The Night Parade h-4

by Scott Ciencin

  "Perhaps you should try to see her not as your daughter, but simply as herself."

  "I suppose you're right, I-"

  Lucius looked up sharply. "They are here."

  Averting her gaze from his rich brown eyes, Myrmeen saw the black ship stealing close from the horizon. "How long have they been on the approach?"

  "For as long as you have been talking. I saw no need to raise the alarm prematurely."

  "Damn," she whispered. "We have to signal the others."

  "No. They can see the ship. Let us prepare ourselves. I am certain they are doing the same."

  Scowling at the mage, Myrmeen walked across the deck of the abandoned vessel and crouched near the guardrail. At her feet she found a child's toy, a doll. Angrily she kicked it from the deck and winced at the slight splash it made.

  The group had been outfitted in dark clothing that would not weigh them down as they swam. Their weapons were sealed in bags that Lucius had made buoyant with his spells. Soon the black ship came within a thousand yards. Myrmeen nodded to Lucius, who lowered her into the waters, then joined her.

  They swam toward the ship, Myrmeen afraid that her legs would suddenly cramp up, that she would drown alone and helpless in the dark waters. Then she heard the steady, comforting breath of the mage beside her and her fear slowly dissipated, replaced with a resolve to complete this mission as quickly as possible and try to make amends with her daughter.

  They approached the vessel's side, Lucius ahead of Myrmeen. He gripped the rung that jutted from the side of the ship and climbed upward, unencumbered by weapons of any kind. Myrmeen was bothered by the dead weight of the heavy bag slung on her back, the strap pulling on her throat as she climbed. They made it over the top and walked directly into a pair of sailors. Darting out of the way, they were not surprised to go unnoticed; Lucius had cloaked them in a spell of invisibility. They could see each other, but no one else would mark their presence.

  Myrmeen and Lucius did not speak as they walked quickly to the bridge. The fighter clutched the molded grip of a blade as they approached the ship's navigator. Beneath Myrmeen's boot, a floorboard groaned loudly. The man at the helm turned suddenly and stared directly at the tall, gaunt mage and his beautiful companion. Then he frowned and turned back to the large wooden wheel that he gripped tightly.

  Human, Myrmeen thought with dismay, or so he seems. Lucius glanced down at her foot, then turned his gaze to her face and motioned for her to step on the creaking floorboard again. She leaned on the wooden plank a second time, causing the sailor to spin around in genuine alarm. The man was on edge and Lucius capitalized on this fact as he held out his open palm and blew a handful of dust into the man's face. Myrmeen quickly sheathed her blade as the man fell forward. She caught his limp body with both hands. Dragging the man a half dozen feet, she carefully laid him beside several coils of rope, then she speedily disrobed. Removing his jacket, Myrmeen slipping it over her shivering, waterlogged body, then donned his leggings, boots, and the dark cap he had worn.

  Lucius held the wheel for her. She took it as the mage hurried to the unconscious man's side and covered his pale, pink body with a blanket from the adjoining deck. Lucius then released the spell of invisibility that cloaked them. Myrmeen wondered if the others were on board, then committed the ship to its new course. The sailing vessel veered abruptly, engaging on a route that would take it parallel to the shoreline.

  "What in Cyric's hell are you up to?" someone shouted.

  Looking over her shoulder, Myrmeen saw that several members of the crew were racing in her direction. Lucius stepped before her, his lips moving, his fingers gesturing. The advancing crewman were suddenly lifted into the air, their legs yanked upward as if they had been plucked by gigantic, invisible hands. The men levitated into the rigging, where they grabbed hold, screaming in anger and fear. Two of the seven men Myrmeen counted nearly floated beyond the reach of the sails, into the sky, but they managed to grab hold of the flapping canvas sails and save themselves. Three men approached from the rear of the ship and Myrmeen relaxed as she recognized Shandower and the two Harpers, who were all soaking wet.

  "There were five more, but we subdued them," Ord said, watching the floating men above his head in amusement. The sailors cast creative variations of all-too-familiar curses at their vessel's usurpers.

  "They were all human," Shandower said as he spat on the deck with disgust. "I should have guessed that the Night Parade wouldn't leave itself exposed like this."

  "Perhaps we'd be better off sinking this ship after we check the hold," Ord said. "It would be a short journey from the city lockup to ready buyers in the streets for those weapons if we allow them to be confiscated-only the suppliers would change."

  Myrmeen nodded. Their goal had been not only to interfere with the smuggling operation that would give the night people more gold for their dark purposes, but also to bring them from the shadows of myth and children's whispered tales to the light of scrutiny from the authorities. That plan depended on encountering at least a few of the monsters on board and securing their capture.

  "Ord, you take the helm from Myrmeen," Reisz said. "The rest of us will go below."

  The young man started to protest, then fell silent when he registered the look in Reisz's eyes. "Of course," Ord whispered, "Roudabush."

  Reisz nodded and followed the others below decks.

  Lanterns lighted the first deck to which they had come and a full search netted the adventurers only two frightened deck hands who had run at the first sign of trouble. Shandower agreed to test these boys, firing his weapon into brilliant, blue-white life as he touched each of their hands. The first boy fainted, his fear causing him more harm than the gauntlet's touch. The second was slightly more at ease after realizing that the Harpers did not plan to kill him. He touched the glove voluntarily and was relieved when all he felt was a slight racing of his heart as the green lightning coursed through him. The unconscious boy was bound and left behind, the second taken with them as they found the door to the cargo hold.

  The teenager, a rail-thin boy with thick, dark hair, angular features, and a scar above his left eye, shouted for them to stop before they pulled back the heavy, square door that secured their cargo. Reisz, who had been holding the rope that would pull open the wooden door, shuddered as if his worst fears had been confirmed.

  "What's down there?" Myrmeen asked as she heard a groan that had not come from the wood-frame ship's shifting.

  "It's not the crew," Reisz said as the rope fell from his hand. "It was never the crew."

  Beneath them, the floor undulated and they heard a heavy thud. Something incredibly large and strong had struck from below. The sound came again and Myrmeen decided that whatever was making the noise wished either to gain their attention or escape from the hold. Lucius took Myrmeen's arm. "We must leave. We can sink the ship from a distance."

  Myrmeen thought of the ambush they had walked into at her childhood home, the nest of nightmares they had uncovered and to which they had lost two of their oldest and dearest friends. She quickly scanned the faces of those who had boarded the ship with her and wondered who would die next if they did not follow the mage's urging.

  "No!" Shandower shouted. "This is what we came here for, proof that the nightmares are real. There were never any forbidden weapons on this ship, only more of their kind, beings who could not pass for human and needed special care."

  Myrmeen stared at the madness she saw in Shandower's eyes and was grateful that she had decided to spare Krystin this sight. A part of the assassin had hoped for this-a part of him had wanted to fight the monstrosities even if it meant sacrificing all the others to satisfy his needs.

  / want to make the monsters go away.

  The words were branded into her memory, but she could not recall if it had been her father, Dak, or her second husband who had spoken them.

  You can't, she suddenly understood. No one can make the monsters go away but me.

  "Myrmeen," R
eisz urged, "we made a mistake. Let's leave while we still can. If he's right and those things escape-"

  "Retreat," she hissed, still watching Shandower's eyes, worried that the fervor she saw within him might one day stare out at her when she looked at her own reflection.

  "I'm not going without seeing what's down there," Shandower said as he shoved Reisz out of the way, took the heavy rope in his hand, and yanked the door upward.

  Looking over the assassin's shoulder, drawn in perverse fascination, Myrmeen was certain that she was staring into the pit of ultimate damnation. Dozens of monstrosities lay below, their bodies intertwined as they writhed frantically. Many were climbing the walls and two were on the stairway leading up to them. At the center of the gathering lay an obese, grotesque creature that appeared to have the power to manipulate its own body as if it were clay, stretching its muscles and tendons into shapes that seemed strangely familiar to Myrmeen. The monster's stomach was immense, lined with a set of jaws large enough to swallow a man whole. Its face was marked with huge, egg shaped eyes, and a wide, gentle smile.

  Myrmeen suddenly recognized the shapes it was forcing its body to create: Musical instruments.

  Blood-soaked tendons stretched to the consistency of strings for a large pink harp, while hard muscle coalesced to form a lute near the base of the monster's incredible bulk. A long, thin appendage shot from beneath its layers of fat that had been its jaw, with holes suddenly appearing to mark it as a wind instrument. The host of smaller, equally inhuman creatures stopped and turned, their mad, chattering sounds dropping away in anticipation.

  "Lucius!" Myrmeen shouted.

  The mage was already gesturing, his hands stretched before him. The sound of thunder roared in the confined space and a flash of lightning burst from Lucius's hands. The light was so intense that it nearly blinded those gathered above the hold. The fleshy harp and lute were destroyed by a deadly bolt of bluish red light, and the monster wailed in agony, odd music accompanying its screams.

  Myrmeen suddenly felt drowsy and saw her companions exhibiting signs that the effect was not limited to her. "Lucius," she screamed, "again! Kill it before-"

  A geyser of water burst through the hull beneath the monster, revealing a horrible rip in the craft's shell. The music stopped suddenly as the creature was blasted upward by the force of the water. The ship tilted, and two of the smaller monstrosities vaulted out of the hold. Then the door crashed downward, shaken by the motions that had knocked all but Shandower from their feet. The deckhand who had been with the group turned and ran.

  The first creature looked as if it had been sewn together from the bloody remains of corpses on a battlefield. It squatted on four arms, each poised in a different direction, and had a thick, ball-like torso. Its head drooped and peeked out from between the cage of arms. The monstrosity beside it was female, with overly large arms that hung to the floor and tiny hands growing from every part of her body, including the hollows where her eyes should have been. The first creature spoke:

  "The crew, the guards at the shore, they were meant to be our feast, our payment for enduring this awful journey. We hunger. Vizier BeUophat promised us sustenance."

  "Feast on this," Shandower said as he ran his glowing hand through the monster's fatty torso, its body collapsing. The woman with too many hands drew back, her hands suddenly detaching from her body, falling to the floor, and racing toward the assassin. The probing fingers closed over the startled killer, their razor-sharp nails biting into his flesh. Reisz drew his sword and buried it in the skull of the woman who had spawned the hands.

  "Idiot," she said, gore running down her scalp as the flaps of her head sealed around the weapon. She drew Reisz close and kissed him full on the mouth as a new set of hands began to manifest on her body.

  Suddenly, Shandower pushed himself forward and plunged his glowing blue gauntlet between her shoulder blades. The multitude of hands fell away as the woman collapsed. Reisz did not try to retrieve his weapon.

  "We have to get out of here," Shandower said in alarm, awakened from his bloodlust to embrace the reality of their imminent deaths. The group raced through the corridors leading to the stairway, then climbed to the main deck as the ship pitched to one side. Myrmeen prayed that the monsters in the hold would be trapped there, drowning before they could escape.

  Ord greeted them at the top of the stairs. "The men who had been floating, they fell!"

  Lucius nodded. "I had to release that spell."

  "They mostly jumped overboard. Before that, one of them lost his grip, then floated out into the sky."

  "It doesn't matter," Myrmeen said impatiently. "We have to get back to our boat."

  The craft they had rented to take them to the derelicts was anchored near the ships that had helped them stage their ambush, its rotting appearance making it look like another corpse in the graveyard of boats. All but Lucius leapt over the edge into the icy waters. The mage remained, gathering his will, and sent another blast of energy straight down, into the hold. The ship buckled and he was thrown free into the waters. Myrmeen swam to his side, rescuing him from drowning, as he had been left weak and trembling after using his power. Behind them, the black ship was in flames, Lucius's second bolt of energy sparking the conflagration.

  They made it back to their boat, disturbed by the sight of a small craft embarking from the harbor. As they sailed into the night, Myrmeen prayed that they would avoid the members of the corrupt merchant company. Averting her gaze from the smaller vessel, she watched as the black ship containing its cargo of monsters went under, one end pointing out of the waters until it was sucked down by its own weight, disappearing beneath the surface without a hint that it had been there at all.

  Krystin had been ordered to wait at the inn. Naturally, she was now more than a mile from that location, on her way to visit a shopkeeper named Caleb Sharr. Sharr had always been generous in supplying a scrap of food when she had needed it the most, or a bit of sage advice when she desired it the least. Nevertheless, she loved the grizzled, middle-aged man and had missed talking to him. She knew that soon she would leave Calimport forever, and she wanted him to know that she was well. He often had called himself an old fool where she was concerned and she would not have had him any other way.

  The Lhal woman, on the other hand, had been particularly cold and distant tonight, her thoughts even farther away than the storm she had heard engulfing some part of the desert. The rains gathered on the outskirts of the city like a skulking thief waiting for the right moment to enter Calimport and strike.

  Krystin turned her thoughts from the storm and recalled her conversation with Myrmeen in detail. The woman had explained the dangerous nature of the operation they were undertaking tonight and said that, despite Krystin's training, the girl was not yet ready for a mission with such a high degree of danger.

  "In other words, I still can't be trusted," Krystin had said, to which Myrmeen had no reply. The woman had left her side, an icy breeze marking where she had stood. Seconds later, Ord had joined Krystin.

  "In other words," he had whispered in his sly voice, "that woman has no idea who you are."

  Krystin had turned to him, her anger dissolving the moment she saw the perfect blue of his eyes. "Who am I?"

  "Someone very special," he had said softly, caressing her arm. "And someone who had best be here when we return."

  "Now you're giving me orders?"

  "No. But I can see that you'll be out wandering tonight, and if you didn't return, I would miss you."

  Her lips had opened slightly and she had felt her hands tremble at his touch. She waited for him to kiss her, but instead he had backed away, his own sadness gathering over him like the clouds she had seen on the horizon.

  "Nothing I do gets past you," she had said. "I like that, Ord. I like that very much."

  He had smiled and left to join the others, but his smile had been cloaked in sadness, his words, even at their most seductive, laced with a texture that was bitters
weet. He was not dealing with the loss of his parents, she knew, and the forces inside him one day would tear loose and destroy him if he did not accept the grief and allow himself to heal. She wondered if there were any way she could help him, or if she even should try.

  One thing was certain, he had been correct in his assumption that she would not stay locked up in the inn, waiting for Myrmeen's return. She now was within a city block of Caleb Sharr's market house and her heart was filled with excitement at the thought of seeing him.

  Krystin turned the final corner and stopped dead. The shop was gone. For a moment she gazed about, familiarizing herself with the streets and various landmarks. She needed to make absolutely certain that she had not taken a wrong turn and ended up someplace other than where she wished to be. There had been no mistake. She was on Heridon Way, but the shop where she had found shelter was gone. There was no evidence that it ever had been there to start with. In a daze, Krystin wandered the street, occasionally stopping to ask other shopkeepers if they knew Caleb Sharr. When she asked if they had ever tasted the succulent meats that he prepared for his special clients, basted in spices from faraway lands that no one but he could procure, they treated her as if she were insane.

  Krystin felt a sudden shortness of breath. For a moment the world seemed to spin, and she grabbed hold of a stranger's arm. The man shrugged her off with a casual curse. He shoved her to the ground, where she was ignored by the dozens of men and women who briskly walked past her. Their downcast eyes carefully avoided the skinny fourteen-year-old with dark hair and beautiful, practically unique eyes. Suddenly, Krystin realized that she was shrinking back, heading for the shadows of an alleyway. She bolted to her feet and thrust herself into the crowd, avoiding the places where the Night Parade moved freely. A chill passed through her as she felt a drop of rain strike her shoulder, then she realized that it was a tear that she had shed.

  There was no storm; there had been no storm.