by Brandon Mull
“Could somebody use Edomic to fix the way Eldrin made you?”
She shook her head. “Such expertise no longer exists. Even the most capable wizard from ages past would probably fall short of the task. Only Eldrin could have given our race the chance to endure, and he opted to limit our population, much as Zokar did with his creations.”
“I know your laws forbid it,” Jason said, “but what if you studied Edomic? You know, learned to repair yourselves.”
“Some among us have argued that we should study Edomic. My brother is one of them. Such thinking is foolishness. We were engineered to have little aptitude for Edomic. The most adept among us could never achieve enough power to justify the risk. Any of the Amar Kabal who tamper with Edomic risk fulfilling the prophecy that such activity will bring about our demise.”
“Labeling me a fool behind my back?” Drake asked from behind.
Farfalee turned to face him. “I’ve issued no labels that I would hesitate to repeat in front of you. You are a fool to toy with Edomic and to advocate its use to other seedfolk. You could bring about the end of our race for the lofty aspiration of igniting small fires without tinder.”
“I still normally need tinder,” Drake explained. “But I can manage the feat without flint.”
“Foolishness.”
“You speak Edomic better than I do.”
“That’s different,” Farfalee insisted. “I only speak to communicate. Never to command.”
Drake waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Failie. No prophecy would have included me. I’m a disgrace and an outcast.”
Farfalee shrugged. “Your words, not mine.”
He folded his arms. “Very well, sister, how would you label me?”
She looked at him seriously for a moment. “You are certainly an outcast. But so is my husband, and I have greater respect for no man living. You have made some poor choices, Drake, but here we stand. You keep correcting your course. Few men are as true to themselves and their instincts. I would say that you are much closer to being a hero than a disgrace.”
Drake looked away. Jason could tell her words had touched him. Regaining his composure, the seedman squinted at the slowly gaining interceptor. “This should time out well.”
“Our pursuers will be in position before nightfall,” Farfalee said.
“Think we can sink it?” Jason asked.
“Aram likes the plan,” Drake replied. “As does Heg. As do I. Bat volunteered to do the honors.”
The plan was simple. With night falling, and the interceptor directly behind them, the crew of the Valiant would lighten the load slightly by throwing some nonessentials overboard. A drinling would jump into the sea along with the junk. He would bring a pair of orantium globes. The Valiant would hold a steady course, which would hopefully lure the pursuing ship right past the drinling in the water.
“Will we circle back for him?” Farfalee asked. She and Corinne had spent more days with Bat than the rest of them.
“It has been a matter of debate,” Drake said. “Seems heartless to leave him. But we’d have to go against the wind. It could cost a lot of time. Bat claims he can make it to shore on his own. I don’t know. Tireless or not, we’re far from land.”
Farfalee nodded. “If you’re right about the empire learning our plans, we can ill afford to lose time.”
“Hence the debate,” Drake said. “Heg and Nia insist we should leave the drinling behind. Aram seems to be leaning their way. Jasher and I would rather return for him.”
Looking out at the water, Jason envisioned himself stranded at sea, alone, no boat or land in sight, gentle swells rising and falling around him. He could think of few predicaments more intimidating. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What are the chances he could make it?”
Drake shrugged. “He’ll go over the side with plenty of debris to help him keep afloat. Not quite a raft, but enough to rest on. Unlike us, he can drink seawater. He would bring provisions. If he can keep his bearings and survive, Bat might reach land within a week or two.”
“Or he might die miserably and alone,” Farfalee added. “Without an imminent threat, it strikes me as disgraceful to abandon a hero who risks his life to save the rest of us.”
“What does Bat want?” Jason wondered.
“He insists that we shouldn’t return for him,” Drake said. “Claims it will jeopardize the mission and belittle his sacrifice.”
“Bat has to say that,” Farfalee sighed. “Drinlings were created to sacrifice in battle. The concept might even be supported by their physiology at an instinctive level. They view death in combat as the glorious fulfillment of their destinies. Eldrin taught them that they are expendable, and they believe it. Unless blatantly mistreated, drinlings will readily suffer and die for the good of their allies.”
Drake nodded. “The prospect of the rest of us placing the mission at risk to come to his rescue is utterly foreign to him. The group does not bend for the individual.”
“If that’s how he’s been trained to feel,” Jason said, “wouldn’t we be taking advantage of him?”
Farfalee huffed softly. “If the imperials have learned our destination, returning for Bat truly could endanger the mission. For the good of all Lyrian, our mission must succeed. By design or not, Bat sincerely would not want us to go back for him. And he truly does stand a chance of surviving on his own.”
“My sister the pragmatist,” Drake said. “Should I tell Nia and Heg that we’re willing to abandon Bat?”
Farfalee gave a reluctant nod. “If they recommend it, and Bat is willing, our need is too great to defy them.”
“I’ll convey our consent.” Drake walked away.
Farfalee turned to Jason. “How do you feel about that decision?”
“I don’t know. It kind of feels wrong.”
“It does. But is it necessary?”
Jason folded his arms and scrunched his brow. “Maybe. Probably. What an awful choice.”
She stared at the pursuing ship. “I doubt either decision could feel right. We can risk Bat’s life, or we can risk the mission. The oracle warned that Lyrian must be purchased with sacrifice. I fear Bat may be one of many to come.”
“What if he fails?”
“We will be even less able to go back for him. If his failure reveals our intentions, we probably won’t be able to succeed with a similar ploy. If his failure goes unnoticed, we’ll have to try again, perhaps involving the skiff or one of the launches.”
Jason turned and watched Drake speaking with Nia, Heg, and Bat. Nia and Heg looked satisfied, and Bat looked overjoyed. The bravery of his smile left Jason resisting tears.
“How could we possibly show Bat how much we appreciate him?” Jason asked.
“We succeed,” Farfalee replied.
* * *
By the time the glowing streaks of sunset began to fade from the western clouds, Bat stood ready to jump. Several crates, barrels, and pallets had been collected to heave over the side with him. The little raft of planks he would use as a personal flotation device was larger than a paddleboard, and some impromptu carpentry had made it quite stable. He had food, gear for catching fish, and an improvised snorkel. And of course he had the two orantium spheres.
“Stay low,” Jasher cautioned. “Keep wreckage between yourself and the ship. Use the breathing tube to stay submerged whenever possible.”
“Don’t worry,” Bat said. “They won’t see me. I’ll get close enough not to miss. They’ll drown without knowing what happened.”
“We can’t have everyone crowding the rear of the ship to watch,” Aram said. “Certainly not until after Bat strikes. Dump your debris, then man your stations. Jason has been near the stern all day. He and Jasher will serve as lookouts. Until the explosion we can’t display excessive interest.”
“It’s time,” Farfalee said. “Swim safely, Bat. We are all indebted.”
Bat grinned. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Heg drew near and whispered som
ething to Bat, who nodded and whispered something back. The two men gripped forearms. Bat looked eager.
“Positions,” Aram ordered, his voice deeper now that he had grown. Drinlings moved to both sides of the ship. Bat got ready, his floatation device in hand.
Jasher and Jason strolled to the rear of the ship.
Aram gave the command. Crates, barrels, pallets, and other wooden fragments went over the side along with Bat. The ship was advancing at a good pace, thanks to the steady breeze, so it did not take long before Jason saw the debris trailing on the water. He tried not to stare at Bat’s flotation device.
The interceptor was closer than ever, not more than fifteen ship lengths behind. It would overtake the flotsam before long.
Jasher raised the spyglass, directing it at the ship, not the debris. “We’re being pursued by the Avenger,” he reported. “I can finally make out the name. Have a look.”
Jason accepted the spyglass. “Do we seem too interested?”
“We’ve been gazing at them all day. You in particular. They’ve almost caught us. It would seem more peculiar if we didn’t watch.”
Jason peered into the eyepiece. The light of the dying sunset barely let him read the name of the ship. “Hopefully, they won’t avenge anything today.”
“They think they have us,” Jasher said. “They’ve gained on us throughout the day. Lightening our load made us look desperate. They’re focused on us, not the debris. They’re prepping for battle. Making sure the pitch is hot, the catapults ready. Archers are stringing bows. Boarding parties are assembling. The captain is waiting to see what maneuver we’ll try.”
Once he lowered the spyglass, Jason had trouble spotting the debris. “Bat is closer to them than to us.”
“If only he can fight the currents enough to stay in their path,” Jasher said. “He just has to get close.”
“What if they catch him when they abandon ship?” Jason worried.
“It’s an additional risk he’s taking,” Jasher said. “If the Avenger founders, it should sail well past Bat before anybody gets in the water. He can keep low and swim tirelessly. They’ll have many more pressing matters to worry about. I like his chances of avoiding our enemies. Making it to land should prove the tougher test. Watch it unfold through the spyglass.”
Jason did as he was told. He could see some activity on the deck. A man was climbing the rigging. He and Jasher watched in silence.
“Concentrate on the right side,” Jasher advised.
“You see him?”
“I think so. He’s close. Almost too close. Get ready for it.”
The explosion centered just above the waterline at the right front side of the ship. The bright flash sent wooden fragments flying. The percussive boom roared a moment later. Smoke bloomed upward. Once the view cleared, Jason saw a cave-sized hole.
“Yes!” Jason exclaimed. “He got—”
He was interrupted by a second explosion just above the waterline on the right side of the Avenger. He was viewing the explosion in profile, so it was a bad angle from which to appreciate the damage, but judging from the position of the detonation, the hole would have to be similar to the first.
Raucous cheering broke out aboard the Valiant. All pretenses abandoned, just about everyone crowded the stern, whooping and jeering and clapping. Bat’s name was chanted in unison.
It was impossible to see what exactly had happened to Bat, but the listing Avenger must have sailed well past him before it really started to wallow. Aram ordered a few drinlings back to their stations. As twilight deepened, everyone else stayed put to watch the Avenger sink.
CHAPTER 10
AVENGER
It’s an interceptor,” Aram said, lowering the spyglass and passing it to Jasher. Aram was short again, his voice pitched higher than at night. More than two days out from Durna, Jason, Nia, Jasher, and Aram huddled together at one side of the Valiant. Minutes before, a drinling high on the mainmast had spotted a ship on the eastern horizon.
“It’s on a course to intercept us,” Jasher said. “Of all the foul luck!”
“Don’t scold luck,” Aram said. “Word of the debacle in Durna must have traveled more swiftly than we imagined.”
“Maybe from displacer to displacer,” Jason guessed.
Aram grunted. “By displacer or eagle or gossiping fishwives, the word is out, and imperial vessels are checking the sea lanes away from Durna.”
“There are only two other interceptors in the whole Inland Sea!” Nia complained. “What are the chances?”
“Does it matter?” Aram replied. “One has found us. How do we respond?”
“How we deal with the interceptor is most vital in the short term,” Drake agreed, approaching the group alongside Farfalee. “How they found us so quickly may matter more as time goes by.”
“We razed their waterfront,” Aram said. “They started looking hard. They found us.”
“Too quickly,” Drake said.
“Weren’t you the one predicting disaster?” Nia asked Drake.
“Only because I hate being wrong,” Drake replied. “Personally, I would much rather beat the odds and live. I expected travail, but not such early detection.”
“I haven’t let my eagles fly since the day before our rendezvous,” Farfalee reminded everyone.
“Could our foes have anticipated our destination?” Jasher asked. “Doesn’t seem likely. Sailors have avoided the sight of Windbreak Island for generations. Who could have leaked our intentions?”
“Impossible to guess,” Drake said. “But whatever we do about our visible pursuers, we should be braced for more. Our enemies must have uncovered our plans. In situations like this, I’m slow to credit coincidence.”
“What do you suggest?” Farfalee asked Aram.
“The wind is from the southeast. It will benefit both ships. Given our current positions, I expect we could evade the other interceptor and win a race to Windbreak Island. But the other ship will never lose sight of us. We’ll be trapped between the abominable guardian and the oncoming interceptor.”
“What if we engage them?” Jasher asked.
“You’re familiar with our armaments,” Aram said. He was referring to the miniature catapults—three on each side—poised to launch burning pitch. “The enemy ship will be similarly equipped. Most likely we would roast each other, which would serve the emperor fine.”
Jason winced. The prospect of combat aboard flaming ships with no land in sight was not appealing.
“We don’t just need to survive this,” Drake muttered. “We need to make it through virtually unscathed, or the rest of our efforts will be hobbled.”
“What about our orantium?” Jason asked.
“It’s our biggest advantage,” Farfalee agreed.
Jasher scowled in thought. “The problem becomes how to get close enough to deliver the explosives without taking fire ourselves.”
“Would the catapults fling orantium farther than pitch?” Jason wondered.
Drake shook his head. “Probably not much farther.”
“What if we moved a catapult to the bow and went straight at them?” Farfalee asked.
Aram shrugged. “Unconventional. Might catch them off guard. We might get off a few spheres before they could adjust. Once they adjusted, the maneuver would swiftly bring us into close range.”
“Orantium impacting the deck of the other ship would cause damage,” Jasher said. “But orantium against the hull near the waterline would sink them.”
Aram chuckled. “That would require quite a shot.”
“We want to hit them before they can hit us,” Nia said. “And it would be best to strike the hull near the waterline. Would losing some dead weight help us sail faster?”
“Only a little,” Aram said.
“We should run, but let them get close,” Nia replied. “I have a plan.”
* * *
Jason stood at the stern beside Farfalee, watching the interceptor gradually gaining on them,
sails billowing in the breeze. The sun would set before long.
“They don’t seem to suspect anything,” Jason said. “They’re trailing straight behind us.”
“They assume we’re incompetent sailors,” Farfalee replied. “Getting directly between us and the breeze gives them a chance to steal wind from our sails and gain even more quickly. Aram is deliberately doing nothing to counter the tactic. And he doesn’t have us rigged for maximum efficiency.”
“How is Corinne?”
Farfalee shook her head sadly. “Green as ever. I had hoped that the larger vessel and calmer water would reduce her stomach problems. Not so.”
Jason nodded. Journeying southward last year, Corinne had been seasick all the way from the Silver River to the Durnese River aboard a drinling longship. Not an hour after coming aboard the Valiant, she had fallen ill again. She was currently in a cabin belowdecks. When Jason had visited, she had been flat on the floor, perspiring and moaning, a bucket at her side. He hadn’t stayed long.
Behind the Valiant and off to one side, a school of kitefish leaped from the water, more than a dozen in total. They looked like a cross between barracuda and manta rays, long bodies sporting wide, winglike fins. The kitefish sprang into the wind, triangular fins spread wide, gliding smoothly upward, then hanging suspended before plunging back into the water.
With nets and rods, several of the drinlings worked round the clock catching kitefish and other sea life. Drake had explained that because of the high salt content, only select species of fish could survive in the Inland Sea.
“Would kitefish attack people?” Jason asked. They looked large enough.
“They mostly prey on other fish and birds,” Farfalee answered.
“You don’t have anything like them in the ocean?”
“Not really.”
“I wonder where they came from,” Jason said. “If the Inland Sea is too salty for most fish, how did they get here in the first place?”
