Scimitar's Heir (36 page)

As if in answer, a lookout at the fore-top called out, “Captain, there’s a whole school of them eel things blockin’ our way!”

“Cyn?”

“Just keep her trimmed and on course, Feldrin. I’ll do the rest.”

“All idle hands to the windward rail!” he ordered. The sudden shift of weight decreased their heel, forcing a bit more speed out of the wind she was providing.

Cynthia concentrated upon the sea before them and the mass of writhing bodies that Kelpie had warned her about. Whatever these things were, they were packed so tightly that Cynthia couldn’t even tell how many there were. There was no easy path through them, but this, at least, was a threat that she could deal with.

She drew the power of the sea into a concentrated pressure wave of such intensity that the surface of the water misted in an arc out from the bow of
Orin’s Pride
. The wave hit the school of creatures like a battering ram, pulping every living thing in its path, and shaking the very walls of the harbor. The ship charged through the slick of shredded corpses, and a ragged cheer rose from the crew.

Cynthia turned her attention to the harbor gate. The huge bronze plates of the gate shuddered, screeching like a thousand swords shearing through stone, and shivering the air and sea alike. She felt the remnants of the coral that had blocked the entrance heave up as the plates broke through the limestone. The gate was closing, and it was closing fast.

Too fast.

“We’re not gonna make it, Cyn,” Feldrin shouted, echoing her thought. “It’s gonna dismast her! Can you push the water down?”

“It’s too shallow!” She tried to gauge the depth as the shattering coral heaved up. “The gate is pushing the reef higher.”

“How about punchin’ out the reef, then?”

“I’m doing all I can!” she cried, straining to push the ship a little faster. She gauged their speed and the diminishing aperture, and knew that they wouldn’t make it. Her knees trembled, and Cynthia sagged against the rail, her strength ebbing, her vision going gray at the edges.

“Topmen, on deck!” Feldrin cried, calling the sailors down from the rigging, which made sense. If the masts hit, anyone aloft would be killed. His next order, however, caught her off guard. “All idle hands to the leeward rail on my word! Cyn, can you give me a gust as we pass through the gate?”

“I’ll try, Feldrin, but what—”

“No time! Just do it when I say. I want to lay her over on her side as we pass.” He squinted at the closing aperture. “Horace, steer her a hundred feet starboard of center.”

Cynthia looked at the gate, the
circular
gate, and understood. If the ship stayed vertical, it occupied the space from below the water’s surface to the top of the descending gate, and the reef was making that even shallower. But if they lay the ship over on her side, she could pass off center, and might just scrape through without striking either her masts or her keel.

At this speed, either mishap could split the ship right down the middle.

“Close haul all sheets!” Feldrin bellowed.

Orin’s Pride
heeled as the sails were pulled tighter and the mainmast, still sporting Dura’s hasty repair, groaned. Cynthia spared a glance at Feldrin; he stood with one hand clutching the binnacle, and the other cradling their son. With all the commotion, Cynthia thought the baby would be hysterical, but he lay comfortably and quietly in his father’s grasp, staring up at Feldrin’s face as if caught in a moment of wonder. His father’s son, a true sailor.

She turned forward and tried to marshal the strength to supply the gust of wind that would lay the ship over. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, unsure if she could do it. A cool hand on her arm startled her; Kelpie was beside her, her webbed hand glowing with Odea’s blessing. Strength surged into Cynthia like a refreshing wave, washing away her fatigue and steadying her legs. She smiled her thanks and concentrated on her task.

“NOW!”

Cynthia called forth a hard gust and pressed the sea against the opposite side of the keel as the crew rushed across the deck to the port-side rail. The ship heeled sharply, so far over that water jetted though the scuppers, then spilled over the leeward rail. Cries rang out as sailors scrabbled for handholds. The boarding sea surged past Cynthia without touching her, and she felt Kelpie’s grip harden on her arm. She ignored everything, maintained her focus. Nothing else existed for her but the wind and the sea.

Orin’s Pride
surged through the gate heeled so far over that her deck was nearer vertical than horizontal, her masts lying almost flat upon the sea. Her keel cleared the closing gate by less than the height of a man. Her topmasts, however, were not so fortunate.

Mouse’s shriek of alarm reached Cynthia’s ears an instant before the tip of the fore-topmast struck the gate with a tremendous crack. The fore-topsail yard twisted madly, the bracing lines trailing with the shattered spar. But the gate continued to spiral shut, and struck the main-topmast at its midpoint. The trestletrees shattered, and the entire main-topmast was carried away. Its supporting lines gone, the mainsail gaff dangled, and the huge mainsail flapped out of control. Splinters and twisted bronze bindings showered the canted deck, and heavy wooden blocks swung wildly. The main boom sagged, and only the furling lines kept it from crashing down on the crew. The main-topmast splashed into the sea behind them, trailing lines snapping like a coachman’s whip, and blocks smashing splinters from the taffrail as they were dragged overboard.

But they were through.

The ship righted as the flapping mainsail spilled wind, and Cynthia eased the wind until they were upright. A ragged cheer rose from the throats of the sodden sailors, and Mouse cheered with them as he shot back and forth through the tattered rigging.

Cynthia leaned on the rail, her strength ebbing again, and heard the distinctive tap of Feldrin’s peg leg as he hobbled to her side. She didn’t even have the strength to look up at him. Instead, she sagged to the deck, her back against the bulwark, and found herself staring into Kelpie’s blank eyes. The mer priestess lay on the deck beside Cynthia, her neck twisted, a huge contusion on her brow where a flailing block had struck. Kelpie, Odea’s priestess, was dead.

“Oh gods,” Feldrin muttered as he struggled to kneel beside her.

“She…she saved us, Feldrin,” Cynthia whispered between sobs, reaching to touch the mer’s still features. “I don’t know why. First she betrayed us, then…she saved us.”

“She did,” he agreed. The massive gate boomed closed behind them. As they looked back, light flared from the stone arch, liquid fire tracing along its perimeter.

“I hate to ask this, Cyn, but we’re still too close fer my comfort. Do you think you can keep the winds up a bit longer? We need to get well clear.”

“Yes.” Cynthia drew a deep breath, sniffed, then reached out to brush her son’s brow. “How is he?”

Feldrin looked down at the inexplicably calm child. The little sea-green eyes stared calmly up at him, one chubby fist clenched firmly in his father’s beard. Feldrin smiled, and the sight of the two of them, father and son, lifted Cynthia’s heart.

“He’s fine, Cyn.” He handed their son over to her, joyful tears coursing down his cheeks. “He’s alive and he’s fine. Now let’s get the hells away from this cursed thing.”

“Yes,” she said. She cradled her baby and held him close. She looked into those eyes and knew instantly what his name would be. “Let’s.”

Feldrin stood and helped her to her feet. She was still dreadfully weak, and she accepted his aid as they walked back to the cuddy cabin. He settled her onto the bench there, then went forward to give Horace his orders.

Cynthia raised the baby to her breast to feed, leaned her head back against the cabin, and let the sun warm her face. She listened to the bustle of the crew as they trimmed the remaining sails, replaced the broken cordage, and cut away the shattered spars so they could install the replacements hauled up from the hold. For the first time in a long, long while, she was content. Too many had died, too much sacrificed for her to be happy, but, for the moment, she was content. Cynthia summoned a gentle wind, and
Orin’s Pride
sailed north while Akrotia burned behind them.

≈

“We stay!” Uag insisted, waving his bloodied cutlass in a crimson arc. “We wait for Capt’n Sam!”

He kicked Glaf’s body into the water without turning his back on the remaining crew. Braf and Fak were against him, but Sepa was still unsure. She stood back from the others, her face etched with lines of worry. There was plenty to worry about; the floating island was shaking and shuddering like the convulsions of a dying man, and the very stone was coming alive with magic.

“We will die if we stay here, Uag!” Braf shouted, pointing his own cutlass at Uag. “Capt’n Sam has failed. We are alone.”

“We will die if we leave without her,” Uag countered. “We cannot find our way home without her.”

“She said we could not, but I think this was a lie to keep us from killing her,” Fak said. “If we sail north, we can—”

A stronger tremor shook the island, and the water of the harbor danced with the deep vibration. Then the screech of metal on stone shook the air. The arch above them flared with light, and massive bronze plates began to emerge from the inside edge, then ground to an abrupt halt.

“It is a trap!” Braf shouted, his tone now panicked. “Uag, the jaws of a trap are closing on us. We
must
leave while we can!”

Uag glared at them, at the glowing stone city, at the huge blades of the gate over their heads. Heat radiated from the stone, and the water lapping against it had begun to steam. He looked along the broad avenue that ringed the city, but there was no sign of Captain Sam. She had said that she would not take long in the city, and that he should wait until sunset. The metallic grating shrilled again, and the bronze blades descended another foot before halting. Looking closely, Uag saw that they were not just coming down from above, but from all sides, and maybe even from under the water. They were moored at the edge of the reef; if those huge plates closed, they would miss
Manta’s
bows by only a man’s height, and the shattered coral could capsize them. Uag made a decision.

“We go! Cut the mooring line and man oars!”

“Good!” Braf and Fak grasped their oars while Sepa ran forward and slashed the mooring line. She returned and grabbed her own oar, and Uag took the other. The four oars dipped, and
Manta
backed sluggishly away from the arch.

Metal shrieked against stone, and the water beneath the arch shuddered in wavelets. The gate was closing.

“Quickly!” Uag pulled on his oar until it threatened to snap at the lock, willing the craft to move faster.
Manta
eased away from the coral.

Yellow-white light flared from the arch, and the great bronze blades scythed down.

Metal screeched against thousand-year-old coral, and the sea heaved up under the arch. The coral split, and a huge section lurched up and flipped, nearly hitting
Manta’s
bows when it splashed down. The resulting wave pitched the twin hulls up, and the ship lurched backward. Spray and splinters of flying stone showered the deck, but they were clear, and their cries of shock and surprise changed to howls of laughter.

“We are free!” Fak cheered, flinging aside his oar and lurching to his feet.

“Yes,” Uag said, his own mood less elated. He stared at the glowing city. “We are free of the city, but Capt’n Sam is gone.” He turned to the others. “We have no way to find home.”

“There!” Sepa cried, her eyes wide as she pointed to the west. “A ship!”

“It’s one of the sea witch’s ships,” Uag said, both worried and hopeful. “Maybe we can follow—” he stopped as a cool breeze touched his cheek.

“There is wind!” Fak cried. “We can sail!”

“Hoist all sails!” Uag ordered, leaping into the cockpit and grasping the wheel. “We will follow them.
Manta
is fast enough to avoid them if they try to attack, and—”

“Uag!” Sepa called from the bow where she fought to free the furled jib. “There is something in the water under the boat. Something like snakes!”

“Snakes?” That was ridiculous. Why would there be snakes in the water? But when Uag leaned over the transom to look, he saw between the floating rafts of weed a school of writhing shapes. They clustered around the twin hulls, their tails quivering rapidly as if they were pushing at the ship’s sides.

“I don’t like this,” he said, reaching for his cutlass. “Hoist all sail. We will outrun them.”

In moments,
Manta
was easing forward, but her pace was slow. Uag looked over the side again. Though the water seemed murky, he could glimpse the snake-creatures still stuck on the hulls.

“Braf, get spears!” he ordered. “We will get these creatures off and sail away.”

Braf hurried down the companionway, but his shout of alarm brought Uag up short.

“Uag! There’s something—”

The man’s shout devolved into a scream so horrible that everyone stopped and stared at the hatch. It reminded Uag of the scream of a particularly feisty meal, not of a seasoned warrior. A blood and slime-covered hand reached up to grasp the hatch coaming, and Braf heaved himself up into the cockpit. Another scream issued from the man’s mouth, and Uag saw why; his body was covered with cuts and a layer of thick mucus, and one of the creatures was attached to him. Its long, hooked tentacles were buried deep in his back, and its short arms grasped his leg, holding on as it tore into him with dagger-sharp teeth.

“Kill it! Kill it!” Braf screamed, frantically trying to tear the tentacles from his flesh.

Uag backed away, too horrified to remember the cutlass in his hand and too revolted at the slimy creature to venture too close. Braf beat at the wriggling thing, but his blows fell to no effect. The teeth ripped at him, and gouts of blood, flesh and viscera vanished down its maw.