Assail (11 page)

‘So you claim.’

‘He’s hiding.’

She glanced at him, saw the ravaged, lined skin of his face, so pale and yet so hardened, resembling dried parchment; his hanging moustache, thin and tatty; the pearly scars glistening at his neck. His pale hazel eyes glared as if heated by the blazing fevers that seemed about to consume him. ‘Hiding from what?’

‘The truth.’

‘And what truth is that?’

‘That we are cursed and he is responsible.’

‘Cursed? You mean the vow.’ She thought of the inhuman Rutana in Jacuruku and what that one had said regarding their vow. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that as well. Cursed in what way?’

The man smiled, or attempted to: he pulled his lips back from his tiny teeth and raised a hand to shake a finger in negation. But like his efforts at a leer, or a knowing grin, the gesture was ruined by his tattered gloves and blackened, broken fingernails. Nails, Shimmer knew, that had clawed their way out of a mound on the grounds of an Azath House. The thought shook her and confirmed her impression of the man: insane. Driven beyond common reason.

‘I will not do his job for him,’ he said. ‘If he chooses to keep you in the dark then take your complaints to him.’

‘Then that is between us.’ She waved him off.

His inarticulate snarl told her that her dismissal infuriated him just as much as she hoped. Yet he did go, his walk stiff with outrage. She leaned once more against the side and returned to scanning the rocky forested shore as it passed. Show yourself, K’azz, she urged the coastline. Walk out and wave. You must come with us – how can we possibly leave without you? Yet we must go. Cal-Brinn has already waited far too long for rescue. And there are questions to be answered.

She watched through noon and on into the late afternoon while the shadows deepened and the sun disappeared behind her into the western horizon. Sept brought her a bowl of stew and a crust of bread which she ate while still standing at the rail.

You stupid stubborn fool, she sent to the shore. You have to come. How could you not? But if you refuse – then
I
will discover what the Queen of Dreams promised awaited us in Assail. Yet … as the one who invoked the vow, what if these things can only be revealed to you?

She sighed and scraped the wooden spoon round the bowl. Surely he must have considered that. Why allow them to depart on a useless errand? Then she castigated herself: rescuing Cal-Brinn and the Fourth would not be useless, girl! Finally, she pushed off from the side and went below to find an open bunk.

Damn the man for leaving it to her to decide!

Two days later they reached Fortress Recluse. They loaded more supplies and equipment, then Blues and his Blade of chosen Avowed boarded. They set sail that eve. Four days later they were nearing their rounding of the cape. Shimmer was asleep in a hammock when a call from the night watch woke her: ‘Fire on the slate shore! Bonfire ashore!’

She lay half awake for a time, still groggy with sleep. Then a sudden suspicion, almost like a breath from one of the Brethren in her ear:
what if …?

She swung her legs from the hammock and ran for the companionway, barefoot, wearing only her thin cotton longshirt and trousers. She gained the deck to find it abandoned, empty but for the night watch. ‘Why are we not investigating?’ she demanded.

‘It’s only a fire,’ the sailor said, and he eyed her up and down as the wind pressed the thin fabric to her form. She cursed the man inwardly and went to the pilot on duty: not Havvin now, but a younger apprentice. ‘Turn for shore,’ she told him.

The tall skinny fellow peered down his nose at her. ‘Only the ship’s master can order a change in course.’

‘It just so happens I’m
his
master,’ she snarled. ‘Now turn for shore.’

But the young fellow only gripped the faded wood of the tiller arm all the tighter. ‘No, ma’am. The slate shore is far too dangerous.’

Oh, for the love of all the dead gods! She drew a deep breath and called in her best battlefield bellow: ‘Master Ghelath! You are required on deck!’

In a few minutes the man himself appeared, puffing, scratching his wide belly, his bare chest a dense thatch of russet hair. ‘What is this?’ he growled, bleary-eyed.

‘She wants us to head for shore,’ the pilot complained.

The Master squinted at the night-hidden coast as if to confirm that it was even there. Then he turned on her. ‘Are you a fool? We’d be stove in. Those are the Cursed Soldiers. No ship can come within a league of them.’

‘Nevertheless,’ she answered through clenched teeth, ‘I wish to investigate that fire.’ She pointed over the stern where the flickering orange and gold glow was already disappearing into the gloom.

Ghelath spat over the side, then waved a hairy hand to dismiss the entire matter. ‘Ach! Well, it’s gone now, isn’t it? Too late.’ He turned to go.

‘Turn us round. Drop anchor. Do whatever is necessary.’

Ghelath just waved the hand over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. ‘Too dangerous.’

Shimmer crossed her arms, called, ‘Gwynn …’

The mage appeared amid-deck. He carried a tall staff of ebony wood. This he stamped to the planking and black flames burst to life, rippling all up and down the stave. The sailors on night watch scrambled away.

Master Ghelath slowly remounted the short set of stairs that led to the stern deck, pulling at his long grizzled beard. He cleared his throat and addressed the apprentice pilot in a weak voice: ‘See if you can’t get us a little closer, Levin.’

The lad didn’t move. He licked his lips. ‘I can’t – that is … I don’t know these waters well enough …’

Hoarse laughter drew everyone’s attention. The old master pilot, Havvin, all bones and pale skin, came edging past Gwynn. He pushed his apprentice aside, offered Shimmer a broad wink. ‘Rouse the lads, boy. Prepare to bring us round.’

The apprentice rang the bell, clearly relieved that his master had taken over. In a flurry of stamping feet the rest of the crew came pouring up on to the deck. ‘Man the lines!’ Levin shouted.

Havvin pushed the tiller arm over. ‘Have to lose headway, don’t you think?’ he directed his apprentice.

The lad nodded frantic assent, shouted: ‘Reef the mains’l! Lower the fores’l!’

Ghelath watched silently, one fist closed on his ragged beard. After a moment he caught the old pilot’s eye and pointed to the bow. Havvin nodded a brief acknowledgement.

Blues came up to the stern deck to stand next to Shimmer. He too was peering off over the side, to the glow of the distant bonfire.

‘Eyes up front, don’t you think, Levin?’ Havvin murmured, adjusting the tiller arm slightly.

The lad swallowed, nodding. ‘Aye. Four lookouts on the bows!’

Shimmer leaned close to Gwynn. ‘Black flames?’ she murmured.

He shrugged. ‘Thought it would be impressive.’

Ghelath shook his head. ‘I still don’t like it, Havvin. Lose all the canvas. Prepare the sweeps.’

Havvin nodded. ‘Aye, aye.’ He gestured to Levin.

The lad drew a great breath, shouted, ‘Lower the yardarm! Un-ship the sweeps!’

The crew scrambled to obey. The heavy yardarm scraped down the mainmast. Long thin oars that had been stored along the hull, just above the decking, were set into holes beneath the top railing.

‘Man the sweeps,’ Blues called down to Bars, who gave his curt assent and gestured to the gathered Avowed. They brushed the sailors aside to take the oars.

‘Dead stop,’ Shimmer called.

The Avowed levered the oars straight down then swept them back, grunting and heaving. The vessel slowed so suddenly that Shimmer had to take a step for balance against the loss of motion. The Master’s thick matted brows shot up in amazement and wonder. Havvin hooted his laughter.

All became quiet but for the splash of the waves, and, distantly, the roar of an unseen surf.

‘Ahead slow,’ the Master called, then cocked an eye to Shimmer, who motioned for him to take over.

Blues crossed to Havvin, who was pushing and heaving on the thick tiller arm. ‘Need any help, old timer?’

‘Nay. A gentle touch is all’s needed. Like caressing a woman.’

Blues shot an amused glance to Shimmer, who suppressed a smile. ‘We’re in good hands then,’ Blues supplied.

‘Oh, I could tell stories,’ Havvin answered, and he cackled his mad laughter once again.

‘Point starboard!’ a lookout called.

The lashing of the tiller arm creaked as Havvin edged it a touch over. The Master still held his beard in one fist, and now he reached out and clenched the stern deck railing in a grip so tight and white it looked to Shimmer as if not even the strongest impact could dislodge him.

Yells of surprise and horror suddenly went up as something immense and night-black loomed out of the murk. One of the soldiers this was, pillar of rock all webbed in spray, seaweed and barnacles where it met the waves. Its top stood too tall to see and its girth was a third of their vessel’s length.

Levin turned to cast an appalled look to his master, who merely smiled his mad grin, then shot Shimmer another wink. Calls sounded from the lookouts and she spun: the bonfire had come once more into view.

‘Lower the launch!’ Master Ghelath shouted.

‘Get us closer,’ Shimmer called.

‘Close enough!’ he answered, fierce. ‘I’ll not risk everyone for this.’

Shimmer had to acknowledge something of the soundness of that and so with her teeth clenched tight she sent a curt nod to Bars.

Bars grasped a sailor by the nape of his neck to set him on to his oar, then ran to where sailors were readying the long slender launch. He called out names to accompany him as he went.

Mael’s Greetings
slowly edged closer to the pillars emerging in ever denser numbers from the waves. The sight reminded Shimmer of descriptions of the dolmens of Tien, except that those were carved and built by humans. This formation was so immense, and appeared to be rooted so far below the ocean, it could only be the work of the gods, or of nature itself.

Some of the pillars were quite short, hardly topping the surf, and were washed by the larger breakers. It was on one of these short pillars, standing just above the waves, that the bonfire blazed.

As
Mael’s Greetings
drifted, a figure came into view standing before the licking flames of the fire. A tall thin human shape, motionless, waiting, and Shimmer felt a shiver of recognition run through her. He’d come. At the last possible place he’d found a way to meet them. K’azz. She was certain.

Rowed by six Avowed, including Bars, the launch surged through the waves and onward into the dark.

‘Turn us away a touch, Master Havvin,’ Ghelath murmured.

‘You worry too much,’ the old man grumbled, but he obeyed. The bowsprit began to edge to the north. They waited. The vessel rocked strongly in the rough seas. The surf roared loudly now, all the more terrifying as it was unseen but for the greenish phosphor glow where the waves crashed and foamed against the base of the cliffs.

‘Put up some sail,’ Master Ghelath ordered. ‘We need headway or we’ll swamp.’

‘Very well,’ Havvin answered, and raised his chin to Levin. The lad cupped his hands to his mouth.

‘Raise the fores’l!’

The triangular foresail edged up and billowed, catching the wind, and the bows pulled over even further. Master Ghelath leaned forward over the stern deck rail. ‘Row, damn you!’

The Avowed, who had paused to watch for the launch’s return, started guiltily and heaved on the oars. Next to Shimmer, Blues chuckled. ‘Can’t let them forget that,’ he murmured.

She squinted off over the stern. ‘We’re not making too much headway, are we?’

‘They’ll catch up,’ he assured her. ‘Or break their oars trying.’

After a time a long low shape detached itself from the dark blue gloom of the waves. Sailors hailed the launch and threw lines. Shimmer went to the side. A rope ladder was heaved over. Sitting amid the Avowed, dressed in old ragged travelling leathers, was K’azz. Catching her gaze, he offered a rueful half-smile, as if mocking himself, and saluted her.

She just shook her head.

When all were aboard, and the launch stored away atop the deck, Shimmer faced her commander. He looked travel-worn but hale – as hale as the man ever appeared now. His thin greying hair blew about his skull, the shape of which showed through. ‘What were you thinking?’ she accused him.

‘You’re going,’ he said, and he peered about at the gathered Avowed.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘No matter what. We must.’

‘No matter what,’ he echoed, slowly nodding. ‘Yes. Well. I wish you hadn’t. But I should have known you’d call my bluff, Shimmer.’ And he inclined his head, acknowledging his defeat, and turned to take Bars’ hand before moving on to greet all.

Blues edged close to Shimmer and the two watched their commander speaking with each Avowed. ‘He really didn’t want us to go,’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘That makes me wonder, then,’ he said, ‘just what it is that awaits us.’

Shimmer had been thinking the same thing. What could be so terrifying, or dangerous? Then the name of the rocks where K’azz had been awaiting them came to her: the Cape of the Stone Army. Also known as the Cursed Soldiers.