“This is a matter of law,” Agis replied confidently. “It’s the foundation of the Free City, and I’ll personally make sure that our court understands the gravity of your crime.”
“And will you present a new plan to spare our citizens Borys’s ravages?” Tithian inquired. “Perhaps you’ve found the Dark Lens? Are you ready to kill the Dragon?”
Agis bit his lip, angered more than he liked to admit by the king’s mocking tone. Together with his friends Rikus and Sadira, he had spent much of the last five years searching for the lens. They still had no idea where it was.
“However we protect Tyr, it won’t involve slave-taking,” Agis replied.
Tithian sneered. “Then I’ll be glad to stand before your Court of Fearful Citizens,” he scoffed. “When they understand the alternative, I think they’ll find your law a petty thing.”
“I think they’ll understand that a king who would do such a thing would also betray his own people,” Agis said, moving once more to bind Tithian’s hands. “Your subjects are not so foolish as you think.”
“Nor are they so brave as you believe,” the king replied. Again, he moved away to prevent himself from being tied. “But before we begin our journey home, perhaps you should know why I’ve come all this way.”
“That would spare you a considerable amount of pain,” interrupted Nymos. He stepped forward, his forked tongue flickering in suspense.
Agis pushed the little sorcerer away. “He won’t tell the truth,” said the noble. “He’s just trying to turn me from my purpose.”
“Not at all,” said the king, meeting the noble’s gaze. “In fact, I think you’ll find what I have to say very interesting.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then you’ve lost interest in the Dark Lens?”
“Of course not,” snapped Agis. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve found it,” the king replied. “In fact, I’m on my way to recover it right now.”
“What’s the Dark Lens?” demanded Nymos.
“The Dark Lens is an ancient artifact, Nymos,” Agis explained. “The sorcerer-kings used it more than a thousand years ago to create the Dragon—and without it, we can’t destroy him now.” The noble returned his gaze to Tithian. “But I think the king is lying about knowing where it is. My friends and I have been searching for it for years. If we couldn’t find it, I see no reason to believe he did.”
“You mustn’t be jealous, Agis,” Tithian said with a smirk. “Over these past years, I’ve developed talents that aren’t available to you.”
“Then where is it?” Agis demanded.
Tithian wagged his finger at the noble. “I won’t say,” he replied. “But I’ll tell you how I found it. That will protect my secret and convince you that I’m telling the truth.”
“I’m listening,” Agis replied.
Although he maintained a calm outward appearance, the noble’s heart was pounding fiercely. The Dark Lens was the key not only to safeguarding Tyr, but to revitalizing the rest of Athas as well. The lens would complement the two things that his friends already possessed: Rikus’s magic sword, the Scourge of Rkard, and the powerful magic with which Sadira had been imbued in the Pristine Tower. With all three elements together, they would finally have the power to put an end to the Dragon’s rampages.
After allowing Agis to remain in suspense for a moment, Tithian said, “I found the lens by not looking for it.”
“What nonsense is that?” demanded Kester.
“The lens was stolen from the Pristine Tower by two dwarves—dwarves who had vowed to kill Borys,” the king explained. “When they died without destroying him—”
“They violated their focus,” interrupted Agis, referring to the peculiar aspect of the dwarven personality that compelled them to dedicate their lives to an all-consuming purpose.
Tithian nodded. “When they died without fulfilling their purpose, they became undead spirits,” he said. “I used my magic to locate their banshees, and that’s how I know where to find the Dark Lens.”
“And you offered to share this Dark Lens with Andropinis. That’s why he loaned his fleet to you,” surmised Nymos. The sorcerer stepped to Agis’s side and laid a hand on the noble’s hip, then pointed in Tithian’s direction. “I say we tie him to a boulder and dump him over the side.”
“That won’t be necessary, Nymos,” said Tithian, regarding the reptile with a wary expression. “You’re correct in all your assumptions, except one. I have no intention of keeping my word to Andropinis. I want the lens so I can kill the Dragon—for the good of Tyr.”
“Forgive me if I doubt your motivations,” said Agis.
“Good,” said Nymos. “Let’s throw him overboard and go after the lens ourselves.”
“We can’t kill him,” said Agis. “I need him alive when he stands before the Court of Free Citizens.”
“You can’t intend to take me back now!” Tithian exclaimed. “This is the Dark Lens! It’ll make us as powerful as sorcerer-kings!”
“I’m not abandoning the lens,” said Agis. “You know it’s too important for me to do that.”
“Good,” said Tithian, a smug smile on his face. “Then we’ll work together—for the good of Tyr.”
Agis shook his head. “You’ll be spending this journey in Kester’s brig—and returning to Tyr in shackles.”
“We’ll do this thing together, or not at all,” said Tithian. “Otherwise, I won’t tell you where to find it.”
“What happened to your concern for Tyr’s welfare?” Agis asked.
“That’s what I’m thinking of now,” the king replied.
“You’re lying,” Agis replied. “Besides, I know where to look—the isle of Lybdos.”
Tithian’s eyes opened wide. “You fool!” he hissed. “You can’t succeed without me!”
“We can, and we will,” Agis replied, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll find the brig comfortable.”
The noble grabbed Tithian by the shoulders and turned him toward the center of the deck, where Kester’s slaves had gathered to watch the exchange. “I’ll try not to make the rest of your journey too unpleasant,” he said, looping his rope around the king’s wrists.
“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Tithian replied, his voice rather distant.
Agis looked up to see the slaves staring at the king in rapt fascination. At first, he did not realize what was happening, for the noble had never seen such expressions come over so many faces at once. “What are you doing?” he demanded, cinching the knot tight around Tithian’s hands.
“Perhaps you should explain that to me,” the king replied. “I thought you disapproved of slavery, my friend?”
“I do,” Agis replied. “But this is Kester’s ship—”
“Perhaps you and I should free these men,” the king replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the crowd. “After all, slavery is illegal in Tyr, and are we not Tyrians?”
“There’ll be no freein’ of slaves on my ship,” Kester growled.
The crew ignored her and, in trancelike unison, cried, “Hurray for Tyr!”
“Yes, hurray for Tyr!” Tithian shouted. “Help me, and you’ll all become heroes. You’ll live in great palaces and eat the fruit of the faro instead of the needle!”
With a stuporous cheer, the slaves surged forward to free Tithian. Kester leaped to meet them, yelling, “Back to yer poles!” She grabbed the first man in the mob and snapped his neck with a quick twist of her wrists. “I’ll snap the heads off all ye mutineers!”
As the tarek reached for her next victim, Agis drew his sword and cried, “Stop! It’s not their fault!”
The noble brought the pommel of his weapon down on the back of Tithian’s skull, adding another dent to the battered circlet. There was a resounding thud, then the king’s knees buckled, and he slumped to the deck at Agis’s feet.
SIX
MYTILENE
TO AGIS, THE SHIPFLOATER’S APPRENTICE LOOKED only slightly hea
lthier than her dead master, who had succumbed to a fever just an hour earlier. Beads of cloudy sweat rolled down her brow in rivulets, a murky yellow film clouded the whites of her eyes, and red, cracked skin surrounded her nostrils and mouth. Even the freckles dotting her keen-boned cheeks had turned from pink to gray, while her breath came in labored wheezes.
Agis snapped his fingers in front of the young woman’s fine-boned face. Her puffy eyelids rose a sliver. She turned her listless eyes on his face, but she did not speak.
“Can you hold on alone, Damras?” he asked.
The apprentice nodded.
“Tithian is doing this to you,” the noble said. “I’m going down to the brig to put an end to it.”
“Hurry,” she wheezed.
Agis climbed out of the chaperon’s seat and started down toward the main deck. He had barely set foot on the ladder before Kester laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“What are ye doing out of the chaperon’s seat?” she demanded. In her hand, the tarek held a king’s eye, for the day was a breezy one, with a dust curtain hanging about half as high as the Shadow Viper’s mainmast.
“Damras is dying—”
“She’s just sick!” snapped Kester, cutting off Agis’s explanation. Without even glancing in the direction of the floater’s dome, she added, “Damras is young. She’ll be fine.”
“Denial won’t keep us afloat,” said Nymos, joining them. “If Damras dies, the Shadow Viper is doomed.”
“I told ye, she’ll be fine!” growled the tarek.
“No, she won’t,” Agis said. “Tithian is killing her.”
“That’s blather,” growled Kester. “If he kills the floaters, he sinks with us. Why would he—”
A pained cry from Damras interrupted the tarek. Followed by Kester and Nymos, Agis rushed to the side of the floater’s pit. Damras’s condition had deteriorated. Her chin lay slumped on her chest, and her cloudy eyes stared into empty space. Her trembling hands had slipped to the edges of the dome and were in danger of dropping off the glassy surface altogether.
Agis climbed into the floater’s seat, at the same time speaking over his shoulder to Kester. “You’d better head for that island.”
The noble pointed to the ship’s starboard, where a craggy, crescent-shaped island rose out of the dust haze. Although it was several miles distant, he could see the zigzagging line of a path traversing its precipitous slopes. The trail crested the ridge near a jumble of blocky white shapes that could only be buildings.
Kester shook her head. “That’s Mytilene, a giant stronghold,” she said. “Ye’ll have to keep Damras awake until we can make a safer island.”
Agis laid his hands on top of the floater’s. Her knuckles felt as hot as sun-baked stones. “Damras will never make it to another island,” he warned, moving the floater’s hands back toward the center of the dome.
“Neither will we, if we land on this one,” replied Kester. “Ye’d know that if ye had ever seen how giants treat strangers.”
Damras focused her jaundiced eyes on the noble’s face. Can’t last, but Kester is right about Mytilene, she said, too weak to speak the words aloud. Help me.
I’ll go after Tithian right now, Agis said.
The floater shook her head. No. The Shadow Viper will be under dust by then. I need you here.
Tell me how, the noble answered, swallowing in apprehension. To Kester and Nymos, he said, “Damras is going to teach me how to float the ship.”
Kester and Nymos both winced, then the jozhal said, “We’ll see to Tithian.”
“No,” said Agis. “The king has obviously recovered from his ordeal, and he’ll attack you with the Way. Neither of you are powerful enough to resist him.”
“I have my magic,” the reptile insisted.
“And Tithian has his,” the noble replied. “You can’t open that brig until I’m there to counter his mental abilities. Otherwise, he’ll take control of the crew again.”
“The brig stays closed,” said Kester. “I’ll not have another mutiny on my ship.” She stepped toward the helm, motioning for the jozhal to follow her.
Once they were gone, Damras placed her hands on top of Agis’s, leaving his palms in direct contact with the obsidian. An eerie chill spread from his fingers and into his wrists as icy tendrils of pain writhed up his arms. They spliced themselves into his bones, drawing the strength from his muscles and the heat from his blood.
Let the dome draw on your life-force. Damras’s thought came to him distant and weak, and he felt her hands slip away. See the ship’s hull in your mind.
Gritting his teeth against the numbing pain in his arms, the noble pictured the weathered planks of the Shadow Viper’s hull. At the same time, he opened a pathway to his nexus, allowing the dome free access to his spiritual energy. A warm stream of life-force rose from deep within himself, coursing through his body and down into his arms. The tendrils in his arms grew warmer as his energy flowed into them, then a golden glimmer flashed beneath his palms and sank into the depths of the dome. Suddenly, it seemed to Agis that the ship had become a part of him.
You must witness the sea as it was.
Inside Agis’s mind, the dust curtain engulfing the ship suddenly lifted, replaced by a sparkling expanse of grayish blue. He heard the lapping of waves, then felt himself rocking back and forth to the gentle sway of the ship. The sky turned the color of sapphires, and a briny, wind-blown spray stung his cheeks. The noble licked a few droplets of the liquid off his lips and tasted water, salty as blood, but water nonetheless.
The sight took Agis’s breath away. In all directions, stretching to every horizon, he saw nothing but water, as endless as the sky and as featureless as the salt flats of the Ivory Triangle. This sea was a stark contrast to the real one, alluring and majestic instead of foreboding and bleak.
When he had finally recovered from his shock, Agis asked. What is this?
The Sea of Silt, long before the sorcerer-kings, Damras explained.
That can’t be, Agis replied. The time before the sorcerer-kings was that of Rajaat. The world was green and covered with trees. I’ve read descriptions—
Your descriptions were wrong, Damras interrupted. But we have no time to argue. The world was covered with water. You must accept that.
Very well.
As the noble spoke the words, a primeval attraction stirred deep within his spirit. He felt a restless longing as painful as it was powerful, and he almost did not notice as the crack of flapping sails sounded inside his mind. An instant later, a floater’s cockpit materialized around him. Agis found himself seated in a chaperon’s seat within his mind as well as that of the Shadow Viper.
Slowly, the rest of the ship began to appear inside Agis’s mind. An unimaginable weight settled upon his spirit, so terrible that his heart, stomach, and all his organs ached as though they would burst. He cried out in alarm, but his pain prevented anything more than a strangled gurgle from escaping his lips.
You are the water, instructed Damras. Your strength carries the Shadow Viper.
As the floater spoke, the foul odor of rot rose from the craft inside Agis’s mind, and his stomach churned in protest. The planks of the caravel’s hull turned filthy dun, and a dark stain of adulteration began to spread outward from beneath the ship’s keel, changing the color of the sea from sparkling blue to vile brown. The stench of decay grew stronger than ever, filling his nose with such fetor that he had to fight to keep from retching.
What’s happening? Agis asked.
The fever, Damras replied. It comes from the ship.
You mean from Tithian, said Agis. He’s poisoning us through the ship’s hull.
Then he’s very powerful. He’s fighting against the dome’s natural flow, replied Damras. I’ll help you resist as long as I can.
You should rest, replied Agis. You won’t be any good to the ship if you die.
You aren’t ready to do this alone, she retorted.
They fell silent, an
d Agis concentrated on the task at hand. Although he tried to keep the Shadow Viper floating high in the water, the horrid stench of Tithian’s attack and the dome’s steady drain on his strength were difficult to endure. Soon, he found himself feeling light headed and dizzy.
I think I’m about to fall unconscious, he reported.
That’s not surprising, Damras replied. Despite the respite Agis had given her, she still sounded sick and weak. It takes many days of practice before you can control the flow of your life energy into the dome. You rest and let me take over for a few minutes.
Agis felt the ship lift off his spirit as she took its weight. The dark stain of Tithian’s adulteration began to fade from the sea in his mind, and though he still felt tired, he began to feel less sick to his stomach.
The Shadow Viper sliced through the dust as usual, until Damras suddenly cried out in fear. A horrid death rattle escaped from her throat, then she pitched forward, and her hands slipped off the black dome. Before Agis could catch her, the floater slumped to the deck, her lifeless eyes staring into the sky.
The Shadow Viper lurched and slowed, then began sinking like a boulder. Agis caught it, visualizing the caravel riding upon the waves inside his mind. The ship’s weight seemed even more crushing than before, and his stomach churned in protest as Tithian’s foul stain of decay spread over the blue sea. It was all Agis could do to keep his thoughts focused on the lapping waters of the ancient sea, instead of the agony in his chest or the terrible nausea in his stomach.
Kester’s domed muzzle appeared over the cockpit. “What’s happening down there?” the tarek demanded.
Agis did not have to answer, for Damras’s lifeless body made the trouble clear.
“From the way the ship lurched, I’d say we’re about to sink,” said Nymos, also appearing at the edge of the pit. “Perhaps we should consider landing on the island.”
“If we were goin’ to sink, we’d be choking on silt by now,” growled the tarek. “Agis’ll keep us afloat.”
The noble shook his head. “I’m a mindbender, not a shipfloater,” he said. “I’ll be lucky to last long enough to reach the nearest shore.”
The Obsidian Oracle Page 10
