The Art of Hunting

by Alan Campbell

  Conquillas evidently had company, for she could still hear the sound of the lute playing below decks. She could not imagine who his guest might be, although a gentle mental probing determined that the presence there was certainly not Haurstaf. The playing, however, was exquisite, indicating a master musician. And now, as Conquillas approached, she heard a second sound . . . the faint crackling of void arrows in the black glass quiver looped around his shoulder. Those sorcerous missiles were, alarmingly, extinguishing the air around them. She felt her hair stir in a sudden breeze, drawn towards those ghastly arrow tips by the vacuum they were creating.

  Conquillas screwed a bulb of glass across the top of the quiver, sealing it. Light shuddered within; there was a whoomph, and the breeze stopped, leaving Briana with a painful thrum in her teeth and a ringing in her ears. She heard Acanto gasp. There was something about that glass tube, or the arrows it contained, something that made them difficult to be near. Like the atmosphere pervading the island, but far more powerful. As with so many Unmer artefacts, it would be exerting an unnatural pressure on everyone around it.

  Only Conquillas seemed unaffected. ‘Why have you disturbed me?’ he said.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t aware you had company.’ The Unmer lord regarded her for a moment. ‘News of the massacre in Awl will have reached Losoto by now,’ he said. ‘Have you knowledge of the emperor’s response?’

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘You’ve heard?’

  ‘Dragons carry news more swiftly than ships.’

  ‘I was unaware we had any dragons in Awl.’

  Conquillas’s lips narrowed. ‘You didn’t.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Emperor Hu hasn’t made a statement yet,’ Briana said. ‘At least not publicly.’

  ‘And what is the latest from Awl?’

  She hesitated, glancing at Acanto, then said, ‘May we speak in private?’ That was, after all, the main reason she’d brought the captain along – to use him as an excuse to get Conquillas alone. She didn’t want her words overheard by half a hundred serpents.

  Conquillas indicated a hatch leading underneath the wheel-house. She followed him towards it.

  Acanto looked around at the shadows. ‘I’ll wait here, shall I?’

  ‘If you like,’ she replied.

  ‘And . . . I’ll be safe here?’

  Briana turned to Conquillas. ‘I need him to pilot the ship.’

  The Unmer lord nodded. ‘Then he will not be harmed.’

  ‘Then?’ Acanto said. ‘I note your use of that qualifier.’

  Conquillas ignored him. He threw open the hatch and led Briana down several steps and along a short passageway. At the end of this he opened another door and admitted her into a comfortable wood-panelled chamber.

  It was a parlour, occupying the full beam of the yacht. Like the wheelhouse exterior, its walls had been inlaid with tropical woods and curls of precious metal and bone. Light poured through the duskglass portals and stretched across the floorboards in honey-coloured ellipses or else gleamed here and there on some fitment of brass – a scalloped table leg or lampshade base. The ceiling was low and the joists had been shaped to resemble whalebones and hung with many tiny gem lanterns of an eastern style Briana had never seen before. Delicate furniture occupied strategic positions around the room, overstuffed chairs and fine tables strewn with scores of books and scrolls. In one corner of the room there stood a harpsichord of pale lacquered wood. Resting upon a nearby stool was the lute Briana had heard earlier, but the player was nowhere to be seen. She realized the playing must have ceased mere moments ago.

  ‘I’m not intruding, am I?’ she said.

  Conquillas gave a dismissive wave. He filled two goblets from a decanter of pale green liqueur. Briana accepted the drink graciously, but did not raise the cup to her lips. Unmer spirits were usually laced with drugs. They could affect human minds in strange and unpredictable ways. Conquillas settled into a curled gold couch. He sipped his drink and his violet eyes studied her over the rim of his glass.

  ‘How long has it been, Argusto? Three years?’

  He rolled the liqueur in its goblet and inhaled the fumes. Then he took another sip. ‘How could you have allowed this to happen, Briana?’

  She felt her face flush. ‘No one could have foreseen it.’

  ‘She was in your care. You were studying her.’

  His knowledge surprised her. How much did he know?

  ‘We thought—’ she began.

  Conquillas growled, ‘No, you didn’t think. You were negligent, arrogant, vain. That is why you underestimated her.’ He observed her for a moment longer with his piercing gaze. ‘Is she within you now? Can you feel her presence?’

  ‘She might be,’ Briana replied. ‘I can’t tell.’

  ‘Then we must assume she is listening to this conversation.’

  Briana nodded.

  ‘As was your intent.’

  ‘Argusto . . .’

  ‘Say what you came here to say.’

  Briana hesitated. She was walking a dangerous path here. The possibility of Ianthe spying had already forced her to lie once to Conquillas. Now she was forcing the Unmer lord to choose sides, and possibly to name his enemies publicly.‘Forgive me if it seems reckless,’ she said at last. ‘But even if Ianthe is not present at this moment, she would have learned of our meeting eventually. I came here, Argusto, because I know you to be a man of principle, and not one to flinch or cower from your enemies.’ She watched the Unmer lord take another sip. ‘Since you know about what has happened in Awl, you know what this girl is capable of. Which is why I believe you will recognize the threat now posed by her engagement to Marquetta.’

  She saw from his surprised reaction that he had not been aware of this latest development. Dragons might carry news as fast as the wind, but thought carried it faster still, and a few telepaths yet remained in her former stronghold. ‘The prince announced their engagement publicly last night. They are to be married after his coronation, three weeks from now.’

  Conquillas gave her a mirthless smile. ‘He hasn’t wasted time.’

  ‘The girl has been smitten with him since she first laid eyes upon him,’ Briana said. ‘Which only goes to show how well Duke Cyr has taught the little bastard to keep his true nature hidden.’ She paused and rolled the liquor round in her cup. ‘Or else he simply mesmerized the prince. Either way, they mean to keep the girl close and use her to shield them from Haurstaf influence. With such an ally on his side, the brat can only become . . . What would you say? Even more insufferable?’

  Conquillas rose and walked across the parlour, deep in thought. He topped up his drink without offering Briana any more and stood there, staring into the corner of the room for a long time. Finally, he said, ‘Have your soldiers sworn loyalty to their new paymasters yet?’

  ‘They have.’

  ‘And they are gathering support from Port Awl?’

  She snorted. ‘Cyr is up to his usual tricks.’ She brought the goblet to her lips, and almost took a sip, before she remembered what type of liquor it contained. ‘He’s using the pretence of saving the world to recruit allies.’

  ‘Evensraum?’

  ‘Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘He’s well placed for that,’ Conquillas said. ‘Awl’s wealth should allow him to stir up a revolt among the population, hire privateers to halt naval traffic and starve the empire.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Or else smash Losoto and remove Hu in a show of brute force. That’s what I would do. Hit the capital hard to make a statement. The emperor is universally despised. His death will only strengthen Marquetta’s cause. What Unmer weapons does Cyr now have access to?What were you hoarding at the palace?’

  ‘Nothing . . . Minor things.’

  Conquillas nodded. ‘Then he can’t attack without help.’ He paced the floor, thinking. ‘He must find an ally. Evensraum would be the most obvious choice.’

  Br
iana gave a cynical smile. ‘Did you know that Ianthe is from Evensraum?’

  The Unmer Lord fixed his eyes upon her. ‘Fate has indeed been kind to Cyr,’ he said. ‘So Hu perceives the Unmer as a threat. He must raise an army quickly and that means buying the warlords with promises and favours. He’ll baulk at that and fuss and hesitate like he’s always done, which will ultimately lead to his downfall.’ He gazed out of the window for a long time, then turned. ‘And there’s no way to armour yourself from the girl’s psychic attacks?’

  ‘Not that we know of.’

  He pondered this. ‘We must assume that her destructive powers are not limitless. After all, she slew only those Guild sisters in her immediate vicinity. Her reach did not extend to those Haurstaf in Port Awl?’

  Briana shook her head. ‘Those sisters in the highest palace towers and lowest dungeons survived.’

  Conquillas nodded to himself. ‘An ugly war is coming,’ he said. ‘With Ianthe’s protection, Cyr will build his empire. And then he will seek revenge for a century of enslavement and humiliation.’ He gave her a grim smile. ‘I dare say he won’t have forgotten your own personal involvement in it all.’

  ‘Nor yours.’

  ‘So you wish me to assassinate the girl?’

  The abruptness of his statement startled her momentarily, but she soon found her voice. ‘I thought such a challenge might appeal to you,Argusto. The opportunity to test your wits against someone who can see your every move, someone who could, at a distance, murder you with a single thought.’

  ‘And yet she is a child.’

  ‘A child poised to become an Unmer queen.’ Briana sighed. ‘You once slew a goddess and brought an army of dragons against Prince Marquetta’s father for the love of Aria. I beg you, please, consider her daughters now.’

  ‘I fought Jonas Whiteheart to protect Aria, not the Guild.’

  ‘The Guild is her legacy, Argusto. Aria built it. She strove to protect it. And you are tempted. I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. Cyr will come after you as soon as he regains enough power. Help me put an end to it now. Finish what you started. Now, while there’s time to act.’

  The dragon lord cradled his long chin in his fingers. ‘I will kill Duke Cyr,’ he said, ‘and the Whiteheart’s son, Paulus, and anyone who tries to prevent me from doing so.’ He turned and looked deeply into Briana’s eyes. ‘But I will not harm the girl unless she chooses to involve herself in my affairs. Now, I must send a message to the prince and his uncle announcing my intentions.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said yourself – Ianthe might be spying on this conversation, but we do not know for sure.’

  ‘She—’

  ‘Therefore I cannot be certain Cyr and Marquetta are aware that I have marked them for assassination.’

  ‘But that’s . . .’ She managed to stop herself from finishing her sentence in time. Accusing Conquillas of lunacy would not be prudent. Instead, she added, ‘Why would you give them warning?’

  He shrugged. ‘I gain no pleasure from bloodshed or murder. It is the challenge that drives me,’ he said. ‘The sport. The greater the challenge, the greater the glory to be gained in the attempt.’

  ‘Argusto . . .’

  His eyes remained cold and distant. He was deep in thought.

  ‘You don’t like to make things easy for yourself,’ she said.

  ‘I have no interest in living a dull life.’

  Briana smiled. ‘Sometimes I’m glad we’re friends,’ she said.

  Conquillas pursed his lips. ‘We are not friends, Miss Marks.’

  Maskelyne remained in his laboratory, working late into the night. Gem lanterns shone in their wall sconces, casting great claws and lattices of shadow between the tables of Unmer trove scattered about the place. He filled notebooks with his musings while his latest specimens gazed out from their brine tanks. Sailors had pulled two fresh women from Ethugran canals and a sharkskin child from the Sea of Kings. Both women had drowned recently, and still possessed mental acuity akin to that of the living. They hunched in that bromine gloom and watched him silently from yellowed eye sockets. The child’s brain had rotted months ago and it merely walked forwards repeatedly, knocking against the glass each time. Maskelyne would normally have removed such a worthless specimen by now, but he’d kept this one because little Jontney found it so funny.

  He turned the salvaged crystal over in his hands and watched the dark and alien ocean churning within its facets. There was a storm raging in there, the gales raising vast waves and smashing them against the windowless tower on its solitary rock island. What purpose did that tower serve? Was it a fortress? Or even a machine? Who dwelt within? And where exactly was there? Brine came from ichusae, those devious little Unmer phials more commonly known as sea-bottles. Because intact ichusae spewed forth endless torrents of the stuff, it had always seemed reasonable for Maskelyne to assume that each of these little bottles contained some sort of conduit to another part of the cosmos – or, indeed, to another cosmos entirely.

  And now he held in his hands a lens that appeared to offer him a view into that very place. Were the seas there, he wondered, littered with some cousin of the ichusae – artefacts that sucked in brine rather than expelled the stuff? Or could these sorcerous bottles exist in both places at once? He set the crystal down in a wooden bowl on his desk. It lay there in the semi-dark, illuminating its immediate surroundings with a dim green glow.

  A nearby sound startled him, a sharp metallic trill. Maskelyne glanced round and saw that an Unmer device on one of his tables had activated. Now it continued to hum and chatter as small lights played within its barnacle-crusted box. He had seen similar machines before, and knew it to be a form of pain mutator – related to the nerve manglers used by his jailers in Ethugra. This one would be able to change pain into other sensations: hunger, or – more dangerously – sexual ecstasy. He returned his attention to the crystal again. Many of his trove items had been springing to life since he’d brought it into his laboratory.

  Clearly, it focused light. Did it, he wondered, focus other energies? He glanced back at the pain mutator, wondering if it had simply come into contact with some sort of energy leakage. A field? That made immediate sense. His heartbeat quickened. What if the lens didn’t just focus energy, but sorcery? Could this simple sphere act as a conduit between the two realms? Was this the conduit through which all Unmer sorcery flowed?

  What was sorcery but the wilful transfiguration of matter and energy? And yet it was clear that some sort of external energy was necessary to effect such alterations. Could the lens provide a bridge for that imported energy?

  What about brine?

  Could he, by destroying the crystal, arrest the flow of energy to ichusae?

  And thus stop the influx of brine?

  He picked it up again and stared into its facets, marvelling at the alien structure within, at the seething waters and starless cloud-torn sky. The glass felt strangely warm. Was it too much to hope that he was holding the answer to his dilemma here in his hand? Could he bring himself to test his theory by destroying such a treasure?

  No.

  At least . . . not until he had no alternative.

  Maskelyne placed the crystal back in its bowl. He could not take such a risk. He had to know exactly what he was dealing with. He picked up a pen and wrote:

  If all energies utilized by Unmer artefacts are cosmically imported and funnelled through a single point, then they must – in this world – radiate out from that point as light radiates from a lantern. And if those rays generate a field which affects change and can therefore be detected, then it ought to be possible to follow said rays to individual Unmer devices.

  The flow of electrical fluids could be detected by various devices sensitive to their proximity. Copper coils and toruses could transmit electrical fluids through the air, but could also be used to sense the invisible fields created – even at great distances. And it seemed to him that Unmer sorcery must work in
a similar fashion. If this crystal transmitted sorcerous energy, then it must be possible to detect the lines of energy surrounding it. And if he could detect these lines, then he could follow them in order to locate Unmer artefacts. He might yet engineer a way to discover every last ichusae in the oceans.

  He set about testing his theory.

  If sorcerous energy produced a field, then artefacts brought together might disturb each other’s fields. Maskelyne slid a gem lantern across his desk and positioned it next to the crystal. The faintest flickering, perhaps? He couldn’t be certain. There was little – if any – perceptible disruption to the light produced. He dug out some screwdrivers from his desk drawer and opened the lantern casing. He knew from experience how to adjust the mechanism to alter the flow of energy into the bulb – energy, he now hoped, passed through the crystal. Indeed, he had used this knowledge to devastating effect against the Haurstaf palace in Awl.

  This time, however, he planned to reduce the flow. He removed four exterior screws and swung back a hinged door in the brass casing, revealing the workings underneath the lantern bulb. Deep in among the wires, needles and bones he moved aside a flap of human leather and located a series of miniature glass spheres on tiny, movable rods. Each of these contained a drop of amber fluid. Some of the drops rested in the base of their particular sphere, while others appeared to defy gravity by clinging to the uppermost surfaces. Long ago, he had found that he could adjust the brightness of the lantern by realigning these spheres.

  He did this now, dimming the lantern until it was barely visible. By quenching the lantern’s source of power he hoped it might become more sensitive to the other sources of power radiating from the crystal.

  To his great delight he discovered that moving the lantern around the crystal now caused the light to fluctuate noticeably. It did indeed appear to be reacting to the energies being funnelled through that sorcerous lens. He imagined those energies to be like invisible rays of sunlight. The stronger the particular ray, the more it affected the lantern’s own field.