by Unknown
“But let’s not count on it. Harpies sense keenly and may sniff us long before we reach the summit.”
“We’ll smell ‘em afore they smell us,” said Seagrave.
“What does that mean?” asked Aspodell.
“Just you wait.”
“You mean there’s an odor you find offensive, Seagrave?”
An obscene gesture supplied Seagrave’s answer.
“That leaves the matter of the song,” I said. “They’ll try to steal your wills, forcing you to fight each other as they shriek and f lap above the fray. I believe I can prevent this, by the magic of my sword and its geases upon you.”
Their expressions darkened, the glee with which they anticipated a scrap giving way to resentment of their enthrallment.
“Perhaps, Challys Argent, it would be better to be controlled by a harpy’s song,” said Rira.
“It wouldn’t be as much fun to skewer you while puppeted by some feathered hellspawn,” said Aspodell. “But I’d delight in it anyhow.”
“It was of course indelicate of me to mention the matter at all,” I said. “But necessary.” We exchanged further plans, then prepared a boat. As usual, I left Old Hallegg in charge.
That the harpies might attack the ship while we sneaked onto their island was a danger we had little choice but to accept. Old Hallegg listened intently as I laid it out for him. His sharp-eyed son, the sketcher, would watch the isle from the crow’s nest, shouting an alert at the merest hint of aerial movement. A full complement of sailors were to vigilantly man the fire-throwers. These would be unscrewed from their brass mounts to permit free firing at sky-borne targets. They were to avoid damage to the sails and masts where possible, but to shoot down harpies at all costs. The man-eaters were fast, so the rest of the crew would keep harpoons ready to spear up at them as
they dived down.
The crew bid me a silent, anxious farewell as we clambered down into the boats. Again I was reminded of the bravery it took to sail aboard the Aspidochelone. Though I treated my sailors better than any captain of the Shackles, I also steered them into worse scrapes, for less money. They’d signed on fully aware of the diciest of propositions: When I fall, the adjutants will be freed and ready to vent their wrath. I was not the only one who had steeled herself for a terrible reckoning.
Otondo and Seagrave bent their considerable strength to fast rowing. If harpies spotted us on the boat, all our scheming would be for naught. As fliers, they’d have every advantage over us. We’d be unable to stand, much less swing a sword, while in the rowboat. They could grab us up one by one and take us off to be digested at leisure. We’d agreed that if they did spot us, that we’d jump overboard and take our chances, swimming either to the boat or on to Sarenvent, depending on which was closer. This eventuality would not be a happy one: they might have a harder time snatching us, but as the sea devil sighting showed, the sea held surprises equally carnivorous.
The task of keeping watch fell to me. Constantly compensating the angle of the spyglass against the motion of the rowboat, I kept the volcano mouth in view. Several times I thought our attack doomed, only to realize that the moving specks I saw were not harpies but ordinary seabirds.
Sarenvent offered us no real shore, only a treacherous slope covered with
mangroves, white-barked palesaints, and a carpeting of grab creepers. We all climbed out of the boat, finding the soil dry, thin, and loose.
It slid out from under us, sending our boots slipping. We fought for balance; Otondo lost, tumbling into the water. He boiled up moments later, damp and fuming. Only by some miracle of restraint did he strangle the cries of outrage we could all see swelling in his throat. Still furious, he seized the boat and, with Seagrave’s unsteady help, shifted it onto the rock. It immediately slid; as we all grabbed at it, it became my turn to lose my footing. I winced as pain slowly manifested from the scraped skin of my left leg. Rira and Aspodell gathered stones while Seagrave and Otondo kept the boat in place.
I kept my spyglass trained on the island’s summit. A harpy emerged from the crater and proceeded to circle the island. In response to my hissed warning, the others flattened themselves against the slope. Several of the freshly gathered boulders bounced down to plop into the water.
Pressed against the rock, I couldn’t see where the harpy had gone. Only after five or so minutes did I slink out to scan the sky, to find no sign of it. It had either dived back into the crater-perhaps alerting its sisters to our presence-or flown off to a destination unknown. For all I could say, it was flapping its way to an appointed rendezvous with Kered Firsk.
Finally we stabilized the boat, building a cairn of rocks to hold it in place. We peered up the slope; from this angle, we could no longer see the summit. We’d chosen the spot that seemed to offer the best climb. Just how relative a measure that was now became apparent. We would ascend on foot, without the need for ropes. But by the time we reached the top, we’d be well fatigued. The longer we took, the greater the chance that the harpies would gird themselves to raid the ship. Our sole advantage lay in the density of the thinly rooted vegetation. It might shield us from airborne observation.
With all due urgency, we embarked on the climb. Hot winds buffeted us from the Fever Sea. It took only moments for sweat to drench us. The scent of our perspiration attracted biting flies. Scarlet centipedes crawled up our legs and tried to bite us with toxic mandibles. Thorny creepers and nettle ferns clawed our ankles.
“Let’s see to it,” said Aspodell, “that the next fool you set out to rescue lives in a nice city, and is perhaps held prisoner in a brothel.”
Aside from this witticism, the four made their way up without comment or complaint. At the end of their trek they would find enemies to slay, and perhaps good loot besides.
When we were within striking distance of the summit, we found a natural alcove in the slope, left by two parallel flows of ancient lava. We crowded ourselves into it, regathering breath and force for the battle to come. As soon as we were rested enough to fight, I signaled to Seagrave. With his usual awkward deftness he shinnied up to the crater’s edge. He held up a warning hand, then waved me to follow. Hugging tight to the rock, I made slower progress.
As I crouched by his side, I heard why he’d summoned me: the harpies were talking.
“The spider-god man said not to do it,” shrilled one voice, high and fluting.
“Whatever his powers, he’s just a human,” chirped another. “They’re all the same, when you taste what’s between the ribs.”
“He said guard this gristled old one, and we would get a dozen better in return. All soft and healthy and raised on sweetmeats. He said he would bring an emerald pendant, shiny as you please, and a hundred silver bracelets, and
rings of electrum and platinum.”
“He’ll never know.”
The first speaker cawed in irritation: “I flew over that ship, and they are ready, with harpoons and magic. What if the spider-god man comes when we’re at it?”
“That happens later. We hunger now,” a third voice shrieked.
Having heard enough, I waved the others up. Rira stood and blasted lightning into the crater. It forked in two, striking a pair of harpies.
The kidnappers looked like human women, save for their flaring wings, talon-like hands and feet, and feathery patches on their arms and legs. The feathers were bright green and red, like parrots. Blazing yellow crests flared from their heads in place of hair. They each wore a modest fortune in jewelry, slung around their necks, encircling their wrists, or piercing their ears. Their cruel, distorted features flared in anger as they flew at us, swinging primitive morningstars.
Their smell reached us before they did, a wave of nauseating carrion stench. Even Seagrave faltered.
Otondo threw a weighted net of merfolk manufacture. It landed on two of the screeching bird-women, bending back their wings and sending them tumbling into the crater. As they struggled, he bashed another’s head with the side of his cutl
ass. The neck snapped audibly; he pivoted to spear another harpy behind him.
Aspodell leapt down, aiming the fire-thrower we’d confiscated back in Moonplum at the netted harpies. The blast set the net aflame, burning them to death.
Feathers filled my field of vision as a sinewy harpy clawed at my face. Siren Call slashed at her, forcing her back. She brought her morningstar down on me; I parried each strike with decreasing ease.
“They look to you,” the harpy skirled. “You lead them.” She opened her throat. A wrenching, high-pitched sound poured out of her. Her sisters, each raking or flapping at one of my adjutants, joined her in chorus. They rose into the sky, disengaging from their skirmishes.
One by one, my adjutants stiffened, expressions glazing over, as the hypnotic cry washed over them.
The sinewy harpy hovered nearby. “See, human? You lead no one and nothing.”
The others kept up the song. As it crescendoed, my four allies moved with jerky steps into a line.
“We will make them kill you. When the last of the flesh is off your bones, we’ll have them slay each other.”
Seagrave grabbed me, pulling me into the crater. The others formed a circle around me. They tottered my way, blades outstretched. The harpies slowed their approach, savoring their control. A wobbling laughter entered the harpies’ song. They landed in a tight circle around my adjutants, anxious to see the bloodshed close up. They pushed their singing faces close, as if hoping some of my blood might spray in.
I clutched Siren’s Call, mentally focusing on the power of its geases. The four crystals corresponding to each adjutant glowed but dimly.
“Enjoy your helplessness, pirates!” the senior harpy shrilled. “You will mourn inside, as we force you to your captain’s slow murder.”
Otondo fought their control, managing to shake his head.
The harpy’s face fell in confusion.
“You. Don’t. Force,” the ogre managed. “You. Allow.”
The song faltered. Otondo shuddered. The harpies shook off their bewilderment and resumed their cacophonous outcry. Otondo stiffened again, as did the others. The bird-women pressed in closer, putting aside the ogre’s disappointing cooperation in my coming demise.
He raised his great cutlass. Rira readied a spell. Aspodell placed himself for an ideal rapier blow. Seagrave readied a decapitating strike.
I clutched tight the hilt of my sword, reaffirming my superior hold over them. The heat of the crystals grew, then cooled, then spiked again. It shook in my hand, vibrating to the frequency of the harpies’ song. I felt the breaking of mesmeric hold as a piercing surge, blazing through my palm, up into my neck and shoulder, and around the back of my skull.
My adjutants pivoted and fell upon the harpies. The first to fall died with surprised expressions still plastered on their faces. The rest tried to fly off, but were too closely gathered. They sang, but to no effect. Their slaughter came in a chaos of tangled wings.
Chapter 5
Becalmed
The harpies had strewn an assortment of bones around their nest, mostly human, all well gnawed.
As my adjutants stripped the monstrous corpses of their jewels, they tripped over rib cages and tumbled skulls from their resting places. Among the gruesome litter I spotted also the skeletons of elves and halflings. Not all of them had been adults. The large bones had been cracked open to get at the marrow. I wished one ofthe harpies would rise back to life, so I could send it right back to Hell.
A burlap sack, blotched with rusty stains, held a man sized form. A dirty length of cord tied its mouth shut. I stepped my way through the pile ofbones and slain harpies to tear loose the cord and open the sack.
My shoulders slumped in frustration-the pot-bellied, white-haired man inside appeared to be dead. Then came a flutter of movement. A blue tinge below the eyes told the tale: He’d been dosed with a sedative. I waved Otondo over and dug into the supply pack he carried on his back. Though the healers back on the ship likely had a cheaper remedy, I uncorked a healing potion and dribbled its contents onto his lips. The man awoke with a start. Goggling in terror, he scuttled back, clutching at his hip and finding only an empty scabbard. His frantic effort to free his legs from the sack entangled him further.
I knelt down, placing a foot on the burlap to help him work himself free. Gently taking hold of his right arm, I pulled it clear ofthe sack. The forefinger was missing.
We’d found Twill Ninefingers.
“My name is Challys Argent,” I said.
Comprehension eluded him; it would take him a few more moments to shake offthe mind-dulling effects oft he sleep draught. He held out his hands, as ifafraid I was about to run him through. A shadow passed over my shoulder: it was Otondo. “What have I told you about looming?” I said. The ogre retreated, smirking. Twill’s expression veered from abject dread to mere apprehension.
“We came here to rescue you,” I told him.
“W-why?” he managed. Like the nest around him, he stank of carrion. A general pallor, coupled with inflammation of the eyelids, showed that he had not been properly fed in a good long time. Judging from his sagging cheeks, he’d
begun his recent misadventures as a much portlier man.
“You are Twill Ninefingers, the famous lockbreaker?”
“Who wants to know?”
“As I said, I am Challys Argent, captain ofthe Aspidochelone.”
“If you are she … ” He swiveled his gaze to each of my adjutants in turn. “… then these are the Devil’s Four!”
Otondo chortled at the term, which I had not heard before.
“If you have heard that much about them,” I told Twill, “you are also aware that they now atone for their past crimes.”
“No one believes that will last,” he whispered.
“She does,” said Aspodell.
I moved to block Twill’s view of the others. “Whether you think they serve me or the devil, you’ll have to admit we’re preferable to a nest of ravening harpies.”
“They weren’t going to eat me.”
“No, they were holding you for Kered Firsk. Who do you prefer to sail home with? Him or us?”
“Do not think me ungrateful.” He finally made his way fully out of the sack, leaving it in a bundle at his feet. “But I’m not opening no treasure box for you.”
“We don’t have a treasure box.”
“No, but the Monster Captain has the Treasure of Far Thallai, and you want it. I’m not getting mixed up in no set-to between the two of you. Just drop me someplace secluded, and you can tell whatever fool god you serve that you’ve added another good deed to your ledger book.”
I held out my hand to him. “Perhaps we’ll do exactly that. It’s true I seek the treasure, but I won’t force you to open anything. Did you hear the harpies say what they were supposed to do with you?”
He took my help, wobbling to his feet. “They were waiting for someone to arrive.”
“Who?”
“Someone they didn’t much like. There was a lot of squabbling over whether they’d go down to meet them, or would make them come up to the nest. They called them nyoggot, or some such. Any meaning in that?”
I scribbled the word in my small carry-diary, for later transcription into a logbook proper. “Harpy slang, I suppose, or a fragment of some long-lost tongue.”
“Whatever a nyoggot is, the harpies didn’t trust them. They argued about whether they should just fly me to the destination themselves. But that wasn’t what Firsk told them, and they feared him.”
“Destination?”
“They mentioned Dead Slave Cove.”
“That’s on Raptor Island,” Seagrave said. “South side.”
“He’ll slay me ifhe finds me with you,” Twill said.
“You’re worried that he’ll do it anyway, once you’ve opened the Thallai case, or you wouldn’t have fled Moonplum to escape him. You heard he was coming?”
Twill tottered to the edge of the volcanic crater, whe
re he surveyed the formidable slope below. “A spice trader putting in at Moonplum said he’d heard that Firsk had the Thallai case but needed someone to open it. I needed to hear no more than that. Sooner or later word would get back to him I was living there.”
“So you sought the protection of a cyclops ? “
“Easy enough now to call me a fool. I thought even Kered Firsk might think twice before raiding an island teeming with one-eyes. And whatever Megeus’s faults, I’d dealt with him in the past. It was a point of lunatic pride with him, how he’d never violated an oath. And he swore up and sideways he’d never betray me to Firsk.”
“He didn’t.”
“But the ghosts … “
“They weren’t working for Firsk. They wanted you for themselves.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your brother is now a grandee of Drowningtide. He misses you. And would like you at his side, forever.”
“Geor?” Twill grimaced. “He never cared for me in life.”
“Death exists, for some, as an eternity of pondering and regret. At any rate, they weren’t delivering you to the harpies. The bird-bitches intercepted you.”
Twill leaned against the crater’s edge. “That explains it. They were all set to open me up and feast on my liver, till they saw my face and counted my fingers.”
“Firsk has more than one set of monstrous allies scouring the Shackles for you. If we drop you off on a lonely atoll, how long do you think it will be before you’re sniffed out by a sea drake, draugr, or something worse?”
The lockbreaker noticed an overlong fingernail and commenced to neatly clip it offwith his teeth. “I see your point.”
“And, in a more urgent vein, how long before more harpies return to this nest?”
Even in the best of health, no one would mistake Twill for a climber. We nearly lost him twice on the way down Sarenvent’s slopes. Nonetheless we conveyed him to the boat, and from there to the Aspidochelone. After turning him over to the ministrations of the healers, Jeffret and Cold Bendani, I consulted with Old Hallegg.