by Dan Koboldt
Clack-THRUM!
The machine shook as it hurled the missile across the gap. It struck low, punching a basketball-sized hole through the deck at the soldiers’ feet. One of them went down, clutching his leg. Nothing serious, but it put him out of play. The other scrambled behind a bulwark for cover.
Damn, didn’t compensate for the yardage. But a double-click announced the arrival of another bolt in the ballista’s slot. The second mercenary didn’t realize this. He probably thought Quinn had to re-crank the ballista. He stood and nocked an arrow. Probably the bastard who shot Leward. Quinn drew a bead on his chest, eased it up a few degrees, and let fly. The bolt struck the man center mass and hurled him over the far side of the ship, taking out a few halyards on the way.
“We’re losing ground on them!” Relling shouted. “Go for the hull!”
The next bolt was already loaded, waiting to fire. Part of Quinn’s brain wondered how many more the machine had left in its magazine. He picked a spot amidships on the other vessel’s hull, just above the waterline. The bolt would tear a gash in it the size of a basketball. Even on these gentle swells, the ship wouldn’t be able to stay afloat for long. An hour, at most. Then it would sink, taking the soldiers in their flexsteel armor with it.
He’d been in the water once, in armor. He’d never forget the way the water pulled at him, tried to suck him down into its depths. He wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone. So he brought the sights up and took aim at a different part of the ship, held it there, and pulled the trigger.
Clack-THRUM!
The base of the mainmast exploded in a shower of wood and metal. Their mainsail plummeted over, tangling up most of the crew in a mess of canvas and rigging. The vessel lurched to starboard, its momentum falling off. Relling veered the Victoria hard to port to keep from ramming them. She stormed up to the bow a second later. “What the hell is going on up here?” She saw the dark bloodstain against the timber. “Oh, hell. Who was it?”
“Leward. He took an arrow.”
“Damn.”
“I got their mainmast,” Quinn said. A woman in flexsteel armor—presumably the captain—raised a white scarf and let it flutter in the wind. “Hey, look! They surrender. Who’d have guessed?”
“I told you to put a hole in their hull,” Relling said.
“Isn’t it better for us to have captives? I know how much you love interrogation.”
She jabbed a finger at the opposing vessel. “That’s a search and rescue team. They’re not going to know anything of value.”
“Well, still—”
"They’ve not only located the island, but now they’ve seen my ship. More importantly, they’ve seen me.” She shoved him out of the way and took aim with the ballista.
“Captain—” he started, but she ignored him.
Clack-THRUM. Click. Clack-THRUM.
The missiles punched two gaping holes in the hull of the other ship. One right on top of the other. Cold, dark seawater rushed in. The vessel groaned and began to split right in the middle. Quinn could only watch, speechless, and the ends rose up and sank slowly, inexorably, into the abyss.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said at last. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
“This is war, Quinn,” Relling said. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”
Quinn dozed alone in a chair outside the Enclave infirmary, waiting for news about Leward. The young man was white as a ghost by the time they’d gotten here. Still breathing, but raggedly so. What am I going to tell Everett? Leward’s little brother was a fellow student. A good kid, without any other family on the island. Quinn knew he should find him, but didn’t have the strength.
A shadow fell across the open door to outside.
“How is he?” Relling asked.
Quinn forced his eyes open and sat up. “They got the arrow out. I don’t know more than that.”
She teetered on the threshold, then came in and sat down across from him. “What a goddamned mess.”
He tried to laugh, but it made his stomach hurt. There can’t be anything left in there. He’d gotten sick on the way back. Sicker than he ever remembered being. Mostly because he’d known that Relling was right. This was war. He just didn’t think he was cut out for it.
The distant buzz-feeling of magic that he’d felt through the closed infirmary doors faded at last. That was either a good sign, or a very bad one. The doors opened. Sella, Moric, and Jillaine emerged. They looked exhausted. Ragged.
“The boy will survive,” Sella said without preamble.
Relief flooded Quinn. “Gods be praised.”
“Are you certain no one escaped?”
Quinn felt like he might throw up again. “I am.”
“Good.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t like the way it happened, but at least we’ve contained the problem.”
Relling caught Quinn’s eye and gave a little shake of the head. She doesn’t think so.
“I can’t promise that,” Quinn said. “They may have gotten word to their superiors. Even if they didn’t, the company will be suspicious when their men don’t return.”
“Then they know not to trifle with us,” Sella said.
“Or they see us as a legitimate threat,” Relling said.
Sella whirled on her. “What do you know of it?”
Relling shrugged, and looked away.
“That was just a search and rescue team,” Quinn said. “Next time, they won’t send another ship. They’ll send an armada.”
Moric looked at Sella. “It appears that neutrality may no longer be an option for us.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said. “I never meant to drag the Enclave into this.”
“It’s a little late for apologies, boy,” Sella snapped.
“It’s not his fault, Sella,” Moric said. “These invaders have harmed a member of the Enclave. It must be answered.”
“How do we go about doing that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. He looked at Moric. “But I know who to ask.”
Quinn stood in the crow’s nest of the Victoria and tried not to think about how high up he was. He’d made the mistake of telling the captain that he was still spry. Apparently, this was her idea of a joke. Lookout duty. At least it gave him a bit of isolation from the likes of Moric and Anton. They’d been in a foul mood since leaving the Enclave. Maybe they didn’t like leaving Sella in charge, though it made sense.
Jillaine had volunteered to stay back and keep an eye on Leward, who remained in serious condition. At least, that’s what she said. She looked at Quinn differently since he and Relling came back without any prisoners. She didn’t ask what happened, and he didn’t volunteer it.
I hope she doesn’t think I’m a cold-blooded killer. Maybe she just needed some time.
The council had kept things quiet, but ordered Moric to arrange a meeting with the Valteroni Prime. Of course, Holt had reasons not to welcome a sudden overture from the Enclave, given their recent falling-out. Yet Moric had somehow prevailed on his old friend to agree to a rendezvous. With conditions, of course, because both parties understood the capabilities of magicians all too well. Thus, magical transport was off the table for the delegation.
They should make landfall on Valteroni shore sometime today. That was Quinn’s supposed duty up here, to watch for land. And to keep an eye out for the sails of other vessels as well. These might be Valteroni seas, but if CASE Global mercenaries were posing as Pirean fishermen, all bets were off. Until they worked things out with Holt, even Valteroni ships couldn’t be trusted.
The mast trembled as someone climbed up beneath the crow’s nest. Watch doesn’t change for another hour. He tore his eyes from the unchanged horizon long enough to recognize the clean-shaven head. “Hey, Moric.”
Moric scrambled up into the nest with surprising agility, caught his breath, and spun to take in the vista. “Quite a view up here. I can see why you like it.”
Quinn snorted. “More like it’s wha
t I get for opening my mouth.”
Moric smiled. “And here you were just telling me how you and the harbormaster had worked things out.”
“I like to think she’s got me up here out of respect for my seamanship.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“You know, I got a job offer from the ship that brought me to the island last time.” Quinn put his hands on the rail and let out a long breath. “Sometimes I think I should have taken it.”
Moric nodded. “It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”
“I’m sorry about that, for what it’s worth.”
“Is that all you’re sorry for?”
“No, probably not. But hey, I stuff my sorries in a sack.”
“Now there’s an odd expression. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given your peculiar origins.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Moric asked.
“The fact that we can understand one another when we’re talking, even though we don’t speak the same language.”
“The polyglossia.”
“Right.” Even the word for it translates. Unbelievable. “I still have trouble wrapping my head around the whole idea. I’d kill to know how it works.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.” Quinn did a double take. “Wait a minute. Do you know how it works?”
“I should hope so.”
“Oh, you’ve got to tell me.”
“How can I be certain you won’t run off and tell this to your employers?”
“Former employers. I don’t work for them anymore.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“I’ve got my cards on the table,” Quinn said. “I’ll lose a lot more than my job, if they find out what I told you.” Or if they realize what I’ve done.
“Oh?”
“There’s no going back now.” And now that he said it out loud, he realized how true that was. He could explain away the radio silence as having lost his comm unit. He might even be able to explain away the beacon, which they’d dropped off at yet a third island a few days ago, just to keep the company guessing. But now the Enclave knew about Holt and Kiara and the gateway. There was only one possible source for that leak. Kiara would see it right away.
“In that case, I’ll let you in on some history that’s little known outside the Enclave,” Moric said.
“Oh, good. I like history.”
“Have you heard anything about how the Enclave was founded?”
“We didn’t even know the Enclave existed until you brought me there.”
“There were once three magicians who were contemporaries of one another. Aran, Callum, and Maddalena. They lived in a time when most Alissians feared magic, when even claiming to be a magician brought persecution.”
“Sounds familiar,” Quinn said.
“In spite of the danger, in spite of the constant fear, these three found each other. That happens sometimes, among those of us with the ability. We’re drawn to one another.”
“Like when you found me.”
“Just so. They were strong enough to defend one another, and managed to find more of our kind. They settled on the island, but they weren’t done. Aran, Callum, and Maddalena set out to create three long-lasting enchantments to change the world’s perception of magic.” Moric looked at him. “Two of them, you know already.”
“The polyglossia is one of them?”
Moric nodded. “The idea, I think, was to help us talk to one another.”
“That’s a hell of an enchantment.”
“Well, the three forebears were, by all accounts, some of the greatest magicians our world has ever seen.”
“I can’t imagine what the other miracle might be, though.”
“And yet you live in it, as do most of us.”
Of course. “The Enclave towers.”
“Their bones were pulled up from the bedrock. Each one styled like a country in the mainland, so that everyone at the Enclave feels a bit at home.”
I knew there was something odd about them. “All right, then what’s the third?” Quinn asked.
“Pardon?”
“You said the magicians created three enchantments.”
“Oh, we’ve no idea.”
“What?”
“We don’t know what the third enchantment was.”
“Then how do you know there is one?”
“Because—” Moric began.
“Just a minute.” Quinn put a hand on his arm, and used the other to shade his eyes. A pale, fuzzy shape broke the perfect flat plane between the ocean and the sky. He leaned over the edge of the crow’s nest. “Land ho, Captain!”
Other members of the crew took up the call, and word reached Relling on the foredeck. She looked up at Quinn; he pointed in the right direction, and she swept that way with her spyglass. Oh yeah, I saw it first. And three of the crewmen owed him silver, because he’d gotten closest on the hour. He smiled to himself, then remembered Moric. “Sorry, you were saying how you knew there was a third enchantment?”
“We know it was cast, because it was the last thing the three magicians ever did.”
The meaning sunk in, and Quinn regretted having pushed on this matter. “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
“We’ll figure it out eventually. Hopefully while I’m ahead in the betting pool.”
“You took wagers on the third enchantment?”
“Oh, you think you’re the only one who knows how to gamble?” Moric smiled. “That’s cute.”
Quinn snorted to himself. “Just when I thought I understood this place.”
“Now that we’re close to land, I feel there’s something I should tell you about my most recent trip to Valteron. It seems that, not long ago, there was an attack on Admiral Blackwell’s keep, on an island in the harbor.”
That can’t be a coincidence. “Go on.”
“I’m told the assailants took something of value from the admiral’s vault. Granted, the details are murky. Most of this I gleaned from rumors circulating in the city itself.”
“What did Holt say about it?”
“Nothing. Then again, the Prime was tight-lipped about most things when I saw him last.”
“I thought you two were close,” Quinn said.
“We are, but given recent developments, he’s become far more circumspect. It was all I could do to set this meeting.”
“Maybe someone should remind him that trust is a two-way street.” Holt hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his true origins when he accepted the Enclave’s protections.
Moric grunted in what might have been approval, or disagreement. “In any case, the attack on the admiral’s compound left at least a dozen dead, and twice that number burned.”
“Burned?”
“They set fire to the keep to cover their escape.”
Kill, steal, and burn. If he ever needed proof that Kiara and Relling were sisters, there it was. “So they got away with it?”
“Not entirely. They lost one member of their team. A woman.”
The news hit Quinn like a punch to the gut. “What did you say?”
“She fell overboard as they fled. Rumor is, the ship might have been able to come back for her, but fled instead.”
“Gods.” And now I know which woman fell in. Only Lieutenant Kiara would be hard enough to make that call. Which meant that Veena had gone into the drink.
Quinn had fallen overboard in full clothing and flexsteel armor once before. It didn’t matter how strong of a swimmer he was. The weight pulled him down like an anchor. He remembered the feeling of the water closing in on him, and shuddered.
“I take it you know who it was,” Moric said.
“A friend.” Jesus. Veena. How had this happened? It was a mistake to bring her on the mission, to put her in the crosshairs of veteran soldiers. “Someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“I could say the same of Admiral Blackwell.”
“Is he all right?”
<
br /> “He’s alive. I don’t know more than that.”
“That’s a relief.” Not only because someone hadn’t died, but since Quinn was the one who’d helped put the team on to Blackwell in the first place.
“What I wasn’t able to find out is why anyone attacked Blackwell’s compound.” Moric had a casual tone, but there was a question buried in there.
“He was holding something for the Valteroni Prime.”
“A hostage?”
“Contraband. Things that could be dangerous to your world.”
Moric drummed his fingers on the rail. “It seems out of character for Richard.”
“I don’t think he meant any harm. He only wanted to give us pause.”
“To deter anyone from coming after him.”
“Exactly.” It surprised him a little that Moric saw the Machiavellian angle so quickly. I keep forgetting he’s the Enclave’s enforcer. All the more reason to get back on the man’s good side. “Without that leverage in play, Holt’s in greater danger.”
“Believe it or not, the Prime can take care of himself.”
“You don’t understand, Moric. They’ll stop at nothing to remove him from power.”
“A fact the admiral can attest to, no doubt. All that remains for us is to convince him to let us help.”
“Let’s hope we can,” Quinn said.
“Which reminds me of the second thing I meant to tell you,” Moric said. “The Prime asked for certain conditions in order to take this meeting.”
“So you told us. That’s why we’re taking the slow boat to Valteron.”
“The Prime also wanted you to be there.”
“He asked for me? By name?”
“More by description. But it was clear who he was referring to.”
“And you’re only telling me now?”
“If I’d told you this before, would you still have come?”
Now there was a tough question. “I want to say yes. But I don’t know. What does Holt want with me?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Chapter 15
The Need to Know
“The true test of sailors here is living through a storm.”
—R. Holt, “Alissian Superstition”
