He started to pull harder, but at the same moment, Evendur dropped his cutlass. Apparently unafraid of any resulting harm to his fingers, he grabbed hold of the saber blade and jerked Anton closer. The boarding axe spun at Anton’s ribs.
Anton couldn’t parry. One sword was immobilized and the other was on the wrong side of his body. He let go of the saber hilt and dropped to the deck. The axe streaked over him then looped up for a chop straight down.
Anton rolled and fetched up against somebody’s legs. The axe crunched down beside him. He scrambled and grabbed the haft before Evendur could jerk the weapon free. Then he drove the point of his cutlass into the crook of the dead man’s elbow.
Still clutching the axe, Anton tried to drag himself closer for a cut to the groin. But with a snarl, Evendur heaved the weapon up and away, breaking his enemy’s grip, and staggered backward.
That at least gave Anton the chance to spring back to his feet. Meanwhile, Evendur dropped the saber and shifted the boarding axe to his off hand, evidence that the stab to the elbow had done some good.
Anton shouted and sprang, and the Chosen reflexively retreated away from his adversary’s fallen sword. Anton hooked it with his toe, kicked it into the air, and caught it.
He shot Evendur a grin. “That’s better.” Then he attacked in earnest, and his foe did something he’d never seen him do before, either before the end of his natural life or after. Umberlee’s Chosen gave ground steadily, one hobbling retreat and then another, fighting defensively because his wounds and Anton’s aggression left him no choice.
Perhaps recognizing that his master was losing the duel, a waveservant lunged in on Anton’s flank. The reaver twisted out of the way of a trident stab and slashed, shearing into the sea priest’s side. The waveservant’s knees buckled, and his weapon slipped from his fingers.
Unfortunately, even though the exchange had only required an instant, the need to dispose of the cleric perforce relieved the pressure on Evendur and gave him a chance to come back on the attack. As Anton pivoted back toward his true foe, he was ready to defend and accordingly surprised to find that the undead pirate had kept on retreating, opening up the distance between them.
“I win!” Evendur spat, and with that, the sea roared. A wall of water reared up over the port side, and the caravel listed to starboard.
Anton realized it no longer mattered that he’d been prevailing in the clash of blades. The dead man had lasted long enough for his magic to renew itself and was now about to capsize the ship. Evidently, he had no compunction about drowning his own followers if it would kill Anton and his allies as well.
Anton charged. The deck kept on tilting beneath him, nearly costing him his balance. Other warriors reeled in front of him, and he had to dodge around them. Meanwhile, Evendur kept backing away, although his crippled leg prevented him from moving as fast as his pursuer.
Anton staggered into what he hoped was striking distance. Only just, but the deck was slanting so steeply that in another heartbeat, he wouldn’t be able to advance at all. He took a final bounding stride.
The mass of water to port crashed across the caravel, battering and blinding him, hiding his foe in a blast of stinging gray. He cut at the spot where Evendur’s neck had been an instant before.
He thought he felt the saber connect with something. Then the wave tumbled him off his feet and wrapped him around the pulley at the foot of a line.
For a moment, he thought that was where he was gong to die. Then he had air to breathe, the deck was tilting back to port, and, gasping, he realized the ship hadn’t quite reached the tipping point after all. Perhaps being grappled to the galleon, which in turn was bound to the Octopus, had slowed the process. There had been no way for Evendur to capsize one ship without channeling sufficient power to overturn all three.
Anton looked to see what had become of Umberlee’s Chosen but could only find part of him. It wasn’t immediately apparent where the severed head had rolled or washed to. Fortunately, the motionless body showed no signs of imitating the dismembered but still spry troll of Umara’s recollections.
The wave had staggered everyone, but the Turmishans and Thayans recovered first, or maybe Evendur’s demise robbed his followers of their fighting spirit. In any case, a couple more Umberlant warriors fell to their opponents, and then the rest threw down their weapons and cried for quarter.
Stedd and Umara headed for Anton, the blond boy running, the slender, shaven-headed woman pacing with the deliberate dignity of a Red Wizard, even though her soaked, slapping garments made the affectation vaguely comical. “Did we win?” asked the boy.
Breathing hard, Anton waved his saber—the dawn light in the steel now fading—to indicate other ships still fighting in the distance. “The Turmishan fleet still has to deal with all those other enemy vessels. But even so, yes. We just won the battle.” He grinned. “Well, I did, mainly. But I’m generous enough to share the credit.”
EPILOGUE
AT FIRST, ANTON DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HAD AWAKENED HIM. THEN he realized it was silence.
For months, he’d slept despite the sound of the rain, sometimes hammering, sometimes accompanied by the crash of thunder, sometimes merely pattering, but always present in one form or another. Now it was gone.
He scrambled out of bed and started pulling on his clothes. He was only half finished when someone rapped on the door. “Come on!” Stedd called through the panel.
“Why?” Anton replied, just to be contrary, but he didn’t get an answer. He suspected Stedd had already scurried on down the hall to bang on Umara’s door, and sure enough, that was where he subsequently found him, fidgeting outside the Red Wizard’s room while she finished donning her robes.
When the three of them exited the house the city fathers of Sapra had loaned them, they found fresh threats, denunciations, and obscenities chalked on the facade. Because Anton had ended up fighting side by side with Turmishan sailors to defeat the Umberlant armada, a couple of his old comrades had recognized him, and now the whole town knew he’d returned.
Fortunately, Shinthala had insisted he’d atoned for past misdeeds, that he had, in fact, played a pivotal role in averting disaster, and men-at-arms from the fleet backed up her assertion. As a result, the city authorities had opted not to arrest him.
But it was a decision that infuriated some, and while Anton wished it were otherwise, he didn’t blame them for their continued animosity. Folk who’d remained ashore hadn’t seen him do any of the things that had allegedly benefited Turmish. They hadn’t even seen the enemy armada. They had seen demons slaughter their loved ones and devastate their city, and afterward, their hatred of the one responsible party to escape justice had had years to fester, while accounts of the outrages he committed as a pirate kept it fresh in their minds.
No one was glowering, spitting, making signs against the evil eye, or shouting “Traitor!” or “Demon worshiper!” at the moment, though, even though dozens of other people were rushing out of doors. Everybody was too busy gawking at the changes in the weather and the sky.
Water still dripped from eaves and branches. But those were the only droplets falling, and in the east, the massed clouds were breaking up, admitting light that dyed them salmon, rose, and yellow.
Stedd fairly danced with excitement. “Do you see? Do you see?”
Anton gave him a look of mock annoyance. “Isn’t this the time of day when you’re supposed to keep quiet and meditate?”
“Not today! Lathander doesn’t mind if we watch together!”
“Because now your task truly is over,” Umara said.
Your task truly is over … The words gave Anton an unexpected empty feeling. Trying to shake it off, he asked Stedd, “So, what will you do now?”
“Go back to the House of Silvanus for a little while,” the boy answered. “Shinthala says I can, and the elders have been Chosen for a long time. Even though they’re Chosen of a different god, they can teach me things.”
“Just do
n’t go around saying you think Lathander is as great a god as the Oakfather,” Anton told him. “They’ll stick you in a wicker man and burn you.”
Stedd rolled his eyes at an adult’s attempt to be funny. For all his precocity, it was the first time Anton had noticed him behaving less like a little boy and more like an adolescent. Well, if he’d grown up a notch, it was understandable, considering everything he’d been through.
Umara gave Anton a smile that seemed a little wistful, as though she too felt almost sorry their mad endeavors had reached an end. “What about you?” she asked. “What comes next for Anton Marivaldi?” And to his chagrin, he didn’t know.
He liked Stedd. Perhaps he’d even come to love the boy in somewhat the same way his older brother had loved him. But Stedd didn’t need a scoundrel watching over him anymore. A notorious character lurking about might even prove an embarrassment when it was time to found a temple or whatever it was he’d end up doing, and anyway, Anton couldn’t imagine devoting any more of his time to religious matters. This one interlude notwithstanding, it wasn’t in his nature.
Which didn’t mean he saw a better option. His past infamy likewise precluded making a respectable life for himself in Turmish or nearly anywhere around the Sea of Fallen Stars. Nor, even had he wished it, could he return to piracy. The corsairs who’d escaped the defeat of Evendur’s armada knew he’d fought against them, and they wouldn’t forget.
What was left, then? Umara recaptured his attention by frowning and narrowing her eyes as she awaited his answer, and then, at last, a possibility occurred to him.
He took a breath. “Wizard, we don’t do too badly working together. What would you think about taking a sea captain into your service? Somebody needs to teach you lubberly Thayans how to sail your new galleon home to Bezantur.”
Umara hesitated. “You understand, no matter how cleverly I claim to have done good work for my country, I can’t disguise the fact that I failed to accomplish what Szass Tam sent Kymas and me to do. Stedd’s god says I may escape punishment for that. But he doesn’t guarantee it, not for me nor anyone who helped me in my dereliction of duty.”
Anton grinned. “If I’m taking a stupid chance, how is that different than anything else we’ve done together?”
Umara slowly returned his smile. “When you put it that way, I don’t suppose it is.”
A few paces away, a little girl riding on her father’s shoulders squealed at some new bit of splendor revealing itself in the sunrise. Anton, Umara, and Stedd lifted their eyes to see what it was.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Fleetwood Robbins, James Wyatt, Liz Schuh, Shelly Mazzanoble, Nina Hess, and all my other friends at Wizards of the Coast; to my fellow Sundering authors Ed Greenwood, R.A. Salvatore, Troy Denning, Erin M. Evans, and Paul S. Kemp; and to my agent Andrew Zack for all their help and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Lee Byers is the author of over forty fantasy and horror novels, including sixteen set in the Forgotten Realms® world. His short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, and he writes a monthly feature for the SF news site Airlock Alpha. A resident of the Tampa Bay area, he is a frequent guest at Florida science fiction conventions and spends much of his free time fencing and playing poker. He invites everyone to Friend him on Facebook, Follow him on Twitter (@rleebyers), add him to your circles on Google+, and read his blog at http://rleebyers.livejournal.com.
Also by Richard Lee Byers
BROTHERHOOD OF THE GRIFFON
The Captive Flame
Whisper of Venom
The Spectral Blaze
The Masked Witches
Prophet of the Dead
THE HAUNTED LANDS
Unclean
Undead
Unholy
THE YEAR OF ROGUE DRAGONS
The Rage
The Rite
The Ruin
THE PRIESTS
Queen of the Depths
THE ROGUES
The Black Bouquet
THE WAR OF THE SPIDER QUEEN
Dissolution
SEMBIA: GATEWAY TO THE REALMS
The Shattered Mask
The Reaver Page 34
