Red Tide (28 page)

Ebon withdrew his hands. “You're not expecting me to bring the money here, I trust.” Walking through the Lower City at night with his pockets full, how could that end badly?

“Of course not,” Tia replied, with a look that said he was a fool if he thought he would ever find her
here
again. “Someone will track you down at the harbor to collect. You'll get more details then about tonight's arrangements.”

“I'll be ready,” he said.

For more treachery as much as for anything else.

 

C
HAPTER
10

T
HE LAST
chime of the noon bell faded, and still there was no sign of Galantas's prey. He looked at his companions crouched in the shanty behind. Qinta was examining one of his tattoos. Reska had his eyes closed. Carlo shifted his weight from foot to foot. But it was Vos about whom Galantas was most concerned. The man looked like he was going to be sick, and he wouldn't meet Galantas's gaze. It took a particular strength of character to stomach the bitter brew of kin slaughter. Maybe Galantas had misjudged Vos on that score. Catching the man's eye, he held out his hand for Vos's crossbow.

Vos set his jaw and shook his head. Galantas suppressed a smile.
As easy as that.
Some captains were quick to punish a crewman who showed reluctance to obey an order, but Galantas had always found it more effective to compel through example. Never ask a man to do something you wouldn't do yourself. He didn't want men serving under him who found this sort of task easy. He wanted men who could put aside their personal misgivings for the good of their clan. Men who trusted Galantas's judgment over their own.

Men with sense, in other words.

Through a broken window to his left, he saw a woman balancing a basket on her head pass the entrance to the alley. Beyond her, a jumble of rooftops sloped down to the port. Rising above the thatch and cracked tiles was the steeple of one of the water towers marking the course of Bezzle's underground aqueduct. Through the haze from the brine boileries, Galantas could make out the topmasts of the Augeran ship. Its flag remained at full mast, which he took as a sign that Eremo still clung to life. Perhaps that explained why the stone-skins hadn't responded yet to the proposal Ostari would have put to them. Perhaps, while Eremo's fate hung in the balance, there was uncertainty in the chain of command.

And yet what option did the stone-skins have but to accept Galantas's offer? There was no way they'd be getting their twenty thousand talents back, so if they wanted a return on their investment, they had to do business with either Dresk or Galantas. And a choice between Galantas and his father was surely no choice at all.

He would have to play the next few bells carefully, though. For while he needed the Augerans' help to dethrone Dresk, he also needed to keep their involvement discreet, lest the other tribes think him their puppet. Then there was the problem of what to do with his father. Most likely the stone-skins would want to make a public display of Dresk, yet any repeat of the scenes on the
Lively
was certain to incite Dresk's followers to anger. The krels in particular would have to be managed, but Galantas had devised a strategy to keep them on side. A strategy that centered on Talet. The man was an administrator, and thus wholly expendable. With the right … persuasion, he might be convinced to back Galantas's story that it was Dresk who had ordered the attack on Eremo. Once Dresk's “treachery” was exposed, most of the krels would fall into line. A few, though, were too small-minded to ever be trusted in Galantas's service.

Hence his presence in this shanty now, waiting for Karsten Berg to appear. For years Galantas had been planning to move against Dresk's supporters. That was why he knew about Karsten's mistress, along with the route the man took when he called on her. Last month Galantas had intercepted a message from the mistress, inviting Karsten to stop by. He'd used that message this morning to lure his target into Bezzle's backstreets. The alley he'd chosen for the ambush was ideal. On one side was a windowless wall covered in nettleclaw and home to nesting spider jays, whose warble should conceal the sounds of any scuffle. On the other side were abandoned shanties, one of which now sheltered Galantas and his men. Someone had been here since he'd last checked the place over, for the table and chairs had been smashed so comprehensively the culprit might have planned to use them as firewood. There was no sign of that intruder now, though.

Meaning Karsten's final moments, when he got here, would be unwitnessed by all save Galantas and his men.

Galantas had always thought he would hesitate when the time came to act against Dresk, but instead he felt a thrill of anticipation. There was no going back now. His father would have learned of Ostari's release. He'd be looking for Galantas, maybe readying a strike against him, yet it would be Galantas who struck at his father first. At last he had a chance to repay Dresk for the insults and the petty betrayals—to start undoing the damage to clan unity his father had caused in his time as warlord. Ultimately he would be sacrificed for the good of his kin, and was that not the supreme duty of a leader? Dresk would serve his people in death as he had singularly failed to serve them in life.

Three figures entered the alley, and Galantas raised a hand to warn his companions. The warbling of the spider jays rose in pitch as the newcomers approached. Galantas shrank back against the wall. Karsten strode past the window in his familiar bloodred headscarf. Behind him came two bodyguards, laughing at some jest. The house in which Galantas hid was located at a bend in the alley. As the voices followed that bend around to the right, Galantas made a fist to signal his men to move. Qinta took the lead, opening the door and slipping into the bodyguards' wake. Reska, Carlo, and Vos went after him, with Galantas bringing up the rear.

He trailed them around the bend.

It was over in moments. Blocking Karsten's way was a cart loaded with barrels. There was nowhere to run when Galantas's men attacked from behind, and more ambushers lay in wait behind the cart. Crossbows thrummed, a solitary scream sounded, and Karsten and his two bodyguards went down. Galantas nodded his approval. An unsavory task, but that was no excuse for sloppiness. His men had acquitted themselves well. Vos's expression was bleak, yet he hadn't held back from the attack. Today would either break him or put some steel in him; Galantas would find out which soon enough.

He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. He'd meant it as a reassuring gesture, but from the way Vos flinched, it might have been Shroud who'd crept up on him unawares.

Maybe later.

Galantas knelt at Karsten's side. The krel had taken a bolt in the chest and one in the gut, but he was still alive. He was looking up at the sky. His breaths came quickly as if he was determined to squeeze in as much life as possible from his final heartbeats. But that had always been his way. It was why Galantas admired him so much, maybe even liked him.

Galantas's crew had picked clean the corpses of the two bodyguards and were now bundling them into barrels on the cart. Galantas drew a dagger and rested its point on Karsten's neck. When the krel looked at him, there was hatred in his eyes.

“Your family is safe,” Galantas said. “I'll see to it they're looked after.”

“Go to hell,” Karsten rasped.

Fair enough. Galantas would have said the same in the man's place.

He drew his dagger across the krel's throat, feeling the serrations bite.

*   *   *

From the quarterdeck of Mazana's flagship, the
Raven,
Senar scanned the sea all about. A stone's throw behind, a Revenant vessel glided on a wave of water-magic, while to the north and south sailed two brigatinas as escort, ready to draw off any dragon the convoy encountered. Beyond the southern ship lay the island of Airey, once home to the Storm Lord Gensu Sensama and now seemingly home to nothing but starbeaks. Every village the
Raven
passed was deserted, the inhabitants having fled inland. A wise move too, since the dragons had proved themselves willing to venture ashore to supplement their fishy diet. Yesterday Senar had seen one attack the Deeps, cracking open the partly flooded buildings like nuts to get at the tasty morsels inside.

From the number of claimed sightings around Olaire, a hundred dragons might have been prowling the Sabian waters. According to Mazana, though, the true number was only seventeen. Not sixteen. Not eighteen. Like she'd been in Dian on Dragon Day to count them as they passed under the gate. Rumor had it that some had laid waste to the Uscan Reach, then made their homes in the ruins of its settlements. But there were also rumors of a battle to the north between a dozen of the creatures and a denkrakil that had formerly had its tentacles wrapped around Olaire. In truth, Senar didn't care where the dragons were as long as it wasn't here.

Olaire's merchant guilds had petitioned Mazana to hunt down the beasts, but Senar knew she had no intention of doing so. For decades the Sabian League had bridled under the Storm Lord yoke, and in the farthest corners of the Sabian Sea, plans were no doubt afoot to ensure a new Storm Council didn't rise from the ashes of the old. A single Storm Lord, however powerful, couldn't hope to hold the empire in thrall. While the dragons were alive, though, the would-be conspirators would have something other than Mazana on which to focus their attention, thus giving her time to shore up her position. She hadn't confided her plans in Senar, but he'd heard tales that she'd started searching for new Storm Lords—albeit Storm Lords in name only. She hadn't spent all this time gathering power, after all, just to give it away again.

Jodren's coral bird flew across his line of sight, returning from one of the brigatinas. Senar watched the creature settle on the shoulder of its master, standing on the aft deck beside Mazana. Jambar was there too, staying close to his mistress so Senar couldn't corner him. Romany had yet to make an appearance on deck; the same for the Erin Elalese messenger, Kolloken.

That gave Senar an idea.

He looked around. None of the emira's entourage was watching him, so he headed for the companionway.

When he knocked at Kolloken's door, the man took an age to answer. The messenger's cabin was small, with a bunk against one wall and a desk bolted to the floor. Through an open window Senar heard the hiss of waves. A reflection of the sea shimmered on the white-painted ceiling. Kolloken sat at the desk, holding a piece of charcoal. In front of him was a roll of parchment held down at one end by a lantern. On the parchment Senar saw a charcoal drawing of a woman's features, the eyes two swirls of gray, the mouth caught in a self-conscious smile. Kolloken had captured her mood perfectly: mischievous, fey, unassuming.

“Impressive,” Senar said.

“The days away from home are hard.” Kolloken's gaze slid sideways. “But I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that, eh?”

Senar crossed to the window and closed it. In the sudden quiet he heard the creak of timbers, the sound of something rolling across the floor of the next cabin.

Kolloken's lips quirked. “Is this the part where I tell you everything I kept back from the red-haired bitch?”

A frown spread across Senar's face before he could catch it. “What news from home?”

“You mean, what news about the Guardians?”

“Yes, let's start there.”

Kolloken went back to his drawing, sketching in the line of the woman's jaw. “Sacrosanct's still standing, if that's what you're worried about. Gill Treller's still haunting that tower of his. Though I reckon he might be getting a bit lonely, what with Borkoth and Amerel having come over to the emperor.”

Senar covered his surprise. Borkoth's defection he'd known about, but now Amerel too? It shone a new light on the woman's presence in the Rubyholt Isles—though as to what that light revealed, Senar had no idea. “Were any more Guardians sent through the Merigan portal after I was?”

“No.”

“Meaning Avallon first found out about the stone-skins shortly after I left.”

Kolloken said nothing.

“Who else knows about them? Has the emperor told the Senate? The Black Tower?”

“Of course. It ain't the sort of thing you can keep secret for long.”

Though doubtless Avallon had given it his best shot. “And have any Guardians returned since the news broke?” Before Senar went through the portal, the slide of the Guardian order had seen several of his once colleagues disappear into self-imposed exile. With the Augeran shadow now hanging over Erin Elal, perhaps some would return to the fold.

“One or two crawled out of the woodwork, yes.”

“Who?”

“Myr Mellisan, Jeng Elesar.”

Senar smiled. Names to remind him of how much he missed home. “Jeng was sent through the Merigan portal before me.”

“Yeah. Seems it took him to one of the islands in the Southern Reach. Could have made it back to Arkarbour in a few weeks, but for some reason he only shows up last month—
after
he heard about the stone-skins.”

“You think he should have hurried back for another go through the portal? Maybe next time he'd have got lucky and come out on the other side of the world.”

Kolloken shrugged. “Would've been a risk worth taking. When the stone-skins come, we might need the portals to move men around.”

“And how many Breakers have been sent through the gateways?”

Kolloken did not answer.

Through the window Senar saw Airey falling behind off the port quarter. The heat in the cabin was building, and he wiped a hand across his forehead. “How did Avallon first find out that the stone-skins were coming?”

“From one of your Guardian friends. Nova Quan. She was scouting a Tresson tribe when they got a surprise visitor.”