Tzihua smiled. “It will be good to have Tetcomchoa leading us.”
“I’ll tell him you said that if I see him.” Jorim cut back through the troops and Shimik raced above him through the trees. The Naleni troops were bringing up the column’s rear, so Jorim briefed their leader on the plan. He refused the offer of bodyguards for his trip to the shore and sent them on their way.
As he reached the beach, he realized something was wrong. Neither birds nor monkeys had harassed him. He’d just assumed Shimik had scared them off, and kept assuming that until he reached the beach and Shimik cowered behind him, peeking out between his legs.
More than the Blackshark inhabited the cove. At first he couldn’t tell what it was, because it was as long as the ship, and somehow that didn’t seem possible. The front part of it stood open-again something not possible for a ship-and all sorts of creatures were crawling out of the opening. They’d already swarmed over the Blackshark-and sailors who dove overboard and began swimming to shore, were dragged under by unseen assailants.
Though he was not terribly close to the ship, Jorim knew these Mozoyan were different. The first he’d seen had been fishlike. Those which attacked Nemehyan were truly demon-frogs, but still slender. These Mozoyan had a thicker silhouette, more apelike than simple toad. The way they swung from the ship’s ratlines and dropped from crosspieces emphasized this impression.
Beyond that, two things became immediately apparent. The first was that the ship was likely lost. Second, the Mozoyan were coming ashore and that as valiant as the warriors were, sheer numbers alone would overwhelm them. They had no chance to prepare defenses, as hulking Mozoyan had already begun to bob and swim toward shore. The slaughter would be complete and the Mozoyan would feast on men as men had feasted on the Mozoyan dead on the plains before Nemehyan.
Then another of the things containing the Mozoyan surfaced. It opened its mouth and more Mozoyan began to emerge.
Shimik’s terrified mewing brought Jorim out of his fugue. “Shimik, find Tzihua. Tell him to run fast fast. Go fast now, Shimik. Go. I have to do something.”
“Jrima stay?”
“Yes, I’m staying, but you have to go, quickly. Now. Very important. Go.”
The Fenn darted off down the jungle path. He stopped, looked back at Jorim, waved, then leaped into the trees and disappeared.
Jorim turned back to the harbor and narrowed his eyes. “It’s all about balance and essence.” He tore off his overshirt and robe, baring his chest. Facing the harbor and the dying sun, he stepped forward until he was knee deep in water. He ignored the Mozoyan and closed his eyes.
He focused on the warmth of the sun as it touched his flesh and hair. He felt the water lapping around his legs-very warm this close to shore, but leaving a chill as it drained away from him with each gentle swell. He let himself feel their essence. The water, fluid; the sun, hot. He sought the warmth in the water, the fluidity in the way the sunlight undulated over the water.
Then he reached out and touched the mai.
It was all about balance, and now he sought to shift the balance radically. He had no idea if he could do it or if the effort would kill him. Still, it was the only chance to save his friends. So he reached within himself as well, binding his essence to the mai, then channeling the mai into the water.
The balance he sought to shift was simple, but the scale on which he wanted to do it was incredibly vast. I want to make the sea boil. Transforming the cove from fluid to vapor was possible, though he’d heard no tales of such a titanic task being accomplished before.
Chances are, anyone foolish enough to attempt it died before the first wisp of steam rose.
He opened his eyes and all he saw were Mozoyan drawing nearer. One of them was a stone’s throw away. It opened its mouth, revealing the shark’s teeth he’d seen before. Its black eyes locked on his and Jorim found himself looking at his doom.
Then it hit him. Right idea, wrong application.
He ignored the water and concentrated on the sun. He visualized Wentiko in the solar disk. The Dragon had always stood for courage, and Jorim welcomed that as well as the heat and light. He touched the god’s essence and a pulse came through the mai that shook him. Every muscle in his body contracted, bowing his back.
He expected to fall helpless on the beach, but instead he began to rise. His feet emerged dripping from the sea. The Mozoyan that had been closest to him looked up, the hungry expression on its face evaporating into surprise.
Jorim wanted to turn water from fluid to vapor. Converting a sea would be impossible, for the water in the cove was linked to the ocean, which was linked to all oceans. To convert all that into vapor might be beyond even the power of a god.
But making a small amount of water do that was not. He’d done it before, countless times. It had become an effortless task.
So he began the conversion with the water in the nearest Mozoyan’s eyes.
They exploded, and the creature burbled in pain. It sank beneath the surface, but Jorim still tracked it by essence. He boiled its brain in its skull. Bone cracked and skin parted, releasing a bubble of hot gas to mark the thing’s passing.
He turned his attention to another, and another. Mozoyan died writhing. They thrashed in the water, and only as they grew small did he realize he was flying higher, out over the cove. He no longer had to focus himself on any individual. It was enough that they looked up at him and that they felt the touch of the radiance he was projecting. As his rays caressed them, flesh melted and bones blackened.
Soaring slowly, with no more direction or intent than a kite on a light breeze, Jorim approached the Blackshark. He glanced down at himself and wondered how he was not blinded. His skin glowed with noontime intensity. The water reflected his golden corona and tiny wisps of steam curled up from around dead Mozoyan.
Jorim looked at the Blackshark. He could not see into it, but as his gaze swept over it, he found Mozoyan cowering on deck and hiding in the ship’s depths. One by one he touched them and they died.
The enormous fish that had released the Mozoyan closed their mouths. They slowly began to sink, but the harbor’s shallow bottom hindered them. But it scarcely would have mattered, for his rays pierced the water easily, and the lumbering creatures could never have dived fast enough to elude him.
With the wave of a hand he burned them from end to end. Their thick tails twitched, stirring up mud, then they sank into the muck. He waited and watched for any Mozoyan to escape, and boiled those that did inside their own flesh.
Pulling his radiance back in, Jorim floated down to the Blackshark’s deck. His bare feet touched the wood. It sizzled and smoked. He stepped back and looked down, gaping at the footprints burned into the deck.
They were the footprints of a dragon.
Chapter Twenty-six
14th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat
10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Disat Forest, West of Moriande
Nalenyr
Prince Cyron smiled. Though early in the year, the day had dawned bright and warm. He’d had ample sleep the night before and rose early to prepare for the day’s outing. He’d initially resisted the idea of joining Prince Eiran and Count Turcol, but going along was the expedient course. Turcol had the potential for being a very nasty thorn in his side, so whatever he could do to take care of the problem immediately was best.
Besides, the Disat Forest had always been a favorite haunt of his. In it, on a small hill, his grandfather had accepted the surrender and abdication of the previous dynasty’s last prince. This began the Komyr Dynasty and, contrary to rumors, he did not have the man slain on the spot. His rise to power had been tempered by mercy. To remind himself of his grandfather’s wisdom, Cyron liked to travel to the hill and meditate, especially on the anniversary of his rise.