She hoped he’d be able to hold his breath.
The old stone tunnel was even worse than she’d imagined. It sloped down and away, completely unlit and filled with not just water but offal. She didn’t want to breathe the stuff, so she held her breath as long as she could and let the current carry her.
It wasn’t very wide, either. She kept brushing her hand against the wall. Fearful that she’d damage or lose the wand, she thrust it inside its housing on her belt. The movement sent her off course, and she bashed her head against an old stone. At the same moment she heard a shattering noise and knew the air bottle had broken.
If she hadn’t been wearing the rings of her ancestors then, she would have drowned, for she was stunned and dizzy. The water didn’t taste quite as foul as it smelled, but she found herself coughing anyway. She could hear nothing now but the rush of water on stone, and she wondered if the young priestess had really known where this spillway led. Suppose she were merely descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of the world?
And had Jekka come with her? Did he trail yet, or had he sacrificed himself so they could escape?
There was a burst of light, and suddenly she was sliding into open water. Salt water. She swam up toward the light, then saw movement below her. She turned to find Kalina struggling away from a clawed, slime-coated creature like a man-sized crab.
Mirian kicked toward her friend and struggled to free her wand. The monster released Kalina to float in a cloud of blood and pushed up—not toward Mirian, but toward Jekka, out now and straining for the surface. The beast stretched with its two great claws and the writhing mass of tentacles that extended from its mandibles. She heard it chittering in excitement as it closed.
Mirian finally put hand to wand as the creature grabbed Jekka’s left leg in a huge pincer. Jekka swung desperately with the laumahk.
He missed, and the scavenger’s tentacles brushed his tail.
The lizard man went limp, drifting helplessly as the creature pulled him toward its maw.
Mirian shouted the activation word, but the damnable wand didn’t fire. Just when she thought she was getting better with the thing. Was it out of charges?
Kalina swam in and stabbed the thing’s eyes with her fingers. The scavenger dropped Jekka and lashed out at the lizard woman with both tentacles and claws. Blood gushed from the lizard woman’s side.
Mirian caught the sinking Jekka and wrestled the laumahk from his stiff fingers.
The monster had three or four hundred pounds on her, and was born to move in the water. But because of her second ring, she could move just as naturally.
At last, a fair fight.
The monster abandoned the motionless lizardfolk and churned after her. She swung Kalina’s weapon two-handed and slashed into the hideous tentacles. The monster pulled up short.
But even though the dreadful wound released ichor, the beast was undeterred. It stretched toward her with snapping claws. Mirian kicked away, risking a glance back at Jekka and Kalina, who still floated motionless. Ancestors, she thought, give me strength to save my friends. If she didn’t move fast, Jekka would drown, and Kalina might be dead already.
She bit deep with her second swipe of the laumahk, but then the beast wrenched the weapon from her hands. She backpedaled, lifted the wand, and commanded it to fire.
And again she failed.
With a powerful surge of its back legs, the scavenger swept in. She pulled away, but the tip of the claw snipped her shoulder. Blood billowed, and she knew pain as well as raw panic as the tentacles stretched for her face.
She had overestimated her own competence, and now she and Jekka and Kalina were all finished.
No. She raised the wand until the tip of it actually touched one of the tentacles. The creature grasped the weapon’s end even as it received the blast of green acid.
The creature let out a high-pitched wail and swam backward. Mirian fired again, and again and again as it attempted retreat, until at last the weapon stopped responding.
The monster moved only spasmodically. Mirian shook herself to life, kicked up to Jekka. She tried not to think about the thing below, and how it might recover and rush up to slice her feet off at the ankles.
She reached her friend, grabbed him by the hands, swam to the surface. She pushed his head into the air.
The steep, rocky shoreline lay only ten feet off. With her hand beneath Jekka’s chin to keep his face above the water, she kicked to it, then dragged him out across the rough stones, past a cluster of mangroves.
There she rolled him onto his stomach, wrapped hands about him, gripped fingers in a double-fist just above the muscular solar plexus, and pushed. Her shoulder throbbed in agony, but she pushed again.
He coughed up water once, twice, then groaned. He struggled to his knees, hands flat on the sandy soil, and vomited more water as Mirian beat his back with the flat of her hand.
He waved her off and continued to cough water. She turned, steeled herself, and dove after Kalina.
The monster was as motionless as the paralyzed lizard woman. Mirian tried not to focus on the deep gouge through Kalina’s chest. She grasped her under the chin, near the point where magical gills glowed, and swam for the shore.
Somehow, she reached it. Gasping from pain and exertion, she dragged Kalina by the arms over to her cousin, then stood panting, hands on knees. She considered the enormity of the lizard woman’s wounds. The pale green of her scales.
Kalina wasn’t moving. Wasn’t blinking.
“She’s dead,” Jekka said weakly. He had climbed to one knee.
Mirian shook her head. “Paralyzed. Like you.”
“No, Mirian,” he told her, gently.
Was he right? No. Kalina had simply taken a larger hit from the creature’s paralyzing tentacles.
Mirian was no healer, but she knew how to take a pulse. She threw herself down beside the lizard woman, sucking in a painful breath as a clam shell dug into her thigh. She pressed her ear to Kalina’s chest.
Nothing. But maybe lizardfolk hearts were located in a different place.
She put her hand to Kalina’s neck. Did they have the same big vein as humans? They were built on similar lines. “Where do you take pulses? Jekka?”
Jekka joined her and spoke quietly. “If her heart worked, her open wounds would still spout blood.”
Gods. He was right. Mirian stared down at the graying lizard woman, sank back on her haunches.
She was too stunned even to cry. “I don’t understand. The ring should have allowed her to breathe.”
“She was too badly hurt.”
Mirian was cool, dripping with water, and she stank all over. But these were minor irritants, like the bites of insects. She rose, scanning the ocean beyond the spindly legs of the mangroves. She spotted her wand among the rocks by the shore and numbly stepped out to grab it before a low wave swelled in.
When she returned, she found Jekka sitting beside his cousin.
“Mirian,” he said softly, “what happened to Salvager Rendak?”
“He got out. And Ivrian and Gombe live. My brother is dead.”
“Your brother. He worked with our betrayers.”
“He was weak, and foolish. But he died trying to protect me.”
Jekka nodded. “My brother, too, was less than I wished.”
“Yours watched out for his own clan, at least.”
“Writer Ivrian’s mother might be alive if my brother had warned her. It wasn’t just.”
“Like I said. Heltan was just looking out for his family.”
Jekka hissed. “You defend him? You, who looked out for all of us. Past race. Past clan.”
“I was your leader.”
“You came to save us, when our bargain was finished. Why did you come, Mirian?”
“Because it was my brother’s fault.”
“So it was your duty.”
She tried not to think of the still form beside them that had been so full of vivacity and charm. “My cla
n failed you. Now let me see that arm. We should get the crossbow quarrel out. And keep our eyes sharp for Ivrian. He’ll be coming after us.”
Mirian took the knife from its sheath and reached for his arm.
Jekka, though, seemed uninterested in letting her examine the limb. He kept it stiff beside him, and she frowned at the bruised ring where the bolt stood out from his fine scales.
“What will I do now?” His eyes were wide and bright as they met her own. “Where will I go?”
The quarrel, she saw, was lightly embedded, and judging by the feel of the scaled skin, she didn’t think it was barbed. “You’re lucky. This could have torn straight through your arm.”
It occurred to her that if she were to cut out the bolt, they’d need bandages. The only cloth anywhere nearby was on her and the lizardfolk, none of which was clean.
“There’s no point, Mirian.” Jekka reached up and put a hand on her arm. “You work too hard to save me. There’s nothing left.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no clan. I have no brother or sister or cousin. What am I to do?”
She stared into those inhuman eyes and saw their pain, their loss. She felt tears form in her own, and put her hand to her wounded arm. When it was wet with blood, she pressed her fingers to the crimson gash across Jekka’s chest. He gasped in pain, his tongue sliding out in astonishment.
“Put your blood to mine,” she said.
Hesitant, Jekka dragged his fingers through that same wound, showing his teeth in a grimace, then touched scarlet-stained fingers to Mirian’s shoulder injury.
“Our blood is mingled,” Mirian said. “Now I will be your sister.”
Jekka stared. Slowly, his head bobbed up and down. “You are my sister. And I am your brother.”
Mirian’s wiped tears away with a bloody hand. “And right now your sister’s got to get our wounds bandaged. And then we’ve got to rendezvous with the rest of our friends.”
“And then?”
“Then we get the treasure back to Sargava.”
“Will your people want me in Sargava?”
“I don’t even think my people want me in Sargava, Jekka. But I’m a Raas, and the land is mine. And you’re my brother. So to hell with them.”
36
Wheels and Vigils
Ivrian
Against all odds, we had dragged Mirian Raas from the surf alive, so you can imagine my reluctance to let her dash off to almost certain doom. But what was I to do? At that point, the jewels were my responsibility, as was Rendak’s survival. I had little choice but to obey her orders and lead the others to the exit, hoping our luck would hold.
—From The Collected Writings of Lord Ivrian Galanor
Four men in guard armor hurried down the steps into the arena’s lower level just as Ivrian arrived with Jeneta and Rendak.
“The prisoners have escaped,” Rendak said. “I’m escorting the priests to safety.”
The scarred fellow in the lead nodded as they hurried past. From somewhere nearby came an ear-rattling roar.
Ivrian and the others were up the stairs and almost to the open doorway, a rectangle of light more welcome than a lover’s touch, when he heard the shout behind him.
“That’s not a guard!”
Ivrian turned to find all four guards halted at the foot of the stairs. The imitation blond from the side gate was pointing to Rendak while the other three turned. “He’s not wearing any shoes!”
Rendak lifted a dirty bare foot and laughed. “Come on, Sister!” He charged with Jeneta up through the doorway. Ivrian bolted after, whirled to see the onrush of the guards, and slammed the door as the pursuit was still halfway up the stairs. He looked in vain for the board that should have been nearby to bar it closed. Jeneta and Rendak ran on.
Ivrian spied a heavy table strewn with cards, leapt it. He shoved the table at the door, gaining momentum with every step. Three feet out, the door started to swing open, a hand gripping its edge.
The heavy table struck the door, slamming it shut with a heavy thud. There was a long wailing scream from its other side. Ivrian winced in sympathy. He really hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He turned and raced after his friends. Once in the sun, he joined a stream of frightened Sargavans fleeing the arena. Jeneta and Rendak dashed for the small carriage emblazoned with the golden-haloed sword of Iomedae.
Jeneta threw the door open for the limping salvager, who clambered inside, then hopped after and turned to reach down for Ivrian. As soon as his feet were inside, she knocked on the carriage wall, shouting for the driver to go.
They heard the crack of the carriage whip and the vehicle lurched forward.
“How far is it?” Ivrian asked, panting.
“Down past the harbor.” Jeneta eyed Ivrian keenly.
“I’m sorry about how that went,” he said. “If there’d been some other way—”
“I’ll have to leave Crown’s End.” She sounded matter-of-fact. “You didn’t tell me your friend was a madwoman.”
“Mirian’s not mad,” Ivrian objected.
“She has little chance, but I salute her bravery. We should all hope to have friends as loyal, some day.”
“Amen, sister.” Rendak pushed his lank dark hair back from his forehead, struggling to render himself more presentable. “I’m Rendak, by the way. Thank you for your help.”
The young woman nodded, her long face the picture of dignity. “I am Jeneta.”
“No offense, Jeneta,” Rendak said, “but Mirian’s going to make it. You don’t know her.”
Another nod. “I hope you’re right.”
The cart jounced and bounced down the steep road, and Ivrian peered fitfully through the curtains as they drew near the harbor. The driver advanced at a more leisurely pace through the port. They passed mule teams pulling cargo wagons, and strolling sailors, their occupation obvious from their rolling gaits.
“Is it just me,” Ivrian asked, “or does everyone here look like a pirate?”
“If you’re looking to find something, no questions asked,” Rendak said, “Crown’s End’s your best bet.”
“It’s a snake pit,” Jeneta said. “It will be a pleasure to leave this place. Though I will miss Grandfather.”
“You can come with us, if you like,” Ivrian volunteered.
“Where will you go? To Eleder?” Jeneta shook her head. “I would have no place there.”
“You can have any room in my mansion.”
The woman considered him for a moment, as if wondering whether he were serious. “You’re a generous man, Lord Galanor.”
Him, a lord! He laughed a little, but said nothing. All he could think about were his friends. Could Mirian really pull the lizardfolk out of the arena and escape with them alive? It would have seemed impossible. And yet they’d done a dozen impossible things in the last weeks.
Down one quay he spotted what he thought were the masts of Sylena’s ship. He couldn’t help wondering if their other treasures remained aboard, and if there were some way to get them back, but he supposed he was already asking for too many miracles just to get Mirian and the lizardfolk out alive. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to Shelyn. When he opened his eyes he discovered Jeneta staring at him.
“You were praying.”
“Yes.”
“A wise idea,” she said. “Your friends need all the luck the gods can give.”
“Aye,” Rendak said glumly.
Jeneta bent her head and began speaking in her native tongue.
The cobblestones ended abruptly, and the carriage thumped onto a road now consisting solely of packed dirt.
On the carriage rolled, jolting and thrashing them thoroughly before it finally stopped. The driver called to them: “Sister, the road pretty much ends here. The bay’s about a quarter mile through those mangroves.”
Ivrian and Rendak hopped out. The younger man reached into his robes to free the wand Mirian had given him.
A forest of trop
ical foliage stood in the sun, leafy upper limbs waving in a breeze. The water was gray and choppy.
The driver, a curly-haired Mulaa man, tipped his dented brown hat and pointed. “If your friends made it, they’re somewhere in there.”
“Ivrian,” Rendak said, “you stay here and watch for pursuers. I’ll go in and see what I can find.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“If they did make it out, and anyone saw how they exited, they’ll send riders to follow. We need someone to stand guard. And you’ve got that wand.”
Ivrian looked back along the dirt track. The view of the harbor and the city was blocked by a mass of palm trees and an intervening hill. “All right. Good luck, Rendak.”
“It’s our friends who need the luck, lad. My part’s easy.”
Ivrian watched the sturdy older man stride into the mangroves, still limping slightly, and briefly wondered how he could ever have thought to judge in one glance what a hero looked like.
He turned to the driver and the priestess, to whom he gave a polite nod. “I’m going to go watch from that hill.” He indicated it with a vague wave and started to climb.
37
Meeting of Minds
Rajana
Guards had surrounded her as she left the arena carrying the lizardfolk staff. The first two Rajana restrained with a tentacle spell, but she recognized the blue livery of the governor on the next three, and saw others rushing to back them up. It would still be easy enough to escape—she never left her quarters without a scroll of teleportation for just this sort of event—but she decided there might be some profit in allowing them to escort her.
She was glad now that she had, for after listening to them talk, she understood exactly how to get what she needed.
She stood with her bodyguard, Narsial, in a cluttered arena office. Seated at the table across from her, flanked by two brawny guards, was the Icehand herself, a pockmarked woman with brilliant blue eyes. Her clothes were finely tailored but mannish, half hidden by well-tended ring mail. She must be suffocating in this heat, Rajana thought.
A pale, balding colonial with yellow eyes stood at the governor’s side. Rajana had waited patiently while the Icehand listened to the reports of the arena officials. They had laid the expensive destruction at the feet of the man who’d purchased the lizardfolk, and, through him, her foolish sister. And thence to her. Along with several of the governor’s guards, two stout arena men, middle-aged merchants encumbered by an excess of rings and necklaces, waited nervously to one side as the Icehand mulled over her response.
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