In Mallon, they positioned the two substances as opposites. Much as they positioned Arawn as the soul-starved god of death who'd do anything to murder the life-giving Taim and claim the world. In treating the powers as opposites, the system encouraged the brute force application of ether against nether or vice versa, much in the way you'd fight a fire by flinging a bucket of water at it.
Long ago, however, his late mentor Cally had taught him that the substances weren't opposites. Rather, they were complements, with as much in common as differences. To this day, Dante was still struggling to absorb this lesson, to learn to combat the ether in ways other than mindlessly bashing at it as hard as he could.
But with the guards closing on Blays and the others, he didn't have time for subtlety. He gathered the darkness into a black scythe and slashed at the glowing white bonds adhering his friends to the ground. They staggered forward, arms windmilling, then caught their balance and dashed toward the street they'd used to come into the square.
Gladdic splayed his palm. Pale lightning flashed toward Blays. Cataracts of nether poured through Dante's veins, as torrential as the boiling springs he'd unleashed on the Dreaming Peaks. A dark spout consumed the forking ether, leaving nothing but a few sparks twinkling in the air.
Gladdic's face, formerly placid, went as stormy as the nether. "Bring them to me. Dead, if you must."
His monks, eight in number, followed behind the charging soldiers, and Gladdic joined them. Dante and the crew of the South rushed around the corner and up the street.
"Please tell me," Blays said, "that Gladdic isn't as frightening as he seems."
"Okay," Dante said.
"You're just lying to me, aren't you? That's even less comforting."
"Well, the fact we're running in panic should have been your first clue." They swerved down an alley, navigating single file through debris and brown puddles. Footsteps racketed behind them, along with a gruff voice ordering the pursuing force to split up. Dante swore. "We need somewhere to hide."
"The inn?" Jona said.
"No good. If Gladdic comes around, the innkeep will give us up in a second."
Naran ran in a daze, useless for the moment. Blays shrugged broadly. They turned another corner and found themselves running down a tight alley. The nearest intersection yawned far ahead, seemingly a hundred miles away. With the echo of boots nearing the way they'd come in, Dante touched the nether within the nearest wall and yanked the stone aside like a curtain. He shoved Naran inside. Blays and the crewmen followed. As soon as everyone was out of the alley, Dante sealed the wall shut.
Their heavy breathing filled the room. Dante got out his torchstone and blew on it. Pale light revealed a narrow space half filled with dusty crates. Outside, feet thudded dully, dwindling to nothing.
Naran turned on Dante, mouth twisted in anguish. "Why did you make me run from them?"
"Because Gladdic had a small army with him!" Dante hissed. "You would have been deboned before you got within twenty feet."
"At least I would have died in the service of my captain."
"How would it have served her to die instantly?"
The quartermaster balled his hands into fists. "It never should have come to this. You promised you would save her."
Dante lowered his gaze. "Gladdic outwitted me. I'm sorry."
"He killed the one you swore to protect. It is your duty to kill him!"
"Now isn't the time! He isn't some cutpurse. He's an extremely dangerous sorcerer who is presently on high alert. Any one of his monks could kill you with a look."
Naran sneered. "Let me out of here. I can do what you will not."
"You go after him, and you'll die. You know how you can honor Captain Twill? By rescuing her crew still imprisoned on her ship. And getting them the hell out of this gods-forsaken city."
"To take you back to the islands, I suppose. Very selfless of you to suggest. Especially now that they have outlawed passage and no other ship will dare help you. Well, Captain Twill is dead. Our deal is annulled."
"Then I have a new offer." Dante got out his knife and cut his palm. "I'll help free your crew. You'll take me to the Plagued Islands. And once I'm cured, we'll return to Bressel—and I will plant Gladdic in the ground."
The quartermaster's dark eyes shifted to the blood dripping from Dante's palm. "You failed our last arrangement. How can I believe this one will go any better?"
Blays got a wry look on his face. "Because if there's one thing this man does well, it's wreak vengeance. Back at the islands, I'm surprised he didn't kill his own father."
Brows bent together, Naran laughed in shock. He glanced between his crew. "You're a part of this, too. What do you think?"
"Still a lot of our men trapped on the South," Jona said. "I wouldn't sleep well if we got ourselves killed while they're chained to their benches."
An older man nodded, flashing his wooden teeth in something like a grin. "Besides, they're right. You'd have fought that man and been murdered on your feet. Seems to me these two saved your salty hide."
The other members nodded assent. Mustering visible will, Naran straightened his spine. He extended his hand to Dante. "I'm not afraid of you, warlock. If you betray me, first I'll kill Gladdic, and then I'll find you."
~
The moth clung to the side of the warehouse, motionless. Perhaps it was waiting for the night. Or possibly it had recently feasted on a wool sock. It was probably dead, however, reanimated to spy on the dock where, three hours after the execution, Gladdic continued to oversee the comings and goings of sailors.
Dante, Blays, and the crewmen had relocated to a warehouse a half mile from the docks, which likely explained why the building was so little-used. There, while Dante kept watch on the priest as surreptitiously as he could, the South's sailors caught naps and sharpened knives. The silver lining to the execution was that it had drawn a great deal of onlookers. Gossip flew like starlings. This had already turned up four more members of the ship's scattered crew, who Jona relayed back to the warehouse.
The plan was to attack the captured Sword of the South just before dawn two days hence. If Twill's sailors kept arriving at the current pace, however, they might be able to do so the very next morning.
Around midday, Gladdic finally left the pier, taking most of his retinue with him. Dante sent the moth revenant soaring high above the rooftops, trailing Gladdic all the way to the Chenney. Before Gladdic arrived, Dante dismissed the rat that remained at the prison. To be on the safe side, rather than pursuing the man inside with the moth, he sent it circling around the tower, traveling from window to window until he heard Gladdic's voice wafting from inside.
Over the course of the afternoon, Gladdic interviewed a steady stream of guards, acolytes, staff, and monks. Other than the fact that Gladdic's requests for more tea were delivered in exactly the same tone as his death threats, Dante learned little. As the day departed in favor of evening, he found himself falling asleep.
A rattle awakened him. The windows set high on the side of the warehouse were now dark. A few candles lit the wide space, filling it with the stink of tallow. Blays kneeled on the floor, wrapping his swords in a blanket along with several long sticks.
Dante sat up. "Where are you going?"
Blays jerked a thumb at the crew, most of whom were snoring in blanketed piles. "These guys barely have a knife apiece. If we're going to capture the ship, I'd like to be carrying something sharper than our fists."
"And where do you intend to find these weapons?"
"My old stomping grounds. The armsman's guild of Winston Dupree."
Dante rubbed his eyes. "Do you think you'll still know anyone? It's been over a decade."
"Winston might be alive and kicking. He almost never went out on jobs himself." Blays finished bundling his weapons. "Besides, you saw that place. It was nothing but old men and the infirm. They'll be happy to make a quick chuck selling their spare swords and bows. Speaking of, you got any cash?"
; Dante handed over what little he had left. Blays got Jona and exited into the night. Dante checked in with the moth. Gladdic remained in his office in the Chenney, but he was alone now, writing notes.
Naran stirred, moving beside him. "Five more of our men have come in. This puts us at fifteen. Counting those we know were detained on the Sword of the South, only five of our people are unaccounted for."
"Suppose they ran off?"
"It seems likely. Though it is also possible they are drunk."
"Do you want to strike this morning? Or give your people another day to show?"
Naran clasped his hands, rubbing his palms together. "If your friend can bring back as many arms as he claims, we'll strike tonight. We'll leave word in the taverns for those we've left behind."
Dante stretched his legs, then sat on a crate. Checking within himself, he found the dark spots of his sickness weren't visibly larger. He could feel them, though. He was glad Naran had pushed up the attack. If they left that night, they could be back in Kandak within a week. Dante hoped he'd last.
Well after the nine o'clock bells, Gladdic's door opened. A wizened man entered, completely bald, nose bent like a claw. He leaned on a tall white staff bearing a ruby the size of a walnut. The Eye of Taim. Mark of the Eldor, the highest station in the Mallish priesthood. The staff was so famous it was a stand-in for ethereal power; when children dressed up for Falmac's Eve, any number could be found dashing through the streets bearing a whitewashed branch topped with an apple.
Gladdic leaped to his feet, then kneeled, bowing his head. "Your Righteousness. Forgive me. I did not know you were coming."
"That is because I didn't tell you," the old man said. "So get off your knees already. Unless you find that makes it easier to speak."
Gladdic stood, keeping his gaze lowered. "How may I assist you?"
"Your nethermancer. I hear he remains at large?"
"The fault is my own. I should never have left him unwatched. They are as devious as they are vile."
"Indeed."
"My inattention has profaned the city. My life is yours to take."
The Eldor chuckled. "Your piety, as always, is second to none. Fortunately for your sake, I have been corrupted by the ways of the world, and lack the zeal to destroy valuable assets out of pique. Especially when those assets may be employed to correct their failure."
Gladdic bowed. "If that is your will."
The old man clumped toward the window, looming in the moth's cockeyed vision. "Given our circumstances, however, I think now is a poor time for failure. You will catch this offender. And if you can't? You will say you have. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly, Eldor."
"Wonderful. I'm very old, you see. Repeating myself reminds me of how little time I have left."
He smiled and tottered out of the room.
Gladdic closed the door and bolted it. He sat at his desk and closed his eyes, hands shaking. Below, a carriage clattered, drawing away. Gladdic's eyes snapped open. He withdrew a steel scalpel from his desk, pulled his robe past his left shoulder, baring it, and cut a half-inch incision. As blood swelled from the wound, shadows zipped from beneath chairs and rugs, wrapping the priest's shoulder in darkness.
In the warehouse, Dante folded his hands and pressed them against his mouth. Killing Gladdic was going to be even more dangerous than he thought.
Blays didn't make it back until two in the morning. He smelled of rum and looked quite pleased about it. "Sorry for the delay. Winston waxed nostalgic upon my return and insisted we take a tour of the old neighborhood. Were you aware this city is full of pubs?"
"Please tell me you didn't spend all this time drinking," Dante said.
"Of course I did. How else was I going to convince my former employer to sell me an entire armory?"
With Jona's help, he guided a hand-drawn cart into the warehouse. This was laden with swords, unstrung bows, sheaves of arrows, hard leather caps, iron-studded bracers, and pieces of assorted armor that looked as though they would be dashed apart by an angry glance. The sailors had left their hardware on the ship, however, so they spent the next hour trying on bits of boiled leather and testing the balance of the available blades.
Naran sent a runner to a pub Captain Twill's crew had always been welcome at, asking the owner to inform those members who remained in the wind that the ship had departed, but would return in three or four weeks, if they wished to rejoin it.
As soon as the runner returned, Naran stood, holding a saber alongside his leg. "In the last few days, we have lost our ship. Many of our friends. And our captain. One of these things is lost to us forever. But tonight, we will retake the others—and when we return to this accursed city, we will pay them back in full."
His men responded with a compromise between a cheer and a determined grunt. They moved out into the street. Naran's most recent scouting report claimed the city had a mere four soldiers remaining on the dock, and zero monks. Dante could neutralize four guards in a wink. While the crew launched the ship, he and Blays, aided by a handful of the more physically-inclined sailors, would search the boat, do away with any further resistance, and free the indentured crewmen.
They stopped two blocks away, hunkering in the shadows while sending a scout ahead into the square. He paused, sniffing dramatically, as if savoring the redolence of the night air, then disappeared, only to jog back to the group less than a minute later.
"Sir." His voice was choked. "You need to see this."
Naran loped forward. The square was quiet and deserted. Beside the dock, moonlight glinted on the water. The Sword of the South was nowhere to be seen.
13
"You have to be kidding me," Dante said.
"I'll be damned." Jona glanced around the plaza. "Could they have moved her to a different dock?"
Naran made a choking noise. He rocked on his heels, then continued toward the only person on the scene, a man sprawled at the base of the dock cradling a bottle.
"The ship that was berthed here," Naran said. "Where did it go?"
The man swung up his head, mouth wide open. "Sailed out less than an hour ago. In a right hurry, too."
"Did you see which way it went?"
"With the current." Clumsily, he swept his arm south. Out to sea. "I suppose they thought that must have been easier than fighting it." He laughed heartily, drunk enough that obvious statements registered as profound wit.
Naran held fast to the hilt of his sheathed saber. "Did they say anything about where they were going?"
"Not that I heard. Then again, they weren't taking me, so what should I care?"
Blays folded his arms, contemplating the dark water. "Should we have a look around?"
"What for?" the quartermaster said. "It's gone. To sea."
"Maybe they're just seeing how she handles. Or they ran into a snag and they're still in the middle of the river. What can it hurt to look?" He jogged south along the esplanade.
Listlessly, Naran instructed his crew to canvass the area to see if anyone knew the schedule for the Sword of the South. Dante hung about to provide protection. With dawn approaching and no leads, they returned to the warehouse, where they took off their swords and their piecemeal armor and sat among the cobwebs, eyes downcast.
Naran lowered himself to the cask beside Dante. "The ship is gone. After Gladdic's proclamation, no captain in Bressel will dare take you to the islands. If you wish to survive, I suggest you get a horse and ride to another port at all possible speed."
"You're going to give up, then? What about the rest of your crew? They're still slaves of the king."
"How can I free them when I don't know where they are?"
"Someone must know where they're headed. We just have to figure out who that is."
"Even if we knew their destination, we would have no way to get there. All I can do is wait here for the ship to return. Or for you to come back from the islands, so that we might kill Gladdic together."
He got up and circulated am
ong his men, speaking in low tones. Dante ran through his options. Allingham was the largest city south of the mountains separating Mallon and Gask. He could probably find passage to the Plagued Islands there. However, even if he refreshed his horse with nether, and pushed it to the brink of death, it would take at least three if not four days to get there. It was further from the islands than Bressel, too—at least eight days, and more if the captain didn't fancy sailing as close to the Mill as Captain Twill had. Two weeks or more, then. It would be the death of him.
He'd have to find somewhere closer. And gamble that he could bribe or threaten a captain into taking him on. He'd have to steal two horses first, though. They'd spent the last of their money on weapons for Naran's men.
He was still sorting through the details when Blays arrived from the docks, looking tired but in reasonable spirits. He drew Dante aside.
"I'm going to present you with a fact," Blays said. "I'm not going to tell you what to do with it, though. That's up to you. Here it is: four piers down, one of the king's ships is tied up. And all ready to go."
"You want to steal the king's ship."
"Why not? I imagine he's lousy with them, considering how casually he snatches them from other people. He already took ours, and we only had the one. So who's the real ship-thief here?"
"We might be able to talk Naran into that," Dante said. "He gets a new ship. I get passage to the islands. Then we come back and stick a knife in Gladdic. A win all around."
"I was thinking more like we use the crown's ship to take back the Sword of the South."
Dante crossed his arms. "Aren't we introducing unnecessary links to the chain? If we've got one of the crown's vessels, why bother with the South?"
"Because it's full of slaves. Who lost their freedom in the course of helping us."
"They were being paid to do that. If they didn't like the idea of going to the islands, they could have hopped ship."
"Which they well might have, if they'd had any idea they were transporting someone the Mallish legal system considers more dangerous than an erupting volcano. We can't leave them in the king's fetters."
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 18
