‘Not much of a fleet,’ the handmaid observed.
The Inquisitor blinked. ‘A sudden storm has temporarily scattered us. To resume my message to your captain, she and her crew – including all passengers – must accept adjudication.’
‘By “adjudication” do you mean killing?’
The pale-skinned woman smiled, the expression seeming to fold the two sides of her face slightly inward. ‘The Proclamation of Restitution has been sanctioned. We continue the task.’
‘And did this fate befall the Perish?’
‘Yours is not a Perish ship.’ She frowned. ‘I sense enmity from your vessel – and that fat little girl with the pipe, she is a mage, is she not? We shall adjudicate her first.’
The handmaid walked back to the rail and leaned over. ‘Highness,’ she called down, ‘they’re being a little cagey regarding the Perish. Might be you were right.’
‘Anything else that might be important?’ Felash asked.
‘No, Highness. Only that they want to kill us.’
‘Very well. Carry on.’
The handmaid turned round.
The Lesser Watered spoke, ‘Reach not for your weapons. Kneel. For each and every one of you, the healing of the world begins with your death. Among all the reasons to die, is there one more worthy than this? Be thankful that we give meaning to your end. Kneel.’
The handmaid shook her head. ‘A Pure already tried all that. Caught me off guard … for a moment or two. My will is not yours to command.’
She moved then, rather faster than they’d expected, her hands thrusting outward, striking the bodyguards in the chest. Both warriors were lifted from their feet. Over the rail, plummeting to the waters below. She ducked at that instant, evading the Lesser’s lashing attack, and kicked at the second joint on the woman’s left leg, folding it halfway between the knee and the ankle. Her attacker stumbled, and the handmaid slipped past her, spinning round and out to one side to meet the six marines.
Behind them others were coming up from below, she saw.
She drew her fighting knives. She needed bigger weapons. The marine closest to her wielded a nice pair of cutlasses. She would take those.
Shurq Elalle loosed a startled oath and then leaned forward to watch the two armoured guards plunge into the choppy waters between the ships. Both men vanished in a froth of bubbles. Turning to Felash, she asked, ‘Does she need help over there?’
Plucked brows lifted. ‘I certainly hope not!’
The sounds of fighting – blades clashing, shouts and then screams – came from the deck of the other ship. ‘Princess, this handmaid of yours, where did she come from?’
‘Ah, now that is a mystery.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Do we have the time? Well, I suppose we do.’ She puffed on her pipe, her face disappearing briefly behind a plume of smoke, and then said, ‘My mother’s account, this. There were seven of them. Six remain – the seventh, well, there was some kind of private challenge that, um, failed. No matter. Now, I will grant you, they appear young, but do not let that deceive you. My mother concluded that alchemies constituted a worthwhile investment in maintaining the vigour of her six eldest daughters’ handmaids. And we daughters are of course sworn to secrecy in all such matters, perpetuating the illusion that we have simply grown up with our loyal companions, and so on …’
She paused then when another chain-clad marine spun head first over the rail, trailing blood over the side. A loud splash followed.
‘They were most recalcitrant about divesting themselves of their horrid masks, but in the end my mother’s will prevailed.’
Shurq Elalle frowned.
Masks?
The sailors made a mess of things as the Lesser Watered, in her pain and panic, used the sorcery of her voice to command them, and it was some time before the handmaid worked her way through the howling mob. Frenzied rage had shock value, and the crew’s utter lack of the instinct for self-preservation made things rather frantic for a few moments, but there was nothing tactical in their efforts to bring her down. When at last the handmaid stepped over a sprawl of bleeding bodies and approached the Inquisitor, she was breathing hard and sweat stung her eyes.
The woman facing her cradled a broken arm, stood hunched over a dislocated shoulder, and glared across at the handmaid. ‘What manner of demon are you?’ she demanded in a ragged hiss.
‘For an answer to that,’ the handmaid replied with a half-smile, ‘best look elsewhere.’
The Inquisitor scythed out one leg. The handmaid leapt high, swung down, and severed the limb just above the knee. As she came down, her other cutlass cut into the vertical hinge of the woman’s face, splitting it in two. A back-swing with the pommel of the first cutlass slammed into the side of the Inquisitor’s skull, punching through.
Pouring out blood, the corpse crumpled at her feet. The handmaid looked round. No movement among any of the other bodies.
Just as Mother taught
. She glanced down at the cutlasses in her hands, and then let them fall with a clatter.
Pieces of shit
. She went looking for her knives.
Hood returned to the deck once they were under way. The once-god of death looked back, frowned at the burning ship in their wake.
‘Would’ve stopped her firing it,’ Shurq Elalle muttered, following the Jaghut’s gaze, ‘if I’d had the chance.’
‘Oh? Why is that, Captain?’
‘Well, that column of smoke can be seen from a long way off.’
‘Indeed.’ And Hood turned to her then, and smiled.
‘I must leave you now.’
Ublala grunted. ‘I knew you weren’t my friend.’
‘I assure you,’ Draconus said, ‘that I am, Ublala Pung. But events have occurred that now force my hand. As for you, a different destiny awaits.’
‘I hate destiny.’
‘Do you understand the meaning of the word?’
Ublala looked across at Ralata and scowled. ‘Of course I do. It’s the place where you end up. Everyone knows that.’
‘In a manner of speaking, perhaps. I fear you have mistaken it for “destination”. Ublala, destiny is the fate you find for yourself. Many hold to the belief that it is preordained, as if the future was already decided and there is nothing you can do to escape it. I do not. Each of us is free to decide.’
‘Then I’m going with you. My wife can go somewhere else. She keeps talking about babies but I don’t want babies – they get in the way of having fun, and people who end up having them spend all day talking about how great it is, but they look miserable even when they’re smiling. Or worse, there’re those ones who think their baby is the God of Genius reborn and even its poo smells like flowers, and all they do is talk about them for ever and ever and it’s so boring I want to run away, or break their necks, or drown them all in the slop bucket.’
‘A rather uncharitable view, Ublala.’
‘I don’t give nothing for free, that’s for sure. Whole people disappear when a baby arrives. Poof! Where’d they go? Oh, I know, they’re crawling around making baby noises. It makes me sick.’ He ducked the rock Ralata threw at him and continued, ‘So I’m going with you and if you were a real friend you’d take me because if I make a baby my life is over. Over!’
‘Can you fly, Ublala?’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘Nevertheless, and no, I will not carry you. Now, listen to me. We have gone as far west as needed – now you must strike northward.’
‘Why?’
Draconus glanced away, eyes narrowing, and then he sighed and said, ‘Your innocence is a gift, Ublala Pung. A rare gift. It must endure. It must be protected, but that I can no longer do. Walk northward, that is all I ask.’
‘Where am I going?’
‘I cannot say for certain,’ Draconus admitted. ‘Nothing is certain, especially now.’
‘Will you come back?’
Draconus hesitated, and then he shook his head. ‘I do not think we will meet again, no. And for that I truly grieve.’
‘Are you going somewhere to die?’
‘Do not weep, friend. I do not know what awaits me.’ He stepped close to Ublala. ‘I have left you sufficient food and water for a week’s travel. Beyond that, well.’ He shrugged, and then held out a hand. ‘Now, let us clasp arms.’
Instead, Ublala wrapped the god in a fierce hug.
After a moment, Draconus pulled himself free. ‘You give reason,
friend, for what I must attempt. If sorcery must die, the magic in the mortal soul will persevere – or so I choose to believe.’
Ralata hissed, ‘Kill him, Ublala! Kill him now – you can do it! Snap his neck! Take that sword!’
Ublala winced and then shrugged. ‘She’s always going on like this. She don’t mean anything by it, Draconus. Honest.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘Goodbye. I’ll never see you again.’ And this time he burst into tears, wailing with his hands over his eyes.
When Ralata rushed to him, scrabbling to draw his knife, Ublala batted her away between sobs. She was thrown back, sailing through the air and then landing hard, limbs flailing, before falling still.
Frowning, Draconus walked over. Crouched down. ‘Unconscious. Well, that is something, I suppose.’
Sniffling, Ublala said, ‘Women always get jealous about man friends. Sometimes they say bad things about them. Sometimes they try to knife them. Sometimes they sex them. Sometimes they run away with them. Sometimes they get so mad they just up and die. But it’s all just stupid.’
Draconus straightened, walked a short distance away, and then turned to face Ublala one more time. ‘Be well, Ublala Pung.’
‘Don’t die, Draconus.’
The god smiled. ‘I shall try not to.’
Ublala watched his friend disappear inside a bloom of black, ethereal darkness, watched as the darkness found shape – spreading wings, a long serpent neck, a massive head with rows of scimitar-length fangs, eyes of lurid yellow.
The dragon lifted into the sky, the vast wings hissing with the sound of cold water on hot stones as the creature wheeled and set off.
With an uneven sigh, the Teblor collected the pack containing the food, and then the heavy waterskins. Along with his weapons and armour, the burden was enough to make him grunt when he straightened.
Grasping Ralata by one ankle, he began walking.
The way she was right now, why, a wife was as bad as a baby.
Brother Diligence arrived well ahead of the retinue, his boots echoing as he strode the length of the throne room. All the blood stains remained – splashed and smeared across the marble tiles, along the pillars to either side and the walls behind them, and upon the throne itself, where sat Sister Reverence.
Restitution had begun here, in this very chamber, and it was proper to remind all who would enter. Halting before Reverence – the only other person present – he said, ‘We must assume that they are lost to us, Sister.’
‘I smell smoke, Brother.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Excellent.’ She paused and then said, ‘“Lost.” Now that is a curious word. Are they dead, or are they now treasonous to our great cause?’
‘If the former, Sister, we must then reconsider the enemies arrayed against us.’
‘And if the latter, then we must re-evaluate the loyalty
among
us.’
‘The issue lies with Sister Calm,’ said Brother Diligence. ‘Equity but follows.’
‘Not precisely true, Brother. Equity is the heart of the ideals which they would hold, but it is Calm who adheres to the practical. Her long imprisonment, horrific as it must have been, has greatly damaged her spirit, I am afraid. We must, indeed, hope that she is dead, more so than poor, misguided Equity.’
‘I have received a missive from the siege, Sister. The assault failed.’
Reverence sat straighter. ‘But how can this be?’
‘Sister Belie informs me that Akhrast Korvalain is ineffectual against the commander of the besieged.’
‘Impossible – unless, is he a god? An ascendant?’
‘Neither, I am told. This man – a mortal – titles himself the Master of the Deck of Dragons. He commands the warrens, in ways Sister Belie cannot quite understand. But what she describes at last explains the sudden appearance of that army. They arrived via a portal, travelling by warren. Incidentally, this is why they could not get closer to us here at the Spire, where our sorcerous influence is strongest.’
‘I see. Then this master’s power cannot challenge us.’
‘He and his army represent a military threat nonetheless. I now advise we dispatch another three legions, commanded by another Pure.’
‘Ready the legions, Brother, but do not send them to Estobanse. Not yet. The challenge posed by the Master of the Deck of Dragons … intrigues me. I will think some more on how to deal with him.’
‘As you wish, Sister.’
The doors swung open then and Diligence turned to observe the approach of the retinue. Flanked by two Pures, the heavily armoured warriors marched towards the throne, a full dozen of the highest-ranking officers.
Brother Diligence murmured, ‘Most formidable, are they not, Sister Reverence?’
‘Indeed, Brother.’
Ten paces from the dais the contingent halted.
Brother Diligence studied them briefly, and then said to one of the escorting Pures, ‘Brother Serenity. They have anchored their ships in the harbour?’