“I’ve got her,” Matrinka said, closer than Tae expected. It was, apparently, she who was holding him, adjusting her grasp to pull him over the gunwale.
The tugging strained at Tae’s injury. “Imorelda,” he gasped against pain. “I need to hear them.” Through a blur of salt, water, and discomfort, Tae could barely see Subikahn helping the girl to the deck, then leaping up beside her.
The mind-voices of the Kjempemagiska came back to him, mostly indecipherable magical exhortations, assorted cries for attack, and words whose vehemence suggested swearing. Then, abruptly, one cut over the others, *No vethrleikr!* Tae got an image of weather-related magic, tearing storms, and crashing waves. *My little girl is out there!* The mental voice added in clear desperation, *Somewhere.*
With Matrinka’s assistance, Tae flopped over the side of the ship, the gunwale driving air and a dribble of water from his chest. The young giantess huddled, shivering from fear or cold, her clothing soaked, her golden hair a snarl. Clearly disoriented by her near-drowning, her head bobbed strangely and she seemed unable to process the presence of the sword-wielding Renshai at her side. On the deck, Arturo writhed in his bonds, howling and fighting like a trussed and feral animal.
Captain stared out over the sea, his mouth moving soundlessly, his eyes rolled upward and blazing like living citrine.
Tae rolled onto the deck, regained his feet, and seized the elf’s arm. “Captain,” he gasped. “You’ve got to get us out of here! Fast.”
Captain turned his gaze on Tae, as if in a daze.
Tae shook the elf, though the movement triggered his own pain. “Captain, move!” He tipped his head, listening for the Kjempemagiska voices. He could still hear them, which meant Imorelda was doing her best, but they had grown softer, more distant. It took him a moment to sort the conversation and realize what they were planning. As soon as he did so, he explained. “They’re headed for their warships. They’re coming after us. We have to cast off immediately.” He shook the elf again. “Captain, do you hear me?”
The elf shoved Tae away, sending him stumbling. A gentle hum filled his head, and a fog of black and white spots replaced his vision. Dizziness drove him to one knee.
“Tae!” Matrinka’s voice sounded a million nautical miles away.
Tae ignored her, concentrating on maintaining consciousness. The Kjempemagiska voices disappeared, but he could still feel emotion pulsing through a single, remaining mental connection. It was filled with an agony worse than his own, a deep primal throbbing far beyond physical pain. Desperate, the owner of the voice called out repeatedly, a single word that Tae had never previously encountered: *Mistri, mistri, mistri!*
Gradually, as Tae recovered his own equilibrium, the word gained context. He saw the familiar image of the Kjempemagiska child, laughing and running, her long yellow hair streaming behind her. Mistri, apparently, was the girl’s name. He could feel the ship lurching under Captain’s command. Matrinka’s physical voice in his ear could not compete with the mental pounding of a grieving and despairing parent, though he could not tell if the mind reaching out to the ocean came from a male or female giant. Apparently, the girl either could not hear it or was too shocked or confounded to respond. Uncertain why, Tae sent a message in the language of the enemy, *She was drowning, but she’s safe now. Alive and being tended.*
Shock chopped through the overbearing mantle of grief, and the call for Mistri disappeared. *Mistri . . . is alive? She’s safe?* As the ship ripped free of the dragging tide and headed out to the ocean, the voice faded into the distance.
*Yes.* Tae glanced at Mistri who fell back against the bulkhead, attention firmly on Arturo. *No harm will come to her. I’ll see to it.*
One last question floated over the sea. *Who are you?* As the ship pulled away, the words brushed Tae’s mind like a whisper.
Tae saw no reason not to answer, *My name is Tae.* He did not bother to add more, uncertain whether even those words could reach the island.
Taut with wind, the sails dragged the Sea Skimmer briskly into the ocean. Matrinka held pressure against the top of Tae’s shoulder with one hand, the other tracing the course of the metal bolt along his back. She was speaking, apparently had been doing so for some time, “. . . have a gods-be-damned target on your forehead? There’s no exit wound, Tae. It’s still in there.”
Tae could have told her that. He could feel the thing against his spine, shifting whenever he moved. He started to rise, but Matrinka held him in place. “Tae, hold still, damn it! How many times do I have to tell you that movement could paralyze or kill you?”
That finally seized his attention. “What?” He looked at Matrinka.
The queen of Béarn stared him down, anger and tears filling her gaze simultaneously. “Now, you’re listening?”
“I’m listening,” Tae promised, freezing like a statue. “Did you just say movement could paralyze me?”
“Or kill you,” Matrinka added. “Or is that of much lesser significance to you?”
Tae did not bother to consider. He was not fond of either possibility but imagined finding himself immobile but alive might be the worse fate. “You’ve got my attention. Why is movement so dangerous?”
Arturo continued to holler and jerk on the deck, but Matrinka wholly ignored him. That brought her warning to a new level. If she felt compelled to ignore her long-lost, believed dead, and clearly distressed son to minister to Tae, he had to be in imminent and serious danger. Tae could think of one other possibility. “Is that . . . in fact . . . Arturo?” He did not want to contemplate the prospect that they had sacrificed the mission and put all their lives in serious danger to kidnap an alsona.
“Of course, that’s Arturo.” Matrinka snapped, clearly frustrated by her need to ignore her son at a time when he desperately needed her. “I know my own child, Tae Kahn. Now, hold still.”
Tae did not think he could get any more motionless without losing consciousness. “You still haven’t explained why.”
“I didn’t think I had to.” Matrinka continued to clamp cloth to his shoulder. “You have a hunk of metal in your body. It came in here . . .” She squeezed the hand already clutching the wound, adding little to the already fiery agony. “It appears to have dissected a straight line between your skin and muscle, which is odd but relatively fortunate. Without penetrating muscle, it can’t poke holes in any vital structures, like organs or large vessels.”
That sounded like good news to Tae, but he let her finish.
“It’s wedged in the plane between muscle and skin. So long as you remain still, you’re fine. When you move, you shift its position somewhat randomly, and it could penetrate into the muscle or, worse, the spine or could rupture blood vessels and cause severe bleeding.”
Tae rolled his gaze to Subikahn to make certain the Renshai kept his attention focused on their unintended hostage as well as the bound man flopping on the deck. He did not speak of it, however. It would insult Subikahn to suggest he might not be entirely devoted to their safety. “So . . .” Tae did not fully understand what Matrinka had said but enough to know he preferred not to move until the object in his back was dealt with. “. . . you’re going to . . .”
“Well, you obviously can’t spend your life in one position; you might as well be paralyzed.” Matrinka pursed her lips, and Tae knew her well enough to realize she did not like any of her options. “I’m going to have to remove it.”
Tae swallowed hard, uncertain if he wished to know the answer to his next question. “Is that . . . dangerous?”
“Not really.” Matrinka’s answer surprised him, though he knew she was not above lying to him when it came to matters of his health. “At least not under normal circumstances. I have only a limited supply of herbs with me, and I wasn’t expecting to have to make someone sleep through a serious procedure.”
“Sleep,” Tae repeated. He suppressed the urge to shake his he
ad. “I can’t sleep now. We’re going to need every brain and sword arm to keep ahead of the warships.”
A mental voice brushed Tae’s mind, but it was not Imorelda. Startled, he flinched but managed to keep himself from leaping to a more defensible position.
*Tae?*
Matrinka put her hand on Tae to steady him. “If you can’t even hold still now, how are you going to do it while I’m cutting?”
Cutting? Tae appreciated that his attention to the mind-call allowed him to disregard the word. He knew Imorelda’s contact intimately. Whoever had called his name was not her or elfin khohlar. Only one other had the ability to speak to him in this manner. *Mistri?* he tried.
*Am I going to die?*
Tae turned his gaze to the young giantess as much as he dared, wishing he could look into her eyes. *No, Mistri. You’re not going to die. You’re going to be fine.*
*Are you going to die?*
*No,* Tae assured her, though he was not at all sure. *Not me, either.* He addressed Matrinka. “Is it going to hurt?”
Matrinka attempted to show no emotion, but a twitch in her left eye gave her away. Apparently deciding there was no easier way to say it, she blurted out, “Hell, yes, it’s going to hurt, Tae. What do you think? It’s going to hurt a lot. That’s why I’d prefer you asleep, if only so you’re not biting me. Or leaping around like a fish.”
Subikahn snickered.
Tae wished he did not have to move to give Subikahn an evil look. It would almost be worth it. Almost.
Unable to make sense of the verbal conversation, Mistri addressed Tae again. *Cause you’re the only one who can talk to me, yes?*
*Yes,* Tae returned. Accustomed to two nonoverlapping conversations simultaneously, he switched back and forth easily. He appreciated that Imorelda could not hold the mental exchange at Mistri’s level and also communicate. Tae doubted he could maintain three separate discussions, even at the peak of health. *But it’s easier for me if you talk out loud.* Matrinka was the only one who knew he required the cat’s aid to converse in this manner, and he intended to keep it that way.
Mistri continued speaking to his mind. *But I’m only little. I can’t say much, yet.*
Mistri’s words confused Tae, but only momentarily. He had heard the pidgin language she had used when addressing Arturo. This mental form of communication allowed images, emotion, and intention to flow along with words, filling in the gaps. He imagined much of what he gleaned from their current conversation had little to do with actual vocabulary and everything to do with basic ideas, feelings, and other nonverbal cues.
Nausea bubbled up inside Tae, presumably from the injury, though the rapid movement of the ship might have exacerbated his queasiness. He had never suffered from seasickness, but he had also never moved so fast across the ocean as they did now. Elf or not, Captain had clearly understood the urgency of the situation.
Tae supposed they had little to worry about. The Kjempemagiska might have weather magic, but so, he felt certain, did Captain, at least when it came to moving his ship. Without it, the tinier craft already held the advantage, particularly manned by someone who had spent thousands of years learning the sea. “All right,” he finally said. “Use whatever herbs you brought, then.” He sighed, though the depth of that breath aggravated his wound. “If you, Subikahn, and Captain together can’t handle whatever comes, I doubt I’d add much anyway.”
Matrinka scurried off immediately, without giving Tae a chance to change his mind again. Tae rolled his gaze back toward his son. “Her name is Mistri. Be gentle with her, please. She’s very young, and she doesn’t understand what’s happening.”
Subikahn responded with obvious sarcasm. “I think I can control myself.”
The little girl’s mental voice touched Tae again. *You’ll help Bobbin?*
An image accompanied the question, and Tae knew she was talking about Arturo. *No harm will come to him. The lady who’s helping me is his mother, and she loves him dearly.* He could hear Matrinka’s footfalls approaching, and knew he had to swiftly tell Mistri what was about to happen to him. With a heavy sigh, he set out to explain to a young child what he did not wish to contemplate himself.
The three of you mock what you claim to represent. If you constitute Balance, then I am the counter-Balance. All forces must have opposition to exist.
—Colbey Calistinsson
AN INDEFINABLE SOUND awakened Saviar Ra-khirsson, and he found himself dodging an attack purely from instinct. Jeremilan stumbled into empty air, lost his balance, and sprawled onto the floor beside the chair that had, an instant earlier, held Saviar’s sleeping form. The old man rolled stiffly. Ignoring Saviar’s proffered hand, he clambered to his feet, glaring at the now wide-awake Renshai. “What have you done with her!”
Saviar blinked, brow furrowing. “Wh-what?” he finally managed, utterly confused. He drove aside blurry thoughts to the memory of what he had been doing prior to falling asleep that evening. He recalled a bland meal, a strange dice game with seven male Myrcidians that he had lost badly, and a routine practice with a pretend weapon. Nothing further came to mind.
Jeremilan balled his fists but did not lunge at Saviar again. “What have you done with her, you bastard spawn of demons?” His head lowered like a wolf preparing to bite, and he spat out each word, “Where . . . is . . . my . . . great-granddaughter?”
Alarm warred with Saviar’s confusion. “Chymmerlee? She’s . . . missing?”
Jeremilan’s fists turned white with strain, and his face seemed to acquire all the color they lost. “Of course, she’s missing. You know she’s missing.” His dark eyes glared into Saviar’s, though he had to look upward to meet them. “What have you done with her?”
Bothered he had to defend himself with time better spent finding the missing sorceress, Saviar huffed out an incensed breath. “I’m a prisoner, remember? I haven’t seen Chymmerlee, or any female Myrcidian, since you captured me. How could I?”
Apparently, the logic of Saviar’s words calmed at least some of Jeremilan’s rage. He hesitated. In that moment, another Myrcidian, a lanky white-haired man called Eldebar, stepped through the invisible doorway. “Paultan’s gone, too, sir. And Janecos.”
“What!” The flush drained abruptly from Jeremilan’s face. “Are you sure?” As he whirled to face Eldebar, he seemed to have forgotten about Saviar.
Too concerned for Chymmerlee to worry about whether Jeremilan meant him insult by turning his back, Saviar stepped up beside the Myrcidians’ leader.
Eldebar glanced behind him, as if he wished he were anywhere else at the moment. “We’re all in and locked up tight now. We’ve accounted for everyone but those three. There’s no indication they went anywhere together, and they didn’t leave word they intended to go outside.”
Saviar had become accustomed to the Myrcidian paranoia. Not for the first time, he wondered how they could lead any kind of contented life cooped up in their joint dwelling. “I can find them,” he said softly.
Both men whirled on Saviar. “Find them!” Apparently, circulation returned to Jeremilan’s face severalfold, turning it a dark shade of reddish lavender. “You? You’re the one who did this. You have to be the one.”
Eldebar shook his head. “Please, sir. That’s just not possible.”
Jeremilan continued to stare viciously at Saviar, but he did not speak, which encouraged Eldebar to finish.
“We’ve had guards on him all night. He hasn’t moved.” Eldebar added conclusively, “Jeremilan, there’s no possible way this man could have had a direct role in their disappearance.”
“Demon magic,” Jeremilan said, though Saviar could tell even he did not believe his own words.
“Sir,” Saviar started, trying to sound as logical and reasonable as Jeremilan did not. “The issue of whether I’m man or demon has already been settled, and I have assured you I have no magical abil
ities at all. Now, if you have some kind of magic that will find Chymmerlee and the others, please use it. If not, let me find them.”
Jeremilan only stared, his demeanor thoughtful but his facial features dark and hostile.
“The longer we wait to start, the less likely we can find them.” Saviar knew the Myrcidians could spend days discussing the situation and weeks coordinating a plan. Whether the missing Myrcidians had fallen into unexpected danger or had willingly and deliberately left the fold, they would likely blunder into danger without someone to protect or rescue them. Chymmerlee had more experience and thus more cunning and knowledge than the others, but she still had many of the limitations that accompanied an overprotective environment. “What if they’ve fallen into a pit or gotten lost in a cave? What if they’ve run into highwaymen intending to sell them into slavery?”
Jeremilan focused on the wrong word. “Slavery? What countries still practice—”
Not wishing to get into a tangential discussion, Saviar cut him off. “No countries legally. But there’s an underground trade, and women in particular . . .” Saviar changed the subject, refusing to get sidetracked. Some considered arranged marriages a form of subjugation, while others simply saw it as a normal way of life. “Look, we can talk about this later. Right now, we need to work quickly if we’re going to have any chance of saving your missing mages.”
Jeremilan started to speak, then stopped, started again, and finally clamped his jaw shut.
Eldebar stood quietly, awaiting his leader’s decision.
With a sigh, Saviar returned to his chair. It did him no good to continue arguing. The more Saviar pushed, the more it would convince Jeremilan he had ulterior motives for volunteering for the mission.
Jeremilan sucked in a long breath, then let it out just as slowly. “What assurance do we have that you’ll even help us, that you won’t just run away?”
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