The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

A bit of fast talking on Ard’s part had earned him a chance to go aboard the Shiverswift and speak with the captain. But it hadn’t staved off the boarding party. Raek was still on the Double Take, watching the pirates tear apart his ship in search of valuables.

  How Quarrah had managed to vanish during all this was beyond Ard’s comprehension. He thought he’d seen her slip over the port side rail before the pirates reached them. With any luck, Sormian Dethers and his crew would think there were only two men aboard.

  The captain’s face was shaved smooth, his tanned wrinkles deep and worn. Dethers ran a hand over his silky silver hair, and Ard noticed that his fingernails were painted green in the fashion of the northern Strindian nobles. Ard was pretty sure the man didn’t have a drop of noble blood, but he understood the value in pretending.

  “I’d say it’s better for me to see you than the other way ’round,” said the captain. “I believe you owe us some money.”

  “There must be some misunderstanding,” Ard said. “We left the amount agreed upon in your treasury account at the Symphonette guesthouse on Strind, as per your instructions. That must have been, what… two years ago?”

  “Four,” said the captain. “And unfortunately for you, the payments never arrived.”

  Ard pulled a face. “I don’t understand. My partner and I delivered the remaining portion of the payment within the cycle.” He sucked in a breath as though something had just occurred to him. “This sounds like a bookkeeping error. Or worse. You know what I heard? Fifteen percent of deposits made into treasury accounts are incorrectly reported.” He shook his head. “If there’s a discrepancy with my payment, I’d check the bookkeeper first. Meredy… no Molli… I don’t remember her name, it’s been so long.”

  “His name is Fedor,” said Captain Dethers. “He’s been the chief of my estate for nearly two decades. I trust him with my money, and thus my life.”

  “Ah,” Ard muttered. “I don’t think he was working that day…”

  This wasn’t really about getting out of trouble. Even Ard realized he was far beyond that. He was having this conversation to buy Quarrah enough time to get aboard with the backpack. But in the meantime, there was one thing he was dying to know.

  “Why today?” Ard asked bluntly.

  “Excuse me?” replied the captain.

  “You obviously tracked us down to question me about the payment,” Ard said, “but why today?”

  “I can answer that,” came a new voice. It was tinny, carrying a bit of a whine that Ard remembered at once.

  Moroy Peng descended the steps from the stern deck. Ard had last seen the thin runner aboard this same ship four years ago. Moroy had been one of the few lucky ones in Ard’s illegal Harvesting crew who had survived Pekal after feeding the Royal Regalia to a dragon.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this moment,” the man said, strutting across the deck with an arrogant gait.

  “You’re running with this guy now?” Ard said to Captain Dethers. “He’s a weasel. Can’t you smell him?”

  “I’m not part of the crew,” Moroy said. “Just along for today’s voyage.”

  “He came to me a couple of days ago,” explained Dethers. “Said he had a lead on your whereabouts.”

  “That’s hardly a mystery,” said Ard. “You can find me in the Mooring in Beripent. Seven days a week.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” Moroy said. “But you’re actually a hard man to follow.”

  “Thank you.”

  “After we Harvested that Slagstone, you disappeared,” said Moroy. “Then the war was on and it was impossible to find anyone across island borders. By the time I heard your name again, you were serving as a Holy Isle. Gone legitimate, they were saying.” He clucked his tongue. “Untouchable that way, but I’ve been watching you. The moment Raekon rigged up the Double Take, I got word.”

  Ah. So it was a coincidence. No whiff of the King Poacher’s involvement, here.

  “But you couldn’t get your own ship,” Ard hypothesized, “so you had to convince Dethers to sail you out here.”

  Solid plan, actually. Basically the same strategy Ard had used to separate Baroness Lavfa from the mainland. There were no Reggies out here in the middle of the InterIsland Waters. No law.

  “We had a mutual interest,” Captain Dethers said.

  “I didn’t pay Moroy because he didn’t do what I hired him to do,” Ard said. “First sign of a dragon and he turned tail and ran. I don’t pay cowards.”

  “I’m not interested in Ashings anymore,” said Moroy.

  Ard looked at Sormian Dethers. “But I thought—”

  “We are interested in Ashings,” he specified. “But Moroy has something else in mind.”

  Instinctively Ard leapt back as Moroy Peng drew a long knife, the slightly curved blade winking in the midday sunlight.

  “Whoa,” Ard said. “Easy there, fella. Don’t want you to cut yourself—”

  Moroy lunged, Ard barely sidestepping the attack.

  “Come on, Captain,” Ard protested, his eyes never leaving Moroy, who tossed his knife playfully from hand to hand, circling for another strike. “This isn’t your style. It’s going to stain the deck.”

  The pirates were gathering into a wide circle on the deck, making an arena of sorts. Like he and Moroy were Karvan lizards fighting in the ring. The pirates’ brightly colored clothing was a visual distraction as he tried to keep his eye on Moroy’s knife.

  “And if you let him kill me,” Ard continued to the captain, “who will bring you the money?”

  “I believe there are two of you.” Captain Dethers pointed a thumb at Raek aboard the Double Take.

  “Two of you.” Good. They hadn’t seen Quarrah. At least that part of his plan was going right. Now he just needed to stay alive.

  “At least give me a knife,” Ard coaxed. “I’d hate for my partner to spread the word that I died unarmed in a knife fight. Doesn’t reflect well on the killer.”

  “You can’t ruin my name any more than you already have.” Moroy sprang again, Ard twisting to the side.

  “You give me too much credit,” Ard said. “I actually never mention you. In fact, I intentionally leave you out of the story when I’m talking about Pekal. Makes me look bad, hiring a coward.”

  “Word got around that I was on your crew,” Moroy said. “Wasn’t so bad during the war. But after you got the queen’s pardon, nobody would hire me. Known associate of a do-gooder Holy Isle.”

  “Really?” Ard said. He genuinely hadn’t seen that as a possible side effect when joining the Islehood, but it made sense. If Ardor Benn had gone legitimate, then he might be willing to flip on old associates and tell the Reggies how to make a few more arrests.

  Moroy stabbed again, but this time Ard was ready for him. He leaned back, catching the man’s arm with both hands. Moroy’s other hand came around, dealing a shocking blow to the side of Ard’s head. He let go, falling to one knee on the deck.

  This was a fight Ard wasn’t going to win without a weapon. Maybe the pirate standing closest to him wouldn’t mind if he borrowed her dagger.

  Ard sprang past his wiry opponent, grasping at the pirate’s dagger. It slid free of its sheath, but one of the crossbars snagged in the lace of her vest, bringing his whole plan to a grinding halt.

  The woman shoved Ard aside and he used the momentum to press through the ring of onlookers, breaking into a dead sprint across the deck. There was no way to escape, but the Shiverswift had to be littered with guns and blades. Ard circled around the mizzenmast, the pirates shouting and pointing his route to Moroy.

  Why was this the tidiest ship he’d ever been on?

  An ammunition closet sat beneath the stairs that led to the quarter deck. The large cabinet door squeaked as Ard yanked it open. A terrible hiding place, but it would probably be full of sixes for the light cannons. He could set a trap, closing himself inside the closet, ready to smash one of the cannon balls over Moroy’s head.

  Ard threw hims
elf into the cramped dark space, slamming the door shut behind him.

  What the blazes? There was something more than six-panweight cannon balls tucked away in here. Something wet… Ah! Something moving!

  “What are you doing?” a familiar voice snapped through the darkness.

  “Sparks! Quarrah?” He was basically sitting on top of her. “What are you doing?”

  “This is my hiding spot,” she retorted. “You told me to get onboard.”

  “You thought this was a good place?” Ard cried. “What happens when they start grabbing sixes to open fire on us?”

  “This is a starboard closet,” Quarrah whispered. “The Double Take is port side. They’ll take the cannon balls from over there.”

  “Huh. Sounds like you really thought this through,” Ard said. “You got a weapon?”

  “No,” she said. “Why?”

  “Moroy Peng is trying to kill me.”

  “The Tracer?”

  “No,” said Ard. “I was the Tracer on that expedition, remember?” Suspicious of a traitor in their midst, Ard had shuffled assignments once they’d reached Pekal. That had been the beginning of the animosity between Moroy and himself.

  “You realize this is bad, right?” Quarrah said. “Based on the way things sounded out there, I’d say they saw where you’re hiding.”

  “Yep.”

  “And that’s going to lead them straight to me. To the backpack.”

  “Yep.”

  “And we’re unarmed.”

  “Not completely.” Ard pulled something from his pocket. A thin sliver of sunlight angling through the doorframe glinted on the glass vial Ard had stolen from Hedge Marsool.

  “No, no, no,” Quarrah whispered. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not going to work, Ard.”

  “I think it will,” he replied. “We can—”

  “It’s not going to work!” she snapped.

  “It’s our best shot,” Ard insisted. “They’re already fishing through the Double Take. If they see you with that backpack, they’re going to know it’s something valuable. If this Grit can really show us the future, we could get out of here with our lives, the backpack… maybe even the Double Take.”

  “Ugh,” Quarrah grunted. “Listen, Ard. It’s not going to work. There’s something I—”

  The cabinet door jerked open and Moroy appeared in a flood of daylight. From Ard’s awkward position sitting on Quarrah’s lap, he kicked. His boot caught Moroy in the stomach, knocking him back a few feet.

  “Here goes,” Ard announced to Quarrah. Holding his breath, he hurled the Grit vial against the deck in front of him. The glass shattered, and the Slagstone fragment sparked against the liquid that spilled out.

  Nothing happened.

  “You feeling anything?” Ard asked desperately.

  “Aw, sparks,” muttered Quarrah.

  “No, I saw the sparks,” Ard insisted. He reached out with his foot and stomped the little Slagstone chip, hearing another sizzle beneath the heavy sole of his boot.

  Still nothing.

  “Come on,” Ard muttered. Their only shot was a dud? Or maybe he had sorely misunderstood Hedge’s vial. Perhaps it was like Illusion or Visitant Grit, requiring a second detonation to truly activate the first…

  Moroy bellowed a battle cry and threw himself forward. In Ard’s stupor over the failed Grit vial, Moroy might have stuck him if Quarrah hadn’t hurled a six from behind him.

  The iron ball dropped Moroy face first on the deck, but he was still breathing. Ard scrambled out of the ammunition closet, turning back to help Quarrah. She’d been clutching the black backpack against her chest, but a few of the cannon balls had cascaded, pinning her leg.

  “Here!” She threw him the backpack. Between four bricks and twenty panweights of Grit, the bag nearly bowled him over.

  Moroy was rising, so Ard swung the backpack around, feeling a satisfying thunk as it clubbed him upside the head. He threw one strap over his shoulder and grabbed Quarrah’s hand as she finished digging herself out of the cannon balls.

  “What now?” she asked as they raced across the deck, weaving through pirates who whooped and taunted, but otherwise remained uninvolved.

  “We need to get you and the pack aboard the Double Take,” Ard said. “You and Raek cut loose and sail as fast—”

  Quarrah went down, hitting the deck hard. Ard turned to see Sormian Dethers hauling her back up, a Roller in one hand.

  “A stowaway,” the captain said. “This day is full of surprises.” He pressed the barrel of the gun to Quarrah’s neck, holding her arm with his other hand. “How long have you been onboard, lass?”

  Quarrah blew at a wet strand of hair that was plastered against her forehead. “No handkerchief this time?”

  Captain Dethers chuckled, glancing at Ard. “I like her spirit.”

  But Ard didn’t have time to respond. Moroy Peng came barreling through the crew, face bleeding and one arm hanging limply at his side.

  Ard caught his other arm, which brandished that same curved knife, but Moroy’s charge forced them both stumbling across the deck.

  The port rail rammed into Ard’s back, knocking the wind out of him. The backpack swung over the side of the ship, dangling from the single strap over his shoulder.

  Moroy’s face was strained with anger, his teeth bared and a bit of spittle flecking across Ard’s face as he grunted to overpower him with the knife. The point was mere inches from Ard’s chest, drawing nearer through Moroy’s sheer desire for vengeance.

  The Double Take was behind Ard, but the raiding party had concluded, leaving Raek alone on the boat. The grappling hooks were still in place, but the vessel was floating at least twenty feet away from the Shiverswift’s hull. Too far to jump, even if he could manage to throw off Moroy.

  “Ard!” Raek shouted.

  Ard turned his head, risking a glance at the Double Take just in time to see his partner lob a knife in a gentle arc toward him.

  Ard let go of Moroy’s arm with his right hand, reaching out and catching the hilt in midair. He brought it around, plunging the blade into Moroy’s unprotected stomach.

  The man went limp, his breath catching in his throat. He coughed, his teeth smearing with red as the blood came gurgling up. His eyes were confused, as if his brain had not yet registered the pain, but his body wouldn’t respond like he wanted.

  “The pack?” he mumbled, his strained words sounding unsure.

  “What?” Ard said, sure that he’d misunderstood the man.

  “Cut the pack.” With his final drib of energy, Moroy Peng reached out and sliced through the strap of the backpack.

  Ard felt it slip from his shoulder, falling in what seemed like slow motion as he rolled away from Moroy. He saw the pack splash into the water between the Shiverswift and the Double Take, the already-soaked leather instantly sinking out of sight. Ard and Raek made stunned eye contact across the distance, then Raek dove into the water.

  Ard gripped the rail, barely aware of anything else as he waited for his friend to surface. After painstaking seconds, Ard saw Raek’s bald head break the water’s surface. He looked up and shook his head, a look of glum defeat on his broad face.

  Gone? Had they really just lost the backpack? The bricks and the Grit were replaceable. But the Agrodite Moon Glass… Stealing another was out of the question.

  How would Ard explain this to Hedge Marsool? He felt the whole job falling apart, sinking like the pack. And how long would it be before Hedge’s smugglers surfaced, transformed by Metamorphosis Grit into something terribly powerful?

  “Dust her!” Sormian Dethers gave the command to the pirates at the cannons on the port side.

  “Raek!” Ard shouted. “Look out!”

  His friend dove, swimming toward the Shiverswift as sparks fell into the first cannon. Ard felt the deck shake under his feet as the resounding boom set his ears ringing.

  At such close range, it was almost impossible to miss. The cannon
ball tore into the hull of the Double Take, timbers cracking as the little boat bucked.

  A second boom. Through the cloud of smoke that wafted past, Ard watched his ship take water at an alarming rate.

  One more cannon sounded and the Double Take capsized entirely, the short mast snapping, broken planks skipping across the water’s surface.

  His ship! Ard could hear Raek screaming obscenities from the water below. Well, at least he hadn’t gone down in the wreckage.

  “I think our business is concluded here,” said Captain Dethers, lowering his gun and shoving Quarrah forward.

  Ard cast a regretful glance at the corpse of Moroy Peng slumped at the base of the port rail. He hadn’t meant to kill the man, even in self-defense. If word got back to Beripent about this, it could jeopardize his pardon and his position in the Islehood.

  They’d lost everything in this unexpected fiasco—the backpack, the Double Take, even their single vial of mysterious liquid Grit.

  “I’ll expect your outstanding payment delivered by the end of the cycle at four times the original amount.” The debonaire pirate captain dusted his hands together. “Now, do you prefer to jump or be pushed?”

  So much has settled to the depths of my soul over the years. And once it’s gone, I know there’s no recovering it.

  CHAPTER

  14

  They weren’t going to make it to the summit. It had been obvious to Nemery and Mohdek for several days, and it was time to break the news to Legien Dyer.

  “This is it,” Nemery announced. It was midafternoon, and they had just passed Goldred’s Scramble, an area of jagged boulders and loose scree that spilled out in front of the glacier. The last trees were behind them, and they were onto the ice now, snow crunching underfoot.

  “But the summit…” said Dyer. “We haven’t reached it.”

  “And we’re not going to,” Nemery replied.

  This was the most she and Mohdek had said to him since he’d murdered little Oropsi seven days ago. After burying the hatchling, Dyer had insisted that he and Nemery set out immediately. Leaving obvious clues and a trail for Mohdek, Nemery had intentionally dragged her feet up the mountain. The slow pace had given Mohdek a chance to catch up, but it had also granted the Glassmind cultists a significant head start.