by Marc Turner
“Easy pickings, to my eye,” Squint said. “I counted just eight groups of stone-skins along our stretch of harbor, six men in each, maybe fifty strides apart.” He looked around the krels. “If you’re lucky, you should get a clear run at whatever ship it is you’re going for.”
“And if you’re really lucky,” Galantas said, “you’ll get the chance to take out a few stone-skins on the way.”
Chuckles from some of the krels.
“Any patrols?” Tub asked Squint.
“Just one that I saw, and only four men in it.”
“There’ll be others,” someone muttered.
Nods all round.
Tub’s gaze was still on Squint. “What about the streets behind the waterfront? Any movement there?”
Squint shrugged. “I didn’t have time to walk every cobble, but from what I saw, it looked quiet. All the action is going down at the northern end—”
“Wait,” Galantas cut in. “Action?”
“Aye, that’s where most of the stone-skin ships are tied up. There’s a steady stream o’ traffic trampling the gangplanks, carrying barrels, crates, you name it. Bastards are reprovisioning, is my guess.
Tub looked at Galantas. “They’re getting ready to pull out.”
Galantas knew what the Needle was thinking: why risk going through with this raid when they could wait for the enemy to leave and take the ships without a fight? Galantas answered the unspoken question. “Because they’ll fire the ships before they go, that’s why.”
“Ain’t no ‘might’ about it,” Squint said. “Whole damned harbor stinks o’ blayfire oil. Stone-skins have doused some o’ the ships.”
Now he tells us. The krels muttered, and Galantas raised a hand for silence. “The stone-skins won’t risk a fire while their fleet is in the harbor. If there’s trouble, it’ll come when we clear the islets, so make sure your decks are swabbed in case they use flaming arrows.”
Cleo swatted at a fly. “What signal are you gonna give to start the attack?”
“I’m not,” Galantas said. “No point in announcing ourselves to the stone-skins like that. You’ll have quarter of a bell to get into position. When you hear the first shouts, go, and go fast.”
A distant scream sounded from the city above. One of the krels stumbled back and trod on the foot of the man behind. Whispered curses. Their nerves were starting to bite now. Galantas felt another speech coming on, but if the stone-skins were reprovisioning, they might be dropping by the pool at any moment.
He looked around the krels one last time. Once this gathering broke up, the success or failure of the raid would be down to his companions. It didn’t seem fair that Galantas would be judged on the mistakes or ineptitudes of the men working under him, but such was a commander’s lot. And it wouldn’t stop him claiming the glory if things went well.
“Any questions?” he said.
No response.
Galantas gave them a smile. “Doesn’t feel right, I know, stealing our own ships when we should be stealing the stone-skins’, but there’s always tomorrow if they haven’t moved on.” He rose from his crouch. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
Amerel watched the Chameleons pick their way along the rubbish-choked alley that ran behind the houses on the waterfront. They stopped at a door hanging by a single hinge. Caval knew that Amerel would already have scouted inside, so he didn’t hesitate to open the door and enter.
The Guardian drifted to the front of the house. Here the waterfront was lit by lanterns hanging from poles, and about them swirled hundreds of needleflies, salt-stingers, and feathermoths, thick as blizzard snow. Four stone-skins guarded the quay at which two Augeran ships were docked, the first a slim-hulled galleon with an eager look to it, the second a four-masted monster as large as anything in the Erin Elalese fleet. Its figurehead—a snake’s flared head with a flickering tongue—was chipped on one side, and the hull along the port side showed damage in the form of three vertical gouges. Caused by a dragon’s talons, perhaps? If tonight went as planned, the hull would be getting more such decoration soon.
On the waterfront were piled crates, casks, and nets of supplies along with wooden boxes and barrels of water. It didn’t seem that anyone was in a hurry to stow them onboard the ships, but then most of the activity was taking place to the north of Amerel’s position.…
Movement to her left caught her eye. She looked across to see four Augerans approaching—high-ranking ones, judging by the way the sentries snapped to attention as they passed. No Hex, thank the Matron. Amerel had thought the four-masted ship was deserted, but two sailors materialized from the shadows on deck and used ropes to maneuver a gangplank onto the quay. The newcomers walked across it and made their way toward the captain’s cabin. Amerel was tempted to follow. Yes, their discussions would be in the stone-skin tongue, but she might still get the chance to overturn an oil lamp into a lap.
Then she saw a fifth figure approaching.
Her eyes narrowed.
A Syn.
This was not the same warrior who’d accompanied Eremo to Dresk’s fortress—that man had been as broad around the chest as the barrels on the wharf, whereas this one was willow-thin and had shoulder-length blond hair. Just in case anyone should fail to notice the golden tattoos on his cheeks, he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves to show off more on his forearms. The sentries saluted him, a certain tension in their looks.
The Syn flowed up the gangplank and onto the deck.
Amerel blew out her cheeks. His being here changed nothing, she told herself. If she and her companions were discovered, it mattered not who sent them on their way through Shroud’s Gate. Truth be told, a part of her would have liked the chance to see the Syn in action—provided it wasn’t her he was fighting, of course. For while the ancient Erin Elalese texts agreed upon the Syns’ martial prowess, none gave details as to precisely what powers they commanded.
Amerel decided she could wait a little longer to find out.
* * *
Light from the waterfront torches streamed through the first-floor window. Karmel edged forward with her back pressed to the north-facing wall, Caval a step behind. Just like in the first house, the downstairs windows had been barred, but the windows upstairs were open. Through them Karmel saw a squad of stone-skins immediately below her position. When one of the soldiers shifted his weight, a board creaked beneath his foot. The priestess froze. If she could hear his movements so clearly …
She had an unobstructed view of her two targets. The three-master was directly in front; the four-master, twenty paces to her left. Next to the smaller ship was a Rubyholt fishing boat still containing crayfish baskets filled with live crayfish. A stone-skin was unloading the catch, tottering under the weight of the baskets as he carried them two at a time to where more stone-skins waited to transfer them onto the three-master. Farther north, a group of soldiers laden with weapons and gear trudged along the quay to another Augeran ship. The thud of their boots set the waterfront rattling as if the whole rotting structure was about to collapse. Closer, a stone-skin patrol headed toward Karmel’s position through a swirling cloud of flies. She waited for the soldiers to pass by before sliding her back down the wall until she was below the level of the window.
Caval crouched beside her. She brought her mouth to his ear. “There are too many of them. Someone will see the dart—”
A woman’s distant scream cut her off. The same woman the stone-skins had found earlier? Caval signaled Karmel to wait, then raised his head to look out the window. He stared south, back the way they had come. Outside, a man’s voice rang out, his tone disapproving. One of the Augerans below their position, objecting to the woman’s treatment?
Caval ducked down again. “This is our chance,” he whispered, removing the flask of dragon blood from his pack. “We’re not going to get a better distraction.”
“What distraction?”
“There’s something in the harbor. Some … creature.”
“A dragon?” Karmel said, thinking of the Augeran ship they had already marked.
“No. Something from beyond the rents, I’d guess.”
And what do the woman’s screams have to do with it? the priestess almost asked, but she could work that out herself. She hesitated. It seemed wrong somehow to take advantage of the woman’s plight, but she couldn’t have said why.
Karmel withdrew from her pack the purse with the darts and passed it to Caval. He selected one and applied dragon blood to the tip. Then Karmel released her power, and stood, and set down the end of her blowpipe on the window frame.
The Augerans below had moved a short distance south in the direction of the woman’s screams. The woman herself and her captors were mere shadows along the waterfront. A shouting match was under way between two stone-skins. The man unloading the crayfish baskets stopped to listen, and more Augerans gathered along the port rail of the three-master to look at something in the harbor that Karmel couldn’t make out.
Caval’s tap on her hip startled her, and she glanced down to see him offering her the dart. She took it and placed it in the blowpipe. The Augeran four-master was the more distant of her two targets, and thus the first ship she’d hit, since she would have more time to line up this shot than the next. Painted low down on the hull was a pair of eyes. Right between them was as good a place as any to put her dart.
Caval rose to stand behind her. His hand settled on her shoulder. To the south, something splashed into the harbor, and the screams of the Rubyholt woman were briefly cut off before starting up again. Karmel’s gaze remained fixed on her target. She’d be shooting behind the backs of the stone-skins immediately below her, and even if someone else glimpsed the dart, maybe they’d mistake it for just another feathermoth flitting through the torchlight.
Okay, maybe not.
She brought the mouthpiece to her lips. Taking a breath, she blew down the pipe.
The dart flashed through the night.
Karmel was already reaching back, not looking for the next dart, simply trusting Caval to place it in her hand without stabbing her. Cold metal touched her palm, and she closed her fingers around it. She lifted the dart and inserted it in the blowpipe. All the while, she was waiting for someone on the waterfront to raise the alarm over the first dart, maybe send a missile winging back her way.
Nothing.
She swung the end of the blowpipe toward the three-master. The Rubyholt woman’s screams rose in pitch, and the waters in the harbor swelled, sending a wave slapping against the hull of the three-master. Evidently the creature in the water was on the move.
Karmel focused on her next target.
Aim.
Deep breath.
Blow.
* * *
Amerel saw the dart flash across the waterfront, only to lose it against the backdrop of the harbor’s black waters. She waited to see if anyone raised the alarm, but all eyes were on the Rubyholt woman thrashing in the harbor. The shadowy creature surged toward her. A chitinous arm broke the waves and wrapped itself about the Islander, then another arm followed, and another. The third one covered her mouth and cut off her shrieks. As she was tugged beneath the surface, her hands reached out for something to grab on to.
A wave hit the waterfront. Then the harbor was still.
Chuckles sounded from the Augerans who’d thrown the woman in the water, and who was Amerel to begrudge them their entertainment? She was the one who’d served it up, after all. The Rubyholt boy was next into the harbor. He must have been in shock, for he made no effort to stay afloat. Instead he sank soundlessly beneath the waves. Amerel should have looked away. Only one way this was going to end for the boy. The top of his head momentarily broke the surface before disappearing from sight again.
The blood-dream came on Amerel swiftly. She was in the sea, the cold tight about her. She sensed something huge beneath, and there was a crushing pain in her legs as she was caught and dragged down. She tried to gasp in a breath, only to draw in a lungful of water instead. The waves closed over her. Ringing silence in her ears. A pressure in her chest like her heart had ruptured. The pain didn’t last long, though. It never did when you stopped fighting it.
He was only a boy. Amerel could have told herself she had acted on instinct, but she was done making excuses. There was always an excuse if you looked hard enough. Maybe the boy’s death would save thousands of Erin Elalese lives, yet how did you balance the two sides of the scales? Amerel had no answer. Perhaps there was no right answer for someone with a shattered moral compass like hers. But that wasn’t what troubled her just now. What bothered her was that these questions wouldn’t even have occurred to her a few weeks ago. So why now? No half measures, she reminded herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a roar of voices from the south.
She looked across to see dozens of figures pour onto the waterfront.
* * *
From the shadows of a doorway, Galantas studied the Fury. Its hull was painted crimson and sculpted to resemble flames, but it was the vessel’s figurehead that most drew his eye. Scaled and horned, the carved demon had a forked tongue and black-lacquered eyes that seemed to swallow the light. Galantas had yet to sail aboard a devilship, but he remembered the last time he’d grappled with one off the Outer Rim. He’d expected the Corinian captain, outnumbered and outmatched, to surrender. Instead the merchantman’s crew had come boiling over the Eternal’s rail, their eyes burning with a bloodlust inspired by the demented spirit bound to the ship’s skeleton. Not a single enemy had let themselves be taken alive. And once the battle had turned against them, they had scuttled the ship rather than let her be captured.
He looked left and right. The stone-skins had lit only a handful of the harbor’s lanterns to leave great pools of shadow on the waterfront. To the south, a group of six black-cloaked Augerans stood in a circle of light outside Scurve’s inaptly named Palace of Delights, while to the north another party was stationed in front of a Needle barque Galantas recognized as the Crakehawk. That ship was the intended target of one of the groups in his raiding party, and when the time came to attack, Galantas meant to let them break cover first before making his own move for the Fury.
As the thought came to him, he heard a scream from along the waterfront. This wasn’t one of the raiding parties attacking, though, just some woman and a boy. Galantas watched two stone-skins muscle the woman toward the harbor. There was a good chance she was someone he knew, but if she’d claimed as much, he would doubtless have denied it—especially if that boy of hers had his eyes. A splash sounded as she was thrown into the water. The boy followed soon after. Something about their plight seemed to amuse the stone-skins, though what that might be, Galantas couldn’t imagine.
Then he saw a tentacle break the surface of the water.
Ah, that explained it.
He retreated into the shadows of the doorway. Perhaps the fate of the woman and the boy should have had him swearing bloody vengeance on the Augerans, but he couldn’t save all his kinsmen. His energies were better directed at trying to help those among his people who yet lived. People like himself, for example. Still he found his grip on his crossbow was uncomfortably tight, and he had to force himself to relax his fingers.
The Needles chose that moment to attack. Ten figures sprinted out of the alley opposite the Crakehawk, screaming as they shot their crossbows. They clearly hadn’t discussed their targets beforehand, because of the six Augerans facing them, only two were hit. One of the surviving stone-skins leapt to meet the Needles. Bringing his shield up, he blocked an ax-swing, then shoved his assailant back into his onrushing companions. A Needle woman, finding herself at the front of the group, drew up. A spear thrown by one of the Augerans caught her in the chest, and she went down.
Galantas frowned. The Needle attack had already lost momentum, and against the more heavily armed stone-skins, there could be no doubt as to how the skirmish would end. Why should that matter to him, though? All along the waterfront, o
ther parties of Rubyholters were making a dash for the ships, and Galantas should have been doing the same. Indeed he would have been were it not for Kalag’s two Raptors. The bastards would be out there somewhere, watching his every move so they could report back to their chief. And how would Kalag react if he found out Galantas had left the Needles to their fate? He preaches unity, the Raptor would say, yet when the time comes to back his words with actions, he runs. And wouldn’t he have a point? Had Galantas’s words at the Hub been nothing but empty rhetoric?
Perhaps. But there was no need for the other clans to know that. Besides, if he helped the Needles, their chief, Malek, would owe him one. And you could never have too many people in your debt.
He lifted his crossbow.
His men wouldn’t like this, but they would follow him regardless, not least because they outnumbered the enemy ten to four.
“Pick your targets carefully,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s show the Needles how this is done.”
* * *
Karmel crept along the alley. The wall to her left was covered with peeling posters slapped one atop another, while to her right was a half-open doorway. Caval moved past it and stopped. Karmel halted this side, listening for movement in the building beyond, but hearing only distant screams and sorcerous concussions from the Rubyholt attack on the harbor. When the raid had started, she’d hoped the distraction might make her task tonight easier, but thus far it had served only to stir Bezzle to new life. Twice on the way here, she and Caval had been forced to engage their powers to hide from stone-skin squads heading for the fighting.
Caval looked through the door before entering the building. Karmel slipped into his shadow, her throwing knives a reassuring weight in her hands.
Three stairs led down to the common room of a tavern. The bar was to Karmel’s left, while to her right was a wall illuminated by rectangles of light coming through the windows on the opposite wall. Beyond one was the silhouette of an Augeran stationed outside. To the left of his position was a door leading to the waterfront.