Midnights Mask (14 page)

The priest of Mask is aboard.

Dolgan answered back, his consciousness noticeably groggy. He is?

Azriim rolled his eyes as he buckled his belt. No matter the situation, Dolgan could always find a way to ask a stupid question.

Find the assassin and meet me outside the forecastle, Azriim projected.

Should I alert the crew to intruders? Dolgan asked. Not yet, Azriim answered. Let us see what events bring.

He stayed in Captain Kauzin’s form but willed himself invisible. He exited his quarters, walked a short corridor, and exited the forecastle. There, he waited for Dolgan.

His broodmate’s mental voice sounded in his mind: The assassin is not in his quarters.

No? Azriim asked. How interesting.

He reached out with his mental perception and tried to contact Riven.

The darkness dissipated and Cale, Magadon, and Jak found themselves near the aft railing on the sterncastle of Demon Binder. A short, bearded crewman, perhaps thirty winters old, stood a few paces from them, looking out over the sea. Cale had not seen him in the scrying lens.

The crewman noticed them at the same moment they noticed him.

Surprise widened the man’s dumbfounded eyes and temporarily stole his shout.

Cale did what he must. In the space of two heartbeats, he lunged forward and impaled the man through the heart with Weaveshear. The man groaned, bled, sagged toward Cale. Cale caught him up before he fell and heaved him over the rail. The crewman never uttered a scream but the splash of his corpse hitting the sea sounded loud to Cale’s ears. He, Jak, and Magadon shared a tense look while they waited for a cry of alarm.

It never came. No one had heard. All three visibly exhaled.

Cale wiped a bloody hand on his cloak. He noticed the way his friends looked at the blood and projected a reminder: These are slavers, not spice merchants. They do not deserve your pity.

Magadon and Jak looked over the railing, back at Cale, and nodded.

The ship was quiet, the deck barely moving on the calm sea. A brisk wind from the south stirred their cloaks, snapped the sails above them. Masts creaked. The sea lapped against the hull as it cut its way through the water.

Serine, gibbous and waxing, hung low in the sky, trailed by her glowing train of silver tears. Along the deck of Demon Binder, a few covered oil lanterns hung here and there from the railings. Otherwise, the ship was dark.

Soft steps, Cale projected, and pointed at the deck of the sterncastle below his boots. He figured some of the crew-the masters who ranked below the first mate-were sleeping in quarters below them. The cabins of the captain and mate, where Cale expected they would find Azriim and Dolgan, would be at the bow of the ship in the forecastle.

Soundlessly, the three slid forward to the edge of the sterncastle until they could look down on the maindeck below. A score or so crewmen lay sprawled about, sleeping. Some hung in canvas hammocks strung between posts. Others slept in the large, cloth-lined leather bags Cale had once heard a sailor call a “deckbag.” Cutlasses, knives, and belaying pins lay within ready reach of all.

The night helmsman stood at the tiller in the steering pocket almost directly below them, presumably guiding the ship by the stars. Across the ship, Cale saw two sailors standing on the forecastle to either side of the bowsprit, looking out at the sea ahead.

Cale’s heartbeat accelerated. Hopeful that he had found the slaadi, he whispered the words to the spell that allowed him to see magic.

Nothing lit up on the two sailors, but Cale did detect a diffuse magical aura glowing before the door that led to the interior of the forecastle. The slaadi must have warded it. He would examine it more closely when he got there.

A man in the forward crow’s nest, Magadon said, peering up the masts. I see no one in the rear nest.

Could you cover the deck from the forward nest? Cale asked.

Magadon eyed the nest, the deck, judged lines of sight.

The sails will create some blind spots, the guide answered, but otherwise, yes.

Cale nodded. He looked down at the top of the helmsman’s head. The man was unsuspecting, vulnerable, alone. Cale could see no way that they could move across the ship unseen without first putting down the helmsman.

First the helmsman, he said. Then the lookout in the nest.

He started to move but Jak’s hand closed on his shoulder.

A spell first, the little man projected. If it does not work, we put him down.

Cale looked into Jak’s eyes. He did not see weakness there, but neither did he see bloodthirst.

They’re slavers, Jak. Remember Skullport?

Jak nodded. I know what they are, Cale. But that doesn’t mean that I want to kill everyone aboard, at least not if we do not have to. We’re here for the slaadi. Well enough?

For a moment, Cale imagined himself through Jak’s eyes. He must have looked a bit too ready to shed blood. Perhaps he was a bit too ready to shed blood. He did not want to become so much a shade that he forgot how to be a man.

Well enough, he said. I’ll get in position. Then you cast. If your spell doesn’t work….

Jak nodded.

Cale sheathed Weave shear and merged with the darkness, becoming invisible even to his friends. He circled the sterncastle, silently padded down one of the two ladders that led to the maindeck, and took station directly behind the helmsman. He drew a dagger.

The helmsman wore a sweat-stained tunic and wool breeches. His beard and hair were ill kept, his arms gnarled and scarred. He stood in a large opening, almost a box, that sank below the level of the deck-the steering pocket. The tiller shaft stuck out of the rear of the box. An elaborate metal device, no doubt for charting course, and a waterskin sat on a small table within arm’s reach. The helmsman hummed to himself while he held the tiller, probably to help stay awake.

Now, Cale projected to Jak.

Cale did not hear Jak cast his spell but he knew when the spell was completed because the helmsman’s humming ceased. The man stood rigid and silent, tiller in his frozen hand.

It worked, Cale projected to Jak. How long will it last? Hard to say, Jak answered.

Cale did not like the uncertainty but decided that he would accept it for Jak’s sake.

The one in the crow’s nest? he asked Jak.

After a moment’s hesitation, the little man answered, Too far.

Cale had expected as much. He is mine, then. Give me a ten count.

Magadon said,
will meet you there.p>

Jak projected, I’ll go invisible and seal the door out of the sterncastle with a glyph. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the mainmast.

Good, Cale said. He looked up to the crow’s nest and felt the darkness there. He stepped in one stride from his place behind the helmsman to the rear of the crow’s nest. The crewman occupying the nest made no sign that he heard Cale appear. The sailor, who could not have seen many more than twenty winters, leaned on his elbows over the front of the crow’s nest, staring out over the sea.

Cale hesitated, torn. He could have used a spell like Jak’s. There was no guarantee that it would work, but he could have tried. But then he reminded himself that the crew made a living selling other human beings into bondage. When he remembered Skullport, the despair he had seen in the eyes of the slaves there, he needed no further justification. The sailor had chosen this occupation, There were consequences to that choice.

Cale stepped behind the man, jerked his head back to expose his throat, and slit his jugular. Cale became visible the moment he attacked but the man never saw him. The sailor’s scream was nothing more than a wheezing gurgle through the new opening in his throat. He flailed for a moment in Cale’s grasp but his strength left him as quickly as his blood. Cale lowered him to the bottom of the nest as he died. It was soon over. Cale peeked over the edge of the nest to the deck below and saw no sign that anyone had heard.

Mags?

On my way, the guide answered.

Cale turned around to see Magadon sprinting silently across open air, as though an invisible ramp connected the sterncastle to the crow’s nest. In the space of three breaths, the guide was climbing into the nest. Again, no sign of alarm from the sleeping crew below. The two men standing atop the forecastle continued to stare out to sea.

“Mind your footing,” Cale said softly. “It’s slick.” Magadon looked down at the slain sailor, the pool of blood, and said nothing. He picked his spot in the nest.

He removed his quiver of arrows, set it beside him, and unshouldered his bow.

Jak? Cale projected.

The door on the sterncastle is warded, the little man answered. I’m on the maindeck now, near the hold door. He paused, then said, I can see what’s down there.

Cale and Magadon shared a glance.

And? Cale asked.

Jak answered, Cages. Maybe a score or so slaves. All men. He hesitated before saying, We should free them, Cale.

Jak’s words did not surprise Cale but he was not certain how to respond. He knew that freeing the slaves would complicate matters, might mean putting down the entire crew. There was one ship’s boat rigged to the side. Perhaps they could force most of the crew off the ship and into the boat.

Perhaps.

Cale stared into Magadon’s pale eyes. The guide said nothing, merely waited.

Cale? Jak prompted.

All right, Cale said. We’ll free them. It will mean a lot of blood, little man.

I know. But now that I’ve seen them, I can’t walk away. We did that in Skullport. Not again. Not here.

Cale nodded. He understood. Jak was not a killer by nature, but for the right reasons the little man could be as savage as any assassin Cale had ever known.

First the slaadi, he said.

First the slaadi, Jak acknowledged.

I’m coming down, Cale said.

“Luck,” Magadon whispered, and drew an arrow.

Cale nodded and looked down from the nest. He picked a patch of darkness at the base of the mast and stepped to it.

The moment he felt the deck under his feet he pulled the shadows more closely around him and drew Weaveshear.

Jak? He projected.

An invisible hand closed on his elbow.

Here, the little man said.

Out of habit, Cale turned to look at the little man but of course saw nothing. Cale weaved darkness and shadow around him to make himself invisible too. He and Jak would not be able to see each other, but they could stay in ready contact through the mindlink. Besides, they had worked together so often that they virtually knew the other’s thoughts.

While Cale knew that the slaadi could see through invisibility spells, he figured the glamers would at least keep wakeful crewmen from spotting them as they moved across the ship. Cale remembered too that the slaadi made frequent use of invisibility themselves. He decided to take a moment to counter that.

Hold a moment, little man.

Holding his mask, he softly intoned the words to a prayer he had never before used. When he finished the spell, his perception changed. His skin and the hairs on his arms became finely attuned to the slightest differences in the pressure of the air against his body, the subtlest movement of the wind, the nuance of temperature. The spell enabled his mind to process tactile information and convert it into something perceptually akin to vision. Cale could not distinguish colors, but at a distance of fifteen paces he could “see” with his eyes closed better than he could with them open.

Beside him, Jak was visible through his new sense. The little man eyed the forecastle, blades in hand.

The slaadi will be in the forecastle, Cale said to Jak and Magadon. Mags, we are both invisible.

Keep me apprised of where you are, Magadon answered. I don’t want an errant shot to hit you accidentally.

Cale sent an acknowledgement and he and Jak silently crept among the sleeping crew toward the forecastle. They updated Magadon as to their location every five or

so paces. Cale checked the faces of the sleeping crewmen closely, in case a disguised Riven was among them. He was not. Cale figured Riven to be with the slaadi.

Together, the two made their way invisibly over the deck.

*****

It took Azriim a moment to spy the priest and his halfling companion. He spotted them on the maindeck, near the mast. He watched them creep across the deck toward the forecastle, as silent as specters. Their invisibility spells did not shield them from Azriim’s vision, but he almost missed them-despite their invisibility, they both kept to the shadows, seemingly out of professional habit. Azriim pointed them out for Dolgan. Azriim did not see Riven, and the human had not responded to Azriim’s mental call. He decided to try again.

Answer me, assassin, he sent.

Be silent, Riven finally responded. Their mindmage may detect the communication. Maintain the connection and I will contact you when I’m ready.

Azriim had not seen the mindmage. He scanned the ship but still did not see him.

We are on the maindeck behind the forecastle, Azriim said. The priest and the halfling are moving right toward us. Where are you? Where is their mindmage?

The assassin did not respond and Azriim sighed with perturbation.

Cale and the halfling drew closer, checking the crew as they approached.

Beside Azriim, Dolgan grew eager for bloodshed. He shifted from foot to foot and grunted softly.

Silence, Azriim commanded him.

The big slaad bit down on his lip until it bled and asked, What are we going to do?

Azriim could have simply fled Demon Binder for

Dolphin’s Coffer. That had been his plan, after all. He had put Demon Binder on a course far from Dolphin’s Coffer and the vicinity of sunken Sakkors. And he could see to it that Cale and his companions would have difficulty following him after they left the ship.

But that would not have been fun at all. Better to just kill them, he thought.

He grinned at his broodmate and said, Let’s shoot a lightning bolt down their gullets and burn the ship out from under them.

Dolgan chuckled and pointed his finger at the halfling. Azriim slapped his hand down.