Hanging several paces in front of him at head level, the construct led him through crowds of roistering pirates and finally into the quiet side street where he and Tu’ala’keth sometimes met. She stood waiting in the niche between the shanties. Two sea bags lay amid the litter at her feet, another indication things were happening fast.
The phantom hand blinked out of existence the instant he laid eyes on its maker. “I have our share of the Thayan treasure,” she said. “It may prove useful.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Did Vurgrom know where the cultists are? Did he finally give up the secret?”
“In essence, yes.”
Anton shook his head. “I can’t believe your luck.”
“Our ‘luck’ is the grace of Umberlee.”
“Then, not to quibble, but it’s too bad she didn’t give you even more of it. If everything had gone as planned, we wouldn’t be absconding so hastily.”
“Now that we have what we came for, it is time to go. But I confess, you are right. Vurgrom responded to my enchantments in a way I failed to anticipate, and he assaulted me.”
“You mean”
“I stopped him before it went very far then extorted information from him at knife point. After we parted company, I found it necessary to kill one of his underlings. Thus, it is possible Vurgrom’s folk are already hunting me. We will need to exercise caution as we make our departure.”
“Apparently so. How many of those pellets do you have left? The ones that let me breathe under water.”
“Only one.”
“Enough to let me swim or ride one of the seahorses a goodly distance from Dragon Isleand drown between islands when the magic wears off. We need to steal a small, fast boat.”
“It will be fast when I call the wind to fill the sails.”
“Good.” He stepped forward to pick up one of the sea bags, and a cry rang out.
“Men of Shark’s Blissl Of Vurgrom’s faction! I’ve found the traitors! Follow me!”
Anton pivoted to see Shandri standing on guard several yards away, glaring, dark sword shivering in her hands.
“I followed you,” she said. “I cared for you, but I’m not an imbecile, even though you played me for one, and what you were babbling just didn’t make sense.”
Anton reflected bitterly that he was the imbecile. Normally, he took care that no one shadowed him, but tonight, he’d been too busy keeping track of the ghostly hand. Whereas Shandri, with the ring that let her see in the dark, had had little difficulty keeping him in view.
“And I was wise to be suspicious,” the pirate continued. “Because, if I’m not mistaken, people worship Umberlee at the water’s edge, not in filthy little alleys.”
“All right,” he said, “I did mislead you. But I can explain.”
“Don’t bother. I heard some of what you and Tu’ala’keth had to say to one another. Enough to understand the two of you are spies. You came here to steal a secret, and now that you’ve got it, you hope to vanish in the night. Well, it won’t be that easy.” Once again, she shouted: “Shark’s Blissl Vurgrom’s men! I need you!”
“Be silent,” said Tu’ala’keth. “We have done no harm to you or your ship, and we intend none. But if you continue to shout, we will kill you.”
“‘No harm?’ What about your lies?”
“I said you can be strong, and so you can. The choice is up to you.”
Shandri sneered at Anton. “You told other lies besides that one.”
“Love is pleasant,” said Tu’ala’keth, “but it is a petty thing compared to the mastery and slaughter which are your birthright. You demean yourself by making much of it. Now sheathe your sword and trouble us no more. Otherwise, I will kill you.”
Shandri smiled. “Try.”
“As you wish,” said Tu’ala’keth. She gripped her bony pendant, started to conjure, and several men and ores came dashing around the corner and down the street. Umberlee, it seemed, was even stingier with her
“grace” than Anton had imagined. Folk were actually combing the streets for the shalarin, and they’d heard the pirate captain yell.
Sealmid was at the head of the pack, amethyst bow in hand. “You found them,” he said to Shandri. “I didn’t know you’d even joined the hunt.”
“Thus far,” said Tu’ala’keth, “you are all faithful worshipers of Umberlee. Do not offend her, lest she curse you.”
“We thaw what you did to Yuiredd,” said the first mate. “We’ll take our chantheth.” He pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging at his hip.
Retreating, Tu’ala’keth resumed her chant. Pirates drew their blades and stalked after her.
Shandri said, “Anton is mine.” She charged.
He snatched his cutlass from the scabbard, barely in time to parry a head cut. The clanging impact jolted down his arm.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you, and you don’t really want to kill me.”
“Yes,” she said, “I do.” The dark blade leaped at him.
As they circled, he caught glimpses of Tu’ala’keth’s part of the battle. Now outlined in some sort of protective blue-green aura, she conjured a howl of sound. It staggered her foes but didn’t stop them. The next time he saw her, pirates were hacking at her, while Sealmid loosed an arrow. The shaft veered like a bird on the wing to swing wide of the archer’s comrades, turned, and struck the shalarin in the back. From his vantage point, Anton couldn’t tell whether it pierced her silverweave or not, but it knocked her lurching forward, and a broadsword slashed at her torso. Snarling, she caught the blow on the haft of her trident.
Her eyes seething with shadow like the greatsword, Shandri struck blow after furious blow, until Anton’s arm felt half-numb from the stress of parrying. It seemed impossible that anyone could hit so hard with such a ponderous blade and recover quickly enough to attack again just an instant later. He realized he’d never seen the pirate wield the living sword in actual combat, when she and it were united in their avidity for the kill. He hadn’t understood what a fearsome weapon it truly was.
She was pressing him so hard that already, it was difficult to attack or riposte, and if anything, she kept striking faster and harder, as if battle-rage were making her steadily stronger when by all rights, she should be tiring.
To make matters even worse, she was using the superior length of her weapon to good effect, keeping a measure that allowed her to attack him but not the other way around. He needed to adjust, to slip inside the critical space where his cutlass could cut and stab but a greatsword was unwieldy.
He parried repeatedly, looking for the opening he neededuntil a sweep of the dark blade snapped his own in two, leaving just a jagged stub protruding from the bell guard.
Shandri laughed and sprang at him, swinging the greatsword at his neck. He blocked with the shattered cutlassuntil the bell crumpled or broke beneath her hammering blows, it could still serve as a makeshift bucklerand snatched a dagger from his sash.
It was a pathetic weapon compared to the greatsword, especially considering that, by pushing him so relentlessly, Shandri wasn’t even permitting him to shift it to his right hand. But it was all he had left.
“I love you,” he said and, hoping the words might make her hesitate for a split second, lunged. Shandri instantly took a retreat, opening up the distance again, and the greatsword leaped at his belly. Somehow he stopped short, and the stroke whizzed harmlessly by. He blocked the next one with the broken cutlass.
Such good fortune couldn’t last. She was going to penetrate his guard eventually, most likely within the next few heartbeats. He risked another glance at Tu’ala’keth, and saw she was still in no position to help him. A couple of her opponents sprawled on the ground, dead or incapacitated, but the rest were still assailing her, and one of Sealmid’s arrows was sticking through her bloody calf.
Anton would have to save himself, and it was plain his combat skills were insufficient. He supposed that left sorcery.
The problem was magic would require him to focus his attention on the intricate business of conjuring, which was all too likely to slow his reactions as he tried to parry and dodge the greatsword. But still, it seemed his only chance.