Shadow Over Kiriath (53 page)

The sound was deceptive, though, still seeming far away when suddenly the other ship loomed out of the darkness, a brilliant purple light blazing from its helmsman. As the boat swept past, Abramm saw him as clearly as if it were full daylight. Dark-skinned, shaven-headed, his angular features fixed in a grimace, hands gripping the wheel as his eyes blazed with the same purple light that flared from his chest. He stared straight ahead, as if he could already see his destination and had only to close the gap between it and himself.

The ship shot by them, and they were just breathing a sigh of relief when a second ship rose up on their tail, passing so close it had to veer sharply away to avoid a collision. As its crewmen shouted imprecations in the Tahg, Abramm gave the order to pull hard aside and up to speed again, then shouted insults back at them, his own crew echoing the sentiments. A few fists were shaken, then the vessel sped off into the darkness.

As Abramm had hoped,
Yverik
was judged to be one of their own, and even better, now they had a vessel familiar with the waters to follow.

“Bring us up to full speed,” he told the shipmaster. “We don’t want to lose them.”

The other boats were going so much faster, though, and the mist was so thick, that it wasn’t long before Abramm did indeed lose sight of them, left with only the green line of phosphorescence that bubbled in their wake. And soon that was so faint, he couldn’t be sure he was seeing anything at all. Worse, he’d lost all track of the reef, and the soundings showed the shallows practically upon them. Indeed, moments later off the port railing they glimpsed their first sight of the mats of grass that characterized them. Rooted on sandy ground under the water’s surface, the tough, tall grasses would stand fully exposed when the tide was out. They passed the grasses for a long enough time to give Abramm hope, for the soundings were not changing, and he concluded they must be skirting the area.

Up ahead the faintly glowing trail suddenly bent sharply to port, leaving Abramm little time to ponder whether to follow. Hesitation would cause him to lose the tenuous track altogether, which would leave them nothing. And if nothing else, bold plans called for bold decisions.

“Increase the rhythm a half beat,” he said quietly, though his heart was suddenly pounding. “Get ready to turn, starboard oars up on my mark.” The command was repeated. The rowing tempo increased, the vessel gained speed again. Then, just as the prow obliterated his view of the bend in the phosphorescent wake, he gave the command to raise the starboard sweeps and turn the helm to port. The vessel lurched and stuttered, then heeled after the phosphorescence and was grabbed by a current that hurled them forward double speed. Bristles of grass rose up on either side, beyond which dark, pale-topped shapes glistened here and there in the mist. The stink of guano crept into the air. They continued for nearly an hour, and all that changed was that the guano smell increased. He began to relax, thinking they had surely been led into the channel they had sought.

Then a murmur crept into the stillness, a rushing sound that was soon identified as the crash of waves. The sound grew rapidly louder, ominous in its strength and swift approach, and with this current carrying them, he could no longer discount it all as illusion.

The wake trail had long since vanished, carried away by the current, but now he thought he glimpsed the trailing vessel up ahead, a moment before its oars lifted in unison and it disappeared again, swallowed by the darkness. From the looks on their faces and the way their gazes roved about, he knew none of his crewmen had seen the other galley. Nor, most likely, had any of them perceived the wake he’d been following all this time. What they did see was the forbidding line of massive rocks rising up out of the darkness ahead of them—a wide, crescent-shaped wall crowned and streaked with guano. Water crashed and wreathed whitely about its base, and the current was carrying them on a rapid collision course.

“What should I do, sir?” the helmsman asked.

“Keep her straight and steady.”

“Sir?”

Abramm frowned at the rock, certain it was an illusion, yet unable to see the telltale vibration that would confirm his assumption. Still, those vessels had to go somewhere.

“Ease her to port a little,” he told the helmsman.

The galley’s speed continued to increase.

“The current’s gonna take us right into them, sir.”

“Yes. We’ll ride it through. Just like the others did.” He gestured confidently ahead, but already second thoughts assailed him. What if he’d imagined that galley?

“You mean . . . hit the rocks, sir?”

“I don’t think we’ll hit them, but I want you to aim for them squarely.” He turned to the man at the stern. “Signal the others to follow. Repeat the pattern twice.”

“Aye, sir.”

There was no time for caution. They’d either all crash and sink together, or they’d all get through.

The helmsman’s fears were not helped by the scrape of the oars on the rocks through which they now ran. He kept glancing at Abramm, the whites of his eyes visible in the darkness.

“If you lack the nerve, sailor,” Abramm said, “give me the helm.”

The man tightened his lips as he tightened his hands on the wheel and held his gaze steady. Rocks loomed over the curved prow. Recalling what he thought he’d seen the vessel ahead of them do, Abramm ordered both banks of oars to stand. The sweeps came up sharply, and the boat shot forward faster than ever, the rocks looming before them. On either side, the white foam of breakers flashed in the darkness, their roaring filling his ears.

Then they plunged into the thick, cold-lard sensation of a Shadow-woven illusion and came out still in the channel, but with the mist dramatically thinning. Ahead he saw where grassy shallows gave way to a wide, calm bay beneath a flat ceiling of mist. The two ships they had followed glided ahead, almost out of the channel now as lanterns flared on their decks. More vessels stood out on the bay beyond them, deck lights glowing against the dark hulk of an island, tiny red lights sprinkled along its shoreline.

“Khrell’s Fire, sir!” cried the helmsman. “You did it!”

Abramm restrained himself from expressing his intense relief and subsequent flush of triumph.
Thank you, Eidon!
The men needn’t know how unsure he’d been all this would work out. Nor how unsure he remained. He merely gave the man a nod, then glanced over their stern in time to see Katahn’s vessel burst out of the mist on their tail.

“What now, sir?”

“Follow after those two that led us in. If Eidon’s hand stays with us, maybe we’ll find a suitable moorage before they realize we’re here.”

The oarsmen went back to work, and the bulk of the island soon towered over them. As they drew closer Abramm could pick out lighted arched openings along the bottom of the cliff face, and it was into one of these that their unwitting guides disappeared. The guano smell grew stronger as
Yverik
glided along the wall toward the openings he assumed led to various moorages. A backward glance showed his small fleet had made it through the enchantment intact. Instinct guided him past the first opening, and the second, as well. He chose the third one, so dimly lit as to be barely discernible.

Dark rock walls pressed close about them as a faint light shone ahead. The oars’ gurgle-splash took on a hollow quality as the sound bounced off the rock. Then the walls fell away and the boat slid into a large shadow-hung grotto lit with a single lantern and ranked with piers and moorages, all of which looked newly constructed, and all of which stood empty.

————

The sound of the gulls had alerted Maddie earlier that same afternoon to the fact they were approaching their destination. Their cries echoed in the mist, growing steadily louder, more frequent, and greater in number. Soon she saw the birds themselves, winging alongside the galley, a few coming so close she could see their eyes. The men on deck threw out bits of old biscuit, which they caught in midair before veering away, apparently an amusing shipboard pastime the gulls were as accustomed to as the men.

Then the light faded and the birds winged away. The women received their nightly biscuit and water, and soon darkness had obscured the view. Maddie settled onto her bunk, anxiety simmering in the pit of her stomach. It was nearly impossible now to stop the stream of speculations that flowed into her mind, nor the terror they aroused. And knowing that Eidon often used suffering to make his children stronger did not help in the slightest. Why did she need to be stronger? Hadn’t she had enough suffering? Wasn’t it sufficient to remove Abramm from her life with no possibility of his ever coming back into it?

Nor did it help that, as the darkness deepened, their mysterious purple guide light became more manifest. She did not think it ever went out, but in the darkness its power magnified into a heavy oppressive evil that increased with every day. It seemed to fuel her fearful speculations, until they became more real than the cabin walls around her. From the gulls and the strong sense of oppression tonight, she feared very soon there would be no need for speculation.

Still, she didn’t anticipate it all to come upon her as swiftly as it did. Against all expectation she’d finally drifted off to sleep in what must have been the wee hours of the night, only to be startled awake when the cabin door flew open. Warm light rushed in to blind her as she was yanked from her bunk and shoved out the door. Behind her, Liza screamed as the same was done to her, and she stumbled into Maddie and clung, hysterical with terror.

“It’s all right, Liza,” Maddie assured her, patting her back. “Eidon will take care of us.” But she doubted the girl could even hear her, and anyway, the assurance hadn’t sounded nearly as confident as she would have liked. As she blinked around to see where they were, she realized it was not morning, after all. Rather, she stood in a lanternlit grotto filled with moored galleys like the one that had borne her here, now also snugged into its berth. She stared around in shock, for there were at least twenty of them, and maybe more.
This
is
the Gull Islands,
she thought.
The Esurhites
are
here. Just as Abramm feared
.

They were escorted off the ship in the wake of the Broho—whose name she’d deduced was Xemai—along with a burly, bare-chested giant who followed after them, pushing a wooden, two-wheeled cart with a canvas bag in it. Sounds echoed confusingly in the great chamber, and the guano stench was now compounded with that of wet wood and rope and rock. As they climbed a moisture-slicked wooden stair, Maddie spied their sister galley gliding out of the entrance tunnel and heading for the last open slip in which to moor. Then the stair gave way to an upward-sloping tunnel and she saw no more.

Small red fires tucked into wall niches lit their way but did nothing to alleviate the damp and cold. She felt the darkness here, a creeping up her spine, a sense of minds not human watching her. Another stairway led into a gallery whose arched openings overlooked a vast, lanternlit chamber filled with uniformed men and the stink of sweat and waste and stale cooking grease. They appeared to be preparing for battle—until a few of them spotted her and Liza. Before long the crowd chattered excitedly, coarse voices rising above the general rumble to hurl what she supposed were vulgar suggestions.

More corridors and stairs led them outside again, where an ancient walled walkway overlooked a dish-shaped valley sloping down to a nearly landlocked cove of water. Red fires lined its shore among ranks of dark-clad soldiers. A column of violet light shot up from the water into the misty ceiling, looking very much like an etherworld corridor, though at least five times wider than the one Maddie had seen Abramm destroy in Graymeer’s last fall. Between it and the near shore stood a tall, square-topped platform with a wide wooden ramp sloping into the water, its midpoint passing directly through the violet column. Atop the platform a cluster of robed priests droned in chant, hands uplifted, and she could feel a crackling expectancy in the air.

The walkway curved around a cliff wall to a small circular chamber. Typical of ancient Ophiran villas, its outside wall was a filigree of arched openings that looked out on the valley, while inside it sported a high domed ceiling and three distinctive levels. The lowest and centermost was tiled in blue and white and surrounded a central, recessed basin of coals. Torches on long poles added light to the purple glow that filled the chamber and, as in the valley outside, dark-faced, armored soldiers stood guard. On the middle-level landing, seated on a padded bench directly across from the outer entrance, was an Esurhite wearing a gold-threaded tunic. Several others in plainer tunics attended him, and behind them all hung a series of long, vertical banners, purple with gold edges and bearing the dark orb of the Black Moon.

As Maddie’s party entered, the purple light flickered and a puff of air blew in around them, causing the men on the landing to look over sharply, staring not at the newcomers but at the valley behind them. When nothing more happened, however, they went back to their conversation, which seemed to be heated. Finally one of the men hurried off and the leader in the gold-threaded tunic turned his attention toward Maddie’s captors. A short, stocky man with powerful chest and shoulders, the Esurhite’s broad, swarthy face was scattered with dark moles, and his left cheekbone bore the crescent scar that marked him as a member of the Brogai warrior caste. His dark hair was pulled tightly into the standard warrior’s knot, revealing one ear lined with gold honor rings and the other torn half away, the earlobe missing entirely.

He addressed the Broho gruffly. Xemai threw out his chest and rattled off something in the Tahg as he gestured at the canvas in the cart, then at Maddie and her maid. The Brogai lord looked at her in surprise before leaning back to speak to one of his aides, who immediately hurried away.

Having dismissed Maddie for the moment, the leader turned his attention to the cart, indicating the giant should open the canvas bag and remove its contents. But though the strongman’s face reddened and his great muscles corded with the effort, he could not lift it from the cart. In the end, two of the soldiers had to help him upend the cart, and even then it teetered out of control to send its canvas-swathed contents crashing to the tile.