Scimitar War (7 page)

“Miss Cammy!” Paska reached forward to help her, but Camilla waved her back.

“Stay quiet and steer the boat!” she hissed. Camilla looked down. An arrow stood out from her side, just under her arm. Her vision swam as shock and pain washed over her.
I can’t faint
! she thought in a panic.
They’ll catch us and hang us
!

Bloodcurdling demonic laughter welled up in her mind. The pain vanished, and her head cleared. She reached down and jerked the arrow free, the stench of her own vile blood acrid in her nostrils as she cast the shaft overboard. She concentrated and
Flothrindel
surged forward again.

“How did you—”

“Quiet!” she hissed, glaring down at Tipos. The sudden desire to rip his throat out and feast on his blood surged up in her, but she beat it down. “They’re aiming by sound!”

Another bellow of “Fire all!” rang out, but they had misjudged
Flothrindel
’s speed, and all but one arrow splashed harmlessly in their wake. Camilla could hear sounds of pursuit, shouts and splashes as the warship’s longboats were launched, then the piercing three-note bleat of a horn. She cursed the sea until they flew forward at breakneck speed.

“I can’t see to steer!” Paska whispered urgently. “Dis bloody fog too t’ick!”

“You’re doing fine, Paska.” Camilla could feel the gap in the mangroves ahead through the water. “Just come to port a bit. We’ll be out of the fog in just a moment.”

“How you
doin’
dis?” Paska asked.

“I’ll tell you later!” Camilla snapped, clapping down on another surge of hunger. “Right now we have to get out of here alive, so if you don’t mind, steer left.”

Paska complied, and the smack surged through the gap in the mangroves. They were in the channel. The fog thinned, then cleared entirely. She could still hear shouts and alarms from far behind, but for now they were safe. Paska steered silently through the towering mangroves.

“Nobody behind us yet,” Tipos said, exchanging another worried glance with Paska. “We gonna find quite a welcome outside de cut, though, wit’ all dem alarm horns an’ such.”

“They won’t see us with the fog,” Camilla assured her companions.

“What fog?” Paska asked.

The exit of the mangrove channel loomed before them, starlight glittering on the lagoon in an ironically beautiful display, considering what she had just done. A light breeze fluttered
Flothrindel
’s high pennant; with any luck, they would have enough wind to sail by the time they reached the outer reef. As they emerged, Camilla concentrated again, and a thick mist formed just beyond the outer reef, shrouding the armada in a ghostly veil.

“That fog,” she said. But the alarm horns had done their job; before the fog thickened, she saw lights bobbing along the decks of the ships. Ignoring Tipos and Paska’s muttered whispers, Camilla focused her waning energy. With every effort, her hunger grew stronger and harder to suppress. “Set the sails, Tipos,” she ordered. It would be easier if she didn’t have to propel the boat.

Canvas cracked and filled as he hauled on halyards and Paska managed the sheets. Tipos returned to the cockpit and trimmed the sails, and Camilla eased her effort. They slowed, but they were sailing. Above the roar of surf, she could still hear the shouts and calls from the ships ahead, but the light from their lanterns was now only a diffused glow in the bank of mist.

“Where we goin’, Miss Cammy?” Paska asked, her voice low and guarded.

“South.” She looked back at them, and cringed at the fear in their faces. “We’re going to find our friends, Paska. We’re going to save them.”

“We are?” she asked, glancing at Tipos. “How we gonna do dat?”

“Just steer us close to the reef, Paska. The ships won’t venture close in this fog, and we can use the sound of the surf to guide us.”

Paska turned
Flothrindel
south as they cleared the reef and entered the mists, and Tipos trimmed the sails. On their right the shouts of alarm and constant ringing of bells sounded as the ships tried to avoid colliding in the fog, while on their left surf roared against the reef. Eventually, they slipped free of the fog, the mists like a wall behind them, and the sounds of alarms and men faded.

The salty breeze of their passage cooled Camilla’s face. She breathed deep, relaxing her stranglehold on the sea. Her plan had worked. Her power had proven reliable, though the thought of what she had done to earn it hung upon her soul like an anchor dragging her down to the hells.

“So, Miss Cammy,” Paska asked hesitantly, “you a seamage too, now?”

The question brought Camilla up short. Deep in her mind, the voice laughed.

“No, Paska,” she said in a sad, quiet voice. “I’m just about as far from a seamage as you can be.”

“Okay,” Tipos said carefully as he stared at Camilla. “Den how in de Nine Hells you be doin’ all dat?”

Camilla looked once more at the fear on their faces, and despair welled up in her.
Because I’m a monster
, was the answer, but she couldn’t tell them. Not yet.

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Right now I need to rest.” She looked aft toward the receding shadow of Plume Isle, then down into the cabin. “Paska, please fetch little Koybur and keep him here in the cockpit with you.”

“Why?” the woman asked. “He don’t take up much room. You can sleep down dere next to him.”

“No!” Camilla’s voice was sharp to her own ears, but she could allow no room for temptation. The voice was already calling out to her to feed, to replenish her power. That she would not do. “Go get him. Then close and bolt the cabin door behind me.” A simple hatch wouldn’t hold her back, but it might dampen the sound of their heartbeats.

Paska gave the tiller to Tipos and edged past Camilla into the cabin, emerging a few moments later with her sleeping child clutched to her breast. Camilla went below and listened as her friends locked her inside, then lay on the cabin sole and tried to ignore the ravenous voice that whispered in her mind.

≈

Emil Norris woke to the piercing horn call of alarm, distant shouts, and an empty bed.

“Camilla?” he called, before he remembered that she had not graced his bed for the last two nights. Fumbling to light the lamp, he finally managed to strike the match. Light flared as the wick caught, and he saw a note on the pillow beside his. Ignoring the distant cries of alarm, he snatched it up. His hands began to tremble as he read.

Dearest Emil,

I regret more than you can know the necessity of my departure. For your safety, and that of all whom I love, I must leave. Something happened to me in Hydra’s lair that I don’t fully understand. An evil possesses me, and it is dangerous beyond reckoning. I fear it will soon overpower my own will. I could not live if I ever harmed you or Tim.

I killed the soldiers. Tell Joslan, so he will stop his hunt for the killer. I have also taken
Flothrindel
, and forced Paska and Tipos to help me escape. Please don’t let them be held accountable for my actions.

I seek to free those taken by the cannibals, and will remain among them. There, at least, the beast within me can feed and serve a noble, if not good, purpose.

If you truly love me, do not come after me. I am no longer Camilla. I am tainted by evil, and will only do you harm. I must flee now, before I murder the only man I ever truly loved.

With all the love that remains within me, I bid you farewell.

Camilla

“No,” he whispered as he reread the note. “No!”

The shouts of alarm penetrated the fog that enveloped his mind, and unadulterated panic struck. Were they after Camilla? This must be a mistake! Knowing only that he had to find her and help her, he scrambled out of bed, threw on his robe, shoved the note into the pocket, and fled the room.

His mind spinning, he followed the bellow of a familiar voice: Admiral Joslan. He had hundreds of marines in his charge; surely the man could help him find Camilla. The corridors and stairs of the keep swept past him in a blur, but he somehow managed to find the entrance hall. He stumbled down the steps to the beach, into the confusion of eerie shadows cast by wavering torches, and the bellowed commands of Admiral Joslan. Norris sprinted the last few yards and grabbed the admiral’s arm, hauling him around by sheer hysterical force.

“Admiral! Have you seen Camilla?”

“What?” The admiral’s face was red with rage and the effort of shouting orders. “What do you mean, man? Has she gone missing as well? Those damn murdering thieves. I’ll see them all dancing from a yardarm!”

Emil jammed a hand in his pocket to retrieve the letter. “I—”

The letter!
he thought, the memory of her words like a slap in the face.
I killed the soldiers
, Camilla had written. If the admiral saw her admission of murder on that damning page…No, he could not confide in Admiral Joslan. He caught his breath and answered the admiral’s question. “Yes. She was gone when the alarm woke me. What has happened?”

“The natives have stolen the smack, and two of my marines are missing.” He paused and looked about warily, his eyes squinting as if he could pierce the darkness. “There is magic afoot here, Count. The dock was nearly pulled apart, and a fog came up from nowhere to cover the culprits’ flight. They may have taken Lady Camilla as a hostage. We’ll know more when we’ve rounded up and questioned the natives. Now, if you please, I’m busy.”

He turned away, and for once, Emil was thankful for the admiral’s brusque manner. The man had immediately formed his own conclusions about Camilla’s absence without the need for any falsehoods on Emil’s part. For now, he would let Joslan presume that Camilla had been taken hostage. Norris had a more reliable source of help.

As if some benevolent god had heard him, he felt a firm but gentle grip on his arm.

“Milord?” Huffington said quietly. “What’s happened, sir?”

“It’s Camilla. She—” Emil stopped as a troop of marines ran by.
Fool
! he chastised himself. This was no place to discuss this out loud. He took a deep breath and forced his mind back onto the rational pathways that had guided him in his diplomatic career. He turned back to Huffington and grasped the man’s arm like a lifeline. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

≈

“Milord, this is…most extraordinary.” Huffington placed the crumpled note back on the table and stared at the count. Norris’ composure had cracked once they entered his private quarters. Now he paced the room like a caged animal, biting his nails and staring into the shadows as if some threat lurked there. After reading the letter, Huffington understood why. If he had slept with a woman possessed by such evil, he’d be paranoid, too. “If it is true, I’m not sure how we can help her.”

“I know it seems incredible, Huffington. I can’t imagine how or
why
she would kill those men, but if she didn’t, why confess to me, then flee?” He turned and stopped at the balcony, clenching his fists and staring into the night. “If only she’d said something…”

A knock at the door startled both men. Huffington glanced at Norris, and the count shook his head; he expected no visitors. Norris strode to the door, and Huffington rested a hand upon the dagger beneath his waistcoat.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Tim, Father. Can I come in?”

Norris flung the door open and said, “Gods of Light, Tim, I should have called for you earlier. You’ve heard the news, no doubt.”

Tim entered. The boy seemed to have matured a great deal in the last few weeks. The count had proudly related his son’s bravery and resourcefulness during the cannibal attack, and in finding and confronting the pirate, Parek. What the count probably hadn’t noticed—and undoubtedly wouldn’t approve of—was that Tim now carried a hidden dagger, the sheath tied to his calf beneath his pant leg. The bulge was subtle, but had caught Huffington’s trained eye. Tim noticed Huffington’s attention and nodded to him, shifting in discomfort at the scrutiny.

“I’ve heard a lot of things in the last half hour, Father, and most of it doesn’t make sense at all. The imperials are saying that Paska and Tipos killed two marines, stole
Flothrindel
, and took Miss Cammy hostage.” The boy bit his lip again and shook his head. “I’ve known them for two years, Father. Paska and Tipos would never have done that.”

“They didn’t, Tim.” Norris nodded to Huffington. “Show him the note.”

Huffington retrieved the wrinkled paper and Tim took it. He watched the boy’s eyes widen as he read. When he had finished, Tim handed the note back, slowly nodding his head, his lips pursed in consternation. Not the reaction Huffington had expected. Tim’s next words surprised him even more.

“This explains everything, Father.”

“It does?” Norris’ voice cracked on the question.

“It’s Hydra,” the boy said, staring first at his father, then at Huffington. “Don’t you see? Somehow the demon survived, and it’s possessed Camilla!”

“Demon?” Huffington asked. “What demon?”

“You’ve heard the stories about Bloodwind’s sorceress, Hydra?” Tim asked. They both nodded, having heard many rumors about the pirate captain and his vile creature. “Well, she wasn’t really a sorceress, but a witch. I mean a
real
witch, with a demon inside her that gave her magic. In the end, it killed her. Then Bloodwind and his pirates hacked it to bits and tossed it into the sea.”

“Where did you hear this, Tim?” Norris interrupted, skepticism plain in his voice.

“From Mistress Flaxal and Miss Cammy, Father. They were both there when it happened.” The incredulous look on the count’s face would have been humorous, Huffington thought, if not for the gravity of the subject. Tim continued, “Don’t you see, the demon must have survived somehow, then possessed Miss Cammy when she was down in Hydra’s lair. She says right in her letter that she was possessed by something. It explains what happened to the soldiers! She must have fed on them.”

“
Fed
on them?” Norris’ tone was flat, bordering on anger now. It looked like he was about to chastise Tim for having a wild imagination.

“Tim,” Huffington interceded. “The marine I saw had not been eaten.”

“No, not totally eaten,” Tim corrected. “Bloodwind’s witch used to drink blood for her magic. That’s why the demon killed her; she couldn’t get any more blood. I never saw it, but lots of the pirates talked about it. They said her mouth went all toothy and she’d rip a man’s throat out just like that!” Tim snapped his fingers, and Huffington watched Norris’ face go pale. He swiftly eased his master into a chair. “I’m sorry, Father, I…” Norris waved him away, staring into empty space for a moment, obviously overwhelmed.

Huffington remembered the strange wound in the marine’s throat and suppressed a shiver. He also recalled the small, feminine footprint they had found; it had never crossed his mind to compare it to Camilla’s foot. “And the magic?” he asked.