Scimitar's Heir (33 page)

Light suddenly filled the chamber, and Mouse let out an “Eep?” of surprise. The little crystal house atop the dais had come alight, and it seemed to have swallowed up Edan and the crazy girl, which was kind of interesting. But what really caught his attention was Flicker; she was screaming and tugging at her golden chain, which was stuck in the door of the little crystal house. She struggled against the chain, her glowing orange eyes fixed upon the rising water. Another three feet and her fire would be quenched for good.

Mouse looked at Cynthia, then at the baby, then at Flicker. He couldn’t seem to wake Cynthia, and the baby just kept crying no matter what he did—maybe he thought the sword was icky, too—so he decided to do the one thing he was pretty sure he
could
do. He gave Cynthia a pat on the cheek, hoping she wouldn’t die before he got back, and darted over to Flicker.

The poor firesprite was frantic. She had tugged on the golden chain so hard that it was cutting into her coppery skin. Mouse tried to calm her down, but she just kept wailing and flailing, and didn’t seem to know he was even there. He wasn’t having much luck at calming anyone down, which probably had something to do with the room filling full of water. But if he couldn’t calm her down, maybe he could at least get her attention.

Mouse doubled up his fist and smacked Flicker as hard as he could, right in the nose.

The firesprite’s flaming head snapped back, and she hovered, stunned for a moment, clutching her bleeding nose. Who knew that firesprites had orange blood! Instead of marveling at his discovery, Mouse unclasped the enchanted chain encircling Flicker’s waist, just as the rising water touched her feet.

There was a ssst sound, and she yelped. Startled out of her immobility, Flicker darted for the ceiling, her gossamer smoke wings fluttering madly. Mouse followed, not knowing what else to do, but when they reached the arched ceiling Flicker stopped, looking back at the weird crystal house with longing. He knew how she felt; Edan was stuck in there, and Cynthia was stuck with a sword. Very likely, both sprites would very soon be without their masters, which was a scary thought.

And the water just kept rising.

Mouse poked her shoulder, burning his finger, and pointed to an air vent in the ceiling. It had a little hatch, kind of like the big ones in the corridors; when there was air in the room, it hung open, but when the water rose, it pushed the vent shut. Right now, the air was whistling out of the room through the vents like a tornado. It was the only way out.

Flicker rubbed her nose and glared at him, then they both looked down. The little crystal house was completely underwater now, and Feldrin was swimming, fighting to keep both Cynthia’s and the baby’s heads above the surface. There was nothing either of them could do. She nodded once, turned and flew into the air vent.

Mouse looked back at Cynthia and wondered if he should stay and drown with her or go. It seemed like drowning would be the less painful alternative, and having been very nearly drowned several times, he felt that he knew what he was about in that regard. Nothing hurt like losing a master. He remembered with a pang how he had felt when Orin, Cynthia’s father, had died.

Yes, drowning was easier.

He darted down and landed on Cynthia’s chest. He pressed his face against hers, his tears wetting her already wet cheek. He patted her, and tugged her ear, but she didn’t respond.

“Go, Mouse!” Feldrin yelled, his face a mask of pain. “Go on! Get out!”

Mouse shook his head, hugging Cynthia. His place was here, with his mistress.

“She’d want you to live, Mouse! Please! Go!”

Well, he had to admit, Feldrin was probably right about that; Cynthia would want him to live. It didn’t seem fair, but life didn’t ever seem fair. Mouse kissed her on the cheek, tugged her ear once more for luck, and darted for the vent. He scooted through, pushed by the force of the air escaping the room, and flew through the darkness, following the air flow. Below him he heard the air vent slam shut as seawater filled the chamber. He couldn’t get back to Cynthia now if he tried. He was certain that his heartbroken sobs echoed throughout the city, borne along through the air vents on the retreating wind.

≈

“Arrows!” Chula ordered, reaching down to grasp the hand of Pala, the last man in the main hold. “Kill de damned t’ings!”

Pala was struggling to climb the ladder with four of the eel-like creatures hanging onto him by their hooked tentacles, but the rungs were coated with the viscous slime that they seemed to secrete like sweat. Chula grasped the man’s hand and pulled, fighting to retain his grip. Arrows thudded into the writhing shapes, and one fell away, but dozens more swam in the rapidly flooding hold. Several climbed up after Pala, snaking through the rungs of the ladder, and clutched his legs with their tentacles and short, clawed hands. One continued to climb right up his leg and latched onto Pala’s belly, digging its teeth into his flesh. Blood flowed and Pala screamed, and Chula’s felt the man’s grip failing.

“Don’t let them eat me alive, Chula!” Pala pleaded, his face contorted with pain. “Kill me!”

Chula glanced around for something, anything to help him pull Pala up, but the only thing at hand was his sword. He grasped the hilt and looked down into the man’s eyes. They’d known each other their whole lives, grown up together on Vulture Isle, where raids from the highland tribe of cannibals were common. They’d learned to fight together, and they’d learned the unspoken law among warriors: no one is taken alive by the eaters of man-flesh.

Chula brought his sword down in a powerful blow that clove Pala’s skull, killing him instantly. Then he let his friend’s hand slip from his grasp. Pala’s corpse fell into the writhing mass of creatures, lost from view amid the squirming coils and gaping mouths.

Chula rolled to his feet with a curse, shouting, “Archers! Kill dem all!”

Arrows flew from the cordon of archers around the main hatch, and the water roiled.
Like shooting fish in a barrel
, Chula thought with a grim smile as they drew for a second volley. But as the arrows flew, a shout, then a scream drew his attention forward. Sailors backed away from the fo’c’sle hatch, their weapons on guard, as pale shapes squirmed up onto the deck. The defenders’ swords flashed, and several of the creatures thrashed, their writhing coils spattering gouts of bloody slime in all directions. More creatures rose from the hatch than had fallen, however, and the sailors retreated, their feet slipping and sliding on the treacherous footing.

“Chula!” another sailor shouted, a young woman with a bleeding wound on her leg. She pointed her sword to the cuddy cabin, where sailors fought to close the hatch.

“Bloody hells,” he muttered. His entire crew had retreated onto the deck, and they were still losing ground. He made a decision. “Sorry, Mistress, but de crew’s worth more dan de ship,” he muttered in apology to Cynthia. Then he shouted out the command no sailor ever hopes to utter.

“Abandon ship! Fall back onto de pier!”

The sailors lost no time in following that order, and fell back in tight formation, dashing across the gangplank onto the stone pier in twos and threes. Chula joined their ranks, defending the injured and ensuring that none were taken alive. Dozens of creatures boiled up from the main hold, some bristling with arrows but seemingly undaunted by their injuries. He hacked and thrust, keeping them at bay as the last of the sailors backed toward the gangplanks. One sailor was dragged screaming into the writhing mass, her sword flailing. Archers fired a volley from the pier that silenced her screams.

A hand clapped Chula on the shoulder; it was his turn to cross. The gangplank angled steeply up to the pier due to the subsidence of the ship, and was coated with slime and blood. One more glance around to confirm that he was the last to cross, and Chula backed up the gangplank, feeling for each foothold. Another step, and he felt his foot begin to slip. He waved his arms to compensate, which opened his guard enough for one of the creatures to lunge forward and grasp his ankle with its mouth tentacles. Pain shot through his leg as the hooks sank into his flesh, and he slashed down to sever the tentacles. The action threw off his balance, his foot shot out from under him, and he was falling.

Chula dropped his sword and twisted, making a desperate grab for the gangplank. His fingers found purchase, and he clung with all his strength. One look over his shoulder reinforced that grip; the water between the ship and the pier seethed with squirming shapes. One of the creatures from the deck undulated up the gangplank, its tentacles reaching for him, but an arrow plunged into it before its hooks could fasten upon his arm. The thing fell away, thrashing.

“Hang on, sir!” someone shouted as a flight of arrows dissuaded any more creatures from advancing.

“Hang on?” Chula muttered disparagingly. “What in de bloody Nine Hells else am I gonna be doin’?” He thought of Paska and little Koybur, and thanked the gods that they were safe on Plume Isle. Silently, he vowed that he would make it back to them, come hell or high water, which, it seemed, was exactly the predicament he was in. He nearly lost his grip when something hard hit his back and raked across his shoulders, and tried not to think of vile tentacles closing onto his head.

“Got him!” he heard, and he craned his neck to see that the sailors on the pier wielded a boat hook, and had managed to snag the thick leather strap of his baldric.

“Okay! We got you! Now just let go and we’ll haul you up.”

Chula stared at them, visions flashing through his mind of all the mishaps that could send him falling into the writhing coils of the serpents below: their grip could slip on the boat hook, the pin holding the bronze hook onto the tip of the hardwood shaft could shear, the strap on his baldric could snap… He gritted his teeth, muttered a silent prayer to Odea, and let go.

Chula swung and hit the quay wall hard, his feet dangling almost to the surface of the water. He reached up and grabbed the haft of the pole as eager hands pulled him up. There was a splash from below, and pain lanced through his leg, sudden weight pulling down hard. A bowman stepped out onto the gangplank, fired an arrow, and the weight vanished. Hands reached down and grasped his baldric, his hands, then under his arms to haul him onto the rough stone pier.

He lay there for a moment, gasping, then looked up at his saviors. More eager hands helped him to his feet.

“Knock down de gangplank!” he ordered. It fell, taking half dozen creatures with it. He cringed at the sight of the deck squirming with the slimy beasts, some dead, some dying, riddled with arrows, but even more seething up through the hatches. Then he focused beyond and saw
Orin’s Pride
; the schooner was close, close enough to shout. He opened his mouth to yell, then stared as a cask lofted in a short arc to splash between the two ships.

The sea erupted in fire and steam, undoubtedly killing a good number of the creatures that had not yet wormed their way into
Peggy’s Dream
, but Chula knew that there was no way to save the ship. It was overrun, and fighting these creatures was costly. Even now, his archers were running low on arrows. He made one more fateful decision, filled his lungs and shouted at the top of his voice to the mate of
Orin’s Pride
.

“Horace!” Chula waved his arms until he saw that he had the man’s attention, then pointed to the deck of
Peggy’s Dream
and the horde of creatures squirming like maggots on a corpse. “Burn it!

Horace gaped at him, then took a grim look at the seething deck of the larger ship, and gave the order. The catapult on the bow of
Orin’s Pride
was wound back and loaded. Chula ordered his crew back to a safe distance. The crew on the catapult took aim, gauging angle and distance carefully. Then Chula heard Horace’s deep voice rise in the still air.

“Fire!”

The cask flew in a high arc, and plunged into the open hold of Chula’s ship. As it disappeared into the darkness, the detonating cord snapped taut.

Peggy’s Dream
exploded in an incandescent fireball.

Chapter 25

The Burning

Edan’s agonized scream startled Sam so badly that she dropped her knife.

He convulsed in her grasp, his hand quivering like a leaf, his muscles twitching and writhing under his skin. She looked around wildly, and saw a web of luminous crystal threads winding up his legs, growing into his flesh…enveloping him.

“Edan!” she shouted, gripping his wrist with hysterical strength, but he paid her no heed. She clenched his quivering hands, screamed, “Edan! What’s happening?” Still he stared at the arched ceiling of the crystalline chamber, his mouth gaping, his endless scream reverberating though the crystal chamber until she thought her ears would explode.

A prick of pain in her hand drew her attention from his agonized face. The tiny crystal threads had spread down his forearms, growing in his flesh like a living thing, tracing along his veins and spreading like branching ice crystals on a frozen lake. She watched as they advanced up his neck, across his pale cheeks like tiny spider webs. Another stab of pain in her palms, deeper this time, and she looked at the backs of her own hands. Hair-thin crystalline lines spread across her skin, binding her flesh to Edan’s.

A memory flashed in Sam’s mind: her mother, tatting a delicate piece of lace, holding it out for her inspection. She gasped, shook her head. The pain intensified, moved up her arms to the old burn scar. Another memory: dark water lit with fiery motes, motes that hurt her eyes and burned her flesh… She flinched and tried to draw her hands away from Edan’s, to shatter the crystals that bound them together, but the lattice was strong, and her struggles futile. With dwindling hope, she watched the glowing crystals grow across Edan’s face, his lips, his eyes.

His screams faded.

Pain lanced up her arms, taking her breath away. She didn’t look down this time; she knew what she’d see. “Life is pain,” she whispered through her pointed clenched teeth, “and pain is life.”

Absently, she wondered what was happening to them. Were they dying, or were they creating new life? And then she realized that she didn’t care. She was here with Edan, and he was with her. She pressed tight against him, felt the pinpricks of pain in her stomach, her breasts, as she was incorporated into his web of light. She closed her eyes then, kissed him desperately, and felt the pain in her lips. Sam screamed into Edan’s mouth as agony lanced through her and light erupted in her mind.