The Black King (Book 7) (53 page)

He could see the
Tashka
clearly. It was newer than his ships by decades. Faster and stronger. He was glad he wasn’t meeting it on the high seas. He probably wouldn’t have survived the encounter.

The fog crowded the edge of the river as if it were being held back by a wall. Was this a Sprite spell? He glanced at Targil’s ship. There were no Sprites on her deck. She was there with her Sailors, looking surprised at the sudden clarity.

A blond man stepped forward on the deck of the
Tashka
. He looked almost ill, his pale skin pasty even from this distance. There were Fey behind him, but Grantley couldn’t see them as clearly.

The blond man lifted his right arm over head. Then he flung his hand forward as if he were throwing a ball.

Which he was.

A huge ball of fire landed on the deck of Targil’s ship. Screams echoed from the Nyeians, but the Fey were grabbing sails and blankets and coats, trying to smother the fire out, the flames were spreading as if there were more than wet, rotted wood fueling it.

“Get assistance!” Grantley shouted. “Bird Riders. Wisps! Make the Wisps hurry!”

Nyeians were running below decks, his own people were coming above. Targil was shouting and some of her people were abandoning ship. Inky black smoke was rising.

The blond man had his head bowed as if he were gathering strength.

“Hurry!” Grantley shouted.

One of the Wisps found him. She was stick-thin, her long wings pressed against her back in fear.

“Go to the Infantry,” Grantley said. “Tell them that the
Tashka
, which was supposed to have the Black Heir on it, is actually an attack ship. Tell them to—.”

The blond man moved. He was raising his arm again.

“Tell them to attack,” Grantley said. “No holds barred.”

There wouldn’t be time to talk to another Wisp.

“Then,” Grantley said, speaking as fast as he could, “after you’ve delivered that message, go to the Black Queen and tell her that it looks like her brother is leading an attack force. Tell her to prepare to take him prisoner. Warn her.”

A ball of fire was heading toward his deck. It looked larger than the one that went for Targil’s, but he couldn’t tell the exact size. He just knew that it meant he wouldn’t survive.

“
Go!
” he said.

The Wisp rose in the air as the fireball hit behind him. He heard it smash into the deck as if the ball had weight and substance. Fire spread like water through the wood.

He glanced at Targil’s ship. It was a smoking hull, cracked and sinking. There were Fey in the water swimming toward shore.

“Abandon ship!” Grantley shouted. “Abandon ship!”

The Nyeians were the first to jump. The fire was growing, the flames as high as his emergency boats. There was fire licking at his coat. Only the Domestic-spell was keeping it off—and that wouldn’t last long.

The fog was closing around them again, making the smoke thick. He kept shouting at his crew to abandon ship, but between the smoke and the fog, he couldn’t tell if anyone was obeying. Then he heard faint splashes and knew that some were.

A hundred Fey would go down. They were below decks. They wouldn’t get out in time.

He ran to the railing. He couldn’t see Targil’s ship any more. He couldn’t see the
Tashka
. All he knew was that fire had moved to the side of the ship, eating the wood like locusts attacked plants.

There were screams all around him, hideous screams made more powerful by the fog. He knew his duty as a soldier. It was to stay with the ship. But he had only been a soldier for a few hours. He couldn’t stomach dying.

He gripped the now-burning railing and plunged over the side, falling deep into the icy water of the Cardidas. There were people splashing around him, and flaming bits of wood falling into the water.

If he swam carefully, he would get to shore. If he was careful, he wouldn’t drown. He kicked hard and started forward, wood hitting the water around him and hissing as the flames went out. His hands would hit bodies, bits of the ships, occasionally someone live who grabbed at him.

He would shake them off. They had to survive on their own, just like he did.

Survive to tell what the Black Heir had done to his own people.

FIFTY-FOUR

THE SMELL OF SMOKE mixed with the damp. The screams, the sounds of flames, the bodies splashing into the water all sent chills through Gift. He glanced at Arianna who was staring at the fog as if she could see through it. The fog was brownish yellow now because of the reflected flames and the smoke. She had never ordered an attack before, but she had spent years knowing she might have to.

Gift went to the rail and took the slippery wood between his fingers. He could see water below, churning and foaming, filled with debris. The ships were on the port side now. The
Tashka
was passing them.

Con came up beside him. Gift hadn’t even realized Con was on deck. “Some of those people in the water are alive. Shouldn’t we rescue them?”

Gift had been trying not to think of that. “We can’t.”

“But now that they are no longer a force, they aren’t our enemies.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Gift said.

“You think there might be another Assassin among them?”

A long wail pierced the air, rising above the other screams like a signal. Someone was in great pain.

“I don’t know,” Gift said. “I can’t risk my sister, my uncle, my cousin, or my child to find out.”

Con frowned at him, and Gift realized that no one besides him, Skya and Xihu knew about the child. That had changed now.

“I think I’ll go below then,” Con said. “There are prayers that need to be said.”

Gift didn’t contradict him, but he wondered how a man who had slain Fey himself could think himself worthy of asking a god—any god—to save other lives. Gift’s beliefs were more Fey than not. He had seen a Mystery, so he believed in the Powers, but in the Powers as once-living Fey who were just as capricious dead as they had been alive.

They didn’t seem to care for the morality of things. Sometimes, he thought they were more interested in the entertainment. Well, he hoped they’d gotten their enjoyment from this afternoon’s festivities. He hadn’t.

The screaming was growing fainter and the debris in the water had lessened. He was watching the foam on the surface. It was red.

There was blood on the water.

Gift beckoned to Coulter, but apparently Coulter didn’t notice. Instead, Arianna came to his side. Gift pointed down. “Do you think that was what the Vision meant?”

She stared for a long moment. The blood was like a slick on the surface, leaving a stain on the side of the ship. How had that happened? Most of the injuries should have been from burns, not from open wounds.

“I don’t see anything, Gift,” she said.

He pointed. “See? The blood on the water.”

“The water’s no different than it’s always been,” she said. “Most of the debris from the ships is gone.”

Her voice was curiously flat as if she had worn out all of her emotions.

Maybe he had too. He could see blood, though, a thick layer of it over the water’s surface.

“How come I can see it?” he whispered. “How come I can see it and still talk to you?”

“A Warning, maybe,” Arianna said. “Half a Vision.”

He closed his eyes. It wasn’t over yet.

FIFTY-FIVE

ARIANNA STARED AT THE WATER, the charred bits of wood floating in it, the clothing. The occasional body. Gift had closed his eyes as if he were in pain.

She didn’t see blood. Just destruction.

And it was only beginning. They both knew that. Gift had gotten them this far. She would get them the rest of the way.

She left his side before he opened his eyes.

The deck was quiet. Coulter still stood where he had been when he released the last fireball. She knew he hated doing these things, but they had no choice. This time, she wasn’t going to comfort him. He had to learn how to fight on his own.

The Sprites were gone, and Con had gone below after he had spoken to Gift. Skya leaned against the deck house and Lyndred was slumped beside her, head buried in her knees. That meant no one had told Bridge what was going on. He was probably curious. But that wasn’t Arianna’s job right now either.

She went up to the first Nyeian she saw. “Find Beak for me.”

He nodded and disappeared into the fog. She tilted her head into the moisture-laden air. It was rather nice to stand in the cold and damp and to be as warm as she would have been inside a palace. Maybe she was getting used to this form after all.

Within moments, Beak stood in front of her. Beak had put on pants and a cloak that beaded with moisture. Her feathered hair was beaded too. Apparently she had been on the deck watching everything instead of below like so many others had been.

“Good,” Arianna said. “I need to send you on another mission. You’re not too tired?”

Beak’s thin smile was nearly hidden by her nose. “It doesn’t mater how tired I am. I’ll do what you need.”

Arianna nodded. She believed that of Beak. “I want you to get another Bird Rider—one you trust as much as yourself—and fly west. I’m convinced you’ll find either more ships or some ground troops or both. When you do, I want you to return to us. Report their position and stay.”

“All right.”

“Then the other Rider should continue until he sees more. If that means he goes all the way to Jahn, so be it. I want to know what surprises Rugad has in store for us.”

“Jahn and back?” Beak asked.

“Yes,” Arianna said.

“You’ll need a strong Rider, then.” She took a deep breath. “We don’t have many left.”

Arianna gazed into the fog. She hadn’t really discussed the Assassin’s killings. She didn’t want to focus on the losses. Not yet.

“Do you have anyone who will work for us?”

“One,” Beak said. “He’s young. It’s better if I go to Jahn. I’ll be able to see things he won’t.”

Arianna didn’t like it, but she had to accept it. “His name?”

“Lesley.”

Arianna winced. Young enough to be born after the Nye campaigns and named in the Nyeian tradition.

“He’s a Sparrow Rider.” Beak offered that last as if she were worried about Arianna’s response.

Arianna made a sound of disgust. “No more Gull Riders?”

“A few,” Beak said, “but none who would serve you as well as Lesley.”

Arianna sighed. She trusted Beak. “All right. But have him return as soon as you see what lies ahead. I want to know how big a force, and where it looks like they’re going. I do
not
want you talk with them. Is that clear?”

“Very.”

“Good,” Arianna said. “Tell Lesley I expect to see him shortly. I wish you the best flight of your life.”

Beak smiled. “I have a hunch it will be the most interesting.”

She left. Arianna watched the fog swallow her. Then she looked across the deck. Gift was still peering into the waters below. Coulter had joined him. That was good. They would talk to each other. They needed to. They were very similar in ways that she didn’t have time to think about.

Lyndred had disappeared, but Skya was still leaning against the deck house. She was watching Gift, a look of contemplation and sadness on her face.

Arianna walked toward her. Skya noticed her long before she arrived, and watched her progress across the deck. They hadn’t spoken to each other much. Skya’s chin raised slightly as Arianna stopped in front of her.

“How skilled a Warder are you?” Arianna asked.

Skya shrugged.

“I am not asking these questions out of curiosity,” Arianna snapped. She didn’t have time for moods and everyone’s seemed to have changed once they caught the scent of smoke on the wind.

“I have been a guide for a long time,” Skya said. “My Warding days are long past.”

“Yet you helped Coulter with a spell that made the fireballs catch wet wood, and you also were able to protect him when Matt shouted through their Link.”

“I still have some of my skills.”

Arianna bit back anger. But she made herself remain calm as she said, “Can you work with the Domestics to create cloaks that will shield the wearer from view?”

“Like Spies?”

“A Spy’s magick shields him from view,” Arianna said. “I want to have the cloak do that.”

Skya frowned and bit her lower lip. “I’m not used to doing Domestic spells.”

“Why didn’t you tell my brother that then, when he asked you to devise something that will allow the light to pass through the jewels he collected?”

“He told you that?” Skya sounded surprised.

“He asked me for my advice.” Arianna crossed her arms. “I’m the one who said the Domestics might be able to come up with something.”

“They weren’t willing to,” Skya said. “They thought it a weapon.”

“It’s a tool,” Arianna said.

“I know. I told them that.” Skya straightened to her full height. She was as tall as Arianna. She hadn’t noticed that before. So, Skya did have a powerful magick. She just hated to use it. “They’re making it now.”

“Good,” Arianna said. “Now I want the cloaks.”

“What for?”

“You don’t have any reason to know.”

“If I’m developing the system, I do.”

“You’re developing the cloaks to save my life and my brother’s. Is that enough for you?”

Skya lowered her head. Then she nodded, still not meeting Arianna’s gaze. “I can devise the spell that you want. The Domestics can do it. How many cloaks do you need?”

“At least five,” Arianna said.

“Five?” Skya raised her head. “We don’t have the time or materials for that.”

“Then use existing cloaks. But have them done in a day. Can you do that and finish the tool that Gift wanted?”

Skya nodded.

“Good. Then get to it.”

Skya didn’t move, but she smiled at Arianna slowly. “You’re just like him, you know.”