Umara scowled. “We’re not easy.”
“No, we’re not. But we’re exhausted from the fighting yesterday and then nursing the ship to shore. Have you had a chance to rest and renew your powers?”
“I napped.”
“I’ll take that as a no. The Octopus has a sorcerer aboard. If you were fresh, I’d say he isn’t much compared to you. But as you’re not …” Anton spread his hands.
“All right. I’ll give the order.” She hurried after Ehmed Sepandem.
Anton started to follow Umara, then remembered that no one here had any reason to take direction from him. If he ventured closer to the tide line and the salvaged supplies piled up there, it would only encourage folk to urge him to load himself up like a pack mule.
On impulse, he headed over to Stedd instead. Oblivious to the scurrying commotion breaking out on the beach, the boy was still gazing raptly up at the clouds.
Anton put his hand on Stedd’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. The lad jumped and jerked away.
“Easy,” Anton said, “it’s only me.”
Stedd swallowed. “Right.”
“But you are likely to get yourself killed if you keep slipping into a stupor here in the wild.”
The boy frowned. “It’s not a ‘stupor.’ ” Then he spotted the Thayans hastily divvying up provisions, or, in the case of those still wading ashore, making headway as fast as they could. “What’s going on?”
“Lathander really ought to keep you better informed. There are more pirates.” Anton pointed to the Octopus, which was now obviously heading into shore. “Hunting you.”
Staring at the corsair vessel, Stedd trembled. It was one of those moments when he was all little boy without even a trace of the Chosen in evidence.
Anton went down on one knee in the wet sand to put himself at eye level with Stedd. “It must seem like it’s never going to stop,” he said, “but I promise, the bad part is already over. Nobody’s ever going to tie you up, hang some filthy cursed trinket around your neck, or make you any sort of captive ever again.”
Stedd managed a wan little smile. “Even you?”
Anton clapped his hand to his heart in imitation of an actor conveying distress. “It mystifies me how no one trusts my good intentions.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Stedd replied. His smile widened. “What are we going to do about the pirates?”
“Run.” Anton stood back up. “Unfortunately, we can’t do it down the beach. We’ll have to head farther inland and hope the rogues don’t chase us.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Anton gestured to the dripping, tangled trees and brush beyond the beach. “Because that’s Gulthandor. Just the thinning edge of it, thank the kindly stars, but still, harder traveling than the hiking you and I did on our way to Westgate, and by all accounts, teeming with ferocious beasts. If I know Mourmyd—the captain of the Octopus—he won’t have the stomach for it. He’s only bold within sight of the sea.”
Short, bandy-legged, walleyed Mourmyd Jacerryl was a depraved murderer, thief, and slaver in the eyes of the world at large, but a toady in the presence of Evendur Highcastle. It was why Evendur always liked him—to the extent he liked anyone—and why they’d so often worked together to raid convoys and harbors across the Inner Sea. But now the Chosen found that the living reaver’s interminable explanation, self-justifying and wheedling by turns, wore on his nerves.
“I wish we’d had a tracker to follow the Thayans into the woods,” Mourmyd said, waving a scarred and weather-beaten hand. “But at least now you know where they went. That’s worth some sort of reward, isn’t—”
Even before Umberlee graced Evendur with inhuman strength, he could have grabbed a small man like Mourmyd and held him out over the circular pool in the center of the chamber without undue strain. Now, he could barely feel the other pirate’s weight. The only difficult part was resisting the temptation to drop the fool into the midst of the dappled barracudas that rose slither-swimming from the depths in response to his will.
Mourmyd dangled limply as a hanged man from a tree. Either he was too shocked to flail and kick, or he realized that if struggling accomplished anything, it would only be to loosen Evendur’s grip.
“Failure,” Evendur gritted, “never deserves anything but punishment.”
“Evendur—” the small man quavered.
“That’s Captain, you filth! Or Wavelord! Or Chosen!”
“Chosen, then! Please, mercy! You know we would only have lost the trail if we’d tried to follow. Wasn’t it better to return here quickly to tell you what we’d discovered? And isn’t it good news? The boy may well die in Gulthandor.”
“You’re a coward and an idiot.” Evendur heaved the other reaver back onto the floor and shoved him away. Mourmyd lost his balance and fell on his rump. “But I did need to hear this news, and I suppose I also need to fight with the weapons Umberlee has given me. So I’m going to let you live.”
The pirate with his cloudy left eye drew himself to his feet. His clothes were smeared with slime where Evendur had gripped them. “Thank you, Chosen.”
“You can thank me by serving the goddess better than you have hitherto.”
“Anything. Just tell me what to do.”
“Go through the town and the docks. Tell the captains of Immurk’s Hold that hunting the boy prophet is no longer optional. It’s my command, and they’ll sail with the tide to obey it or carry my curse, which is also Umberlee’s, forever after.”
“I understand.”
“I want them scouring the southern shore from the point where the galley ran aground on to the east. And you, my old partner, are going to take control of Morningstar Hollows. It’s where anybody trekking east through the northern reaches of Gulthandor would naturally head, and if they make it that far, you’ll be waiting.”
“Yes, Chosen.” Mourmyd hesitated. “Is there anything more?”
“Yes, by the cold, green deep, there is! Send word to every port and lord who’s bent his knee to the church. Tell them I’m levying warships and the crews to man them.”
By any sane estimation, Evendur shouldn’t need to assemble a fleet greater than the dozens of pirate ships already at his command. But if it turned out that he did, he’d have it. Because he mustn’t fail Umberlee again.
Anton took what pleasure he could in the fact that the rain had eased up a little. Not that he was ever really going to be dry until he made it indoors again someday, but once a man passed a certain threshold of discomfort, even partial relief was welcome.
Then he twisted through the narrow gap between two trees, and his shoulder brushed the tangled vines clinging to the trunk on his right. Somehow, that minor rustling agitation transmitted itself all the way to up to branches interlaced over his head. They dumped the cold water trapped in their leaves and doused him. A goodly portion of it spilled down his collar, and he spat a curse.
Behind him, Stedd laughed. Anton rounded on him and the boy flinched.
Anton took a deep breath and forced a smile. “It’s all right. I suppose it was comical if you weren’t the one standing under the waterfall.”
Stedd shook his head. “It wasn’t that funny. I wouldn’t have laughed, except I’m tired of the forest.”
“You’re tired. You and Umara are the landlubbers.”
“The farm I grew up on wasn’t like this.” Stedd waved his hand at the towering trees, the dense thickets, and the boggy earth underfoot.
“Maybe not,” Anton said. “Still, I’ll wager you explored some sort of woods when you could slip away from your chores. Imagine how out of place we seafarers feel.”
“Can’t we go back to the beach?”
“With the Binder only knows how many pirate ships combing the coast for you?” Anton shifted the bundles slung to his shoulders and plodded onward; Stedd followed. “That would be unwise.”
“But there’s no one to preach to!”
“Try the zombies. They’ll listen all day
without complaining.”
Stedd made a disgusted spitting sound to show that this time, he was the one who didn’t think something was funny. He loathed the reanimated corpses and likely would have incinerated the repulsive but useful brutes with conjured sunlight if everyone else hadn’t argued against it.
“Look,” Anton said, “you’ve already done some preaching, and with luck, people remember what you said. Maybe they’re even passing it along. Now it’s Sapra that’s important. Isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” said the boy with a touch of petulance in his voice. “But how are we going to get there in time when the going is so hard?”
“Wait.” Anton turned back around. “What do you mean, ‘in time’? Since when are we on a schedule?”
“I’ve been feeling it for a little while.”
“How much time do we have, and what happens if you don’t make it?”
“I don’t know.”
Anton snorted. “Of course you don’t.”
“I told you how it works! At first, I just knew I had to walk into the sunrise—”
“You do know the world is round, right? Not even a prophet can actually walk to the place where the sun rises.”
“Still, I had to go east! Then, it was east to the Sea of Fallen Stars. Then, east to Sapra. And now I know I need to get there fast.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say to that, except that if Evendur or his followers catch you, you’ll never get there at all. Of course, if you’re telling me you can draw down Lathander’s power to blast anyone who tries to hinder us, that’s different, and I wish to the Nine Hells you’d mentioned it sooner.”
Stedd shook his head. “I have power against undead and other things sunlight hates, but Lathander really means for me to be a teacher and a healer, not a warrior.”
“Then you’d do well to listen to those who are warriors when we tell you—”
One of the Thayans cried out.
Anton pivoted to see the sailor recoiling from a thicket. Within the brush, half hidden, a long, dun-colored, four-legged shape prowled as though the vegetation was no impediment at all.
Anton snatched out his saber and cutlass and stepped to interpose himself between the beast and Stedd. The Thayan men-at-arms fumbled to extricate bows and crossbows from the wrappings and sacks that protected them from the rain. But by the time they managed it, the stalking form had disappeared.
A wand of some rust-red wood in her slim, pale hand, yanking the skirts of her robe free when they snagged on a fallen log, Umara strode over Anton and Stedd. “What was that?” she asked.
Anton shrugged. “This isn’t my country, either, nor did I get an especially good look at the beast. But I believe it was a female lion. Gulthandor is supposedly full of them.”
“Just an animal, then.”
Anton grinned. “I realize Red Wizards are accustomed to hobnobbing with demons and the like and probably have high standards where ferocity is concerned. But I’ve heard stories about the lions of Gulthandor preying on men, and if the Great Rain has dwindled their food supply as it has humanity’s … Still, the beast does appear to have gone on its way, so perhaps we don’t need to worry about it.”
“I agree we should be careful.” Umara turned toward Ehmed Sepandem. “Everyone, stay alert,” she called. “And let’s put the zombies in a circle around the rest of us. Animals avoid the walking dead.”
Once they had the marching order rearranged, they pushed onward. The cold rain pattered down. A woodpecker knocked on a tree, and a raven croaked. Helmthorn berries grew amid long black thorns, and the travelers risked sticking and scratching their hands to pick and gobble the tart indigo fruit.
Then, off to the west, something made a coughing sound. His voice half an octave higher than usual, a sailor asked, “What was that?”
“The same lioness?” Umara suggested. “Stalking us?”
“I don’t know,” Anton said. “It could just as easily be a different animal taking a look at us and then deciding to avoid us.”
It sounded reasonable to him, but even so, the ominous noise had made him edgy, and as they trekked on, he wished all the living folk in the party could stay near to one another for purposes of mutual protection. Unfortunately, the hindrances posed by tree trunks, briars, and mucky ground repeatedly stretched out the procession no matter how often the wayfarers halted and regrouped. The best he could manage was to keep Stedd close.
He would have liked to do the same with Umara but recognized that as commander, she needed to confer with Captain Sepandem, prowl about looking for danger with her own eyes, and occasionally speak words of encouragement or correction to one of the common warriors. He took comfort in the thought that she was at least as capable of defending herself as anyone else in the company.
Eyes wide, glancing in all directions, the other men-at-arms shared Anton’s jumpiness. Eventually, a marine yelped when a form sprang up right in front of him; he jerked his crossbow to his shoulder and shot. The bolt missed, and the brown quail he’d started fluttered on up into the dripping dark green boughs overhead.
His comrades laughed and catcalled. Glad to have something break the tension, Anton chuckled. Then, off to the left, brush rustled.
Anton whirled to see a male lion with a black mane and amber eyes springing from a low place in the ground. It charged past a zombie, whose shambling, swaying effort to intercept it was too slow, and at one of the living Thayans.
Arrows flew at the beast. One pierced its haunch, and the lion stumbled but then kept charging. Shouting words that rang like metal striking metal, Umara struck the animal with darts of blue light, but that didn’t stop it, either. Anton ran at it even though he was unlikely to reach it in time for it to make a difference to the threatened man.
The lion sprang and carried its prey down beneath swiping talons and clamping, tearing jaws, reducing the Thayan’s body to wet red ruin in a heartbeat. Then it abandoned its victim and raced back into the trees. Arrows and quarrels whizzed after it, but no more found their mark before the animal vanished.
Halting, Anton looked at the body on the ground, considered the unbloodied blades in his hands, and felt a frustrated urge to cut something. Looking just as angry, Umara said, “The cat wasn’t put off by the zombie, it risked making a run at the whole pack of us, and then it didn’t even carry away its kill to eat.”
“Moreover,” Anton said, “it’s generally female lions that do the hunting, or so I understand. All of which suggests this wasn’t a natural occurrence. Someone or something else is controlling the beast to extract Stedd from our midst. Possibly by slaughtering the rest of us until there no longer is a midst.”
“One lion couldn’t do that,” Ehmed said.
“Which may be why we’ve already seen two,” Anton replied.
“And the Black Lord only knows how many more are slinking just a stone’s throw away,” Umara said. “There could be a dozen, and we still might not spot them for all the brush and tree trunks.”
“I wish I thought you were wrong.” Anton turned and waved to Stedd. “Stick close to me.”
Stedd obeyed, which unfortunately resulted in Anton leading him over to the mangled corpse so he could appropriate the dead man’s crossbow and quiver of quarrels. With the head torn and crushed and viscera hanging out of the belly, the remains were a grisly sight.
“Sorry,” the Turmishan muttered.
Stedd sighed. “It’s all right. I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies.”
That made Anton feel worse, although he wasn’t sure why. He gripped the boy’s shoulder.
As the travelers trekked on, Anton repeatedly shouldered the crossbow, getting the feel of the weapon as best he could without actually shooting it or even taking it out of its sack. Until another beast, this one a lioness, broke cover and charged.
This time, everyone was expecting such an attack. Still, a couple Thayans froze at the sight of the onrushing predator with its long white fangs and claws. Most, however, sh
ot, and Anton yanked his own new crossbow out of its bag, sighted down its length, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.
As the quarrel streaked from the end of the weapon, the lioness pivoted to retreat from the barrage it had encountered. As a result, the crossbow bolt caught it in the neck. The felid staggered three more strides then fell over on its side.
The Thayans cheered, and for a moment, Anton felt similarly inclined to enjoy the moment. Then the conviction seized him that if some wily intelligence was manipulating the lions like pawns on a lanceboard, then it had just sacrificed one minion in a gambit to achieve some hidden purpose.
He turned. With everyone else, even the zombies, looking at the lioness that had just perished, a second one was creeping in from the opposite direction. It was stalking straight at Umara and was nearly close enough for a final rush and spring.
There was no time to cock and reload the crossbow. Anton dropped that weapon, snatched out his saber and cutlass, and bellowed, “Watch out!” Then he charged.
Not that it felt like a particularly speedy charge when he had to heave his boots out of clinging mud, rip free of twigs and brambles, duck low-hanging branches, and dodge around mossy and vine-encrusted tree trunks. But fortunately, either his initial shout or his subsequent thumping, rustling approach diverted the lioness’s attention. It whirled and bounded at him.
The beast covered ground faster than he had. He barely had time to shift to a spot where he had room to swing his blades, and then his foe was on him.
As he cut with the saber, the lioness leaped and spoiled his aim. Strewing rainwater as it traveled, the curved blade still sliced the cat’s shoulder, but the result wasn’t the lethal stroke he’d intended.
And the lioness was in the air! He dodged and cut again at the animal as it plunged down in the space he’d just vacated. The beast whirled and swiped at the saber, essentially parrying the stroke and nearly batting the weapon out of his grip.
At once, the lioness lunged at him, and he gave ground before it. Until a springy, many-pointed barrier—brush, by the feel of it—pressed against his back, and trees hemmed him in on either side. Despite his resolve to avoid it, the forest had boxed him in.
The Reaver Page 20
