“Well, we ain’t dead,” Noah said. “You can see that.”
Flint turned back to Fen. “Why are you here?”
“Like I said, it’s a long story. But the short of it is we’re working with Lowellin.”
Flint raised a gray eyebrow. “That’s a strange bedfellow.”
“It’s a strange story too.”
Flint looked around. “It looks like I’ve got the time.” He went over and picked up the box that the previous guards used as a seat. He sat down and took a pipe out of his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind if I have a little smoke. The smell down here isn’t too friendly, in case you haven’t noticed.” He took out a pouch of tobacco and began packing the bowl.
Helped now and then by his squad mates when he left out something they thought important, Fen poured out the whole story to Flint, leaving nothing out.
“You could break out of there right now?” Flint interrupted to ask. “Turn the bars to clay or something?”
“I could,” Fen said. “But it might take a bit. I can still feel Stone power in the distance, and I have some inside me of course, but it’s far away. It’s probably the sea, blocking me. The further I am from the ground, the less I can feel it.”
“And you say Lowellin did this to you?”
“To my father. Somehow it was passed down to me.”
Flint puffed on his pipe. “He’s been planning this for a long time then.”
“It seems like it.”
Flint took the pipe out of his mouth and pointed at Fen with the stem. “How do you know this isn’t also part of his plan?”
“I don’t,” Fen admitted.
“Once before he tried to control you and use you for his own ends, when that shadow thing bit you. But it didn’t work. You got away. Maybe he figures this is an easier way of controlling you.”
Fen exchanged a look with Cowley. “It could be.”
Flint tapped out his pipe and put it away. “What’s the plan going forward?”
Fen sighed. “There isn’t one. Lowellin got us in with the slaves so we could get on this ship. He said to wait until we hear from him.”
Flint shook his head. “He’s a sneaky one. On the surface the Ichthalids are the power behind the throne, and Lowellin is nothing but a puppet. But things aren’t always what they seem. That one’s playing a long game. He’s working plans inside plans.”
“I told them it was a bad idea,” Noah said. “They wouldn’t listen.”
“You wanted out of that dungeon as bad as anyone,” Cowley retorted. “Don’t act like you didn’t.”
“We didn’t have a lot of choices, Sarge,” Fen said.
“Not so many,” Flint agreed, “but probably more than you realized. Lowellin and the others have you jumping and fetching so much I’m surprised you can think at all.”
Flint looked them all over as if taking the measure of each one. Fen realized he was sitting up straighter and saw he wasn’t the only one. There wasn’t one of them who wanted to disappoint the man who’d been almost a father figure to them.
“You know I’ll do anything I can to help you lads, right?” Nods all around. “And I’m not the only one. The men don’t like what’s happening, not at all. There’s a few who are all in with the invaders of course.” He waved them off as if they were nothing. “But we know how to take care of them. What I’m saying is, when the time comes, we’ll rise up and follow you.” He was looking at Fen as he finished.
Fen swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t know if I’m the right man for—”
“Of course, you don’t. No great leader ever does. It’s the idiots who are sure of themselves, sure they’re right even as they lead their men over a cliff. It’s okay to doubt yourself until it’s time to act. Then you let all that go and just do. You hear me?”
Fen nodded slowly.
“I’ll spread the word around real quiet to men I’m sure I can trust, mostly sergeants and such. We’ll be there when you need us.”
Chapter 28
“Have you noticed?” Strout said in a low voice to Fen. It was late in the day by the angle of the sunlight that slanted in through the hatch. The slaves were speaking to each other in low, urgent voices. Eyes kept going to the open hatch. One woman was crying.
“They’re afraid of something,” Cowley said.
“Something’s about to happen,” Fen said. “Maybe we should ask one of them about it.”
But before they could, there was the sound of booted feet at the top of the stairs. The slaves all jumped to their feet and bunched up in the backs of the cells, a frightened babble coming from them.
“I think we’re about to find out,” Cowley said. He and the rest of the squad rose and moved away from the cell door. “Get behind me,” Cowley told Fen.
When Fen started to protest, Strout gave him a hard shove and also positioned himself between Fen and the door.
“It’s not the time to be a hero, you idiot,” Strout hissed. “Whatever happens, you have to live or none of this is for anything.”
Fen started to argue, then subsided. It rankled, but Strout was right.
A half dozen soldiers came down the stairs. The one in the lead was a burly corporal carrying a big iron key. “Dinner time!” he called, a big, ugly grin on his face. “Who wants to be next?”
Fen knew then why the slaves were so frightened. The realization made him feel sick.
“C’mon, Slats,” one of the other soldiers said. “That’s pretty bad, even for you. This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, what do you care?” the corporal replied. “They’re just dirty Maradi.”
“They’re still people, ain’t they? And feeding them to those bastards…it ain’t right.” From the looks on the other soldiers’ faces, Fen could see most felt the same way. The thought that more people were going to die to feed the unnatural powers of the sorcerers made him wish he would have had a chance to kill all of them.
“Since when did you get so soft anyway, Ronie?” Slats said. “I didn’t know they were recruiting little girls for the army now.”
Ronie gave him a dark look but didn’t reply.
The corporal stood in the middle of the hold, swinging his head side to side. “Who’s going to be on the menu tonight?” With one thick finger he pointed fore and aft alternately, at the same time chanting a children’s rhyme. “‘Tittle, tattle, who’s it going to be? Tittle, tattle, you or me?’” At the end he turned toward the cell holding Fen and his friends. “Guess a couple of you are the lucky ones tonight. Don’t everyone crowd around now.”
Moans arose from the slaves in Fen’s cell as the heavy door was unlocked and swung open. The corporal entered the cell, his sword in his hand. Several of the soldiers followed him, their weapons out as well. He approached the cowering slaves, his eyes glinting in the lantern light. There were stifled cries as everyone jostled to get further away from him.
“Come now,” he cried with false good humor. “Don’t be so upset. Think of yourselves as the suckling pigs chosen for the All Saint’s Feast. You should be honored.” His laugh was an ugly, braying sound. “Now, who’s it going to be?”
There was sudden movement to Fen’s left, and he turned his head in time to see one of the slaves push a woman toward the corporal. She lost her balance and stumbled forward, hands reaching. Instinctively, Fen grabbed her arm to keep her from falling, but her momentum carried the two of them out in front of the burly corporal.
Slats grinned at them through missing teeth. “What have we here? Volunteers!” His men started forward.
Cowley jumped between the soldiers and Fen. “Take me instead,” he said.
The corporal stared at him in confusion. “What?”
“I’ll go in his place,” Cowley said.
“I will too,” Strout said, stepping forward.
The man looked side to side, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Cowley said. “We’ll go with you. No problem, no
struggle.”
“Why?”
“What do you care?” Strout said. “Just two more slaves, right?”
Slats’ lower lip stuck out as he pondered this. He frowned. “Something don’t smell right.” He motioned with his sword. “You two move aside. We’re taking the first two.”
At that the rest of the squad took a step forward as well, spreading out a bit to give themselves fighting room. Slats and the other soldiers raised their weapons.
“You want me to cut you all down right now, is that it?” Slats asked, his face going dark. “I’ll soak this floor with your blood.”
The two sides faced off, about a heartbeat away from a paroxysm of violence. Fen put his hand on Cowley’s shoulder and pushed him aside. “No,” he said. He looked at the corporal. “There’s no need for trouble. I’ll go.”
The look Cowley gave him was pleading, but Fen shook his head.
“It will be okay,” he said to the young woman. He desperately hoped it would be. It had occurred to him that Lowellin was probably near the sorcerers. He didn’t believe the Shaper would stand by and let Fen be killed. At least, he hoped so. If not, then he intended to fight. He at least would have a chance against the sorcerers. None of his friends would.
He stepped forward. The young woman followed. She was shaking, and tears were running down her face, but she had her head up. “It’s almost a relief,” she said under her breath. “No more wondering when it will be my time.”
Fen patted her arm, and side by side they left the cell. With the soldiers following, they headed for the stairs. At the bottom step, he looked back. His friends were staring at him with stricken looks on their faces.
At the top of the stairs, Corporal Slats said, “To the back.”
“It’s called the stern,” one of the other soldiers said. “Haven’t you learned anything yet?”
Slats cursed at him. “I don’t care what it’s called. Once I get off this boat I’m never setting foot on another one as long as I live.”
The captain’s cabin was in the stern. There was a short flight of stairs that led down to a small deck. Across the deck was the wooden door that led into the captain’s cabin. Corporal Slats opened the door and waved them through. Beyond was a short hallway, a door on each side, and a door at the end. Sunlight showed under the door at the end. Slats pointed with his sword.
“Right through there.”
Now that they were close, his bluster had disappeared. His face looked pasty, and Fen noticed a tremor in the sword. It would be easy to disarm him now, he thought. The other soldiers guarding them weren’t prepared. He could probably take them down before they recovered.
And then what? Fight the whole ship?
He strode toward the door, the young woman following him. It occurred to him that he was putting a lot of faith in Lowellin. Which was starting to look more and more foolish.
Fen opened the door. The corporal said, “The prisoners as requested, sirs,” shoved them inside and jerked the door shut. The impact shook the cabin.
Large windows on the far side of the room bathed the cabin in late-afternoon sunlight. Anchored to the floor to keep it from moving during rough seas was a desk. There was a bed, shelves, and a cabinet, but the room was otherwise oddly empty. All the furnishings were clearly hastily constructed and made of rough, unfinished wood. Maphothet was sitting at the desk, reading from a scroll. Sitting in a chair against one wall was the other sorcerer. Lowellin was standing with his back to the windows, his hands clasped behind his back.
The sorcerers looked up as the two entered the cabin. “Ah, good, you’re here,” Maphothet said in his sibilant voice. He stood, his movements very like a cat, stretching as he rose. He moved around the desk. The other sorcerer stood and moved closer as well.
Fen looked at Lowellin. The Shaper made no motion to intervene. His expression was neutral. Fen began to wonder if he’d made a very big mistake. Had Lowellin decided his usefulness was at an end?
Fen pushed the young woman behind him. At the same time, he reached for Stone power. He didn’t think there was any way he could defeat both sorcerers, but with a little luck he might kill one. He wanted that one to be Maphothet. He owed the man for what he’d done to Barik.
“Pointless bravery,” Maphothet said, taking a step forward. His smile showed pointed canines. The tattoos on his face seemed to writhe. “I like that.”
He stopped, a quizzical expression crossing his face. “Who is doing that?” he wondered aloud, looking around.
Then he looked closer at Fen, and his eyes widened. “It’s you!”
The other sorcerer realized who Fen was at the same time, and he froze in his advance. A hiss came from him, and he crouched slightly.
“I will enjoy this,” Maphothet said. “You will pay for the death of my brothers.”
“We’ll see about that,” Fen said, taking a step back. He glanced over at Lowellin. The Shaper had turned away and was looking out the window, as if nothing that happened in the room was of any interest. He was on his own then. Unfortunately, Stone power wasn’t responding very well to his summons. It felt sluggish and far away, the sea depths interfering with his power.
“You are weak here,” Maphothet said. “Your power is too far away. Unlike mine, which has never been closer.” He held up one hand. Purple corruption crackled across his palm. “Chaos power,” he breathed. “It is beautiful, is it not?”
“Why?” Fen asked. He needed to stall for time, to give Stone power a chance to arrive. “Why would you betray your world to those monsters?”
“You know nothing,” Maphothet said. “You have not seen the majesty of the Queen of Chaos as I have.” His eyes lit up as he spoke of the queen, as if he were beholding her at that moment. “If you had, you would know that serving Her is not betrayal. It is the highest honor a man could aspire to.”
Stone power was drawing closer, but so were the sorcerers. Fen took a step back. “You sold out your world to an Ichthalid queen. There is no honor in that.” Fen wished Cowley were here to do the stalling. He was better at this sort of thing.
“She is no Ichthalid,” Maphothet answered, taking another step forward. “They serve Her as we do.”
“If she’s not an Ichthalid, then what is she?” Fen took another step back. He was running out of space. Behind him the young woman sobbed quietly.
“She is powerful beyond anything you can imagine. She is the Devourer of worlds. She is the emptiness at the end of time, the harbinger of blackness.” There was awe in Maphothet’s voice, and his face shone. Chaos power writhed around both sorcerers’ hands, moments from release.
Fen was liking the sound of this queen less and less. But she didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was that he was out of time. He’d only managed a tenuous hold on Stone power, but it would have to be enough.
He crouched in a battle stance and called forth his power.
A blazing crimson sword shimmered to life in his hand. Ghostly flames flickered up and down its length.
The sorcerers paused. A faint smile played across Maphothet’s face. “Impressive, don’t you think?” he said to his companion. “He couldn’t do that last time, could he?” His smile widened. “It won’t be enough to save you.”
He flicked his fingers and a coruscating sphere of chaos power shot out of his hand at Fen’s head. Fen was ready for it, though, and he intercepted it with the blazing sword. There was a loud pop when the chaos power struck the sword. Purple sparks spattered the room, each one burning a small hole in the wood where it struck. Smoke trickled up into the air.
Two more spheres followed the first in rapid succession. Fen’s sword was a blur as he spun and whirled. The first one he connected with cleanly, dispersing it into mostly-harmless sparks, though he heard the young woman yelp as some landed on her.
The second one he only partially connected with. A sizable piece of it made it past his sword and struck him in the shoulder. The impact knocked him back, the pain a fir
e that spread across his chest in an instant.
“Not bad,” Maphothet said.
Fen faced him, settling back into his stance. The pain was still intense, but it was beginning to recede. He could feel the stiffness in his shoulder as the flesh there turned to stone, the stone absorbing the remnants of the chaos power. A whole section of his tunic had burned away.
“But I don’t think you’ll survive another one. Your power is already beginning to falter.”
It was true. The flaming sword was flickering. The tiny amount of Stone power that Fen was able to draw in wasn’t enough to repair the damage it had taken.
“Time to die, Fen,” Maphothet said. More sparking spheres appeared above his hands. The other sorcerer called forth two spheres of his own. He’d moved off to the side while Fen was battling Maphothet, and now Fen would be caught in a cross fire.
Fen tensed. He was going to die, that much he knew. But he wasn’t going down without attacking at least once. He needed to act in the split second before Maphothet’s next attack. He could picture it in his mind, ducking under the spheres as they shot out of Maphothet’s hand, rolling, coming up underneath the sorcerer, the look of surprise in his eyes as Fen jammed the sword up under his ribcage.
As Fen leaned forward, muscles readying for the attack, Maphothet staggered forward suddenly. Something punched out of his chest in a spray of blood and bone fragments.
Fen blinked, not sure at first what he was seeing. It took him a moment to make sense of it.
A blade was sticking out of Maphothet’s chest, a blade that appeared to be made of…
Stone?
Maphothet tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was bloody froth. The chaos power in his hands faded and went out. He looked down in surprise at the blade. One hand came up to grasp weakly at it.
Fen looked past the dying sorcerer. Lowellin was still over by the window, but now he was turned toward them. The stone blade was his arm. He’d turned his whole arm into a sword.
The other sorcerer shrieked and spun toward Lowellin, the spheres of chaos power rising up off his palms.
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