Scimitar War (21 page)

“How would they know you are aboard
Resolute
?” he asked suspiciously.

“Some of them can sense sea magic, Commodore. They may be able to feel me here, even though I’m not manipulating the wind or water. I don’t really know.”

“And you swear that you did not summon them here?”

“Summon them?” She would have laughed, but restrained herself. “Commodore, you must believe me; I do
not
control the mer. In fact, I’m not very happy with them right now. A rogue group of mer attacked me, stole my son and tried to blackmail me with his life.”

“And yet, here they are. Master Upton,” the commodore glanced sidelong at the man, whose own eyes never left Cynthia’s, “as the emperor’s master of security, has suggested certain precautions, and I concur.”

“Commodore,” Cynthia said with a wry smile, “we’re your prisoners. You’re free to take whatever precautions you wish, though I might remind you that Admiral Joslan promised that we be treated well.”

“You will be, Mistress Flaxal Brelak,” interrupted Master Upton. His tone was as smooth as a sea snake, and Cynthia didn’t doubt that he was just as deadly. “But I am assigning a round-the-clock watch.” He indicated the man with the crossbow.

“So if the mer attack, I’m to be killed, and you sort out the details later. That’s convenient.”

“No,” Upton said. “If anything untoward occurs with the wind, water
or
the mer, Captain Brelak will be killed. The emperor wishes to meet
you
, Mistress Flaxal Brelak, and my job is to ensure that his wishes are granted…safely.”

“Nice,” Feldrin said, glaring at the security man.

“Your agreement with the admiral was that you be treated well,” the commodore reminded them, “not that we be nice. It’s my job to see that
everyone
gets to Tsing.” He flicked a glance at Upton. “And if there are no indications of you using magic, then everyone
will
arrive safely.” He bowed shortly. “Good day.”

The commodore spun on his heel, and his men and Master Upton followed him out the door. Without a word, the man with the crossbow moved a three-legged stool into the corner opposite their cells and sat, the weapon not quite pointed at Feldrin’s chest.

“Well, now all we need is a deck of cards,” Feldrin quipped as he leaned back in his bunk.

Cynthia returned to her own bunk and sat. She sighed and closed her eyes, considering their situation. Her entire life, she had wished to become a seamage. Now she wondered if Odea’s blessing had instead become a curse.

Chapter 14

Tainted Blood

Huffington crept through the undergrowth behind the four native warriors, following the sound of drums. The natives moved like wraiths through the clinging vines and foot-catching roots; he envied them. It was a good thing the forward scouts had eliminated the sentries, for Huffington was out of his element. Give him a crowded market or a city street, and he was at home; here he had to work hard just to keep from tripping, stepping only where the natives stepped, touching only what they touched. But he could not—would not—fail his master.

They edged toward a glow of torchlight, and he got his first glimpse of the cannibals’ village. They were in the throes of their ceremony, their drums and chants drowning out the night sounds of the jungle and the approach of the native warriors. As he and his companions settled into position, Huffington peered into the foliage at the edge of the village, but the archers who had preceded them were invisible. The two native marksmen were armed with arrows coated with a cocktail of poisons Huffington had prepared himself. Their goal: fire the arrows into the chosen victim’s heart at the moment Camilla began to feed. Huffington had been dubious about their ability to hit a target the size of a man’s fist from fifty feet away, but they had shown him their prowess by shooting mangoes from a towering tree. And their heavy composite bows were powerful enough to kill a wild boar. The entire plan hinged on their success; if they missed, the demon would wreak havoc upon the attacking forces, and there was no way to call back Donnely’s marines, since they knew nothing of Camilla or the demon Hydra.

He and his escort settled in and waited for the signal. His team had one goal: save Camilla before the imperials reached her. Deeper in the jungle on the other side of the village from the hidden native force, the marines massed in their mail armor and heavy boots. Huffington hoped that their native guides were able to keep them quiet. Convincing Captain Donnely to wait until the battle was underway before attacking had seemed hopeless until the captain’s own marine commander backed the plan.

Huffington considered his task as he meticulously checked his weapons. They hoped that the poisons would weaken the demon, if not kill it outright. How the poisons might affect Camilla, no one knew. Huffington hated planning with so many unknowns. He worked with facts, trusting only those he had gathered himself. The only fact here that he was sure of was that his first concern was his master’s safety, not his happiness. He adjusted the firing mechanism under his sleeve, making sure that the poisoned dart was loose enough to fly easily. It was tipped with the most lethal poison in his bag, for if they had supposed wrong, and the demon wasn’t disabled by the poisoned arrows, then the woman his master loved would have to die.

≈

Emil Norris sucked in a sharp breath, and his heart leapt into his throat. Camilla…

“Father!” whispered Tim. Emil looked at his son’s soot-darkened face. “Relax! You’re fidgeting.”

Relax? How could he relax? They were about to attempt three simultaneous actions involving hundreds of warriors, each subsequent one hinging on the success of the previous. Donnely had forbidden Emil and Tim to accompany the troops, demanding that they stay with the boats, but Emil had predicted this, and arranged for Tawah and Keyloo to secretly guide them to a place where they could observe the action. They had also provided them with swords, just in case things went badly. Huffington had not been pleased, but there was no way Norris would stay behind when Camilla’s life was at risk. He tried to calm his nerves as he peered over the huge tree roots that sheltered them from unfriendly eyes.

Camilla stood at the center of the prostrate mob, a crimson pillar, radiating a horrible dark power. The cannibals cowered before her, their chants growing louder and faster with every pounding beat of the drums. As he watched, he recalled the words of her letter: “…the beast within me can feed and serve a noble, if not good, purpose.”

Revenge
, he realized.
Camilla is exacting revenge for their slaughter of the natives on Plume Isle
. Camilla had
seen
it happen, had cried in his arms when her sleep was disturbed by nightmares, had confessed the guilt of her helplessness. Well, she was helpless no more. Then she looked up, and for an instant, as those smoldering black eyes swept over his hiding place, Emil felt the chill of death’s hand on the back of his neck. Then her gaze passed, and he breathed a ragged sigh.

The chanting halted abruptly as Camilla raised one pale hand from her side to point, and called out. The voice, so like yet unlike Camilla’s, thrilled across every nerve in Emil’s body. Memories of her voice—passionate whispers and murmurs of love—clashed with the cold hunger that rang out across the clearing.

Hands reached out to grasp the chosen victim, but apparently this one surprised them. The sacrifice, a tall, broad-shouldered woman, stood and shouted out, extending her arms. Two well-muscled men took her wrists, but the woman strode forward without resistance. The crowd murmured, backed away and knelt again, and Norris thought he saw nods of approval among them. This woman chose to meet death with pride and courage, unlike the sacrifice Tipos had observed. The three taller natives stopped before the smaller, yet infinitely more dreadful figure of their crimson queen. Without urging, the woman knelt before Camilla and tilted her head so she looked up at the night sky, exposing her throat. The two men released her wrists and stepped back.

The drums, though silent, continued to pound in Emil’s mind as the woman he loved stepped forward. Camilla cradled the woman’s face tenderly between her hands and smiled. She bent forward, a caricature of his memories of her leaning toward him for a kiss.
It could have been me
, he thought, unable to tear his eyes away, though his blood ran cold. He knew when teeth met flesh by the spasm that wracked the sacrifice’s body.

Now!
Emil thought, and as if the hidden archers had heard his mental command, two arrows whistled through the night. Both dark shafts struck true, and Emil bit back a cry of triumph. The woman’s body jerked with the impacts, but the convulsions went unnoticed by the hungry demon.

Camilla continued to feed.

≈

“Captain Donnely, sir!” whispered the boat boy, as he descended from a towering tree. Though not a marine, the boy was lithe and light and climbed like a monkey, and Donnely had thought he might be useful as a lookout and messenger. Apparently, his hunch had paid off.

“What?” the captain whispered back. “Did you see something?”

“I…I could see a bit through the leaves.” The boy’s voice was troubled, and Donnely squinted at him. The boy’s face glowed pale in the dark. “I thought I saw the…the lady.”

“Lady Camilla! She’s alive?” Donnely asked incredulously. He’d never have believed it.

“She is, sir.” The boy swallowed hard. “I think she’s eating someone.”

≈

Huffington tensed, his eyes fixed on Camilla, so engrossed in her meal that she didn’t notice the arrows that stuck out of her victim’s back. Unfortunately, the cannibals were not so distracted. The shouts of alarm that rose from their throats changed to cries of pain and anger as a hundred arrows flew from the jungle. Many of the savages fell bristling with shafts, but before the archers could even draw for a second shot, the cannibals charged, trampling the bodies of their fallen kin to engage their assailants. The Vulture Isle warriors met the assault, and melee was joined with shouts and the clash of arms. Razor-edged steel and obsidian met flesh, and men and women died.

Huffington shifted to the balls of his feet. Finally, he saw Camilla shudder, then drop the corpse and straighten. For an instant, he glimpsed the demon—black-on-black eyes, and a horrible maw fringed with hooked teeth—and rocked back on his heels in shock. Then there was only Camilla again. She opened her mouth to speak, her lips smeared with blood, eyes wide in shock, and she clutched her abdomen.

Camilla fell to her knees, and from her bloodstained lips issued a scream that evoked visions of the Nine Hells in Huffington’s mind.

For a moment the battle ceased, all silent save for that horrific keen. All eyes turned toward Camilla as her cry peaked, then faded. The silence was split by the wail of a conch horn, the signal to the imperial force to attack the enemy’s flank…and for Huffington and his team to rescue Camilla.

Huffington broke from cover with his companions and sprinted toward the fallen woman. The plan called for the way to be clear, for the cannibals to be busy defending themselves from the two-pronged attack of Vulture Isle natives and imperials, but several foes had turned back at Camilla’s cry, and now stood between Huffington and his goal. He ran with a dagger in each hand, parrying, slashing and stabbing like a street fighter with every step. He saw one of his companions fall to his right, and another to his left. Then there was a break in the crowd, and a flash of red—Camilla. He was almost there.

Huffington ducked under a sweeping club and planted his shoulder in a stomach. As he slashed low and spun away, he could see Camilla on the ground just ahead. He ducked a wild swing and dashed toward her. There was a cry from behind him, then something heavy snapped his head forward. Everything went dark and he was falling.

≈

Dear Gods of Light
,
please save her!
Emil had stared, stricken, as Camilla fed, then at that inhuman scream. Now he watched, helpless, as she writhed in pain.

“Father!”

Tim’s shout snapped Emil’s attention from Camilla to where Huffington and his companions fought through the melee. Two of the warriors were injured, and the others fought wildly to keep from being overwhelmed. Suddenly Huffington ducked and dashed forward beyond the protection of his comrades, and an opponent whirled to strike him from behind. The spiked club sent Huffington sprawling forward, and he hit the ground, unmoving. One of his companions stepped forward to deflect the killing blow, then stood guard over the body.

Norris leapt from his hiding place, sword in hand, before he even thought about what he was doing. He heard metal sing free of a scabbard behind him, and knew Tim followed. He plunged recklessly into the melee, parrying and shoving past opponents rather than engaging them. The cannibals were fighting on two fronts against the chaotic native assault and the precise lines of imperial marines. In the chaos, a single man and boy did not draw much attention.

In moments, Emil was at Huffington’s side. The man’s head wound was bleeding freely, but he was already moving and groaning. His two companions lifted his arms to help him stand, but Huffington’s legs seemed disinclined to support his weight.

“Huffington! Are you all right?” Emil realized the stupidity of the question the moment it left his lips. Of course he wasn’t all right; he had a four-inch gash in his scalp, and his eyes were unfocused.

“Milord, I…” Huffington shook his head and blinked, but still looked groggy.

“Don’t move him,” Emil ordered the two native warriors, and received blank looks.
Blast!
he thought. He’d forgotten that most of the Vulture Isle natives spoke only their own language, a language of which he knew not one word.

“Tim!” he said. “Tell them not to move Huffington, and watch over him.” As Tim began delivering the message, Emil glanced around, a wild notion forming in his mind. He withdrew a kerchief from a pocket and pressed it to his secretary’s bleeding head wound. “Hold this, Huffington! Just rest here. Tim and I will go for Camilla. We’ve got to reach her before the imperials break through.”

“Milord, please…” Huffington said as he plucked at the count’s sleeve and struggled to prop himself up, but one of the native warriors gently pressed him back down.

“Father! Now!” Tim tugged at his arm, and Emil saw their opportunity. The cannibals had split, and the center of the village was open. Camilla lay alone.

They dashed forward, leaping over fallen bodies and discarded weapons. Camilla lay on her side, vomiting up gouts of blood. Her body twisted and quaked, writhing in agony, inhuman shrieks issuing from her mouth. Disregarding the gore, Emil knelt and lifted her by the shoulders. He brushed back her fiery hair, but the face he beheld was not Camilla’s. Eyes like orbs of obsidian, black and deadly, leered at him in hatred and hunger. Her mouth twisted with contempt, and she cursed him in a language no human would ever speak. Her hand grabbed his arm with inhuman strength, her nails piercing his shirt and the flesh beneath.

“Camilla!” he cried, shaking her shoulders. “Camilla, it’s Emil!”

“Emil?” Her features cleared, her eyes, fading to their normal blue, focused on him. “Emil! Go—!” Her words were lost as she convulsed and retched up another gout of dark blood.

“I’m here,” he said, holding her shoulders tightly and trying to ignore the pain in his arm. “You’re going to be okay.”

Camilla looked up again, her face a mask of grief, her eyes now cloudy. “Emil! They’ve poisoned me, just like they did before! You’ve got to help me, or I’ll die! You’ve got to give me blood!”

“Blood?” He gaped at her, and darkness flickered across her features.

“Careful, Father!” Tim warned from behind him. “I don’t think—”

“Blood!” the demon shrieked. In the span of a heartbeat, Camilla’s face, the face he loved, the mouth he longed to kiss, transformed.

Her eyes flooded black, and her lips stretched impossibly wide, revealing bristling rows of hooked black teeth. Her grip on his arm tightened, pulling him down, but he had a good grip and pushed against her shoulders. That horrible maw snapped at his throat, the teeth gnashing together, but he managed to hold her at bay. Just as he thought her grip was weakening, a horrible black tendril, like a forked tongue tipped with claws, snaked out of the maw and wrapped around his neck. The hooks bit into his skin and pulled him closer. The demon’s foul breath washed over him, the stench of rotting blood, and the grip strangled his cry of alarm. He fought to breathe, but his elbows began to buckle.