Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (37 page)

Fylo remained calm, as the noble had instructed, and brushed his hand over his beard. Agis
grabbed onto a greasy braid of hair and clung there, with Wyan hovering close by. Then,
without looking back toward his pursuers, the giant picked up a large boulder and lumbered
down into the rubble-strewn gate-yard.

On the other side, two weary sentries guarded the great breach where the gates had once
hung. They seemed more puzzled than concerned by the commotion above. Although they had
risen from the stone blocks on which they had been sitting, their heavy clubs still leaned
against the shattered remains of the wall. One of them was not even watching Fylo, but
instead kept his attention fixed on something outside the castle, in the Bay of Woe.

As Fylo approached with his burden, the sentry watching him raised a puzzled brow. The
half-breed ignored him, keeping his eyes on the ground and attempting to trudge out the
gate without having to give an explanation.

The sentry, a thick-waisted giant with the tattoo of a goat on his forehead, held out a
hand to stop Fylo. “What's going on up in the castle?” he asked.

“Beastheads,” Fylo answered.

The second guard, who was almost gaunt by comparison to the first, looked away from the
Bay of Woe. “We know they're beastheads,” he said in a sarcastic voice. “What are they
doing?”

Fylo met his gaze, as if to answer, and swung the hand holding the boulder. The blow
caught the guard completely by surprise, connecting beneath the ear, exactly where Agis
had instructed Fylo to aim. The giant's eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees
buckled.

As the unconscious sentry collapsed, his partner reached for his dub with one hand and
clamped his other on Fylo's shoulder, spinning him around. “What are you-”

The half-breed hurled his boulder at the sentry's foot, and the question erupted into a
pained howl. Fylo ran for the causeway, following the path the granite ball had cleared
earlier as it blasted across the debris-covered apron. Although he was not a fast runner,
his clumsy gait was more than adequate to escape the sentry hopping after him.

As Fylo lumbered across the narrow isthmus, Agis poked his head from behind the giant's
beard. “Well done!”

That was when the noble saw what the gaunt sentry had been watching in the Bay of Woe. The
battered
Shadow Viper
lay a short distance from the causeway. Without a shipfloater, it rested up to its gunnels
in silt. Otherwise, the ship sat on an even keel and looked reasonably dustworthy, despite
its pock-marked decks and snapped masts. Dozens of slaves stood along the rail, watching
Fylo's escape with envious eyes. Now that there was no longer a sentry watching them from
the gate, a few were probing along the side of the ship with their plunging poles, looking
for a place shallow enough that they could wade ashore.

Take me to the ship, Fylo," Agis ordered.

The giant stopped and turned to face the derelict, but made no move to go out to it “You
say run to other side of Lybdos.” he objected.

“I know, but I can't abandon those slaves,” Agis said. “Can't carry them,” Fylo said. Too
many!"

“You're not going to carry them,” the noble replied. He glanced toward the gate and saw
that they were in no danger of being caught by the thick-waisted sentry. The giant was
still trying to hop across the wreckage, using his club as a cane. Agis returned his
attention to the ship. “The
Shadow Viper
can escape by itself. All it needs is a shipfloater.”

“You?” scoffed Wyan. “From what I've heard of your talents, the ship won't make it out of
the bay before you collapse.”

“I'll
get us started,” Agis replied. “After that, Tithian will have to take over.”

“Tithian!” Fylo blurted. “Him not here!”

“He's in my satchel,” Agis replied. As an afterthought, he added, “At least I hope he is.”

“He is,” Wyan reported. “I saw him while you and I were scuffling over the bag. He'll
be
thrilled to help, I'm sure.” He smiled, a strange twinkle in his eye. “I'll go tell the
slaves to ready their plunging poles.”

With that, Wyan floated ahead to prepare the crew. Fylo stepped into the silt, shaking his
head as he waded after the disembodied head. “This too dangerous,” he said. “Head-thing
only help slaves so you let Tithian out of sack.”

“Yes, I know,” Agis replied. “But it makes no difference.”

“Does too!” Fylo countered. “Can't trust Tithian.”

“I know that better than anyone,” Agis replied, clutching the satchel. “But I can't
abandon those slaves just because I'm nervous about letting Tithian out. It's the same as
murdering them.”

“No. Joorsh kill them, not Agis,” the giant insisted.

Agis shook his head. “Those slaves wouldn't be here if I hadn't hired Kester to carry me
to Lybdos. That makes me responsible for their safety.”

Fylo considered this, then said, “Maybe. But Tithian not care about slaves,” the giant
said. “Maybe him not want to help.”

“He won't want to, but he'll have no other choice,” said Agis. “Once he's on that ship,
he'll keep it afloat-or sink and suffocate with the rest of us.”

A boulder sailed over Fylo's shoulder, bringing the conversation to an end. The stone hit
a short distance ahead, sending a silvery plume of dust high into the sky. The giant
twisted around to look back toward shore. Agis saw the thick-waisted sentry grabbing
another boulder off the bank of the isthmus, apparently thinking it wiser not to wade into
the silt with only one good foot. The guard hurled the rock at them, nearly falling over
as he tried to brace himself on his injured foot, and the stone fell wide. '

“Let's go,” Agis said. “I don't think he has much of a chance to hit us.”

As Fylo complied, an angry roar erupted from the entrance to Castle Feral, and Nuta led
his warriors out the citadel gate. They began picking their way across the rubble-strewn
apron, the chief shouting, “Stop, sachem-killers! Oracle stealers!”

Fylo ignored the orders and started toward the
Shadow Viper
with renewed vigor. As they approached, Agis saw that the battle had taken a heavier toll
on the ship than had at first been apparent. A massive crack ran the length of the ship's
keel, which had been raised so the ship could rest on the bottom of the bay without
tipping. Half of the catapults sat in splintered ruins, as did both of the stern
ballistae. The ripped sails lay draped over the capstans and hold covers, with tangled
mounds of useless rigging heaped on top of them. Even the hull, more or less protected by
its immersion in the silt, had not escaped the fighting completely undamaged. Through the
craters in the deck, Agis could see at least two places where the slaves had fastened
makeshift patches to the interior wall.

Despite the ship's condition, no bodies lay in sight At first, Agis took this to mean that
the slaves had escaped relatively unharmed, but when he saw barely twenty crewmen standing
at the gunnels, he realized that was not the case. They had probably thrown the dead
overboard, for in the heat of the crimson sun corpses would quickly begin to stink.

They reached the ship, and Fylo set Agis on the rear deck. As the noble climbed over a
crumpled sail to slip into the floater's pit, he found Wyan waiting at the helm, along
with a yellow-haired half-elf crewman. The slave's ankle was swollen and purple, and he
managed to stand only by supporting himself on the ship's wheel.

“You're a brave man for coming to our aid, sir,” said the half-elf. “Most others wouldn't
have done the same, and the crew is thankful-whether we make it or not”

“We'll make it,” Agis assured him, slipping into the floater's seat “But we'd better move
fast.”

“Aye, captain,” replied the half-elf. He looked forward, then commanded, “Ready your
plunging poles!”

Agis used his good hand to lay his broken arm across the dome, gasping at the pain it
caused. He focused his thoughts on the obsidian beneath his hands. A moment later, he
smelled the briny aroma of salt water and felt himself rocking back and forth to the
gentle sway of lapping waves. He visualized the battered
Shadow Viper
floating on the surface of the sparkling sea, then groaned as a heavy weight settled upon
his spirit. The caravel rose out of the dust. The crew raised a haggard cheer and plunged
their poles into the silt.

As the slaves pushed off, a series of sonorous grunts sounded from the isthmus shore. An
instant later, the bay erupted into a gray haze, boulders dropping all around the
Shadow Viper. A
loud crash sounded behind Agis, then the helmsman's broken body flew past the noble amidst
a torrent of shattered planks and beams.

A shard of broken wheel struck Agis squarely between the shoulder blades. The fragment did
not pierce his flesh, but the impact drove him face-first into the floater's dome. His
broken arm exploded in pain, and his concentration lapsed, allowing the
Shadow Viper
to settle back into the bay.

“Agis!” screamed Fylo's deep voice. The giant's fingers closed around the noble's
shoulders, pulling him upright. “You hurt?”

“I'll be fine,” Agis gasped.

Keeping his broken arm on the floater's dome, he looked over his shoulder. In place of the
helm, a broken-edged hole opened below deck, a gray boulder resting in a pile of rubble
that had once been Kester's stateroom. Farther away, Nuta and his party of warriors were
wading out from the isthmus, each giant holding another boulder to hurl at the
Shadow Viper.

Fylo pointed toward the mouth of the bay, where the cove opened up into a broad expanse of
featureless dust “Take ship to deep silt Joorsh can't follow,” he said, taking a huge
harpoon off the rear deck's rack. “Fylo slow them down.”

“No!” Agis yelled. “We have catapults. You run.”

“Where to?” the giant asked, puzzled. “Agis only friend. Not let Joorsh hurt him.” With
that, the half- breed turned and waded back to meet the pursuing warriors.

Wyan floated up from Kester's stateroom. “What are you waiting for? It was your idea to
save this worthless bunch of slaves.”

Grimacing with the pain of his broken arm, Agis pulled the satchel off his shoulder. “Can
you get Tithian out of there?” he asked.

“Of course.”

The noble laid the satchel on the edge of the floater's pit. “Then do it,” he said. “I
don't know how long I'll last. Besides, when the next boulder hits, it would be better to
have an extra shipfloater.”

As the disembodied head drifted over to the satchel's mouth, Agis returned his attention
to the floater's dome and raised the
Shadow Viper.
The effort added to his agony, and he began to feel sick. The slaves leaned against their
plunging poles. The caravel's response was sluggish, for it rode dangerously low in the
silt.

Agis focused on the smell and the sound of the sea inside his mind, trying to raise the
ship higher. The pain of his broken arm intruded on his thoughts, making the waves choppy
and unpredictable. In addition to moving slowly, the ship began to lurch and roll. The
noble stopped trying to concentrate so hard, and the sea calmed again. If Tithian did not
take over soon, Agis knew they would sink.

A pair of thunderous battle cries sounded behind the ship. Now that the
Shadow Viper
was under way, Agis allowed himself to look back. He saw Fylo charging straight at Nuta,
who was raising his boulder to throw. Behind the chief, the other Joorsh warriors were
rushing forward to support their leader.

Nuta hurled his boulder, and Fylo ducked. The stone glanced off the half-breed's injured
shoulder. He screamed in pain and dropped to one knee, burying himself up to his chest in
silt. For a moment, Agis thought the giant would pitch forward and vanish beneath the
surface of the bay. Then, as the chief started to pass him by, the half-breed seemed to
gather his strength. With an angry bellow, he rose and thrust his harpoon deep into Nuta's
ribs.

The chief screamed and fell. As the grizzled giant disappeared into the silt, Fylo jerked
the bloody harpoon free and, screaming a war cry, turned to charge the rest of the
company. His astonished enemies stopped and launched their boulders at him. The half-breed
countered by flinging his harpoon at the next warrior in line, then disappeared beneath a
hail of gray stones.

A curtain of pearly dust rose where Fylo had fallen. For a long time, Agis could do
nothing but stare into it, amazed at the giant's actions. By attacking so fiercely, he had
forced the Joorsh to use their boulders against him, buying precious time for the
Shadow Viper to
escape. In his death, the lonely half-breed, who had struggled all his life to find a
single friend, had committed the ultimate act of fellowship. Now, though he might never
know it, he would have a whole shipload of comrades.

“Goodbye,” Agis whispered sadly. “In all the cities of Athas, the bards shall sing of your
great friendship.”

The surviving Joorsh warriors began to emerge from the dust curtain. With their hands now
empty, they were free to use their arms for balance. They were wading through the silt
with a strange, twisting gait that seemed half running and half dancing, plowing great
plumes of silt into the air. Although they no longer had anything to throw at the
Shadow Viper,
they appeared confident that they would catch the caravel, for it continued to ride low
and make sluggish progress.

Returning his attention to the ship, Agis found Tithian-at least he thought it was
Tithian-crawling from the satchel. The king's auburn hair had become coarse and gray, and
the ever-present diadem no longer sat upon his head. His skin had paled with age, growing
flaky and wrinkled, while dark, angry-looking circles sagged beneath his eyes. Only the
darting brown eyes and sharply hooked nose remained the same as the noble remembered.

“Tithian?” the noble gasped. “What happened to you?”

“Do you really want me to explain now?” the king replied sharply.

As Tithian continued to pull himself out, a huge pair of leathery, batlike wings slipped
free of the satchel. For a moment, Agis didn't know what to make of them. Then, as they
slowly stretched across the deck, he realized they were attached to the king's back.