“A long story. The tattoos around the eyes were done by another.” She was tempted to tell him the lightning bolts on her ankles came from a wizard named Talbun just to see if he knew her. Sometimes it seemed as if these wizards all ran in the same cliques.
But she held her tongue.
“As you can imagine, ink mages are something of a rarity in this day and age,” Maxus said. “I’d love a demonstration.”
Emilio stepped forward, clearing his throat pointedly. “Now really, Maxus. Duchess Veraiin is our guest. Not some dancing bear for your amusement. I must apologize, Rina.”
Maxus bowed. “I apologize also. I meant no offense.” His eyes came back up to Rina’s. “A familiar, yes? The feathers at the corners of the eyes suggest some bird. Perhaps strong of wing, maybe enough to get a look at our foes. Surely, if I am too forward, it’s worth it to get some advanced word of our enemy before they arrive.”
“You heard what I said, Maxus.” But the duke’s eyes bounced between Rina and the wizard now. The idea of getting a look at the enemy clearly had his attention. “You’re making an assumption about the duchess’s abilities that might not even be true.” His gaze rested on her, the unasked question hanging in the air. Is it true?
“Master Fench appears to know something of ink-mage tattoos,” Rina said.
A slight shrug from Maxus, mock humility. “Those who practice the arcane arts have exotic hobbies.”
Rina looked at the duke. “It’s true.”
There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone looked at each other, wondering what would happen next.
“It will take some time,” Rina said at last. “My familiar is a forest falcon. I’ll have to call him. I can’t be disturbed. Probably better if I sit since I don’t know how long this will take.”
The duke snapped his fingers and barked orders. Servants scurried. Rina puffed the chuma stick, a sense of resignation settling in her chest.
“There’s something else,” Rina said to Emilio. “There’s a Perranese force north of the city. I escaped from them. I don’t know how close they are. A few hundred men. Hardly enough to storm the city, but enough to harass your scouts or act as spotters for the incoming fleet.”
Emilio scratched his chin. “Perhaps a patrol.”
“You have horses?”
“I can mount thirty men within twenty minutes.”
“A suggestion. Tell them not to engage. Just find out where the enemy is.”
The duke thought for a moment, then nodded quickly. He snapped his fingers again for a runner and sent the orders.
A servant brought a wicker chair with thick cushions. Rina sat. A half dozen guards ringed her, facing outward.
“No one will disturb you,” the duke assured her. “Do you need anything else?”
She puffed the chuma stick one last time. “No.”
Rina settled back into the chair. Closed her eyes.
And tapped into the spirit.
Zin waited at the forest’s edge just north of Sherrik, spread his wings, and soared into the air at Rina’s call, flying over the city and out to sea.
Rina would never get used to the sensation of flight.
And she’d never tire of it. It was still as thrilling as the very first time.
She looked down at the blue sea through the falcon’s eyes and dove low, skimming along the waves.
No. It wasn’t a time to play. She had far to go, maybe to the limit of Zin’s range. That meant altitude. She flapped hard and climbed.
Impossibly high now. She caught a current and rode it out to sea. Fast. Faster than she’d ever flown before, faster than she could run with the lightning tattoos. It was cold.
How long? An hour? Two? Time seemed to warp into meaninglessness as she looked down to the unbroken blue sameness below.
Through the bond they shared, she sensed Zin’s concern. He was nearing the limit of his range. He’d need to turn around soon or he wouldn’t make it back.
Glide on the current. Conserve your strength.
The falcon’s fatigue was a palpable thing, even as the spirit kept her from feeling it. A peculiar paradox.
Turn back. Turn back now!
Zin didn’t communicate to her in any language but with pure, raw feelings.
And he was frightened.
This isn’t working. And yet she willed the bird on.
The sun looked like shimmering gold on the water. Like liquid metal. Little black bumps dotted the gold, thousands of them.
Zin folded in his wings, making a sleek projectile out of himself and dove toward the water. The scene congealed into focus the lower he went, the waves giving the flat blue of the sea texture again, the black bumps taking shapes.
Ships.
Rina flew between them, from ship to ship, darting and wheeling between sails and masts, Perranese banners flapping in the wind. The occasional sailor looked up at her, the foreign face a jarring reminder. The men on these ships were traveling a long way to take her homeland for themselves.
Why? What did they want?
It didn’t matter.
She told Zin to climb. High. Higher than before. He had to find a current going back the other way. Through their bond, the bird’s knowledge became hers, the ways of the sky and the wind.
By the time she found a current going back to Sherrik, she was so high that the bitter ache from the cold was almost more than Zin could bear, but he spread his wings, let the current take him.
How many miles? How long?
Zin wasn’t going to make it. Rina could feel the falcon’s emotions, could feel the panic welling up inside of him, the bird’s heartbeat increasing, his wings so sore, the idea of flapping them became a torment.
Rina could feel the falcon giving up.
She passed some of her spirit to the bird.
Rina hadn’t even known it was possible. A reflex. Just as she could push pain and fear away while tapped into the spirit, now too did Zin ignore the blinding ache in his wings, the biting cold, the fear of death.
Zin flew on. The thought of letting the falcon go never once crossed Rina’s mind. He was too much a part of her.
Finally, a shape humped up from the horizon.
Hope sprang as the walls of Sherrik took shape. Every muscle in the falcon burned, but they were too close to quit now. A jetty thrust out a hundred yards from the mouth of the harbor, a red marker pennant fluttering in the breeze. The falcon landed on the jetty collapsing, trembling, and spent. Rina knew Zin would not have been able to fly another hundred yards, but he’d made it. Safe.
Rina released her hold on the falcon.
She’d never hung on to the bond with Zin this long before, and releasing it was like riding a bowstring as it snapped back into place.
She felt as if she were being yanked backward—
The sky blurred past her, alarmed faces, her head spinning, and then she was facedown on the veranda’s hard stone floor. She blinked her eyes clear, looking up into the faces of Hark, Emilio, and the wizard Maxus, the guards pushing in behind them.
“Don’t crowd her,” the duke commanded. “Let her breathe.”
Rina trembled, covered with sweat.
The bishop knelt next to her. “Your grace. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
“Ships.” Her voice was barely a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ships. At least ten thousand.”
The guards murmured at that. The duke frowned.
“Impossible,” he said. “I’ve consulted closely with my military advisors, and there aren’t that many ships in the entire Perranese Empire.”
“With good wind and fair weather, they’ll be here in three days,” Rina said. “And then you can count them yourself.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Maurizan awoke, the Moogari a swarm of activity around her, stoking the fire, preparing food, washing her clothes.
She looked down at herself. She wore a thin linen gown and sprawled on a pallet of straw. Memories floode
d back. She’d swum with Kristos for hours, feeling as at home in the depths as a dolphin, swimming and diving and surfacing again. The gypsy girl was at play. She’d never felt so free and alive.
Until Kristos had led her back to the ruined fortress of the ancient wizards. She’d released her hold on the spirit and collapsed. Too much too soon. Exhaustion had overwhelmed her. She’d felt hands lift her up and carry her along. The Moogari. They’d gently dried her and dressed her and eased her onto the straw pallet. She slept forever and ever.
Until now.
She sat up, and one of the Moogari rushed to her with a small ceramic bowl and offered it to her. A steaming broth. She tasted it. Fish. Salty. Some kind of soggy, leafy vegetable like spinach. She was still wondering at the different flavors and textures when she looked down and saw she’d emptied the bowl. They brought her water, clear and cool. She drank.
Maurizan stood, her legs still a bit wobbly. Her mother and grandmother had warned her not to drink too deeply of the spirit. It could affect her the next day just as if she’d had too much wine.
Or she could drain herself completely. There were worse consequences than fatigue and a headache.
She looked around for Kristos, but there was no sign of the Fish Man.
The Moogari didn’t stop her from exploring, but every hall ended in an abandoned room or a pile of rubble from a cave-in or a dark pool of water leading down to another level of the fortress. Whatever the cataclysm was that had destroyed the place, it had done a pretty good job. Kristos had explained that the Moogari were a race created by the old masters to tend the fortress. They were bound to the place, but by a spell or some sense of duty, Maurizan couldn’t guess. It was still difficult to understand why they hadn’t moved on. She wondered if Kristos had ever suggested it to them.
She returned to the Moogari and tried to ask where Kristos had gone. Communication was impossible, but they seemed to understand the word Kristos and motioned her to follow them.
Maurizan paused to buckle the two fighting daggers on to her belt, one on each hip. Her clothes were clean but still wet and drying by the fire. Her boots were nowhere to be found, and no matter how much she mimed putting them on, she couldn’t make them understand.
“Never mind, damn it,” she said. “Let’s get on with it.”
They led her down a narrow hallway, bare feet slapping on the stone floor. She hadn’t gone this direction earlier when she’d been exploring. Moogari ahead of her and behind carried torches to light the way. The hall opened into a wide chamber with a vaulted ceiling. It was barren of furnishings. Across the room was a ten-foot-high iron door, an iron bar locking it shut.
The Moogari slid the bar to the side, pulled a metal ring, and the door creaked open. She followed inside.
They were at the top of what must have been a grand stairway many years ago. Now the stone steps went down into dark water. The Moogari pointed at the water and jabbered. The only word she caught was Kristos.
“What do you mean?” Maurizan asked. “You mean Kristos is down there, or he wants me to go down there?”
More pointing and jabbering.
“Great. Fantastic.” She sighed and unbuckled her belt, letting it drop. She pulled the gown up over her head and tossed it aside. Strange how quickly she was getting used to being naked in front of other people, or maybe it was more that the Moogari weren’t really people.
It didn’t matter. She buckled the belt around her waist, daggers dangling, and that seemed the oddest of all. Her standing there nude, daggers on her hips. What a sight she must be.
She wondered what Alem would think and allowed herself a little smile.
One of the Moogari approached her, held out his hand. Some sort of offering. A glass sphere the size of an apple filled with water. Something swam within. Maurizan took it and squinted at it. A hundred tiny translucent fish swam inside of it, each no longer than a fingernail. What she was meant to do with the glass orb full of tiny fish, Maurizan couldn’t guess.
Seeing her consternation, the Moogari took the sphere back and shook it violently. The fish swam madly in a clockwise circle around and around. A second later they began to glow a brilliant blue-white, casting light as bright as any lantern.
Of course. It’s not like I can take a torch with me under the water.
The Moogari slipped the sphere into a small bag of mesh-like fishing net. The bag was attached to a leather cord tied in a hoop. She bent her head as the Moogari hung it on her, the net with the glowing orb hanging between her breasts.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m naked and glowing. I guess it’s time to take a swim now?” She gestured at the water.
The Moogari nodded, also pointing at the water.
“Well, then. No sense in putting this off.”
Maurizan turned and dove into the water.
She tapped into the spirit and sped like a fish into the depths, gliding effortlessly. This wasn’t like before with Kristos, not a warm swim with bright, tropical fish flitting all around and the sun shimmering overhead. It was cold down here. The orb with the little fish cast an eerie glow on the stone.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs to take in the place. It was a great hall, the glow from her little orb too weak to reach the ceiling. The floor was mosaic, some complicated design, the brightly colored stones worn smooth by use and dulled with time. Rows of arches lined the sides of the hall, ten-foot stone statues filling the space between each arch.
Maurizan swam to the nearest statue, held out the glowing orb in front of her to better examine the figure. The stone was intricately carved. She was not an expert on such things but supposed it had been sculpted by a master. The lifelike face was drawn and thin, its cheeks sunken. Eyes cold and cunning. A sparse beard and moustache. Flowing robes. A necklace with numerous unfamiliar and arcane objects hanging from it. His hands were frozen in midgesture, as if he weaved something invisible in midair.
Yeah, this guy has wizard written all over him.
She made a slow circuit of the great hall, pausing to look at each of the statues. Some were women, but most were men. Each loomed tall and ominous, some slight variation in pose. Some held staffs aloft. Others held a large tome open in front of them—spell books, Maurizan supposed.
A hall of wizards, forgotten by the centuries. They were all probably really important people once upon a time.
Now they were the silent guardians of an ancient and watery tomb.
She ducked under one of the arches and swam down a short hall that ended in a pile of rubble. Some cave-in that had happened decades ago. Where’s Kristos? Am I supposed to find him down here somewhere?
She swam back through the grand hall of wizards and through another random arch, into a maze of empty halls and rooms. Perhaps at one time these rooms had been richly furnished and used for various purposes, but after centuries of salt water, nothing was left but barren stone. Dust rose up in swirling eddies like lazy ghosts whenever she swam close to the floor, the remains of . . . who could say?
Maurizan swam back to the hall of wizards and contemplated going back up the stairs. Maybe she could try harder to make the Moogari understand her questions. She couldn’t stay tapped into the spirit forever, and swimming in circles wasn’t accomplishing anything.
She was still trying to decide, when she felt it.
Something cold. Like a chill current descending on her from above, but also like an emotion, like a sense of dread floating down so softly and seeping into her bones so gradually, she didn’t even realize it was happening until she suddenly felt herself in the iron grip of fear. Panic bloomed in her so quickly it almost paralyzed her.
Only the fact she’d been tapped into the spirit saved her. She took hold of the fear, pushed it away to some distant part of herself, and locked it away.
She craned her neck to look up, held the orb aloft, its light stretching toward the high ceiling but falling short. She swam upward, slowly, cautious, the orb held out in front of her.
A great fissure twenty feet wide and twice as long marred the center of the mosaic, from which an oily darkness oozed. It leaked out, dissipating into the rest of the water. Did it flow out somewhere, or was the whole place permeated with the stuff?
Maurizan started to swim closer but froze. Something stirred in the murky darkness. The fear she’d bottled up earlier thrashed to get out. Anyone else, anyone not tapped into the spirit, would have fled in wild panic, but Maurizan was master of herself. She wanted to know what she faced. Was this what Kristos had meant her to see?
She squinted into the inky depths of the fissure. Perhaps she only imagined she saw movement in there. Maybe it was only a stray current stirring the oily—
The tentacle lashed out, snaking through the water so fast that even tapped into the spirit, Maurizan almost wasn’t quick enough to dodge it. The tentacle curled back to lash at her again, but she’d already twisted in an aquatic somersault and was kicking hard back toward the steps.
Her rapid departure had nothing to do with the fear she still held at bay. No, this was a matter of pure common sense. Whatever the monster was, she’d seen enough of it. A cold and logical desire for self-preservation sped her back up the wide staircase. She shot through the water like a sleek shark on the hunt.
Except you’re the one being hunted, stupid girl.
She swam until the water became too shallow, then trudged up the last few steps, releasing her hold on the spirit. A mild fatigue settled over her, but nothing like last time. She was pacing herself better, getting used to it.
The Moogari were gone. Maurizan would have stood in utter darkness if not for the sphere of little glowing fish. She ran to the big iron door, pulled on the metal ring with both hands.
It didn’t budge.
No. She yanked on it again with the same result. No no no no—
She pounded on the door with both fists. “Hey! Let me out of here.”
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