Red Tide (74 page)

To the west of the Chain Tower, the wall was clear of stone-skins, while across the channel, the battlements of the smaller tower overlooking the Neck were now in Gilgamarian hands. The arrival of the dragons would have buoyed the defenders. They would know they only had to hold out a short while longer before the Augeran fleet was forced to scatter. Would flight save the stone-skins, though? Barnick hadn't been able to outpace the dragon just now, so odds were the Augeran mages, tired by last night's exertions, wouldn't be able to either. Especially since, with their ships' hulls marked by dragon blood, this wasn't a chase the creatures would give up lightly.

“Captain!” Qinta said.

The Second pointed toward the inner line of stone-skin ships. A four-master had risen up on a wave of water-magic and now surged toward the harbor entrance. Its main course showed a woman's face framed in fire, and there was a white square over her cheek where a gash in the sail had been clumsily patched. Galantas licked his lips. The ship was going to try to clear the chains. An act of desperation? Probably, but its captain must have thought he stood at least a chance of success to risk the attempt.

The wave beneath the vessel grew. If one ship made it over, the rest would surely follow, and already a second stone-skin craft was moving into position behind the first. Once in the harbor they would be protected from the dragons by the same chains that had blocked their passage moments before. Galantas looked at the Chain Tower, hoping for some response from the defenders. A volley of arrows raked the decks of the first Augeran ship, but that wasn't going to slow it. What could?

Galantas cursed. The stone-skins were about to wriggle free of the trap.

The four-master drew level with the Chain Tower. It was so high now, the stone-skins in the rigging could have shaken hands with the Gilgamarians on the battlements.

Then the wave beneath it started to subside. An armspan lower, three, five. Galantas lost sight of the ship as it entered the Neck. Heartbeats later, he heard a tortured squeal of metal, screams, a crack of wood.

Not encouraging sounds if you were a stone-skin. The vessel must have hit the chains.

The defenders on the Chain Tower cheered.

“Well, well,” Barnick said.

“What just happened?” Galantas asked.

“Someone threw their Will against the wave under that ship. Someone strong.” He nodded toward the Chain Tower. “Looks like the Gilgamarians have got themselves a water-mage up there.”

*   *   *

Senar's Will-blow had driven the stone-skin to one knee. A string of bloody drool hung from his mouth, and he wiped a sleeve across it. Along with the cut over his eye, that made it two strikes to nil in Senar's favor, but what mattered was who landed the last blow. There was a newfound respect in the stone-skin's eyes, and he nodded as if to acknowledge the Guardian's merit. All very civilized. It was easy to forget they had been trying to kill each other moments before, and would likely be moments from now too.

This pause allowed Senar to consider his options. The Augeran's ability to phase in and out of existence made him an opponent unlike any that the Guardian had faced. Was there a way he could turn the man's gift against him? Earlier, Senar's sword in the stone-skin's neck had prevented him from rematerializing. Would any … impediment have the same effect? Even dust? A few Will-blows to the ceiling might loosen a cloud of plaster. A handful of soil would also work, though Senar doubted his foe would stand idly by while he entered the courtyard to do some gardening.

His thoughts turned to the dragon scales on his right arm and shoulder. If he waited until his opponent aimed a hit at that part of his body, he could sacrifice a block in exchange for an attack. And yet if the Augeran's strike was with an insubstantial blade, the scales would not stop it any more than Senar's sword would.

In the yard, the emperor continued to urge on his troops. Along the corridor behind the stone-skin, meanwhile, a figure emerged from the darkness—a man with ragged hair, clutching an ax with a wooden shaft. His lips had been cut away to reveal the teeth and gums beneath, giving him a permanent feral smile. The tattooed Augeran half turned as the man approached, then frowned and stepped aside to let him pass. The axman ignored him, his gaze fixed on Senar.

Meaning they
were
on the same side?

If so, the stone-skin must have seen his ally more as hindrance than as help, for as the apparition drew level, the Augeran drove an elbow into his temple. It landed with a wet crack like the sound of an egg breaking. The axman collapsed.

The stone-skin bent down and pried the ax from his fingers before straightening.

With a shout he attacked, swinging ax and sword together. Senar blocked the ax with his Will, the sword with his own blade, but the Augeran's weapon slid through it. The Guardian swayed backward, the sword's tip passing a hairbreadth from his chin. The ax came at him again, and this time when he parried, his sword crashed against the weapon. The head of the ax hooked the blade, pinning it for a heartbeat and forcing Senar to block the next sword thrust with his Will. The stone-skin followed up with a kick to the midsection. Senar didn't have time to gather his power again. Instead he tried to fold with the blow, took a thump to the gut that scrambled his insides and set the air hissing between his teeth.

The Augeran surged forward again, golden tattoos flashing in the gloom. His next stroke passed through Senar's parrying sword, then his next and his next too, until the Guardian found himself using only his Will to block his enemy's strikes. At times the swish of the stone-skin's weapons had him convinced he could tell the physical attacks from the spiritual ones. But just because a stroke started out “real” didn't mean it would end that way. And of course if he used his sword to try to block it, that just made it more likely his foe would turn his own weapon insubstantial.…

An idea formed in Senar's mind. A long shot perhaps, but that was better than no shot at all.

His use of his power was starting to take a toll. Each impact of his foe's weapons on his Will-shield was accompanied by a needle-prick of pain in his skull. He flinched with each blow, making no effort to conceal his discomfort. Let his opponent see he was suffering. Let him think victory was close. The Augeran's attacks developed into a rhythm like the beat of a galley's drummer. Given time he would have battered through Senar's defenses, but the Guardian wasn't going to allow him the chance.

An overhand stroke from the stone-skin's sword gave him an opening. He sidestepped the attack. His opponent's ax was already sweeping round.

Now Senar needed a touch of luck.

He swung hard with his sword—at the ax rather than its wielder, hoping the weapon was real and not insubstantial. Its whisper through the air suggested it was, but until it actually met his sword—

Senar's blade cut cleanly through the ax's shaft, and the metal head thunked to the floor to leave the stone-skin holding nothing but an armspan of wood.

Growling, he tossed it away.

Senar kicked the ax-head past his foe, then sprang to the attack. The Augeran raised his sword to block Senar's cut, but the Guardian used a nudge of the Will to slow the weapon. For an instant, he thought he had his man.

His sword passed harmlessly through the stone-skin's flesh and out the other side.

The Augeran smiled, stepped back out of range.

Senar held his ground, waiting.

And suddenly his opponent wasn't smiling anymore. For unbeknownst to him, Senar had used the moment afforded by his foe's retreat to fix his Will on the fallen ax-head, and slide it across the floor beneath his adversary's right foot. The stone-skin hadn't felt it because his foot was insubstantial as it came down. When he rematerialized now, though, it was with a chunk of metal imbedded in his heel.

Senar watched the man's expression twist from incomprehension to shock.

Then the pain hit him, and his eyes bulged. He clamped his teeth shut, but still a blubbering wheeze escaped his lips. He sank to one knee, his left hand reaching down to touch the ax-head sticking out from the back of his heel like a sandclaw's talon. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Then his features smoothed, the agony passing.

He's made himself insubstantial,
Senar realized.

The Guardian wondered if his victory would be short-lived. Could the Augeran pluck the ax-head from his spiritual flesh? Or had the metal fused to skin and bone in a way that could not be undone? The answer, he decided, lay in the stone-skin's look: a look that was baleful but also heavy with foreboding. A look that said the Augeran knew the game was up. For while the man's spiritual form seemed to offer relief from the pain, it was only by returning to the flesh that he would be able to kill the Guardian.

And Senar suspected a lump of agony in his foot might restrict his fighting style.

Just then, the walls of the corridor shimmered.

*   *   *

Romany had been expecting Hex's portcullis to come down, and she struck out at it with her awareness. She had only had a heartbeat to gather her power, and rather than fashioning an opening big enough for her to run through, she could create just a hole an armspan in diameter. While her conscious mind hesitated, her assassin's instincts took over. She dived through the opening before rolling on one shoulder and coming to her feet again. Her blood-caked sandals skated on the floor as she pushed off, and she stuttered into a run again.

Fifteen paces from the portal.

Something struck and tangled in the weave of sorcerous threads at her back. Something Hex had thrown at her? She did not look round. To either side the walls swelled and darkened to resemble the leprous skin Romany had seen in Mazana's room earlier. Large wriggling forms like oversized maggots pushed through lesions in the flesh. They flopped to the floor before rupturing to release buzzing shapes as big as Romany's fist. Hornets. One flapped about her face, and she lashed out with her knife, missed. Her breath snorted in her nose. Just hold it together a few moments more.

Ten paces.

Ahead the corridor was empty of obstructions, yet Romany doubted it would remain that way for long. She veered toward a door on her left, hoping that Hex might mistake it for her destination. As she reached for the handle, a knot of barbed wire sprung up about it.
Good,
she thought as she swerved away. The time he'd wasted conjuring up that wire was time he could otherwise have spent creating another portcullis.

Five paces.

She opened the portal with a thought. There was a snapping sound like a ship's sail in a gale, and the gateway burst open to fill the corridor in front. Smoky orange light shone through it, bright enough to make Romany's eyes water.

That must have been why she didn't see Hex's second portcullis until she was upon it. There was no time to strike out with her power, and she skidded into the gate, half turning to take the brunt of the contact on her shoulder. Still her head struck the bars. She reeled backward, lights flashing before her eyes, hands grasping out to seize the metal and stop herself falling. Even disoriented as she was, she could sense the portal just beyond the portcullis. Waves of wind-tugged dust melted into shadow at its edge. If she had reached a hand through the bars, she might have touched the gateway, for all the good that would have done her.

Fortunate, then, that she had deliberately opened the portal to only a fraction of its full size. Now she let it creep a few armspans forward until the brightness engulfed her.

She lurched through Hex's portcullis as if it were made of mist and into the world beyond.

She halted, doubled over with her hands on her knees. She'd run only twenty paces, yet from the way the air sawed in her throat, she might have sprinted the length of the Alcazar. Blood trickled down her temple from the blow to her head, but she ignored it.
I made it!
No way Hex could reach her here. The fact she'd been able to walk through his portcullis told her his sorcery couldn't pass through the portal. And even if he did find a way to make his dreamworld manifest here, he wouldn't be able to grow it faster than Romany could run away.

The air of the new world was hot against her skin. It felt heavier somehow, as if the sky were pressing down on her. She shielded her eyes against the grit on the wind. There was no more to see of the place now than there had been the last time she'd opened the portal—just rocks and dirt and that dazzling distant glow of the sunset. But at least none of Hex's abominations were here. Relief tingled through her.

Safe.

Was that even true, though? Hex might not be a threat anymore, but how long could she hope to survive in this alien world with nothing but a dagger and the clothes on her back? What guarantee did she have that this world's inhabitants would be friendlier than the stone-skins? More important, how far was she from the nearest water, the nearest food? She shook her head. Odds were she'd have to return to her world in a day or two, and that meant passing back through this portal to the Alcazar. If the Augerans' attack on Gilgamar succeeded she might find Hex waiting for her when she arrived.

This wasn't over yet. The first part of her plan had been accomplished, but the hardest part was still to come.

She straightened. Above the whistle of the wind, she couldn't hear Hex's footsteps behind, but she knew he was there all the same. He'd be hurting from her escape. He'd be curious about the portal, and why his sorcery couldn't pass through it when Romany could. She would have to play on that inquisitiveness as she had done on the walk through the Alcazar. At worst, she might detain him long enough to give Mazana and Avallon a chance against his kinsmen. At best …

At best?
Well, that was why she still hadn't fully opened the portal yet, wasn't it?