by Marc Turner
And seen him they had. A wave of water-magic burgeoned beneath the nearest stone-skin boat, and it went shooting toward the man like a bolt fired from a ballista.
Oh no you don’t.
Galantas gauged distances. The Eternal was closer to the swimmer, but the Augeran craft had the advantage of both weight and maneuverability. Galantas located his water-mage beside the ship’s wheel. He was combing his long hair with a fish-bone comb.
“Barnick!” Galantas shouted.
The Eternal rose with a rush and fizz of water.
And the race was on.
Submerged ruins flashed past to either side of the ship. Ahead Galantas saw three towers beneath the waves like the prongs of a trident, and for an improbable moment he imagined them thrusting out of the sea to skewer the hull. The swimmer thrashed through the waves toward the Eternal. Just a few hundred armspans away now. Galantas gripped his shark-tooth necklace so tight, the teeth dug into his skin. The wind made his sharkskin cape billow behind him. He looked at the Augerans. The wave beneath their boat was of a size to match the Eternal’s. At the prow, the stone-skin in the red cloak leaned out as far as he could, as if he thought that would hasten their passage.
“Gonna be a close thing,” Qinta said.
Too close for Galantas’s liking. Maintain this course and speed, and they might beat the stone-skins to the swimmer only to roll over him and drown him beneath the hull.
“Barnick,” he called. “A point to starboard.”
The Eternal changed course.
The islet rushed closer. Was it just Galantas’s imagination, or had the wave under the stone-skin boat grown larger? There was a corpse on the sea in front of it, and as the craft passed by, the body rose with the wave before falling behind amid a trail of white spume.
Qinta said, “Want me to get the lads to fire a few shots across their bows? Might spook them into slowing.”
It might also end up with a stone-skin joining the corpses in the water. Galantas shook his head. He didn’t want to start a war here. For while the prospect of losing his father twenty thousand talents was appealing, he might be inheriting that money soon. Besides, it looked like he was winning the race. The man in the red cloak gestured and shouted to the Rubyholters to give ground.
“Hold your course,” Galantas shouted to Barnick.
“We’re gonna bump ’em,” Qinta said.
“It’ll hurt them more than it hurts us.”
The stone-skins must have reached the same conclusion, for the wave beneath their craft receded. Immediately Barnick slowed the Eternal’s rush so it did not overshoot its target. The deck tilted, and Galantas seized the rail. The quartermaster, Drefel, sprawled to the boards and swore. As the ship settled on the sea, the dregs of the wave that had been carrying it went hissing toward the islet. A crash, a spray of white, then a dozen nesting limewings took flight, squawking.
The swimmer was now abeam to port, bobbing on the swell. The wave created by the Eternal’s coming washed over him, and he went under before breaking the surface again.
“Get him up here,” Galantas said to Qinta.
The Second nodded and moved off.
Some of the crew were whooping and jeering at the Augeran boat off the starboard bow. The stone-skins, by contrast, were silent. Bad losers, going by their scowls, but that just made the Eternal’s crew cheer louder. Galantas could see a handful of corpses at the bottom of the Augeran boat, all studded with crossbow bolts. The stone-skin in the red cloak was watching him. As his gaze locked to Galantas’s, he lifted a sandaled foot and lowered it onto the face of a dead woman. Then he twisted it back and forth like he was putting out a blackweed stick.
A new wave raised the Augeran boat high and carried it toward the Eternal. The hulls of the two craft came together with a thud and a clank, and the red-cloaked stone-skin seized the rail and sprang over it. Tall bastard, he was. Taller even than Qinta, though not as broad. His skin was a lighter hue than that of the Augerans Galantas had met in Bezzle. The jeers of the Eternal’s crew died away. A hundred sets of hard eyes were fixed on him, yet he might have been a captain come to inspect his crew for all the apprehension he showed. He crossed to the stairs and climbed to the quarterdeck.
Qinta was waiting for him at the top. The stone-skin tried to move around to get to Galantas, but the Second blocked him.
“Qinta,” Galantas said, and the Islander stepped back.
When the Augeran approached, he brought with him a whiff of blayfire oil. He stopped a pace away. Not a sailor, judging by the way he swayed with every shift of the deck. He stared at Galantas, and Galantas felt the gazes of his crew upon him. Anticipating the confrontation to come, no doubt. Some men might have been intimidated by that expectation, but Galantas was never more comfortable than when playing to an audience.
“Welcome aboard,” he said to the stone-skin. “I am Galantas Galair of the Spears. And you are?”
“My name Ostari Abrahim al Third, Peer of Honored.” The Augeran looked about him. “Curious is ship. Metal plates on hull made steel?”
Galantas nodded. Evidently not every stone-skin spoke the common tongue with the same fluency as Commander Eremo.
“Slow and heavy must make,” Ostari added.
“It didn’t seem to hold us back just now.”
The Augeran pressed on. “Bulkheads on low decks, plates make tight against water?”
“Yes. There is also an inner skin of steel. Together with the plating on the hull, it makes the ship impenetrable to rams.”
“Though is little use when defend enemy that tries to board.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” Galantas looked at his crew. “We’re the ones who do the boarding, eh, lads?”
Chuckles greeted his words.
Ostari’s smile was glacial.
There was movement at the corner of Galantas’s eye. He looked across to see Squint and Critter heaving on a line over the port rail. A head of red hair appeared over the gunwale, and the two crewmen reached over and hauled the swimmer onto the deck. He lay gasping on the boards, curled up like a newborn. He was younger than Galantas had been expecting, maybe only fourteen or fifteen. The youth’s gaze settled on the red-cloaked Augeran before shying away.
Ostari said to Galantas, “See you have something mine.”
“Oh?”
“Boy on ship that attack us.”
Galantas raised an eyebrow. “I saw your flagship in our harbor earlier. There was no damage to it.”
“Did not say attack successful.”
“But you took casualties?”
“Minor scrapes, that all.”
“Explains why you felt the need to turn those ships”—Galantas gestured to the stricken Rubyholt vessels—“into floating gallows.”
Ostari pointed to the survivor. “By law, his life mine.”
“What law is that?”
“Augeran maritime law. Can quote sections, if want.”
Galantas leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. “You’re not in Augera anymore.”
Ostari straightened. “And what your laws say done? I assume have laws here.”
“Under our laws, a pirate must atone for his crime by serving the clan he attacked.” If he was stupid enough to get caught, that is. And if he hadn’t already suffered a more lasting punishment.
“Perfect,” Ostari said, showing his teeth. “I promise care well of him.”
Galantas let the silence drag out. He wanted the watching Falcon boy to feel his life being weighed. The more the youth convinced himself he was doomed, the more grateful he’d be when he was spared. “I think not,” Galantas said at last.
“But is law, you say yourself.”
Galantas snorted. The only true law in the Isles came at the end of a blade, as the Augerans had proved to the Falcons. Too late for them now to cry foul. They’d used the fight to send a message to the clans, and Galantas intended to send a message of his own. “If you feel aggrieved, yo
u can take your complaint to the next gathering of clan leaders at the Hub. I’m sure they’ll give you a fair hearing.”
“I am sure. Must wonder, though, if your reaction be different if we victims, not Rubyholters.”
Galantas did not respond.
Ostari studied him. “You said you Spear clan? Hear you agree today with us over sail through Isles. Bad start if let man go.”
“The agreement isn’t signed yet.”
The Augeran nodded as if that was the answer he’d expected. Then he spun and headed back the way he’d come. His shoulder brushed Qinta’s as he passed. When he reached the main deck, he cast a final look at the Falcon boy before vaulting over the rail and into his waiting boat.
The craft sped away.
Galantas watched it go, wondering how Eremo would react to this afternoon’s events. Doubtless he’d complain to Dresk, but by that time the Falcon would be back among his own people. And Galantas suspected the treaty was too important to the stone-skins to cancel it over the fate of one boy. Of more interest was how the Falcon’s clan leader, Ravin, would take the news of what had happened here—not just with regard to Galantas’s intervention, but also to the stone-skins’ treatment of Yali’s men. He could have no complaint, of course, that the Augerans had defended themselves against raiders. But the butchery that had followed had surely crossed a line.
He looked at Critter and gestured to the survivor. “Bring him.”
Critter hauled the Falcon to his feet and pushed him toward Galantas. The youth came slowly, his gaze fixed on the deck. For all he knew, Galantas might have spared him from Ostari just so he could kill him himself. Relations between the Spears and Falcons had been strained of late. Only a week ago, one of Dresk’s krels had killed a Falcon in a dispute over some barren lump of rock no bigger than the islet off the Eternal’s bow.
Another shove from Critter sent the boy crashing into the steps to the quarterdeck. He climbed them in sullen silence and halted before Galantas, his red hair hanging across his eyes.
“Who are you?” Galantas asked.
Critter said, “What he means is, are you worth anything to us as ransom?”
Laughs from the crew, and Galantas made a calming gesture with his hand. “What’s your name?” he said.
“Allott,” the Falcon muttered.
“Allott, Captain.”
The boy did not reply.
Qinta said, “I recognize him. You’re Tusker’s bastard, ain’t you?”
Allott said nothing.
Tusker, as in Ravin’s dead brother? That would make Allot the clan leader’s nephew. Better and better. “What happened here?” Galantas asked.
Silence.
Qinta growled and stepped forward, but Galantas blocked him with his arm. Okay, let’s try something easier. He indicated the two Falcon ships and said to Allott, “You were on board when Yali hit the stone-skins?”
A nod.
“On the Lively?”
Another nod.
“I’ve seen the stone-skin ship you attacked. It’s a warship. Why would Yali take on a warship?”
Allott made to spit on the deck, then stopped himself. “He wanted its pretty colored sails, ’s why … Cap’n. Didn’t matter if there were no loot below, he said, so long as he got them sails. Said it would be easy pickings. Ship couldn’t have a mage on board, the way it came tiptoeing through the ruins. And when we trained the glass on her, there were just a few men on deck. Yali had us ready to veer off late if more appeared, but they never did.”
“So what went wrong? Another stone-skin ship?”
The boy shook his head.
Galantas waited. The Augerans in Ostari’s boat were fishing the body they had passed earlier from the water. “What went wrong?” he repeated.
Allott’s voice was barely a whisper. “Bastards used sorcery.”
“Water-magic?”
“No.”
A pause. “Is this the part where I keep guessing, and you tell me when I’m getting warm?”
Allott was a long time in answering. “It happened after we’d thrown the grapnels and made her snug. Stone-skins didn’t do nothing to stop us boarding, just stood there like they knew they was done for. But before we could attack, our rigging … came alive.”
Galantas stared at him.
“The lines tore loose like we was in a hurricane. Slipped their knots and started uncurling from the pinheads. Some of the lads got throttled. Others were lifted off their feet and left swinging from the spars. Yali himself got lines twisted round his arms and legs.” There was a tremor in Allott’s voice. “They pulled him apart. And all the while, there was this screaming coming from belowdecks, and this stomping, like the Sender himself were walking around down there.”
A few of the Eternal’s crew sniggered, but Galantas could see from Allott’s eyes that his fear was real. It was a fear that knew there were worse things in life than the cut of Shroud’s blade. What manner of sorcerer, though, could do what the youth described? Not an elemental mage, for sure. “Did the same happen to your other ship—the two-master?”
“Shit if I knows. I weren’t staying around to watch.”
Qinta’s voice had a note of scorn in it. “You jumped.”
“What the hell else was I supposed to do? Draw that sword o’ yours, show me how you’d have fought a Shroud-cursed rope!” The boy’s shoulders hunched. “Some of the lads tried to escape onto the stone-skin ship, but the bastards cut ’em down. Only place to go was over the side. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if you was me.”
Ostari’s boat had fished the last bodies from the water and now pulled up beside the Lively. Above the squawking of the starbeaks, Galantas heard Ostari shouting orders in his native tongue.
“How did you survive when the others died?” Galantas asked Allott.
The boy’s look suggested he was wondering the same. “Just lucky, I guess. I were swimming, and these crossbow bolts were splashing all around me. So I grabbed one and flipped onto my back and held the bolt over my chest so it looked like I were shot. Then I let the current take me till you showed up.” His face twitched. “Stone-skins cut their eyelids off, man—the ones that were crucified. Left ’em nailed there while the sun blinded ’em or the starbeaks took their eyes. I could hear ’em screaming. My ears were in the water, but I could still hear ’em.”
Galantas regarded him impassively. What did the boy want? Sympathy? Would Yali have shown the stone-skins any more kindness if the raid had been successful? The Augerans had wanted to send out a message, and fear was a powerful statement in any language.
“Captain,” Qinta said, “the stone-skins are pulling out.”
The Augerans from one boat had joined their kinsmen in the other, and the workers on the Lively were climbing in too. After the last man jumped down, the boat rose on a wave of water-magic and set off north in the direction of Bezzle. Ostari was visible at the prow in his red cloak. Were they leaving the two ships behind? Together they’d be worth a lot of money. Galantas might even return them to the Falcons and add to the goodwill he’d earn from saving the boy.
Then he remembered the blayfire oil he’d smelled earlier.
The Augeran boat halted a short distance from the ships. A flame sparked to life, and a burning arrow arced toward the Lively. When it struck, the ship went up in a whoof of blayfire flames. Purple flames—as if they were so hot they needed another color. Fire crackled along the rigging. The starbeaks on the lines tried to take off, but the blaze caught them. They flapped about on incandescent wings before falling to the deck, their shrieks mixing with the screams of those still alive among the crew. Allott covered his ears.
Clouds of smoke boiled into the sky.
“Damned waste,” Qinta said.
Galantas nodded.
Critter gestured at the boy. “What do you wanna do with him?”
“Take his fingers!” someone shouted.
“Burn him with the others!”
&nbs
p; Galantas’s gaze found Allott’s. “No, he comes with us.” He raised his voice to carry. “I know we’ve had our differences with the Falcons. They’re bastards, I’ll not deny it, but at least they’re Rubyholt bastards.” Laughs from the men, while Allott seemed close to tears. Galantas let his expression soften. “And right now I’m having difficulty remembering what it was we fell out over all those years ago.”
CHAPTER 4
“WHAT IS the meaning of this?” the woman said. “Who are you? How did you get in?”
Ebon drew up a handful of paces away, Vale beside him. The woman’s accent marked her as a woman of breeding, yet there was a coldness to her eyes that hinted at something else. She’d drawn a dagger at Ebon’s arrival, and her grip on it was unwavering. She tried to stare him down. There were few people, though, who could hold his gaze now. If you stared too long, Vale said, you started seeing the marks the Vamilian spirits had left behind. Sure enough, it was the woman who looked away first.
Alongside her, the elderly Galitian ambassador to Mercerie, Silvar Jilani, stood naked but for his sandals. Down his right leg, Ebon saw the scar he’d earned in service to Ebon’s father during the Rook War. There was no glint of recognition in his eyes. They’d met only once before, though, and Ebon now looked more like a beggar than a prince in his travel-stained clothes and with his chin and jaw covered by three days’ worth of stubble. Silvar glanced over Ebon’s shoulder to the doorway through which the prince had entered, no doubt wondering what had become of his bodyguards—the bodyguards Vale had incapacitated moments earlier. Then Silvar shuffled behind his female companion like a child hiding behind its mother’s skirts.
“Please, Ambassador,” Ebon said, “there is no need for that. Your Honor is safe with us.”
Perhaps it was his voice that Silvar recognized at last, for the old man’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty?”
Ebon’s gaze flickered to the woman. Her look of challenge had been replaced by one of appraisal. Great. All the work Ebon had put into keeping his coming here a secret, and Silvar had undone it in the space of two words. He should have known better.
