by Ashley Capes
“In part – I have certainly exceeded what is expected, even of a prince,” he said. “But more importantly, I have discovered a line of Gigansi long-since thought to have died out.”
“Then you didn’t know Alosus could... draw the life from things?”
“Technically, it was the heat. He can draw the heat from a living thing,” Lady Casselli added. “Though it achieved the same result.”
“Yes. And when he recovers, I will have him swear allegiance to me and then we can finally do something about the rogue Gigansi.”
Notch frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Tanere laughed and started for the exit. “You will soon enough, Captain. Feel free to stay with him tonight, but remember your testimony is required tomorrow and I expect you to be both alert and presentable.”
“I will be ready,” he said and then the prince was gone.
Lady Casselli lingered, her gaze on Alosus, whose chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm. “With this windfall and your witness report, we may not need anything else to achieve our goal.”
“What did he mean by swear allegiance, My Lady? And rogue Tonitora?”
She stepped close, so that their bodies were almost touching. “And you will be the final delicious touch, throwing them even further off the scent, they won’t even see it coming. In fact, the sooner you and I formalise things the more credence it will lend to our act.”
“My Lady?”
She smiled as she leant in to kiss him, a brief grazing of her lips across his. Her breath carried the cool scent of mint and she spoke softly. “A Union. I do not know if you still call it that in your land, but our joining will go no small distance toward allaying fears that the Prince and I are conspiring.”
He opened his mouth to reply but she raised a hand. “Remember your promise; I upheld my end of the bargain and I will still grant you leave to seek this Qu-Sitka but not before we have the throne. Understood?” A hardness had crept into her voice.
Notch struggled to conceal a sinking feeling. What had been a stunning victory for Alosus was quickly becoming yet another step toward someone else’s goal. Casselli and Tanere had their claws in far deeper than even Notch had suspected, and it was clear that to try and disentangle himself or Alosus now would not end well at all.
Worse, tangling himself with the both of them would make it that much harder to help Alosus.
Chelnos be damned. “Yes, My Lady.”
“Good.” She started toward the exit herself, glancing over her shoulder once she reached the doorway. “And as to your other question, your friend will have to swear to become vassal to the king – just like all other princes of the lesser lands and peoples.”
“Princes?”
“Don’t be so shocked, Medoro,” she said with a smile. “It makes you look foolish and you should understand without me spelling it out, surely? Alosus is born of the line of Gigansi Kings.”
Epilogue
There had been too much disruption in the harbour lately.
Strange lights from the surface, lights that pushed deep down toward the bottom, light that seared his skin when it surprised him and the others. They quickly learnt to stay away from the boat and its intrusive light, swimming swiftly for shelter – or simply away, as it searched the harbour.
What did it want? The lights spent significant time near the wrecks of the ships, things that had always made him curious, and sad – it tugged at something buried in his memory too. But the boat above, which had been searching for many tides, didn’t always focus on the ships. It roamed the entire bay; that was the problem. It was hard to know just where or when it would appear, his fellow Sea-People couldn’t settle the way they once had.
Sanarc and Bel were already leaving – taking everyone to find a new place.
But that was not the answer.
He had to stay, not just because the fish were plentiful or because the harbour was safe – but because each night, when he broke the surface to stare up at the golden lights of the city, sometimes he felt on the verge of remembering something. Something important – something urgent. Faces and names. A woman with almost child-like features. A man with unshaven cheeks.
But there was another reason not to leave – the lights seemed to have stopped, even if the boat remained overhead.
He swam deeper, heading toward the wreckage. It was one of the bigger ships, but a little different to the others. It had been some time since he’d pulled himself through the narrow openings to cabins and below the decks, having searched it before and found everything of use but this time... maybe he could find out what the boat was searching for?
He kicked a little deeper, heading fore – and found that the ship had slid further into a crevice recently. If it had settled in a slightly different position there was a chance he’d be able to reach new rooms. He gripped the wood and pulled himself around a hunk of mast and came to just what he’d wanted; a new opening. It would be a tight fit, but he’d manage.
This far from the surface and the distant moon, half-concealed by the wreckage of the decks there was little light, but his eyes were well-accustomed to seeing in the darkness. He found a mess, a great steel oven laying on its side, utensils, pots and pans everywhere, bottles and jars of ingredients.
And all of it achingly familiar.
As if he should have known his way around such a place... and yet, how could that be? Fish-folk did not travel aboard ships. But it put him in the mind of the faces he sometimes glimpsed when he stared at the city, and another face. An old man with sunken eyes and a fierce glare.
And there, blade dull in the shadowy room, a heavy-looking, almost square blade.
A cleaver.
Used to hacking through hunks of meat and bone.
He reached for it, gripping the handle and it felt right somehow.
He blinked.
He remembered now! He had a name and a past, he hadn’t always lived beneath the ocean. Once, he’d been a chef and before that a soldier. And his friends! Seto, the old man. Notch and Flir. Gods, he remembered!
Remembered the Sea Beast, the attack and all the acor, explosions and fire everywhere, he remembered it all.
Luik.
That was his name.
The Amber Isle Sample
(#1 of the Book of Never)
Chapter 1
The drunk blocked most of the firelight in Petana’s only inn.
He staggered over to Never’s table. The man’s breath preceded him and it was not pleasant – in fact, nothing about the slob was. Some manner of bug leapt in his lank hair and his teeth were green stumps. Red-rimmed eyes squinted down at Never. A rather sharp-looking butcher’s cleaver hung from the man’s belt.
So much for getting a good night’s sleep somewhere warm.
“You’re sitting in my seat, stranger,” the drunk said.
Never lowered his cup. “Good to know.”
The man blinked and a frown formed. He placed his knuckles on the scuffed table; Never glanced away. Half the patrons of the Petana inn were on their feet. Talk of war in the south, of how one of the village cows had gone to giving sour milk, of bad weather coming – all of it stopped. Never sighed inwardly. Don’t do it, fellow. Please. If things got out of hand, the man might die. And despite the drunk’s demeanour, Never didn’t truly want that.
Futile.
The man leant forward and the stench of his breath thickened the air. Somehow, it was worse than the capital’s sewers. It also seemed something had died on the front of his tunic. “I said, you’re sitting in my seat. Move.”
“I’m really quite comfortable here; how about we share?”
His brow furrowed. Perhaps the man was unable to comprehend what was happening, how someone could refuse him. No doubt he was used to getting his way. Or at the very least, to people getting out of his way. Some of them fainting probably.
“Custom would suggest you get angry now,” Never offered.
“What?”
“W
hy don’t you sweep my drink from the table?” He smiled. “Or you could roar something obscene, that’s always fun.”
The drunkard finally realised he was being toyed with. He growled as he reached for his blade, raising it level with his face so it caught light from one of the torches. It did look wicked. “Last chance, funny-man.”
Never sighed. Another evening ruined – thanks to his own pig-headedness no doubt. Yet why couldn’t the drunk have chosen another time to stumble in? Just one night in a bed would have been enough.
And now this wreck of a man had ruined it.
One of the serving girls was gaping; spiced sausage and red peppers sliding to drip from her tray. Time to put an end to all the fuss. Never winked at her then whipped a knife free from beneath the table. He slapped the cleaver. The flat side of the weapon smacked the drunk in the face. The man blinked then dived forward with a growl.
Never had already slipped from the seat.
The slob crashed into the table, floundering and cursing. Never leapt onto the man’s back, eliciting a grunt, and grabbed a handful of greasy hair. He jerked the man’s head back with a grimace, placing his knife against an unshaven neck. Yet he did not draw blood; not if he could avoid it.
“You had to ruin things, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Tell me, do you live here in the charming village of Petana then?”
“Get off me,” he gurgled.
“Don’t be a fool. Just tell me where you live and I’ll let you go.” Never glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the inn was standing now, men with hands by their own weapons and women with wide eyes – all save one woman in a green cloak with hood, who merely watched, arms folded. Curious. He addressed the crowd, pitching his voice to carry. “Worry not, good patrons, I will be swift. And because I’m feeling magnanimous – I won’t kill this poor wretch.” He wrinkled his nose and leant closer to the drunk. “Well, I probably won’t kill you, if you tell me where you live.”
He swore. “Why would I do that?”
Never kept his voice low. “Because you’ve laid waste to my plans so now I’m going to rob you when I leave – or perhaps I’ll kill you now and then rob you. You choose.”
“To the Burning Graves below with you.”
Never inched the knife in, drawing blood – just a trickle, but it was enough; his own blood stirred in response, veins bulging. Damn it. Always the same. Never gritted his teeth. No. None of that today. Or any other day, ever again, if he could help it. “Tell me.”
“Lone house. East end of the village.”
“Wonderful. Goodnight then.” He switched his hold to lock the man’s head in the crook of his elbow and applied pressure until the fellow went limp. Never stood back, hesitated. No way was he wiping grease on his own clothing. He found a relatively clear patch on the back of the man’s tunic to clean his hand. Gods, did the fellow bathe in slime? Never collected his pack from the splinters of the table and turned to the assembled folk of Petana.
“Is he alive?” The barman waved a skinny arm at a nearby patron. “Check him, Juan.” To Never he growled. “You wait there.”
A dark-bearded man rushed to the drunk, eyes narrowed. Muttering swelled – an unpleasant music indeed. A few men held weapons – mostly scythes or knives drawn from beneath tan robes with multi-coloured stripes. If he was feeling ungenerous, Never had to admit that the Marlosi fondness for colour sometimes cast them as somewhat child-like.
Irrational of him to think so, and there was certainly little child-like about their expressions. Or the steel they held.
“He breathes yet,” Never said. He moved toward the door and the barman stepped over to intercept. Never shook his head, pulling his cloak open to reveal a row of knives.
“Gum’s alive,” Juan announced.
“Fine,” the barman said. “Out with you then. Don’t want no trouble makers here anyway.”
“A pleasure.” Never strode from the common room and into the wind. The yellow glow from Petana’s windows didn’t penetrate too far into the night, and the dirt beneath his feet soon turned blue then black with shadow. Candlelight winked in about half of the homes he passed; the thatched rooves were unkempt hair touched with starlight, resting on squat heads thrusting up from the earth. The poetry of a village.
He was a fool for letting his temper get the better of him. At least none had died.
But Gum was still to pay for his belligerence.
He passed no-one on the street, pausing once to wrestle his cloak from a strong gust, then slowed at the edge of the village. A stand of trees encircled the southern end of Petana, beyond which lay the dark road that hopefully led to the coastline, but no lone house...unless...there, right against the trees.
A shack rather than a house, he decided upon reaching it. The roof was a nest of thatching; the door ajar. Never knelt in the entryway and removed the blue-stone from his pack. He rubbed it in his palms until warmth spread, a blue glow rising. “Wonderful.” He stood, took a breath and slipped inside.
The shack reeked of old sweat and rotten food – even holding his breath it was a slap to the face. He sighed, switching to shallow breathing as he stepped over crumpled shirts on squeaking floorboards. The bed was a mound of...unpleasantness and the table featured a half-eaten meal on a broken plate. The pale-blue glow set congealed fat to glistening.
Nothing yet.
A second room looked to be a hasty addition, and held a tall, locked cupboard. Never set the blue-stone down and removed his lock picks from a vest pocket then set to work. The lock soon clicked.
Inside lay a shining breastplate and helm inlaid with the charging stallion insignia of the Marlosa Empire. So the slob had a respectable past. How far he had fallen. Next, Never lifted a heavy dagger in an ornate sheath worked with a Hero’s Seal. He gave a soft whistle. The weapon would have personally been awarded to Gum by the Empress. Before she was driven from her city anyway. Never removed the blade. Beautiful condition. He took the dagger itself but replaced the sheath with a shake of the head. Whatever the drunk had done to earn such an honour, he deserved its memory at least.
Especially when times for the Marlosi were destined to become harder still.
“Now for the stash of coin,” Never murmured. Surely there was one somewhere. Moving back into the first room, he placed the blue-stone on the table and stepped over to the bed. If only he had a nice pair of gloves. He lifted the mattress, pushing it against the wall.
A small pouch lay in the centre of the floor, its drawstring tied.
He smiled. “There you are.”
Light flickered and he spun, Gum’s knife in hand. A dark figure stood in the doorway, stars and the faint glow from the village behind, waiting just beyond the reach of his glowing stone. “What are you doing?” A woman’s voice.
Never chuckled. “Robbing the owner of this house, of course.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I am.” He bent without taking his eye from the figure and retrieved the pouch, untying it with one hand and emptying most of the coins into an inner pocket in his cloak. He grinned. “See?” Then he dropped the pouch back into position, which gave a sad clink.
“Put that back.”
“My dear, I could never do that.”
She shifted, reaching behind her back. The thin outline of an arrow appeared against the starlight. The creak of a bowstring followed.
“Last chance.”
He kept his hands raised and moved slowly toward his blue-stone, collecting his pack. The archer’s silhouette tracked him. “And now I have to leave. Since the hospitality of Petana is so lacking, I have to find a nice ditch to spend the night in.”
“I can thread your eye from here.” Her voice was hard but she sounded young.
He took a step closer. “You’re not a murderer, girl.”
“It’s not murder if I kill a thief. It’s a service.” She paused. “And I’m not a girl.”
“Very well, ‘young lady�
�, perhaps? Let’s say twenty summers or so?” He took another step and raised the stone. Her arrow was knocked and the bow at half-draw. Pale hands held the weapon – not a local then, and not with those green eyes either. And her cloak was green too. The woman from the inn? Beneath her cloak she wore a light blue tunic with no insignia, rank or sword. Not a Vadiya soldier either – how they hated everyone not knowing exactly their rank and family.
“Stop moving.”
He paused. What was that accent in her command? “Do people mistake you for the invaders?”
“How do you know I’m not Vadiyem?”
“Because your accent isn’t right for Vadiya.” Never shrugged. “In any event, I have to leave. People are following me and they’ll catch up sooner or later.” One more step and the arrow was inches from his chest. “Could you please move aside?”
“No. I’m keeping you here.”
“Not providing a service anymore?” He softened his voice. “Come now, we both know that if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it instead of announcing yourself.”
She drew the string to full stretch. “Sure about that?”
“Are you sure I care either way?”
She frowned.
Never put gentle pressure on the arrow, moving the bow aside. She let him, though her jaw was locked. Her expression wavered between frustration and curiosity. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Killing in cold blood cuts both ways. Let me pass, you’re not ready.”
“Damn you.” She finally stepped aside.
“Thank you.” Never slipped out of the shack and into the trees.
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A Note from Ashley
Hi! I hope you enjoyed The Last Sea God and thanks for reading.
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