“That’s rather expensive,” Agis answered, not closing his purse. “In fact, it’s outrageous.”
“It is,” Kester assured him, slipping the coins into the purse hanging on her belt. “But ye won’t be hiring any other boat to follow the king’s fleet to the isle of Lybdos.”
“I suppose not,” Agis replied, closing his purse. “I trust you’re worth it.”
“Some say I am-and some say I’m a pirate,” she replied, leading the way across the street.
“Which is it?” Agis asked. “After what I’ve just paid you, I deserve to know.”
The tarek shrugged. “I never know from one day to the next.”
No sooner had they set foot on the dock than a streak of blinding light sizzled past the noble’s shoulder, striking a nearby sloop. A deafening crack rolled over the quay, and the ship’s mast collapsed in a rain of splinters. Agis and Kester hit the ground, surrounded by screaming slaves. Together, they rolled to their backs, facing the harborside street as they returned to their feet.
Across the way stood the female templar and her colleague. The traitorous sailor, Salust, was just stepping out of the alley from which Agis had come. A few yards behind him followed several half-giant guards.
“Seize that man!” yelled the female templar, pointing at Agis. “I command it in the name of King Andropinis!”
Kester looked at the noble and raised her heavy brow. “Nymos didn’t say ye were wanted by the king.”
Seeing that there were too many opponents to disable with the Way alone, the noble reached for his sword. The tarek lashed out with her gangling arm and caught the noble’s hand before he could draw. “A wise man’d leave that sheathed.”
Agis fixed his eyes on Kester’s face, summoning the energy to use the Way. “I see you’ve chosen pirate today,” the noble replied.
An indignant frown flashed across Kester’s face, but the tarek kept her eyes turned toward the templars and made no response.
Salust slipped between the templars. “The bounty is mine,” he said, pointing at Kester. “I’m not splitting it with that smuggler.”
Kester snarled at the man, then motioned for the templars to come forward. “If there’s a reward, I’ll be wantin’ my share.”
“And you shall have it,” said the male templar.
He and his companion started up the quay, accompanied by the bitterly complaining Salust. The trio’s half-giant escorts started to follow, but the woman signaled them to wait on the street.
“We have things under control,” said the sour-faced templar, picking her way past a heap of building stone. “You’ll just be in the way.”
Kester abruptly released Agis’s hand, then pulled a dagger from her chest harness. “I’ll take the woman!” she hissed.
With a flick of her wrist, the tarek sent the dagger sailing straight to the templar’s throat. The woman clasped her hands around the wound and dropped, gurgling, to the ground.
Even as she fell, Agis reached for one of Kester’s daggers.
The noble had no delusions about being able to throw a dagger accurately over such a distance, but he had other means of delivering the blade. After pulling the weapon from the tarek’s chest harness, the noble tossed the knife at the second templar, then used the Way to guide its path. The dagger took its victim in the same place the tarek’s blade had taken the female.
Salust paled and started to back away. At the same time, the half-giants waiting on the street screamed in fury, then stepped onto the quay. They did not rush, however. The half-giants were too large to run without the risk of tripping over a slave or stack of cargo.
“Thanks for standing by me,” Agis said.
“Ye paid me already,” the tarek replied in a gruff voice. She pulled another dagger from her harness.
“Next time, I won’t be so fast to take yer silver.” With that, she threw her weapon at Salust. The blade sank deep into the sailor’s breast. He collapsed, clutching at the leg of a passing half-giant. The brute angrily shook the dying man off, then hurled his club at Kester. The tarek ducked easily, and the big cudgel bounced off the hull of a nearby ship.
Agis drew his sword, bracing himself to meet the half-giants.
Kester grabbed him by the arm. “No need to fight,” she said. “Those oafs can’t catch the likes of us.”
“Then why’d you kill Salust?” Agis said, glancing over his shoulder. Slaves and dockmasters were cringing in terror as the half-giants stepped over them, shoving cargo off the pier and cursing in anger.
“Never trusted him,” she said, pulling the noble down the quay at a sprint.
They dodged past a stack of baled wool, pushed their way through a screeching flock of erdlus, then they were running for Kester’s caravel. As they came closer to the ship, the noble saw that it carried a dozen ballistae and catapults on each side.
As they passed beneath the stern, the noble gestured at the weaponry. “Why all the siege engines?”
“Giants,” answered Kester. She grabbed a thick rope dangling from the stern and handed it to Agis, then took another for herself. “Make way, Perkin!” she called as she began to climb. “Set a course for Lybdos, and be quick about it.”
“Not Lybdos,” Agis corrected, almost losing his grip on the rope as the caravel lurched into motion. “First, we go up-estuary a few miles.”
Kester scowled at him. “That’s no good,” she said. “After what we just did, I don’t fancy sneaking back past Balic. And the fleet’s already got a lead on us. Every hour’s costly.”
“It doesn’t matter. Before we leave, I have a promise to keep,” Agis said, throwing an arm over the gunnel. “Besides, with a little luck, a friend of mine just might be able to stop the fleet cold.”
“If that’s what you want,” Kester said, dangling from her rope with one hand and using the other to push the noble over the railing. “But it’ll cost extra.”
FOUR
THE STRAIT OF BAZA
To Tithian, the dusky shape to the Silt Lion’s leeward side did not appear to be a boulder. For one thing, it seemed to be moving parallel to the ship, and for another, its profile resembled that of a massive head sitting atop a pair of colossal shoulders. Still, though the distance separating them was less than fifty yards, the king could not be sure of what he saw. For the fifth day straight, a heavy wind was ripping across the sea, lofting so much dust into the air that it was difficult to see clearly from the stern of the schooner to the bow.
Tithian turned to the ship’s mate, who was holding a large cone of solid glass to his eyes. “What’s that over there?” the king asked, indicating the direction in which he had been looking.
“A giant,” the mate reported. “But don’t worry. We’re in the Strait of Baza. As soon as we pass into deeper silt, he won’t be able to follow.” The catch in the young man’s voice belied his anxiety.
“Let me have the king’s eye,” Tithian said, ripping the cone of glass from the sailor’s hands.
“But the ship’s blind without it, King Tithian,” the sailor objected. “The dust is shallow here!”
Ignoring the mate’s complaint, Tithian pulled the dust-shields off his eyes, replacing the grimy lenses with the broad end of the cone. He pointed the tip at the shape he had been watching. Thanks to the magic Andropinis had instilled in the glass, the silt haze no longer obscured Tithian’s vision.
The thing was definitely a giant, with long braids of greasy hair hanging from his head and tufts of coarse bristle sprouting on the gravelly skin of his shoulders. His face seemed a peculiar mix of human and rodent, with a sloped forehead, dangling ears, deep-set eyes, and flat nose that ended in a pair of cavernous nostrils. A dozen jagged incisors protruded from beneath his upper lip, and a mosslike beard hung over his recessed chin.
“There can only be one giant that ugly,” Tithian growled. “Fylo!” He turned to the ship’s mate and ordered, “Stop the ship!”
Navarch Saanakal, high templar of the king’s fleets, stepped to the Tyrian’s side. Even for a half-elf, he was tall and slender, towering two full heads over Tithian. Beneath the grimy glass of his dust-shields, the commander’s eyes were pale brown and as fiery as embers. He had lean, sharp cheeks and a bony nose, but a silk scarf hid the rest of his face, protecting his airway from the dust.