Red Tide (30 page)

She had arrived in Talet's neighborhood well in advance of their meeting. She'd wanted to assess the lay of the land before calling on him, but she needn't have bothered. Talet's house was empty but for the spy himself. No crossbowmen on the roof. No swordsmen behind the curtains waiting to jump out and shout “boo!” The houses nearby were empty too, unless you counted the grayhairs and the odd woman cooing to a baby. And if
they
were the ones going to spring a trap, Amerel fancied her chances of fighting free. There was something about this idyllic picture that didn't fit, though. Something missing? Or something present that shouldn't be? She couldn't say, but there was no denying a certain feeling.…

A feeling.
Yes, that would look good in her report to the emperor.

A stone was digging into her back, and she propped herself up on one elbow and opened her eyes. Noon was looking at her. “Well, Princess?”

“All seems quiet.”

“You checked the other houses as well?”

“I thought you were doing that.”

Noon squinted at her, then muttered something.

Amerel stood and dusted herself down. “Come on,” she said, setting off down the alley in the direction of Talet's house.

The front door was unlocked. Nothing suspicious in that, though—he was expecting company, right? Over a hearth in the reception room were two crossed spears—the symbol of Dresk's clan—while through an archway was a graveled courtyard. The door to Talet's study was on the far wall. At the center of the yard was a pool in which floated a dead stoneback scorpion. To Amerel's left, through a partly open door, she saw a fish-scaling knife on the floor amid a scattering of child's drawings. She considered checking to see if anyone was hiding behind that door, but how many times did she have to search this place before she was satisfied it was deserted?

Sometimes nothing really did mean nothing.

She edged forward, stones crunching beneath her sandals.

Then in the distance she heard frantic shouts, the clanging of bells from the city's watchtower. She exchanged a look with Noon. Those bells, the signal to warn of an attack?

The stone-skins.

Amerel swung her gaze back to the door to Talet's study. A coincidence that the Augerans had come as she was due to meet the spy? It had to be. Otherwise Talet would have had to know what the stone-skins were planning, which in turn would mean he'd sold her out to the enemy. If this was a trap, though, why weren't any Augerans here? Had they only wanted to ensure Amerel was far from the harbor so she couldn't escape before the attack came? No, that couldn't be right. As Amerel understood the Rubyholt alarm system, those bells meant stone-skin ships had been sighted in the outer isles. It would take them longer to reach Bezzle than it would for Amerel to reach the harbor. But would the
Whitecap
still be there when she arrived? Would she be able to get to it with everyone in the city looking to flee?

Problems for later. First she had to deal with Talet.

She strode across the courtyard and flung open the door to his study.

The room beyond was exactly how she remembered it from her spirit-walk: roughly twenty armspans across and thirty deep; a concave wall opposite with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on a garden. The place stank of moonblossom. At a desk near the windows sat Talet, his back to Amerel, writing on a sheet of parchment. Composing a farewell note to a friend, maybe? Or a tearful confession to Dresk?

When he did not acknowledge Amerel, she said, “Anyone else hear those bells?”

Scratch, scratch
went his quill on the parchment.

Amerel took a step toward him. That feeling of
wrongness
was back, but she couldn't find the cause. She looked into the garden, expecting to see stone-skins storming toward her through the flowerbeds.

Nothing.

Scratch, scratch.
That Shroud-cursed quill was like a claw across her eardrums.

“You wanted to see us?” Amerel said.

Still no answer.

She took another step closer. What game was Talet playing? Why invite her here if he meant to ignore her? His hair was thinning at the back, and through it Amerel could see his scalp was red from the sun. Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword. The spy's posture was strangely cramped, and there was something jerky about the movement of his writing hand. Over his shoulder Amerel caught a glimpse of the parchment he was writing on.…

She went still.

It was empty of words. No ink on the quill, no inkpot on the desk.

Scratch, scratch.

A clank of metal on stone sounded behind, and Amerel spun round to see that a portcullis had slammed down across the doorway through which she had entered. A portcullis in a house? How had she missed that on the way in? It wasn't an illusion either, for Amerel would have sensed someone trying to manipulate her thoughts.

Noon's voice was tense. “What's going on?” he said.

What indeed?

Amerel swung back to the spy.

To find him now slumped motionless over the desk. His shirt had disappeared to reveal that his back had been lashed to the bone. Judging by the bluish cast to his skin, he must have passed through Shroud's Gate several bells ago.
Of course, the moonblossom—to hide the smell of rot.
Amerel felt the gorge rise in her throat. Flayed to death—a particularly unpleasant way to go, and she should know. The blood-dream was already bubbling up in her mind.

She forced it down.

“Welcome,” said a disembodied voice, and a figure materialized to her right.

Something told Amerel she shouldn't have been surprised.

It was the stone-skin Scarface.

*   *   *

Gesturing to Barnick, Galantas crossed to the stairwell leading down to the lower floor of the temple. He took the steps three at a time. When he reached the bottom, Qinta and Carlo were waiting for him, with Vos approaching at a splash along the Gully. Nothing needed to be said. That second stone-skin vessel changed everything. It meant the Augerans had found a way to bypass the Isles' network of watchtowers. It meant more of their ships would be coming. Bezzle was doomed, and it was a fate Galantas would share unless he could reach the
Eternal
and get out of here.

He set off toward the harbor at a run. The Gully was still flooded from the wave of water-magic, and his steps kicked up spray. He could hear the clash of blades from the waterfront, but he knew any resistance would quickly be swept aside. Men and women poured into the Gully from the wharfs, and Galantas had to fight against the flow. “Out of the way!” he roared, but he could barely hear his own voice over the tumult.

He drew his sword.

Faces melted past. To his left a bare-chested man tripped on the heels of a woman, and they went down together and were trampled by the press. Another man sought to escape a building overlooking the Gulley by throwing himself from a first-story window and using the crowd to break his fall. Galantas didn't see the jumper land, because a woman with blue-dyed hair had grabbed him by the shoulders and was screaming something into his face. He heaved her aside. This was hopeless. The
Eternal
was far to the south of here, so even if he could reach the waterfront, he'd have no chance of fighting through to it.

Brine Alley was on his right, and he dashed into it. Running parallel to the waterfront, it was three paces across and under a finger's width of water. Boarded windows and poster-filled walls flashed by. People streamed into the alley from the buildings to Galantas's left. Some carried possessions they had rescued from their homes—a model galleon, a bronze bust of the Sender, even a hafters board with a solitary piece on it. Galantas had to swerve to avoid the board-carrier and scraped his shoulder against the wall. “Out of the way!” he shouted again, but no one was listening.

From the waterfront came the sound of crumbling masonry as a building collapsed. There was a clash of swords, a thump of sorcery. Galantas tried to judge the progress of the stone-skin assault, but it was impossible to make sense of anything over the screams and sobs all about. A dozen paces ahead was a crossroads. People ran past from left to right, and behind them came the foaming dregs of another sorcerous wave. If Galantas could make it over the junction and into the alley beyond—

Two black-cloaked figures holding shields stepped into the passage. It was too late for Galantas to turn about, so he charged them.

They lowered their spears.

“Barnick!” Galantas shouted, and the water on the ground around the stone-skins vaporized in a hiss of scalding steam. The Augerans cried out, covered their eyes with their sleeves.

Galantas barreled into them.

He broke between their shields and sprawled into shallow water, the mist warm on his face. The wave of water-magic had retreated toward the harbor, leaving a scattering of runefish flopping on the flagstones. Voices from his left, the stamp of feet. More stone-skins? Galantas tried to rise, caught a stray boot in the ribs, and went down again.

Qinta's battle cry sounded. Grunts, curses, the clatter of swords. From Galantas's prone position, all he could see in the mist were the legs of the combatants. Perhaps it would have been safer for him to play dead, but his blood was up, and when a black-cloaked man came within range, he chopped at the Augeran's leg with his sword. Missed. A spear tip came for his chest. He rolled to evade it, heard it clatter off the flagstones. A female stone-skin reared above him, her spear drawn back to strike.

A mace cut through the murk, shattering her jaw in a shower of blood and teeth. She dropped with a mangled gargle.

Galantas scrambled to his feet. The mist was dispersing, and a look around revealed only one Augeran still upright, huddled behind his shield. Qinta and Carlo took turns putting dents in it. In the harbor beyond, a three-masted Rubyholt ship sped away from the quay—the
Wraith,
if Galantas remembered rightly.
Faloman's ship.
Didn't mean Faloman was on it, of course, and it occurred to Galantas he should be fleeing on the first ship he came to, rather than trying to reach the
Eternal.

Then a wave of black sorcery struck the
Wraith
's port side, and its main deck and mast dissolved to dust.

That complicated things.

More Augerans pounded along the street toward Galantas. Barnick must have seen them too, because the water on the flagstones in front of them vaporized in white curls.

Time to go.

Galantas bolted into the alley beyond the junction. “Qinta, to me!” he called.

He scowled as he ran. The
Eternal
was lost. His ship was still more than a stone's throw away, and even if he could get to it, he would likely be annihilated by sorcery before he escaped the harbor. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. A captain without a ship was like a turtle without its shell. More important, the
Eternal
was part of Galantas's legend. Having the most celebrated ship in the Isles just meant his disgrace would be that much greater when he lost it. But it would be only a temporary loss. He would take it back, no matter the cost.

The bells of the Meridian Watchtower continued to ring. Ahead the alley was blocked by crates of gallow crabs. A woman knelt beside them, beseeching the skies as if she thought some immortal would reach down and lift her to safety. To Galantas's right the houses had given way to shops, and he careered into the backyard of one before scampering to the store itself. When he flung open the door he was greeted by the smell of galtane and caramir. An apothecary, then. He vaulted a counter and overturned a jar of silverspark flowers. It smashed on the floor, spilling petals. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he ran for the door.

He emerged breathless into the glare and clamor. In front and to his left, Tanner Road led deeper into the city. The press of people was thicker here than it had been along the Gully, but at least there were no red or black cloaks among them. And this time Galantas was moving
with
the flow, not against it. He risked a look behind and was relieved to see Barnick and Qinta with him. No sign of Carlo, Reska or Vos, alas, but Galantas had more important things to worry about just now. If he couldn't reach the
Eternal,
he'd need another way off the island.

And he'd need it fast.

 

C
HAPTER
11

K
ARMEL PEERED
southwest toward Bezzle. The city crawled with frantic motion like an anthill kicked to life. Mazana Creed hadn't said the place would be under attack when the Chameleons arrived, but the stone-skins' presence cast a new light on Mokinda's unease at the delays they'd experienced in Gilgamar.

The Storm Lord sat on the forecastle steps, conversing in a series of glances with the captain a dozen paces away. In close attendance were the ship's two water-mages, their furrowed brows suggesting they thought the captain should already have withdrawn. Scullen was there too. His cockiness had vanished a quarter of a bell ago with the first sorcerous concussion of the stone-skin offensive. Now he was leading the calls for the
Grace
to flee, his voice growing shriller with each heartbeat. Karmel might have enjoyed his discomfort if her own mouth hadn't been so dry.

The captain's silent discussion with Mokinda concluded, and she shouted at her mages to heave to. The
Grace
abruptly settled on the swell. A barge was on tow behind, and at an order from the captain it was hauled forward to the port side.

“That's us,” Caval said to Karmel. He'd brought her gear up from the cabin, and now dropped her pack and blowpipe at her feet. The smell of oscura was heavy on his breath.

It took an instant for his words to sink in. “We're still going through with this?” she said. “We're going to land while the stone-skins are attacking?”