Red Tide (78 page)

Amerel felt a grudging respect for the Rubyholters. It was a miracle any of them had survived the clash with the stone-skins. They had proved themselves surprisingly capable in repelling their stronger and more numerous foe, and while the devilship had played a role in firing their blood, that did not detract from the skill they had shown. Earlier she'd suggested to Galantas that his crew wouldn't have helped him if he attacked her. She knew better, though. Pirates they remained, but with what they had come through today, they had taken the first steps toward becoming … something more. Maybe they deserved better than what fate intended for them. But this was war, and war cared no more for right and wrong than Amerel did.

She looked east. At the entrance to the Neck, a dragon clambered onto a stone-skin ship as if it were trying to escape something in the water. The vessel began to tip, the masts swinging down until they hit the water with a slap of canvas. Screams sounded, cries for help, the joyous trumpeting of the dragon. The other Augeran ships had scattered, no two of them heading in the same direction. One was on a course that would bring it close to the
Fury.
Galantas must have seen it too, for he gave the order to set sail.

The
Fury
rose on a wave of water-magic and set off west.

No more delays. Amerel had put this off long enough already.

She focused her Will on the remaining sorcerous globe, now hovering over the devilship's quarterdeck.

And shattered it.

She opened her corporeal eyes in time to see a blinding white flash. It was followed by a crack like a mountain breaking on an anvil. A ring of fire bloomed outward. The
Fury
's sails burned in sheets of flame before collapsing into ash. The decks, too, were alight, and the boards that had been soaked in blayfire oil burned fiercest of all, sending plumes of purple-gray smoke into the sky. Even on the beach Amerel could feel the hunger of the flames. A furnace-wind swept up the shore with a roar like some creature from the Abyss. It stung her eyes and knocked her back a step.

The urge to look away was strong, but she forced herself to witness the destruction. Cries sounded from the
Fury
's decks. The lucky ones among the crew would have died instantly, but a handful of unfortunate souls cavorted about like living firebrands before hurling themselves into the sea. No relief to be found there, though. The waves round the devilship hissed and steamed like a pot on the boil. The swimmers sank beneath the surface and did not reappear.

“You had no choice.” Noon said from beside Amerel. Like he thought she might need reassuring.

She didn't. Galantas dead was the only way to be sure her involvement in the assassination of Eremo remained secret—to be
sure
Augera remained the Isles' enemy and not Erin Elal. It had to be done; no sense fussing over it. She remembered the time eleven years ago in Helin, at the dawn of the Confederacy, when she'd received her first orders to kill in cold blood. Her target then had been a Helinian councilor. A good man. A man of principle who had argued against joining the Confederacy because he had feared—reasonably—that his city would become Avallon's plaything. A young and inexperienced Amerel had failed to sway him in three days of talks, even with her Will. Yet still when the order to kill him came, she had sat up through the night, reading and rereading the Guardian Council's dispatch like the words might have changed since she last looked. And for what? The task hadn't needed doing any less the next morning.

Erin Elal had been safer for the councilor's death, she'd told herself afterward. It was either him or who knew how many of her kinsmen. There comes a time, though, when the excuses run out. When the weight of your actions defies justification. After the Helinian councilor had come that guild master in Mezan. Then the Kalanese pasha and his household. Each one a small step, perhaps, but if you took enough of those steps, you were apt to look back one day and wonder how you'd come so far in the wrong direction. Sometimes your steps took you to a place beyond any hope of returning. Sometimes you lost your way entirely.

The
Fury
's mizzen yard crashed to the deck, shattering the starboard rail and throwing up sparks. A blood-dream bubbled up in Amerel's head, but she forced it down. She felt Noon's gaze on her and looked across.

“You look terrible,” he said.

“Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

A wave broke against her sandaled feet. She bent down to scoop up some water, then splashed it on her face. When she rose again, Noon was still watching her.

“Ever think we'd make it this far?” he asked.

“Sure. Right from the moment we stepped off Barnick's boat just now.”

“Gotta hand it to you, you get the job done. Not how I'd have done it, maybe, but that hardly matters.” He extended a hand. “It's been”—he paused—“an interesting experience working with you, Amerel.”

She blinked. Had he just used her name? She looked at his hand, then at him. “Let's not get carried away.”

Noon gave a half smile and lowered his hand. “Where next? Gilgamar?”

“Gilgamar,” Amerel confirmed. It would be a long walk to the city, but at least they wouldn't be meeting any dragons on the road. Maybe when she got there, she would find out why the stone-skins had come this way, but she couldn't pretend she cared. She just wanted to get back to Erin Elal, and Lyssa. Admittedly there wouldn't be many captains willing to risk the Ribbon Sea while the dragons were about, but Amerel reckoned she might be able to persuade one.…

Lyssa.
It was a strange feeling having someone to return home to after a mission. Strange, but not altogether unpleasant.

She turned to climb the beach.

“You know,” Noon said as he followed, “I've been thinking about those globes of sorcery. Any idea where they come from? Or how many more the emperor's got?”

“No.”

“With enough of them things, you could destroy a stone-skin fleet. Destroy
every
stone-skin fleet. If you surprised them in their home harbor, maybe. Or if you knew where they were going to land.”

As if things would be that easy. “You'd still need a Guardian to set them off at a distance. And what are the chances of the emperor entrusting a Guardian with that many globes?”

“Or of finding a Breaker and a Guardian willing to spend enough time in each other's company to get the job done?”

Amerel considered for a moment, then nodded. “We're doomed.”

*   *   *

Senar knocked at Kolloken's door and entered at the man's call.

The floor of the Breaker's room was crisscrossed with bloody footprints. Kolloken sat on a chair with his left leg stretched out on a low table. His trouser leg had been torn away to reveal a gash to his thigh. He cleaned the swollen skin around the cut with a wet cloth, his pinched lips the only indication of his pain.

The doors to the balcony were thrown open against the heat, and Senar looked outside. The Alcazar was afire with talk of dragons, but beyond the chains there was no sign of the beasts, just a stone-skin ship slumped at the entrance to the Neck, its sails hanging limp. In the harbor itself was a scattering of corpses. The bodies had drawn snakes from the canal, slithering atop the water like an oil slick. Boats moved among the dead as scavengers picked over the corpses.

“Still got Strike's sword, I see,” Kolloken said. “Emperor's gonna want that back.”

Senar glanced down at the blade in his scabbard. “Then he can come and get it himself.”

The Breaker finished cleaning his wound. He'd washed his face of the gore Senar had seen on him in the courtyard, but there were still smears of blood under his eyes and nose. His gaze on the Guardian was appraising. “I'll pass that on.”

“Who was that stone-skin I fought?” Senar asked. “
What
was he?”

“A Syn, most likely. They're mentioned a few times in the old texts. Augerans used them as assassins mainly, and who can blame them? Walk through a wall, stab your blade through your enemy's parry—there ain't many who can defend against that, eh?”

“Then we're fortunate he didn't think to target the emperor before the fighting started.”

“Who says he didn't?”

Senar studied him. “You drove him off? How?”

“Emperor got lucky, is all. When the shit came down, he was on his way to meet the emira, had plenty of men around him to keep the Syn from closing.”

Men with the Will, presumably. And well-versed in it too, to have survived the encounter. But it stood to reason
some
of the Breakers in Avallon's party would have a talent for the power. Senar closed the balcony doors. “I hear that the meeting with Mazana won't be happening now. I hear you're leaving as soon as the Gilgamarians drop the chains, even if that risks a confrontation with a dragon.”

Kolloken's gaze flickered to the doors, then back to the Guardian. “What can I say? Avallon's a sensitive soul. Doesn't want to intrude on the emira's grief.”

“Either that or he's already got what he came for.”

The Breaker said nothing.

Senar curled his lip in disgust. “Mazana was right, wasn't she? The emperor planned this all along. He let the stone-skins know he was coming so he could lure them into attacking Gilgamar.” It explained a lot of things—like Avallon's downbeat reaction to hearing Mazana had sent the Chameleons to Bezzle. The news should have come as a boost to the emperor … unless he had already told the Augerans he would be in Gilgamar, and thus drawn their fleet away from where the Chameleons were going.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Kolloken said. Then, “But if that
was
Avallon's plan, I'd say it worked out pretty well, wouldn't you? Imagine the picture a couple of weeks back when he finds out the stone-skins are planning to meet Dresk. The eastern seaboard's exposed. The hammer could fall at any time, and the emperor with no one to hold his hand when it does.” Kolloken swung his leg down from the chair. “I'd say them storm clouds are looking a good deal less threatening now, eh? Avallon sends Amerel to pay her respects to Dresk, then he drops in for a visit with his friends in the north”—he spread his hands to take in the Alcazar—“and suddenly the stone-skin fleet has gone to Shroud, with both the Rubyholters and the League helping to send it on its way. Not a bad week's work, all in all.”

“Is that why you killed Uriel?”

Senar had hoped to see shock or indignation in Kolloken's look, but the Breaker's expression showed nothing.

“When that otherworld fell away,” Senar added, “I didn't see you in the courtyard. Where did you go?”

Kolloken kept his silence.

“The blood on the wall in Uriel's room was fresh. And no one else on the upper floor was killed—I checked.”

A hint of a smile touched the Breaker's lips. “Sure looks like someone targeted the lad. Don't mean it was me, though.”

Senar felt the heat build in him. “You killed a boy.”

“Why don't you say it a bit louder, Guardian? I don't think they heard you outside.”

“You killed a boy!”

“He was already dead!” Kolloken spat. “They all are, even that red-haired bitch of yours—especially her.” He tossed aside the cloth he'd been using to clean his leg, then pushed himself to his feet with a grimace. Blood trickled down his injured thigh. “I heard what happened when she met Avallon yesterday. Emperor laid everything out before her, all nice and tidy. But the emira was too busy playing clever to listen. Then she goes and meets that stone-skin Hex, rubs our noses in it like this is some Shroud-cursed
game.
” The Breaker's voice was rising all the while. “Emperor gave her a chance, and she shoved it right up his ass. If anyone's to blame for what happened to Uriel, it's her.”

Senar clenched his hands into fists. “Why did you have to kill him? You'd already won when the stone-skins attacked the city. The League was never going to risk Gilgamar falling into enemy hands.”

“Ain't enough,” Kolloken said. “Not nearly enough. The emira could just have put her strength into Gilgamar, thinking she was safe so long as the city held. Can't see her sitting back now when the stone-skins come, eh?”

“Mazana's no fool. She may not have noticed you missing in the courtyard, but she's been suspicious of Avallon from the start. If it hasn't already occurred to her that he's behind Uriel's death, it will do soon.”

“Then it's lucky we got you here to convince her otherwise, ain't it? What, that pricks your conscience? You mean you ain't done worse in your time?” Kolloken shuffled closer. “What do you reckon'll happen if the emira gets it in her head that Avallon killed her brother? You don't think she'll come at us with all she's got? Who wins if she does that?”

Senar scowled, but there was no denying the force of the Breaker's logic. If Mazana turned on Avallon, the empire would fall. The Sabian League too, after. And for what? Would knowing the truth about Uriel's death ease the emira's grief? Would Senar himself feel better to see the injustice answered?

The injustice.
He shook his head. What had Kolloken said?
You mean you ain't done worse in your time?
Senar had, of course. More often than he would like to admit. You didn't serve as a Guardian for twenty years without getting some dirt under your fingernails. Senar had got good at burying the memories deep, but he still caught a whiff of them sometimes. And all done in the name of the same empire that Avallon was trying to protect now.
But I never hurt a child,
he told himself. Wasn't that more by accident than design, though? If he'd been in Kolloken's place, what would he have done? If the order to kill Uriel had come from the Guardian Council, would he have hesitated?