His eyes swept to the south of the docks, out into the bay, where the guardian stones rose from the shallow sea. Legend held that they were ancient warriors who had stood between Shanal and an invading enemy in the distant past, immortalized into stone after they had defended the sandy shore.
The monoliths didn’t look like petrified heroes to Frik. They looked like the other hard stone pillars that jutted out here and there all over the caldera floor. These guardian stones were the only ones that rose out of the bay, though, and they also served as a warning to the Shanallese who would venture into the sea. It made Frik wonder whether those he was waiting for knew about the hazards of the soft white sand along Shanal’s shores. If they didn’t, he’d never get paid, for they’d never make it as far as the city.
Shelter Bay was lined with fine shifting sand, so deep that it was regularly known to suck down animals, ships, and people, holding them fast in its blinding white grip. Unless they could be dug out quickly, the ships tended to work their way out at the pleasure of the tides, but the people and animals usually drowned when the tide came in, unless someone noticed their distress.
The Emerald River, which had finally begun to recede after months of unusual flooding, washed through the center of Cish, not far from where Frik stood. It drove a deep, dark, silty trench through the white sands of the bay, carrying fresh water out into the sea for miles. Sailing into its mouth was the only safe way to approach the docks, which lined its wide banks rather than the treacherous shore. The dock district was separated into East Bank and West Bank, and only a handful of bridges crossed the Emerald in Cish, its widest point.
Here in East Bank, Frik had a clear view in several directions. The bakery lay on the last street before the river; across its cobbles numerous broad ramps and staircases led down to the stone docks themselves. He had just decided it was time to find that new lurking spot when an odd sight caught his attention.
A young woman appeared out of thin air at the top of a staircase across the street. She was swathed in a dark cloak, but the bluish city lamps illuminated her pale skin. She turned to her left and headed away from the sea.
Cish was a city steeped with magic, between the odd gifted citizen and the small yet influential conclave of wizards known as the Ochre Masks, meddling in local politics and anything else, whenever it pleased them. But the way this girl skulked over to the nearest wall and tried to blend against it—unsuccessfully—made him think she had nothing to do with them. She was exactly what he had been waiting for. He ghosted out of the alley mouth and trailed her through the quiet of the night streets. The occasional passersby didn’t give either of them a second glance; those who walked at night kept to themselves lest they invite trouble.
The young woman seemed to know where she was going. Meeting a contact, like they said. There had been one additional instruction when he had taken this job: don’t let them contact anyone else.
Gauging her progress, he jogged around a few blocks and came out ahead of her. He waited in the grilled shadow of a poultry cart next to a street lamp until she came nearly abreast of him, then blundered into her, catching her before she fell.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she replied. Her accent wasn’t one he’d heard before.
“Is this yours?” he asked, reaching toward her feet. She took a step back and looked down to see what he was picking up. He straightened toward her face, catching her jaw with his fist. She cried out briefly, hood flying off as she staggered. He caught her as unconsciousness overcame her, and dragged her past the lamp and into the shadows, where he tipped a small vial against her lips.
“Sleep deeply, blondie. I’ve a feeling you’ll need whatever strength you’ve got for what these folk want with you.”
At the drop-off site on a hill outside the city, he handed her over to his employer and received an enormous bonus of four gold cubes. The sight of so much wealth gave him pause, but when the bald man invited him into the warm kitchen for some ale, he set aside his concerns. The girl—for she was only a girl, he realized, seeing her face in good light for the first time—disappeared down a dark staircase, flung over the shoulder of a burly man with straggly hair and a gland problem. Frik shuddered. Relieved to be on the winning team, he tipped back a flagon of ale.
He didn’t even feel the hair-thin needle that injected his palm as he gripped the dragon-styled handle.
~~~
Sanych awoke in darkness. Not the dark of night, nor even the dark of a shuttered room. Pitch blackness surrounded her, and for a moment she feared she’d gone blind.
“Hello?” she blurted, waving a hand in front of her as she sat up on cold sand. No one answered her. A throbbing manifested in her jaw, and she groaned and pressed her hand against the swelling.
Using both hands again, she felt her way forward. The sounds of her shuffling didn’t travel far, and she realized she was in a very small pit. She stood, finding the roof painfully low. Rubbing her skull, she swiped her arm along the top of the pit, discovering a circular hole plugged with a stone cork. Pushing did nothing but scrape her hands. They better open that soon, she worried, or I’ll run out of air.
The absolute absence of light pressed in on her like fathoms of water, and she shuddered, recalling Meena’s words to her in the rigging. “Sanych, your gift hasn’t cracked open yet. I have to force it. The Silver Hand told me what you’ll be able to do, and I can’t destroy the Dire Tome without you. Without your gift. That’s why I need to give you over to Dzur i’Oth. Their interrogation site is centered in a pocket of magic that’s strong enough to crack your gift. I’ll be right behind you every step of the way. Everything will go according to plan.”
Here in the dark pit of the enemy, a rebellious worm of anger burrowed through her mind. “Plan all you like, Meena. You’re not the one whose life is about to change forever,” she muttered. Guilt followed her words swiftly though, as she realized that it was here in Shanal, four hundred years ago, that Meena’s life had been forever altered.
She pulled her knees against her chest for warmth. She’d spent the last dozen weeks in the constant company of others, and their absence made her colder. Or perhaps that was just her fear. Her mind turned to Geret. A moment later, the reality of his betrayal struck her like a red-hot iron, causing her to flinch in the dark.
“Fool,” she hissed into the black air. “Both of us, fools.”
“Are you talking to me? Or to Meena? Because she’s not here yet,” came a voice from the far end of the pit, startling Sanych.
She ground her teeth; of all the voices she would have picked from among her shipboard companions, this one was right above Geret’s, at the bottom of her list. “Rhona? You could have said something earlier.”
“And ruin your exploration fun?” the pirate asked, a smirk in her voice. “I thought you liked to learn new things.”
“I know more than I ever wanted to about you, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want my presence to chafe on your personal space. You’re free to stay behind while Geret and I sail back across the Empty Ocean,” Rhona replied.
“That sounds like a fabulous idea.” Sanych envisioned a maddened swarm of Deep Ones devouring Rhona’s fleet.
A smug chuckle pierced the blackness. “At least you know a futile cause when you see one.”
“Do I ever.”
Rhona filled the darkness with her voice. “Being surrounded by all this dirt isn’t my idea of a party, though. And Ruel, he took a fine beat to the skull when they grabbed us…” Rhona paused, then spoke again, describing her last few hours.
She and Ruel had entered Cish through the Fire Gate. Its gate posts and massive doors were twined with carved dragons of every hue, each in the act of breathing blue-and-orange fire. The pirates made their way through the unfamiliar city, not noticing their tail until they reached a night market. Through the shadows of the raised market pyres, through the incense and
the jostling, sweaty crowds, Rhona noticed a thin man who always paused when they did, and never drew too close.
The attack was poorly planned, though, and might have failed except for a fateful decision. Rhona told Ruel to hide with her in the next alley. They slipped into the dim, reeking slot, half-hidden by the flap of a market tent. As the din of the crowds faded behind them, she began to voice her next plan, only to realize that they were two paces from the thugs who had been waiting to intercept them. Ruel took a hard blow to the head right away, and Rhona was beaten into submission soon after.
“Don’t you pirates have pretty thick skulls?” Sanych asked, when Rhona had finished her tale.
“Our men do,” Rhona replied. “You dirtwalkers, though, I’m not sure about. Say you get locked up with someone you don’t particularly like, but you like who’s captured you even less. What should you do? Keep antagonizing her? Or find another approach that gets you what you want?”
Sanych was stung by the logic in Rhona’s words. “Our options are pretty limited in here.”
“We can fight them off together when they come to kill us,” Rhona said in a practical tone. “Or you can just stay out of my way, and I’ll do all the fighting. I’m not picky.”
“Meena said they wouldn’t kill us.”
“On purpose,” Rhona clarified. “I’m free to be rescued any time.”
“She won’t come yet,” Sanych said, her body shivering in the cool dankness.
“What? Why not?”
“There was a second plan. One I didn’t tell you about.”
“Aboard my ship? That’s twice you’ve kept me out of the know, wench! If I had a dagger, I’d pin your tongue to the stone!”
Sanych waited in the silence, glad Rhona couldn’t see her grinning in the dark.
After a few moments, Rhona calmed herself and said, “The plan I heard was to have the cult give away the location of their hideout, then Meena breaks us all out and we kick their arses so they can’t interfere with her destroying the book. What else is there?”
What else, indeed? Even Sanych didn’t fully understand. “I have…” Sanych gulped reflexively and tried again. “I have a gift, Meena says. She needs it to crack open, so I can use it to help her destroy the Dire Tome. Magical gifts can only be forced awake where earth magic is very powerful.”
“And this is one of them,” Rhona supplied.
“Yes.” Sanych’s teeth chattered as her nervousness overcame her.
“You’re near to pissing yourself with fear, wench,” Rhona said. She scooted across the pit, grinding gravel under her hands and feet, and laid a hand on Sanych’s shoulder. “Deep breaths. Now tell me about this gift.”
Sanych told her as much as Meena had shared.
“Gods’ folly,” Rhona swore, when Sanych was done speaking. Then, “Folly’s bastards! Won’t Dzur i’Oth kill you when they realize what you can do?”
Sanych barked an unhappy laugh. “Meena’s been preparing me for that too. And I have no interest in dying. I have no interest in my life changing without my permission, either, but that’s about to happen—”
A grinding sound reverberated in their tiny cell. The stone plug lifted, and a light shone down through a round hole in the ceiling. The light turned out to be a single fat yellow candle in an iron holder, but it seemed gloriously bright after the total absence of light. A knotted rope fell down the hole, and a rough voice ordered them to hold onto it and be pulled up.
Four black-clad guards with serrated blades on their swords were waiting for them above. Two of them drew heavy black hoods over the women’s heads, and their world went dark again.
~~~
Bailik presided over the questioning of the three male prisoners, pacing behind them as they knelt, chained to the floor of the large cavern, and applying his pain baton as encouragement. So far, he hadn’t gotten any answers from them, and one of the prisoners seemed in a bad way already. He won’t stay conscious for much more torture, and killing him in front of the others may backfire if they don’t care enough about him.
So Bailik had ordered four of his Enforcers to fetch his next tactic from the pits. The Hand of Power will know the whereabouts of the thief by nightfall. And while he’s pursuing her, I can make a pursuit of my own.
The broad bronze doors at the side of the red-stone cavern swung wide, glinting in the light of the braziers that encircled the chamber. Four of his men led the two women prisoners into the room, and Bailik immediately started getting promising results.
The one called Ruel cried, “Rhona!” There was no fear in his voice. The woman in front turned her head inside her hood and called Ruel’s name. Bailik flicked a gesture to her captor, and the man drove his fist into her gut, doubling her over.
That got the middle prisoner, Geret, angry as well. Bailik smiled, letting them rant at the Enforcers. His men walked their prisoners down the ramp to the broad pit at whose upper edge the male prisoners were shackled. Their view of the following proceedings was going to be up-close and vivid. And if by some miracle they still didn’t talk after that, Bailik would possess the liquid he needed to force the truth from their lips. He fingered the handle of his dagger in anticipation.
Within the wide sunken circle in the center of the room, there crouched three low stone mounds, arranged equidistant from each other. Each mound was ringed by a smooth stone trough. The Enforcers halted a prisoner by each of two mounds and whipped off their hoods, letting the women finally see their three companions.
The shackled men stared down at them, unable to look away. The women looked around in fear and confusion, until relief spread across their features at the sight of the others. Good. There is a bond here. Now, let it feel the press of my blade.
“We told you,” the third male prisoner said, his voice cold. “We don’t know this thief you’re looking for.” Bailik hadn’t yet managed to force the man’s name from him. He seemed aware of Bailik’s tactics, speaking to his captor while the other two men talked to the women below.
“Perhaps not,” Bailik replied, sending a dark tendril of lightning to caress the third man’s back, causing him to arch in pain though he stifled his cry. “But perhaps these lovely ladies do. I’m afraid I shall have to question them…thoroughly.”
The prisoner Geret seemed most agitated by this prospect, jerking on his chains as he tried to rise. Bailik casually smacked the back of the man’s head with his baton, letting a little of its magic loose on his skull. Geret subsided with a few trembling gasps.
“You may, of course,” he said to all five of the captives, “tell me where the thief is now, and save yourselves all that excitement. But I guarantee you, one way or another, I will know her location. It is merely a matter of how far you wish to take this. So,” he said, waving the guards to action, “what is it to be?”
~~~
Sanych felt one of the guards press his short, serrated sword to her throat. Another drew his dagger and slid it inside the cuff of her sleeve. He began to slice through the fabric. Sanych tried futilely to pull her arm away from the man who held it; he merely laughed at her. A few feet away, Rhona was standing still and smirking.
I need to get that man to use magic on me!
She jerked her sleeve free, lurching forward against the serrated blade, eyes on the cultist behind the kneeling prisoners. As the guards arrested her movement, she felt the sting of a cut on her neck.
“Sanych—” Geret began, cutting off in agony as black lightning played across his chest.
Sanych gritted her teeth. If they were anywhere else, she’d have enjoyed zapping Geret herself, but this man truly meant them pain and death. “You’re just a foolish lackey, aren’t you?” she shouted up at the cultist. “Doing what your master commands, not caring whether he’s right or not? You know what he’s going to do to you when you ruin this plan? You do know, don’t you?” she added, seeing his face change. “Does it matter that your master’s going about this completely wrong? Do you have enough will
left in that bald pate of yours to go against him and do what needs to be done, or are you totally mindless after all your decades of service?”
The man bared his teeth at her. “You, girl, have a hole in your face where one is not required.” He pinched two fingers shut against his thumb, and Sanych felt her jaw creak shut. Her lips sealed a moment later, leaving her to suck her breath in through flared nostrils. The man waved for his guards to continue their work.
The guards sliced through Sanych’s and Rhona’s sleeves all the way up to the necklines, and their shirts fell away on one side of their bodies. The blades switched to the remaining sleeves.
“We don’t know anything,” Ruel insisted, pressing a hand against his bloody head. “You have the wrong people.”
A strange, warm shudder rippled within the stone beneath Sanych’s feet; she gasped through her nose. The sensation began climbing up her legs. Her eyes darted to the man and his baton, but he was focusing on Ruel now, not her.
“Boy, don’t toy with me,” the man said. His head glistened in the light of the braziers. “We know that all five of you appeared out of nowhere within hours of each other. We know that the thief has been hiding herself for weeks with magic identical to that which placed you around the city. We know you’re with her. Just tell me where she is, and we’ll call this whole thing off. It’s not you we’re after.”
“That’s too bad,” Geret muttered.
Sanych blushed and squirmed as the dagger approached her neckline again. Next to her, Rhona cursed the guards roundly, promising them death by octopus, piranha and newly-hatched sea serpents, in that order.
Another ripple flowed up Sanych’s body, more quickly this time, and she inadvertently pinked herself on the serrated blade again. Her ears began throbbing with the sound of her own heartbeat, and it drowned out the angry protests of her friends. Nausea curled in her stomach, and she hoped her body wouldn’t try to vomit. Was the magic making her ill?
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