appeared as though it had gone through a severe case of leprosy and never fully recovered. Scales fell from its body, blackish blood wept from the gills on its long neck, and one eye was missing, leaving a gaping wound in its socket.
And even more bizarre, and freakish, were the crab claws that protruded from its shoulders and ribs, four in total, none of them symmetrical or equal in size. The pincers clacked and sliced as the dragon swam through the deadly waves. One claw struck out—as though it had a mind of its own—and crushed Maddox’s ship, cleaving it in half. Wood and steel splintered into the water, the crack of a destroyed hull enough to carry through the storm.
The beast laughed, exposing more of its mouth. Its skiff-sized tongue lashed about, ice coating the blackened tip. When it exhaled, the storm around us took on a frightening chill.
“What happened to it?” Ruma shouted over the winds.
Eventide shook her head. “I… I don’t know! It must’ve been the blood!”
The typhoon dragon swished its arms and claws through the sea water, altering the current. With powerful motions of its webbed claws, the waters swirled around it, creating a whirlpool effect that drew everything in the nearby area toward it.
Ours wasn’t the only ship. Maddox’s destroyed vessel was pulled under in an instant, and two other ships—both flying pirate flags—were drawn in closer. I hadn’t seen the pirates due to the storm, but once they were near, their black and red flags were unmistakable.
“We’ll get dragged under,” Ruma yelled. He held onto the ship’s rigging, steadying himself in place as he manipulated the waves with a gesture of his hand. “My magic won’t save us from the force of that beast!”
Eventide turned to me. She used a hand to shield her eyes from the battering rain. “Everett, can you handle this? If you can’t, I’ll—”
“I’ll handle it,” I shouted back.
Traces leapt from Eventide’s arms and sailed over the railing of the ship. She disappeared from sight, lost to the turbulence of the storm.
My arcanist mark burned my forehead as Traces shifted from cat to typhoon dragon—the power of the dragon so intense it stung my veins. I grabbed at my arms, taken aback by the sensation.
Calisto held my shoulder. “You got this?”
“I’m fine.”
I scrunched my eyes closed, and my arcanist mark changed again.
The rush of magic, and the odd sensation that followed—I thought I understood what was happening. Zelfree wa
s trying to manifest his chimera aura, but he wasn’t doing it right. When I had incorrectly created my eclipse aura, it had felt the same way, and my aura hadn’t fully functioned. It had drained me for every moment I had maintained it, which wasn’t the proper outcome. Auras were supposed to persist without concentration or active effort—a passive magical ability that added to the arcanist’s capabilities.
If Zelfree kept this up, he would be spent in minutes.
Was his chimera aura so powerful that it justified the short usage?
Breathing deep, I forced my eyes open, despite the splash of cold rain. Rising out of the water like Maddox’s typhoon dragon was a chimera—a beast made up of multiple mystical creatures. It had the shimmering blue body of the typhoon dragon, complete with gills, fins, and webbed claws.
It also had multiple heads.
The first head was the typhoon dragon. The second head was a lion, much like a manticore’s—sized up to fit the massive body. The third head was a turtle, similar to the atlas turtle. And the fourth was the snake-like head of the leviathan.
Zelfree had told me about his chimera aura awhile back. He had said it allowed his mimic to copy the magic and abilities of all nearby creatures, instead of one at a time. That meant Traces, in her gigantic chimera form, possessed the capabilities of a typhoon dragon, a manticore, a leviathan, and an atlas turtle all at the same time.
And by extension, so did Zelfree.
But he was too busy forcing his aura—he couldn’t do anything with his newfound powers. He knelt on the deck of the ship, struggling.
Traces moved through the waves with purpose. She wasn’t disgusting like Maddox’s dragon—she had no evidence of the arcane plague—which meant she had no crab claws or actively bleeding wounds.
The plague-ridden dragon turned its malevolent gaze on her and opened its mouth wide. An avalanche of ice and snow burst outward like a blast of winter.
Traces shrugged off the rime, unaffected by the cold. The snow continued past her, threatening to damage our ship. Before we were covered in a thick layer of ice, Eventide held up her hand and evoked a powerful barrier. The attack didn’t touch the ship. The ice broke apart on the shield, leaving us unscathed.
With all the power of a typhoon dragon, Traces also altered the current. She interfered with the whirlpool effect, ceasing the pull. When she got close enough to the enemy dragon, she lashed out with all four heads, biting the beast on its neck, face, crab shoulder, and arm.
The two mystical creatures were so large and capable, when the typhoon dragon twisted, it sent waves crashing through the sea. It vomited black blood into the water, and with three of his crab pincers, it cut into Traces, including decapitating the leviathan head in one brutal pinch. The slice—and resulting crack of bone—was so loud, I swear I felt it from my position on the ship.
The pain of the aura kept me incapacitated, and it was getting worse. Despite that, I soldiered through, determined to have Traces win.
Even though she had lost a head, she evoked lightning so powerful it crackled across the typhoon dragon. As it spasmed, she used her three remaining heads—especially the lion’s—to take chunks of flesh from the plague-ridden monster.
At first, I feared she would become plague ridden, but then I remembered that the manticore was immune, and since she had the powers of the manticore, she wouldn’t be affected.
When the monster attacked with pincers a second time, Traces created her own atlas turtle barrier to protect herself. Then, with the added strength that came from the manticore, she crunched her fangs into the enemy and then pulled back, taking the dragon’s throat with her.
The gouge was too large to recover from. The monster tried to scream and laugh, but it choked on blood instead.
It used its crab claws to strike at Traces, but each attack was weaker than the last, none powerful enough to break the barriers. It collapsed into the water, its one eye rolled back into its twisted skull, an odd smile on its dragon face.
The storm raged on, and the waves lifted and fell around its body, dragging it to the depths of the Shard Sea.
My pain persisted. I couldn’t move. Somehow, it was also affecting Traces. The remaining heads cried out in unison, their three-voiced scream disturbing to hear, especially echoed over violent waters.
Ruma ran to my side. He grabbed me and shook. “Stop,” he said. “You can stop.”
But I couldn’t. I gritted my teeth so hard, I thought I’d shatter my molars.
Eventide also hurried to my side, her brow furrowed. “Gods… This isn’t supposed to happen. He manifested his aura incorrectly.”
It seemed that no matter what they said, I couldn’t stop the spiral of agony. Each moment the chimera existed was another stab straight to my chest.
Traces turned her many heads toward us. Her severed neck gushed blood at a rapid rate, and when she swam, she did it at a slower pace. Was she coming to attack us? Or returning home because her mission was done? I wasn’t certain.
“Everett,” Ruma said. “Please.”
Calisto shoved both Ruma and Eventide away. “Get off him. I’ll deal with this.” He used two fingers to whistle. The harsh sound pierced the storm, and Hellion came running. All Calisto had to do was snap his fingers once and point to me, and Hellion seemed to understand.
He raised his scorpion tail and struck down, puncturing my side with the stinger.
I didn’t know what hurt more—getting stabbed by that damn tail or falling into a pit of constant pain and overwhelming agony. In the moment, I almost wished I had just died to avoid it all.
The manticore venom worked within seconds. My magic shut down, which meant my aura couldn’t manifest. Traces lost her chimera form and instead turned into a manticore herself so she could fly back to the boat.
Calisto held me close, half-smiling. “What’d I tell you? I got your back.”
I had never been trapped in my dreams for so long.
How many days were passing? Would I wake to find I had lost months of my life? The anxiety tainted the dream-memories. I couldn’t help but fret about my body in the waking world.
The images played in my head, some making sense, others not so much. Somehow, after the death of Maddox and his typhoon dragon, word had spread of Zelfree’s hand in the matter. Many pirates said the Faceless had murdered the Marshall of the Southern Seas because he’d wanted the smuggled cargo for himself. Others said that Maddox had tried to kill the Faceless first, and a fight had broken out afterward.
Some said that the Faceless went to rescue Calisto, who had been captured on the ship.
The last rumor stuck with me—that was what Fain had claimed happened. But Fain had also said that Zelfree was a pirate through and through, with no loyalty to the Frith Guild. A piece of me wondered if Zelfree had planned it this way. He had said that misinformation was as powerful as the truth, if used in the proper way.
And no one claimed the Frith Guild had been involved, which was exactly what Eventide had wanted.
But no matter the details of the story, it all ended the same: in admiration. At least, among cutthroats. The bounty on the Faceless had reached an all-time high, and while Zelfree hadn’t actually done all the terrible things attributed to his alias, the death of the marshall was enough to draw the ire of big names.
Although the memories flipped by so fast, I couldn’t see all the detail, I could tell that Zelfree wanted to distance himself from a life of pirates.
To celebrate his accomplishments, I found myself on the deck of the Third Abyss, only it wasn’t finished. The half-constructed vessel in the shipyard of Port Crown didn’t make for the most ideal place to celebrate, but that didn’t matter to pirates. With enough rum, meat, and mead, any place was a good place to rollick around and swap stories.
I didn’t live through the dream-memory like the others. Probably because I was drunk. The fleeting images made for amusing snippets into Zelfree’s life, considering I was fully sober, but watching from the e
yes of someone who had a fragmented memory.
Apparently, to commemorate the death of the marshall, and our time together on the seas, Calisto and I had opted for matching tattoos. A dragon was inked onto my shoulder blade. Calisto got his in the same location. The process of getting tattooed hurt in the dream-memory, but only for a moment. The images, sensations, and colors faded.
When they reformed, I was again on the deck of the half-finished Third Abyss.
Days had gone by within these memories. My shoulder didn’t hurt from the tattoo work, and I could thank being an arcanist for that. The rapid healing meant nothing ached for long.
The night air wafted across the bay, filling it with the scent of gulls and salt.
After a long drink from my flask, I leaned onto a portion of the ghostwood railing, the lingering fog all around me. I squinted, trying to see out to the bay. Although I couldn’t hear his thoughts, Zelfree held himself with a pensive tension. Was he bothered by something?
“I wanted to speak with you.”
Even without looking, I knew who it was. I had come to recognize Calisto’s weighty and gruff voice.
“It’s about Redbeard,” Calisto said.
“What about him?” I asked, my tone curt, a further indication that Zelfree wasn’t in the best of moods.
“I’m tired of waiting. I want him dead.” Calisto stepped around me, his boots landing heavily on the deck. Then he leaned against the railing, only half a foot away. “And I want you to help me.”
“I’ve got other matters to deal with.” After another swig of rum from my flask, I said, “That blood plague is more serious than we thought. An apothecary friend of mine needs more samples to determine what it is and where it came from. I need to help with that.”
Calisto pushed away from the railing, his movements tense. He walked around to the other side of me, each step harder than the last.
“I think Redbeard might be heading south soon.” He spoke each word slow and careful, his voice strained. “I don’t want him to go on another mystical creature hunt. The more coin he gets, the more difficult it’ll be to kill him later.”
Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4) Page 45
