Scimitar's Heir

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Almost there, lass,” he gasped between breaths, his chest drenched with sweat, his face streaming and flushed.

  Cynthia would have said, “Good,” but she hadn’t the breath. The babe, at least, had calmed, though the jostling ride wreaked havoc with his digestion. He burped and spit up, then coughed, his sea-green eyes staring up at her as if pleading with her to stop the bouncing. She held him close and prayed to Odea, Please, please, just let us get out of here alive. She let her head slump onto Feldrin’s shoulder, closing her eyes against the tide of pain, exhaustion and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt as if she was slipping down a dark well, all sound and sensation fading…

  A cooler light, daylight, glowed from behind her closed lids as they finally reached the exit, but it was the gasped oath and the jolt as Feldrin stumbled to a halt that brought her back from the edge of unconsciousness.

  “Chula!” he called.

  Pain lanced through her as the sword’s hilt bumped something, and she opened her eyes. Beyond a crowd of milling, bloodied sailors, an inferno raged. Three burning masts reached for the sky like spears of fire: Peggy’s Dream.

  “Oh, Odea, please…” she muttered through sudden renewed tears; yet another pain, yet another loss. She closed her eyes and wept, and let darkness overtake her.

  ≈

  Kelpie gripped Tailwalker’s hand and swam for her life. They were free, in open water, but she had had to use her invocations to stave off several patrolling schools of myxine. During their flight, the recognition of Eelback’s final sly betrayal came to her. He had fulfilled his promise; he had let them go free. It was an easy promise, when he knew the myxine would ensure that they would not escape alive. They would keep all of Eelback’s secrets.

  Suddenly, Tailwalker jerked her to a stop and rounded on her, his fins flaring, gills pumping with fury. *Enough!* he signed. *We have fled far enough, Kelpie. We will wait here to see what unfolds.*

  *But the myxine…*

  His hard look brooked no argument.

  *If the myxine come, we will flee, but I wish to see if your betrayal of the seamage has killed them all, or if some survive.* He glowered at her; the disgust on his face was another knife in her heart, but she expected no less.

  *My betrayal of the seamage was for you, Tailwalker,* she signed, her fins clamped flat against her body in a submissive posture. She knew full well what her betrayal had caused, and she knew what her punishment would be if she ever reached their home. *Should I have let them kill you?*

  *Yes, Kelpie,* he signed, his anger unabated. *Better my death than this. Seamage Flaxal will be taken by Akrotia, and the myxine will kill all of the landwalkers, including her son. Do you think Eelback would settle for less? I’m surprised he let us escape.*

  Kelpie thought of the child, Cynthia’s baby, whom she had nurtured and tended. She thought of the myxine swarming up from under Akrotia to slaughter all of Cynthia’s loved ones, and her heart broke anew. *I’m sorry,* she signed. She didn’t know what else to tell him.

  A deep thrumming impact reverberated through the water, faint at this distance, but still close enough to rattle their sensitive ears. They looked at one another, then at the surface.

  *Come, Kelpie,* Tailwalker signed, *let us see what has happened.*

  They surfaced and looked to Akrotia, blinking and shading their eyes against the harsh light of the sun. The floating city loomed perhaps five hundred tail flips away. Kelpie could barely make out the masts of the two ships within the nearest harbor behind the towering arch. From this distance, and so close to the surface, it was impossible to see any detail, but a pall of white mist rose from the water of the harbor. What it could be, she had no idea.

  Then she felt a familiar pulsing vibration, the tail flips of an approaching mer. Whoever it was, they were swimming fast. She ducked back under the surface just as a slim shape shot out of the dappled sunlight and shadow. She barely had time to thrum her chest in greeting before the mer streaked past them.

  She looked at Tailwalker, and signed, *Was that—* but the nimble shape had turned a tight circle and darted back to them before she could finish.

  *Chaser!* Tailwalker signed as his friend hove into view. The scout’s gills were pumping with exertion and his color was flushed pale in distress.

  *Tailwalker!* Chaser’s eyes were wide, and widened even more when he saw Kelpie, before returning to his friend. *You escaped! How?*

  *We were set free,* Tailwalker explained, nodding to Kelpie. *She bargained for our lives, but Eelback intended to kill us anyway. We saw a school of myxine.*

  *Yes, they overwhelmed our school and they attack the landwalker ships as we sign,* the scout confirmed. He looked back to Kelpie and his hand drifted to where a dagger would rest if he were armed, though he was not. None of them bore a weapon of any kind. *You trust her?*

  *No,* Tailwalker signed, and his answer stabbed her deeper than any dagger could have. *No, I do not trust her, Chaser, but she did bargain for my life, and she saved us from the myxine.*

  *And that bargain is fulfilled,* Kelpie signed. *You are alive. Now go back to your father, and tell him I am sorry for betraying the school. I never meant to harm anyone, Tailwalker, least of all you or Seamage Flaxal.*

  She turned to go, but Tailwalker grabbed her wrist before she could flip her tail. *Where are you going, Kelpie? You must return to explain yourself to the trident holder.*

  *Perhaps I will,* she signed, calling on a tiny shred of Odea’s grace to force his hand away from her wrist. He stared at her, rubbing his hand. *Perhaps I will see you again, Tailwalker, but there is something I need to do first.*

  Kelpie flipped her tail and swam as fast as she could back toward Akrotia, back toward the harbor where the myxine were devouring Cynthia Flaxal’s friends.

  Chapter 26

  Trapped

  “Chula!” Feldrin bellowed between heaved breaths, as he stumbled into the daylight. A throng of grim and bloodied sailors engulfed them, voices, faces, hands relieving him of Cynthia and the baby. “Careful with her, damn you all! Don’t bump that blade or you’ll kill her!”

  He wrapped his arms around himself to try to still their trembling, his one good knee quivering like a mast in a gale and his other entire leg, or what remained of it, throbbing in agony to the beat of his hammering heart. One of the sailors pried Cynthia’s fingers from their squirming son and cradled the babe expertly in the crook of her arm. The others gingerly laid his wife down on her side, careful not to touch the cutlass that transfixed her chest.

  Chula pushed through the crowd and gaped down at Cynthia. “Jimijo, Mara, you know somet’in’ ‘bout healin’. Git over here and help de mistress!”

  Two natives came forward and knelt beside Cynthia, snapping orders to the others. Feldrin watched, his limbs slowly steadying, until he felt Chula’s hand on his arm.

  “Where’s Janley, Capt’n? He’s best with tendin’ de wounds.” He frowned, then looked around quizzically. “And Mastas Ghelfan and Edan? And Rhaf?”

  “Ghelfan, Janley and Rhaf are dead,” he said heavily. “Edan’s…gone.” Feldrin tore his eyes from his injured wife and looked at Chula, and for the first time saw the pyre of Peggy’s Dream, her rigging aflame, a tornado of black smoke billowing from her hold. “What the bloody hells happened?”

  “We were attacked, Capt’n Feldrin, sir,” Chula said with a pained expression. “A whole bloody school of t’ings, like big slimy eels. Dey bored right inta de hull. Horace ran ‘em off wit dem fire casks you got, but we didn’t have any. Dey overran de ship, Capt’n.” He gestured to the burning hulk and shrugged. “I had Horace put a light to her. We had no choice.”

  “How many lost?” Feldrin asked, cringing at the spectacle of the burning schooner.

  “Don’t know yet, sir. Too many.”

/>   Feldrin stumbled back against the wall beside the entrance and bowed his head; so many dead to help them rescue their son. The wall was hot against his bare back. His head shot up and he pushed himself from the wall, whirled around and reached out a hand; it was putting out waves of heat. As he watched, a spider web of light crawled through the stone. He remembered Cynthia’s words, and dread filled him.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Chula! Is the Pride—” His eyes sought and found Orin’s Pride, her crew just tying up to the pier a safe distance from the burning ship.

  “What’s wrong, Capt’n?” Chula asked.

  “Captain!” Horace yelled, leaping from the ship to the pier even before a gangplank was lowered. He waved and pushed through the crowd. “You done it! I could hear that baby squallin’ from—” He stared at Cynthia. “What the hells happened?”

  “Later, Horace. We’ve got to get underway, right now!” As if to emphasize his words, a series of deep tremors shook the city, and the pier itself lit up with traceries of yellow-white fire. “Edan got stuck in that Chamber of Life, and Cyn thinks he’s bringin’ the city to life with fire magic. We need to get everybody aboard.”

  “Edan?” the two first mates said in unison. They shared a glance at one another and burst into action.

  Horace and Chula’s commands rang out to their respective crews. It took the sailors only a moment to rig a litter and carefully carry Cynthia onto Orin’s Pride. Feldrin walked by her side, holding her chill hand. When a shriek pierced the air above them, he started, worried that the city was falling down around them. Then a breeze ruffled his hair and Mouse shot past his ear to Cynthia’s side, chirping with glee and kissing her enthusiastically. Feldrin smiled briefly; at least someone was happy.

  As they boarded Orin’s Pride, Flicker flew past as well, though not so close and not nearly as fast. She hovered overhead for a moment, watching Mouse, then flitted off toward the burning ship to dance amid the flames.

  The deck was crowded with the crews of both ships aboard, but Feldrin had them clear a space by the main mast, where the motion of the ship was least, for Cynthia’s litter. Horace yelled for someone to run and fetch Janley’s physicker’s kit.

  Feldrin knelt next to Cynthia. “There’s no wind, Horace. Without Cyn, how are we gonna move the ship? In fact, how’d you get her to the pier? Towing with the launches?”

  “No, sir. Not with them beasties still around.” He pointed to a crew manning a ballista that was pointed down into the water. “We killed a lot of ‘em with the fire casks, but we’ve only got two left, and I was savin’ ‘em for an emergency. I used the light kedges to pull us over to the pier, sir. Lofted ‘em out with the catapult, then pulled her along.”

  “That’s bloody brilliant!” Feldrin clapped him on the shoulder, then looked down at Cynthia, loath to leave her side. “Carry on, Horace. Tell Chula he’s yer bo’sun fer now. Raise every sail we got; if a breeze pipes up, we’d better be ready to take advantage of it.” He looked toward the pier; already, waves of heat were beating off of the stone, and the lines that had been tied to the dockside bollards came back blackened and smoking.

  “Aye, sir!”

  While Horace shouted orders, Feldrin knelt next to Cynthia, and nudged Mouse aside to find the pulse in her neck. It was weak and very fast. Her skin was pale and clammy, and her hands were cold, but she was breathing, which was a miracle, considering the sword’s position. Unfortunately, removing the sword could be just as dangerous as leaving it in; even though the blade was wedged vertically between two of her ribs, with one slip it could slice into her lung or a major artery and kill her. Janley was dead, and no one else aboard had experience in treating such a wound. Jimijo and Mara hovered behind him, explaining that their expertise was in herbs and unguents, not surgery. He waved them off.

  Feldrin looked down at his hands and sighed. Everything he needed was ready; bandages, waxed thread, a big, curved sail needle, and an array of blades, tweezers and clamps. Though he’d seen enough wounds tended that he knew how to stitch and maybe set a bone, this was far beyond his meager skills. But if it was to be done, he’d be the one to do it.

  Absently, he knew that the deck was chaotic with action: Horace shouting orders, ballista crews firing, the catapult crew loading the light anchor into the basket, Mouse chittering concerned nonsense, and sailors hoisting all the ship’s sails. The only sound that really penetrated was the crying of his son, and the voice of someone quietly trying to soothed him.

  “Come on, Cyn,” he whispered. “Your son needs you. I need you.” He swallowed hard; tears would only hinder his sight, and he needed all his senses to be keen. He’d only have one chance. Feldrin reached down and wrapped his hand around the blood-slick hilt of the sword, and readied himself to pull it free.

  ≈

  The voice of Odea tore through the sea, stunning the small school of myxine.

  Kelpie swam through the floating beasts, flicked her tail and shot past the jagged coral at the mouth of the harbor, then risked a quick look above the surface. One of Seamage Flaxal’s ships was in flames, the other lay just off of the pier, intact, her deck crowded with landwalkers. Behind the ships, the stone of the looming city crawled with stark yellow-orange traceries of light.

  This cannot be right, she thought, recalling the scrolls’ description of the living Akrotia, the cool blue-green glow of the stone imbued with the power of the sea. The water shook around her, and she heard a deep grating sound like metal on stone. Overhead, the arch of the harbor gate flared with light, and huge bronze plates emerged from the fissure along its inner rim; the harbor gate was closing.

  No, Kelpie thought, flipping her tail to propel herself toward the beleaguered ship. They must escape. She didn’t know exactly how she was going to help them, but in the very core of her being, at the center of her faith, she knew she must try. She had betrayed her friends, and as with the ebb and flow of the sea, every action had a consequence. It was time to atone for her actions. Odea’s power surging in her mind, the priestess shot toward the ship.

  The myxine massed before her, a barrier of writhing hooked tentacles and teeth. Kelpie swam right at them, calling on the goddess of the sea, pouring all her strength and faith into the plea, Please, Odea, protect this humble servant.

  Light flared from the holy icon at her breast, and Kelpie felt the hands of Odea envelop her, shielding her from harm. As she hit the school of ravenous myxine, they were cast from her path like flotsam before the prow of a charging ship, their grasping hands and gaping maws sliding past her, unable to penetrate the barrier of her faith. Then she was past them, and the hull of the ship loomed before her through water murky with soot, ash and blood. Without the slightest hesitation, trusting in her goddess and her own compulsion, Kelpie dove deep, arched back up and flipped her tail hard toward the surface.

  I am Odea’s hand, she thought as she pierced the surface of the sea beside the ship, and flew in a graceful arc to land among the milling sailors crowding the deck.

  ≈

  A splash and a great clamor stayed Feldrin’s hand. “What the bloody hells, is goin’ on now?” he murmured. He released the sword hilt and turned to the uproar.

  A mer lay on the deck and a half-dozen sailors were struggling to their feet, apparently having been bowled over by its arrival. Shouts rang out, and the archers along the rail turned their aim to the new target. Feldrin lurched to his feet, his ire rising to a quick boil; if not for these damned mer, none of this would have happened. He and Cynthia and their baby would be living happily back on Plume Isle.

  “Eep!”

  Mouse’s squeal—right in his ear, and even more piercing than usual—snapped Feldrin’s rage. The seasprite was frantically tugging at his beard and pointing at the intruder. A pearly light shone from the silver crescent suspended around the creature’s neck. He opened his mout
h to yell, but too late.

  The archers fired, and three well-aimed arrows shattered to splinters in the air.

  “Hold!” Horace roared.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Feldrin asked.

  “Captain, one o’ them mer pulled the same trick while you were in the city, and warned us about the attack. Ain’t they supposed to be on our side?”

  “This one’s wearin’ Odea’s symbol, Horace.” Feldrin’s mind raced. Could it be? he thought as Mouse continued to try to pull his beard out by the roots, pointing frantically at the mer, then at Cynthia. Feldrin’s eyes flicked between the two, and he remembered the name Cynthia had mentioned so often: Kelpie, the mer priestess of Odea. “Make way! Let her over here!”

  “Her?” Horace asked, his brow furrowed. “How do you know it’s a her?”

  “Never mind, just let her through, damn it!” Feldrin ordered. The throng of sailors parted, and the mer’s eyes widened when she spotted Cynthia. Kelpie rapidly pulled herself along the deck to Cynthia’s side.

  Mouse fluttered to Feldrin’s shoulder, and whispered soothing nonsense into his ear as he knelt beside Kelpie and Cynthia. Feldrin watched the mer closely, keeping one hand on the dagger at his waist; if he had presumed wrong, he would not give the mer a chance to harm his wife. His fears eased, however, as he watched the priestess’s delicate hands lay back the bloody fabric of Cynthia’s shirt and gently touch the discolored skin around the wounds.

  “Please,” he said quietly, unsure if he was pleading with the priestess or the sea goddess herself. “Please help her.”