Scimitar's Heir

by Chris A. Jackson

  Sam seethed at the reference to her so-called father, but let it slide. She didn’t know if she bought the woman’s story, but it was almost too incredible to be a lie.

  “Okay, one more question. Where’s she taking Edan?” she asked.

  Camilla stiffened, then looked at Sam curiously. “Brelak clapped him in irons after he burned the emperor’s flagship. As far as I know, he’s still in the hold of Orin’s Pride. Cynthia insisted on taking him along to fight the mer.”

  Tim, Norris and Edan all in one place, Sam thought. Perfect! A new plan developed in her mind.

  “One last question, then,” she said with a sly smile. “Where exactly have they gone?”

  ≈

  Now is the time, Kelpie thought. She set the baby down in a nook and swam casually toward Tailwalker. Slickfin was the only other mer in the grotto, with all the others either guarding the entrances or exploring the inner grottos with Eelback and Redtail. Predictably, Slickfin swam to block her way, dagger extended.

  *You will not approach him,* Slickfin signed, and pointed back to Kelpie’s corner.

  Kelpie puffed her gills full and sculled herself higher in the water so she looked slightly down at Slickfin, and put on her most solemn mien. *As Odea’s high priestess, it is my duty to see to the wounded,* she signed. *I healed your brother, did I not? Now I must see to Trident Holder Broadtail’s son. His wrists and throat are worn scaleless from being bound and dragged about.* Her bluster, as well as her mention of both Odea and the trident holder, was effective. Slickfin was not stupid; she yielded to Kelpie’s goddess-given authority.

  *You may heal him, but be quick about it,* she said, and returned to her position beside the grotto’s entrance to await the others. They had found more of the doors, and had opened several of them in their search for the Chamber of Life, though Eelback warned about opening too many. Each one allowed water into the city, and Akrotia settled a bit lower in the sea with each flooded chamber. If it settled too far, water would spill in from the top and the entire city would sink.

  Tailwalker turned away as Kelpie approached, but she positioned herself so that Slickfin could not see, and tugged on his bonds. When he whipped his head toward her, grimacing with pain, she signed covertly.

  *Eelback’s plan is a lie.*

  With his hands tied, Tailwalker could not sign, but his cold glare chilled her bones and stabbed her heart like a dagger.

  *You hate me,* she signed, fighting to prevent her colors from shifting to the pale hues of anguish. *I understand this, and I am deserving of your hatred. But know this, Son of Trident Holder Broadtail; I have earned your hatred by loving you.*

  Tailwalker’s eyes dilated and his color shifted, then he clapped his mouth twice in anger and glared anew. Kelpie continued signing.

  *Eelback would have killed you if I did not do as he said, if I did not betray my friend, Seamage Flaxal. I have sealed my own fate, Tailwalker, and knowing you hate me is the most dire punishment that could have been dealt. But see my words!* she signed quickly as he started to turn away. *I have read the scrolls, and Eelback’s plan will not work as he has told us! The Chamber of Life must receive a seamage, a willing seamage! Seamage Flaxal’s Heir is not a seamage! Putting the infant into the Chamber of Life will not restore Akrotia!*

  Despite his hatred, Kelpie could see that she had captured Tailwalker’s attention. His eyes flickered over her shoulder to Slickfin, and she knew she had lingered too long. She hastily invoked Odea’s grace and gripped Tailwalker’s chafed wrists; the raw flesh healed under her touch. Before she turned to go, her fingers flew, relaying her suspicions.

  *It is a trap.*

  Kelpie returned to her nook and picked up Seamage Flaxal’s Heir. Settling back against the grotto wall, she glanced first to see that Slickfin wasn’t looking, then turned toward Tailwalker, who looked at her with wide eyes.

  She held out the baby and signed, *Bait.*

  Chapter 11

  Nearing the Truth

  “Hold station here, Captain.” Admiral Joslan viewed the row of sails towering in Indomitable’s wake. The flagship was the first out of the Rockport Channel, as was only proper, but this meant she would have to wait hours for the rest of the armada to take their stations around her. “Signal the drakes to the van and the frigates to the perimeters. The three first-rates will sail with the supply ships in the middle of the armada.”

  “Aye aye, Admiral!” The captain gave the orders and Joslan turned back to his armada as the signalmen swarmed aloft.

  Joslan noted that the Iron Drake was taking her proper position at the fore, and nodded. He didn’t feel particularly good about the report he’d received from Pendergast, but that meager information was better than nothing. With it, he could hardly delay further. Something was amiss on Plume Isle, and he had to take advantage of it. He’d served under three successive emperors and fought many sea battles, but his stomach grew queasy when he considered a foe with the capacity to so easily destroy a first-rate ship of the line like Clairissa. He watched the fleet form up: sixteen ships in all, nearly seven-thousand souls, all his responsibility.

  “I have never ventured south of Rockport, Captain.” Admiral Joslan stiffened at the sound of Upton’s thin voice, but he continued his survey of the armada, refusing to turn. “How long is it to Plume Isle? For the entire armada, I mean, not just the fastest ships.”

  “We’ll be there morning after next, Master Upton,” Joslan heard the captain answer. “We are slowed by the supply ships, of course, but we cannot leave them unprotected.”

  “I understand completely, Captain. Thank you.”

  Joslan hoped Upton would simply go away, but he could feel him hovering like an unseen insect. He steeled himself for yet another bout of irritating questions and suggestions.

  “I commend you, Admiral. Getting this armada underway in so short a time is a laudable and monumental task.”

  Was that a compliment? If so, it was certainly not genuine. He turned to Upton and inclined his head, then turned back and raised his viewing glass. Coming from a lubber like Upton, the praise meant less than nothing; a blind man’s opinion of a room’s décor. What are you up to, you weasel? he thought.

  “I would be interested in your interpretation of Captain Pendergast’s report; obviously you found it stirring enough to warrant immediate action.”

  “My interpretation, Master Upton, is simply that something untoward has occurred on Plume Isle.” He glanced down at the man, keeping his expression neutral. “Whatever it is, it cannot be good for the seamage, so it may be good for us. I intend to find out.”

  “And the possibility of a ruse?”

  “A ruse?” His eyes snapped to the little man’s face. “You suggest the seamage set fire to the island as an attempt to lure us in? She doesn’t even know this armada exists!” He didn’t know whether he was more irritated that he had not thought of such a ploy himself, or that Upton had pointed it out to him.

  “We do not know what the seamage does or does not know, Admiral,” the spymaster said, his tone suddenly cold. “There could very well be more forces at work here than just ours and hers, or she could have informants here in Rockport. The mer, for instance, could have been in and out of this harbor a dozen times without our knowing.”

  “For the last week you have been urging me to act in haste, to commit this armada to immediate action, and now you preach caution?” Joslan scowled. “Make up your mind, Master Upton. You cannot have it both ways.”

  “Can I not, Admiral?” One corner of Upton’s mouth twitched upward, imperceptible had Joslan not been standing so close. “In my experience, I find that I can—and often do—have exactly that. Prompt action, Admiral Joslan, is not the antithesis of caution.”

  “An axiom which gives you the opportunity to be contrary, no matter what decisions are m
ade or actions are taken. This, Master Upton, seems to be what you do best.” The admiral turned his back squarely on the spymaster and pretended to survey the deployment of his armada, spurning any further banter. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the irritating little man goad him into a temper, but no matter how he tried, his thoughts always returned to the same question: What exactly, he wondered, might Upton know that I don’t?

  ≈

  Huffington clambered up the ladder onto the naval dock and accepted the watch officer’s hand for the last step. The palm was damp, as was his own; the sweltering afternoon temperature had them all sweating. He took a deep breath, the thick, stinking miasma of humanity as familiar as the voice of an old friend. Tsing, he thought, wiping his hand surreptitiously on his trousers. Welcome home.

  “Your business at the naval dock, sir?” The young lieutenant took a step back and raked him from head to toe with his eyes. “My pardon, but you don’t look like a navy man. Your crew wears the livery, but that boat is certainly not one of ours. I must have an explanation before I allow you to land.”

  “My name is Huffington. I’m secretary to Count Norris, and I bear urgent dispatches for the hands of the emperor.” He patted the satchel at his waist and nodded back to the boat. “We acquired this vessel in Rockport, since it would make the trip faster than any of the fleet’s launches, and a larger ship could not be spared. Admiral Joslan and Master Upton, the emperor’s Master of Security, commissioned this trip. There are documents in here for the emperor from them both.”

  “You bear news of the destruction of Clairissa?”

  Huffington was taken aback, but hid his response. How did word get here before I did?

  “Your pardon, Lieutenant, but the contents of my dispatches are for the emperor alone.”

  “Oh, quite right, but you may as well know that the news arrived yesterday. A boat from the seamage herself, crewed by three of her dark-skinned savages, they say. Come with me, please.” The lieutenant turned and strode up the dock. “And I’ll tell you something else: the emperor is fit to be tied about it. Rumor is that he nearly had those three messengers strung up, just on general principle. I’m sure he’ll be eager to receive a naval account of the loss, but watch yourself. He might not be inclined to a more favorable response just because the admiral sent you.”

  The lieutenant whistled, and a carriage pulled up before them, the imperial seal emblazoned on its door. Huffington boarded the coach without a word, as disturbed by the lieutenant’s yammering about the incident as he was that news of the disaster had beaten him here. He used the ride to collect his thoughts.

  Upon his arrival at the palace, he presented Upton’s letter and was ushered with all haste through a maze of halls and chambers to a pair of ornate double doors where four royal guards were posted. His escort presented the letter to the guard in charge, who scowled at him.

  “Not armed, are you?” the man said, glancing at the letter and handing it back to Huffington.

  “Yes,” he admitted. His life would be forfeit without time for explanation if they caught him with a weapon in the presence of the emperor.

  “Place your weapons there, please, sir,” the guard said, nodding to a silver tray on an ornate stand beside the door. Huffington noticed the subtle shifting of position as the other three guards gripped their halberds and rose onto the balls of their feet, ready to strike should Huffington show any intention to disobey the order.

  “Very well.” Huffington disarmed himself, an unusually long process for a diplomatic secretary. Of course, he had cultivated his benign appearance, and to good effect. The guards’ eyes grew wide as Huffington filled the tray with four daggers, a belt-buckle knife, one slim dart from a sheath sewn into the back of his waistcoat, and the garrote secreted under his collar.

  “Is that all?” the guard asked, glaring at the tangled pile of lethal instruments.

  “Yes, unless you want to pull my teeth as well,” he said, scowling back.

  “On your own pain if it’s not, sir.” The guard opened the door and rapped the haft of his weapon on the floor. “Mister Huffington, secretary to Count Norris, bearing dispatches from Admiral Joslan and Master of Security Upton.”

  Inside the door stood two more guards, as well as a shriveled little man—obviously the emperor’s secretary—bearing a thick book. In the middle of the room stood a slightly raised dais, and upon it the emperor sat behind a paper-strewn table. A darkly-clad woman stood at his elbow, her hand resting on the hilt of a katana at her waist. Huffington knew of Lady von Camwynn, the emperor’s personal bodyguard, from Count Norris. Glancing at her sword, he remembered the rumors he’d heard—enchanted, haunted, cursed, or all three—and shivered. Huffington was startled to recognize the one other man in the room: Tipos, the seamage’s dockmaster. So he was the messenger.

  “Follow me,” the secretary said unnecessarily, leading him to the table.

  Huffington bowed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor, and began to recite his carefully rehearsed words. “Your Majesty, I—” But he heard the whisper of Lady von Camwynn’s katana leaving its scabbard and the rest fled his mind. The black blade flashed before his eyes and hovered an inch below his chin. The emperor’s bodyguard had moved forward, swift and utterly silent, ready to remove his head with a twist of her wrist.

  “Caution, Majesty,” she warned coldly. “This man’s clothing has the marks of many weapons. Weapons favored by assassins. Stand, you.”

  Huffington slowly straightened. The dark blade in her hand, gleaming in the light from the windows, hovered much too close for his comfort.

  “We are familiar with Mister Huffington’s reputation, Lady von Camwynn,” the emperor said, waving a weary hand, “and We will trust his word that he bears Us no ill.”

  “If it please Your Majesty, I vow that I bear no ill will toward you, and that I am unarmed,” Huffington said, glancing to the bodyguard. “I will submit to any search you wish, of course.”

  “The satchel, if you please.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  Huffington lifted the strap over his head, worked the clasp and opened the flap for her. To his surprise, she did not look inside, but thrust the tip of her sword into the paper-filled bag, then withdrew it, her eyes never leaving his. She took a step back and sheathed her weapon, backing up to resume her position at the emperor’s elbow, her hand still on the disturbing weapon’s hilt. The emperor’s secretary appeared at his side, took the satchel from his hands, laid it on the table and began to remove the sealed dispatches.

  “So, Mister Huffington,” said the emperor, “you bear news from Admiral Joslan. Please tell Us that he has treated with the seamage and is bringing her here.”

  “I regret that I cannot do so, Your Majesty. At the time of my departure, Admiral Joslan was still in Rockport, deciding how to respond to the loss of His Majesty’s ships, Fire Drake and Clairissa.” He glanced toward Tipos. “News that, I see, you have already received.”

  “Yes, We received a report, but We would welcome a fresh account of the loss of Our flagship and the Fire Drake.” The sovereign’s eyes narrowed. “You were present at the battle?”

  “I was, your Majesty. I was aboard the Lady Gwen. It is all in the reports from—”

  “We will read the dispatches presently, but first We would like to hear your personal observations of the battle.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” He gave as accurate and unbiased an account of that dreadful day as he could manage. There was a long silence after he had finished. The emperor stared down at the table as if he were half asleep. Huffington cast a sidelong glance at Tipos, and detected a faint shake of the man’s head. Apparently, the emperor was not taking the news well. Finally, the sovereign replied.

  “We must read the dispatches and assess this situation.” His eyes rose from the table and flicked between the two m
en before him. “Until We make a decision as to what actions We shall take, you will not discuss this matter, even with each other, and both of you will stay here in the palace to await Our summons.”

  Huffington and Tipos both bowed and acceded, as if they had a choice.

  “If I may, Your Majesty, a question.”

  “Yes, Mister Huffington?”

  “I would ask if it is known whether my master, Count Norris, is alive. He was on Plume Isle when…during the battle.”

  “It would appear that he is alive and well, Mister Huffington, since many of these other missives are written in his own hand, and have been verified as genuine.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Await Our summons.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Huffington said with another bow, and backed carefully from the royal presence. Outside, he recovered his weapons, returning them to their allotted places as Tipos tucked a long dagger from another silver tray into his belt.

  “Well, Mista Huffin’ton, ‘tis good to see you weren’t burnt up or drowned wit’ de rest.” Tipos held out one large hand, which Huffington took and shook solemnly. “’Tis very good, indeed.”

  It struck Huffington as odd to be shaking hands with this man, here of all places. He remembered well their first meeting on the pier at Plume Isle. He had thought the native simple and violent, standing in naught but a loincloth, spear at the ready. Now he wondered if there might be as many sides to Tipos as there were to himself.

  “It is good to see you, too, Tipos. I trust you left your mistress in good health.”

  The man’s face fell, the open smile transforming instantly into a closed, blank mien. “Not ta be discussin’ what we was told not to, Mista’ Huffin’ton, but no, I did no such t’ing. I’m sure da emperor will be fillin’ you in on all dis later, so suffice ta say dat dere’s more goin’ on here dan what da two of us know.”