The man nodded, turning away once more, and Aaron followed his gaze to a woman and a boy standing in the center of the circle formed by the surrounding water. He did not know them, but at the same time…he did. He was overcome with a love for them that he knew was not his own. “Your sister,” Aaron said as realization struck. “Your nephew.”
Something bothered Aaron about the two figures and, looking closer, he saw that neither moved. It was as if they weren’t people at all, really, but paintings or sculptures.
They are his memories, Co said, her voice quiet and sad. The small part of him that is human remembers them.
“I cannot reach them,” the man said, his words somewhere between a scream and a sob. “I’ve tried. But as much as I try…the waters will not let me. And…and I begin to forget.”
Aaron frowned, and saw that even as he watched them, the figures grew slightly less distinct. The lines of their faces, the colors of their eyes blurring, so that he couldn’t have said for certain what shade they were.
“It is always dark here,” the man went on. “Always cold. I…I think…” He turned, gazing at Aaron with desperate eyes, his grief writ plain upon his face. “I think, maybe, I knew them. That I should know them. But…I forget.” He heaved a heavy sigh and seemed to shrink on himself. “I…see things, sometimes. Feel things. There is a man…like me, but not me. I think…I think maybe I am evil.”
Aaron found it hard to look at the man’s tortured visage, and he felt a fresh wave of rage wash over him. Kevlane had stolen the man’s body, had made of him a monster, but the greatest evil he had committed was in leaving enough of him to know what he was, to sense something of what he had become, and what he had lost.
“I have been alone for so long,” the man said, and this time he didn’t seem to be talking to Aaron at all. “I screamed, looking for help, begging for anyone to come, but no one did.”
“I am here now.” Aaron said, swallowing the lump, one of grief and anger, gathered in his throat. “Take my hand, Savrin,” he said, offering his own.
“Savrin,” the man said, as if tasting the word. “I…I think that was my name. Is it my name?”
“Yes,” Aaron answered. “Now, come. I will lead you to them.”
The man took his hand, and Aaron pulled him to his feet, starting forward. “B-but the waters,” the man said. “They will come…they have drowned me, I think…I do not remember how many times.”
“Not this time.”
They had covered about half the distance toward the two figures when the man hesitated, resisting Aaron’s pull. The sellsword saw the fear on the man’s face, saw the tears trailing their way down his cheeks. He was shaking his head desperately. “I can’t…” he said. “I can’t remember. Pella…Larn…I can’t.”
“You must,” Aaron said. “But you must do it on your own. I cannot force you, Savrin.”
“T-then,” the man said, turning to Aaron with a desperate hope in his eyes. “I can be with them, again?”
“One day,” Aaron said. “But…now, I can give you the man who has taken you from them, Savrin. That much, at least, I can do.”
The man frowned, as if confused. “Someone…did this to me?” He gazed out at one end of the circle, and Aaron followed his eyes to see a vague, shadowy figure forming there, indistinct and unsure. Slowly, it resolved itself into the unmistakable visage of the bald man who had ambushed him and the others in the street.
“Yes,” Aaron said, frowning at the figure who stood as still as the woman and boy. “But do not be afraid, Savrin. What he can take from you, he has taken already. Now, you must take some of it back—you must remember. Now, come. They wait for you.”
The man did not resist again, and Aaron led him to the center of the circle where waited his sister and his nephew, where waited, in truth, his humanity.
***
Aaron’s eyes snapped open, and the world rushed back with force. The creature that had once been Savrin howled, the first sound he’d ever heard it make, and it tore its way free of the chamberlain’s clutches, knocking Aaron’s arm loose with such force that the sellsword stumbled and would have fallen, had Tianya not caught him. “What has happened?” she said, her voice a breathy, shocked whisper. “What did you do?”
“I helped him remember,” Aaron said, as the thing that had once been Savrin rose to its feet. It turned to him, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined the flash of knowledge, of understanding, he saw in its eyes, or if it was really there. “At least…I hope I did.”
Aaron moved forward to help the chamberlain to his feet. The creature must have struck him a glancing blow during the struggles, for Gryle had one hand pressed against his bloody nose. “You alright?”
The chamberlain swallowed hard, breathing heavily, but nodded. “Better than can be expected.” Aaron grunted, looking back to the creature as it turned to regard him and the others.
“Well?” Caldwell demanded in an angry hiss. “Finish them!”
The creature turned slowly, staring at the bald man, and for the first time Caldwell looked uncertain, afraid. The creature retrieved its sword from where it had fallen and started toward him with unhurried footsteps. One of the Ghosts moved forward, perhaps meaning to cut it down from behind, but Aaron grabbed the man’s arm, halting him. “Wait,” he whispered. “Just wait.”
“Y-you have to do as I command!” the bald man said, watching the creature’s inexorable approach with wide, terrified eyes. “In the name of Kevlane, your god, I command you to kill them!”
Yet still Savrin walked on, and Caldwell, frozen with either disbelief or fear, only stood there until the creature came upon him. Then, there was a blur of movement as Savrin unceremoniously drove his blade into the man’s stomach.
Caldwell let out a scream of surprise and stared down at the blade impaling him in disbelief. “I-it can’t be…i-it’s impossible.”
Savrin spoke then, in a voice that sounded harsh and tortured, as if each word was a great effort. “I…remember. I…told you…I would kill you.”
“B-but it can’t be,” the bald man whimpered. “I-it…can’t—”
His words were cut off as Savrin took a step back and, with a flash of his sword, cut the man’s head from his shoulders. Then he turned back to stare at Aaron, and now the sellsword saw some of the man he had once been in his gaze. One of the Ghosts let out a shout, and Aaron spun, cursing as he saw yet more of the creatures coming out of the alleyways between them and the city gate.
Then there was someone at his shoulder, and he looked to see Savrin standing beside him, gazing around at the dozens of creatures surrounding them. “Go,” he said. “Finish what you have started. I will hold them…for as long as I can.”
“Are you sure?” Aaron said, surprised at the emotions—anger, grief, sadness—that roiled in him.
“He wanted a monster,” Savrin said without looking away from the creatures gathering around them, “and so I will give him one. Now, go…while there is still time.”
Aaron turned to see the other Virtue-bearers and what remained of the Ghosts watching him. He had a moment of shock as he realized that only two of Perennia’s elite troops remained standing. The rest lay dead, their bodies scattered among the corpses of Kevlane’s creatures.
“Alright, you heard him,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “Let’s finish this.” And then they were running. The creatures tried to close in around them, but wherever they approached, Savrin was there, his blade flashing like lightning in the orange, ruddy glow of the street lanterns.
Soon they were past the mob of creatures, running through the streets, their breath rasping in the cold night air while the sounds of battle rang out behind them. They reached an intersection in the street, and Aaron turned to Caleb. “Which way?”
The youth’s eyes were wide, and he was staring back at the battle going on behind them in a stunned sort of way.
“Caleb,” Aaron said again, louder this time, “which wa
y?”
The youth jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to look at him. “Um…with the creature…how did you…”
Aaron saw the question in the eyes of the others, too. “Look,” he said, “I’ll tell you all about it later.” If we survive. “But right now, we’ve got more important things to worry about.” He glanced back at Savrin who moved in a blur, his sword lashing out and cutting down one creature after the other. “As good as he is, he won’t last long, not against so many.” And, of course, that wasn’t even considering the army even now being slaughtered outside of Baresh’s walls. An army of which many of Aaron’s friends—not to mention the woman he had come to love—were a part.
“Right, sorry,” the youth said, swallowing hard and forcing his eyes away from the bloody spectacle taking place near the gate. “This way.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Two guards stood in front of the boom house, their figures visible in the wavering orange light of the torches placed in brackets on either side of the structure. Urek paused and held up a hand, indicating for the others to stop. Now, with the wall blocking the harbor from view, Balen couldn’t see the battle raging on the waters outside the port, but he could hear it well enough. Cannons roared in the darkness like angry gods, more often than not followed by the tortured wailing of wood as one ship or another was struck. The night sky was lit by intermittent flashes of light as the battle raged on, and Balen felt almost grateful to be here on the shore instead of among that battle.
“What now?” he whispered, suddenly feeling very exposed, never mind the fact that it was dark, and the place in which they’d stopped was well away from any of the torches placed intermittently along the length of the harbor wall.
In answer, Urek motioned toward the hawk-nosed man. “Keep it quiet, will ya?”
“Sure, boss,” the man answered, and if he felt any of the anxiety that plagued Balen, his voice didn’t reflect it.
Balen watched Shadow creep away in the direction of the chain house, seeming to vanish into the darkness, living up to his name. Swallowing hard, Balen watched the guards. Minutes passed, each dragging on until it felt like they’d been crouched against the wall for an eternity. Then one of the guards suddenly stumbled and collapsed to the ground with a knife jutting from his throat.
The other guard spun, starting to pull his sword, but a figure rose out of the darkness behind him and dragged a blade across his throat. Seconds later he lay dead beside his companion. “Alright then,” Urek said, his voice as calm as if they were sitting in a tavern somewhere having a drink, “come on.”
The others started forward, following the big man, and Balen stared after them, shocked by how quickly the two men had died, without ever even knowing what had happened to them. Gods, let me remember never to piss that man off, he thought.
By the time he arrived, the band of criminals had already dragged the two bodies out of the torchlight, and the youth, Osirn, was crouched in front of the door, with what looked to be small metal tools in his hands. “Ah, first mate,” the big crime boss said with a grin, “I was beginning to think you got lost.”
If only I was that lucky, Balen thought, looking around at the guards on the wall and those who patrolled the docks. “What now?”
“Now,” the crime boss answered, “we let Osirn here do his work.”
“And what if one of the guards sees us and raises the alarm?”
“Well,” Urek said, scratching his chin as if thinking it over. “Then I imagine we’ll die. Painfully, no doubt.”
His grin did little to assuage Balen’s fears, and the first mate cleared his throat in an effort to keep back the whimper gathering there. “And the guards on the inside?” There would be several, he didn’t doubt. After all, only a fool would set up a harbor chain against an enemy navy and not make sure it was well-guarded. And as good as Shadow was, he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on the men inside as he had the other two.
The crime boss nodded, frowning. “I been thinkin’ about that. Interestin’ fact; while I was studyin’ on Baresh’s army, I learned they don’t let women into their ranks.”
Balen was about to ask the man if now was really the best time for a military lesson, but a grunt from beside him made him turn to see the woman, Beautiful, frowning at the crime boss. But if Urek saw, he gave no sign, only studying Balen as if it were only the two of them there.
“Yeah, on account of, they say, women are too weak and not smart enough to be soldiers.”
The woman hissed, and Balen noted the others stepping slowly away from her. Urek shrugged, as if unaware of the effect his words were causing on Beautiful. “Can’t say as I understand it, myself. But accordin’ to what I’ve heard, the army of Baresh looks at those things different. They figure women are good as little more than brood sows, poppin’ out babies and all.”
There was a metallic click, almost inaudible over the constant growl issuing from the giant woman’s throat, and Balen swallowed hard, taking a step back himself. “Got it,” Osirn said in a breathy, excited whisper.
Urek nodded and drew his sword, offering it to Beautiful without a word. The large woman snatched it from his hand, stepped past him, and slammed her foot into the door. There was a shout of surprise from inside the boom house as the door flew open, and then the woman charged inside. Balen stared in shock and recoiled as screams began to come from inside the building. Then he realized that the woman, however strong she was, was in there alone facing the gods alone knew how many guards. He started forward, but the crime boss grabbed his arm, halting him.
“I’d give her a minute or two, first mate,” he said.
“But she might need help,” Balen said.
There was a crash from inside, and Urek grunted in what might have been a laugh. “I don’t think she’ll be the one lookin’ for help just now.”
“Was that true, boss?” Shits asked. “About the army not takin’ women, I mean?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Urek said.
After a minute or two, the sounds of fighting from inside trailed off, and the big man grunted. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
“Come on my ship?” Festa bellowed, swinging the chair leg he held with two hands. There was an audible crack as the stout length of wood struck the man in the jaw.
The enemy sailor stumbled back toward the deck’s rail, and the captain’s second strike sent him tumbling over the side and into the dark water below. “Get your own damn ship!” he bellowed after the man. Frowning, Festa spun in time to see the last of the enemy sailors either cut down or thrown overboard.
“Captain,” a sailor asked, running up to him, “what are your orders?”
“Get that old grumpy bastard, Emer, up here to see to the wounded.”
The sailor swallowed, his expression falling as if he’d just been given a death sentence. Aside from the captain himself, the ship’s surgeon was the most feared man on the ship, but the man nodded and started away.
Festa studied the battle taking place on all sides as the Baresh navy engaged Perennia’s. Perennia’s had the greater numbers, but most of the ships making up their convoy were captained by smugglers used to running from fights, not military commanders. More than one ship had gone down to Baresh’s trained fleet, carrying its sailors—and the soldiers in its hold—down into the dark abyss the Sea Goddess called home.
He’d just turned back to gaze at the shore when another sailor approached. “Do you think they’ll succeed, Cap?” the man asked, and Festa could hear the fear in the man’s voice.
They’d better, he thought. If not, we’re done, and the army with us. But he said none of that, spinning on the man instead with a growl. “How the fuck should I know?” he demanded. “Now, get back to your damned job before I decide to feed the Sea Bitch one more fool.”
The man swallowed, hurrying away, his shoulders hunched as if in expectation of being struck with somethi
ng. And that was alright. Let the man focus on fearing his own captain instead of the doom that seemed more likely by the moment. Once the man was away, Festa turned back and studied the shoreline once more. If you’re goin’ to do something, Balen, it had better be soon.
***
The scene inside the boom house was one of unmitigated carnage. Blood was smeared on the floor and the walls, and bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, their limbs twisted at strange, impossible angles. Beautiful stood in the center of the room, covered in blood as if she’d bathed in the stuff, her chest heaving, her thick hands clasped into tight fists.
Balen felt the gorge rise in his throat and forced it down with a will, gagging. The woman spun at the sound, her eyes wild, a feral hunger dancing in them, and his breath caught.
“That was nicely done, Beautiful,” Urek said.
“Women can fight,” she said in a voice that was little more than a growl.
“Sure they can,” the crime boss said in a soothing tone normally reserved for wounded animals or the insane. Which, Balen thought, fit well enough. “Of course they can. And I reckon you showed these lads that well enough.”
The woman stared at him, her chest still heaving, and Balen tensed, half-expecting her to charge. Instead, she only sighed and some of the menace left her features as she looked at her hands. “I’ve ruined my nails,” she said in a musing tone, as if she’d chipped one of them having tea instead of butchering what Balen thought—though he couldn’t be sure as all of the guards’ pieces weren’t in their proper places—had been at least four men.
“A damn shame,” Urek agreed, as if it were the most reasonable comment in the world. “But don’t you worry—we’ll get ‘em done proper, when we make it back to Perennia.”
She smiled widely at that, revealing what few teeth she had left. “Thank you, Urek.”
“My pleasure,” the big man said, then he cleared his throat and turned to Balen. “Well, first mate? What now?”
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