Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) (17 page)
BOOK: Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts)
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Bastards. Filthy bastards. Not just attacking, but cutting off the
Wind Treasure
’s only escape route first.
Wind Treasure
’s only escape route first.
“About!” the captain screamed. “Give me mains and forecourses. Fly, you whoresons! Fly, or we’re dead men!”
The
Wind Treasure
hove hard to port, her bow digging into the choppy strait, turning back the way she’d come. The men on the ratlines unfurled sails with frantic speed, and the sails dropped and caught and filled, bellying out with a wind that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. A hard wind.
Wind Treasure
hove hard to port, her bow digging into the choppy strait, turning back the way she’d come. The men on the ratlines unfurled sails with frantic speed, and the sails dropped and caught and filled, bellying out with a wind that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. A hard wind.
By the gods, a hard wind couldn’t have come at a better time. Ian stared up at the airibles—they were taking a hellish buffeting. One had been caught sideways; the wind tore at its envelope, and he saw the side ripple as if punched by an invisible first. The sailors cheered, and Ian cheered with them. The other airible managed to keep its nose into the wind, but the sudden gale pushed it off course, away from the
Wind Treasure
.
Wind Treasure
.
Sleroal saw what was happening and reversed himself. “Furl sails and drop anchor,” he bellowed, and as quickly as the sails had appeared, they disappeared. The anchors splashed into the strait, and in an instant the
Wind Treasure
was tugging at them, fighting the rising waves, but watching the two airibles blowing away.
Wind Treasure
was tugging at them, fighting the rising waves, but watching the two airibles blowing away.
Every man on the deck screamed defiance at the airibles, and they cheered their fantastic luck . . . and then a flash of brilliant green light in one of the airible gondolas shot out of a near-side port, lobbed gently through the air, and struck the center of the
Wind Treasure.
Fire blossomed, an eerie, silent, green chrysanthemum in the center of the deck. It consumed the mainmast and the men on its riggings, the captain and the wheel, and a perfect circle of deck in one burst of light. The stricken men hadn’t even had time to scream before they ceased to exist. The fire didn’t spread, it didn’t die out slowly, it didn’t leave embers in its wake. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. The sailors were too stunned to react. Ian stared at the airibles, where another flash warned him that another volley of the deadly fire was on its way.
Wind Treasure.
Fire blossomed, an eerie, silent, green chrysanthemum in the center of the deck. It consumed the mainmast and the men on its riggings, the captain and the wheel, and a perfect circle of deck in one burst of light. The stricken men hadn’t even had time to scream before they ceased to exist. The fire didn’t spread, it didn’t die out slowly, it didn’t leave embers in its wake. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. The sailors were too stunned to react. Ian stared at the airibles, where another flash warned him that another volley of the deadly fire was on its way.
“Cover,” he screamed. “Take cover! Incoming!”
Men fell off the ratlines in their hurry, and lay stunned on the deck. Others, more graceful or else just luckier, pounded over and around their fallen comrades and flung themselves down the ship’s hatches as the second green fireball descended. Ian judged arc and trajectory and guessed the thing would hit the foremast; he raced aft and was under cover in time to see foremast, forecastle, yards, sails, ratlines, part of the cabins, and another circle of deck disappear as if they’d never been. But the gale kept blowing, and the next fireball one of the airibles launched fell into the sea short of its target . . . and the next fell even farther away.
The ship hadn’t been holed. That was a mercy—or else planning on the part of the attackers. Boring clean through it with that green fire of theirs could have destroyed the thing Ian was certain they had come to get: Kait’s artifact. They wouldn’t risk that. They’d just disabled the ship.
But they hadn’t counted on that lovely, sudden, wonderful wind. The airibles blew out of range of their target and, while the sailors watched, almost out of sight. That was a hellish wind. Ian would have cheered, and certainly felt that his own survival deserved a cheer, but the survivors had much to do. The
Wind Treasure
was a wreck. They might manage to limp the ship to a safe port on just spritsails and mizzens, but they’d have to shore up the bowsprit to do it. They’d lost all but their aft square sails, all their jibs, and even the top spritsail, and they’d have to rig a tiller to the rudder since the ship’s wheel was gone. Nevertheless, with sufficient time, Ian thought he could get them to safety. To do it, the wind would have to remain in his favor and keep the airibles at bay.
Wind Treasure
was a wreck. They might manage to limp the ship to a safe port on just spritsails and mizzens, but they’d have to shore up the bowsprit to do it. They’d lost all but their aft square sails, all their jibs, and even the top spritsail, and they’d have to rig a tiller to the rudder since the ship’s wheel was gone. Nevertheless, with sufficient time, Ian thought he could get them to safety. To do it, the wind would have to remain in his favor and keep the airibles at bay.
A wave of nausea overcame him suddenly. It felt like it had rolled over him from outside, and when it left him, he was weaker, and plagued by a nagging feeling of sickness that hadn’t been there before.
But he’d no more than gotten control of that strange malaise than the wind died, cut off as if it had been the breath of a giant who had ceased to find amusement in blowing his toys around. Ian prayed that the stillness was just a pause between gusts, but before his eyes, the chop in the strait died away, leaving the water smooth as rolled glass. The
Wind Treasure
quit tugging at her anchor. The air took on a hush of expectancy. And in the far distance, tiny as minnows but graceful as eels swimming through the sky, the airibles got themselves under control and slowly turned back toward the
Wind Treasure
.
Wind Treasure
quit tugging at her anchor. The air took on a hush of expectancy. And in the far distance, tiny as minnows but graceful as eels swimming through the sky, the airibles got themselves under control and slowly turned back toward the
Wind Treasure
.
The battle was as good as lost. With the captain gone and the first mate nowhere to be seen, Ian declared himself temporary captain of the doomed ship and the lost fight and shouted, “All hands on deck! All hands on deck! Prepare to abandon ship! Prepare to abandon ship!”
They came running then, streaming from the hatches like mice from a flooded burrow. The sailors were first, and they swung the longboats free from their tie-downs and moved them over the ship’s rails with amazing alacrity. Behind them came Kait, dragging Hasmal, who—bleached white as death, and with his eyes rolled back in his head—looked like he’d already fought the losing half of a war. Ry came next, sword already in hand, with four of his five lieutenants carrying the halved, bloodless body of the fifth. They, too, looked drained, though not as near death as Hasmal—and they looked terrified.
“What happened?” Kait yelled as she dragged Hasmal toward the nearest of the three longboats. “Hasmal sacrificed to his god and raised a wind, and the airibles were out of range. We’d beaten them, and then suddenly the spell snapped like an overstretched cord. It whipped back on him and knocked him out—I thought he was going to die on me.” She looked at Ian and growled, “He still might.”
Ry stopped and stared at her. “The two of you
summoned
that wind? Ah, gods’ balls. . . . We set up a shield that blocked their spellfire. But we shielded the whole ship, so of course it broke your spell. We thought the wind was natural—I couldn’t feel the magic.”
summoned
that wind? Ah, gods’ balls. . . . We set up a shield that blocked their spellfire. But we shielded the whole ship, so of course it broke your spell. We thought the wind was natural—I couldn’t feel the magic.”
“Damned fools.”
Ry and his lieutenants claimed one of the longboats and swung it over the side of the ship into the glass-still sea. “Get in here,” he told her. “We’re going to have to run for it.”
Ian looked at the corpse they started to ship into the boat and said, “Leave your dead behind. The smell of death will have the gorrahs on us before we can commend his soul to the gods.” He couldn’t bear to look at the body. It had been sliced in half, the right side of the head, the right shoulder, right chest, and a portion of the outer right thigh removed neatly and bloodlessly, and the wound had been cauterized black and hard and shiny.
The sickness in Ian’s gut twisted tighter as he looked at the body and he turned away. The man had been Karyl—Ry’s cousin, so his as well, the player of the guitarra, the writer of insipid love songs. He’d been decent enough to Ian when they were children, and he’d been decent enough to him aboard the ship.
Ian felt only relief, though, that
Karyl
was dead and he still lived.
Karyl
was dead and he still lived.
Kait said, “I can’t get aboard yet. Take Has. I have to go back and get the Mirror of Souls.”
Ry grabbed her arm. “They’re coming.
Coming.
And the thing they want—at least as much as they want to see you and me dead—is the Mirror. If we take it, everything they want is in one neat package. They get it, they kill us . . . and one, two, three, everything is tied up pretty as a Ganjaday present.”
Coming.
And the thing they want—at least as much as they want to see you and me dead—is the Mirror. If we take it, everything they want is in one neat package. They get it, they kill us . . . and one, two, three, everything is tied up pretty as a Ganjaday present.”
“If we leave it, they’ll have it.”
Ry picked her up and flung her over his shoulder. “I have as much reason as you to want to keep the Mirror with us. But if we take it, they’ll
still
have it, only none of us will be alive to try to get it back.”
still
have it, only none of us will be alive to try to get it back.”
Kait twisted, braced her feet against Ry’s stomach, and shoved free. She landed on the deck on her back, but sprang to her feet faster than a cat could have. “We’ll
take
it. We’ll shield it, and us with it. But I’m not leaving without it.”
take
it. We’ll shield it, and us with it. But I’m not leaving without it.”
The two of them glared at each other, deadlocked.
“We’ll get it,” Ian said. “The three of us. But we have to hurry.”
While Ry’s surviving men lowered the unconscious Hasmal into the longboat and lowered the Allus ladder over the side into it, Ian, Ry, and Kait raced down into the hold and cut the bindings that held the Mirror of Souls to the bulkhead. They hauled it up the gangway and out onto the deck, careful to avoid touching the column of light that flowed upward through the center and also the jeweled controls on the rim. They ran a rope around the base and lowered it into the longboat. Then they scrambled down the Allus ladder. Both other longboats, and all of the
Wind Treasure
’s crew, were already gone.
Wind Treasure
’s crew, were already gone.
By the time Ian cast them off from the
Wind Treasure,
Hasmal lay on the bottom of the boat in front of the thwarts, the Mirror of Souls beside him. Ry’s lieutenants had already unshipped the long, two-man oars—the sweeps—and fitted them into the oarlocks. Ry, who had clambered down the Allus ladder before him, had taken the seat at the tiller; he glanced up at Ian as he dropped into the boat, then back at the sky.
Wind Treasure,
Hasmal lay on the bottom of the boat in front of the thwarts, the Mirror of Souls beside him. Ry’s lieutenants had already unshipped the long, two-man oars—the sweeps—and fitted them into the oarlocks. Ry, who had clambered down the Allus ladder before him, had taken the seat at the tiller; he glanced up at Ian as he dropped into the boat, then back at the sky.
Ian was the only sailor in the bunch, and the others’ inexperience showed. There were eight of them in a longboat that could have accommodated twenty; it had thwarts and sweeps for twelve—three sweeps on each side—and the escapees had readied all of the sweeps and sat facing the front of the boat. The empty sweep waited for him.
Ian snapped, “Face the rear, not the front—you can put your back into your stroke that way. The sweeps were made to be pulled by two—you’ll have Brethwan’s own time pulling one alone, much less trying to do it facing forward.” His eyes locked with Ry’s. “You’re going to take the last sweep. I’ll take the tiller.”
Ry said, “I’m already here, and I understand how a tiller works.”
“I’ll take the tiller because I know these islands,” Ian said. “I know where to hide in them, and where to get help and find friends. I sailed along these waters all those years that you were conniving in your little rat hole in our father’s House.”
Ry held his position for a moment and Ian began to think that they were going to have to fight each other right there. Then Ry nodded and took a seat at the sweep.
Ian gripped the tiller with both hands and said, “You’ll row on my count—”
Kait, at the middle port sweep, said, “Hasmal had a spell that might keep us unnoticed. Not that he’ll be able to do anything for us now . . . in his condition.” Hasmal’s eyes had opened, and his head lolled from side to side, but he still showed no sign that he understood anything that was happening around him.
“I can’t do anything that will make us disappear,” Ry said. “I can only create an energy wall to shield us from the magic they throw . . . and I don’t know who we’d ask to take the
rewhah.
We spread it out among everyone on the ship before.”
rewhah.
We spread it out among everyone on the ship before.”
Ian, like most Iberans, had spent his life thinking that magic was dead—a banished perversion of the past. He didn’t know what
rewhah
was, and he didn’t want to know.
rewhah
was, and he didn’t want to know.
Kait said, “That’s why we all feel so sick, then,” and glared at Ry’s back again, and Ian’s nausea reminded him that it was not yet gone. So
rewhah
was something that made people sick. It figured.
rewhah
was something that made people sick. It figured.
Kait continued, “I was going to say, I know his spell, though not well. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll do what I can to cast it for us, though I can’t promise it will work.”
Ian considered only for an instant. “We won’t reach cover before the airibles have us in sight. As we stand now, we’ll only survive if they pursue the other two longboats before us. If you can do something to change our chances, do it.”
Ry twisted to look over his shoulder. He said, “I don’t know
farhullen,
but if you’ll tell me how to help you, whatever I can do, I will.”
farhullen,
but if you’ll tell me how to help you, whatever I can do, I will.”
“I’ll need a
peth
—a blood-gift.” Kait hurried to Hasmal’s side, took his pouch from him, and from it extracted a wooden bowl with its interior surface plated in silver. “You can only give what is yours to give,” she said, working her way back to her oar. “Hasmal told me the Wolves always draw their magic from the lives of the people and things around them.”
peth
—a blood-gift.” Kait hurried to Hasmal’s side, took his pouch from him, and from it extracted a wooden bowl with its interior surface plated in silver. “You can only give what is yours to give,” she said, working her way back to her oar. “Hasmal told me the Wolves always draw their magic from the lives of the people and things around them.”
Ry nodded. “That’s the essence of magic. If we drew only from ourselves, we’d deplete ourselves—”
He stopped at the vehement shake of Kait’s head. “If you do that, we will have to fight the
rewhah,
and we might all die anyway.
Farhullen
has no backlash—part of the reason that you can’t see it, I suspect—but we’ll avoid the
rewhah
only if you do as I tell you. Give me only what is yours to give.
Your
blood,
your
will,
your
willing life-force. Nothing more. If any of your men know how to draw energy from themselves, I can use that, too. But only what belongs to you, and only what you give freely.”
rewhah,
and we might all die anyway.
Farhullen
has no backlash—part of the reason that you can’t see it, I suspect—but we’ll avoid the
rewhah
only if you do as I tell you. Give me only what is yours to give.
Your
blood,
your
will,
your
willing life-force. Nothing more. If any of your men know how to draw energy from themselves, I can use that, too. But only what belongs to you, and only what you give freely.”
Ian saw every other head on the boat nod in understanding. How could he be the only person aboard the boat who was ignorant of this forbidden spellcasting she spoke of? It was as if he was the only one present who knew one vast sea, and the only one who knew nothing of another.
Kait had drawn her ornate Galweigh dagger. She sliced the side of one of her fingers lightly, and let three drops of her blood fall into the bowl. She whispered something, and Ry, turned around on his thwart, watched her intently. When she finished, he drew his own dagger. She passed him the bowl and he followed her lead. Each of Ry’s men cut a finger and contributed to the little puddle of blood in the bowl, and to the whispered words. Trev, the last to hold the bowl, nodded toward Ian, but Kait said, “No. Ian sees only the outward form of what we’ve done. If he gave, he would not know what he gave, or how to limit his gift. Pass the bowl back to me.”
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