by Marc Turner
And thank the Matron it was Galantas, rather than his father, to whom she was about to speak. Dresk, after all, had been warlord, whereas his son was just one of many people wanting to take his throne. There was no right of succession in the Isles; a warlord had to earn his place. Judging by tonight’s attack on the harbor, Galantas had already begun the task of trying to prove his worth. Odds were, he’d be open to any scheme that extended his notoriety. Odds were, he’d have no qualms about allying with an enemy if it served his purpose. Here was an ambitious man. A ruthless one too, if the rumors about him orchestrating his brother’s death were true.
A man, in short, with whom Amerel could do business.
How best to approach their meeting, though? Admit she was from Erin Elal, or pretend to be from the Storm Isles? Relations between the Storm Lords and the Rubyholters had been strained for decades, their enmity fueled by Dragon Day and the devastation caused by dragons passing through the Isles. Had relations between Dresk and Avallon been more cordial, though? If Amerel admitted to being from Erin Elal, what reason could she give for being in Bezzle at the time of Eremo’s assassination? A coincidence? Galantas was too smart to believe in such a thing. And how would she explain having the dragon blood in her possession? How would she explain being privy to Jambar Simanis’s predictions?
No, she would have to be from the Storm Isles.
Noon moved alongside her and stared at the orange skyline. “This is just the beginning, isn’t it?”
Amerel nodded.
“Doesn’t matter what we do here. Doesn’t matter if we sink every ship in this Augeran fleet. It’s just putting off the inevitable.”
“Let the stone-skins come. We’ll drive them back into the sea.”
Noon looked at her sharply. “You really believe that?” he said. Wanting to believe it himself.
“No.”
The Breaker’s attempt at a smile came out as a grimace. He looked over the bay again and massaged his temples with his thumbs. “Lady’s mercy, what’s that noise?”
“Noise?”
“You don’t hear it? It’s like a needlefly buzzing around in my head.”
“Ah. That’ll be the devilship.”
He looked at her.
“Didn’t you see the flames carved into the ship’s hull when we arrived? Or the demon figurehead? We’re on a devilship—a ship with a Krakal shade bound to it. That noise you hear is the spirit keening. When the ship goes into battle, the Krakal soaks up the crew’s bloodlust and feeds it back to them fivefold. Makes them formidable in a fight.”
The Breaker had a guarded expression like he thought she might be having him on.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you, all right. With that honeyed tongue of yours, though, I don’t know if I believe you just because you want me to.”
“You needn’t worry on that score. If I’d used my Will on you, I’d have taken your doubts as well.”
“Good to know. You ever sailed on one of these devilships before?”
“No. Heard about one, though. Some Corinian ship that lost its water-mage to bad lederel meat, then lost its bearings in a storm. Three months the crew was out at sea. Three months of dwindling food and fraying tempers, and with the Krakal whispering in the sailors’ ears all the while. When they finally put into harbor, only twenty of them were still alive. They’d killed all the others. Eaten them too.”
Noon’s brows drew in. He squinted at Amerel, and she met his look evenly.
“What?”
The Breaker shook his head.
A boat glided between two ships in the bay. In the time that Amerel had been on board the Fury, the captains of three other vessels had come to confer with Galantas. The last had left quarter of a bell ago, making her wonder why he hadn’t yet summoned her to his cabin.
“You were telling the truth to the Chameleons, weren’t you?” Noon said. “About your niece, Lyssa.”
“All the best lies have a grain of truth in them.”
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Why? Did you know her?”
Noon grunted. “This niece of yours, what’s she like?”
“She’s six.”
A pause. “That’s it?”
“Have you ever met a six-year-old before?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s not the sort of thing you forget.”
“How come she ended up with you?”
“Because there was no one else.”
“No other family?”
“Her father died of the same fever that took her mother. No grandparents, no uncles, no aunts. Hence ‘no one.’ And believe me, I spent a long time looking.”
Noon scratched a spider bite on his cheek. “Did you know her well before?”
“No.” The day Cayda died was the first time Amerel had met Lyssa in years. The previous occasion had been after she got back from Kal. She and Cayda had been seeing each other less and less before then. Cayda wasn’t a Guardian, and what was Amerel supposed to talk to her about when she returned from a mission? How she’d earned her latest scar? Things had come to a head after Kal. Lyssa had been four. She’d always been nervous in Amerel’s company, but this time she’d cried when she saw her. Actually cried. No hiding things from a child. No clearer mirror to see yourself reflected in. Afterward Amerel hadn’t spoken to Cayda about it, but they’d both known they would never see each other again. And so it had proved—until Amerel saw her sister’s corpse on a slab in the mausoleum.
“Where’s Lyssa now?” Noon said.
“With the emperor’s lackeys somewhere. In Amenor, probably.”
“A hostage?”
“Matron’s blessing, no—how could you think such a thing? Avallon simply offered to look after her while I was away. Kind of him too, considering she has no one else.”
Noon studied her. “Is she why you betrayed the Guardians?”
Amerel stared across the bay toward Bezzle. The orange glow had stolen the light from the stars. “I already told you, I didn’t betray the Guardians.”
Footsteps sounded behind, and Amerel turned to see a man with tattoos for arms approaching. “Galantas wants to speak to you,” he said, as if Galantas had been the one who’d sought Amerel out.
“What a happy coincidence,” she replied, gesturing for Noon and Mokinda to remain. The Storm Lord didn’t even acknowledge her. “Lead on.”
Awaiting her in the captain’s cabin were Galantas and an unshaven man wearing the blue robes of a water-mage. The room was all lacquered wood and brass fittings, but the effect was spoiled by an old bloodstain in the middle of the floor. Galantas sat at a table on which was spread a chart showing the Rubyholt Isles. Behind him, a window looked out onto the bay. The moonlight trickling through it, and through the skylight overhead, was the cabin’s only illumination.
Galantas sat straight in his chair, trying his best to look statesmanlike. He seemed to be coping well with the tragedy of his father’s loss. He blinked when he saw her shattered eyes. Then his expression became calculating as if he was trying to place her face.
Not an encouraging start, but a nudge of Amerel’s Will was enough to draw the sting from his suspicions. Lots of people in the world, not surprising if he’d seen a face like hers before.
“I need to speak with you alone,” she said. He’d be more open to persuasion if he didn’t have friends here to impress.
Beside her, Tattoo snorted.
Amerel kept her gaze on Galantas. “Your men already searched me for weapons when I came onboard. Quite thoroughly, I might add. I trust that won’t be necessary again.”
Galantas signaled his companions to wait outside. Tattoo flashed Amerel his best “behave yourself” look before making for the door. The water-mage followed and closed the door behind.
“My name is Cayda,” Amerel said, surprising herself by choosing her sister’s name. “Mazana Creed sent me.”
“Interesting time for a social
call.”
“Hardly social. She has unfinished business with the stone-skins.”
“Because of Dragon Day?”
Amerel nodded.
“I’d have thought she would want to thank them for what happened. She’s done rather well from it personally.”
“Indeed? Are you feeling grateful just now?”
Galantas turned to look out of the window, and the moonlight played across his face like silver fire. When he next spoke, his voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Curious,” he said. “The stone-skins only arrived in Bezzle yesterday, yet here you are already. Word travels fast, it seems, and you faster still.”
“Have you heard of Jambar Simanis?”
“Imerle’s shaman.”
“And now Mazana’s. He foresaw the stone-skins’ coming.”
“He foresaw the stone-skins’ coming,” Galantas repeated. “Yet Mazana didn’t think to warn us.”
“Would you have done so, if the roles had been reversed?”
Galantas smiled without humor. “Relations between our peoples have been somewhat … erratic, it is true. As I heard it, the Storm Lords are still a bit prickly after my father tried to disrupt Dragon Day eight years ago. As I heard it, they’re looking for ways to pay us back. And what better way to do that than by assassinating the stone-skin commander and putting the blame on the Isles.”
Amerel waved a hand as if his insinuation was beneath her. “The commander was shot inside your father’s fortress, right?”
He nodded.
“Big walls on all sides, only one way in and out. I assume you thought to search the compound after. Find any assassins, did you?” She paused. “If I were you, I’d look for the killer a little closer to home. I’d wonder if, by killing your father, the stone-skins haven’t already avenged their commander’s death.”
Galantas did not reply, but Amerel could see from his look that his suspicions already lay with Dresk. No need for a touch of the Will to steer him further in that direction.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” he said.
“I came to destroy the stone-skin fleet.”
There was a hunger in his eyes. “How?”
Amerel did not respond immediately. Better to leave him guessing for a while, let the anticipation build. She settled back and stretched out her legs. The ship rocked gently on the swell. “I believe congratulations are in order. For your raid on the harbor. It was your raid, wasn’t it?”
Galantas inclined his head.
“As commander, you take the credit for its success. But by the same token, you take the blame for its failure.”
“Meaning?”
“Lots of different clans represented in your crew. I overheard some of them complaining that you were quick to flee the harbor when you’d secured your own spoils.”
Galantas’s look suggested he knew who the culprits would be. “That was the plan, yes.”
“A plan, your opponents will say, that succeeded in recapturing only eight of the ships in port.”
“Doubtless those same opponents will argue that eight is less than zero.”
“Doubtless. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll talk them round. Reasonable men, are they?” Let him chew on that. “How much stronger do you think your hand would be if you were to consign the stone-skin fleet to the sea?”
Galantas’s frown suggested impatience. “I’m listening.”
The shadows briefly gathered as someone crossed over the skylight. Amerel’s gaze did not leave Galantas. “You will be familiar, I assume, with how the Storm Lords lure dragons to the gate on Dragon Day?” She proceeded to tell him what the Chameleons had told her about Mazana Creed’s experiments with the dragon blood. “It seems the merest drop is enough to lure a dragon over dozens of leagues—lure it to something marked with blood, for example.”
“Like a ship.”
“Very good. My orders were to use darts tipped in blood to mark the stone-skins’ ships. The hope was that they’d still be in Bezzle when the dragons came calling. Alas, Jambar Simanis didn’t foresee that their fleet would pull out so soon.”
“Were you able to mark any ships?”
“No,” Amerel said. A lie, obviously, but Galantas might be less willing to take the risks she wanted him to if he thought the job was already half done.
“And you need my help getting close to the fleet? It’s too late for that. The stone-skins started north quarter of a bell ago.”
Amerel blinked. North? Had she heard that right? Erin Elal was to the west of here, but since she was claiming to hail from the Storm Isles, it wouldn’t do for her to appear pleased at the news. She looked at the chart to give herself time to think. What was there to the north that might draw the stone-skins’ eye? The Confederacy cities? No, they were on the wrong side of the Shield to be of strategic value. Dian and Natilly? Or Gilgamar? What did they have to do with Erin Elal?
Assuming Erin Elal remained the Augerans’ target.
She was missing something.
The Guardian looked back at Galantas. What now? Make her excuses, and withdraw to the quarterdeck to think things through? No, if she wanted to destroy the stone-skin fleet, she had to act now. Besides, did it really matter what the Augerans’ first destination was? Who was to say they wouldn’t change course for Erin Elal once they were clear of the Isles? Or sail there after they’d finished their business in the north?
“Can you get ahead of their fleet?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Because there are other ways to mark a ship than with a dart and a blowpipe. The Isles are full of narrow waterways, right? If the stone-skins were sailing along one, and we could reach the end of it before they did, we could pour the dragon blood in the sea. It would mark their ships’ hulls as they passed through.”
Galantas fingered the band of sharks’ teeth around his neck. There was something about his gaze that reminded Amerel of that Arapian sacristen she’d clashed with seven years ago. The one with the rash and the weepy eyes. The one who had had her poisoned.
“It might work,” he said. “But only some of the blood is going to mark the fleet. Most of it will stay in the sea. When the dragons come, they’ll probably head first for the place where the blood is strongest—for the waterway where we pour the blood, rather than for the stone-skin ships.”
Amerel had had this same discussion with Karmel over tipping the blood in Bezzle’s harbor. This was different, though. “You’re assuming the dragons are coming from the south. But what if they came from the north instead? What would the creatures be drawn to first? The far-off place where the blood was poured? Or the stone-skin ships sailing invitingly toward them?”
Galantas’s eyes gleamed. “You mean to release the dragons from the Sabian Sea.”
“Yes.” She’d discussed the idea with Mokinda earlier. “The moment the blood is poured into the water here, the dragons in the Sabian Sea will sense it. By the time we raise the Dragon Gate, they should be queuing up to pass beneath.”
“If the dragons are going to intercept the fleet, you’ll have to get to the gate before the stone-skins arrive at wherever it is they’re heading. How are you going to do that?”
“That’s where my Untarian companion comes in. His name is Mokinda Char. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
“Mokinda Char,” Galantas said. “The Storm Lord.”
Amerel nodded.
“Your companion is a Storm Lord … and yet you’re the one down here doing the talking.”
“It is because I’m not a Storm Lord that I am doing the talking. Mazana Creed trusts Mokinda as much as she would any rival. Now, you never answered my question. Can you get us in front of the stone-skin fleet?”
Galantas was silent, his face as empty as a blank page, and about as difficult to read. Did he believe her story? Had he spotted some flaw she had overlooked? She’d heard it said that when the mood took him, he could fire his kinsmen’s blood with the power of his rhetoric.
Yet she suspected the man sitting before her now was the real Galantas: cold, shrewd, calculating.
Not everyone could have her warm and generous nature, though.
Finally he looked at the chart. “It isn’t as simple as a flat race. The stone-skins have Rubyholt guides now, so they’re not going to lose their way. Our only chance of getting ahead of them would be at the Outer Rim.” He rose and leaned over the table to point at the chart. “Assuming they don’t change course, their best routes through the Rim will be here, here, and here. To find out which path they take, we’d have to be close behind. And then there’d be no way to get round and reach the end of the passage before they do.”
Amerel peered at the chart, noticing for the first time the symbols scattered across it—symbols that doubtless denoted which of the waterways were navigable and which were not. “Are they more likely to take any of these three passages than the others?”
“At this time of year, no.”
She pointed to a fourth waterway snaking between two of the three. “What about this—”
“Impassable,” Galantas cut in.
“Even for a ship with a Storm Lord?”
“Even then.” A look came over his face. “Except…”
“Yes?”
He hesitated, then stabbed his finger at an island with the symbol of a cross through a circle on it. “Liar’s Crossing.”
Amerel waited for him to explain.
“The island has a saddle of land running east to west, about a hundred paces wide. Liar’s Crossing, we call it. No single water-mage can create a wave big enough to carry a ship over. But if your Storm Lord and my mage were to join forces—”
“We could use the crossing as a shortcut once we know which route the stone-skins are taking,” Amerel finished.
Galantas nodded.
“Do I want to know why it’s called Liar’s Crossing?”
