Red Tide (56 page)

“We don't have much time,” Galantas said, “so I'll keep this short.” Unless it proved hard to sway them, of course, in which case he'd speak for as long as was necessary. “Yesterday, before the stone-skins came, I captured three Storm Isle agents in Bezzle. They were carrying a flask of dragon blood, which they'd been ordered to use to mark some ships in the harbor. When I asked who their target was, they said the Augerans. That might be true, though it does leave open the question of how they knew the stone-skins would be arriving when they did.”

Blist opened his mouth to speak, but Galantas raised his hand to forestall him. “Later,” he said. Then, “After the attack on Bezzle, I had the idea of using the blood against the stone-skins in the same way the Storm Islanders had intended to. But the priority was to get our ships back, and then the Augerans pulled out after they fired the city. Opportunity missed, you might think. No way now to mark the enemy's ships.” He paused. “Except there is another way. That is why I ran the Liar's Crossing earlier—so I could reach the end of the Gullet before the stone-skins did. So I could pour dragon blood into the waters their ships were about to sail through.”

He waited a heartbeat to let the implications of his words sink in, then nodded and said, “Right now the Augerans are sailing north in ships marked with dragon blood. And in a few bells' time, the Storm Islanders will raise the Dragon Gate to release the dragons that were trapped behind it on Dragon Day.” He smiled. “Anyone else curious to see what happens when the stone-skins meet the dragons?”

A hint of a smile showed on Cleo's face, but the two Needle krels remained impassive, waiting for him to show the rest of his hand.

“Unfortunately there's a problem,” he said. “Judging by the course the Augerans have set, you can guess their destination as well as I.”

“Gilgamar,” Tub said.

“Gilgamar,” Galantas agreed. “Which means there's a chance they might reach the city and be tucked up safe behind the harbor's chains before the dragons catch up to them.” He sipped his brandy. “But not if we can slow them down on their passage north.”

Cleo's smile beat a hasty retreat to leave his expression as pained as the other two krels'. Galantas spoke quickly to head off the inevitable outburst. “Let's be clear,” he said. “I'm not talking about fighting them. We are seven ships to their twenty, with barely enough men to keep them on the water. But the Augerans won't know that. They'll see us on the horizon and think we're a threat. They'll try to engage us, but we won't oblige them. If they turn, so do we. If they head north again, so do we.” He put his fist on the table and leaned forward. “We'll sail rings round those whoresons until they count it a blessing when the dragons show up.”

Approving murmurs from his own Spears. Tub nodded along like he'd written the speech himself. The mood in the cabin had thawed a fraction, but Galantas still had work to do.

“Now, I won't lie to you,” he lied. “This isn't how I thought it would go. If the stone-skins hadn't left Bezzle so soon, I'd be at the Hub now discussing this with the other clan leaders.” He looked at the two Needles. “And if Malek had been at Clinker's Bay, we'd have had his ships with us on the journey north.” Because the Needle chief was sure to have gone along with Galantas's scheme. “But the fact is, Malek isn't here, and the stone-skins aren't going to wait for him to show. We have to play the hand we're dealt. The job of finishing this falls on us.

“I can live with that, though. I know you weren't picked for the raid on Bezzle by accident. You were chosen because you're the best. Tub, I heard about you capturing one of the stone-skins and throwing her to that creature in the harbor. And Cleo, I saw the parting gift you gave to the enemy when you set alight the sails of one of their ships with some of your own flaming arrows.” The two men shifted in their chairs, apparently uncomfortable with his flattery. But liking it at the same time, he saw. “Seven ships we may be, but I say that's more than enough to put the stone-skins in their place. And do you know why? Because there's no one else out there who can match our seamanship. Ask the Erin Elalese. Ask the Storm Islanders. Now it's the Augerans' turn to learn that the hard way.”

All empty words, obviously. Once the Rubyholters left the Outer Rim, they would give up home advantage. On the open seas, seamanship counted for little compared with the strength of a ship's water-mage, and at Bezzle the stone-skins had proved they held the upper hand on that score. In Barnick, though, Galantas had one of the few Rubyholt sorcerers who could go toe-to-toe with the enemy. And Galantas was willing to sacrifice his other ships if it meant taking down the Augeran armada.

“Now, I know what you're thinking,” he said. “You're thinking we've done our bit. You're thinking the stone-skins are probably already doomed, thanks to the dragon blood on their hulls. And you may be right. But this isn't the time for half measures.” His voice was grave. “We all lost friends in Bezzle. I can only hope Malek's failure to show at Clinker's Bay doesn't mean we've got another clan leader to avenge.” Tub's and Blist's expressions made it clear they'd already considered that possibility. “If I had my way, the raid on Bezzle would mark not the end of the tribes working together but the beginning. And I sure as hell don't want to be the one who has to return home and explain how I let the Augerans escape because I wasn't prepared to see this through.”

No mistaking the bitter note of threat in that one. Now it was time to sweeten the brew.

“But let's not pretend it's all bad news, eh? I'm sure you haven't forgotten the twenty thousand talents the stone-skins gave to my father and then took back.” They probably
had,
actually, but the reminder now had their eyes shining like the coin Eremo had tossed to Dresk in the Great Hall. “I'm guessing that money went north with the Augerans. I'm guessing it's onboard their flagship. Who knows, if we see where that ship goes down, we might be able to send our mages back to recover the loot. Twenty thousand talents. Split seven ways, that makes each of us”—he looked up at the ceiling and muttered some numbers as if he were doing the sums—“a shitload of money.”

Grins all round. Even Blist mustered a half smile, but then gold had a way of lightening even the blackest mood.

Galantas took a final sip of brandy, then set down his glass. He had the krels now, no point saying anything further if it risked breaking his spell. “Any questions?” he asked, rising.

The other krels rose with him. Tub's jaw had a determined set to it.

“Then let's get to work.”

*   *   *

Standing in the gloom outside the Mercerien embassy, Ebon peered both ways along the street. The paving stones here were clean and free of cracks, the railings so bright they might have been buffed with the family silver. At this early hour—just before the seventh bell—the only person abroad was a man walking a Shamanon toy dog. Now was the time for Ebon to make his move, before the streets filled with witnesses and the embassy came to life. A lone figure moved in the darkness beyond the building's ground-floor windows.

The dog walker moved away.

Ebon nodded to Vale along the road, then approached the embassy's door and knocked. After a dozen heartbeats, he heard the grind of a key in the lock, the snap of a bolt being thrown back. The door opened to reveal a woman. Her rosy cheeks gave her a matronly look, though she could only have been a few years Ebon's senior. He looked past her, trying to take in what he could of the atrium beyond. Glistening white floor tiles, a double staircase, a crystal chandelier. And no people.

“Can I help you?” the woman said, her tone at once courteous and dismissive.

Ebon summoned up a smile. “My name's Tanner,” he said, doing his best to hide his Galitian accent. He pretended to wait on her recognition. “I'm a physician. I understand you are expecting me.”

The woman looked him up and down, no doubt wondering where he'd hidden his bag of medicines and instruments.

Ebon cleared his throat. This had seemed like a good idea when he'd dreamed it up earlier, but he was swiftly reconsidering. “I received a message from my associate,” Ebon continued. “Something about a man hurt on Dragon Day.”

The woman's look turned wary. “He's not here anymore. He left yesterday. I don't know where he was taken.”

Taken?
As in under guard? Or in a casket? “Is he dead?” Ebon asked, trying to sound offhand.

She shook her head no, but her look said more “I don't think so.”

“But his condition had deteriorated since he arrived here?” Ebon pressed, conscious that every question took him further out of character.

A shrug. The woman looked over her shoulder as if seeking support from someone behind. The atrium, though, remained empty.

This was Ebon's chance to pounce, while her back was turned. Instinctively his hand started forward to seize her arm. If he dragged her out under threat of violence, no one would see what happened. But could he be certain she knew more than she was saying? Once he grabbed her, there would be no going back. And if he did abduct her, was he prepared to do what he had to to make her talk? Where could he take her to question her? What would he do with her afterward? Because if he released her then—and how could he not?—she would reveal to Ocarn that he was in the Upper City.

He pulled his hand back an instant before the woman turned to face him again. “My summons came from Prince Ocarn Dasuki himself,” he said. “Is he here now?”

The woman shook her head.

“But he's due back soon?”

A nod this time. She appeared to have lost the power of speech.

“I'd rather not have to speak to him directly to clear this up. If you can tell me anything, anything at all, that would help me track down my patient, I would be much obliged.”

The woman didn't even consider it. “I can't help you,” she said. “Come back later, maybe there'll be someone here who can.”

And with that, she closed the door in his face.

Ebon stared at the grain of the wood. He felt dizzy. A bell ago he'd thought he was in sight of his destination; now it seemed he was no closer than he had been this time yesterday. A flush rose to his cheeks, and that made him think of the woman who'd shut the door on him. Who he'd
let
shut the door. He wanted to knock again, but suddenly Vale was alongside him, taking him by the arm and leading him away down the street.

Ebon shook him off as they passed a fountain.

“What did she say?” the Endorian asked.

Ebon told him. Hearing it all again, it seemed so obvious the woman knew more than she had let on. Her reaction when he first mentioned Rendale had been telling, as if she'd been warned not to answer any questions. He swore.

They took a right turn. In the distance the masts of the ships in the port were visible over the harbor wall.

“So what the hell are we supposed to do now?” Ebon said. “We know Rendale was here, but not where he was moved, or why.” He didn't give Vale a chance to respond. “I'm done with treading softly. If Rendale's condition has deteriorated, every bell could count. Then there's Mottle's warning about that coming ‘storm.'”

“I see no clouds,” Vale said.

He had a point. In the time since they'd arrived in Gilgamar, there had been no sniff of conflict brewing. Who was this enemy more dread than the Vamilians? Gilgamar wasn't at war. And while Ebon had heard whispers of alien forces sabotaging the Hunt, was there
anyone
who hadn't had the finger pointed at them for what happened on Dragon Day? If he looked hard enough, he'd probably find someone blaming him for the attack on the Dianese citadel.

They turned right again.

Ebon said, “The only way to be sure of getting answers is to speak to Ocarn himself.”

“Then we snatch him first chance we get. The woman said he was due back soon, so we wait for him to come and leave again, then grab him when he goes.”

“I'm not waiting that long.”

“You want to send him a false message when he gets here? Try to lure him out?”

“I want to pick him up before he reaches the embassy. Can it be done?”

“We don't know which way he'll be coming—”

“Can it be done?”

Vale considered. “Maybe. If we do it right.”

“Then let's do it right!” Ebon snapped. The Watcher knew, they'd be getting no second chance at this. If Ocarn learned they were in the Upper City, he would set men to hunting them, maybe move Rendale and Lamella beyond Ebon's reach.

Their path had brought them in a circle back to the embassy. Ebon could see it up ahead on the right. Farther along the street, walking away from them, was a man in a red cloak flanked by two Gilgamarian soldiers. At this distance, the stranger's skin resembled granite. He was gone before Ebon could get a better look.

He halted.

Vale stopped alongside. “You stay here,” he said, “keep an eye on who comes and goes. I'll have a look around and see if I can find somewhere we can take Ocarn when we grab him. With luck, I'll be back before he shows his face.”

“Make it somewhere quiet, Vale. I suspect he'll need a lot of persuading to tell us what he knows.”

“He'll talk.”

Ebon nodded. He didn't need his friend's reassurance in that regard. Ocarn would tell them what he knew, even if Ebon had to put his hand down the man's throat and drag the words out.

He watched the timeshifter move away along the street and duck into an alley.

Then he felt cold metal touch his neck.

“Easy now,” said a voice in his ear. “Nice and easy.”

*   *   *

Senar frowned as the door to Mazana's quarters swung inward and a female Gilgamarian servant stepped inside. A short time ago, the same woman had come to advise them that an Augeran emissary sought an audience. Senar had urged the emira not to receive him without the emperor here, but she'd laughed and said there was no need for Avallon to be present when he had Senar to report on what took place. The Guardian wouldn't limit his role to one of observer, though. He had no choice but to be the emperor's voice at this meeting and to try his best to disrupt proceedings.