Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two)

by Corey Pemberton

  “Maybe it's a magic barrier. Like the ones that keep you trapped down here if you try to climb through one of those holes.”

  He waded in until his boots were covered. The floor remained beneath him, just as level as ever. Either he was shrinking or that water was somehow getting deeper.

  His father's hand clawed into his shoulder. “Careful. Move slowly. Listen for more ulegots.”

  Argus nodded. With Fotis a few paces behind, he sloshed into the murky water. He tried not to think about the warm slippery things that might be circling his ankles. Deeper and deeper they went. Over his knees. Past his belt buckle, so he had to hold Reaver high above him. They kept on until Argus's armpits submerged, and still that pond continued.

  “I don't like this,” he said. “Not one bit.”

  Fotis grunted in agreement. “At least you know how to kill them. Whenever I move I feel something scurrying.”

  “Just your mind playing tricks on you.”

  “Maybe,” said his father. “Maybe not.”

  “Come on.”

  Argus splashed along until his chin disappeared into the sludge. Flies buzzed near his ears. Not a single living thing belonged down there, yet there they were. More of them would come with him and his father dead.

  Not yet.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said, and ducked his head into the water. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, reminding him of a bath after soaking too long. He opened his eyes and couldn't see anything. Argus dove for the bottom, but his lungs were empty before he felt anything at all.

  He came up to the surface gasping.

  “What is it?” said Fotis. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing. I couldn't get to the bottom… if there even is a bottom.”

  They paddled some more, treading water whenever they needed a rest. Faint starlight guided them. The holes in the city streets offered just enough hope to keep going—and pray that the pond would end.

  “I feel like we're crossing the Salamar Sea,” Fotis said.

  “I feel like we're nothing but a pair of sewer rats.”

  His father didn't laugh. He stopped more often now, and in his weakened state it was only a matter of time before the pond pulled him down for good.

  “Let me have one more look.” Argus swam straight down, until all the light from the surface vanished. He kept paddling, lungs burning, until he couldn't even tell if he was moving at all.

  That's when he saw it.

  Light.

  Just a few specks at first. He swam closer, and those specks grew but his lungs couldn't bear it anymore. This time when he surfaced he was gagging on pond water, thrashing and eyes watering as the walls closed in.

  “Gods!” said Fotis. “If it weren't for the bubbles I would have thought you were dead.”

  “Almost. There were lights down there. I saw them.”

  His father laid a hand on his arm. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm going back down. This time I'll keep swimming until I get to them. I've had enough wandering around down here waiting to starve.”

  Fotis shook his head. “How can there be light down there? It should be up here.” He pointed. “Light comes from the sun and the moon and the stars. And you're telling me it's coming from the bottom of a pond.”

  “I know what I saw. Come with me, or keep on. The choice is yours.”

  They floated there while Argus gathered his breath. He strapped Reaver onto his back to free up both hands. When he was done his father nodded. “I believe you. I'll go along as far as I can.”

  “Swim straight down. As fast as you can.”

  “Gods help us.”

  Argus dove into the water. He couldn't see his father but he felt him brushing against his side. At first they were even. It didn't take long before Fotis lagged behind. Argus kept swimming, and felt along his father's tunic until he found a belt. He grabbed it and pulled, pulled them both into the murky depths.

  His lungs were burning when he saw the lights again.

  Almost there, he thought. A hope. A wish. A prayer.

  His father went limp. Argus grabbed his belt tighter and swam on.

  The lights grew. They flickered like flames but there was no wood to fuel them. For a moment Argus wondered if they were the eyes of some creature he couldn't comprehend.

  Then he stopped wondering altogether.

  Water flooded his lungs.

  Nothing to breathe.

  Coughing, coughing as the world turned to black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A thousand jagged rocks prodded his back.

  Argus flopped around, but there was no escape. Wherever he turned they poked him, inflaming old wounds. He opened his eyes, surrounded by the lukewarm water he was in the process of coughing up. He gasped, retched, and coughed until at last the water cleared.

  Where the blazes am I?

  Argus flipped over and landed on the emaciated man who claimed to be his father. The father who was supposed to be dead.

  Fotis lay in a dry riverbed. That explained all the jagged rocks. Argus poked him. His father didn't budge. He shook him, but that didn't wake him either. His body was warm, his hair slick with pond sludge, but his chest wasn't rising and falling like it was supposed to.

  He pulled him up to a seated position. “Wake up, old man. Wake up.”

  Argus pounded him on the back until a torrent of water spewed from his mouth. That just seemed to tire out his father more; he slumped against him, motionless except for his bobbing head.

  “I said wake up!”

  He beat on his back some more. More water shot out, but nothing he did roused the man from his slumber.

  Maybe he drowned. Losing him once wasn't enough for you, fate? Now you'll make me lose him again?

  Argus swore, and pulled his father in front of him. He wrapped his arms around the unconscious body and thrust upward, squeezing Fotis's belly.

  A cough.

  "Come on, old man!"

  He coughed up more water and started to thrash, desperately sucking in air. Argus held him down. At last Fotis's eyes flew open, and he stared at his son in disbelief.

  It took a long time for his face to turn back to its normal color. The coughing onslaught took everything out of him. It left him so exhausted all he could do was lie in the riverbed and savor each sweet breath. But he was alive. They both were.

  Argus got up groaning and surveyed their surroundings. Directly above them shone a pair of stars that had broken away from their loftier cousins. They looked like the flickering lights that had guided them out of the pond, though he had a feeling he'd never know for certain.

  At least this place made sense. Here was earth and sky and fresh air. He inhaled deeply and crunched along the riverbank, following it to a sharp bend. There, Argus scrambled across the pale white rocks and up a low hill.

  I'll be damned…

  Maybe he was.

  But the city that had teased and tormented him these past few days loomed at the top of a ridge. They were still on the Cradle of Eld. The grass was damp, the breeze was gentle, and nowhere he looked did he find another ulegot lurking with its hideous green scales.

  Fotis was still groaning when his son returned with the good news. He staggered out of the riverbed “You mean there's more walking to do? I think I just died, Argus. I shouldn't be breathing, talking with my—”

  “The city is just up ahead. If we hurry we can make it there before dawn.”

  “There isn't a wart of hurry left in these weary bones. But I can try to walk, if you're patient.”

  They trudged up the gentle incline. The night was cool and their clothes wet, but the walk warmed them. Father and son didn't stop until they reached another riverbed. This one was full; they drank from it greedily, and refilled their waterskins.

  “Ah,” said Fotis. “That may be the best water I've ever had.”

  Argus nodded. “You'll like these too.” A few dozen paces ahead stood a cluster of apple trees. Feeling more energeti
c after the water, Argus hurried over and plucked as many golden orbs as he could hold. They rested under those boughs, crunching into the fruit, filling their mouths with sweet nectar.

  When they were done they continued up the hill. They moved faster now, like new men, though Argus couldn't help but feel his time beneath the city had aged him.

  Finally the ground leveled off, and his throbbing feet could rest. The outskirts waited. Closed doors, open doors, some structures with no doors at all. They beckoned like sandshade eyes, luring, promising to carry anyone who passed through them into some unspeakable torture.

  “I wonder if our dungeon is the only one,” Argus said. “Or if there are others that are even worse.”

  His father wrapped his tunic tighter. “I'm as curious as they come, my boy, but that's one question I'm happy to leave unanswered.”

  Argus led them into the city, searching for the buildings marked with Nasira's red Xs. The night was quiet save for a herd of deer, who cast their brown eyes on them before bounding into the shadows. Fotis talked about how much he'd like to fell one with an arrow but his son hardly listened.

  He was too preoccupied with what the deer had left behind. Dust kicked up after their retreat. But it was strange. Instead of settling to the ground, it lifted, thickened.

  That isn't dust. It's smoke!

  Argus squinted, and then he saw it better. He traced the smoke to its source: a small stone house. “There.”

  “I hope you're right. Something tells me this place is luring us into another trap.”

  His son sprinted down the street, scanning the buildings on both sides. As he drew closer to the smoke he started to find red Xs. Adrenaline carried him the rest of the way.

  Nasira's chain was there, lying outside in a neat coil. Her door creaked open and she rushed out with her bow. “Who goes—”

  “It's me.” Argus fell to his knees.

  The bow clattered to the ground, and then her arms were around him. “You fool. You stupid, stupid fool.”

  He laughed, and kept laughing until she was laughing along with him. She was warm from her fire when Argus held her.

  “Who's this?” she said, pulling away at the sound of footsteps.

  “It's a long story. That's—”

  “I'm Fotis,” said the old man. “I'm Argus's father.” Wheezing, he stuck out a hand.

  Nasira didn't take it. Instead she turned to Argus. “I thought your father was dead.”

  He shrugged. “So did I.”

  “Where did you… how… I don't understand.” She stopped sputtering and shook Fotis's hand.

  “I'd love to answer as many questions as I can, my lady, if you'd be kind enough to share your hearth and home.”

  “Of course.” Nasira stepped aside and motioned them through the open doorway. “Come in.”

  * * *

  They sprawled on Nasira's bedroll while she threw some wood onto the fire.

  Argus watched smoke curl through the tiny chimney and listened to the fresh logs crackle. He edged closer to it, closing his eyes, savoring the sensation of his thawing damp clothes.

  “Were you in the sea?” she said.

  Father and son shook their heads, and when they said no more, she offered to brew some tea with some of the Jaro root she'd brought from the Comet Tail Isles.

  Nasira served it in a few ceramic cups she'd pilfered. “The Jaro tea will ease your mind. I used to drink it every night to help me sleep, back when I…” Her voice trailed off. She sat cross-legged beside them. “I thought you were dead, Argus of Leith. After I found your chain days ago I knew which building swallowed you, but I couldn't bring myself to go in.”

  Argus nodded, sipping the tea. “Good. You're smarter than I am.”

  “I spent the last few days wandering the city. I kept telling myself maybe you were just lost. Maybe I would find you in an alley somewhere and everything would be all right.” Tears welled in her eyes before she hid them behind her cup.

  “You couldn't have found us up here,” Fotis said. “We were down below, lady…”

  “Nasira. The Comet Tail Isles are my home.”

  He nodded. “Fotis of Leith.”

  Argus scowled. How can he still call Leith home when he left us nearly thirty years ago?

  “It's an honor,” Fotis continued, pointing to the hammer at Nasira's side. “It's not every night that I get to sip tea with an artificer.”

  She shook her head. “No. That's… a long tale as well.”

  “Aye. That makes three of us with long tales, then.” His eyes widened as he studied the polished steel hammer, which was adorned with burnished red flames.

  Nasira finished her tea and set aside the empty cup. “I saw you down there. Both of you.”

  Argus leaned forward. “You did? When?”

  “Yesterday. I was roaming the city and tripped on one of those missing stones in the street. I looked down and there you were!” She shook her head. “I yelled and screamed and stomped my feet. You two kept on like you didn't hear a thing. That gave me the idea to start peeling away as much of the street as I could. I figured if I made a large enough hole maybe you'd see me. But those stones were impossible to pull up. Makes me wonder if the ones who built this city designed it that way.”

  “They did,” Argus said. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. “Allowing just a few peeks at the world above was the perfect torture.”

  “Aye,” said Fotis. “Knowing the sun was right above you, people laughing and carrying on. Can you imagine? It's worse than any axes or gallows.”

  Nasira's eyes narrowed. “How did you get down there anyhow?”

  Fotis told her, and then it was Argus's turn to share everything that had happened once he walked into that bakery. She wanted to know how they escaped. They told her about the ulegot and the plunge down below.

  Nasira looked at the door, then hopped up to drag some chairs in front of it. “Ulegots? If they found a way onto the Cradle—do you know what this means?”

  Yes, Argus thought.

  “They're slippery little buggers,” said his father, “but they shouldn't have been able to survive so long away from water.”

  “That's right,” Argus said. “When the gods of Eld fought the demigods—the ones who rebelled—they defeated them and cast them into the farthest reaches of the earth. They couldn't bring themselves to kill their creations, so they banished them instead. Yet time twisted those vanquished ones. We all know the tales; isolation and a thirst for revenge corrupted them, body and soul.”

  “But they had boundaries back then,” said Nasira. “And now it appears they don't.”

  Argus shook his head. He almost brought up the sandshade, and changed his mind. Nasira looked at him like she already knew what he was thinking. Just as the ulegot had crossed out of its watery prison onto the Cradle, so had the sandshade crossed the Cloudbreaker Mountains and taken his mercenary brother Harun.

  Willow had suspected that her cousin Eamon, the man who'd united the Calladonian tribes and forged a brutal empire, was somehow involved. But Eamon was dead now. So was Willow. And here they were—no closer to any answers.

  “Seems to me this would be the last place they'd come,” Fotis said, munching on another apple. He spit a few seeds into the fire. “When I was a young boy everyone said the Cradle was a sacred place. At least that's how it went in the children's tales.”

  “Maybe those demigods have decided the old war isn't over,” Nasira said. “What do you think, Argus?”

  He shrugged. Even though Eamon was dead, maybe he'd set something into motion. “We'd know a lot more if we could get into that library.”

  “No.” Nasira threw another log onto the fire so hard she sent embers flying. She turned away, coughing while the flames hissed. When she caught her breath she glared at him and said, “Test your luck again if you will, but you'll do it alone. I can't stay here while you keep trying. Better for me to leave the Cradle and assume I've lost you instead of hoping, wonder
ing, and lying awake at night for you to come back.”

  Argus smiled, but Nasira's scowl remained. “You're right. Even if I got lucky enough to find it, I'd have to stay in there until I either died or found out everything I want to know. Finding it twice would be impossible.”

  “What library?” Fotis said. “You're saying you came all this way looking for books?”

  “It's none of your concern.” Argus turned back to Nasira. “Maybe I'll come back here once I know more. For the meantime the Library of Man isn't ready to be found—not by me, at least.”

  The Comet Tailer cocked her head. “Do you feed all your women lines like those?”

  Argus laughed. It wasn't as hearty as it used to be, but it still filled the humble stone house. “Sometimes I'm… inclined to bend the truth. But not now. It's time for me to leave. While I still can. I'd come with you, if you'll have me.”

  “Good. Better rest up, then. I sail for Azmar at dawn.”

  Argus groaned as his father cheered. Then Fotis grabbed Nasira and asked how in the blazes she had a seaworthy boat.

  “I'm no expert sailor,” she said. “Far from it. Passing through the Shipbreakers called for a little artificer ingenuity. They may have stripped my title, but at least they can't take that.” She sighed. “You'll see what I mean in the morning.”

  “Why Azmar?” Argus said. “I'm a wanted man there, you know.”

  “I'd like to meet up with our friend from Rivanna. You said he's studying the gods of Eld. I'm eager to see what he has found. Maybe I can help him unravel the mysteries of worshiping them. Then maybe they can help me reverse this miserable twist of fate.” Her eyes fell on her hammer.

  “What happened to not meddling and letting fate have her way?”

  Nasira tsked. “I'm afraid I don't have that in me, Argus of Leith. I have to find a way back to the Comet Tail. To the seat that's meant for me. As for your… situation in Azmar, there's no need for you to stay. I'll go find Siggi. You can book passage on a larger ship for Davos or wherever you want to go.”

  “Davos?” said Fotis. “Hardly a point there after the Calladonians burned her to ash.”

  “They did,” said his son, “but I went back, buried the bodies and started to rebuild. There are a few of us living there now. Some of the most unsavory characters in all the kingdoms. Your baby is ailing, but she's still alive.”