Unfettered III

  The Squall said nothing. A shout from the direction of the beach made him startle. But the cry was more of pain than alarm, so likely all it signalled was that some poor sod had splashed themselves with dragon blood.

  “Don’t get greedy,” Castella continued. “The blood in here”—she nodded to the flask—“is worth maybe a hundred thousand sovereigns. Split three ways, do you know how much that’ll make you?”

  Gap-Tooth’s eyes widened in alarm. Evidently no one had warned him there’d be maths in this conversation.

  “Over thirty thousand sovereigns,” Castella said. “Easy money if we work together.”

  “And how do I know you won’t shoot me in the back first chance you get?”

  “Because you’re the one holding the crossbow, that’s why.”

  Gap-Tooth sucked his lip as he thought. His gaze flitted all around. Far behind him, the cross-shaped rock formation that gave this island its name was a deeper dark in the gloom.

  Castella tensed. If Gap-Tooth’s answer was no, she would rush him. A crossbow like his would be harder to maneuver than a galley in a storm. Maybe she could reach him before he brought it to bear, or maybe she would dive to one side when he aimed at her. Then Araline could gut him before he could shoot. The mage’s knives were never far from her hands.

  “You’ve got a deal,” the Squall said at last, and Castella released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “Good,” she said. “Now point that damned crossbow somewhere else.”

  “Hah! Not likely.”

  “Fair enough. But we get to keep the dragon blood.”

  “No way. Pass it here.”

  Castella suppressed a smile. She had laid a trap for Gap-Tooth and he had obligingly walked straight into it. “If you insist,” she said, then tossed the flask to him underarm.

  Pearlshell was sturdy enough that it would survive a fall on rock. But instinctively Gap-Tooth flung out his right hand to catch the flask.

  Just as Castella had been hoping he would. Because if he was using one hand to hold the flask, he couldn’t also be gripping the crossbow with it. Supported by only by his left hand now, the weapon dipped, such was its weight. The bolt pointed at the ground.

  Araline spun around, silver glinting in her hand.

  Castella didn’t see her friend land the killing blow, but suddenly Gap-Tooth dropped both the flask and his crossbow. He clutched his throat, blood bubbling between his fingers. As he sank to his knees, Castella saw in his eyes that familiar look of disbelief as he confronted the truth of his mortality. Then he slumped on one side, twitching like a grounded fish.

  Castella held herself still, senses straining for any sign that the Squalls on the beach had heard. The only sounds, though, were the restless murmur of waves, the scratch of tools on dragon scales, a man’s voice—Tempest’s?—ordering the workers to make haste. Around Gap-Tooth, a red pool was spreading. Castella shivered. Strange how a flask of dragon blood was near priceless, yet the cost of a human life was so cheap.

  Araline stooped to clean her knife on the Squall’s tunic. Her gaze strayed to the dead man’s crossbow, and for an uncomfortable moment Castella pictured her friend lifting the weapon and turning it on her. Araline was Castella’s best friend, but a hundred thousand sovereigns would test even the strongest bond.

  “That was close,” Araline said.

  “Too close.”

  A pause. “You’d really have given that guy the blood to release me?” Araline asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  The question left Castella feeling strangely self-conscious. “Why not? Not everything is about money.”

  “We’re thieves. What else would it be about?”

  “You make it sound as if you wouldn’t have done the same for me.”

  Araline chuckled, her gaze sliding again to the crossbow. She extended a hand to the weapon, but there was a playful edge to her smile that suggested she wasn’t serious about taking it. Maybe.

  At that instant the crossbow bucked on the ground, discharging the bolt in its slot. There was a twang so loud it set the air humming, a flash of black. The quarrel pinged off a rock. Stone chippings fell in a patter. From the beach came enquiring shouts, faint over the roaring in Castella’s ears.

  Araline was the first to react. “Let’s get out of here!” she said, snatching up the flask.

  The arrow loosed from Tempest’s ship, the Destiny, traced a grey arc through the night before landing in the sea beside Castella’s boat. Another followed it, then another, the first falling short, the second whistling overhead.

  Castella and Araline had led a charmed life for the past quarter-bell, jinking through a maze of waterways between islets while dodging a steady rain of missiles. After Gap-Tooth’s crossbow had gone off, they had sprinted for their boat, hoping to slip away before Tempest realized what was happening. But even as Castella was casting off, she’d seen the topmasts of the Destiny appear above the treeline on the northern shore. Now the ship was slowly reeling her in like she was a saberfin caught on a line. It was just a matter of time before it overhauled her.

  Araline had summoned up a wave of water-magic beneath their boat, but the wave beneath the Destiny was larger. Clearly outrunning the Squalls wasn’t an option. So what now? Hide? Castella and Araline would need to break line of sight first, and what were the chances of that? Double back, perhaps? If they sailed past the Destiny, by the time the bulkier craft turned they would be halfway to freedom. But that would mean running the gauntlet of the Destiny’s archers, and at such close range the women would be easier to hit than miss.

  Even as the thought came to Castella, a missile thudded into the transom behind her with an impact she felt through her buttocks.

  In the darkness ahead, she spotted a sandbar connecting two islets, moonlit water beyond. She pointed it out to Araline.

  “Go over!” she shouted above the hiss of spray. “Over!”

  Araline nodded.

  The boat picked up speed, and Castella gripped the rail. As the sandbar approached, the wave of water-magic beneath the boat reared higher. It carried the craft halfway across the bank before breaking and receding. There was a scrape of sand and stone against the hull, and for a heartbeat Castella thought they would be marooned. Then the boat’s momentum took them skidding and scratching the last of the way and into the sea beyond.

  Araline summoned up another wave, and the boat sped off across the silver ripple of the bay.

  Alas, the maneuver bought them only a moment’s breathing space. Due to the size of the Destiny’s keel, the Squalls couldn’t use the same route without running aground. But most of the islets in these parts were barely a stone’s throw across, meaning Tempest could simply steer around the nearest one before continuing the chase.

  Castella’s boat rounded a promontory. To either side were forested shorelines, in front, the corpse of the copper dragon beached on the Cross. Castella grimaced. Great. Somehow she and Araline had managed to steer their boat in a circle. All that time, and all those arrows dodged, to get precisely nowhere. In a way, that summed up Castella’s life to this point.

  Another arrow thumped into the boat, and she crouched low. From the Destiny came calls for them to surrender. This was the end of the road, Castella realized. There was nowhere left to run. Her only chance at survival lay in dumping the flask of dragon blood in the bay and hoping she and Araline could slip away while Tempest looked for it. And he would look for it, she knew. Because while Castella had left four other flasks on the beach, their riches would never satisfy the Squall krel. He was the sort of man who would toss a sovereign into a wishing well to win his heart’s desire, then climb down afterward to retrieve the coin.

  “Head for the dragon,” Castella told Araline.

  The mage changed course as instructed.

  An arrow whined past, close enough for Castella to feel the wind of its flight against her cheek. No more putting this off. She
stood to face the Destiny and held the flask up high to catch the crew’s attention.

  “You want this?” she shouted. “Go get it!”

  Then she hurled the flask as far as she could over the port rail. It plopped into the bay and disappeared beneath the waves before bobbing back to the surface.

  Immediately the Destiny turned in that direction.

  “Now go!” Castella said to Araline. “Give it everything you’ve got!”

  “And here I’d been taking it easy up to now,” Araline grumbled. Still she managed an extra burst of pace that set the wind rushing in Castella’s ears. Spray thrown up by the boat’s passage was cool against her face.

  Ahead, the dragon’s carcass moved closer. It looked like a pile of copper coins in the shallows, and Castella thought of the fortune she had just thrown away. The Corinians in particular valued dragon blood as a poison, and as a means of summoning dragons at their whim. A fool and her money are quickly parted, Castella’s mother would say, but Castella had never understood that adage. After all, if a fool were such a fool in truth, how had they come by their money in the first place?

  She looked back at the Destiny. The ship weaved across the bay, seeking the flask. Castella thought you could see Tempest in what had once been her favourite spot on deck—at the starboard cathead. “Do you see it?” he was yelling to his companions, but evidently the response was not to his liking for heartbeats later there was a squeal and a splash as a crewman was pushed overboard for a closer look.

  In front, the bronze dragon’s carcass rose from the sea in a wall of glistening scales. Tracing the line of its spine was a ridge of triangular plates, hooked and tapering to points. “Stop us here,” Castella told Araline.

  “Are you kidding? Tempest could find the flask at any time!”

  “I just want a moment.”

  Araline huffed her reluctance, but the wave beneath their boat subsided. As the fizz of water faded, Castella could hear more clearly the voices of the Squalls and the trumpeting of a distant dragon. The boat sat down on the swell.

  On the Destiny, torches had been brought to the rails to illuminate the sea. Two barges filled with sailors were lowered to the water to help in the search. They were looking in the wrong place, though. Castella had thrown the flask ten ship-lengths from the Squalls’ position, and the wave of water-magic beneath the Destiny was washing the thing farther away with each heartbeat.

  “Why are you grinning?” Araline asked her.

  Castella hadn’t realized she was until now. It was time to come clean to her friend. “Because even if Tempest finds the flask,” she said, “he’ll be in for a disappointment.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Before I threw the flask away, I emptied the dragon blood into the sea.”

  Araline slowly matched Castella’s grin. “Nice,” she said. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “But . . . if you poured the blood away, won’t it draw more dragons to this place?”

  “Dragons like that one over there, you mean?” Castella said, pointing to the beast now approaching from the west.

  Covered in silver scales, it slipped silently from behind the cover of an islet. Above the waterline only the top of its head was visible, and the horns protruding from its brow cut through the waves like sharks’ fins. So absorbed was the Destiny’s crew in looking for the flask, it took them a while to spot the creature. Panicked cries rang out, then shouts to flee. But the dragon had already closed half the distance to its target. The sea about it bulged.

  Tempest didn’t stay to rescue the men in his two barges. A wave of water-magic formed beneath the Destiny, and Castella scowled. If the dragon targeted the barges first, if would give the krel time to escape.

  But the beast did not go for the barges first. Instead it flashed toward the Destiny, passing between the smaller craft and setting them rocking. The silver flicker of its body seemed to fill the bay. With the glimmers on the water, it was hard to tell where the dragon ended and the reflections of moonlight began. From the Destiny came calls to speed up, pleas to the Sender for help.

  The dragon lowered its head and rammed the ship beam-on. There was a splintering crack, a chorus of screams. The Destiny tipped drunkenly to starboard, the wave beneath it dissolving to foam.

  Castella gave a contented sigh and settled on the boat’s oar-bench. And to think just heartbeats ago she’d been the one facing death. There was nothing like the feeling of avoiding an appointment with the Lord of the Dead, especially when you sent a man like Tempest in your place.

  Araline hesitated before sitting beside her. “Are we just going to watch?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” Castella replied. “I thought we’d break out the juripa spirits, make a proper celebration of it.” Never mind the money from the dragon blood, she could have made a fortune by selling tickets to watch this.

  The dragon slammed its tail onto the Destiny’s main deck. Splinters flew. The ship tilted once more, and a dozen sailors were hurled into the sea. They started thrashing through the waves toward the nearest islet.

  “Odd time to go swimming,” Castella said.

  Araline nodded. “Do you think they know there’s a dragon in the water?”

  “The signs are all there.”

  Castella felt an unwelcome prickle from her conscience at the thought of all the sailors that would die this day. But they had chosen their side when they picked Tempest for a captain. Indeed, she was more saddened by the fate of the Destiny itself. She had been there nine months ago when Tempest seized the ship from a gang of Mellikian privateers, even led her own boarding party against the enemy quarterdeck. Strange how she missed those days. For a brief period, every dawn had marked the start of a new adventure, and Tempest had been a man to share it with.

  Aboard the Destiny, three brave souls grabbed boarding pikes and charged the dragon. Their weapons deflected off the creature’s armoured plates with a tortured screech of metal. The beast seemed not to notice. It brought its tail whipping down again. It tangled in the rigging, and the Destiny slewed round. Castella examined the newly revealed port side where the dragon had rammed it.

  “You know what the sad part about this is?” she said.

  “I’m struggling to see one myself.”

  “If Tempest dies, he’ll never know that I tricked him by pouring the blood away.”

  Araline considered this. “That is a shame,” she said finally. Then, “What is it about you and Tempest, anyway? I know you’ve got history, but it seems harsh to want him dead just because he left you.”

  Castella shot her a look. Did her friend think her so petty that she would desire a man’s death out of spite alone? “He didn’t leave me. I left him.”

  “What? Why?”

  Castella looked away. In the bay, the dragon glittered like frost. “Because one of the crewmen he so famously keelhauled was a friend of mine.”

  He’d done it for no other reason than that he’d found Castella and Ven together one day, laughing and drinking. Mistaking it for something it wasn’t, Tempest had flown into a rage. Castella could still remember the moment Ven was pulled from the sea following his keelhauling, half drowned and cut to slices by the barnacles on the hull. He’d been little more than a boy. Castella had been forced to watch as he was nailed to the main mast and left to bleed out. He’d cried and begged for his life. Through it all, Tempest had laughed—he and everyone else in his godforsaken crew.

  Castella had tried telling Tempest the truth, but he hadn’t believed her and he had cared even less. I can’t risk losing you, he’d said. As if Castella had been his to lose. Later, he had locked her in his cabin together with the rest of his trophies. Every day he would come to inspect his prizes, until one night Castella had escaped by picking the cabin’s lock and diving overboard.

  Pushing the memories aside, Castella watched the dragon smash the Destiny’s mizzenmast with one sweep of a taloned foot. She wondered if Tempest now regretted his decision to search for th
e flask of blood. She had told him once that greed would be the death of him, and so it was about to prove. Even if Castella had had to give fate a nudge in that respect.

  Araline regarded her shrewdly. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? You never expected to get away with the dragon blood. You wanted Tempest to chase you so you could lure the dragon to him on open water.”

  Castella did not try to deny it. She felt bad about not telling Araline her plan beforehand, yet there was time to make it up to the mage. The flask of blood might be lost, but there should still be blood in the dragon’s carcass. And if there wasn’t, the rest of the creature’s body remained valuable. Dragon meat was said to be a delicacy in the same way that everything that tasted ghastly was. Then there were the beast’s scales to consider. Hacking them free was a task beyond Castella, but if she told Dresk about the carcass, he would send a few capable butchers to do the job. And reward her for the information too. Or reward Araline, more accurately.

  The silver dragon crunched through the Destiny’s main yard, and the spar came crashing down. Most of the Squalls had already jumped overboard, but Castella could make out Tempest still on deck, struggling under the weight of a small chest. Even now he was trying to save his treasures. Castella forced a smile. Her plan had worked. How could she ever have doubted herself? There were enough people already to do the doubting for her.

  Just then, Araline’s gaze fixed on something in the distance. “Hey,” she said. “You see that island over there? The one with the hill?”

  “What about it?”

  “That stone at the top—that looks a bit like the Cross, doesn’t it?”

  It did, Castella decided. Same height, same jagged protrusions on either side. In fact, the more she studied it . . .

  “It is the Cross!” Araline said.

  Castella frowned, wondering why that mattered. Before, she’d assumed she and her friend had sailed in a circle, but who cared if they’d landed on another island instead of the Cross? Easy mistake to make when you were fleeing for your life in the darkness. Plus it would be simple to retrace their steps to the island later.