by Ben Hale
Known for a haughtiness and pride, the islanders carried a disdain for “weak-kneed landers,” and frequently called them women, the highest insult among their people. Their clothing was utilitarian and typically woven from wool sheared from the many flocks the tribes maintained. Colors were garish and bright, making it possible for the sailors to be spotted if they fell overboard.
Jewelry and tattoos were used to mark status, wealth, and tribe affiliation. Poorer individuals favored simple gold earrings for both men and women, while the wealthy were veritably festooned with gold rings in ears, nose, and cheek. Rather than dark ink, the tattoos were equally as bright as the clothing, with some even enchanted to move across the flesh.
As the days passed into a week Roarthin and even Thalidon grew irritable. In an effort to avoid the dwarves, Jack slipped out the back of the tavern with Beauty and they strolled about the city.
“What if they already got the key and moved on?” she finally asked.
“Does it matter?”
“How can you ask that?”
“We got the chance to visit the Boneyard,” he replied, and swept his hands at the city. “Would we have come here without this assignment?”
“Perhaps you are right,” she said. “But I wonder how much longer we can wait.”
“We should visit the arena,” Jack said.
“Thalidon said there’s nothing to see but meaningless duels.”
“It’s the one place I haven’t visited yet.”
“That’s because Lorelia said you should avoid the godship,” Beauty said, crinkling her nose. “She doesn’t want you betting on the fights—or entering as a contestant.”
“I’m not in the guild, remember?” He smiled and turned toward the gigantic vessel situated at the heart of the city. “Besides, we both know you’re the better fighter.”
“Did you just admit that out loud?”
He released a bark of laughter and crossed a gangplank to the neighboring ship. From there they ascended to an ancient passenger ship to pass over a canal. Climbing to the catwalk above, they crossed to the godship and descended to the deck.
At two hundred feet wide the ship was massive, and its remaining masts seemed to touch the stormy clouds. The forecastle could have housed their entire inn with room to spare, and contained three distinct levels. Instead of crew and captain’s quarters, the rooms were reserved for wealthy spectators. Benches had been fastened above it, providing space for hundreds to view the combat taking place on the deck.
Jack and Beauty paid a single copper and entered the ship. From there they made their way to the top of the prow, where the seats allowed them a distant view of the two shirtless contenders battling with their fists.
“What do they fight for?” Jack asked.
“Pride and coin,” she replied. “Usually the match goes until one submits, but occasionally a challenge ends in death.”
Jack gestured to what was obviously the gameskeeper, and when he approached he handed him a silver coin.
“On the tall one,” he said.
Beauty raised a silver piece. “Me as well.”
The man sniffed and looked her up and down, the disdain evident on his features. “Women are required to wager the minimum.”
“And who sets the minimum?”
The man sneered. “I do. I think two gold is enough—unless that’s too rich for your blood.”
She pulled two coins from her pouch and passed them over with a sigh.
“Excellent choice,” the gameskeeper replied smugly, and noted the wager in a small book. “Name?”
Jack spoke before she could. “Last name Oman, first name Ima.”
The man peaked an eyebrow, but Jack merely nodded. He shrugged and added the name next to the bet. Then he strode away and Jack returned his gaze to the match. When the gameskeeper was gone she nudged him.
“What’s with the odd persona?”
“Just wait,” Jack said.
The two men fought without blade or staff, pummeling each other with fists and knees. The tall one shoved the smaller foe into the thick mast, and then struck him a punishing blow in his gut. His opponent doubled over and went down, and the man picked him up to strike him again. Cheers rang out as the victor dropped the unconscious form to the deck. The gameskeeper began calling out the winning wagers and distributed the winnings. When he called out Beauty’s name his accent distorted the words.
“I’m a woman!” he shouted. “I’m a woman, get your winnings here . . .”
Howls of laughter erupted around him, and the gameskeeper’s face turned red as he realized what he’d said. Then he spotted Jack and shoved his way to him. Slamming the coins on the bench, he growled at Jack.
“I don’t appreciate your humor.”
“You pronounced her name wrong,” Jack said.
The man muttered an epithet and left, and Beauty shook her head. “Why do you have to be so aggravating?”
“Because it’s fun.”
She stifled a grin and motioned to the two new fighters stepping onto the deck. “Care to wager again?”
“I find I’ve lost my taste for gambling today.”
“For gambling or the gameskeeper?”
He grinned and did not answer. Instead he let his gaze wander across the crowd, absently searching for any sign of a cultist. Like the rest of the city, the spectators came from every corner of Lumineia. Cultists didn’t hail from any one race or kingdom, making it nearly impossible to identify them.
Then a face caught his eye.
He almost dismissed him, but something about the youthful features caught Jack’s eye. The man was young, barely out of his teens, and the features were distinctly Griffinborn. The man stared at the battling men with dispassionate dismissal, marking him as one familiar with violence. Then the woman at his side spoke in his ear and he twisted to look up, his gaze rising to the forecastle situated behind. When he turned back he bore a familiar sneer of triumph on his face.
“We need to go,” Jack said.
“What do you see?”
“Straight across, three rows down, below the forecastle. Use a vision spell.”
Her eyes glimmered and she looked to where he’d said. Several seconds passed and then she grunted in irritation. “I don’t see . . .” Her breath caught and she leaned in, peering across the distance. Then she cursed and her vision returned to normal. “We need to go.”
“I already said that,” Jack said.
Jack rose and turned away from the man. Then he slipped through the crowd and departed the godship by one of the bridges that would keep them out of view of the forecastle. Once they were back on the city Beauty stepped to his side but did not speak.
They hurried across the floating city until they reached the inn they were currently staying in. Slipping inside, Jack caught the eyes of the others and strode to the stairs. His expression was sufficient to draw them from their seats and follow. Once they were all inside Jack shut the door.
“We found the cultists, but they are not alone.”
“Skorn is here?” Ursana asked.
Beauty shook her head. “He sent another in his place, and it’s one we know.”
“Who?” Ursana asked.
“Gallow,” Jack said, turning to her.
She cursed his name. “The head of the assassin’s guild?”
Her face grim, Beauty nodded. “It appears Skorn has an ally.”
Chapter 14: Stormfall
“Who?” Roarthin asked.
“The youngest member ever to become one of the seven assassins,” Beauty said, “and he achieved that by killing assassins to create the opening for himself.”
“And they promoted him to lead their guild?” Gordon asked.
“Not by choice,” Thalidon said grimly. “He enlisted the aid of a deposed rock troll king and infiltrated the guild. He killed his mentor, Joren, and took his place. In the past, the assassins’ work had been subtle and carried out in secret, but under Gallow they hav
e increased their killings tenfold.”
“I would think that would draw attention,” Roarthin said.
“Any official that has sought to punish them has been killed, and surviving council members have heeded the warning,” Beauty said.
“Is it possible he is here on his own assignment?” Gordon asked.
Jack and Beauty exchanged a look and Jack raised an eyebrow. “Did you see his companions?”
“Nine stood with him, although it wasn’t apparent at first,” she said. “They are obviously not assassins, yet they are obedient to him. There’s no telling how long he’s been here—or how many more are in the city.”
“But he’s found the key,” Jack said, drawing their gaze to him.
“How can you tell?” Beauty asked.
“One such as him abhors being kept from his goal,” he replied. “And his expression was that of a hunter who has spotted his prey.”
“He did look pleased,” Beauty said. “But if he found it, where is it?”
“Once a cat finds his next meal he stalks its path until the kill,” Jack said. “I wager the key is on the godship.”
Lorelia’s forehead was creased in thought. “There are places far more protected than the godship.”
“Exactly,” Beauty said, catching on to what Jack was insinuating. “Until now we’ve been assuming the owner knows its value. If the owner views it as an old trinket . . .”
Lorelia nodded and understanding lit her gaze. “No doubt they’ve wasted their time searching the city just as we have, and only now have resorted to the godship. It must lie in one of the forecastle viewing rooms that overlook the deck.”
“We should go tonight,” Jack said, “before they can slaughter their way to it.”
“No,” Lorelia said. “If we rush into this we might get ourselves killed.” She raised a hand to forestall Jack’s protest. “We examine the target tonight. Tomorrow we steal it.”
Beauty swept a hand to her. “But if we delay—”
“We survive,” Lorelia cut her off. “Don your personas and go to the godship. Jack, you’re with me in case they spotted you with Beauty. Ursana, you come with us so we look like a family. Thalidon, you and Roarthin examine the ship itself, look for any defenses that we can’t see. Gordon, you’re a traveler too into his drink to matter. Beauty, you do the same but come from the east side of the ship. Take only weapons that can be easily hidden.”
“What if they recognize us?” Ursana asked, reluctantly dropping her heavy crossbow to the floor.
“They won’t,” Jack said. “Why would he think anyone is going to steal the key? For all he knows Skorn is the only one that knows about it.”
“Jack’s right,” Lorelia said. “But be careful. If the assassin does recognize you, he’s as likely to slit your throat as say hello.”
They split up, and Jack returned to the godship with Lorelia and Ursana. During their conversation the wind had picked up and the afternoon sky had darkened. The city rippled as the sea rose to embrace the impending storm. Jack and Lorelia exchanged a look and picked up the pace. Dodging ships and makeshift taverns, they reached one of the four bridges that connected to the godship.
They crossed the canal and rejoined the crowd. Jack didn’t have to ask to know that Lorelia had already disguised them. The looks he received from the islanders suggested they appeared as azure. A moment later they slipped into a seat that gave them a slight angle on where the assassin had been sitting.
Jack spotted Gallow sitting with his companions, and followed his gaze to the highest room of the forecastle. Comprising the entire fifth level of the massive structure, the space was clearly reserved for the wealthy. A mass of islanders viewed the blade duel taking place on the deck below, their ears filled with gold. One youth stood out and Jack used his chin to point at him.
“Do you recognize him?”
Her eyes flicked to him and nodded. “That’s Prince Emeka, son of Emekalan, one of the stronger chiefs. He may be young, but he’s already bested many in the contests.”
“How can you tell who he is?” Ursana murmured.
“He’s wearing the cloak and golden bands of his tribe,” she replied. “And if that weren’t enough the guards mark him as royalty. He’s likely here to scout the latest group of fighters.”
“Gallow is moving,” Ursana said.
Jack dropped his gaze and watched the assassin slide through the crowd before taking one of the bridges to the western ship. Then he drifted out of the group and came to a halt. Most of his group remained on the ship, but a handful went ahead of the assassin and took seats at a tavern within view.
“A trap,” Jack said, recognizing the ploy. “He wants the key to come to him.”
“But where is it?” Lorelia asked.
Jack’s eyes were drawn to the prince, to the item hanging from his neck. He began to chuckle under his breath as he recognized the shape.
“He’s using the key as a pendant,” Jack said.
Lorelia released a chagrined laugh. “If he arrived recently, it would mean the cultists didn’t find it until now.”
“How fortunate for us,” Jack said.
Ursana snorted at his tone. “Do you always expect life to fall into place for you?”
“Don’t you?” Jack asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “No, and normal people don’t either.”
“Who said I was normal?”
Lorelia stifled a laugh. “You’ve never spoken truer words.” Then she gestured to the lethal trap awaiting the prince. “It’s seems Gallow has watched the prince enough to expect him to exit in that direction.”
“If only you’d let me come earlier,” Jack lamented, “I would have spotted him before he was in place.”
Her lips tightened in disapproval. “Regardless, the question is what to do now. If we disrupt the trap he’ll know we’re here, and we lose our advantage. If we do nothing, he gets the key.”
“We could steal the key first,” Jack said.
“And how do we do that?” she asked, folding her arms. “The prince has dozens of guards, obviously trained enough that Gallow decided against a straightforward attack.”
“We don’t need to steal the key,” Jack said, an idea forming in his mind, “just the ship.”
Lorelia didn’t seem to register what he meant. Then her eyes widened. “You want to steal the godship?”
He grinned. “Why not?”
“And how do we steal a hundred-year-old ship that in its prime required hundreds to navigate?”
“You say it like it will be hard,” Jack said, and began to move through the crowd in the opposite direction of the lurking assassin.
“There are a thousand people on this ship,” Ursana hissed. “And the ship hasn’t moved in ages.”
“It will,” Jack said. “Just get a message to the others and let them know to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Lorelia hissed.
“For the storm,” he replied, and stabbed a finger toward the darkening sky. “When it hits, we move.”
She caught his arm but the motion drew attention from the other spectators. They scowled at her, their eyes conveying disgust for her motion. Reluctantly she came to a halt and Ursana stopped at her side.
He grinned and slipped away. Once he was back in the city he sprinted across the decks. Lightning appeared in the distance and the wall of dark clouds crept toward the Boneyard. The footing of the city became perilous as the turbulent water became increasingly violent.
He leapt to a neighboring ship, skipping the gangplank filled with people. In spite of the islanders’ bravado during storms, many had begun to depart the godship, their caution indicating the storm to be a gale. Then Jack reached a walled section he’d visited on his first day.
Leaping to a roof, he sprinted over an inn and dropped into the tribe’s makeshift fortress. His appearance startled a group of guards, who rose to their feet and called out to him. Jack darted to the prow of a ship nearby and lea
pt past them, sprinting for a shop sitting on a curved vessel. The sailors cried out amidst the sound of weapons being drawn. Then the pounding of feet heralded their pursuit.
Jack picked up a coil of rope and hurled it through the glass window. It shattered, sending bits of glass scattering through the empty shop. Leaping through the opening, Jack gathered an armful of small circular discs and stuffed them into a pack. Then he leapt out the window to find the area surrounded by a dozen furious islanders.
“Sorry for the mess,” Jack said, “and the cost.”
One of the sailors raised a hooked staff weapon and pointed it at him. “We’ll gut you and toss you to the sharks, thief—”
Jack crouched and launched himself into a casual back flip that took him to the roof. Astonishment robbed the man of speech but Jack was already gone. Leaping buildings and ships, he raced across the heaving city toward the godship. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance as he quickly outstripped them.
When the arena came into view he saw that the final fight had come to an end. Spectators and combatants streamed across the rolling bridges as great drops of rain began to fall upon them. A group of Talinorian women scurried away while casting fearful eyes at the black sky. They passed right through Gallow’s trap, unaware that a supreme assassin stood within dagger’s reach.
With the pathways clogged, Jack accelerated and leapt the thirty-foot gap, drawing a scattering of shouts at the feat. Landing just inside the godship’s railing, he sprinted to Lorelia, who stood with a white knuckled hand grasping a rope.
“The prince is about to depart,” she said. “Whatever your plan, do it now.”
Jack spotted Thalidon and Roarthin drifting toward them. Gesturing them close, he said, “Use your magic to destroy the eastern bridges. Then get everyone else off the ship except the prince.”
“How are we going to move the ship . . .?”
But Jack was already gone. Sprinting to the stern of the massive ship, he caught a rope and leapt over the rail. Then he lowered himself down to where the water crashed against the ancient hull. Withdrawing the discs, he slapped them onto the hull one by one, and watched them glow to life. Drenched from the water, he scaled to the deck in time to see men and women cry out as Roarthin launched balls of fire into one bridge. Thalidon attacked a second, sending the lingering spectators sprinting away. The other thieves struck at the supports and ropes holding the remaining two aloft.
