He blinked away the spinning grayness trying to smother him. Lord Marhana saw he was lying on his side several feet from where he’d knifed Malyanna. The woman remained standing, but blood ran in a thin rivulet from where the knife still protruded.
The shadow hound snarled and slunk toward Behroun.
“I said ‘hold,’ Tamur,” said the eladrin, her voice strained for the first time he could recall. “You can feast on his entrails later. After he’s opened his precious locket.”
Good, thought Behroun. I hurt her at least. More than most can probably claim.
The woman gripped his amulet in one hand. She must have taken it from him while he’d lain stunned. How long had he been out? Long enough for her to figure out she couldn’t open the star iron locket without help.
Behroun realized, as he should have before he’d put a knife in Malyanna, that its function was his last bargaining chip.
The eladrin pulled the knife out of her belly. She screamed words in a language so foul it nearly knocked Behroun unconscious again. The blood came thick and red now, and Malyanna staggered.
Then the flow slowed to a trickle before stopping altogether. Strength returned to the woman with every heartbeat. Though her clothing remained stained and rent, Behroun knew the ancient creature enjoyed some damnable ability to heal herself.
She saw he was watching and laughed. “You don’t think I’ve survived all these years by deceit alone, do you?” She shook her head and walked to where he lay.
Malyanna tossed the knife aside, bent, and put the amulet in his splayed hand. “Now,” she directed. “Open it. Each moment you delay, I remove a finger.”
“I’ll open it,” he rasped. “But only if you swear on your citadel … the Citadel of the Outer Void!”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” She grabbed a pinkie finger and bent it backward. He gritted his teeth, but a scream escaped him when the finger snapped.
“If you swear,” he continued, his voice breathy now, “I’ll open the amulet right now.”
“Swear what?” she purred as she took hold of his index finger.
“That neither you, nor your hound, nor any servant you command will harm me afterward!”
She growled like an animal herself, then broke the finger she grasped.
He screamed louder this time. The sound seemed to relax the eladrin. She heaved him to his feet and leaned him against a tarp-covered contraption.
“Very well, mortal,” said Malyanna. “For the sake of our past alliance, despite how many times you’ve disappointed me, I’ll let you be. If you open this damned contraption now.”
“Swear it,” he insisted, his voice a whisper.
She collapsed her forearm across his throat so that his breath and blood were cut off for a moment—just long enough for him to panic. Then she released him, smiling. She said, “I vow as a priestess of the Citadel of the Outer Void, as a devotee of the Abolethic Sovereignty, that neither I nor any who serve me will harm you for a period of no less than one year, if you open the amulet right now.”
Behroun sagged. He pulled the amulet close and tried to work its secret catch. The pain and awkwardness from the two protruding fingers of his left hand got in the way. He failed once, then twice, to open it.
“Are you stalling?” purred the eladrin.
Behroun gave a strangled sob and tried again. The third time proved the charm. The halves of the locket popped open. The emerald-hued pact stone lay exposed.
Malyanna plucked it from Behroun’s hand. She held the stone up to her eye for a moment, squinting at it with her inscrutable, lambent gaze.
Then she tossed it on the floor. The green jewel winked fitfully in the dim light.
Malyanna pointed a finger. A pale, cold ray emerged and transfixed the pact stone.
The emerald shattered. A flying fragment drew a red line on Malyanna’s check, but she only laughed.
Even Behroun was able to see the breaking stone discharge a tiny spark, but dark and shaped like … a bat.
The mote fluttered above the ruined stone for an instant, then dived away from the room in a direction that didn’t exist in Castle Darroch.
“After it, Tamur!” screeched the eladrin noble.
The great hound barked once and dashed down a lane of shadow Behroun hadn’t noticed earlier. Malyanna said, “Until next year, then,” and followed her pet into the shadow between dimensions.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)
Green Siren on the Sea of Fallen Stars
The gray slaad tried to bite off Seren’s head.
She barked out her most potent ward. Even as the thing’s teeth grazed her temples, radiance burst from her. The force of the concussive spell chipped the slaad’s teeth and flipped it up and backward several feet. The creature tried to get its balance but fell on its back.
Before the slaad could rise, Seren snapped her fingers, bidding the called creature to return to whence it came.
Neither the slaad clambering to its feet before her nor any of its brethren so much as paused, let alone disappeared in a puff of released summoning magic.
She scowled. The pack of hunters had exploited the gap left by her summoning ritual. She couldn’t dismiss them because she hadn’t called them.
All she could do was kill them or be killed.
Shouts and screams from other parts of the ship grazed her ears. Larger slaads than this gray were ravening, but—
The creature leaped at her once more, its rubbery face contorted with elemental hunger and fury. At least it was now leaking ichor.
She spoke the opening stanza of Sunless Winter. A blast of chill blue spread from her open mouth, crystallizing from the arcane syllables.
Ice rasped the slaad’s hide like sandpaper. It shrieked, but fixed her with its pale gaze. Frost stung her flesh, froze her in place, and sucked the breath from her lungs. How …?
The damned beast had turned a portion of the spell back on her!
She started to utter another spell, knowing the creature was going to reach her before she finished.
Someone stepped between her and the charging slaad. Raidon!
The gray, intent on rending her from neck to navel, was oblivious. The half-elf leaned into the creature’s charge and grabbed its arm. Using the creature’s own momentum, he flipped the creature over his hip. The gray slaad cleared Seren by a foot. It crashed down behind her. The monk followed his quarry.
She turned and finished her spell, sending a concussive bolt of thunder through its body. It convulsed, paying no attention as Raidon leaned down, cradled the creature’s head between his arms, and squeezed.
The gray’s eyes bulged as its breath stopped. A few moments later, it lolled, dead or unconscious. Either way, it was out of the fight.
The chill of her redirected spell released its clutch. Seren rubbed her hands together and blew on them. Tiny pins stuck her extremities as hints of feeling returned.
Two slaads remained, a gray and a red. Thoster and a few of his crew had formed a defensive line on the forecastle. With axes, sabers, scimitars, and the captain’s clicking sword, it seemed Green Siren might actually turn the tide.
The red slaad was on the forecastle stairs, face to face with the captain. Thoster bore several deep claw wounds down the left side of his face and chest. He grinned as if he was having the time of his life.
Raidon took the stairs on the forecastle three at a time. His last step was a leap that put his foot into the small of the red’s back. The monster stumbled under the blow. Thoster advanced a half step and pushed his sword into the creature’s chest. It croaked, a sound charged with supernatural terror.
The crew, Thoster, and even Raidon paused in the face of the fearful sound, giving the monster the space it required to bounce straight up. It caught the mainmast crossbeam high over its head.
Seren was close enough to hit it with another volley of thunder. The red, still croaking, managed to retain its
grip on the crossbeam. It swung itself in a great arc away from the ship and dived. Before it hit the water, it winked out of existence. Seren saw the telltale gleam of an arcane translocation.
The last gray tried to flee like its larger cousin, but it was not quite so resilient to Seren’s spells. She caged it in a field of flickering fire, one specifically designed to anchor creatures in space. The captain, the monk, and the rest of the crew made short work of it, and its life was spilled out in stinking streaks of green and red.
Silence stretched into the aftermath for several heartbeats.
A tumult of voices went up as the crew checked to see who had survived the onslaught. A few called for a victory party.
Captain Thoster roared, “Secure the ship! What’re you doing standing around jawing? Make sure there ain’t more overgrown frogs hopping around down in the hold. Get this mess shipshape and see to the wounded. Then we celebrate. Tonight, triple rum rations!”
Men and women scattered to do Thoster’s bidding, their fear and concern washed away by the captain’s promise. Seren wondered at the promise of rum; if it was so potent, perhaps she should avail herself of some too.
“And call the healer,” demanded the captain. He held his rent shirt close around his chest as if to hide the extent of the wounds down his torso.
A fellow crawled up from the hold with a pouch. From it he produced a vial. “Restorative, sir,” he said. “We’re running low, I’m afraid. This is the last.”
Thoster took it and glanced at Seren and Raidon. “Each of us should take one swig. We should be at the top of our game before we begin the expedition.” The captain handed the vial to the monk.
Raidon nodded and took a small sip. The wizard wasn’t certain she could detect any change in the man.
When the vial passed to her, she took a large mouthful. Like ice water on a blazing day, the fluid cooled her mouth and throat. Scrapes, pulls, and pains she hadn’t even realized she bore faded.
Captain Thoster finished the last of the fizzing blue liquid. The most serious cut, the one running down his face from his left eye to under his jawbone, slowly faded, leaving behind only the faintest of white lines to mark it.
“Seren,” said the captain, as he dropped the empty vial. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She pushed away her thoughts of the slaad and sighed. “I warned you other things out of the Elemental Chaos might slip through when I summoned the gleamtails.”
She raised her hand in a wide showman’s gesture. Like stars over the world that had lost their way, myriad points of light swirled around the ship. Each one was a fishlike creature of the Chaos. Each gleamed its own hue, and among them some shone emerald, sapphire, and amethyst.
Seren continued, “And knowing that, I warned you both to be ready. The way I see it, events occurred as I predicted. Except now that I think on it, I didn’t see either of you on deck as I finished the ritual. Perhaps if you’d been around, we could have prevented the creatures from crossing over in the first place.”
Thoster’s brow furrowed in thought.
“Seren,” said Raidon as he watched the crew attend to the needs of the ship and the wounded.
“Yes?”
“Now that the gleamtails are here, how do we proceed?” His eyes, black as the depths of the sea, turned their regard on her.
She wasn’t ready to move on. “And where were you when I finished my ritual? You’re the reason we’re putting ourselves at such risk.”
Raidon replied, “You’re right, Seren. Please forgive me. My thoughts were elsewhere. I hope my lapse didn’t cause you any lasting harm.” He didn’t look away as he spoke.
Seren had expected some sort of excuse or defense. She was put off by the simple apology. This one saw the world differently than most, that was certain. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Maybe he thought his example would move her to apologize for not disclosing her time with the Red Wizards.
“Well,” broke in Thoster, “I wasn’t on deck because I have a ship to run. I guess I figured your warning was more for form than anything else. From now on, Seren, if you say jump, I’ll ask how high.”
Seren felt her mouth quirk toward a smile. The captain had that effect on her sometimes. Her defensive anger began to drain.
The captain continued, “What say we give this expedition a day before we start? I could—”
Raidon said, “Thoster, time is precious. We must find Xxiphu. We must quell what is likely waking even as we speak.”
The sword on Raidon’s back shifted, giving voice to a low, whispery tone, as if agreeing with its master.
The captain’s grin dissolved.
“Xxiphu won’t wait for us,” said the monk.
Thoster raised one hand in a placatory gesture. His other still held the rents of his clawed garments closed. “Hold on! I ain’t backing out. I just want to give everyone a chance to be at their best. Me especially.”
Raidon said, “Now is the time. We should begin our journey down.” He nodded up at the gleamtails swarming around the ship’s periphery. “Are we ready?”
Seren took a deep breath. Though the slaads’ attack had rattled her, they hadn’t disrupted the ritual. The gleamtails were present and keyed to Green Siren. Thanks to her.
She nodded. “Yes, we’re ready. The magic is set. It should last a tenday at minimum. And you’re right—the sooner we start, the longer the trip we can make. It wouldn’t do for the school to break up while we’re still below. The ship and all aboard would be crushed to flinders quicker than it takes to describe.”
Raidon said, “That’s a risk I am willing to take.”
Thoster made a choking sound. Seren frowned.
She wondered if the half-elf had a death wish. Being crushed was not a risk she was willing to take. Which was why she’d modified the ritual even more than she’d described to Raidon. If the gleamtail jack school broke up prematurely, Seren had the option of bodily returning with them to the Chaos. Not the safest escape hatch, but far superior to staying behind in a ship suddenly unprotected from the weight of a continent.
She cleared her throat and motioned to Raidon. “Stand here in the center of the circle, where I’ve marked. This is the focus of the ritual. From here you can direct the school.”
“Anyone can command the gleamtails?” wondered Thoster.
She swept her hand to include herself, Raidon, and the captain and said, “I’ve crafted the rite so any one of us can control the route the school swims, so long as we stand in the circle. It’s as simple as thinking of a direction. The school should respond.”
The monk looked to Captain Thoster. “Are you ready?”
The captain stroked his chin a moment but nodded. He said, “We were ready to depart before. Same holds true now, despite that we lost a few good crew.”
Raidon entered the circle scribed on the deck. His brow creased. The gleaming creatures surrounding Green Siren startled, but remained in the spherical pattern around the ship. The monk’s head dipped.
The deck creaked. Some of the crew cried out as the Sea of Fallen Stars sucked the ship beneath the waves. Water swirled up around the schooling gleamtail jacks, pressing its damp weight against the swirling, silvery forms that somehow sealed out the sea. Watery light replaced the sun, painting sails, wood, cloth, and flesh all the same shade of bottle green.
“It works,” breathed Thoster. He grinned. “Imagine what I could do with these fish, coming up on an Amnian merchantman from below! I’d be the terror of the Inner Sea!”
Seren ignored the captain and watched Raidon.
The half-elf pressed an open palm on his chest, on his glimmering tattoo. The lines of the stylized tree burst into a heatless blue flame. She took a measured pace back. The color was the hue that still visited her in nightmares. The Year of Blue Fire yet scarred the dreams of every wizard who lived through it, even those who lost only their magic. She took a second step away. Seren decided putting even more distance between h
erself and the fiery display wasn’t unreasonable.
But the color wasn’t quite the same blue throughout. At the flame’s core burned a fiercer, more empyreal hue. She supposed this was the power of the Cerulean Sign the monk spoke about so reverently.
The light slanting through the water above dimmed further. They were still descending, so smoothly Seren could scarcely detect the movement in the soles of her sandals. She walked to the railing and leaned out, trying to perceive where the protective field of air ended and the water began.
The boundary was smooth enough, but full of ripples, like the surface of a lake stocked with jumping trout. Skating just above the water, the gleamtails swirled and sparkled, beholden to the edicts of her ritual. She studied the fish and their patterns, looking for any sign of weakness in the binding magic. She’d told the monk the protective shroud of gleamtails would last about a tenday. She was pretty sure that was true, give or take a day or two.
She heard Raidon speak, his voice strangely hollow. “I can sense the direction of Xxiphu. Its taint is strong, even though it lies buried miles below water and earth.”
Seren saw shadows had grown and pooled across the deck. It was noticeably cooler too. But Raidon’s Sign burned torch bright, illuminating his features from below.
Fearful faces of loitering crew were shades just on the edge of visibility.
The captain bawled, “Get back to your duties, you lazy dogs! And light the lamps! It’ll be full dark soon enough, and you stand like savages around a fire while the cold dark claims Green Siren. Now, move!”
The crew dispersed into the work. The captain moved closer to Raidon. In the inconstant light of the monk’s burning scar, Seren saw the captain had relaxed his death grip on his rent clothing. She saw his chest and stomach. In the strange light it almost seemed, just for a moment, that green and yellow scales covered the man in rough patches like some sort of odd piscine leprosy. Seren blinked away the odd hallucination and returned her attention to the gleamtails.
Raidon held his place in the circle. The planking trembled with the energy of the wizard’s ritual, communicating its presence by touch. The circle’s influence flowed from the deck into him, tingling at first, but leaving in its wake a feeling of … something larger than himself. While his body stood in the circle, he sensed a newly forged link to a second body, a phantom form whose shape was that of a great sphere. A sphere whose surface was forged by schooling creatures plucked from the Elemental Chaos.
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