by Max Irons
"Run all you like, Deathstalker," called Atreus. "You and the archer will still die."
"Just try and catch me!" Iven bellowed behind him.
Emerging at the crossroad, Galeron saw Drake soldiers emerging from the route he and Iven had taken to get in. Iven saw them, too, and he drew an arrow, taking one through the neck. The crowd of soldiers rushed forward.
"That's right, come and get me," Iven yelled, running off down the passage to the docks. "Come on, you lazy lumps. Going to let a Rayan outrun you?"
Cursing his Iven's madness, Galeron rushed down the one path still open: observation. This had better not be a dead end. Screams and shouts echoed as the Drakes spotted him. He glanced over his shoulder. Not only had they spotted him, a contingent raced down the passage after him. Galeron emerged from the tunnel onto a stone platform that stopped abruptly. He ground to a halt and looked down. Nothing but the rolling ocean lay beneath him.
He looked back. The rebels were almost upon him. Galeron turned back, weighing his options. Jump, and he might die on impact. Stay, and he'd either be captured and killed by the Drakes or pushed over the edge anyway. Near certainty of death with both endings. He swallowed. If he had to die, it would be on his terms. With one last look over his shoulder, he jumped over the edge.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Galeron's stomach sailed into his throat. Wind whipped his sleeves and mouth as he descended feet first to the rolling seas below. He hit the water with a bone jarring splash and a torrent of bubbles. Salty water rushed up his nose as he descended the depths. Galeron waited for his descent to stop, but it didn't. He kept sinking deeper and deeper.
His gear. It weighed him down. He slipped his shield off and cast it aside. It would do him little good if he drowned. He kicked off his boots, slid out of his arming doublet, and dropped the ax into the murky darkness at his feet. Galeron thrust for the surface, kicking and straining with all of his might. He moved upward at last, slowly, but then faster as he gained momentum. His lungs burned, but he couldn't breathe yet. There was no air.
Galeron clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth as he heaved himself toward the surface light. So close. His lungs tried to inhale, but he resisted, causing his stomach to contract. Black rings formed in his vision, seeping into his line of sight. His heart pounded in his ears, frantically beating like a festival drummer.
His hand broke the surface, and his face followed. Galeron heaved air into starved lungs. He coughed and spluttered, kicking to keep himself afloat. He made it. He was alive, somehow. Galeron looked around, gulping air like a thirsting man at a well. He floated near the mouth of the Drake sea cave.
Shouting came from high above him, and he glanced up. The Drakes stood at the edge of the observation platform. Galeron turned himself around and started to swim toward the coast. He paddled, keeping his head above the water, but the beach didn't get any closer. In fact, the coast kept getting further and further away.
Galeron caught sight of a log floating past him toward the open ocean. Whatever force that pulled the log was taking him with it. He kicked harder. He had to get to the beach. Had to get back to Azura. The sea did not care, and despite his thrashing, the caves and the beach grew further away. Galeron screamed with frustration. It couldn't end like this. They'd come too far, sacrificed too much for it to end like this. The wound in his leg burned. His muscles gave way and he stopped struggling. A raging inferno consumed his limbs, and he kicked up with his legs in short spurts. A wave crashed over his head, and he swallowed sea water.
Spitting it back out, Galeron lunged for the log, wrapping an arm around it. His grip slipped, but he redoubled his efforts. The sea had him, but he would escape. There was no choice. Another wave swept over him, and he lost his grip on the log. The world vanished beneath blue-green waters, but this time, his limbs failed him. He couldn't force himself to the surface again. Galeron tried to move his legs, but they wouldn't respond. His hand broke the surface before he slipped fully beneath the waves.
He sank deeper into the sea. Light faded from his vision as the world above spiraled away. He breathed out air from his nose, bubbles escaping. So this was how it ended. He'd survived a staggering drop, escaped Atreus and Hektor, lived through the Delktian Wars only to be dragged to a watery grave by the cold, impartial sea. His lungs ran out of air and started to burn again. He kept his jaws clenched shut. The end would come, but he would not welcome death. He'd resist it to the very last. That's who he was, after all. Fitting perhaps, that it had not been man, but nature, who claimed his life. If a necromancer couldn't do it...
By instinct, his lungs overrode his mind's command and inhaled. Sea water rushed into his lungs. He coughed, but more water flooded in. Darkness and silence overwhelmed his senses, yet as he lost focus, he could have sworn there were fingers in his hair.
Darkness.
He was still floating. Was this what the afterlife felt like? Floating in a vast, unknowable sea? A bit of a disappointment. Perhaps he was doomed to relive his last sensations. It could be worse. He could have burned to death. As the thought crossed his consciousness, his face stung.
If he was dead, could he have a face?
Warm lips pressed against his. Strange. He hadn't asked for a kiss. For that matter, there was no one around to kiss. Even so, he kissed back. It seemed rude not to, and dead men couldn't be picky. A severe pain exploded in his chest, and he coughed.
Could dead men cough?
"Galeron."
That was his name, but who said it?
"Galeron, open your eyes."
He tried, but he couldn't make them work. Didn't the voice realize he was dead?
The lips kissed him again, and again came the pain in his chest. His face burned a second time, and he sat up, coughing and spewing sea water. His eyes flew open, and his senses came roaring back. The sea howled all around him, but he wasn't in it. He was in a boat. It was a small thing with only one short mast and a set of oars. The vessel was barely big enough for three people.
Hands pressed against his chest and back, supporting him. He glanced over at their owner.
Lonni, sopping wet and barefoot stared back at him, eyes as wide as saucers. "You're alive."
He nodded. It was just as surprising to him. "Where...Iven...caves?"
She let him slump back against the side of the boat. Rand came into his field of vision, face contorted in worry. "Is he out here, too? We didn't see anyone else in the water."
Galeron coughed and spat out more seawater. Iven was...he was back...where? His mind grappled with the problem. Where had Iven...oh, right. "He's somewhere in the caves." He leaned his head against a gunwale, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.
"What were you thinking?" asked Lonni. "Did you two try to take on the Drakes single-handed?"
He shook his head. "We tried to sneak in and get the prince, but they were waiting for us."
"Blasted fools, both of you," Lonni said.
He cracked on eye open. "What're you doing here?"
She snorted. "Isn't it obvious? We came to rescue you. Tondra's guards told us what she said, and we figured you would try something crazy, but we thought you'd still be traveling."
Galeron opened the other eye. "We have to get help."
"That's where we're headed," Rand said. He pulled on the rigging and opened the sail, tying knots and lashing it in place. "Storm's on the way. Good for getting to Azura, but bad for coming back."
The canvas sail cracked in the stiff wind, pushing the boat through the choppy seas. Rand stepped to the rudder, locking it in a death grip.
"Why did you come after us?" asked Galeron.
Lonni scowled at him but said nothing for a moment. "You saved my life. I owed you a debt." She sat down, the gunwale in between them. "Now, we're even."
"She also told the commander about the information," Rand said. "He isn't happy about it, I must say. Something to do with rebels operating under his nose, or some such thing."
"The
y've been there for a while," Galeron said. "They had alarms and tunnels and everything."
Rand grunted and guided them over a wave, sea spray drenching them. "Then they'll be beastly hard to dislodge. I imagine they've all kinds of nasty surprises waiting for an attacker."
Galeron nodded. "There's at least a couple hundred of them in there, maybe more."
"I hope the commander has a couple of hundred marines ready to go," Rand said.
The caves slowly faded from sight. The ship pitched and rolled, and so did his stomach. Galeron turned over and vomited over the side, his throat burning and eyes watering.
"Pleasant," Lonni mumbled.
He spat into the ocean and glared at her. "Why aren't you having problems?"
"Do you think because I'm a woman, I'd get seasick?" she asked, eyes flashing.
"You're being a woman has nothing to do with it," Galeron said. He coughed again, which set off a new round of heaving.
"For your information, I've spent very long trips on a ship in storms much worse than this," Lonni said. "The trade routes to the Han in summer are especially brutal. Some sailors don't stop being sick for weeks."
Galeron wiped his mouth. That was encouraging. The largest vessel he'd been on had been a river ferry. "Is that supposed to impress me?"
"No, but it's clear your stomach is weaker than mine." She leaned back against the side and squealed as they hit another soaking breaker.
Galeron spat out more salt water. "I know little of sailing, but enough sailors tell me the sea doesn't care about you or your stomach."
The wind kicked up and obscured Lonni's retort. The beach, which had been drifting by at an amiable pace, now went by faster as they sailed along the coast. The sky turned from a steely gray to a harsh blue-green color, almost matching the waves beneath them. Galeron's stomach churned, but it wasn't from the sea. If this storm kept up, they'd never get to Iven in time. The commander would delay and wait for better weather, and that was time he couldn't afford.
Then again, he, Galeron, didn't really have a choice in the matter. He couldn't go back without substantial help. He had no magical powers or special skills. Even if he did, he would still need a small army behind him to dislodge the Drakes from their underground fortress. A brief lightheaded sensation swept over him, but he shook his head to clear it. Powerless. That's what he was now. Iven's fate lay in the hands of someone who neither knew nor cared.
Azura came into view after a while. The massive harbor and wharves looked like someone had designed it after a multi-pronged pitchfork. Five large docks jutted out into the coastal inlet, with a huge open channel down the middle. Rand guided their boat through this waterway to the battlements of the naval yard. The sentries on duty unlocked the chain and waved them in. Maneuvering in the harbor was a harder task. The waves pitched the boat about and slammed it into the stone docks. Though the vessel only suffered minor damage, it didn't bode well for sailing in the near future.
They tied the boat off and Rand led them to one of the larger, two-floored structures built against the wall in the naval yard. Once again, sentries posted outside the door waved them through after one look at Rand. Galeron frowned. What had happened while he'd been away?
The first floor of the building housed a map room similar to the one he'd just left, except this one placed clay vessels of varying shapes and sizes all around the seas and, with the exception of coastal towns and ports, gave no attention to inland activities. Commander Frontino stood to one side with an officer holding a forked stick that he used to shift the figurines around the blue painted areas. The commander looked up as they walked toward the map.
His face split into a grin. "Rand, you old shellfish, what're you doing here?"
Rand extended his hand. "Oliver, fantastic to see you as well." They traded grasps for a moment.
"How does Rand know the commander?" asked Galeron.
She sniffed. "They served together in the navy. That's where my father learned what I had been teaching him for years."
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't act so humble."
She ignored him.
"I heard your shop was destroyed," Frontino said. "How did that happen?"
"Not all of it, just one wall and the outer workshop." Rand gestured to Lonni. "My duckling can be quite inventive when she wants. An experiment gone a bit too successful, I'm afraid."
Frontino nodded and winked at her. "I've heard stories of you. Half the crew of the Gray Wraith thought of you as their own daughter." He chuckled. "The other half marvel you didn't burn his house down long ago."
Lonni's cheeks turned a shade of pink. "Papa exaggerates."
"Not in your case, I think." His eyes fell on Galeron, and his smile vanished. "And what are you doing here, sell-sword?"
Galeron kept his face neutral. Scowling and glaring, while his natural and favorite expressions, wouldn't win any friends, and he desperately needed the commander to be in a decent mood. "I've come to confirm the location of a Drake stronghold."
Frontino eyed him, one eye squinting. "Keen to give up your mage-loving friends?"
Control yourself. He took a breath. "The Drakes are operating out of a cave on the coast maybe five leagues north. I've been inside. There are at least a couple hundred of them there, plus their leader, Atreus Luccio." Frontino said nothing, so he continued. "Reports of Prince Lattimer's demise were wrong, commander. I've seen him and talked to him. He lives, but not for much longer."
The other officers and aides in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at him. The only noise came from the winds rattling the closed shutters. Frontino continued to stare at him, not moving. Galeron glanced from him to Rand, whose face was drawn tight and jaw clenched, and then back to the commander.
"You lie," said Frontino at last. "I saw how you treated that mageling in the infirmary. You hide a soft spot for them. Why should I take the word of one sell-sword over official dispatches from the king? He announced the death of his son. There is your first lie." He glanced about. "Where is your friend? Why is he not here to support your tale?"
Galeron stared at the floor. "We...had split up. He distracted the Drakes so I could escape."
"Or maybe he stayed behind to coordinate a trap for me and my marines," said Frontino. "The Drakes lure us in, crush us in an ambush, and then they can take Azura with little trouble." He tapped his temple. "You don't think I know how they operate? There are always plans within plans."
Rand raised a hand. "Oliver, don't you think--"
"You and I were shipmates, but that doesn't mean I need your input now," Frontino said. His tone softened as he pulled up a stool and sat down. "Things have changed since we locked horns with the Delktian navy. This war isn't on the battlefield with bold colors, trumpets, and great armies. The Drakes pop up during the night, raid and destroy before vanishing like smoke. They only strike when they wish, and if they've let themselves be known, it's because they want to be found." He shook his head. "I'm not taking my marines anywhere near them, not off of one man's word. Deathstalker or not, it doesn't matter."
Galeron sighed, a weight descending on his heart. "And if I'm right, and the Drakes kill Prince Lattimer?"
Frontino glared at him. "On the chance that you're right, then nothing would have changed from yesterday, when everyone assumed the prince was already dead to begin with. King Soren is a reasonable man, and he would never blame me for not taking the word of a Drake sympathizer."
"The king hired me to hunt down Atreus," said Galeron. "You are refusing to help in that task."
"Your task is your own, and the king's dispatches only apply to the city watch," Frontino said. "He mentioned nothing about the navy or marines in those missives."
Galeron ground his teeth. Pounding his fist into the commander's face wouldn't work, even though he'd feel better about himself. "You're refusing to help because of what the king didn't say? How could he know we'd need naval help? The spirit of the missive is clear."
"I will
not lead my men into the Drake den because of something you assume the king would want," Frontino said. "How will I explain to stricken parents, wives, and children that their loved ones died because I chose to take the word of one man? How will I explain to the king that my fleet was destroyed because I was foolish enough to fall for a Drake deception?" He narrowed his eyes further. "I won't because the ships are staying where they are."
Galeron snarled. Going back alone wasn't an option. The Drakes would kill him long before he'd ever gotten anywhere close to Iven or the prince. He ground his teeth, fire licking at the insides of his gut. That fool of a commander would pay. He'd be sure to tell King Soren just how unhelpful he'd been.
It wouldn't solve anything. Revenge would taste sweet, but it would dissipate and leave him in a world where he stood alone. No Iven. No backup. Boiling bones, what would he do without that archer? Galeron rubbed his temple. He'd never gone on a job without him. Iven was the reason he'd become a mercenary. Working like this needed...no, demanded...a partner to guard the flank. He couldn't do his job alone without becoming a paranoid wreck.
Galeron swallowed spittle and pride and relaxed his face. "What would it take to convince you?"
"What do you mean?" the commander asked.
Galeron sighed. "What do I need to do, pay, write out, or swear that will make you understand that I'm not lying to you?"
Frontino stared at him for a moment. "Do you think you can buy my fleet?"
He snorted. "I don't have enough coin to get a new set of boots. If I worked for the Drakes, wouldn't I have nicer clothes?"
"Drake deceptions are thorough," Frontino said. "Last week, a sect managed to swindle their way into an army camp. They pretended they were refugees from a Soterian slave ship, complete with torn clothes and dirty faces, and covered in their own waste." His eyebrows constricted. "They slaughtered the army group in the night, down to the last stable boy."