Red Tide

by Marc Turner

  No mistaking the bitter note of threat in that one. Now it was time to sweeten the brew.

  “But let’s not pretend it’s all bad news, eh? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the twenty thousand talents the stone-skins gave to my father and then took back.” They probably had, actually, but the reminder now had their eyes shining like the coin Eremo had tossed to Dresk in the Great Hall. “I’m guessing that money went north with the Augerans. I’m guessing it’s onboard their flagship. Who knows, if we see where that ship goes down, we might be able to send our mages back to recover the loot. Twenty thousand talents. Split seven ways, that makes each of us”—he looked up at the ceiling and muttered some numbers as if he were doing the sums—“a shitload of money.”

  Grins all round. Even Blist mustered a half smile, but then gold had a way of lightening even the blackest mood.

  Galantas took a final sip of brandy, then set down his glass. He had the krels now, no point saying anything further if it risked breaking his spell. “Any questions?” he asked, rising.

  The other krels rose with him. Tub’s jaw had a determined set to it.

  “Then let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  Standing in the gloom outside the Mercerien embassy, Ebon peered both ways along the street. The paving stones here were clean and free of cracks, the railings so bright they might have been buffed with the family silver. At this early hour—just before the seventh bell—the only person abroad was a man walking a Shamanon toy dog. Now was the time for Ebon to make his move, before the streets filled with witnesses and the embassy came to life. A lone figure moved in the darkness beyond the building’s ground-floor windows.

  The dog walker moved away.

  Ebon nodded to Vale along the road, then approached the embassy’s door and knocked. After a dozen heartbeats, he heard the grind of a key in the lock, the snap of a bolt being thrown back. The door opened to reveal a woman. Her rosy cheeks gave her a matronly look, though she could only have been a few years Ebon’s senior. He looked past her, trying to take in what he could of the atrium beyond. Glistening white floor tiles, a double staircase, a crystal chandelier. And no people.

  “Can I help you?” the woman said, her tone at once courteous and dismissive.

  Ebon summoned up a smile. “My name’s Tanner,” he said, doing his best to hide his Galitian accent. He pretended to wait on her recognition. “I’m a physician. I understand you are expecting me.”

  The woman looked him up and down, no doubt wondering where he’d hidden his bag of medicines and instruments.

  Ebon cleared his throat. This had seemed like a good idea when he’d dreamed it up earlier, but he was swiftly reconsidering. “I received a message from my associate,” Ebon continued. “Something about a man hurt on Dragon Day.”

  The woman’s look turned wary. “He’s not here anymore. He left yesterday. I don’t know where he was taken.”

  Taken? As in under guard? Or in a casket? “Is he dead?” Ebon asked, trying to sound offhand.

  She shook her head no, but her look said more “I don’t think so.”

  “But his condition had deteriorated since he arrived here?” Ebon pressed, conscious that every question took him further out of character.

  A shrug. The woman looked over her shoulder as if seeking support from someone behind. The atrium, though, remained empty.

  This was Ebon’s chance to pounce, while her back was turned. Instinctively his hand started forward to seize her arm. If he dragged her out under threat of violence, no one would see what happened. But could he be certain she knew more than she was saying? Once he grabbed her, there would be no going back. And if he did abduct her, was he prepared to do what he had to to make her talk? Where could he take her to question her? What would he do with her afterward? Because if he released her then—and how could he not?—she would reveal to Ocarn that he was in the Upper City.

  He pulled his hand back an instant before the woman turned to face him again. “My summons came from Prince Ocarn Dasuki himself,” he said. “Is he here now?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “But he’s due back soon?”

  A nod this time. She appeared to have lost the power of speech.

  “I’d rather not have to speak to him directly to clear this up. If you can tell me anything, anything at all, that would help me track down my patient, I would be much obliged.”

  The woman didn’t even consider it. “I can’t help you,” she said. “Come back later, maybe there’ll be someone here who can.”

  And with that, she closed the door in his face.

  Ebon stared at the grain of the wood. He felt dizzy. A bell ago he’d thought he was in sight of his destination; now it seemed he was no closer than he had been this time yesterday. A flush rose to his cheeks, and that made him think of the woman who’d shut the door on him. Who he’d let shut the door. He wanted to knock again, but suddenly Vale was alongside him, taking him by the arm and leading him away down the street.

  Ebon shook him off as they passed a fountain.

  “What did she say?” the Endorian asked.

  Ebon told him. Hearing it all again, it seemed so obvious the woman knew more than she had let on. Her reaction when he first mentioned Rendale had been telling, as if she’d been warned not to answer any questions. He swore.

  They took a right turn. In the distance the masts of the ships in the port were visible over the harbor wall.

  “So what the hell are we supposed to do now?” Ebon said. “We know Rendale was here, but not where he was moved, or why.” He didn’t give Vale a chance to respond. “I’m done with treading softly. If Rendale’s condition has deteriorated, every bell could count. Then there’s Mottle’s warning about that coming ‘storm.’”

  “I see no clouds,” Vale said.

  He had a point. In the time since they’d arrived in Gilgamar, there had been no sniff of conflict brewing. Who was this enemy more dread than the Vamilians? Gilgamar wasn’t at war. And while Ebon had heard whispers of alien forces sabotaging the Hunt, was there anyone who hadn’t had the finger pointed at them for what happened on Dragon Day? If he looked hard enough, he’d probably find someone blaming him for the attack on the Dianese citadel.

  They turned right again.

  Ebon said, “The only way to be sure of getting answers is to speak to Ocarn himself.”

  “Then we snatch him first chance we get. The woman said he was due back soon, so we wait for him to come and leave again, then grab him when he goes.”

  “I’m not waiting that long.”

  “You want to send him a false message when he gets here? Try to lure him out?”

  “I want to pick him up before he reaches the embassy. Can it be done?”

  “We don’t know which way he’ll be coming—”

  “Can it be done?”

  Vale considered. “Maybe. If we do it right.”

  “Then let’s do it right!” Ebon snapped. The Watcher knew, they’d be getting no second chance at this. If Ocarn learned they were in the Upper City, he would set men to hunting them, maybe move Rendale and Lamella beyond Ebon’s reach.

  Their path had brought them in a circle back to the embassy. Ebon could see it up ahead on the right. Farther along the street, walking away from them, was a man in a red cloak flanked by two Gilgamarian soldiers. At this distance, the stranger’s skin resembled granite. He was gone before Ebon could get a better look.

  He halted.

  Vale stopped alongside. “You stay here,” he said, “keep an eye on who comes and goes. I’ll have a look around and see if I can find somewhere we can take Ocarn when we grab him. With luck, I’ll be back before he shows his face.”

  “Make it somewhere quiet, Vale. I suspect he’ll need a lot of persuading to tell us what he knows.”

  “He’ll talk.”

  Ebon nodded. He didn’t need his friend’s reassurance in that regard. Ocarn would tell them what he knew, even if Ebon had to p
ut his hand down the man’s throat and drag the words out.

  He watched the timeshifter move away along the street and duck into an alley.

  Then he felt cold metal touch his neck.

  “Easy now,” said a voice in his ear. “Nice and easy.”

  * * *

  Senar frowned as the door to Mazana’s quarters swung inward and a female Gilgamarian servant stepped inside. A short time ago, the same woman had come to advise them that an Augeran emissary sought an audience. Senar had urged the emira not to receive him without the emperor here, but she’d laughed and said there was no need for Avallon to be present when he had Senar to report on what took place. The Guardian wouldn’t limit his role to one of observer, though. He had no choice but to be the emperor’s voice at this meeting and to try his best to disrupt proceedings.

  The servant drew up just inside the room, puffing like she’d been chased here by the man she escorted—an impression reinforced by a certain wildness about her eyes that reminded Senar of the luckless horses he’d tried to ride in his time. The reason for her unease became apparent when her stone-skin charge capered into the room. It might have been quarter of a bell before dawn, but there was a skip to the man’s step like he’d sprinkled sugarcrack on his oats this morning. His hair stuck up at all angles, and his face was a lattice of scars as if his flesh had been sliced up and sewn back together. One of the scars beneath his left eye wept blood. Senar wondered what all those scars denoted in their bearer. Besides lunacy, of course.

  As the stone-skin reached the center of the room, he spun like a dancer, then bowed to Mazana.

  “Emira,” he said, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Hex of the Augeran Empire.”

  A heavy silence followed his words. Romany was inscrutable behind her mask. Mazana stared at the newcomer like he was some apparition stepped from a bad dream.

  The Gilgamarian servant hastily withdrew.

  “A privilege to make your acquaintance,” the emira said at last. “I assume you are here to apologize for your kinsmen’s conduct on Dragon Day.”

  “Apologize for what, pray tell?” Hex replied. “You seemed to have emerged from the affair rather well. Hee hee!”

  Mazana clutched her hands to her chest. “And you did it all for me, yes? I’m curious, how would your leaders have responded if they were the ones attacked in my place?”

  “I’m not here to justify what happened on Dragon Day—if indeed it needs justification. I bring a message from Subcommander Sunder, leader of the Augeran expeditionary force.”

  Senar sat up straighter. Subcommander Sunder? Meaning Amerel’s attack on his superior had succeeded?

  “You are referring to the force currently docked in the Rubyholt Isles?” Mazana said.

  Hex did not reply. If he was surprised at the extent of her intelligence, he gave no indication.

  “Tell me, how did your discussions with the warlord go?”

  “Excellently, if you’ll forgive the boast. Dresk Galair made for a most genial host.”

  Senar’s eyes narrowed. Boast, host? Was the man rhyming his sentences?

  Mazana said, “You must have made quite an impression on Galantas too, if he agreed to ferry you here from Bezzle. His ship, the Eternal, was recognized as it came into port—as I’m sure was your intent.” She paused then went on, “No doubt there’s a good reason why one of your own ships could not have made the journey.”

  “No doubt.”

  Senar’s thoughts were a whirr. Because Caval and Karmel had already destroyed the stone-skin fleet, was that what Mazana was suggesting? No, even if the Chameleons had marked the Augeran ships, it was too soon for the dragons to have swum north from the Southern Wastes.

  The stone-skin gave a smile that creased the scars on his face. “If your questions are finished, perhaps I can deliver my message. Subcommander Sunder extends his regards and requests that you deliver to him at once the head of the Erin Elalese emperor, Avallon Delamar.”

  The emira blinked.

  From beside her, Romany gave a snort that degenerated into a fit of coughing.

  If there had been any wisps of sleep still clouding Senar’s head, they were blown away now.

  “The head of the emperor,” Mazana repeated sardonically. “Of course. Was there anything else while you’re here?”

  Hex performed a clumsy turn that set his red cloak swirling. “Would you have me believe it is not in your power? Your forces in Gilgamar outnumber Avallon’s, that much I know. The servant who brought me here swore it was so. Hee hee!”

  Know, so. The man was indeed rhyming his words. To Senar, this whole meeting was beginning to get an unreal feel about it. Did the budding poet intend to give them a recital when they were done?

  Mazana fiddled with that knife of hers again. “My forces are guests of the Ruling Council,” she said. “Perhaps you should speak to them.”

  Hex looked disappointed. “Oh, come now. My grasp of your politics is rudimentary, for sure, but the Council’s support you can doubtless procure. Does it not pay you tribute? Is it not relying on you to clear the dragons from the sea?”

  The emira did not respond.

  From the corridor outside came footsteps, then raised voices. Avallon, perhaps, come to object to the meeting? Whoever it was, they wouldn’t get past the executioner stationed outside.

  Hex’s foot started tapping along to whatever music was playing in his head. “I sense your mind is not yet resolved,” he said to Mazana. “So think on this. The emperor comes before you offering his hand, but it is not the hand of friendship, as he claims. Rather consider it the hand of a shipmate in a storm, offered in desperation as he slips overboard. Clasp it, and you risk being swept to your doom, even as he.”

  Mazana considered this before looking at Senar. “He has a point.”

  The Guardian scowled. “And you think you would fare better with the stone-skins as allies? What does it say for their credibility that they should send such as this”—he gestured to Hex—“to speak with you?”

  The Augeran’s nose was in the air, scenting like a bloodhound. He held up a hand. “Wait, what’s this I smell? Cynicism. Desperation. With just the merest hint of Guardian as well.”

  Senar studied him. “You’ve encountered one of my kind before, have you?” Amerel, most likely.

  “Encountered, yes. And taken her measure in the doing.”

  Meaning Amerel was dead? Senar wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d grown up with the woman at the Sacrosanct. An earnest type she had been, more at home among her books than on the road. For a while she and Jessca had been fast friends. But Amerel had drifted apart from Jessca in the same way that she had drifted apart from everyone else—and by her choice too, it had seemed. Cracks had appeared after her very first mission with her master, Colat. But not everyone was made to be a Guardian. The privilege brought with it a heavy … responsibility. Some bent under that load, and some broke.

  Outside, the Erin Elalese voices took on a demanding tone. Demanding of the executioner? Good luck with that.

  Hex swung his gaze to Mazana. “No doubt the Guardian has told you what happened when our two peoples last met. No doubt he has told you that, this time, the result is not set. Unlike him, though, you don’t have to let your judgment be colored by mindless optimism.”

  “Then what should I base that judgment on? Your words here?” Her voice had a smile in it. “Or perhaps on the information I gained from your kinsmen. You know, the ones I recently caught stirring up mischief in Olaire. Caught, and interrogated.”

  Mazana was bluffing, Senar knew. The only stone-skin she’d taken alive had died before he could give up anything useful. Hex wouldn’t know that, though, and it was heartening to see the first hint of sourness creep into his features.

  “Careful, Emira, who you choose to provoke,” he said. “Perhaps you think the Storm Isles safe behind the Dragon Gate. But the lessons of Dragon Day you would be fool to disdain. We reached you there once, we ca
n reach you again. Hee hee!”

  Mazana said, “So that would be the stick. Time for the carrot, I think. If I agree to deliver the emperor’s head, what do you offer in exchange?”

  Senar opened his mouth to protest, but she waved a hand to forestall him.

  “Besides our eternal gratitude?” Hex shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” Mazana repeated.

  Senar threw up his hands. “This is a joke! The fool can’t even be bothered to pretend his offer is genuine. But then his purpose was accomplished the moment he set foot in this room. Did he try to arrange this audience in secret? Of course not. Because the only reason he is here is so he can sow distrust between you and the emperor. The longer this meeting goes on, the more damage he stands to inflict.”

  In the corridor, the voices faded away. And with them any chance of an alliance between the Storm Isles and Erin Elal, perhaps?

  Hex hopped from foot to foot. “I offer nothing, Emira, because ‘nothing’ is the limit of my authority. Subcommander Sunder leads the expeditionary force, not the Augeran empire. I am certain, though, that when the Triad hears of your cooperation, you will be paid in keeping with your service.” He spread his hands. “Like the emperor, I could have offered something beyond my power to provide. The fact that I was open with you, that should make your doubts subside.”

  The emira rubbed at her wrists. “You can’t offer me an alliance against Avallon. You can’t even guarantee you won’t attack the Storm Isles again.” She pretended to consider. “Perhaps if I knew why you were planning to attack Erin Elal, I would be better able to judge your intent.” It was said lightly, but clearly the matters she’d discussed with the emperor yesterday still preyed on her mind.