The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

They leapt up onto a bridge built across one of the canals, then fled down the connecting road. Goodwyn tried to turn toward the dock where they had left Pori waiting, but the walking dead lined each of the canals leading in that direction—real ones, not the shimmering would-be enemies.

Barks and growls chased them, so loud and vile they sent shivers down their spines, along with deep, guttural, more human-sounding cries. Goodwyn risked a glance behind them and saw one of the dog-beasts leap from an alley into the street. It slipped on the cold, wet surface, careening off the street and into the water. Two more dogs appeared from the same alley. The hellbeast bobbed its head above the surface of the water long enough to let out a screeching howl, then disappeared below the dark waters of the bay.

"Run faster!" Goodwyn yelled.

They turned another corner and raced down a walkway lining a canal that emptied directly into the bay. Pursued by corpses and hellhounds, they were out of options. They sprinted for the bay.

"Jump!" Goodwyn shouted, and they leapt over a railing and into the black, frigid waters.

Chapter Nine

Cailix sat crosslegged atop a whiskey cask, staring out into the vast blue ocean, her wine-colored hair blowing in the strong, salty gusts. The foam from the water's surface clung to her arms, face, and knees between her boots and the hem of her plain brown dress. It wasn't a particularly pretty dress, but it was one that Miss Orla had made just for her, so she liked wearing it more than the others she had brought with her.

"Are you busy?" came Colin's voice from behind her on the deck.

"Do I look busy?" Cailix quipped, not turning to look.

"Well, no. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to get thrown overboard again."

"Don't be ridiculous," Cailix said. "We're too far from shore for you to swim, and this crew isn't likely to bring the ship around to pick you up."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked.
 

Cailix didn't want to turn to look at him. She didn't want to look at anyone. She was tired and angry and she missed Orla. The only thing she wanted to do was get to Niragan, draw Anderis out, and kill him.

"What is?" she replied.

"The ocean. I always feel sorry for the folks I meet passing through Aldsdowne who tell me they live where they can't see it. They can't swim in it or smell it or feel the salt air on their face. I don't know how they can survive without it."

"If you've never known a thing, it's easy to survive without it," Cailix said.

"I suppose. I guess that's true for lots of things, not just the ocean."

Moments of awkward silence passed between them before either spoke again.

"So why did you come, really?" Cailix asked.

"Anderis killed Orla, attacked our island, and he's probably going to do a lot worse," Colin answered. "Someone like him needs to be stopped. I can't just sit by and tend my fields knowing that he's out there, doing whatever it is he's doing."

Cailix turned, slowly, and appraised Colin. The handsome farmer was full of surprises. She raised an eyebrow and said, "Even though you're not a soldier and have no magic?"

Colin nodded. "Even so."

"You're a fool, and you're going to get killed," she told him. "You have no power. You can't survive a fight with Anderis or any of his kind."

"Now who's being simple?" Colin asked. "Magic and swords aren't the only sources of power. Look, Cailix—"

"No, you look," she interrupted. "I don't know what it is you think you feel about me, but you might as well stop now. I don't…I don't feel things the way everybody else does. I don't trust people, I never have. I didn't grow up with friends or family like you did. Caring about people is a weakness I can't afford, and I don't think I'll ever really know what it feels like to love someone."

"You always say exactly what's on your mind, no matter what. That's one of the things I lo—" Colin stopped.

"You what?"

"Nothing. I just don't think caring about people makes you weak. It makes you stronger."
 

Cailix alighted from the whiskey cask and pulled up the hood of her cloak, tucking her hair in.

"You still shouldn't have come," she said, then stalked across the deck to the other side of the ship. She really couldn't figure Colin out. With everyone else, she could learn what motivated people and use that to her advantage; to control and manipulate them. She didn't seem to be able to control Colin. That fool boy was going to get himself killed.
 

She had warned him, and he had ignored her.

She leaned up against the gunwale and felt the sea spray collect on her face. It was a soothing sensation, the sound of the ship cutting through the waves and the droplets of water that seemed softer than regular water beading up on her face and clothes. And she had to admit the salt water did smell better in the open ocean than it did in the harbors of Aldsdowne, even though the longer they spent at sea, the colder the air grew.

A loud discussion on the foredeck pulled her gaze from the hypnotic, undulating waves. The captain was yelling at a few of his deckhands, complaining about the rigging or sails or something like that—all of the sailing terms sounded the same to her. Off to the side of the confrontation stood a man of average height and build, wearing freshly cleaned trousers, a bright white shirt, and freshly shined boots.

There was something wrong with him, something out of place, but she couldn't quite figure out what.

"Colin," Cailix said, motioning him over. He had been standing in the middle of the deck, hands thrust in his pockets, looking stranded and lost. "Come here."

Colin pulled his hands free and made his way across the deck, struggling far more than Cailix to maintain his balance.
Always a farm boy,
she thought.

"Who is that man?" she asked, leaning in close to Colin and pointing at the man in the white shirt.

"He boarded just before we left Aldsdowne. I didn't hear much of the conversation with the captain, but I heard that he is some kind of tax man bound for Niragan. An assessor, I think he said."

"That is no tax man," Cailix whispered, though there was no way anyone could hear her voice over the din of the waves and wind.

"Looks like a stuffy rich type to me," Colin said, folding his arms across his chest.

Cailix frowned. "He doesn't fit, Colin. He's just
wrong
somehow." She turned to look Colin in the eye. "Listen to me, and this is serious. I don't want to hear any of your mule-headed farmer nonsense. You need to get below decks and stay away from the tax man while I follow him."

"Why are you going to follow him?"

"I just told you, you thick-headed mule. There's something off about him. I need to know why."

She was reasonably sure that the man wasn't a blood mage, since her bloodstone hadn't lit up like had in the presence of Anderis and his henchmen on Aldsdowne.

"Okay," Colin said, throwing up his hands in surrender. "You know better than I do. I'm just a farmer."

She casually made her way back to the edge of the ship as Colin stomped off in the other direction, muttering to himself, the details of which she was glad she couldn't hear.

The white-shirted man pulled a pipe from a pouch at his waist and lit it—no small feat given the strong, wet winds blowing across the high deck of the ship.

He didn't use magic to light his pipe,
she thought.
But would a blood mage really waste precious power on a pipe?

Trying to seem as inconspicuous as any of the other passengers, she paced back and forth on her side of the ship, feigning the same kind of confined boredom she had seen the other passengers exhibit. They all seemed impatient to get off the ship, so she pretended the same.

A few moments later her target tossed his pipe ash overboard and made for the door in the center of the ship that led below deck. This ship was big enough to afford its passengers a few comforts, like access to a galley and sleeping chambers. Most trading vessels were much smaller and far less comfortable.
 

With the sun directly overhead, she assumed the man was either heading below to get out of the sun or to join the other passengers in the galley. Either way he would be easy to follow. The hard part would be doing it without letting him know.

She gave him almost a minute's head start and then she slipped through the door and crept down the stairs, careful to avoid creaking the worn wooden planks. She saw no sign of her quarry, so she made a stealthy track toward the galley.

On her way there, she bumped into the serving maid. The hallway wasn't wide enough to accommodate both of them easily, so they did an awkward little dance and shuffle maneuver until they had switched places. That's when the idea hit her.

Cailix called to the waitress's blood. When she felt the young woman's strong pulse and healthy blood coursing through her veins, with just a tiny thought, Cailix cut off the blood supply at just the right spot, and the woman dropped to the floor, unconscious. She would wake up unharmed, save for any bruises she might have incurred on the way down.
 

Cailix found a stowage room and hid the woman in it, after donning her apron. Then she headed for the galley, a small room filled with benches and a porthole through which a server picked up food and drink from the cook. She spotted her mark immediately, seated in the corner furthest from the door, having a hushed conversation with another passenger.

I'm supposed to be here,
she told herself.
Act like I belong
.
 

She looked for an open seat and grimaced that the only open spot was on the end of a bench occupied by dirty, smelly sailors. She'd had her fill of sailors and mercenaries and wanted nothing to do with them, or their stench.

But she needed to get closer to the white-shirted man if she wanted to overhear his conversation, so she would have to tolerate the conditions.

I wonder if blood magic can be used to eavesdrop on people?
Her mind chewed on that puzzle as she sidled her way through the tight quarters.

"…as planned," she heard her mark say. She waited a moment, hoping he would continue.
What's going as planned?
She had to know!

"You!" the man in the white shirt and too-shiny boots growled, his eyes fixed on her.

"Me?" Cailix asked, struggling to keep the panic from her voice.
He knows! I'm found out!

"Yes, wench," he scolded, pointing at the table. "My glass is as empty as my plate. Does this pass for good hospitality where you're from?"

"Um," she stammered. "I, uh, certainly not, sir. If you'll remind me what you're having, I'll go see what's taking the cook so long."

"We ordered meat pies, and cheese. And ale. What happened to the other wench?"

"Oh, she fell," Cailix said. "She'll be back soon."

Cailix gave a little bow, the most apologetic she could muster. She had plenty of experience pretending to be meek and subservient. It had been necessary for survival many times in the past.

She had turned toward the porthole when a familiar voice called to her.

"Oh, wench," the voice said. "I've run out of ale as well."

Colin!
That hay-brained fool was going to get them both killed! The farmer had been sitting at a table right by the door and she had been so focused on her target that she had missed him completely.

She grabbed the two heavy steins from her target's table and squeezed through to get to Colin's table.

"I told you to stay out of the way," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"You were up on deck, so I thought I would stay out of your way in the galley," he said, a grin spreading on his face. "You do make a fine wench."

Cailix spun, stomping on Colin's foot before she moved to the kitchen. She hid her smile as she heard him muffle a cry of pain.

"Who're you?" asked the sweaty man on the other side of the porthole.

"I'm the serving wench, who do you think I am?" Cailix said in an indignant voice, shocked that the man would even question her identity. "I need three ales and two meat pies."

The sweaty cook merely shrugged and went back about his business, returning a moment later with the ales and meat pies. Maneuvering among the benches, carrying her tray brought her thoughts back to Naredis, where she had carried hot coffee to the monks; monks who were all dead now, killed by Anderis and his blood mage cronies.

She dropped an ale on Colin's table, splashing some of it on his chest. She regretted not pouring the whole thing into his lap, but she would've been kicked out of the galley for that.

"…meet him in the city, to go over the latest tax policies," said white-shirt's companion.
 

Tax policies,
she thought.
Not likely
. She wondered if they were keeping conversation to their cover story because she was nearby. They might not want to be overheard.

"I am sorry about the poor service," Cailix said in a soft, demure voice, looking down at the floor like any good serving wench would.