As quietly as she could, Larissa opened her door and peered outside. No one was around. She took a deep breath, then slipped outside, smudging the line of protective earth as she did so. Her footsteps seemed terribly loud as she descended the two flights of stairs to the main deck, but no one crossed her path.
Her plan was to take one of the scout yawls. Although she had had no actual practice with manning the small, poled boats, she’d seen it done enough times that she thought she could manage.
Hurry, hurry, the dancer told herself as she lowered the sack onto the yawl. Larissa eased herself over the side, feet first. The yawl bobbed a little as her weight unsettled on it, then righted itself. She reached up and began to untie the rope that bound the yawl to the boat. It was securely knotted, and the water the rope had absorbed served only to swell the knot tighter. Her nails tore, and the ends of her fingers felt raw.
Then Larissa heard footsteps on the deck above her. She mouthed a curse, her fingers scrabbling frantically at the knot. It was loosening.
“Come on, come on,” Larissa whispered. Then it came. The rope was free.
She shrieked as a strong hand closed on her right wrist. Larissa cast a terrified gaze upward to see her guardian, his face contorted in fury. She struggled, but his grip was unbreakable. He began to haul her up, her light frame no challenge to his anger-driven strength. Her feet kicking wildly, Larissa flailed with her left hand, caught the rope of the yawl, and held on tightly.
A sudden blow on her left wrist caused her to cry out and let go of the rope. The current greedily snatched the yawl, speeding it downstream. Larissa’s hand was bleeding and throbbed with intense pain. She looked up to see Dragoneyes grinning mirthlessly down at her. He had struck her hand with the end of the harpoon.
An instant later, the half-elf grunted in pained surprise. Dumont had given him a furious blow with one mammoth fist while retaining his grip on Larissa with the other.
“I don’t want her harmed!” the captain roared. “Gods, I’m surrounded by fools!”
“Perhaps not, Captain,” came a cool voice. Lond had appeared beside the captain and was gazing down at Larissa. All the young dancer could see in the shadow of his cowl were his small, cold, glittering eyes. Slowly, as her face was drawn closer, he brought up his hand. On the gloved palm was a small pile of powder.
Dumont’s grip weakened, and with a violent wrench Larissa tugged free. She barely had time to fill her lungs with air before she disappeared into the murky, green-brown depths of the swamp.
ELEVEN
Dumont jerked Lond’s arm away from Larissa’s face. “No! Don’t make her one of them!” the captain cried, his voice filled with anguish. The powder blew off the mage’s hand, most of it going into Dragoneyes’ face.
The crewman uttered a sharp cry, toppling backward. His hands clawed at his face and eyes. “Raoul!” he managed, fixing Dumont with an agonized look. Tears streamed down his face as the powder burned his slitted, golden eyes. The look of betrayal on the half-elf’s face was a terrible thing to behold, and Dumont’s own expression registered shocked surprise. Without realizing it, Dumont had loosed his hold on Larissa, turning instinctively to try to do something, anything, to help the only man on board that he called a friend.
Then the coughing increased, and suddenly Dragoneyes couldn’t breathe. His hands clutched his throat, and his mouth opened and closed, but no sound issued forth. His body jerked and flailed like a fish on land. At last Dragoneyes convulsed violently and then lay still.
Dumont was stunned. He turned frantically to the mage. “Is there an antidote?”
The hooded figure shook his head. “None,” he said. “Do not distress yourself so, Captain Dumont. His services won’t be lost to you. But I fear the girl’s are.”
“No! Larissa …” The captain rushed to the side. Sure enough, all trace of the dancer had vanished. Dumont pounded the railings, swearing. He had lost both his beloved and his best crew member.
“Captain?” It was Tane’s voice. He had heard the commotion and stood half-naked on deck, blinking sleepily. “What—Dragoneyes!”
“He fainted,” Dumont lied swiftly, keeping pain from his voice with an effort. “Came down with swamp fever. I’ll take him to his cabin in a moment. Tane, listen to me and listen hard. Larissa’s jumped overboard. I want her found. You and Brynn take the other yawl and start after her. Tell everyone else to keep their eyes open. Thirty gold pieces to the man who spots her first, and a hundred to the man who brings her in—unharmed,” he added, darting an angry glance in Lond’s direction.
Tane left to obey his captain’s orders, though not without a glance at the still form of his fellow crewman. When Tane had gone, Dumont turned on the mage.
“What were you thinking of, with Larissa?” he demanded. “I wanted her to fall in love with me, damn it, not become some mindless lump of dead flesh!”
Lond’s voice was even when he replied. “My zombies are not mindless. They retain much of their intelligence and many physical capabilities. They are not even, technically, dead. I maintain control of their souls. Had I been permitted to complete my spell with Larissa, you would have had a beautiful, intelligent, obedient woman. You would have been pleased with the result of my spell.”
Dumont didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, he demanded, “What are you going to do to help find her?”
Lond froze, then said carefully, “I offer no guarantees, but I will do what I can. There are powers here in the swamp, Captain Dumont, powers that do not appreciate being spied upon. I doubt they will permit me—or you—to locate her magically. Let us determine why she fled. Perhaps that will give us a clue as to where she might have gone.”
Dumont felt suddenly weary, and there was a dull pain in his chest. “I may have pressed my suit a bit too ardently. She might have been afraid.”
“That could be reason enough,” Lond agreed. “But there might be something more to it than that. May I see her cabin?”
Dumont glanced down at the limp form of Dragoneyes. “Let me get him to his cabin first.” He prodded the body with the toe of his boot. “Damn, I wish he hadn’t been the one to get a faceful of your magic,” he muttered, pain brushing his heart. “Dragoneyes was a good boatman.”
“He still is, Captain.” There was a hint of a smile in Lond’s voice. “He still is.”
A search of Larissa’s room revealed that she had packed little more than clothing. What few trinkets she had collected over the years she had left behind, including her locket. Dumont picked it up and opened it, recalling the first time he had seen Larissa. She had been only twelve years old, and the simple silver locket that hung about her slim throat seemed to catch the highlights of her white hair.…
“Let me see this,” said Lond as his black-gloved fingers took the locket away from Dumont. He opened it and examined the soft blond hair inside. “Whose is this?” he asked, one finger stroking the lock of hair.
“Larissa’s, when she was a child.”
Dumont heard a sharp hissing intake of breath from Lond. “Her hair was not always white?”
The captain frowned. “Mo. She doesn’t remember the incident, but apparently it turned that color some time ago, when she first came to Souragne. Something about the swamp.”
“You idiot!” Lond’s voice was a shriek. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”
Dumont’s shock over losing Larissa and grief at Dragoneyes’ fate ebbed before a rising tide of anger. “Why should I? What difference does it make what color her hair is?”
“It makes every difference in the world!” Lond’s slim body was quivering with anger. “I should have known. How could I have failed to see it? I thought it merely an affectation for her role, not … Dumont, for both our sakes, pray that Larissa is slain by the creatures in the swamp. If she survives, she could destroy us both.”
* * * * *
Larissa was a good swimmer, but she sank like a stone the moment she hit the water. Luckily it was
n’t deep, and the dancer wound up briefly touching the slick mud of the bottom. She pushed off from the soft surface and swam blindly for as long as she could. When she could hold her breath no longer, she finally broke the surface, gasping and wiping water out of her eyes. To her chagrin, she wasn’t more than a few yards away from La Demoiselle.
A woman’s golden head broke the surface immediately beside her. “Take my hand, sister,” she said in a voice that sounded like water flowing. “I’ll take you as far away from that horrid man as I can.”
Confused, Larissa opened her mouth to ask a question, but the woman impatiently seized her and pulled her beneath the surface. Muddy water filled her open mouth and she coughed, only to have more water pour down her throat. Panic shuddered through her, and she struggled against this mysterious girl who was obviously trying to drown her.
The girl did not loosen her hold, only pulled the frantic Larissa down deeper. The dancer’s heart thudded and her lungs cried out for oxygen. At last her lungs emptied of their own accord, and water surged into them.
To her absolute shock, Larissa found that she could breathe easily. Utterly baffled, she ceased her struggles, inhaling the water as naturally as a fish would. They were moving at an astonishing speed. She turned to face her rescuer, but could see nothing in the liquid darkness beside her.
She could still hear the woman, however. “I am Flowswift,” the nereid explained. “Your wicked Dumont has my shawl, and he commands me. I have been his slave for over a year now. I have tried to escape, but always he discovers me. If you are fleeing from him, you are my friend.”
They swam in silence for a long time, slicing through the water like dolphins. At last Flowswift angled up toward the surface. She became visible again as soon as she hit the air.
“This is as far as I dare go,” she told Larissa. “Be careful. This water—it is not overly friendly, not even to me.”
“Thank you, Flowswift,” Larissa said sincerely. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”
The nereid’s voice went hard. “If you defeat Dumont, you can return my shawl.”
“If I can, I will. I promise.”
Illumined by moonlight, Flowswift dived beneath the surface and vanished.
Treading water, her sodden skirts still threatening to drag her under, Larissa glanced around. She was pleased beyond words to see that the nereid had brought her directly to her yawl, which had gotten tangled in a clump of muddy vegetation. Her pack was there, safe and dry, waiting for her.
Larissa swam to the bank and slogged onto comparatively dry land. She looked around a bit and waited for her heart to slow. Then, satisfied that she was at least temporarily safe, she sat down near the yawl and removed the ring Willen had given her, turning it over in her hands.
It was a simple thing, merely a band of metal. She had had to place it on her index finger as Willen’s hand was much larger than hers. She set it in her palm and placed her other hand over it, then closed her eyes and concentrated on clearing her mind.
“Think about me,” Willen had told her. “Let no other thoughts intrude. Help should come to you then.”
Larissa’s breathing slowed and deepened as she relaxed, letting thoughts of the young crewman fill her mind’s eye. The ring began to grow warm in her hand, and, startled, she opened her eyes.
A small light flickered in front of her. Larissa immediately recognized it as one of the lights from the boat.
“Are you the help Willen sent?” she asked.
It did not respond. She sighed, assuming that the creature’s form was too far removed from her own to permit communication. Larissa put her hand to her mouth as the realization hit her. If this was a living creature, then the lights on the boat were not simply illusions. They were slaves. A sudden flood of pity and anger filled her.
The creature danced away suddenly, blinking anxiously. It was a living thing, Larissa felt certain. She rose and looked at the little ball of light.
“You can’t understand me, but I trust you,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead.” The ball of light flushed to a pale blue and pulsed rhythmically, then flew out over the river. It hovered there, blinking, waiting for her to follow. Larissa dutifully freed the yawl from its entanglement and pushed off into the water. As she did so, what looked like a log rolled a lazy eye in her direction. Larissa held her breath for a moment, but the crocodile seemed in no mood to attack. Cautiously, she began to paddle down the swamp.
Her guide danced about, sometimes flitting around her head, sometimes soaring high above her. Larissa stayed tense, alert, but the night swamp appeared to pose no immediate dangers. She wondered how much of that was due to the presence of her small guardian. It was definitely taking her someplace, for when they came to a fork in the river it chose one path clearly over the other. Marveling at her temerity, she followed it.
The night wore on. The swamp was unsettlingly silent, save for the constant buzz of cicadas in the distance. The only other noise was that made by her own paddle, breaking the surface of the water with a little splashing sound.
After a time, Larissa became aware that, despite the amount of water all around, she was very thirsty.
“Is there a place where I can drink?” she asked the light creature. It ignored her, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. She glanced down at the river, immediately deciding that it was nowhere near clean enough for her to drink from. Swallowing dryly, she looked around, hoping to spy a spring or a puddle of rainwater from which to steal a handful of potable liquid.
A clump of huge, beautiful plants floated near the shore. Their white blossoms were about five feet across, and they were filled with inviting pools of pure rainwater. Licking her dry lips, Larissa thankfully paddled close, reaching her hands easily in to the plants.
The light guardian dived in front of her face, blinking crazily. Its colors were now strong tones of red and green, and it whizzed past her head. She paused, hands outstretched to the plants, confused by the creature’s actions.
There came a terrible roar, like the sound of a tree branch splitting. A huge tentacle erupted from the earth and closed about Larissa’s outstretched arms. Chunks of muddy soil flew everywhere. Even as she screamed and tried to pull away, Larissa realized that the tentacle was a root of some sort.
The root’s owner came rapidly into view as Larissa was dragged toward an enormous tree. Another root shot out from the soil to encircle her torso, and a third trapped her legs. The roots began to drag her to the tree, and Larissa could make out what appeared to be a hideous parody of a face on the tree’s trunk.
“Let me go!” she cried. The light creature had calmed somewhat, though it still blinked rapidly. She struggled furiously, but the roots’ grip was like iron, and her strength was not going to be enough to free her. She glanced up and saw that the hole in the trunk was now moving, like some kind of giant mouth.
Trees can’t move! Larissa screamed to herself, recalling the foliage that had seemed to close in on the boat’s path. But they did, or this one did, and all at once Larissa was filled with a terrible, irrational certainty that she was about to be eaten by a plant.
Then there came a noise that was becoming very familiar to the terrified dancer … the beating of drums. She realized, with a shock, that the noise was made by the tree. It raised its serpentine roots and pounded on its own trunk, sending out a deep, resonant booming. The light creature flickered near her face, and Larissa’s white brows drew together in outrage.
“You tricked me!” she cried at the creature, kicking impotently against the unbreakable bonds of the knotted roots. “You led me to it! You twice-damned, blazing, bleeding whelp …” The furious expletives tumbled from her mouth. Something of what she was saying apparently got through to the creature, for it began to blink agitatedly and withdrew to a distance of several feet. At last, her vast store of curses having finally been depleted, Larissa sagged helplessly against her bonds.
A movement caught her eye. It was a doe, movin
g with slow elegance along the bank. It paused and regarded her with liquid brown eyes for a moment, large ears twitching, debating. Then, judging Larissa harmless, the deer moved toward the large blossoms, lowered its slim head, and began to drink.
With a suddenness that Larissa wouldn’t have thought possible, the blossom snapped closed around the doe. The beast was caught up to its hindquarters. Although it thrashed and kicked, it could not extricate itself from the carnivorous plant. The doe emitted muffled bleating sounds, and Larissa, filled with horror, winced and turned away from the frightful spectacle. Soon, the doe ceased to flail. The plant opened and closed, adjusting the carcass until it fit completely in the blossom’s heart, then closed completely.
Larissa, shaking, swallowed hard. The little light being had floated closer. Larissa remembered its agitation when she had tried to drink from the plants.
“You and the tree saved my life.”
The light creature bobbed up and down, flushing a gentle rose hue. Slowly, with a voice that sounded like the rustling of leaves, the tree spoke. “The feu follet told me that she wished it so.”
Larissa gasped. “You can talk! Who is ‘she’?”
“Someone I personally disagree with, but will obey—for the moment,” came a voice from the tree’s foot.
Larissa glanced down to see an enormous rabbit. She was about to smile at it gratefully when it sat up on its haunches and looked her in the eye. Larissa had thought the creature appealing at first glance, but she now realized that there was nothing cuddly or innocent in that hard gaze. It grinned maliciously, and she saw that its two front teeth were sharp as a wolf’s.
“Had you ventured into these parts without the feu follet, I would have slain you and eaten your heart.”
Larissa went cold. “I have done no harm to you,” she protested.
“My cousin Bouki is a prisoner aboard your boat. That is reason enough to slay anyone from the cursed vessel, as far as I am concerned. Yet,” the gigantic rabbit said reluctantly, “you are under the protection of the feu follets and the Maiden. I will take you to her. My name is Longears.”
Dance of the Dead Page 14
