Scimitar's Heir

by Chris A. Jackson

  She felt the wind falter as she brooded on these thoughts, so she pushed them away and concentrated on her tasks. There was naught else she could do. She ignored the torrid heat, the sweat trickling down her ribs, the dull ache behind her eyes…there was only the wind, the sea, and the ships.

  An earsplitting screech snapped her from her half-trance. She ducked instinctively—a rigging failure? A metal ring or bolt sheering under too-heavy a load?—but a silvery streak of gossamer-crystal wings, accompanied by another screech, told her that it was only Mouse.

  “Gods, Mouse! You’re going to scare me to death with your—”

  He snapped to a hover before her, his tiny face alight with excitement. He grabbed the lapel of her blouse and tugged, chattering like an insane cricket and pointing off into the heat-hazed distance.

  “What? Wait, Mouse. Stop!” He stopped, even to the point that his wings stopped fluttering. He would have fallen to the deck had he not been gripping her shirt. She snatched him up and said, “Now, what is it? You’ve seen something?”

  He nodded, eyes wide, and pointed in the same direction.

  “Something bad?”

  He gave a non-committal “Eeep,” and shrugged, but pointed again.

  “Chula!” she called.

  “Aye, Capt’n?” He joined her beside the mast. “Somethin’ amiss?”

  “I don’t know, but Mouse spotted something about two points off the port bow. Rouse your lookout. I want to know what it is.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  He relayed orders. While they waited, Cynthia squinted against the glare of the sun. The flat, weed-covered sea spread in all directions, and mirages played on the horizon. She rubbed her eyes to dispel the bright spheres that dotted her vision. After a few minutes, the lookout called down, “Dere’s a cloud on de horizon dere! It’s small, but dark on de unda-side, like.”

  “That’s it!” Cynthia said, surging with sudden energy. “Change course, Chula, and signal Orin’s Pride that we’ve sighted something.”

  Orders were relayed, and in the span of a minute every hand on watch stood in the rigging, squinting into the distance. Cynthia urged on the winds and parted the weeds that slowed their progress, her concentration renewed. In less than an hour, the fore-top lookout called down again.

  “Capt’n! Dere’s somet’in’ ahead! Looks like an islan’!”

  “Yes!” A grim smile creased Cynthia’s face, her bleary eyes watering with sudden relief. “We’ve found it, Chula! Get me a quill and paper. I need to write a note to Feldrin, then I’ve got to go over the side to talk with Chaser; we don’t need the undine anymore. Oh, and make sure all hands are up and armed. Who knows what surprises Eelback may have in store for us.”

  The ship stirred with a flurry of activity that would have put a warship preparing for battle to shame. Steel glinted everywhere as swords and boarding pikes were readied, and the four great ballistae were cranked back and loaded. Ghelfan appeared on deck bearing paper, quill and ink for Cynthia, an ornate rapier at his hip.

  “I gather from the commotion that we have discovered the lost city?”

  “It looks that way, Ghelfan.” She scrawled a quick note, rolled it up and handed it to Mouse. “To Feldrin, Mouse.” As the seasprite streaked off toward Orin’s Pride, another voice drew her attention.

  “What’s going on, Cynthia?” Edan had come on deck, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair rumpled like a carrot-colored dandelion. “Trouble?”

  “Not yet, but there could be. I suggest you arm yourself and get ready.” She raised her viewing glass and stared at the dark smudge on the horizon. “We’ve found Akrotia.”

  ≈

  Chaser watched Seamage Flaxal Brelak rise on the water that carried her back up to her ship. Her news that they had sighted Akrotia both excited and disturbed him. To be able to see the legendary city with his own eyes…what a thrill! But the reason they sought the city in the first place hung over his elation like a suffocating cloud of silt.

  He watched as the two undine scouts swam away with a five-mer escort, pleased with the large blue and yellow fish the seamage had given to them as a gift. She had complimented them on their keen sense of smell, thanked them for their service, and asked that they give her regards to the schoolmaster, whom she considered a true ally. It was all prettily done, though Chaser didn’t think it would amount to much; she and the schoolmaster had not parted on the best of terms. At least the seamage had shown more excitement in her movements than the brooding anger she had exhibited of late.

  Maybe she doesn’t hate us as much now, he thought wistfully.

  He pulled a deep, cleansing draught of water through his gills. Odea, he was tired! He and his school had been swimming steadily for many tides now, clearing weeds from the ships and resting in the wakes of their bows or trailing from their rudders as often as possible. He would send the dolphins in the direction the seamage had indicated. They could determine if Eelback and his school had already reached Akrotia, and perhaps give Chaser information that would help them take the traitors as quickly as a barracuda snapping up an unsuspecting fish.

  Hopefully, he thought, before they have time to sacrifice their captives.

  ≈

  “They’re leaving!” Tim reported, breathless from his dash down the mountainside to the cave. His clothes were tattered and filthy, and his face and arms scratched from crawling through brush and up trees over the past couple of days, but his mood was light. “The pirates are leaving, Father!”

  “Finally!” his father said. “Did you see Camilla?”

  “No, sir. I just saw the pirate ships sailing out the channel, and ran right back here to tell you.” He accepted a halved coconut shell full of water from Paska and drank it down in one gulp.

  “All of dem leavin’?” she asked. “Even dat big galleon?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave them a brief report of what he’d seen. “And they looked like they were in a hurry, too. They cut their dock lines.”

  “What would scare them away?” his father asked, directing the question more toward Paska than him.

  “Dunno, Mista Count. What’s bad for dem should be good for us, but we should not be so hasty to go runnin’ out inta whatever has scared dat bunch of murderin’ basta’ds.” She clutched little Koybur closer and frowned. “Maybe someone should have a look see.”

  “I’ll go up to the summit lookout,” Tim said turning to duck under the foliage that covered the mouth of the cave. “I can see more from there.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Emil snatched up his sword and clipped it onto his belt.

  “Are you sure, Father?” Tim asked dubiously, eyeing the count’s well-tailored, though now dirty, attire. Scampering quietly through the brush was hard work even for Tim; he wondered if his middle-aged father was up to it.

  “Lead on.” The count clapped Tim on the shoulder, and they exited the cave.

  “This way, Father,” Tim said, leading the way out of the cave and along the rough game trail that led up toward the summit. After only a few yards, he was cringing at the noise his father was making, breaking his way through the thick jungle growth and cursing under his breath at the sharp rocks and briars that tripped him up. Before they had gone far, Tim stopped and whispered, “We must be quiet, Father. The pirates might have left a lookout, or this might be a trap.”

  “You think they would sail away and leave others behind just to lure us out?” the count asked, keeping his voice low. He wiped away blood from a shallow scratch left on his cheek by a briar and made a face that Tim could not interpret. “That seems rather devious.”

  Tim sighed silently at his father’s ignorance, and explained. “If they didn’t believe Miss Cammy’s story, but didn’t know where we were hiding, they might set a trap. That’s the way pirates think, Fath
er.”

  “Camilla would never tell them we were here,” the count said, obvious disbelief painting his face.

  “Trust me, Father,” Tim whispered, shaking his head ruefully, “if they interrogated her, she’s told them everything she knows, and probably anything else she could think of, true or not. They’re not gentle with questions, and they know their business.” The color drained from his father’s face, but Tim couldn’t make himself regret what he’d said. The man just didn’t understand pirates, and if they were going to survive, he needed to. “Come on, and be as quiet as you can. Watch me; step where I step.”

  “I’ll…try, Tim. Lead on.”

  They proceeded up the mountainside, the count taking more care and making far less noise now. Tim was small enough that he could slip through the underbrush without leaving much of a trace, but his father’s larger frame required a certain degree of trail breaking. The count was learning, however, and by the time they reached the summit, he was moving with an acceptable, if not quite impressive, degree of stealth.

  Tim raised a hand to halt, and the two crouched in the brush to survey the clearing. It was void of people, though littered with bits of trash, discarded food, bones and an empty wine bottle.

  “It looks clear,” Count Norris whispered, his eyes flicking between Tim and the empty space beyond their hiding place.

  “Yes. Let’s go, but be ready to run.”

  The count nodded, and the two edged out of hiding, ears straining for the slightest rustle of brush that could signify an ambush, but only silence and the twitter of tropical birds reached their ears. Tim motioned them forward, and they crept up the incline to the large, flat stone that marked the exact summit of the island. From here they could see for many miles in all directions; the arc of the Shattered Isles archipelago stretched across the blue sea to the northwest and southeast, the towering plume of Fire Isle to the south.

  “There!” Tim said, pointing to the three pirate ships, already beyond the reef. “They’re headed south. That means whatever sent them off is somewhere to the—”

  “Holy Gods of Light,” Count Norris whispered as they surveyed the northern horizon. More than a dozen sharp pyramids of white dotted the sunlit sea, distant, but visible with the naked eye.

  “The emperor’s fleet, I’ll wager,” Tim said, pulling the small viewing glass from his belt and raising it. “Yep, they’re warships, all right.” He handed the tube over to his father.

  “Yes, and a sizable force, but they are here too soon,” murmured the count. “Tipos may have reached Tsing by now, but to ready a force such as this takes days, and then the trip back... They should have required another week at the very least to return.” He squinted through the tube. “That is the Indomitable, Admiral Joslan’s flagship. They must have been deployed to a southern port to await word of our negotiations, but I knew nothing of it.” He handed the tube back to Tim.

  “So, this Admiral Joslan...is he a decent fellow?” Tim asked, pocketing the glass.

  “Decent? I suppose, but how do you mean?”

  “I mean, will he hang us all for treason for the destruction of Fire Drake and Clairissa?” Memories of punishments meted out by Bloodwind flashed through Tim’s mind, and he shivered despite the heat of the sun beating on the mountaintop. By his father’s widening eyes, he knew that the thought had not occurred to him, but considering the count’s ignorance in other areas, Tim didn’t know whether to be comforted or worried. Then the count’s eyes hardened, and his mouth took on a grim line that Tim had not seen before.

  “He will not, Tim,” he said gruffly. “Not if I have anything to say about it, and you may be sure that I will.” Then he crooked a smile and patted Tim on the shoulder. “Come on. We must tell the others. I should greet the admiral at the pier, and we can begin to assess the damage that has been done.”

  “And look for Miss Cammy?” Tim asked, trying not to consider her likely fate. He had lived with these pirates and knew what happened to women captives. He knew his father was trying to allay his fears, but wondered if the count had even an inkling what they might find in the aftermath of the pirates’ attack.

  “Yes, Tim. We will look for Camilla as well,” the count said, with a tremor in his voice that told Tim that he did indeed know very well what they might find.

  Chapter 13

  Akrotia

  “It’s huge!” Edan gaped up at the lofty spires of pale gray stone. Tier upon tier of graceful spirals and arches, overgrown with the greenery of long untended gardens and streaked white with a thousand years of seabirds’ guano, towered high above the ships. Narrow avenues wound between lofty edifices, linked high above by walkways that resembled the limbs of trees. Ornate crenulations, both decorative and functional, lined every balustrade and balcony. The architecture was obviously elvish in design, fluid in its grace. Peggy’s Dream and Orin’s Pride, surrounded by their mer escort, sailed within a few hundred yards of the city, and were dwarfed by its magnitude.

  “Akrotia is exactly one nautical mile in radius, Edan,” Ghelfan said. Edan heard him, but his eyes remained fixed on the astounding scenery. No recitation of technical details could compare with the view. It seemed that his opinion was shared, as everyone stood rapt along the gunwales, hushed mumbles and exclamations the only conversation. Even so, Ghelfan continued. “The city was once home to almost a hundred thousand souls, both mer and elvish. It was the most grandiose failure my ancestors ever helped to create.”

  Edan spared a glance at the shipwright and was astonished to see tears glistening in the half-elf’s eyes, his face drawn in a countenance of wonder and desolation. It disconcerted him—he liked Ghelfan, who was the only one who talked with him and didn’t treat him like a pariah—but he looked quickly back to the city, lost in its wonder.

  “How could anything so big float?” he asked. “And it’s made of stone! Why doesn’t it sink?”

  “A metal bowl will float, will it not, Master Edan?” The shipwright looked at him and one corner of his mouth twitched upward. “It is not the weight or composition of the structure, but the mass of water that is displaced, and the manner in which it is displaced, that determine its buoyancy and stability.”

  “Oh. I see,” Edan said, though he didn’t really understand. He tried to imagine the great city as a huge earthenware bowl and saw how it could float, but still wasn’t satisfied with the explanation. “All the buildings and towers must weigh hundreds of tons, and they’re so high. Seems like it would tip over with everything sticking up like that.”

  “It is what you cannot see that keeps it upright,” Ghelfan explained, his graceful hands scribing arcs in the air as he spoke. “There is much more beneath the surface than above. Not only mer dwellings, which remain flooded, but vast vaults, rooms, chambers and halls, all many floors beneath the level of the sea. The weight of the water being displaced exceeds the weight of the structures being supported, while the flooded portions act like a ship’s keel, pulling down to keep the city from rolling over. Do you understand?”

  Edan nodded, beginning to get a picture in his mind that made sense. “But how could something like this ever be built, Ghelfan?”

  “Magic, of course,” the shipwright said, returning his gaze to the floating city. “Elvish earth elementalists and mages of the merfolk worked together for decades, and designers and architects of both races labored for decades before. The city was constructed where land and sea met, its hull and primary superstructure crafted as one piece, shaped by magic and bound in that form by spells that will resist the ravages of time for millennia. Once it was launched, mer and elves worked on their respective sections, adding their own embellishments but following the master plan.”

  “So, the merfolk lived underneath and the elves lived on top. Ingenious.”

  “Not entirely, Master Edan. The two races lived together in Akrotia. T
hat was the city’s purpose; to unite the races of land and sea. There are many places within, great halls and audience chambers, even theaters and gardens, where both races could commingle, learn from one another, become one.” His voice took on a morose tone. “It was that attempt, not the structure itself, which failed.”

  “But I heard Cynthia say that the city was alive once; that a seamage, an elvish seamage, was sacrificed to bring it to life.” Edan could see that the shipwright was distressed, but his curiosity would not let the matter rest.

  “Not sacrificed,” Ghelfan said with a shake of his head. “The seamage stepped into the Chamber of Life willingly to become the heart and mind of Akrotia. His breath became the wind that circulated air and propelled the city, his blood became the water that flowed through it, purifying the wastes of its inhabitants. In fact, Akrotia was the name of the seamage who was joined with the city, so, in reality, the city became him. Without its heart, Akrotia is just a very large floating barge, incapable of supporting any appreciable population, above or below.”

  “How do you know so much about it, if it’s been dead for so long?”

  Ghelfan chuckled. “I am a shipwright, Edan. When I decided on the path I would pursue for my life’s work, I sought out all the knowledge I could. Akrotia is the pinnacle of elvish design for waterborne vessels. The principles used to design and build ships are the same as those used to design and build Akrotia. Despite the difficulty I had in acquiring information from the elves—who have tried to put this failed experiment behind them—I learned much by studying the accounts of those who visited or lived here, which made my own creations better.”

  Edan opened his mouth to voice his next question, but Cynthia approached and interrupted without even a nod to him. He felt the presence of her power like a cloying wet blanket, clammy and suffocating, pressing against him. His temper flared; she’d told him not to use his powers around her, but she didn’t seem to mind using hers near him. He stoically refused to take a step back; if she could take it, so could he.