Blood and Tempest

by Jon Skovron

  “Not sure we have that long,” said Red. “What if we found this … keeper?”

  “Most likely that would still be Fitmol Bet,” said Vaderton.

  Hearing her old master’s name so suddenly jarred Brigga Lin more than she would have expected. “You know Fitmol Bet?”

  “I served under him in the navy until he was assigned as the Guardian’s keeper.”

  “When did that happen?” Brigga Lin didn’t know much about the details of the keeper position, but it seemed an odd fit for him.

  “About two years ago, I suppose,” said Vaderton.

  “While I was secluded on Wake Landing, then,” said Brigga Lin.

  “So you just need this Fitmol Bet taken out of the picture. Sounds easy enough,” said Red. “Leave it to me.”

  “How could you possibly find one man amongst all this?” Alash waved his hand at the general chaos on the streets nearby.

  Red gave them that rakish grin he was so fond of and said, “Trust me, my wags. I’ll get him.”

  “We’ll need him alive,” said Brigga Lin. “If you kill him before I’ve taken control, the shock might drive the kraken mad, and then we’ll be in even worse shape than before.”

  Alash stared up at the kraken as it ripped another pylon out of the water and hurled it like a spear into the top floor of a building ten blocks in from the coast. As the wall of the building began to crumble, screaming people spilled out and fell to their deaths on the street below.

  “It can get worse?” he asked.

  “Mr. Havolon, it can always get worse,” Brigga Lin said grimly.

  Sheltered though he realized he was, Stephan was grateful for the few hardships he’d endured in his life. He suspected it had given him the humility to be the first among his brothers to shrug off the arrogance instilled by Racklock and recognize what a truly remarkable person they now had in their midst.

  “Don’t you think so?” he pressed Malveu. The two of them were leading a group of children out of some sort of workshop that had sustained enough damage from the debris being tossed by the kraken that the structure had become unstable. Stephan didn’t know why there hadn’t been an adult in the building with them. He could only guess that he or she had fled in the first panicked wave of people heading toward the safety of the Commercial District, abandoning the poor children. It had taken Stephan, Malveu, and Ravento a lot of time and a considerable amount of patience to coax the children out of the building. They were so young that it was difficult to even get them to understand that their hiding place was less safe than being out on the street.

  Ravento was now leading the majority of the children to the makeshift shelter they had set up in the center of the island, while Stephan and Malveu herded the more reluctant ones from behind.

  Malveu glanced uneasily at Ravento, who was not within earshot, then back at Stephan.

  “She bested Racklock in combat. There’s no denying that.”

  “Without even using a sword!” said Stephan. “That is remarkable, but what I’m talking about is more than just her skills in combat.”

  “I know.” Malveu seemed uneasy about it.

  “She is more Vinchen than any Vinchen I have ever known since Hurlo the Cunning.”

  “We were only boys when Hurlo the Cunning died,” said Malveu. “How much could you possibly remember?”

  “I remember enough to know that she is his greatest pupil. And I think she has a great deal to teach us. All of us.”

  Malveu glanced again at Ravento at the front of the line. “Be careful how you talk, Stephan.”

  “I don’t care who hears it,” said Stephan. “Do you know why? Because if she had been leading us instead of Racklock the Cruel, Frache and Hectory would still be alive.”

  “Breaking a law of the Vinchen code that was established centuries ago by Selk the Brave won’t bring them back.”

  “But it might keep you or Ravento or one of the others from also dying in a dishonorable or needless way. That alone is reason enough for me to consider it.”

  The sullen little boy whom he had been pushing along was beginning to slow down again.

  “I don’t want to go that way,” he told Stephan. “I’m not supposed to cross the river.”

  “It’s the safest place for you right now. You can come back here later. Let’s hurry along now.”

  The boy glared up at him. “Who are you gafs, anyway?”

  “We are the Vinchen,” Stephan told him.

  “The who?”

  “The people saving your life right now,” said Malveu. “So move, unless you want a spanking.”

  “Okay, okay!” The boy hurried up toward the front of the line.

  “We should have tried that from the beginning,” mused Malveu.

  “Did you hear him, though?” said Stephan. “The younger generations haven’t heard of us. Even our legends are fading. This is the perfect time to redefine ourselves. To find new relevance in this world, just as Hope has suggested.”

  Malveu looked like he was going to respond, but as they crossed an intersection, they saw her in front of a building. She waved to them.

  “Stephan! And Malveu, isn’t it? Can you help me with this?”

  The two young men looked at each other silently. Then Stephan turned and shouted, “Of course.”

  Without waiting to see if Malveu was following, he crossed the intersection. A moment later, he heard his warrior brother’s footsteps following behind him.

  “Thanks,” said Hope when they reached her. “There’s a group of people trapped in this building, and it sounds like the roof might give way soon.” She gestured to the rubble that blocked the door, and held up the strange mechanical claw she had instead of a hand. “I’m afraid this isn’t particularly good at lifting large, heavy objects, so it might take too long for me to clear it out on my own.”

  “Lucky for you, I won the strength competition on Galemoor three years in a row,” said Malveu.

  Hope gave him an amused look. “Let’s pray your time away from Galemoor hasn’t let your muscles atrophy as greatly as your humility.”

  Malveu looked so crestfallen that Stephan had to laugh, despite the grave situation. Malveu scowled at him, but Stephan continued to smile as the two set to work clearing the rubble that blocked the door.

  “Can you still hear me?” Hope called through the door.

  “I don’t think we’ve got long before the ceiling falls on our heads!” came a muffled voice from inside.

  “We’re nearly through, so get everyone by the door,” said Hope.

  The three of them hurried to remove the remaining debris, which mostly consisted of bricks and broken wooden beams that had been knocked clean out of the side of the neighboring building by a wooden dock pylon as thick around as Stephan’s torso.

  “Aren’t doors supposed to open inward to prevent just such a situation?” Malveu grunted as he tossed aside a thick piece of splintered pylon.

  “I don’t think the Shade District was constructed with a great deal of care,” said Hope. “You will find negligence toward the poor a common occurrence in the empire. I doubt Racklock spoke of this, but Hurlo felt that the code’s words concerning charity and compassion for the poor to be among its most important tenets.”

  “Compassion for the poor? But we have no money ourselves,” said Stephan.

  “True, but the wealth of your education and training offers advantages others may never even know exist. And if I am not mistaken, you come from a noble background, making you doubly blessed.”

  Stephan felt the sting of those words even though they were gently spoken. Pushing himself harder to remove the debris helped to lessen that feeling somewhat.

  Finally, the way was clear and Stephan yanked the door open. He knew the people trapped inside were just on the other side and would be eager to escape. But he was not quite prepared for them to be mostly naked.

  He stood there stupidly as a man dressed only in a thong embraced him, letting out a re
lieved sob. “Bless you, sir! Bless you!”

  “There now, you’re okay,” soothed Hope as she gently disengaged the man from Stephan’s shoulders. “Keep moving so everyone can get out. The old temple on the corner of Gale Street and Imperial Way is open as a shelter to all who need it.”

  The man nodded and hurried on.

  Stephan watched, his eyes wide, as the rest of the people, all with little to no clothing, hurried past. He could feel his face burning from the lingering memory of the touch from the man who had embraced him.

  He glanced over at Hope, and she gave him an inquiring look that only made him blush more.

  Then suddenly she burst out into that strange, raucous pirate-like laugh of hers and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “We’ll make you a man of the world yet, Stephan,” she told him.

  Red knew it wouldn’t be easy to locate one man in the general panic that had enveloped the Shade District. Brigga Lin had asked several times how he planned to go about it, most likely concerned that his boasts were nothing but balls and pricks. That was fine by him. Let her think what she wanted. He liked having a few secrets. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but, well, it didn’t hurt to have the advantage, just in case he should ever need to use it against her.

  The thing was, Red could hear when biomancery was being used. Or maybe “feel” was a more accurate word. It wasn’t a sound exactly, more like an ache in the back of his teeth. In fact, it was so subtle that it had taken him months to become conscious of it, and several months after that before he figured out the source. Interestingly, the sensation was stronger when Brigga Lin used biomancery than when any of the others did. Maybe because it traveled through the air? He didn’t really understand it, but it would be very handy if Hope and Brigga Lin ever had a falling-out.

  For now, this ability was helping Red locate Fitmol Bet. He walked at a measured pace, his eyes half-closed to reduce the amount of visual distraction coming from the people running by and buildings crumbling around him. He probably looked bizarre. Everyone else was sprinting to get away from the carnage, eyes wide with terror, while he stumbled along, barely looking where he was going, as if sleepwalking.

  He crisscrossed through the neighborhood, guided by the subaudible pulse that echoed through his jaw. He lost the trail several times, and each time would have to stop, close his eyes completely, and regain his bearings. But, slowly, he drew near his prey.

  When he reached a building along the northeast entrance to the piers, he hesitated. The feeling seemed to come from within the building, but when he peeked through the windows, there was no one inside. He knew some biomancers could bend light to make themselves effectively invisible. But would a biomancer be able to maintain something like that while also controlling a kraken? He didn’t know for sure, but it seemed unlikely.

  Then a much simpler explanation occurred to him. He climbed carefully up the side of the building, wishing he had the soft gray shoes from his Shadow Demon clothes. It was much more treacherous going up a wall when wearing stiff-soled lacy boots, even if they did look pat.

  Finally, he reached the roof. It was quieter up there, away from the screaming and panic below. Off in the distance, he could see the kraken on its rampage. It had cleared most of the eastern pier by then and was working its way south. As he watched, several ships on the north side of the island tried to head out into open water. The kraken shot up the coast faster than any ship, and grabbed them all. It didn’t take the time to eat the passengers in those ships, however. Instead, it just hurled them into the city. Then the kraken slid back down and resumed slowly dismantling the southeastern portion of the dock. Despite the chaos, there was something oddly methodical about it all.

  And the method was most likely coming from the figure in a hooded white robe who stood about thirty paces away on the roof. The biomancer’s back was to Red, and his arms moved with the kraken’s two long front tentacles, as if the great beast was simply mirroring him. He seemed completely unaware of Red’s presence.

  Red had the sudden, powerful urge to just shoot him and be done with it. But he knew that was the Shadow Demon talking. Brigga Lin had warned him that simply killing the biomancer like that could be disastrous. Still, the urge of the Shadow Demon was so strong, it took a huge amount of effort to stop himself. It was like turning down a molly that he was leaky for, or refusing a fresh tankard of ale. But he gritted his teeth and rode out the desire to kill like a wave.

  Once he felt he could trust himself, Red climbed quietly onto the roof, drew his revolvers, and slowly crept toward the biomancer. He might not plan on shooting the biomancer, but he’d noticed that people generally became more cooperative the closer they were to the end of a gun barrel.

  “I know you’re there, creature,” said Fitmol Bet without turning around.

  Red went perfectly still.

  “Whatever you are, I can feel the alterations done to you, nearly as keenly as my own,” said Fitmol Bet. “Has Ammon Set sent you to destroy me once my task is complete?”

  Red slowly circled the biomancer in a wide arc. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, old pot, but I’m not in the habit of taking orders from Ammon Set anymore. In fact, I …”

  Red trailed off when he got a good look at Fitmol Bet. The man’s eyes were completely white, and an unpleasant pinkish ooze seeped from them. His robes were open in the front to reveal his bare, emaciated chest. The skin was almost translucent so that Red could see the veins, muscles, and sinews outlined beneath. There were six little tentacles attached to his torso, three on either side. They undulated as if they had minds of their own.

  “Piss’ell.”

  “Do I truly look so grotesque?” asked Fitmol Bet, his voice distant and unconcerned. “Perhaps it is for the best I lost my own sight. It may surprise you that I was once an attractive man. Perhaps my vanity was one of the reasons I was chosen for the honor of keeping the Guardian.” Only the word honor held any emotion, and Bet ground it out flavored with years of anger and resentment.

  “I take it they did this to you so you could control the kraken?” asked Red.

  “Can you believe that at first, I honestly thought I was being rewarded? Recognized at last for my work in synthesizing the longevity traits in mole rats?” He smiled faintly. “Of course, I have no interest in availing myself of such treatments anymore. This life has become a burden, and I look forward to the moment when you end it.”

  “I hate to disappoint, but I’m really not here from Ammon Set, and your death isn’t what I’m after.”

  Fitmol Bet frowned. “Who sent you, then? Has Chiffet Mek finally grown a backbone? Or one of the others from the council? I thought they had long ago sublimated their wills to Ammon Set. All except Progul Bon, of course, and now that he’s dead, Set is free to do the thing he’s desired for so long.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “Depose Martarkis and ordain himself emperor. He believes it’s the only way to avert the predictions of the Dark Mage and save the empire. Very convenient for him, isn’t it?”

  “Depose the emperor? When?”

  “Perhaps it’s already begun. They don’t always bother to tell me things anymore. They all believe my mind is too connected to the Guardian and that I don’t think completely like a man anymore.” He paused for a moment, as if pondering the idea. “They’re not wrong.”

  “So what happens to Leston, then?”

  “The prince? I should think allowing the former heir to continue living would be ill advised,” said Fitmol Bet. “From a practical standpoint, that is. And if Ammon Set has any feelings of sentimentality, I am unaware of them.”

  “Look.” Red glanced at the kraken, which continued to follow Fitmol Bet’s gestures as it ravaged the coast. “Can you just … stop destroying Vance Post for a bit so we can talk about this?”

  “I wish I could, but I am under compulsion, directly from Ammon Set, to prevent anyone from leaving this island. Apparently there are
people here he fears might interfere with his plans.”

  “True enough,” admitted Red. “Hells, I reckon even Racklock would have objected to Ammon Set making himself emperor. Look … could we, I don’t know … get rid of the compulsion somehow?” asked Red. “Someone did it for me once.”

  “I suppose, but it would require a very powerful biomancer indeed. And even then, I’m not certain it would work.”

  “Well, sunny for you, I know just about the most powerful biomancer who ever lived. So why don’t I introduce you?”

  “I wish I could accept such hopeful words, but the compulsion will not allow me to stop what I am doing until I’m dead.”

  “I see. And hypothetically speaking,” Red said, “if you were to lose consciousness for a short while, what would the kraken do?”

  “Most likely take the brief respite to sink below the water and recover. We had a long journey here, and there hasn’t been a moment of rest.”

  “Well, then.” Red nodded casually. “Keep with the death and destruction, then. I’ll just be going now.”

  As Red walked past Fitmol Bet, the biomancer continued to undulate his two arms and six tentacles. Then, once Red was directly behind him, he slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the biomancer’s head. He watched Fitmol Bet drop to the rough slate roof.

  A moment later, the kraken paused in its carnage, then slowly withdrew, sinking back into the water and out of sight.

  Red looked down at the biomancer’s slimy, tentacled, unconscious form. He winced at the foul odor that seemed to be some combination of stagnant water and rotting fish. “It’s going to be a long, unpleasant walk back to the docks, I reckon.”

  22

  Chiffet Mek stared down at the corpse of the emperor and was surprised by how sad he felt. He hadn’t known the man well, and what little he’d known, he hadn’t liked. But still, as he looked down at the gaunt, wasted body with papery skin that was laid atop the lushly embroidered coverlet, he felt a weight in his chest. What was it Pastinas had said to him? Better to be among ordinary men, than a dog to the exalted ones. This “emperor” had truly been a dog among the exalted. A puppet for decades, little more than a meat sack propped up now and then to make an official declaration. The very idea always seemed rather distasteful to Mek, but it had been one of the few things Ammon Set and Progul Bon ever agreed on.