by Jesse Teller
“We can’t stay here,” Sisalyyon said. “They will hit this place as hard as they can when they wake up. Kat and Tristan will come, and we will be wiped out. This is the horde. This is all that is important to Kat. They will not lose it.”
Rayph nodded. He turned to Trysliana. “Go check up on the city’s underground. Try to get in close with Grabble if you can. I need to know if he knows I’m in town. Sisalyyon, go back out to the forest. Tap in and find out where they are getting all this dirt.”
She nodded and disappeared into the shadows.
“What are you going to do, Rayph?” Dreark said.
“Not sure yet,” Rayph said.
He lifted off the ground, through the gaping hole in the roof, and cast an invisibility spell before hitting the open air. A great crowd of people had gathered outside to see the wreckage of the explosions that had ripped through the ceiling of the warehouse. It lay strewn across the streets and embedded in the surrounding buildings. The guards were in place now, moving the rubble away, and Rayph could see, on a horse in the shadows of an alley, a figure cloaked that might have been Tristan. He looked to be fuming, and his grip on his reins was white-knuckle tight. Rayph had no play against him, so he flew off.
He stopped, landing on a building overlooking the docks, and stared at the vast number of ships that rested there. More were anchored in the bay beyond. Rayph knew the few ships outside of the harbor were not going to serve him. From his perch, he could see sailors battling it out for the rank of captain for their respective ships. Rayph could see the Venture anchored a distance away, and his gut bunched.
“How do I stop them all?” he said. “How do I make them all stay when they lust to be out on the sea again?” He stood thinking, coming up with nothing, realizing he was not smart enough to figure this out. He hung his head, the weight of the survival of the world sitting on him. He ran his fingers through his scarred scalp of hair and looked at the sky.
“What would you do?” he asked. “If you were here, how would you fight this?” he said. But Glimmer wasn’t here.
Glimmer was a subtle man. His plan was never to destroy, as Rayph toyed with now. Glimmer would never turn Dreark’s ships around and command six ships to attack thirty-nine. His solution would be elegant and brilliant. It would be a flex of power that would reduce all who saw it to cowering fools. What would it be?
Rayph looked out at the bay and let his mind unravel. Glimmer had always talked about defense. Parry until the attacker is dead from his fervor. Then as he gasps, strike the one blow that will destroy him. Break him with grace. Break him before you kill him with your own show of force. Rayph looked out at the sea, and it came to him.
It was simple in its form. Elegant in design. Irresistible in its execution. This move would render all his enemies to simpering fools. He grinned and touched his fetish.
“I need Smear if I can have him,” Rayph said. “I need him to come to me and hold me up.”
“Why? Are you hurt? What happened, boss?”
“I’m not hurt. I’m fine, but I will be too exhausted to hold myself up. You will fly with me and carry me to safety when I collapse.”
“What’s going to drop you, Rayph?” Dreark said.
“Call in your ships, Dreark. I need them in the harbor.”
“Okay, it’s done. Be careful, Rayph.”
Smear showed up beside him, and Rayph turned to him and grinned. “You’re a lunatic, boss.”
“What? You don’t even know what I’m about to do.”
“Your eyes say it all.”
Smear was turned invisible. Rayph cast a flying spell upon them, and they flew out to the opening of Blister Bay.
“What are we doing out here?” Smear said.
“Stopping them all,” Rayph said.
He held his hands wide before him, his fingers curled up to the sky. He pulled in the surrounding area’s magic to his aura until he knew it would burst his heart. His aura swelled with so much magic he thought he would be sick. The water below him boiled and churned. It bowled out beneath him as if being pressed by a great rounded object. Smear’s face bubbled and warped as if he were flying too fast. His cheeks rippling, his hair pulled back and away from his face. His nose bled from the pure pressure of Rayph’s aura. The swells sloshed and bucked, the ships in the sea bobbing like lures.
Rayph curled his fingers into fists and dropped them to his waist. An unbearable weight filled his hands, and he pressed his magic under it. He lifted, feeling the incredible resistance as the ocean floor fought against him. He pulled with everything he had, his muscles ripping and shredding as he lifted. He pushed his power down and around his body, reinforcing his muscles, and jerking up with more power.
Smear cursed and called out to the gods all at once as the effect of the spell played out. Rayph pulled harder, ripping coral and reefs up from the harbor. The reef grew under him as he pulled, thickening and swelling. Coral erupted from the surface of the water, growing and expanding until it stood twenty, thirty, forty feet out of the water. It stretched across the harbor creating a wall of coral that cut the ships off from any escape from the port.
The exposed coral teamed with life. Crabs and lobster, fish flopping and seaweed waving. The whole of the coral wall flapped and fluttered as it stood blocking the way.
Rayph collapsed, dropping from the sky, caught an instant before his skull slammed on Hemlock’s new sea wall. Smear grabbed him and carried him away.
“In the name of the gods, Rayph, how was that done?”
Rayph had no hope of answering. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wondering what was going to be done with him, and where he would wake up.
Trunket and a Crossbow Quarrel
Aaron sat at the top of a tax-collecting tower, positioned down the street from the Crow’s Nest, with Horsehair, fidgeting and furious.
“Why don’t we just walk into the bar and slit his throat?” Aaron snapped. “This waiting is going to be the death of me.”
“Trunket the Mask is sitting in that bar with seven of his crew with him. He is a nightmare with his saber, and he has Spat with him. To kill him in there is an instant death.
“Now as I was saying, the boat tipped nearly on its side, but Helm kept her hold. We had strapped her to the helm so she would not fly away with a great wave, which hit her and—”
Aaron thought he would be sick if he had to hear another story about the Venture nearly capsizing in a storm. It seemed the only thing Horsehair was capable of talking about.
“That wave came, and she was slammed against the helm so hard I thought her dead. But you know what?”
“You guys kept to the rigging, you kept her afloat, and now can brag about it to any unfortunate bastard caught up with you and unable to run,” Aaron said.
Horsehair looked at him before grinning and breaking into laughter. “Yes, as a matter of fact. We did, and I can.” He shook his head. “I like you, Aaron. You are fun.”
“Never been called fun before,” Aaron said. He growled, wishing for the crew of the Marooned to come walking out, as if a wish alone could make it happen. The door opened and a sour, filthy man stomped out of the bar wearing a rag on his head and carrying a saber.
“Is that him?” Aaron said.
Horsehair nodded at Aaron as more and many men piled out beside their target. “He has a few legends with him. This is a bad time to do this. We need to rethink our plan.”
“They are getting out of range,” Aaron shoved Horsehair aside and snatched the massive crossbow out of his hand. Horsehair cursed.
“You’re going to get us killed,” the pirate said.
“Get the cord ready. I have a plan,” Aaron said. “Is this the lever right here?” Aaron looked at the target’s signature red mask and picked his spot.
“You have never fired a crossbow before?” Horsehair said.
“Shut up.” Aaron pointed, drew in a deep breath, and let it out as he pushed the lever. The arrow disappeared. It fired
faster and harder than anything Aaron had ever seen before. It kicked into his shoulder painfully, and he whistled.
“By the fire of a Fury’s breast, this thing is insane!” Aaron looked at his shot. He had hit the man in the temple. It was far off his aim, but just as deadly.
Horsehair cursed. Aaron tossed him the crossbow and grinned. “Better get going,” he said with a chuckle as the mage of The Marooned jumped into the air and flew toward them. Horsehair ran to the edge of the roof and leapt. The drop was dizzying, but Horse gripped a belt and zipped down a cord tied to another building. The mage stopped just feet above Aaron and stared at him. He looked past him to Horsehair and weighed the two of them. But he knew Horse, knew how dangerous he was, and he ignored Aaron. He flew off, dipping down under the roof’s edge. Aaron grinned as he ran.
He sprinted the distance of the roof and leapt as fast and as hard as he could. The ground opened beneath him, and he had time to curse his stupidity before landing on the back of the mage. He wrapped his legs around the man’s middle and pulled out his dagger.
The mage instantly twisted in the air. Aaron grabbed him by the back of the hair and brought his blade to the man’s throat. He tried to speak, but the rushing wind blotted out all his attempts. His legs gave way, and he dangled from the mage’s head, keeping tight grip on the hair. If the hair ripped out, Aaron was dead.
But long ago Aaron had learned that, in battle, where the head went the body followed. He waited until the mage was nearly on the ground before he slit the man’s throat and let loose. He dropped to the ground, rolling when his feet hit and finding his legs.
Horsehair stopped and stared at Aaron as if he were some mythical beast. He shook his head, his mouth hanging open as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen.
“Close your mouth.” Aaron pointed up the street. “They are coming.” The sailors of the Marooned were running in their direction, and Aaron laughed. “We have no time.”
“What was that?” Horse said. “How did you do that?”
“You’re pointless. Come on.” He grabbed Horsehair’s arm and jerked him up the street.
After a block, Horse remembered who he was. He pulled out ahead of Aaron and ran. They ducked into buildings, darted through people’s homes. They climbed roofs and jumped off great heights, the crew that chased them fighting to keep up. Horse reached the edge of a building, and he tucked his arms, making a tight arrow out of his body, and leapt from the roof.
The man dropped like a stone at an arc before slipping straight through an open grate and dropping into the sewers. Aaron pulled up short of the roof, shaking his head.
“No, no, not gonna be me.” He flipped over the side of the roof and hung. He dropped and rolled into the grate. He pulled it closed as he entered, plunging into darkness.
“You are insane,” Aaron whispered into the dark. “No man could make that jump.” Aaron thought about the twenty foot fall the pirate had just made, and he cursed.
“We are going to start comparing insane leaps now?” Horse said somewhere in the dark. They looked up through the grate as the crew of the Marooned marched through the alley. Horse slowly sank into the filth of the sewer until just his eyes, nose, and the crown of his head remained up. Aaron cursed.
“You’re disgusting,” he said as he followed suit.
The grate was lifted and a horribly scarred man stuck his head in. He looked right at them before he leaned back and dropped the grate.
“Who was that?” the man said to his compatriot.
“Had to be the Dark Lady. They have been furious with Trunket since Iant. That was a rivalry that needed to burn out. We need to think about the future,” the man spoke. Aaron could not see him, but the gravelly voice spoke of a neck wound that man had once suffered. They walked off, talking about future captains. Aaron rose out of the water with feces clinging to his neck and arms, and a strange film on his face.
“I’m going to slit your throat for this,” Aaron said, wiping his arms free of sour water.
“You’re crazy, Aaron the Marked,” Horsehair said.
“You’re wrong in the head, too.”
“We are going to be great friends,” the pirate said.
“I only have two friends.”
“Get ready for more,” Horse said. “Come on, we gotta get home. That is three enemies dead. We need to check in with Oak.”
Aaron grumbled, but not loud enough to be heard. He did not like the idea of answering to a man who was not Peter.
The Rattlesnake
Rayph felt the bed beneath him. He stirred, only to find the searing pain of torn muscles moving and ripping. He cried out in agony, and from somewhere close, Dreark laughed. A chair, dragged closer to the bed, creaked as the man sat in it.
“Ripped nearly every muscle in your upper body. Your biceps are trashed, your back nearly broken. Did a great job of making yourself useless.”
Rayph took a deep breath in to speak, his lungs tearing as he did. “How long have I been out?” His voice was weaker than he thought it would be, and he was suddenly alarmed by his current state.
“Few days,” Dreark said.
“How many?”
“Six.”
“The reef?”
“Stands in opposition of all that try to escape the harbor. You could have warned me, given me a little time to make a few preparations,” Dreark said.
“Where am I?”
“Cell in Hemlock’s jail.”
“What!” Rayph tried to get up. His back and chest screamed. His arms felt as if they had been skinned. Rayph fell back exhausted. “Why am I here?”
“Toc-a-Roc Rattlesnake Dancer is in town. His mage has sensors up all over town looking for a fleeing portal that might open. They are holding every wizard and wizardess they find. We’re trapped here.
“Seems my words at the town meeting, where I spoke of a powerful group in town, yeah, that got his attention, and he sent someone here to watch. When you—by the gods, I don’t even know what to call it—when you did what you did in the harbor, they knew you were here, and they came.
“They have Tomlin combing the streets constantly, looking for Smear. They have infiltrated the Mothers Smite with their girl Tes. They have Tellus in the underground, and have almost sniffed Trys out. And they have saddled me with Grelow, who watches my every move now. They don’t know it’s me yet, but they have checked my papers a few times, had their mage look over them, and he has not found a thing wrong. They checked me out pretty good, but they are suspicious.”
“Why am I here, Dreark?”
“They came to the church of The Pale looking for you. They know how The Pale feels about you, and they knew you were there. We had to hide you. This was our best plan.”
“How have they not found me yet?” Rayph said.
“Smear saw to your disguise.”
“You didn’t cast a disguise on me ’cause they would have detected it, but they are not looking for a haircut and a scarred man.”
“And Smear did other things, too. It’s actually quite disturbing how good he is at that.”
“Do they have Drelis?” Rayph asked.
“They don’t know about her. She joined us just recently. Harlow sensed Sisalyyon and went out to meet with her, but never guessed she would be helping you out, so they let her be. She told them she was there to watch the vampires, and Harlow waved his hand dismissively. They don’t believe they are here. I’m not even sure Toc-a-roc believes they are real.”
“He is a superstitious man. He believes, I’m sure of it. He has no proof yet, but he knows it’s possible.”
“So he might help us if we can convince him?” Dreark said.
“Help me up,” Rayph said.
“Not a chance, not until you have this in your system,” Dreark held up a flask of some liquid.
“What’s that?”
“Turgin, brewed in Tragon. Healing ale.”
“Never liked these brews,” Rayph said. “Too much po
wer, too much mind control.”
“Yeah, some of them are ill-designed, and one might go as far as to say evil, but this one is fine. Healing properties for sure. Just look at my arm.” Dreark held up a badly scarred but otherwise healed arm.
“That’s the one Tristan skinned!”
“It is.” Dreark tossed Rayph the flask. “Now drink.”
The taste was sickeningly sweet, the consistency quite thick. It coated his mouth and throat like a heavy syrup, and Rayph thought he would vomit before he choked it down.
“Give it a minute to work, and I’ll be back.”
“How much time?” Rayph asked.
“Few hours. If you can sleep, then get some. You’ll be hard pressed when you get out of here.”
Rayph did sleep. He had acquired the skill of snatching sleep when he could long ago in his training for knighthood and it had never gone away. His sleep was dreamless, and when he woke, he could smell his wife. He smiled and sat up, feeling his muscles tight and painful but healed. He stretched, fighting to get mobility back, and rattled the bars. Grelow walked up to the bars and peered into Rayph’s eyes.
“Can I help you?” His gray hair was wiry and long, his beard thick and combed. He was an older man, but the battered short sword on his hip spoke of a veteran, which Rayph knew he was. The man was one of the smartest he had ever met, and Rayph knew why Toc-a-roc had chosen him for his bounty hunting pack.
Rayph said nothing, just stared back. His voice might be recognized if he spoke. He was never good at disguising it. Instead, Rayph spat on the ground and retreated to the back of the cell.
Grelow looked at him. “What’s your name, trimerian?”
Rayph grunted, and Grelow sighed.
“I’ll ask again nice, then I will have to work on you a bit. What is your name, criminal?”
Rayph whispered a word that magically disguised his voice before he answered. “Hebian.”
