Red Tide (36 page)

A last look back. The Weaver's eye was gone from the hole. Maybe the creature had given up the hunt.

Or maybe it was smart enough to go around the dome and wait for them on the other side.

The boat glided through the opening and into sun-bright water beyond. No clicking noises to be heard. No sight of the beast either, though the strands of its web still quivered. Barnick steered the craft up at an acute angle through the swaying threads.

Galantas gritted his teeth. His breath was tight in his chest. It reminded him of that time he'd dived for sunpearls in the Outer Rim, but he'd managed to hold on then, and he was going to make it now too, because the boat suddenly broke the surface. He heaved in a lungful of air. A world of sound returned: the cawing of starbeaks, the fretting of the sea against the cliffs, Qinta coughing and gasping. The boat was full of water, and Galantas bailed with his hand until a gesture from Barnick set the liquid running up the sides of the craft and over the gunwales.

Galantas slumped back against the boards, his clothes sodden, his hair dripping.

The boat flew over the water. As it reached the point where the strait opened out, the sea became rougher. Qinta peered into the waves behind, his face as pale as Shroud's ass. “Do you … see it?” he croaked between breaths.

Galantas scanned the water. The strands of the creature's web were clustered thickly below the hull, but of the beast itself there was no sign. He grinned. They'd done it! A slice of luck along the way, maybe, but that was becoming a habit with him. How long could it last? When you diced enough times with Shroud, eventually the Lord of the Dead was going to throw a pair of sixes.

If that happened, though, Galantas would just match his score and beat him on the next cast.

Shouts from the east, and he looked back along the strait. He'd forgotten about the stone-skins. At the entrance to the channel, the Augeran ship had halted. Was it ensnared in the creature's web, or had it simply abandoned the pursuit? A scraping noise reached Galantas, like claws on wood.

Then the vessel began to sink.

Cries sounded from the deck. A wave of water-magic burgeoned beneath the hull as the vessel sought to retreat, but it was going nowhere.

In the sea below, shadows gathered.

*   *   *

Karmel followed Caval along the path through the long brown grasses in the boneyard. Ahead was a knot of trees, and sitting with his back to one of them was Mokinda. He didn't look up as they approached. Behind, Karmel heard screams as the stone-skins continued their attack on Bezzle. The boneyard, situated on a rise at the northern edge of the city, offered views of the fighting, but the priestess had no interest in watching. As Caval halted alongside Mokinda, she set her back to the action and waited for the Erin Elalese to catch up. Her hands trembled with the memory of what she'd done to the man in the alley. Had she killed him? She saw again his cheek gaping open.
He deserved it
, she told herself. As if saying it made it so.

Noon was the first of the Erin Elalese to reach the boneyard. His eyes had a haunted cast to them, and his face and forearms were covered by so many insect bites he might have fallen asleep on an anthill. It was Amerel, though, on whom Karmel focused her attention. She too had insect bites on her face. At the house, the first thing Karmel had noticed about her was her white hair, yet now it was the woman's eyes that stood out. Their whites were crisscrossed by tiny blackened blood vessels, making them look like orbs of shattered glass. There was no more life in them than there was in the graves all about.

In Olaire, Senar Sol had been reluctant to talk about his fellow Guardian. That reticence had told Karmel more than his eventual cursory description of the woman. His warning about her Will-persuasion had stayed with the priestess, though.
Be sure of your purpose,
he had said.
Else she will twist you round and round until you can't remember which way you started facing.

It was Caval who broke the silence. “Senar Sol sends his regards,” he said.

Karmel almost smiled in spite of herself. An astute opening, that, since it told Amerel the Chameleons knew not just who she was, but also what she was capable of. And that they'd be ready if she tried to use her power on them.

If the woman was caught off balance, she gave no sign. “I'd say some introductions are overdue.”

As are some thanks,
Karmel almost said, but she held her tongue.

“Ah, I am Caval, and this is Karmel. The one who doesn't speak is Mokinda.”

“You are Chameleons,” Amerel said, looking from Caval to Karmel.

Caval nodded.

She swung her gaze to Mokinda. “But not you, I think.”

The Storm Lord did not reply, but perhaps he didn't need to. There was something in Amerel's half smile that suggested she already knew who he was.

She looked back at Caval. “You mentioned Senar Sol.”

Caval nodded a second time.

“I thought he was dead.” There was nothing in her tone to indicate whether she was pleased or disappointed to discover otherwise.

“If so, he looked remarkably well for it. He works for Mazana Creed now.”

“As do you, I take it.”

“In this endeavor, yes.”

“And what is ‘this endeavor'?”

Caval looked at Mokinda. Evidently he was wondering whether the Storm Lord would take up the narrative, but the Untarian seemed happy to let Caval do the talking. Who better to lead the blind than the blind, after all?

Noon spoke. “How do you know us?” he said, scratching at a bite on his hand. “How did you know we were here?”

The questions were coming so fast this was beginning to feel to Karmel like an interrogation. “You have heard of the emira's shaman, Jambar Simanis?” she said.

Amerel inclined her head.

“Then you will know his reputation as a seer. He predicted you might need some help.”

“And you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

The words were spoken casually, yet there was a weight to the Guardian's gaze that told Karmel she was on dangerous ground. But then the priestess suspected there was no such thing as safe ground within a stone's throw of this woman. “If you're wondering what else Jambar told us, no, we don't know why you're in Bezzle, or what you were doing back at the house. Nor do we care.”

It was said with such feeling that it drew a raised eyebrow from Amerel. The Guardian drummed her fingers on the gravestone she sat on. A glance at Mokinda suggested she thought the Storm Lord might know more than the Chameleons did, and perhaps that was true. But it wasn't Karmel's concern, and so when Amerel looked back at her, she met the woman's gaze evenly.

The Guardian said, “Senar Sol told Mazana Creed about the history between Erin Elal and the stone-skins?”

“Yes.”

“And because of this, the emira thinks we should work together? Or perhaps she seeks a favor in return for your help earlier?”

Caval said, “You are quick to discount her charitable nature.”

Amerel's smile did not reach her eyes.

“Actually,” Caval added, “Mazana believes you'd want to help us even if you weren't in our debt.”

“Because you're planning a strike against the stone-skins? In revenge for Dragon Day?”

She was fishing for information, Karmel realized: about what Jambar had foreseen of the Augerans' next movements, and whether this was a revenge strike in truth, or a preemptive move against a further attack by the stone-skins on the Sabian League. Since Karmel did not know, she kept her silence.

“What is your target?”

“The stone-skin fleet,” the priestess said.

“The stone-skin fleet,” Amerel repeated. “What, all of it?”

“Yes.”

The Guardian laughed. “And you need our help to destroy it? Why? There are three of you already.”

“Our reaction was much the same when Mazana told us her plan.”

Amerel tried to appear amused by this talk, but her fingers had ceased their tapping. “I'm listening.”

A gust of wind set the grasses in the boneyard rustling. Far behind Karmel, a sorcerous explosion sounded, and she saw flames reflected in Amerel's eyes. She noticed a spot of blood on the back of her thumb—the man's blood. With a shudder, she uncapped her water bottle then used the water to wash her hands. “Are you familiar with the use of dragon blood to lure the dragons to Dian on Dragon Day?” she asked.

“It draws them like sharks.”

Karmel nodded. “The blood of the creature killed in one Hunt is used to draw the dragons for the next. Except this year it wasn't one dragon killed, it was a dozen. A
dozen.
All that blood meant Mazana Creed was able to do some experimenting. When the gate was finally lowered on Dragon Day, many dragons were trapped in the Sabian Sea. The emira has been finding out how much blood it takes to attract them, and apparently the smallest drop is enough to draw them across the length and breadth of the Sabian Sea.”

Another explosion sounded, closer this time, but Amerel didn't take her gaze from Karmel. “Go on.”

“The rest I'm sure you've already guessed. Mazana has given us a flask of dragon blood, together with some blowpipes and darts. The plan is to reach the harbor undetected, then tip the darts with blood and use them to mark the Augeran ships.”

Karmel wasn't sure how she'd been expecting the Erin Elalese to respond. With incredulity perhaps, maybe even excitement. Instead Noon grimaced as if he'd already had the idea himself and rejected it. Amerel's expression remained impassive. “The emira plans to release the dragons from the Sabian Sea?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then she's relying on the dragons that have returned to the Southern Wastes. How can she be sure a mere drop of blood will lure them over such a distance?”

“She isn't. But if we do our job right, there'll be more than just one drop. Every ship we mark will make the lure stronger.”

Noon snorted. “You'll be lucky to get close enough to mark even one. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a battle going on down there.”

Caval said, “Ah, a battle needs two sides to fight it. This is a massacre. It'll be over before nightfall.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But even if you're right, the city will still be crawling with stone-skins.”

“Just as well, then, that Mazana Creed chose Chameleons for the job.”

“You ever tried picking your way through a city at war? Stone-skins will be on the lookout for Rubyholt stragglers. Only takes one to spot you, and the game's up.”

“You have a better idea, of course.”

Noon looked at Amerel, then said, “Why not use crossbows to hit the stone-skin ships? We can fire them from a safer distance than blowpipes.”

Karmel shook her head. “Mazana chose blowpipes for a reason. If the blood is to attract the dragons it has to come into contact with the sea. That means hitting the hulls just above the waterline so the waves wash over the darts. The only way you'll get that kind of accuracy is from close in.”

Noon made to speak again, but Amerel gestured him quiet. “Why doesn't Mokinda swim round and mark the ships?”

Meaning she
had
recognized the Storm Lord? “Because the stone-skins are patrolling the entrance to the port. One of their water-mages would sense him coming.”

“Then just pour the blood in the harbor. The Augeran ships are sure to get a dousing as the water circulates.”

Not to mention the Rubyholt ships, too. “It may come to that,” Karmel said. “But only if plan A fails. With so much blood in the harbor, the dragons would be drawn to Bezzle even if the stone-skins moved on.”

“And you're expecting them to?”

There she went again, probing for information. Wouldn't Karmel have done the same in her position, though? What harm was there in telling what she knew? Except the priestess knew only what Mazana had told her, and that was nothing more than she'd already revealed.

Amerel's voice had a strangely soothing tone to it. “What is our role in all this?” she asked, indicating herself and Noon.

“Senar Sol said you can … spirit-walk?”

The Guardian nodded.

“Then your task is to pick a path for us to the harbor through the Augeran patrols. And watch our backs while we use the blowpipes on the stone-skin ships.”

“Watch your backs,” Amerel echoed.
Because you couldn't have found anyone in the Storm Isles to do that,
her look seemed to say. With the Chameleons able to make themselves invisible, she probably thought she was there to take the fall if trouble came calling. “How many Augeran ships are we dealing with?”

“More than ten, less than twenty.”

“Then it's going to take more than one night to hit them.”

“Agreed. We can decide after the first round whether it's safer to return here or bed down near the harbor.”

“We start tonight?”

Caval said, “Unless you've got something else planned. The longer we stay in Bezzle, the greater the chance we'll be found.”

Amerel's look was appraising.
And the greater the chance the stone-skins might leave,
she was no doubt thinking, and perhaps she was right too. But then wouldn't Mazana have warned the Chameleons of the urgency? Karmel shrugged the thought aside. What did she care? She just wanted to get on with things. To hell with the risks. At least while she was thinking about staying alive, she couldn't also be brooding on the events of Dragon Day, or on what had happened in the alley earlier.

Nightfall, she decided, could not come soon enough.

*   *   *

Romany watched Mazana run lazy circles around the two Gilgamarian councilors. And that was no mean feat, considering the size of them. The first, Wirral Dray, was the fat man who'd met them outside the Alcazar. He was also the new first speaker of the Ruling Council, now that Mazana had broken the news of Rethell Webb's demise. His deputy, Pettiman Teel, was only marginally less rotund.