Spellbreaker

by Blake Charlton

  Twenty feet behind them, a large chunk of the tunnel roof gave way. What must have been two tons of rock came crashing down into the water. A forceful spray soaked the deck and the resulting wave pushed the catamaran toward the tunnel’s opening. The crew did not have to be told to back-paddle to stop the ship from floating out from under its protection.

  At last Leandra reached Peleki and put a hand on his shoulder. The man spun around, nearly stuck her with the leimako. “Hey!” she yelled, dancing away.

  The lieutenant’s face was tense with fear. “My lady—” was all he could get out before another thunderclap deafened them.

  “We can’t stay here,” Leandra yelled. “They’re going to bring the roof down.”

  “But they’ll catch us with the lightning if we try to—” Another thunderclap. He continued to yell but Leandra could not understand what he was saying until, “—to wait for Holokai to save us.”

  Leandra cursed herself. She might have killed their savior. “How could he save us?”

  “He will!”

  Another flash and thunderclap. Another ton of rock fell from the tunnel behind them into the water.

  “How?” Leandra yelled. “How could Holokai save us?”

  The lieutenant blinked at her. “He could … he … could pull us.” He gestured forward. “We could run lines from each bow and create a harness below the forward center deck. Other shark gods have done it.”

  Leandra felt a flush of relief. It was true that shark and whale deities had pulled their worshipers about on catamarans while they undertook various maritime quests—although, it probably happened more often in tall sea tales than true life. “Rig the harness,” Leandra yelled. “Holokai will save us.”

  Peleki nodded and started to reply but was drowned out by another thunderclap. There was something different about this thunderclap. Leandra looked at the ceiling and frowned. The pause that followed was longer than any previous.

  Another thunderclap tore through the tunnel and made her jump, but she had seen no flash of lightning and was now certain that the thunderclap was softer. The airship had pulled back. But why should the empire change position when she was so completely trapped?

  Leandra turned around and nearly ran her nose into Dhrun’s chest. “Burning hells, watch where you’re standing,” she said while making her way to the forward center deck. On the prows, the men worked to set up the harness. Another thunderclap echoed through the tunnel. But this time farther away.

  “Dhru, I’m going for a swim,” she said while untying her lungi. “Help Peleki keep them calm and busy.”

  “This doesn’t seem like the best time…” His voice trailed off as she stepped out of her lungi, peeled off her blouse.

  She looked back at him in time to find his eyes looking up to meet hers. A blush made his youthful face darker.

  She laughed at him. “Here? Now?”

  He gave her a four-armed shrug. “Especially here and now. Might be the last thing I see.”

  She looked down at her naked body and then up at him. “Well, then I’d better give you something else to see.” She dove, arms outstretched. The blue water was at first bracing and then transformative. The crimson passages that had been Holokai sprang into motion, covering her with textual construction. She became a creature of long muscle, black eyes, white teeth.

  On a faraway island, Holokai’s devotees were making the dawn devotions, praying for their shark god to destroy the archipelago’s enemies. So, as Leandra swam down into the blue, she felt the divine language wrought by such prayers pour into her new body.

  The falling rocks had kicked up debris, clouded the water. Leandra saw only a few bright yellow fish flitting along the underwater tunnel walls. With a whip of her tail, she dove with such speed that at first she found it alarming. Water rushed through her mouth and into her gills. Light faded in the depths. A moment later she passed out of the tunnel and into the bay.

  She whipped her tail a few times, propelling herself with an exhilarating lurch of speed. When she was far enough away from the island, she rose in wide circles until she was just below the glassy surface of the swells. Here she discovered that though her shark’s eyes were sharp enough in dim waters, the bright morning above the waves presented a blurry confusion. With concentrated effort, she discerned Keyway Island and the massive airship flying above it. Surprisingly, lightning arced up from the ship into the sky, at what she could not tell.

  She slowed down to better inspect the airship but discovered that she needed to maintain a minimum speed to keep water moving through her gills. She rose up and breached. The sudden, shocking difference between water and air overwhelmed her and prevented her from concentrating on the ship; however, she could tell that she was now almost two miles away from Keyway Island.

  Suddenly Leandra realized that she could swim away, out of the Cerulean Strait and into the open ocean. She swam another circle, turned the idea of fleeing over and then discarded it. Her crew was still on the catamaran. What was the point of escaping the empire if it made her as soulless as they were? Or was she soulless already?

  She breached again. This time she discerned that the airship was now hovering over the island and slowly rising. Strangely, half of the aft sails seemed to be in disarray. Lightning again arced up into the sky. For a moment, Leandra saw something dark flying nimbly about in the pale blue sky.

  Leandra dared to swim closer, her anxiety building. She had a strong suspicion about what was flying over the airship. If correct, Leandra would have to swim as fast as she could back to the catamaran and pray the crew had finished rigging the harness; the airship might not be distracted for long.

  When she was as close as she dared go before diving, Leandra breached again and discovered that the airship had risen to a point nearly half a mile above Keyway Island. Far above the ship gamboled a distant dark shape, her auburn scales glinting in the sunlight. A blaze of lightning shot up from the airship toward the figure. The dragon flitted away.

  Leandra had been right.

  Fiery heaven, Mother, what are you doing?

  Leandra’s heart filled with guilt and fear. Was Nicodemus dead now? Or in some state worse than death? He had always feared disability, and now he might have awakened from paralysis crippled. Why had Francesca come for her?

  Leandra breached one last time to watch her mother dance around lightning. Creator help her avoid it a bit longer. If the lightning struck true, Leandra did not think she could survive the guilt, loveless spell or no.

  So Leandra dove deep through the water as her mother swam through the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Francesca banked hard right and felt as much as saw the lightning bolt tear through the air where, moments before, she had been flying.

  As she dove, Francesca sensed a threat that had nothing to do with the airship throwing lightning at her. The sun now hung above the eastern headlands but shone with a crimson glow more characteristic of dusk than dawn. The horizon seemed too hazy. Even the wind felt strange—too warm and smelling of sulfur.

  Francesca rode the wind down until an updraft coming off a large standing island made the air turbulent. Then she worked her wings hard, rising away from the Empress as lightning arced from the airship into the sky. Whatever Lotannu had done to protect the airship from Leandra’s influence had also made the ship a miserable shot.

  Francesca had been sweeping the bay for signs of her daughter when the flash and report of lightning drew her here. She had clawed half the ship’s aft sails into rags before anti-boarding subspells had repelled her with sharp-edged cloth.

  Now Francesca had to maintain a position high enough above the Empress to avoid the lightning while threatening a dive attack. She had hoped the Empress would soon exhaust her lightning spells and be forced to retreat. However, the ship’s captain had directed most of the side sails downward, causing the ship to slowly rise. If he could climb above Francesca, he could ignore her and resume his bombardment. Then
there was the matter of support. There was no saying how close the other imperial forces might be.

  Light flashed from the Empress’s bow and Francesca dropped out of her climb and spiraled away. To her surprise, the airship’s bolt shot, not upward at her, but downward.

  Then Francesca spotted it. A catamaran was speeding away from the island. Curiously, the sails were reefed and the ship was moving far too fast to be powered by oars. Francesca tucked her wings and dropped. The Empress began a shallow dive after the catamaran; so Francesca placed herself directly aft of the ship, reasoning that if the lightning originated from the bow, the ship could not loose a bolt directly behind her without obliterating her own hull. This would be what sea captains call a stern chase—the attacker racing behind its prey, trying to catch its stern.

  As Francesca closed in, another lightning bolt shot down from the Empress but again struck the island. To her surprise, Francesca got within a half mile of the Empress before the airship started to come about. Francesca flapped hard, trying to stay on her stern. But the airship turned too fast. Just as the bow came into view, Francesca dove hard and then pulled up. The air below her crackled with lightning, shook with thunder.

  She continued to fly hard toward the Empress’s stern. Below her she could see Leandra’s catamaran speeding toward a narrow opening between two standing islands. Lightning struck one of the limestone formations, sending a blast of stone flying.

  Francesca’s excitement rose as she closed the distance with the Empress. It seemed that the captain wanted Leandra so badly that he would chance a level stern chase with a dragon.

  At five hundred yards, Francesca flexed her foreclaws in anticipation. Leandra’s catamaran slipped between the two standing islands, and the Empress began to climb over the obstacles. This adjustment would slow the airship and—because Francesca had higher altitude—make her easier to catch. A twinge of doubt moved through Francesca. The ship’s captain could not be so stupid as to start climbing during this stern chase unless …

  Francesca pulled up out of her attack and began to scan the sky. The Empress’s captain should give up the stern chase only if he knew he had protection. At last Francesca saw her, hiding in the low crimson sun, another airship.

  As Francesca climbed, she saw her stalker adjust her course to stand off. In that moment, Francesca caught the ship’s silhouette and knew her for the Queen’s Lance. She had no doubt that Cyrus was captaining his old ship, watching and waiting for Francesca to close with Empress so that he could run his foresails through her back. Francesca glared back at her old lover, hating him.

  Ahead of her the Empress cleared the standing islands. Impulsively Francesca dove to pick up speed, pulling up only just above the water. It was the same trick she had pulled in Chandralu; now Cyrus wouldn’t be able to dive at her with abandon. More importantly, she might lose him among the limestone pillars.

  When she reached the twin islands, Francesca tucked her wings together and, like a sparrow flitting through a chink in a barn wall, passed between the islands to spread her wings and glide above the water. Ahead, a corridor of open water stretched for nearly a mile before the standing islands reconstituted their maze.

  Leandra’s catamaran was halfway across the corridor and veering left to hide among the limestone formations. The Empress flew behind her. A bolt of lightning arced down, overshot the catamaran and struck a standing island ahead of her.

  As the thunderclap echoed across the bay, Francesca flew left to where she supposed Leandra was headed and then sprinted into the labyrinthine standing islands. Here the limestone formations were spaced far enough apart for easy navigation. She glanced back. The haze seemed to have increased in the last few moments, and the smell of sulfur had grown stronger. It was as if a nearby volcano were spewing out vog.

  But all thoughts of the atmosphere vanished when she caught a glimpse of the Queen’s Lance. Along the inferior aspect of her foresails shone two figures in bright orange-and-yellow robes.

  Francesca veered left, nearly smashed her snout into a standing island, flapped hard to rise high enough to clear it. The dark boom of the pyromantic cannon made her dive toward the bay. Some screaming thing shot overhead, and then the base of a standing island ahead of her erupted into molten fire. Slowly the standing island began to fall.

  Francesca flew harder and slipped under the island before it crashed into the bay.

  A glance back through the spray and smoke told her that the Queen’s Lance was still right on top of her. So she ducked into a thicket of islands. Here she could hide, but now she had to frantically dart right and left to avoid slamming up against the standing islands.

  When enough space opened between the limestone pillars, she spread her wings wide to slow down, felt them scrape against rock and ferny cycads.

  Through the array of stones, she glimpsed Lea’s catamaran speeding between two standing islands. Above her, looming like a thundercloud, the Empress cast out lightning bolt after lightning bolt.

  Francesca made a quick calculation about where Leandra was headed and began darting between the standing islands to intercept. The world became a blur of limestone and vines confined by blue water below and hazy sky above. The thunder was booming louder.

  When she came to a place where the standing islands were more widely spaced, she hovered near an island’s peak and then, with all four of her claws, grasped hold of a rocky outcropping. She flapped her wings twice for balance, then pressed them flat against the stone.

  She craned her long neck and spotted the Queen’s Lance patrolling an area of dense standing islands about a quarter mile to the east. Francesca clung tighter to the limestone and tried to shuffle sideways along the cliff face to put more of the island between her and the airship, but this disturbed a small flock of white-feathered red-tailed seabirds that rose into the air with screeching scorn.

  Francesca froze, afraid that she had attracted an airship’s attention. She held her breath and waited, but the Queen’s Lance continued to fly slowly, patrolling loops around the dense ticket of islands. Meanwhile the boom of thunder, a dark purple sound, grew louder.

  Francesca peered over the standing island and saw Leandra’s catamaran come into view, moving fast between standing islands. Before the ship swam a dark shape. Holokai? Surprising. Francesca had guessed the shark god would betray Leandra and run back to Chandralu to save his child.

  Francesca clung to the standing island and watched her daughter’s ship slide into the maze of standing islands.

  The thundering grew louder. The sky began to darken. At first Francesca thought it was the Empress overhead, but when she looked up she saw that it was, almost unbelievably, the haze. The air was taking on a grayish color and smelled not only of sulfur but also of hot metal.

  The sky continued to darken but now she saw that the Empress was indeed flying directly overhead. Lightning arced away from the Empress’s bow and struck somewhere that Francesca could not see. Francesca pressed her face against the limestone and waited for what seemed an eternity. She would get only one chance.

  When at last the aft sails were directly overhead, Francesca leapt and rose with powerful wingbeats toward the flagship’s underbelly. At fifty yards away, she roared out a savage attack. She closed the final few feet and threw herself into a clawing attack and caught … nothing but air.

  Francesca’s first sensation was one of unreality. Somehow she was hovering in turbulent air a hundred feet behind the Empress.

  It seemed impossible, but the flagship had somehow sensed her surprise attack and nearly tripled its upward thrust. From somewhere behind her there came a boom and then a scream. She turned to see the Queen’s Lance hovering above her. Then the air next to her burst into a spiny, black star of smoke.

  A shockwave swatted Francesca out of the air.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Nicodemus blinked rapidly, felt his eyes sting and tear, squeezed them shut. He tried to rub them but could not raise his hand up much farth
er than his chest. He was still lying flat in his compound’s tearoom, slowly reclaiming his body from the tetrodotoxin.

  Doria’s teasing voice spoke above him. “The result of struggling against paresis is paresis with aggravation.”

  “What in the burning hells is paresis?” Nicodemus croaked, his voice raw from the breathing tube spell.

  “A word my Lord Warden doesn’t know?”

  “You’re enjoying this too much.”

  “Not technically possible.”

  “So what does paresis technically mean?”

  “So you don’t know what it means?”

  “Is your practice to aggravate all of the patients you save from certain death?”

  “Just those I care about.”

  Nicodemus smiled at his old friend. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  “Paresis means partial paralysis, what you’re going through as the tetrodotoxin wears off. Don’t struggle against it.”

  “Doesn’t Fran have a saying like your paresis saying?”

  “The result of surgery to relieve pain is pain with a hole in it,” Doria provided. “It’s popular among more conservative physicians.”

  Nicodemus opened his eyes. For a moment, he could focus on Doria’s smiling face, wreathed by silvery hair. Behind her, Ellen stood and frowned at them both. The world became blurry again.

  “You should be feeling good about your progress,” Doria said. “You’re clearing the tetrodotoxin faster than I thought possible. Being a Language Prime spellwright must have changed your physiology.”

  “Can I have some water?”

  “Not on your life, literally,” Ellen said in her usual flat tone. “Until you’re strong enough to protect your airway, nothing but air is going through your mouth.”