The wizard studied him. “And you’d take me with you?”
“After all we’ve been through together? Certainly.”
Obviously, they had indeed fought side by side, but more to the point, he might need her. She knew what her master’s ship looked like. He didn’t.
“Then thank you,” she said.
“Come on,” he said, “it’s this way.”
At least he hoped it was. He didn’t think Dalabrac had been lying about that particular detail, but then, he hadn’t discerned the halfling’s true intentions during their first conversation in the Golden Helm, either.
As he and his companion hurried along the shaky docks, he noticed yet another corpse, one that presumably had nothing to do with his own endeavors, bumping against one of the piles. Rats skittered through the gloom, and he reflected that they at least appeared to be prospering during the Great Rain. Evidently they knew how to find and take what they needed even when other creatures were going hungry. Maybe they too were pirates in their way.
Finally, and to his relief, a point of blue light appeared in the darkness ahead. “Wait here until I call you,” he told the mage. “The captain doesn’t like surprises.”
As he prowled forward, he wondered if he was the one about to get a surprise in the form of Fire Knives lying in wait. But he couldn’t see any such lurkers aboard the long, low sailboat with the blue lantern hanging from the stern. Although really, it wasn’t easy even to make out the vessel herself. When the rains came, its master, lifelong smuggler of contraband and fugitives that he was, had dyed the sails and painted the hull to blend with gray skies and seas.
In any event, only one figure looked up at Anton from the deck, and that one was only a bit taller than Dalabrac had been. His skin was dark like the Turmishan’s, but the close-trimmed beard framing his sharp-nosed face was so silvery a blond that it seemed to glow in the darkness.
“Where’s everybody else?” asked Falrinn Greatorm.
“I’m bringing a wizard I met along the way,” Anton answered. “Dalabrac won’t be joining us, nor will any other Fire Knives.”
The gnome snorted. “First, Dalabrac sends word that we wants to use my boat to set a trap for you.” He hesitated. “You understand, it was nothing personal.”
“Just business.”
“Aye. But then the next message tells me he and I are setting sail and you may or may not be coming along.”
“Depending on whether he decided it made more sense to deal fairly or betray me.”
“So I assumed. But now you’re here, and he isn’t.”
“I’m sure it’s frustrating for a methodical fellow like you when things keep changing. But at least somebody turned up, and I still need transport.”
“As I need payment,” Falrinn said.
“Dalabrac didn’t pay?”
“He isn’t you.”
Anton frowned. He didn’t have time for an extended palaver. He and the wizard needed to set sail before anyone showed up to stop them, an imperative that tempted him to simply steal the sailboat. But the Footloose Maid was a unique vessel, and he might need her master to get her out to sea quickly or make the best possible time thereafter.
“Look,” he said, “you must have heard about Evendur Highcastle’s bounty on the boy preacher.”
“Aye, but so what? The child’s right here in Westgate under the protection of the sunlords.”
“Like the various messages you had from Dalabrac, that information is out of date. The boy set sail tonight, and if you help me chase him down, I’ll cut you in for half.”
Scowling, Falrinn stood and pondered long enough that Anton started to reconsider the idea of stealing the boat. “Curse it, Marivaldi, if it was anyone but you … But I won’t deny that over the years, I’ve made a fair amount of coin off your crazy schemes. Fetch your wizard and help me cast off.”
“She doesn’t know my true intentions. You’ll need to watch what you say.”
“Oh, that sounds promising. But don’t worry. I’ll follow your lead. If I didn’t know how to lie, some harbormaster would have hanged me long ago.”
CHAPTER SIX
Evendur Highcastle savored the gleaming and clinking of the gold and platinum pieces spilling through his fingers back into the coffer. He’d claimed his share of plunder as a pirate, but the sums were paltry compared to the treasure that came to the hierophant of a thriving religion.
Flecks of his spongy fingers dropped along with the coins, but noticing things like that no longer troubled him. He’d come to understand that no matter how thoroughly he rotted, he’d remain as strong as ever, and he didn’t care that his appearance was horrific. To the contrary. Even as a mortal man, he’d liked inspiring fear. It was as pleasurable as it was useful.
Although if Imbras Ilshansa was frightened, the pudgy, brown-haired young Impilturian concealed it with the aplomb of an accomplished envoy. “I hope the gift is satisfactory,” he said.
Evendur turned away from the coffer and the eight others like it and back toward the emissary and the deep, round pool at the center of the chamber. “It’ll do for a start. But the proper term is ‘offering’. Or ‘tribute’.”
“I beg your pardon,” Imbras said. “Offering, of course. And, I trust, the first of many. If Impiltur thrives, it will naturally pay homage to the goddess who nurtures it.”
Evendur grinned. “Just what kind of nurturing are you looking for?”
The envoy hesitated. “Well, Wavelord, if you would have me speak frankly … Folk in my land are turning to the worship of Umberlee in increasing numbers, and that, plainly, is exactly how it should be. Unfortunately, in many cases, they’re the same people most dissatisfied with the Grand Council. Thus, their faith often becomes a justification if not a vehicle for riots, rebellion, and anarchy.”
“Yet if Impilturian waveservants preached their sermons just a little differently, they could channel all that anger in a useful direction.”
“The people have the right to be angry,” Imbras replied. “The Grand Council has failed them, and the reason is that such a body is by its very nature incapable of effectively governing a realm. Impiltur needs to restore the monarchy.”
Evendur grunted. “Before my rebirth, I didn’t pay much attention to royal bloodlines. But I believe House Ilshansa claims such a tie to old Imbrar II.”
“I freely acknowledge,” Imbras said, “that my uncle hopes to take the throne. Why shouldn’t my family assert our claim when it’s by far the most legitimate? And once we’ve united the realm, we’ll finally drive out the demon cults that have plagued us for decades.”
“If Umberlee gave Impiltur-and House Ilshansa-such a glorious future, ‘homage’ wouldn’t be enough. Your folk would have to worship her before all other deities.”
“The Queen of the Depths will be the patron deity of the royal family and any noble or merchant who hopes to find favor in our eyes. Her temple will be the grandest in every town.”
“In that case-”
A roar sounded from the center of the room and echoed off the wall. Startled, Evendur and his petitioner jerked in the direction of the noise.
A whirling column like a waterspout rose swaying from the well. Such a manifestation unquestionably involved one of the forces or intelligences to which Evendur was attuned, and he focused his will to probe it.
But before he could begin, the water spun outward and swept him up along with Imbras. They tumbled in an impossible whirlpool that filled the chamber but evidently refused to spill out the doors and windows.
As Umberlee’s Chosen and an undead besides, Evendur had no fear of drowning, but it enraged him to have the element of which he was the rightful master turned against him. He grabbed for the source of the disturbance with his thoughts, his intent now less to comprehend or communicate that to rend and smash.