Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) (18 page)

Read Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) Online

Authors: Holly Lisle

Tags: #FIC009020

BOOK: Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts)
6.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Ian thought briefly of protesting, of insisting that he could give his blood, too. He didn’t want to be seen as a coward, even if he hated the idea of magic. But she was right; he’d seen them drip their blood into a bowl, but he had the feeling they’d done much more than that just beneath the surface of perception. He couldn’t duplicate what they did, so he couldn’t offer them any help. He could only sit and watch and hope that the airibles would not spot their longboat before Kait finished whatever she had to do. He could now hear the steady
thupp, thupp, thupp
of the approaching engines, and the shouts of the men in the other two longboats.
Kait sprinkled some sort of pale powder into the blood, and began to chant:
We offer what we have—
Purity of intent,
Willingness to serve,
Desire to survive.
We ask what we need—
A shield with no shadow,
A wall with no window,
A road unseen.
So we say,
So shall this be.
Light sparkled up out of the blood-bowl and spun itself into a ball; the ball expanded like a bubble blown by a child. The light dimmed as the ball expanded, and as it reached out to cover the whole of the boat and its crew, the bubble vanished completely.
Ian looked at the boat, at the people in it, at the water outside of it. He glanced behind him at the
Wind Treasure,
and at the white curve of the first airible, rising over the edge of the hull. He couldn’t deny that she had done
something,
but it seemed to have failed. Nothing looked any different to him.
“Did it work?” Ry asked. “I can’t feel anything.”
Kait’s face was tight with worry. “I’m not sure. I think I can feel the edge of the shield around us, but if it’s there, it’s thin. I don’t know if it will do what we need it to do.”
Ian’s mouth went dry.
Ah, gods. They’d lost the little lead they had, and meanwhile the other two longboats, fully crewed with experienced men, were shooting across the water toward cover.
“Man your sweeps,” Ian snapped. Everyone gripped their oars. He shouted, “Row! Back to my count; oars in the water. Ready! Pull . . . and lift . . . and forward . . . and dip . . . and PULL! . . . and LIFT! . . . and FORWARD! . . . and DIP!”
He leaned into the tiller and swung the boat back toward the west, angling their path until the anchored
Wind Treasure
blocked out all sight of the oncoming airibles.
“Pull . . . and lift . . . and forward . . . and . . .”
Behind him, the great engines of the airibles thundered. He alone would not see them when they rose over the false horizon of the
Wind Treasure
. But he wouldn’t need to. Six pairs of eyes stared over his shoulders at the scene behind him, while six backs pulled the longboat across the strait. He saw where he took them, but the faces before him would tell him all he needed to know about where they had been.

 

Chapter
19
S
haid Galweigh, from his velvet-covered chair in the
Galweigh’s Eagle,
surveyed with deep satisfaction the wreckage of the Sabir ship and the wild rowing of the men in the longboat the
Eagle
pursued. The Sabirs looked like they were going to go through with their half of the agreement. Their job had been to locate their ship, take it over, find the Mirror of Souls, and bring it on board one of the two airibles. When they did that, the Galweighs were to be responsible for getting them all back to the city and for attacking Galweigh House.
Of course Shaid had no intention of following through on the second half of that bargain. Once he had the Mirror of Souls in hand, everything was in his favor. The airibles were his, and the crew that worked on them, and the pilots who flew them. The Sabirs’ sole contribution had been that they knew how to find the Mirror and Shaid didn’t.
His Wolves were already primed to kill their Sabir counterparts the instant the Mirror came aboard the
Eagle.
His soldiers would take care of Crispin and Andrew and that monster Anwyn. And he, being Galweigh, would land in the great yard of Galweigh House in Calimekka with men and Mirror and claim it for himself. By the end of the day, he intended to be a god.
And so you shall,
the reassuring voice whispered inside his skull.
I have promised you the immortality that the Mirror can confer . . . and you shall have it.
* * *
Crispin Sabir leaned against the gondola window and watched the airible drop down to the
Wind Treasure
. He noted with pleasure the leadsman’s facility with the catchropes, which he latched onto the ship’s bowsprit and mizzenmast with only one throw apiece. Another toss to attach the ridewire, and then a few moments’ wait while the leadsman rode a pulley down the ridewire to the ship and attached the anchor ropes. Once the man finished and signaled, the airible’s motors fell silent, and the great ship hung in the air over its captive, a spider above downed prey.
Competent crew—Crispin already thought of the ships and the men as his own. The one thing the Galweighs had that the Sabirs needed in order to take Galweigh House: Galweigh airibles. By the end of the day, Crispin would have
everything
he needed.
Ladders unrolled from the gondola, and the soldiers waiting in the
Heart of Fire
swarmed down them. They’d search for any crew or passengers who hadn’t taken to the longboats, question them, then kill them. The other airible and her crew and complement of soldiers would take care of those who had chosen to abandon ship rather than stand and fight.
Crispin grinned down at the wreck of the
Wind Treasure
. He was always fond of an unfair fight in his favor. He wondered how his young cousin Ry was feeling at that moment.
Crispin didn’t think he’d find Ry aboard the ship. The lying, manipulative bitchson would have done the sensible, cowardly thing: He would have run, just as he ran from Calimekka. Crispin’s people would find him, of course—provided the gorrahs didn’t devour him first. Those longboats were slow and awkward. And Crispin had time. Even if Ry managed to elude the first roundup, he wouldn’t escape. Once they’d taken the Mirror of Souls aboard the airible, Crispin could afford to spend a few days thoroughly searching the area. He’d make sure Ry went back with him—Crispin had a ceremony planned in the Punishment Square that would make the one he’d pulled off with Ry’s brother seem like an afternoon’s chat with friends.
Meanwhile, though, the
Galweigh’s Eagle
chased down the second longboat. Let Andrew giggle and squirm over the spectacle of the gorrahs’ feeding frenzy while they devoured the capsized crew on the first longboat; Crispin had things he could be doing.
He went forward to the pilot’s cabin, and followed the last of the soldiers down the ladder to the deck of the
Wind Treasure.
He had a few bad moments—he didn’t like heights, and he discovered that being inside the
Heart of Fire
was much less disturbing than dangling on a rope ladder halfway to heaven, with that crazed pack of feeding gorrahs beneath him and nothing between him and his death but the tiny, distant deck of a damaged ship.
He almost climbed back up the ladder, but he didn’t trust soldiers to be able to find what he was looking for and transport it to the
Heart of Fire
. So he steadied his breathing, dried his palms—one at a time—on his shirtfront, and worked his way down the ladder one wobbly step after another.
“Had a bit of trouble with the ladder, eh?” a Galweigh soldier asked, grinning. “Most do that first time.”
Crispin memorized the boy’s face. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, dusky-skinned: typical Zaith. They all looked alike to Crispin, except when they were screaming and dying. Still, he noted the gap between the front teeth, and the mole at the corner of the mouth. He would make a point of remembering that face. He said, “The soles of my boots are plain leather, and too thin and slick for such a climb. Unlike yours, which have rubber soles.” He turned and walked away, thinking of ways that he could be sure the soldier would meet his death before the crew returned to the airible. He hated having people laugh at him.
When the boy went back to his duty, Crispin closed his eyes and smelled the air. Honeysuckle and rot, the scent that his silent partner told him was the scent of the Mirror of Souls. It was close. The scent permeated the ship.
The voice said,
If they’d taken it with them, the scent would be stronger over the water. You could follow it straight to them. But the smell of its magic ends here.
He walked aft, following that compelling odor. He closed his eyes, tasting the air with Karnee senses. If he Shifted, he thought he would be able to track it down faster. In Karnee form, his nose was a thousand times as sensitive as it was in human form—though it was good when he was human. But if he Shifted, he would show what he was to the watching Galweighs—and he didn’t wish to give them that much information about him, even if he did intend to see them all dead at the end of the mission. People had a nasty habit of surviving no matter how carefully one planned; he always kept that in mind and acted accordingly.
He smelled its presence faintly in one of the cabins, but only faintly. So in human form he followed his nose to the hatch, and down the gangway, then through the crew areas and at last into the cargo holds. His eyes lit up and he laughed out loud at the sight that greeted him there. Row after row and shelf after shelf of artifacts from the Ancients. In the first two rows alone, he recognized a distance viewer that didn’t look too far from serviceable, an eavesdropper, a marvelous matched set of transmuters, and half a spell amplifier that would at least serve as a source of repair parts for the broken one he had back home. Of course there were plenty of things he recognized as useless or merely decorative, and another, larger mass of things he couldn’t recognize at all.
“Mine,” he whispered. A wondrous trove all in itself, he thought—worth a paraglesiat, worth a House, worth power and more power, and all of it was his. But the trove was nothing compared to the single final treasure he sought. The Mirror of Souls might rest in such an obvious hiding place, though he doubted it. The scent of it lay strongly in the hold, but he felt certain Ry would have hidden it before he abandoned the ship.
He cast around the room, and on the far forward bulkhead he found proof that his instincts were good. The scent of the Mirror of Souls was strongest there, but the ropes that scent permeated had been hastily cut, and lay in a tangle on the decking.
Crispin smiled. He would have to backtrail. He smelled Ry’s touch on the ropes, and that of another Karnee—this one a stranger to him—and a third person. Human. He decided to trail the Mirror first, and to focus on the people second.
Then he had a thought that both startled and amused him. Suppose Ry knew that he, Crispin, was the one who would come after him. Recently Ry had seemed to be aware that Crispin spied on him while he slept. If he knew that, and if he were trying to be clever again, he would hide the artifact someplace where Crispin would have an especially difficult time finding it.
Ry hunted with his nose, and he knew Crispin did, too. He’d use that. He would hide the Mirror down farther. In the bilge.
Crispin wrinkled his nose just thinking about it; his exquisite sense of smell came with a few drawbacks. It would be almost useless in the conflicting sea of stinks that would fill a ship’s bilge. And he was fastidious, having nearly conquered his animal nature; he was proud of that fact. But he could, when necessary, get a bit dirty. He sighed and headed for the stinking bilge.
A third of a station later, soaked in fetid, slimy water, his fine clothes ruined, he had to admit that the Mirror of Souls wasn’t in any of the three bilge compartments.
He climbed onto the deck, sent the crewman with the mole and the smirk up the ladder to the airible to fetch him clean clothing, and retired to the ship’s bath to clean off. When he was alone, he asked the voice that traveled with him in his mind. “So where is it?”
It isn’t on the ship,
the voice said.
Crispin snarled out loud, “It must be. You said I’d smell its trail leading across the water if they’d taken it with them.”
You would. And I would clearly see it. The Mirror . . . calls to me.
“But I’ve checked the cabins, the holds, and even the bilge. It isn’t here.”
No. It isn’t. I already said that.
“Then where is it?”
If they didn’t take it with them and it isn’t aboard, there’s only one place it can be.
And Crispin saw the truth and hated it in the same instant.
“They threw it overboard.” He stood against a bulkhead and leaned his head against a stanchion as realization hit him. “Damn them,” he said softly. “Damn them, damn them, damn them.”
He threw his clothes on and raced upward through the ship until he reached the main deck. There he called to attention the Galweigh soldiers on loan from the Goft Galweighs, and said, “The one thing that we must have from this ship our enemies have thrown overboard. You are going to go out in boats with a grappling hook and get it back.”

Other books

Third Chance by Ann Mayburn, Julie Naughton
Premier Deception by S J Crabb
Wild Boy by Andy Taylor
Glory on Mars by Kate Rauner
The Labyrinth Campaign by J. Michael Sweeney
Sock it to Me, Santa! by Madison Parker
Dies the Fire by S. M. Stirling