Sure enough, members of Calisto’s crew had long, wooden planks with chains and hooks. When the Third Abyss sailed close enough, the long boards were lowered with a slam and clank. The hooks dug into the wood of the enemy vessel, allowing the boards to stay stable. The chains were used to help the pirates balance themselves as they ran across.
“I’m going,” I said to Fain, my voice a mix of mine and Luthair’s. “Follow me.”
Unlike water, which hindered my shadow-step, the planks were perfect. I slid into the darkness, slithered across the wood, and emerged on the deck of The King’s Revenge. The ship was massive, but not as large as Calisto’s. Perhaps it was a frigate or some other combat vessel.
The enemy pirates ran from one railing to the other, trying to arm the cannons and secure the ruined sails at the same time. When the fighting between crews broke out, it was difficult to tell who was who. These seadogs all dressed alike—dark coats, button shirts, loose pants with thick belts—and the general lack of hygiene brought the whole look together.
Pirate crews didn’t have uniforms, but fortunately, thanks to the marks on everyone’s neck, I could distinguish them. All of Calisto’s crew had the three horizontal lines, 三, whereas Redbeard’s crew had a cracked cutlass as their tattoo.
That made things easier.
I withdrew Retribution, the innate power of the black blade another comfort.
When the enemy pirates noticed my presence, they staggered to a halt and moved away, obviously taken aback by the appearance of a knightmare arcanist. Some of them withdrew pistols with unsteady hands. They used the ramrods to load their weapons with powder and bullets.
I lifted my hand and evoked terrors. With targeted precision, I affected only the enemy crew, leaving them crippled. I had no idea how effective this would be until I saw Calisto’s crew take advantage of the situation. Each person I stunned with fear was cut down. In a few moments’ time, I had devastated the enemy deckhands.
A gunner jumped off a large cannon and charged me with a cutlass. I stepped through the shadows, appeared behind him, and stabbed him through the back, just under the ribs. The hit had impact and weight, and I felt the man shudder as I withdrew the weapon from his flesh.
Ice appeared across the deck of the ship, frosting the planks and hindering the advance of Calisto’s pirates. A man with a cutlass tattoo strode across the frost-coated deck. His wendigo ran to his side. Unlike Fain’s wendigo, this one had massive antlers protruding from its skull face. The points of the antlers were crimson-soaked with blood, and when the beast opened its mouth, pink saliva spilled onto the deck. His wolf-like body was larger, meaning it had to be older than Wraith.
The man making the ice had to be the first mate of The King’s Revenge—the arcanist mark on his forehead confirmed him to be bonded with the wendigo.
Whereas most people had white to their eyes, this man preferred the color of bloodshot. His nose was also black and blue, as though frostbitten—a disgusting blueberry of a snout. He glowered in my direction, his lip curled in disgust.
More pirates rushed up from the hold, each carrying weapons. The fighting intensified as another round of cannons was fired. It shook The King’s Revenge, but the frigate wasn’t done yet.
The wendigo arcanist moved closer to me. He attacked members of Calisto’s crew, grabbing at their necks and then manipulating their flesh, closing the windpipe as though it were moldable clay. When he removed his blood-soaked hand, his victim could no longer breathe.
“When did Calisto start runnin’ with a knightmare arcanist?” he asked, speech slightly slurred, still heading in my direction. “Who’re you?”
“Your demise,” I said.
I hefted my blade.
His wendigo disappeared in an instant, invisible.
“You’ll regret comin’ here,” the first mate said. “Redbeard will grind your eldrin down to dust.”
I leapt back into the shadows, avoiding the attack from the wendigo that I knew was coming. I emerged on top of the enemy quarterdeck. It overlooked the battle happening on the main deck, and now was my moment.
With Luthair, I felt more in control of myself. I cleared my thoughts and visualized the magic in the metaphorical cup overflowing.
My arcanist, Luthair said telepathically. Manifesting an aura would be—
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’ll work.”
When I forced my magic, I sensed every pathway and movement through my body. If I pushed a bit further, I knew I could make my eclipse aura appear.
A few seconds in, I doubled over, pained from my stomach to my chest. Still, I pushed through, but a piece of me imagined both Illia and Biyu. They must’ve been terrified when their eyes had been cut out—beyond anything I could even imagine. These pirates had hurt them, and while I didn’t fully understand why they had, it didn’t matter. I probably shouldn’t have thought of Illia or Biyu since my anger returned in full force, but that couldn’t be helped.
I intended to rip this whole damn boat apart.
The pain flared in my spine and legs, threatening to steal my ability to stand, but I soldiered through the process.
And like waves breaking on a shore—it happened.
Magic poured from my being and affected the surrounding area. A ball of darkness moved in front of the midafternoon sun, blotting out the light with a false eclipse. Shadows blanketed everything from the bow of The King’s Revenge to the stern of the Third Abyss. The supernatural dark attacked lights, snuffing lanterns or dimming glowstones.
The false night empowered me. I had been in pain, but when I took my next breath, the sting had vanished.
And yet…
My anger had amplified. Jozé had warned me about manifesting an aura improperly. He had said the effects would be unstable, and my aura immediately proved him correct.
The darkness around the sun bled a waterfall of ink into the water, creating a disturbing effect, as though the sky had been stabbed. The shadows on both ships moved with aggression, slithering and darting. While the effects created a nightmare realm, I still felt as though I had some control.
You need to calm yourself, Luthair telepathically said. My arcanist, you can’t maintain this long while you’re agitated.
I didn’t need much time.
“What’s going on?” the enemy wendigo arcanist shouted.
He became invisible, but every step he took agitated my shadows. His presence wasn’t as hidden as he thought it was.
“Fain?” I asked aloud.
“Yes?” he replied, his voice coming from the other side of the quarterdeck.
“Come here.”
He reached my side and dropped his own invisibility. The darkness prevented him from seeing, and he had to grope around the open air before he found my shoulder. I touched him, augmented his magic, and allowed him to see in the darkness for a brief time.
“Kill as many pirates as you can,” I commanded. “I can’t keep this aura up for much longer.”
He nodded, his eyes now adjusted to the inky shadows.
Fain leapt off the quarterdeck, and I went to channeling my desires into my magic. With the control of a novice, I willed the shadows to strike out at the enemy pirates. The dark tendrils slashed at my enemies like knives. When I focused harder, I could create chains and hooks. They tore men apart with supernatural strength, sloppy and inaccurate, but with the speed to catch men off guard.
And although I loathed to think it, my false eclipse synergized well with Calisto’s crew. The kappa glasses they wore allowed them to see through the dark. While our enemies were confused, Calisto’s pirates attacked without hesitation, unhindered by the eclipse. Pistols were fired, cutlasses were run through hundreds of men, and the cannons were shot a third time.
The first mate of The King’s Revenge dashed up the stairs onto the quarterdeck. I sensed his footfalls, but I refused to turn in his direction. With Retribution held in my hand, I waited.
His wendigo lunged forward.
>
If the monster managed to penetrate Luthair’s armor and then my flesh, the debilitating disease on the wendigo’s fangs would harm me for weeks to come. Not only that, but it would spread the arcane plague to Luthair himself, and I still couldn’t stand the thought.
Instead, I pivoted and slashed with all my might, hoping to catch the beast by surprise.
It worked. My blade flew through the wendigo as though it were air, blood spurting across the deck. I had cut off the beast’s front leg and slashed through most of its chest. The wolf-like creature dropped its invisibility and then hit the deck with a yowl.
Then the arcanist evoked ice across the deck. He created half an inch of thick rime, and if he continued to evoke the ice, he could create more and more, until I was trapped in place with thick frost. Instead of giving him the chance, I focused my shadows on the deck, tearing at the ice and breaking it away.
The wendigo arcanist ran for me.
I held up my hand and evoked terrors, surprised to see the darkness also leapt toward my enemy. The dark tendrils thrashed around, cutting the man and his injured wendigo as though fueled by my rage. The arcanist’s invisibility broke.
He dashed away from the shadows and backed up to the ship’s railing. Could the arcanist see me? He seemed able to locate my general direction, but when he reached for his pistol, his bloodshot eyes never fixated on me.
“Surrender, wretch,” he growled as he readied his firearm, even going so far as to load a special blood-coated bullet. “Or I’ll make sure you’re plague-ridden if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I’m already plague-ridden,” I whispered, my double-voice haunting enough to disturb the dead.
I slipped through the shadows, emerged in front of him, and plunged my sword into his sternum. Even through the bone, Retribution barely registered the contact, and now I understood why. The blade sliced through magical targets without resistance—mystical creatures and arcanist—but not with mortals.
The brutal attack had left the man momentarily paralyzed, either from dread or pain, I didn’t know.
The realization that bloomed across his face made it appear as though he regretted every decision that had brought him here. He grabbed my arm, no doubt trying to manipulate my flesh, but he couldn’t affect Luthair’s shadow-armor.
I withdrew my sword from his chest and kicked him overboard. The rampaging shadows under the darkness of my eclipse aura attacked him as he fell. Another round of ice sprouted across the quarterdeck, this time binding my plate armor sabatons in place.
Behind you, Luthair said.
The three-legged wendigo charged with his antlers. I held up my arm, blocking the worst of the attack with my gauntlets. The wendigo snapped at me, his fangs clacking with each rapid miss. I backhanded the beast and then sliced through its head with a quick slash of Retribution. Its skull slid away into two pieces.
My breaths came in shallow bursts. I couldn’t maintain my focus or my rage. The eclipse aura broke apart, giving way to the scarlet rays of dusk filtered by the fog. The surreal shift from darkness to orange-red felt more like a dream than reality, but all I could think about was Luthair.
I’m unharmed, he said telepathically. Remember that I am armor, designed to defend against such attacks.
“Right,” I muttered. “I understand.”
The King’s Revenge slanted hard to one side. It was sinking.
Desperate to return to the Third Abyss, I broke free of the ice, slipped into the shadows, and then emerged a few feet later, my magic burning in my veins. Instead of pushing myself, I ran for the stairs and leapt down them three at a time.
The deck of The King’s Revenge… It might as well have been a graveyard. Or perhaps a charnel house.
Corpses and blood covered everything from the barrels to the railing. Calisto’s barbaric men hadn’t hesitated, and the iced and flesh-torn corpses told me Fain had complied with my commands. Captain Redbeard’s crew had been massacred—at least, all those who had dared to show their faces on the deck.
The planks between vessels were in the process of being pulled back. The crew of the Third Abyss didn’t want their ship damaged once The King’s Revenge slid beneath the waves. I stepped onto the rime-covered plank and almost slipped. An invisible hand grabbed my shoulder and kept me stable.
“Careful,” Fain said.
I nodded and dashed across the rest of the plank. At the last moment, I shadow-stepped onto the deck of the Third Abyss. My breath caught when I emerged from the darkness.
Calisto and Hellion stood opposite a reaper merged with its arcanist—Captain Redbeard.
38
The King’s Revenge
Sunset settled over the Third Abyss.
Calisto’s crew stayed far from the center deck, even as they looted what they could from The King’s Revenge. No one approached, no one readied their weapons—it was clear that Calisto and Redbeard would fight with no interference.
The only reaper arcanist I had ever known was Jevel, the master arcanist from the Huntsman Guild. I had assumed all reapers had rusted scythes and chains, but after seeing Redbeard, I realized that Jevel was a joke.
Redbeard’s reaper was primarily a hooded robe of ebony. Gold-thread writing lined the hems—the names of all its victims stitched into the reaper, like a fabric tattoo—and the elegant way the robe fluttered made it seem eldritch and powerful. Despite the wind, the cloth of the reaper spread in all directions, dark and ominous, practically shadows itself.
And the scythe Redbeard carried wasn’t worn or chipped. The blade shone with a supernatural edge, the metal glistening in the lowlight of dusk. When Redbeard swished it through the air, I swear I could hear the deadly slice of the weapon, as though it had severed the wind.
I couldn’t see Captain Redbeard’s face—the hood of his reaper hung low, obscuring his forehead, eyes, and nose. His beard, on the other hand, was plenty visible: a black mat of hair with a single red-orange streak from the side of the chin down to the frayed ends.
Calisto withdrew a cutlass from a sheath tied to his belt.
“You’ve always been recklessly treacherous,” Redbeard said, his voice mature and clear, the very definition of authoritative—and somehow singular, even when merged, as though Redbeard had forced his own voice over his eldrin’s. “But attacking a ship that’s also sworn loyalty to the Autarch? This will be your final mistake.”
It wasn’t a conversation. Redbeard didn’t wait for Calisto to reply or comment—Redbeard lifted a hand and evoked terrors so strong that the crew of the Third Abyss collapsed to its knees, most caught off guard and reduced to shrieking.
As a knightmare arcanist, I was immune. Fain, on the other hand, lost his invisibility as he crumpled to the deck. He took shallow breaths, his body trembling as unseen horrors played in his mind’s eye.
Calisto grabbed at the side of his head and staggered backward, but he didn’t fall victim like the others. Tense and fueled by indomitable willpower, he shook off the worst of the magic-induced nightmares.
“Hellion,” Calisto growled through clenched teeth.
The disgusting manticore removed his face mask, revealing the face of an old man. The skin tone matched the unnatural white of his fur, and the wrinkles ran deep from the corners of his eyes. His mouth, large enough to fit three rows of teeth, reached the bottoms of his ears.
Looking at the face of a true form manticore caused the individual to freeze, bound by powerful magics. I had made the mistake of looking—I hadn’t remembered the danger until it was too late.
A tingling sensation ran down the length of my spine and continued, ending at my toes.
Redbeard must’ve known of the danger. He kept his gaze low, and as long as he didn’t look directly at Hellion’s face, he would be fine. But could he fight blind? If Hellion kept his mask off, Redbeard would always be at risk of paralysis.
Perhaps that was why Redbeard dashed for the manticore, his scythe ready.
Calisto lung
ed.
He was fast. Way faster than any normal man had a right to be.
Before Redbeard could reach Hellion, he had to pivot and swing his scythe in a wide arc. It caught Calisto across the chest, slicing through the shirt, right above the stomach. Blood splashed across the grayish ghostwood of the deck, but that wasn’t enough to stop Calisto’s assault.
Calisto thrust with his cutlass. It drove deep into Redbeard’s gut, adding another pool of crimson blood to the Third Abyss.
I thought Redbeard might be finished, but I should’ve known better.
In the next instant, the blood on the ship moved as though sentient, spreading out as far as possible. Redbeard “fell” backward, seemingly disappearing into the blood like I would disappear into the shadows whenever I shadow-stepped. Redbeard reemerged from the splatters of blood on the opposite side of the ship. The scarlet didn’t stain his clothes—it simply acted as a gateway for his movement.
Calisto and Hellion turned around.
With a quick motion of his hand, Redbeard willed the blood on the deck to lift up like knives and slash everything in their path. He sliced the mainmast, the sails, some of Calisto’s crewmates still cowering on the deck, and large portions of the rigging. The blood daggers tore deep gouges in the wood and shredded the sails. Anyone caught by the attack basically lost a limb—if they didn’t die outright.
Hellion leapt out of the way, his weight enough to shake the ship with each paw landing on the deck. Calisto suffered minor lacerations, but that was only because he was closing the distance between himself and Redbeard. In half a second, Calisto was by Redbeard’s side, the wound on his stomach still bleeding.
“No one gets away with attackin’ my ship,” Calisto growled.
Technically, manticore arcanists had accelerated healing—more so than average arcanists. But at the same time, injuries dealt by reaper arcanists prevented magical healing. Would those abilities cancel each other out? Could Calisto heal the wounds he had suffered so far? I didn’t know. I wasn’t an expert on mystical creatures. All I could do was watch.
Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4) Page 37