Red Tide (48 page)

Twenty paces behind the Raptors came yet more Islanders—Squalls, at a guess. They emerged at a gallop from a pool of shadow. Anyone running that fast had to be fleeing something, and sure enough, a stone-skin in a red cloak appeared from the gloom behind them. Galantas blinked.
One man?
One man had put an entire party of Squalls to flight?

Reaching the quay where the
Fury
was tied, Galantas dashed toward the ship. With each step, the stink of blayfire grew fiercer until his eyes started to water. No question the devilship had been one of the vessels stained with oil, but there was no time to look for another. Some of his men had already climbed on board and lowered the gangplank. As Galantas clattered across it, he heard a high-pitched keening coming from the demon figurehead, no doubt roused to life by the prospect of bloodshed.

“Cast off!” Galantas called.

He stepped onto the main deck. There were a dozen little differences between the
Fury
and Galantas's beloved
Eternal
: the overloud creaking of the rigging; the exaggerated pitch of the deck; the fact it took him twelve steps instead of the usual fifteen to reach the ladder to the quarterdeck. Climbing it, he found Barnick waiting beside the ship's wheel. The mage shot him an inquisitive glance.

Against his better judgment, Galantas said, “No. Wait until everyone is on board.”

The Raptors crossed the gangplank. On the waterfront behind, what had started as an orderly retreat by the Needles had turned into a stampede. The last of their number reached the quay just ahead of the first of the Squalls. Jogging at the rear of the Squall party, Galantas recognized the krel, Klipp. One of the best blades in the Isles, it was said, if only by Klipp himself. Intent on covering the retreat of his kinsmen, he drew his sword and turned to confront the red-cloaked stone-skin behind. It must have been a trick of the light, but when the krel swung his weapon, it seemed to pass through his opponent. The Augeran brought his own blade flashing across Klipp's throat, and the Squall fell in a spray of blood.

The stone-skin hadn't so much as broken stride.

“Crossbows!” Galantas shouted.

Three of his men rushed to the rail and leveled their weapons. The first bolt flashed past the Augeran's face, but he did not falter. As he entered the light from one of the lanterns, Galantas noticed golden tattoos on his cheeks like the ones Eremo's bodyguard had sported. Another bolt missed him, then another.

Hells, wasn't there anyone on this ship who could shoot straight?

On the quay the first Squalls had reached the gangplank. Behind, two women supported a male companion between them. He was limping. His two female friends looked back to see the Augeran closing—and promptly abandoned their kinsman to his fate. As they dashed for the
Fury,
the man gave a despairing cry and hobbled after them.

The stone-skin's sword punched through his back.

The women leapt to the deck.

“Go!” Galantas said to Barnick.

The ship sprang away from the docks. For the first time that night, Galantas found himself glad he was aboard the
Fury
and not the
Eternal,
for his own vessel, with its skin of steel plates, would not have proved as spritely at that moment. The Augeran warrior tensed. Galantas thought he meant to chase the ship along the quay and jump for one of its lines.
No, he wouldn't dare.
Galantas's crew, supplemented by the Needles and Squalls, now numbered around twenty, and the idea of the stone-skin attacking against those odds seemed … absurd. The Augeran must have thought likewise, for he spun and retreated the way he'd come. Jeers from the
Fury
's main deck followed him along the quay.

The ship flitted out into the harbor. Galantas scanned the waterfront. There was fighting to the north and south, and every knot of combatants likely represented a ship that would not sail. The
Spirit
pulled away from its berth, but the
Breeze
was still tied up at the quay along with the
Swarm
and—

Someone stepped in front of Galantas, breaking his line of sight. One of the Raptors. The man's once-flamboyant mustache drooped in the heat. “I am taking command of this ship,” he said. Then, louder, to carry to the crew, “The
Fury
is mine.”

Galantas stared at him.

“She belongs to Kalag,” Mustache added.

Galantas looked from the man to his Raptor companion. “He must want her very badly indeed if he sent
both
of you two heroes to claim her.”

Laughs from the main deck, but Mustache held his ground. “The
Fury
is mine,” he said again.

“If you want her, you'll have to take her from me. Draw your sword.”

“My sword?”

“You know, the piece of metal in the scabbard at your waist.”

More laughs.

“Why?” Mustache said.

“Because I want to see if you
can
draw it. The Sender knows, you made no effort to, back on the waterfront. Instead you just stood by and watched while your kinsmen here”—his gesture took in the Needles and the Squalls as well as his own Spears—“did all the work. And now you have the nerve to try to
steal
the ship from us.” Because stealing was such a terrible thing.

The Raptor scowled but said nothing.

“What's your name?” Galantas said, beginning to enjoy himself.

“Toben Stark.”

Galantas had heard of him—he was the krel who had won the Hundred Islands race the year before Galantas. “Never heard of you.”

Toben looked round like there might be some way to extract himself from his predicament. Galantas, though, wasn't ready to put him out of his misery.

“Are you a water-mage?” he asked.

“No.”

“What about your friend here?” He nodded to the other Raptor.

Toben shook his head.

“So tell me, if I had ceded you the command, how would you have gotten your new ship to safety? I trust you weren't intending to give an order to my water-mage. Or to one of the Squalls or Needles.”

No response.

Galantas dismissed him with a snort. And to think that earlier he'd considered disposing of the Raptors when he had the chance. Much better to let them live for their entertainment value. He addressed his crew. “Someone find these fools a mop and get them swabbing the blayfire from the deck.”

With that, he turned his back on Toben.

As the ship sailed into the black of the harbor, the screams and the clatter of blades fell away. Even the moaning of the
Fury
's demon figurehead abated as the immediate threat of bloodshed receded. Gliding ahead of the
Fury
were a handful of Rubyholt ships. The white-hulled
Colossus
was there, along with the
Spirit,
and the black-sailed
Karmight,
and a few other vessels Galantas didn't recognize. He did a quick count. Nine in total, if you included the
Fury
. A poor return on tonight's efforts, but he would worry about that when he was clear of this place.

Thus far he'd been too busy to look for Malek and his ships, but now he peered into the darkness ahead. Rising from the distant waves were the islets that marked the edge of the harbor. Beyond, four stone-skin vessels with lanterns in their rigging were lined up like floating fortresses. Farther out was a row of seven Rubyholt ships, little more than shadows in the gloom. Between the two fleets, a heaving mass of water cut and foamed like a storm-tossed sea. A hissing sound reached Galantas, together with a growl and a thunder as if some titan were stirring in the depths.

“What's happening?” Galantas said to Barnick.

“They're battling for control of the seas—our mages and theirs.”

“Who's winning?”

“No one.”

Galantas wasn't so sure. For while Malek's ships swayed at the edge of the swell, the stone-skin ships sat perfectly still. In any case, a stalemate suited the Augerans just fine if it meant they could keep Malek's vessels at arm's length. But they hadn't counted on Barnick and the other water-mages in Galantas's fleet. Surely nine more Rubyholt sorcerers would tip the balance in the Islanders' favor.

“Get some lanterns lit,” Galantas said to Qinta. “We need to signal our other ships.”

The Second nodded and moved away.

Those ships began to reduce speed as they approached the stone-skin line. At the front of Galantas's fleet, an unfamiliar vessel—a Needle, most likely—had heaved to. The
Colossus,
trailing close behind, was slow to follow suit, and the two ships came together with a bump and a scrape that provoked a healthy exchange of views between their captains. Galantas looked at the line of stone-skin warships. Ordinarily it would have been easy to run the blockade, for the Augerans could guard only the gaps between the islets, and any water-mage worth his bones could conjure up a wave large enough to carry a ship over the rocks. What was the point in doing so, though, if the sea beyond was caught in the throes of a sorcerous quarrel? What mage could steer a steady course on that swell?

A speck of blackness arced out from one of Malek's ships. A catapult stone. It hung in the air, growing in size, before it landed with a splash between two Augeran vessels. The stone-skins' response was instantaneous. A blast of sorcery from the ship on the left cut a gash in the sky as it streaked toward Malek's fleet. Galantas didn't hear it strike home, but he saw the mainmast of the central vessel cut in two. It toppled onto the decks below.

Stones against sorcery. No prizes for guessing who would win that battle.

Barnick's voice was urgent. “Galantas, look!” he said, pointing.

The Needle ship at the front of his fleet had started moving again toward the stone-skin blockade. Its captain had evidently chosen to try his luck on the seething cauldron of water, and as the vessel approached one of the islets, the wave beneath it grew higher.

“What's the fool doing?” Barnick said.

Galantas did not reply. What was there to say?

The Needle ship advanced to within a hundred armspans of the Augerans. Then dozens of pinpricks of light blossomed on the decks of a stone-skin ship. They took flight.
Fire arrows.
Galantas heard their whistle even over the rumble of water beyond the islets. It was too late for the Needle captain to turn about, or do anything save wait for the deadly hail to land. Had the man's ship been doused with blayfire oil? The fact his crew had started throwing themselves overboard wasn't an encouraging sign.

Ten, twenty, thirty missiles descended on the vessel, and its sails became spotted with light.

Then its quarterdeck went up in purple flames.

*   *   *

Amerel opened her eyes. After the freedom of her spirit-walk, her body felt as stiff as the boards she lay on. Flies crawled over her, and she twitched and waved a hand at them, then rolled to her feet, cursing. Damned flies were everywhere tonight. Like the whole city had gone rotten.

From the street outside came shouts and the clatter of metal. Amerel crossed to the window and looked down. A contest was taking place between four red-cloaked stone-skins and twice as many Rubyholters—if you could call it a contest. The Rubyholters seemed to be doing more screaming than fighting, moving so slowly in comparison to their foes they might have been pushing through water. Half a dozen heartbeats later, it was over. The last Islander tried to make a break for it, but if you were going to flee, it was best to do so before you were surrounded. The man was stabbed simultaneously from behind and in front, as if the stone-skins wielding the swords both wanted him for their score. At least he hadn't attempted to join Amerel in the house.

She moved back out of sight.

Down a street leading to the harbor, the Guardian glimpsed a melee of combatants on the waterfront. A group of Rubyholters was trying to fight along a quay to where a three-masted ship was docked, but they made only stuttering progress in the face of resistance from five stone-skins. And all the while, more Augerans were arriving to support their kinsmen. On the water beyond, a barque was alight, sooty flames roaring into the night. Shrieking figures hurled themselves from the deck into waters made choppy by a dozen writhing tentacles. Amerel almost felt sorry for the stricken Islanders. How to plot your course to Shroud's realm, by flame or fiend?

Below her, the four Augerans set off at a trot in the direction of the fighting.

Amerel considered. This part of the city was getting a little crowded for her liking. True, her immediate danger had passed, but already she could hear more shouts to the south. Coming this way? It was difficult to tell. That left her with a quandary. Stay put, or make a dash through the streets in search of somewhere quieter? Maybe the chances of anyone stumbling across her hiding place were slim, but while the excitement at this end of the harbor continued, she would always have one eye on what was happening to her body rather than concentrating on the mission.

Time to move on, she decided.

She descended the stairs two at a time and opened the back door a crack. The street beyond was still and silent.

She slipped out into the shadows.

Ahead the road narrowed, the houses to either side leaning in. The cobbles were smeared with blood, and dark lines ran down to an open sewer at the center. Shutters lay scattered where they'd been torn from the windows of houses. In breaking into one building, the Augerans had destroyed not just the door, but also its frame and the stonework to either side.

At the next intersection Amerel caught sight of the harbor to her right, saw another ship burning—or maybe the same one. Then she was into darkness again. From a side street on her left came scuttling noises, and as she passed it she noticed a boy crouched over a man's body, rifling through the corpse's clothes. Scavenging? At a time like this?
They start them young in Bezzle.
The child must have sensed Amerel's regard, for he looked up and stared at her with empty eyes.