The Night Parade

by Scott Ciencin

  “Quite good, I’ve been told.”

  Krystin felt suddenly flushed. “Will you stop,” she said, embarrassed by how easily he had made her blush.

  “Only if I have to.”

  “Well, you have to,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What?” Ord said with a laugh.

  Krystin shrugged. “Don’t let it go to your head, but the only time I feel good anymore is when we’re together.”

  Ord stood close to her, his hand lightly brushing hers. “I feel the same way.”

  “It’s not that I feel that I can’t get away with anything when I’m with you.”

  “Of course not. You can get away with anything you like,” he said. She took his hand, gave his fingers a slight squeeze, then sighed heavily as she heard Myrmeen and Reisz call out for the youngest members of the group to join them. Krystin shot an anxious glance in the direction of the others. She was worried that they had seen the slight touch and the look that had passed between Ord and herself. The young man was smiling and he seemed thoroughly unrepentant.

  “You’re dangerous,” Krystin said, “very dangerous.”

  “I know,” Ord replied as he led her to the table, where they listened to the plan for their next attack.

  Later that night, Lucius left the safe house and took to the streets. His departure went undetected by the other Harpers, just as it had for the past three nights. Soon he was deep in the residential district adjacent to the financial quarter, waiting across the street from the entrance to a lavish inn known informally as the most fashionable spot in Calimport for illicit rendezvous.

  Alden McGregor emerged from the front, traded pleasantries with the elegantly dressed doorman, then entered the street, moving quickly as he blended with the shadows. Above, in one of the many windows, a candle was blown out and a young woman stood near the glass, watching him depart. Lucius followed Alden at a comfortable distance. The boy soon left the main streets and became one with a maze of alleys and side streets. Lucius lost sight of the young man several times, and he was surprised when he rounded a final bend and felt something hard and flat dig into his side.

  “Snick!” Alden whispered. “You’re dead.”

  Lucius turned as Alden removed the hilt of the spring-loaded blade from his ribs. The mage’s stoic expression served to disguise his unease. No one had been able to surprise him like this before, and Alden had managed to do it two nights in a row.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Alden said as he replaced the weapon. “No one else offers much of a challenge.”

  “I understand,” Lucius said, wondering if his age was beginning to show, if he was beginning to slow down. “We all must take our sport where we can find it.” He paused. “What do you have for me this evening?”

  “This,” Alden replied as he withdrew a scroll from his jacket and handed it to the mage, who opened it up and examined the parchment. “I traced this from a map that one of Pieraccinni’s men left with his clothing while he was being entertained by the twins. You can see the piers, the shipping lanes, the checkpoints. Use your imagination if you must, but trust me, the Night Parade is in our hands.”

  “Alden, they are going to know that someone in their organization helped us get this information,” Lucius said gravely. “Before they may have suspected that we were getting help from the inside, but now they’ll know.”

  “That doesn’t bother me. I’m above suspicion.”

  “What makes you think that?” Lucius said.

  Alden shrugged. “Pieraccinni treats me like a son. I have his trust and the respect of all who serve him.”

  “This isn’t your war,” Lucius said. “Have you thought of that, Alden?”

  “But it is. This is humanity’s war. Besides, where’s the fun if there’s no risk of being caught?”

  The mage had no answers for the boy. Alden’s words filled him, not with comfort, but with an all-consuming fear for the safety of them all.

  Eleven

  Night had arrived. Myrmeen and Lucius were stationed in a derelict vessel that had been left less than a mile from shore on the far side of the city, practically beyond the border. The area had proved to be a popular dumping ground for ship owners who did not wish to invest in repairing their unsafe vessels. If the information that Alden had gathered was correct, the darkness would bring a black ship that was owned by the Night Parade. According to the course Alden had laid out, the vessel would pass directly between the ship bearing Lucius and Myrmeen and another that sat a thousand yards across from them, where the remaining Harpers waited with Shandower.

  Alden had supplied them with the names of the guards working the port where the ship would arrive. The guards had spotless records, primarily due to their absolute loyalty to one another. Before arriving at Calimport they were mercenaries who had never lost a single man in their twelve years together. No one suspected that they had become corrupted along the way.

  The black ship was bearing a cargo of contraband weapons, firesticks that could kill at a distance. Despite, or perhaps because of, Calimport’s strict ordinances against these weapons, Pieraccinni would be able to sell these weapons for an exorbitant profit. But the Night Parade’s true gain would be in the terror these weapons would inspire.

  The Harpers’ plan had been simple enough: Capture the Night Parade’s ship and pilot the vessel into less corrupt waters, with as many living, inhuman prisoners on board as possible. By the time the guardsmen from the shore could arrive, Myrmeen, Shandower and the Harpers would be safely away. They had taken rooms at a small inn nearby and would return to the safe house in the morning, when the sunlight would burn away any advantage the Night Parade would have tracking them.

  In the derelict vessel, Myrmeen looked out to the choppy waters mournfully.

  “Your daughter was not happy with your decision,” Lucius whispered in the darkness.

  “My daughter’s not happy about anything I do,” Myrmeen said. “We had to leave her behind. It wasn’t safe.”

  “I know that, but I doubt she is convinced.”

  Myrmeen was silent.

  Lucius suddenly whispered, “I have a daughter.”

  A shudder passed through Myrmeen. “What did you say?”

  “She is not as old as Krystin, but she is approaching that age. I have a son also. He is much younger.”

  Myrmeen stared into his perfectly set face. She wanted to ask him if he was having a joke at her expense, but she knew what an insult that would be if he were telling the truth. His modest reserve with her from the beginning suddenly made sense. “Do any of the others know about this?”

  “No. They have never asked,” he said.

  Myrmeen looked out at the dark waters. The moon was resting far above the horizon; the evening was the brightest she had seen since she had arrived in Calimport. She was worried about the operation and did not want to become distracted. However, she knew that the others were in place, and that they could be trusted. Myrmeen turned back to Lucius. “You understand, this is somewhat surprising. I mean, no offense, but you seem very solitary, not the type to raise a family.”

  “I suppose. Is something wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said as she turned away. She did not want to deal with this now.

  “Look at me,” he commanded in his rich, dulcet voice.

  She did as he said. “You have the most perfect brown eyes I’ve ever seen,” she said hoarsely.

  Lucius blinked. Twice. The lines around his eyes crinkled and his brow furrowed slightly.

  “I don’t know where that came from,” Myrmeen said. She looked away, licked her dry lips, and wondered how she had suddenly become one long, raw nerve. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do not be.”

  “Lucius,” she said slowly, angry with herself for the words that were tumbling out of her mouth, “I had the feeling you were somewhat, um, interested in me.”

  “Of course I am. I am interested in the welfare of all people.”

 
“That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed. “You’re good. You’re very good.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Her eyes flashed open in amazement. “Was that an off-color remark? You can tell me. We’re friends.”

  Lucius rested his hand on her wrist. “Myrmeen, I would like to think that we are friends.”

  The warmth of his hand surprised her.

  “We are,” she said, taking his hand in hers, holding it tightly. “This is a frightening place.”

  “It is.”

  “In Arabel I’m in control. Here, in so many ways, I’m lost.” She stared directly into his brown eyes. “When we’re away from all this, can I ask you some questions about having a daughter?”

  For the first time since they had met, Lucius smiled. “We have a few minutes. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s hard to put into words. It’s just that I had all these ideas about what it would be like to have a child. I thought it would solve all my problems, but I was wrong. Everything’s more complicated. My time with Krystin seems unreal. I feel detached. There’s a wall between us and I can’t take it down, even though I put it there.”

  Lucius squeezed her hand. “It is hard to trust anyone.”

  “You don’t understand. There’s this part of me that was relieved when Shandower said she might not be my daughter. Inside, I almost want that to be the case.”

  “Perhaps you should try to see her not as your daughter, but simply as herself.”

  “I suppose you’re right, I—”

  Lucius looked up sharply. “They are here.”

  Averting her gaze from his rich brown eyes, Myrmeen saw the black ship stealing close from the horizon. “How long have they been on the approach?”

  “For as long as you have been talking. I saw no need to raise the alarm prematurely.”

  “Damn,” she whispered. “We have to signal the others.”

  “No. They can see the ship. Let us prepare ourselves. I am certain they are doing the same.”

  Scowling at the mage, Myrmeen walked across the deck of the abandoned vessel and crouched near the guardrail. At her feet she found a child’s toy, a doll. Angrily she kicked it from the deck and winced at the slight splash it made.

  The group had been outfitted in dark clothing that would not weigh them down as they swam. Their weapons were sealed in bags that Lucius had made buoyant with his spells. Soon the black ship came within a thousand yards. Myrmeen nodded to Lucius, who lowered her into the waters, then joined her.

  They swam toward the ship, Myrmeen afraid that her legs would suddenly cramp up, that she would drown alone and helpless in the dark waters. Then she heard the steady, comforting breath of the mage beside her and her fear slowly dissipated, replaced with a resolve to complete this mission as quickly as possible and try to make amends with her daughter.

  They approached the vessel’s side, Lucius ahead of Myrmeen. He gripped the rung that jutted from the side of the ship and climbed upward, unencumbered by weapons of any kind. Myrmeen was bothered by the dead weight of the heavy bag slung on her back, the strap pulling on her throat as she climbed. They made it over the top and walked directly into a pair of sailors. Darting out of the way, they were not surprised to go unnoticed; Lucius had cloaked them in a spell of invisibility. They could see each other, but no one else would mark their presence.

  Myrmeen and Lucius did not speak as they walked quickly to the bridge. The fighter clutched the molded grip of a blade as they approached the ship’s navigator. Beneath Myrmeen’s boot, a floorboard groaned loudly. The man at the helm turned suddenly and stared directly at the tall, gaunt mage and his beautiful companion. Then he frowned and turned back to the large wooden wheel that he gripped tightly.

  Human, Myrmeen thought with dismay, or so he seems. Lucius glanced down at her foot, then turned his gaze to her face and motioned for her to step on the creaking floorboard again. She leaned on the wooden plank a second time, causing the sailor to spin around in genuine alarm. The man was on edge and Lucius capitalized on this fact as he held out his open palm and blew a handful of dust into the man’s face. Myrmeen quickly sheathed her blade as the man fell forward. She caught his limp body with both hands. Dragging the man a half dozen feet, she carefully laid him beside several coils of rope, then she speedily disrobed. Removing his jacket, Myrmeen slipping it over her shivering, waterlogged body, then donned his leggings, boots, and the dark cap he had worn.

  Lucius held the wheel for her. She took it as the mage hurried to the unconscious man’s side and covered his pale, pink body with a blanket from the adjoining deck. Lucius then released the spell of invisibility that cloaked them. Myrmeen wondered if the others were on board, then committed the ship to its new course. The sailing vessel veered abruptly, engaging on a route that would take it parallel to the shoreline.

  “What in Cyric’s hell are you up to?” someone shouted.

  Looking over her shoulder, Myrmeen saw that several members of the crew were racing in her direction. Lucius stepped before her, his lips moving, his fingers gesturing. The advancing crewman were suddenly lifted into the air, their legs yanked upward as if they had been plucked by gigantic, invisible hands. The men levitated into the rigging, where they grabbed hold, screaming in anger and fear. Two of the seven men Myrmeen counted nearly floated beyond the reach of the sails, into the sky, but they managed to grab hold of the flapping canvas sails and save themselves. Three men approached from the rear of the ship and Myrmeen relaxed as she recognized Shandower and the two Harpers, who were all soaking wet.

  “There were five more, but we subdued them,” Ord said, watching the floating men above his head in amusement. The sailors cast creative variations of all-too-familiar curses at their vessel’s usurpers.

  “They were all human,” Shandower said as he spat on the deck with disgust. “I should have guessed that the Night Parade wouldn’t leave itself exposed like this.”

  “Perhaps we’d be better off sinking this ship after we check the hold,” Ord said. “It would be a short journey from the city lockup to ready buyers in the streets for those weapons if we allow them to be confiscated—only the suppliers would change.”

  Myrmeen nodded. Their goal had been not only to interfere with the smuggling operation that would give the night people more gold for their dark purposes, but also to bring them from the shadows of myth and children’s whispered tales to the light of scrutiny from the authorities. That plan depended on encountering at least a few of the monsters on board and securing their capture.

  “Ord, you take the helm from Myrmeen,” Reisz said. “The rest of us will go below.”

  The young man started to protest, then fell silent when he registered the look in Reisz’s eyes. “Of course,” Ord whispered, “Roudabush.”

  Reisz nodded and followed the others below decks.

  Lanterns lighted the first deck to which they had come and a full search netted the adventurers only two frightened deck hands who had run at the first sign of trouble. Shandower agreed to test these boys, firing his weapon into brilliant, blue-white life as he touched each of their hands. The first boy fainted, his fear causing him more harm than the gauntlet’s touch. The second was slightly more at ease after realizing that the Harpers did not plan to kill him. He touched the glove voluntarily and was relieved when all he felt was a slight racing of his heart as the green lightning coursed through him. The unconscious boy was bound and left behind, the second taken with them as they found the door to the cargo hold.

  The teenager, a rail-thin boy with thick, dark hair, angular features, and a scar above his left eye, shouted for them to stop before they pulled back the heavy, square door that secured their cargo. Reisz, who had been holding the rope that would pull open the wooden door, shuddered as if his worst fears had been confirmed.

  “What’s down there?” Myrmeen asked as she heard a groan that had not come from the wood-frame ship’
s shifting.

  “It’s not the crew,” Reisz said as the rope fell from his hand. “It was never the crew.”

  Beneath them, the floor undulated and they heard a heavy thud. Something incredibly large and strong had struck from below. The sound came again and Myrmeen decided that whatever was making the noise wished either to gain their attention or escape from the hold. Lucius took Myrmeen’s arm. “We must leave. We can sink the ship from a distance.”

  Myrmeen thought of the ambush they had walked into at her childhood home, the nest of nightmares they had uncovered and to which they had lost two of their oldest and dearest friends. She quickly scanned the faces of those who had boarded the ship with her and wondered who would die next if they did not follow the mage’s urging.

  “No!” Shandower shouted. “This is what we came here for, proof that the nightmares are real. There were never any forbidden weapons on this ship, only more of their kind, beings who could not pass for human and needed special care.”

  Myrmeen stared at the madness she saw in Shandower’s eyes and was grateful that she had decided to spare Krystin this sight. A part of the assassin had hoped for this—a part of him had wanted to fight the monstrosities even if it meant sacrificing all the others to satisfy his needs.

  I want to make the monsters go away.

  The words were branded into her memory, but she could not recall if it had been her father, Dak, or her second husband who had spoken them.

  You can’t, she suddenly understood. No one can make the monsters go away but me.

  “Myrmeen,” Reisz urged, “we made a mistake. Let’s leave while we still can. If he’s right and those things escape—”

  “Retreat,” she hissed, still watching Shandower’s eyes, worried that the fervor she saw within him might one day stare out at her when she looked at her own reflection.

  “I’m not going without seeing what’s down there,” Shandower said as he shoved Reisz out of the way, took the heavy rope in his hand, and yanked the door upward.

  Looking over the assassin’s shoulder, drawn in perverse fascination, Myrmeen was certain that she was staring into the pit of ultimate damnation. Dozens of monstrosities lay below, their bodies intertwined as they writhed frantically. Many were climbing the walls and two were on the stairway leading up to them. At the center of the gathering lay an obese, grotesque creature that appeared to have the power to manipulate its own body as if it were clay, stretching its muscles and tendons into shapes that seemed strangely familiar to Myrmeen. The monster’s stomach was immense, lined with a set of jaws large enough to swallow a man whole. Its face was marked with huge, egg shaped eyes, and a wide, gentle smile. Myrmeen suddenly recognized the shapes it was forcing its body to create: Musical instruments.