by Giles Carwyn
Shara turned to Jesheks. “I must admit, I am curious,” she said. “You are no novice to throw your power around lightly. What is your interest in the Summer Cities? Why support a toad like Vinghelt?”
“Vinghelt is but a passing fancy,” Jesheks said in his high voice. “My only true interest is in furthering my art.”
“And how does war with Physendria further your art?”
Jesheks paused, and for a moment she was sure he would not answer, but then he said, “It is a small courtesy I am paying to someone who interests me.”
“And why does she interest you?” Shara asked.
Jesheks smiled, and Shara knew she had guessed correctly. Reef must have been right about Arefaine pulling strings in the Summer Cities. But to what end?
“Her potential intrigues me,” he said. “As I grow older, I feel the urge to pass on what I have learned. It can be so difficult to find a worthy protégé.”
Shara doubted his confession was a truthful one. Arefaine certainly wouldn’t stoop to being anyone’s protégé. He must know that. His overconfidence might be something she could use against him.
“Why limit yourself to teaching a child,” she asked. “When you could ally yourself with an equal, each sharing their knowledge openly?”
“My dear…” Jesheks said in his childlike voice. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Perhaps.”
Shara paused, but Jesheks changed the subject.
“Look.” He nodded to the two combatants. “It is almost over. Natshea is getting bored with the girl.”
Natshea charged Brezelle. She met the charge, but couldn’t stand up to the larger woman’s strength. Swords clanged and steel rang, but always Brezelle backed up a step. She tried a riposte again, but Natshea slid to the side. Brezelle’s blade missed her by half an inch, but Natshea’s bit deep into Brezelle’s left arm. Blood wet Natshea’s sword, and Brezelle gasped, jumped back, and bumped into the crowd.
Natshea laughed, but did not press the attack. It was first blood. Brezelle could now yield and leave the duel with honor. The young woman touched the blood on her arm. With a deadly gaze at Natshea, Brezelle shook her head.
Natshea nodded, then turned her back and sauntered into the center of the cleared space.
“Your words drip from a silver tongue
The crowd can cheer to that
But the blood upon my steel bespeaks
A truth quite cold and flat
So come for me again, my love
I’ll dance with you all day
And when you choose to dance at night
I’ll send my friends to pay.”
Brezelle winced as she moved her shoulder, unconsciously trying to ease the wound that seeped into her beautiful blue tunic. She breathed hard, and her brow was furrowed as she stared at Natshea.
“Your…words cannot offend
Just tossed upon the wind…”
She winced again, and swallowed, searching for words through the pain. Shara knew immediately that it was the first time the girl had ever been hurt so badly. Reignholtz’s face was grave and unmoving as he watched with glittering blue eyes.
“I’d gladly serve all those you send
If you only had some friends.”
A few drunken spectators stomped their feet, but boos arose from others. The rest of the crowd stayed silent.
“I think you are mistaken,” Shara murmured to the albino, still keeping her attention on his ani, making sure he was not sending any to Natshea. “I think Brezelle is just hitting her stride.”
Brezelle seemed to gather herself and jumped forward, her blade a blur in the fading afternoon light. Natshea blocked, blocked, and blocked again, all the while retreating. With a snarl, she riposted violently, trying to shove the smaller woman off-balance, but Brezelle gave like a tree in the wind, allowing the riposte to miss her by inches, then slashed Natshea on the wrist.
A gasp ran through the crowd, and Natshea fell back. Shara smiled, was about to say something to Jesheks, but she stopped herself.
The lanky duelist stared at the blood on her right wrist. Brezelle paused, breathing hard, her eyes glittering. She saluted, giving a moment for Natshea to yield if she chose.
Instead, Natshea ran a finger through the line of blood, and her whole body shuddered. She looked up, a faint smile on her lips, and the light went out of her eyes.
Oh no… Shara thought, watching what no one else could see. Power flooded into Natshea’s body, a torrent of it, but it didn’t come from Jesheks.
“No,” Shara breathed, forgetting Jesheks, forgetting everything. Natshea leapt forward. Swords clashed again, but they were lost behind the surging bodies of the crowd. Everyone went wild, cheering madly, stomping their feet, shaking the boat.
Shara elbowed her way forward to get to Brezelle’s side, but everyone wanted a look. It took Shara precious moments before she burst through to the cleared space—
Natshea’s sword glimmered dully in the gloomy light. Brezelle bled from three places. Shara threw a surge of power to the girl, but it was too late. Natshea slashed viciously downward, powering through Brezelle’s feeble block. Blood splattered the crowd, and Brezelle crumpled to the deck.
“No!” Reignholtz shouted, rushing forward, falling to his knees and taking his daughter’s head in his lap. Brezelle twisted in her father’s grip, her boots scuffing the deck as she clenched her teeth against the pain. One of Brezelle’s eyes looked around wildly, but the other was bathed in blood, covered with the flap of her cheek that had been laid open to the bone.
Shara stood stunned, her heart beating fast in her chest.
A roar of approval exploded from the crowd, shaking the deck like a crack of thunder. The spectators rushed forward. Shara tried to throw a glamour over Brezelle, but she was buffeted by the crowd and lost sight of the girl.
Vinghelt and Natshea were swarmed by the crowd. Delirious supporters lifted them onto their shoulders. The prince waved to the masses as they paraded him around the ship.
Reignholtz and Brezelle were also mobbed by the crowd. Despite Lawdon’s efforts to stop them, father and daughter were lifted up into the air. Reignholtz clung to his daughter as she writhed in pain. Buffeted by the crowd, they were carried hand over hand to the edge of the ship and tossed overboard.
Shara felt nauseated. She looked up to see Natshea being carried a short distance away. With a reptile’s smile, the tall, lanky woman saluted Shara with her blade and licked a line of blood off her wrist. The cheers were constant now, and a chant of “Long live the prince,” rose above the din.
Shara flicked her gaze to Glory of Summer’s forecastle. Jesheks was still there. His cowl was drawn low, and she could only see his mouth at this distance.
He held his white hands out, palms up.
Seething, Shara turned away.
CHAPTER 20
Lawdon punched the man in front of her in the kidney and yanked him out of the way as he fell to the deck. The crowd surged around her as they passed Brezelle and Reignholtz hand over hand and tossed them over the side, heedless of the bleeding girl in their arms.
Lawdon fought her way to the rail and dived in after her lord.
She spluttered to the surface and swam over to Reignholtz, who was treading water while supporting his daughter in his arms. A high, thin wail of anguish escaped Brezelle’s lips though she tried valiantly to hold it in.
“It’s all right, little sister,” Lawdon said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “We’ll get you home. It’s going to be all right.”
Dammit! Where the hell are Javthus and Matten?
She had told them to have the boat waiting if things went badly!
Again, a moan escaped through Brezelle’s clenched teeth. “M-My face,” she mumbled.
Reignholtz held the bloody mass of her cheek together, keeping pressure on the wound, his face a tight mask. Lawdon could barely keep her anger down. Natshea had been vicious, delivering three wounds in that last at
tack. She should have given her opponent the opportunity to yield. But that demon had sliced Brezelle in two places before giving her the spiteful gash across the face.
Red rivulets streaked down Brezelle’s cheek into the water. There would be no more poetry to the beauty of Brezelle Reignholtz.
“I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know what happened,” she cried. “I had her. You saw. I cut her, but she was so fast.”
“It’s okay, little one. You fought bravely. You did all you could.”
Lawdon looked at Brezelle’s ashen skin. She was bleeding so much. That beautiful skin should be tan, not gray. Lawdon clenched her teeth and looked for the damn boat. Where the hell were Javthus and Matten?
Brezelle kept talking, but her words were garbled as she faded into unconsciousness.
“They’re here,” Lawdon said, catching sight of the rowboat as Reignholtz’s men maneuvered it between the two ships. They shipped the oars and pushed against the hulls on either side to bring the runabout closer.
Lawdon hooked a heel on the edge of the rowboat and levered herself inside. With Matten’s help, she lifted Brezelle into the boat, while Javthus helped Reignholtz out of the water.
“You’re wounded, sir!” Javthus shouted.
Lawdon followed their gazes. High on Reignholtz’s thigh, a puncture leaked blood.
“My lord!” she said, scooting forward to inspect it.
“Leave it!” Reignholtz snapped. “Man your oars and put your backs into it,” Reignholtz ordered, climbing into the bottom of the boat, supporting his daughter’s head and reapplying pressure to her wound. “I want her home now.”
“Yes, sir,” Matten replied, as they pushed the boat free and reset their oars.
“Your wound is deep,” Lawdon said, taking the tiller.
“I know,” Reignholtz growled. “Someone in the crowd stabbed me as we were carried away.”
Lawdon remembered Reignholtz wincing as he was thrown from the Glory of Summer. She clenched her teeth. Had the world gone crazy?
The rain had finally begun. It started lightly at first, but the wind was picking up, and the droplets became heavier.
“Is the physician ready?” Lawdon asked.
“Yes, Captain,” Matten said through gritted teeth, rowing as hard as he could.
“What physician?” Reignholtz asked.
“I hired one, without consulting you, my lord.” Lawdon admitted. “I knew it would anger you, but…” She took a deep breath, looking at the ruin of Brezelle’s face. “I thought it would be for Avon Leftblade. In case things went badly.”
“Well done,” Reignholtz said, lowering his eyes to his daughter. “I should not have been so optimistic.” He shook his head.
Brezelle’s head rested in her father’s lap. The rain made pink puddles on his cloak. Reignholtz adjusted his daughter and looked at Lawdon. “What happened? The woman was not the same fighter after Brezelle cut her.”
Lawdon nodded.
“Is there some witchcraft at work here? Did your friend from Ohndarien cause this?”
Lawdon was stunned. She shook her head. “No. Shara would never do such a thing. If there was magic at work, she will be able to tell us who was behind it. I’ll ask her.”
“You do that. I want to know immediately. We have been more than gracious to Shara-lani. If she stood by and let this happen, I want to know.”
The two stared at one another for a long moment, Reignholtz’s blue eyes blazing.
“Of course, my lord…” she said quietly.
The rain came harder, cascading down upon them. In a few minutes they wouldn’t be able to see the Floating Palace anymore.
The boat suddenly jerked.
“What did we hit?” Reignholtz demanded.
Matten stopped rowing, breathing hard, and looked over the side. “I don’t know, my lord. There aren’t any reefs in this part of the—”
The boat shook again.
Everyone started looking over the edges, but it was difficult to see anything in the driving rain that turned the choppy water into a ruffle of impenetrable gray and white.
Lawdon’s gaze fell on the front of the boat. A thin rope, barely visible in the dark, was looped around the bow.
“We’re dragging a bowline!” she said, moving forward. Everyone turned to look. “Of all the times to make a stupid, dusteater mistake!”
Matten got there before her, hauled on the line, but it didn’t come. He grunted, pulled hard. “We’re dragging something.” Putting his back into it, he hauled the line up. It jerked, and Matten dropped it. He shook his head, cursing.
“We’re caught.”
Javthus shipped his oar and went to help the man. Together, hand over hand, they slowly pulled the line up. “There’s something…”
A hefty beef bone emerged from the water, with chunks of raw flesh still hanging off it.
“What the—” Lawdon breathed.
Flashing teeth leapt up from the rain-pocked water. Matten dropped the bone just in time to save his hand. “Shark!” he yelled, stumbling backward into the boat.
Lawdon’s blood went cold. Sabotage. She scanned the waves. With the rain, it was difficult to be sure. There could be a hundred fins out there.
“Cut that line and row!” she commanded. Javthus’s dagger flashed out of its sheath, and he severed the rope. “Get us the hell out of here!” She leapt to the oars and began pulling until Matten and Javthus took her place. She hurried back to the tiller.
“When did you leave the boat?” she demanded.
Javthus didn’t answer for a moment, then Matten said, “Just for a moment, Captain. To watch the duel.”
“We left it tied just below us,” Javthus said.
“You idiots!” Lawdon snarled.
“Enough, Captain,” Reignholtz said. “The damage is done.”
“They could have followed orders—” Lawdon began.
“Enough!” Reignholtz said, his voice thundering.
Lawdon raised her head, locked gazes with Reignholtz, suddenly realizing what he was thinking. No. It wasn’t over. Why would someone sabotage the boat if they could simply cut the line and be done with it?
“That cut in your leg was deliberate,” Lawdon breathed, not wanting the others to hear.
Reignholtz turned, searching the rain.
“Row harder,” Lawdon said, wishing they’d brought more crew so they could double up on the oars.
“To port!” Matten said, pointing.
The dark prow of a ship emerged from the storm, almost on top of them.
“Row!” Lawdon yelled, yanking the tiller sideways, but the little boat barely reacted. The looming prow cut toward them.
Reignholtz grabbed his daughter and leapt into the water. Lawdon threw herself sideways as the dark ship shattered the little rowboat.
A shard of debris smacked into her head, and the hull slammed into her. She spun, her heels bouncing against wood. She pushed violently away and was tumbled in the ship’s wake.
She thrashed for a moment, then came to her senses. Relaxing, she let out a few bubbles and followed them upward.
She broke the surface with a gasp, spinning around to search for the ship. Its stern could barely be seen through the rain, then it disappeared altogether.
“Reignholtz!” she screamed. There was no answer. “Reignholtz!”
She cast about, looking for anyone. Her heart hammered in her chest. There were sharks in this water. All around them.
She spotted something among the wreckage of the rowboat. A man swimming.
“Reignholtz!” she shouted, swimming after him. Her lord swam away from her, holding Brezelle limp in his arms, keeping her head out of the water. His arm across her shoulders held a naked dagger. Why didn’t he answer her?
“My lord,” she shouted. “We have to—”
“Get away!” he shouted.
“What—?”
“We’re bleeding, Lawdon! Get away!”
She froze, sinking s
lightly and coughed up a mouthful of water.
“No…” she said, and kept swimming toward him.
“That’s an order!” Reignholtz said.
“We’ll tie off the wounds!” she shouted, coming closer. “We’ll—”
“There is no time,” Reignholtz growled. “Go!”
Lawdon hesitated, her mind desperately searching for a solution.
Brezelle screamed, suddenly awake as she was yanked downward. Her cry was cut off as she went underwater. Reignholtz fought, hauling her above the surface again, stabbing downward with his dagger, but the jerk came again, stronger than before. Brezelle’s spluttering wail was cut off again as she was snatched out of Reignholtz’s grip.
“NO!” Lawdon shouted, swimming toward them again.
Reignholtz cursed, water splashing as he stabbed downward again and again. With a cry, he disappeared under the waves.
“REIGNHOLTZ!”
He came up, cursing, fighting, stabbing. A shark surfaced, teeth snapping on his arm from behind. He screamed and went under. He did not resurface.
Lawdon treaded water, and the only sound was her heavy breathing and the splashing rain. He was gone. Just…gone.
Slowly, she began to swim backward, only a few yards from where her lord and sister had disappeared. She looked around. Javthus and Matten where nowhere to be seen, taken by the sharks already or killed in the crash.
Something brushed her back. Lawdon thrashed, spinning around. She fumbled for her dagger and drew it.
The rain came down as hard as ever, turning the ocean into a frothing mess. She looked around.
A fin cut the surface of the water. Two more were right behind it.
CHAPTER 21
The Ohohhim ship crept through the hazy darkness. Swirls of mist blew across the deck, heavy with sulfur. The scent brought Brophy back to the time when he and Shara had come this way, slipping past a line of Ohohhim warships to reach the Cinder’s desolate shore. He had been a different person then, full of faith and the dream of saving Ohndarien.
