Scimitar's Heir (29 page)

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Tailwalker and Kelpie peered out from the small grotto at the ceaseless, undulating procession of myxine that flowed up from the depths of the city’s underside. Finally their numbers lessened, and the tail of the school disappeared in the light of the day above. Kelpie clutched Tailwalker’s arm, but he jerked free.

*Do not touch me!* he signed, sculling backward as she reached for him again. *I want nothing to do with you!*

Kelpie paled, her spots stark in the dim light for an instant before her color returned. *There is no time to argue, Tailwalker. Think of me whatever you like, but we must go now, before the myxine come back and—*

*Let them come,* he signed, flexing his aching arms. His wrists and forearms were rubbed free of scales, and his fingers tingled as if stuck with sea urchin spines. *Perhaps they will give you what you deserve, traitor!*

*Call me what you will, son of the trident holder; hate me as much as your soul can muster, but do it later! If we stay here and argue, the myxine will come and devour us, and I will not let that happen! I have done too much to let you die now.*

Kelpie darted forward and grasped his arm. The silver crescent around her neck ignited with Odea’s light, and the sea goddess’ power surged through her and into Tailwalker, healing his raw wrists and throat, empowering his limbs and tail until he tingled all over. The returning strength felt good, but he regretted that he could not have used it to prevent all the harm that had been done: Eelback’s manipulation of The Voice, the death of Quickfin, the betrayal of the seamage. He jerked away from Kelpie and glared at her.

*We have a chance to survive, Tailwalker,* she signed, glaring right back. *If you wish to die here, stay until the myxine come and eat you alive, but if you want to live long enough to have vengeance, then follow me closely.*

Before he could reply, she flipped her tail and darted out of the grotto toward the open sea. He clapped his mouth in annoyance and followed, flipping hard to keep her tail in sight. When open water loomed near, she snapped to a stop, and he nearly barreled right into her. Before them another smaller school of myxine flowed past, the clear water clouded by their mucus.

She signed, *Stay close to me,* and darted off before he could reply. She was swimming directly at the school.

Tailwalker hesitated. He didn’t want to trust her, but he didn’t know what else to do. She had betrayed the entire school, and he would see her judged by the trident holder for her crimes, but for that to happen, they had to survive. He swam after her, flipping hard to catch up. As they neared the myxine, the school veered toward them, reacting as one to the presence of prey. Tailwalker trembled as the myxine converged on them, their mouth tentacles waving for something to grasp and hold until their teeth could pierce flesh. And still, Kelpie swam right at them, undaunted.

Tailwalker briefly thought,
She has betrayed me!
but he was wrong.

*STOP!*

Odea’s voice lashed out in an expanding wave of iridescent force, stunning every myxine in sight. Tailwalker felt the single divine word like a hammer inside his head, pounding to get out, but it had been directed forward, not at him. The myxine floated senseless, murky mucus drifting in clouds between their sinuous bodies, their small black eyes open and sightless. He felt Kelpie grasp his arm, and shook off the numbness in his mind.

*Come on!* she signed, and swam through the drifting school of vile creatures.

Tailwalker followed, nudging past the slimy bodies, clamping his mouth and gill slits tightly shut to avoid the drifting mucus that would suffocate him if it clogged his gills. They were through in an instant and flipping hard for open water, away from Akrotia, away from Eelback and his traitorous school.

And away from Seamage Flaxal
, he thought forlornly. He recalled her efforts to forge a relationship with the mer, to learn their language and their ways, to even become his betrothed, thereby wounding her consort to the heart. He wondered if she had a chance of surviving Eelback’s treachery, and was disheartened. She was already deep in Akrotia, nearing the Chamber of Life. Since the school had shut them out of the city, Tailwalker couldn’t reach her with a warning, even if he knew where to look. He looked back at the myxine; they were already beginning to stir and move toward the surface, where they would surely devour all the landwalkers. Tailwalker had never felt so helpless.

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Feldrin followed close on Cynthia’s heels, squinting into the wavering depths of the receding water, his boarding axes held at the ready. He glanced at his wife’s face, pale but determined, her lips moving slightly as she called on the sea to obey her pleas. Mouse hunkered behind her neck, whispering into her ear. Behind them, Ghelfan supported Edan, whose sickly pallor made his orange hair stand out like the flames on his firesprite’s head.

As the water drained away and the room was revealed, Feldrin was surprised to find it much brighter than he had thought it would be. He glanced up at the towering dome of the ceiling, an amazing arched mosaic of crystal prisms arrayed in patterns of the sea and sky. He smelled the familiar odor of guano, and noted an arrangement of air vents that had opened up with the retreating water, allowing fresh air from outside to circulate. But it was the Chamber of Life itself that made him gasp. Beautiful beyond anything he’d ever seen, it was a teardrop-shaped crystalline structure with four open archways, like a gazebo of crystal and light atop a high dais.

Then a high-pitched cry pierced the chamber, grating on Feldrin’s ears like fingernails on slate and setting the hairs up on his neck. It was also the sweetest sound he had ever heard; it was a baby’s cry, his son, and he was screaming his lungs out.

The cries snapped him out of his reverie, and he realized that the water had stopped its retreat. It was still ankle deep, as they had planned; enough for Cynthia to maintain her link to the sea, not enough to hinder their movements. Cynthia stared at the dais, and he followed her gaze. On the bottom step perched a mer, balanced on its bent tail, using the steps for support. It was as ugly as he remembered, its toothy maw gaping to gulp air, its fins sagging without the support of water. His heart sank; he had hoped it would be incapacitated by the lack of water, but apparently not. Cynthia had guessed the mer priestess might cast some kind of magic to allow them to breathe air, and that appeared to be the case. Feldrin’s heart sank further when he saw the small bundle of wet cloth that wiggled and screamed, tucked tight into the crook of the mer’s arm.

“Eelback!” Cynthia said the name like a curse. Feldrin saw her breathe deep, shoulders stiffening as she gathered her power. He thought he almost felt it, as if a rogue wave towered overhead, waiting to crash down with all the force of the ocean behind it.

“Go on, Cyn,” he whispered too low for her to hear, “kill it! Crush it!” But then the mer moved, and he saw the knife.

Eelback held a long dagger, wickedly serrated, the edge tucked under the babe’s chin. The mer was not holding the infant in a gentle embrace, but had him bound tightly in the swaddling blanket and tucked under his arm, its dagger at a perfect angle to slit the child’s throat. The creature moved its free hand, making a series of gestures. Cynthia, staggered back, her shoulders sagged, and her head dropped.

“It’s as you thought, Ghelfan,” she said quietly.

“What?” Panic welled in Feldrin’s breast. “What did it say?”

“He said…” Cynthia paused for breath, then continued. “He said that I step into the chamber, or the baby dies.”

“No, Cyn.” Feldrin glared at the mer, gauging his odds of killing it without endangering his son. But the knife was too close; in the time it would take him to cock his arm and throw his axe, the mer would slit the baby’s throat.

“Yes.” Cynthia looked up into Feldrin’s eyes, her face pale, her expression flitting between determination and fear for their son. “He wants me to bring Akrotia back to life for him, and if I don’t, he’ll kill our son. We’ve got to do as we planned. He’s got to believe that he’s won.”

“Bloody hells,” Feldrin whispered. He rued the moment that he’d ever agreed to such a foolish plan. But looking into Cynthia’s eyes, he knew that she was willing to risk everything to save their child. “There’s got to be a better way!”

“There isn’t, Feldrin.”

The mer slapped its tail, drawing their attention, and signed something to Cynthia. There was a quick exchange, and then she turned to Feldrin and took his hand in hers, raised her free hand to his cheek. Her eyes were on his, but her words were pitched for another. “Edan, I’m counting on you. Remember. Together.” Then, without waiting for a reply, she kissed Feldrin and turned away.

Feldrin wanted to throttle the mer with his bare hands, to hold his baby and keep it safe, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Their plan included trusting Edan, the coward who had burned an entire ship and killed more than a thousand men and then laughed about it. He didn’t like it, but he had no choice. He clenched his jaw and turned to the fledgling pyromage.

“Edan,” he said fiercely. “Do it!”

Feldrin watched the boy, saw his fear, but there was something else there, too. Edan swallowed hard, hesitated, glanced at Cynthia, at the mer, at the baby, and gave a barely perceptible nod.

Cynthia signed something to the mer and started toward the dais and the Chamber of Life, her feet dragging despondently though the ankle-deep water, disturbing the smooth surface.

Feldrin forced his attention on Cynthia, clenching his hands on his weapons until he could feel his own hammering heartbeat in his palms. Then he heard the faint pop of a cork and the trickle of liquid, and the sharp aroma of naphtha filled the air.

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The shaft of Chaser’s trident leapt and jerked in his grasp, pulling him into the writhing mass of myxine. His aim had been true, and the squirming shape he had impaled on the barbed tines was dying, but if he did not release his grasp, its death would be his also. He let the weapon go, retreated, and drew his dagger, taking a moment to assess their hopeless situation. Even at its narrowest point, the harbor entrance was too wide for the fifty mer to hold their position against such an onslaught. There were simply too many myxine to fight. The mer had known that myxine hid in Akrotia’s deeper reaches by the scent of the water, but there were threefold more of them than he had imagined. While the mer were faster, in the confined space of the harbor their speed was of no use. Their only hope was to flee. At least he could fulfill his promise to the landwalkers and warn them before the myxine struck.

*Retreat!* he signed to the others. *Swim for the open sea!* More than one saw his sign and relayed it. Tails flipped, and the mer fell back before the surging wall of teeth and hooked tentacles.

Chaser flipped his tail and dashed back toward the closer of the two ships. He dove deep to gain enough speed, then arched and flipped hard for the surface right beside its hull. He pierced the shimmering ceiling of the sea, arched over the edge of the ship and landed hard on the deck. He was immediately surrounded by armed and wary sailors, so he signed frantically, but they seemed not to understand. They just gaped at him, their mouths moving, making weak sounds that his sea-attuned ears could barely discern, let alone understand. He settled for the simplest form of sign language: he pointed.

The sailors surged to the side of the ship and stared at the school of writhing myxine below the surface closing on the ship. The big landwalker who seemed to be in charge bellowed something, and everyone scattered. Chaser scrabbled to the rail and stared at the approaching school. He had done his duty and warned the landwalkers. Now he had to survive.

He pulled himself over the side and plunged into the water. Flipping his tail madly, he tried to build up as much speed as possible. Tailwalker had once taught him the trick that had earned his friend his name, and it might just save Chaser’s life if he could pull it off. He was the fastest mer in the school, but was he fast enough? He stripped off his baldric as he swam; it was slowing him down, and he needed every ounce of speed he could muster.

Chaser dashed right at the onrushing myxine, arching up at the last second. He cleared the water’s surface at a shallow angle, and kept flipping his tail as fast as he could, holding his arms down, palms flat to skim the surface. This was Tailwalker’s trick, to skim along the surface like a startled flying fish evading a predator, which was exactly what he hoped to do.

He skimmed over the top of the school of ravenous myxine, touching the water only with his flat palms and the lower fin of his tail. He felt them brushing the tip of his tail in passing, but he was flying so fast that he was past them before they could react. He strained to stay up, to keep going, to clear the entire school before he plunged back into the water. If he fell too soon, they would tear him apart.

He saw a gap, the trailing edge of the school, and dove for it. Hands grasped him, clawed fingers skittering along his scales, but their short arms were weak and he slipped past before they could get a grip. Then he was in open water, past the entrance to the harbor, free…and alone.

Chapter 22

Fire and Water

Everything was going perfectly.

Eelback held the swaddled babe in the crook of his arm, the knife snugged against its throat, and watched the landwalkers bicker in their incomprehensible air speech. The big warrior glared and pointed at Eelback with his ridiculous weapons, but didn’t dare attack. The seamage lowered her head in defeat and answered the warrior. The two landwalkers behind remained quiet, and he paid them little mind. The main contention seemed to be between the seamage and warrior. Undoubtedly he was telling her to use her magic to save the child. But Eelback had warned her that if he felt the slightest twinge of her power, saw the tiniest ripple of water moving at her whim, he would slit her finling’s throat. Eelback would have fluttered his gills in laughter, but the invocation of air-breathing held his gill slits clamped closed.

He grew impatient and slapped his tail against the floor with a splash, snapping the landwalkers’ attention to him. *Enough talk,* he signed to the seamage with his free hand. *You have no choice. Move into the chamber or your finling dies. Now!*

*I will go, Eelback, but first I will say goodbye to my husband.*

*Your husband?* Eelback signed with curiosity. *You are betrothed to Tailwalker.*

*Not anymore!* she signed in agitation. *The mer betrayed me. Why would I ally myself with those I cannot trust?*

Eelback narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion rising in him like a tide. His sight was blurring, his eyes unaccustomed to the dry air. He blinked, but it did no good. *Say goodbye quickly,* he signed, *then enter the chamber.*

*Agreed.* She turned to the big warrior with the wooden leg and spoke, touching his cheek. Their faces pressed together briefly—
A curious gesture
, he thought—and she turned away. *I will go now, but you will hand my child over when I step into the chamber.*

*Agreed,* he signed. Again, he would have laughed if he could. He fully intended to hand over the child, ensuring the seamage’s cooperation. She couldn’t know, of course, that the child’s fate was already sealed; no landwalker would survive the myxine outside.