Chapter 37 Surrender #2
Dev grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.
Rhi’Ahr warriors strode up behind him, holding both sword and cyr.
We were boarded. We’d surrendered. They grabbed Dev’s arms and shoved him toward the stepladder.
They came for me next, and I let them, taking one last look around the gundeck.
It was devastated, smoking, and empty of crew.
How long had I been out? Was I dreaming? Was I dead?
The Touchstone never surrendered.
The Rhi’Ahr shoved me up the hatch, and once I stepped onto the main, a hand grabbed me by the neck and flung me forward, and I staggered across the planks.
I blinked in the brilliant sunslight, my heart sinking at the sight of the enemy ship abroadside, her corvus hooks in our bulwarks, her boots stomping along our decks.
Uniformly tall, elegant, and elven, Rhi’Ahr marched across the main, uniforms like a gold-and-white wave.
They had corralled a small group of seamages on the forecastle, and officers at the wheel.
My heart lurched as I saw Thanavar held between four warriors.
He could have flown away at any point, I reckoned, left us on board to regroup ashore.
But he remained, bloody, beaten, defiant, and proud.
Fahr and Smoke stood nearby, where the quarterdeck meets the main, but Buck and Broom were with the seamages afore.
I was surprised that Broom had made it topside.
In fact, I was surprised he was even alive, given how he had been impaled by so many staves on the deck below.
So few left.
The Rhi’Ahr shoved me into line next to Fahr and Smoke, and a gangway was struck between our two ships. I couldn’t help but stare as a man dressed in more silver and gold than a king’s table swept onto our deck.
Nearly as tall as Thanavar but broader, he had golden hair pulled back in an elaborate weave of braids and knots.
A sword swung at his hip, and a cloak flowed behind him like a wake.
He strode up to Thanavar and reached to take a cyr from a Rhi’Ahr beside.
He studied it for a long moment, tested the weight in his bejewelled hand, before driving the hilt into Thanavar’s belly.
“No!” I cried as the captain doubled over and dropped to his knees.
“Gavriel Thanavar,” said the golden man. “Mae ingaine mylnead ynir, rhi hir.”
There was only the sound of the wind and the soft creak of the hull, until there was another.
It was a sound I had never heard before in my time on the Touchstone, had never thought to hear it in all of my days combined, and it turned my blood as cold as the bergs that floated nearby. It echoed over the water, over the lapping of the waves and hissing of the salt breeze.
The laughter of Gavriel Thanavar.
Soon, even that sound died, and he looked up, the smile becoming a knife on his lips.
“Kinrath Ilvalour,” he spat.
The name was like honey, like poison, like a snarl, like a song.
“Cy fwthilu,” I whispered under my breath, and the veil of words lifted like the dawn.
“You are a disgrace to Lindurithain and to Nethersea,” Thanavar said. “To the Worldrune, and to Kirianae, Guardian of Chimeric and Goddess of the Tree. I should have slit your throat the moment you set a boot on our shore.”
“But you didn’t, and I am here,” said the man called Ilvalour. “And you’ll rue the day you once chose mercy.”
“I never choose mercy,” said Thanavar. “I am Rhi’Ahr.”
And he slapped his palms down on the deck of the ship. The Touchstone shuddered, and above our heads, lines whipped and snapped as if serpents. One, two, then three Rhi’Ahr were caught by the neck and hauled, twisting and screaming, into the shrouds.
“You are the last of a dead religion, priest,” said Ilvalour. “Your wooden goddess cannot save you anymore.”
And Ilvalour drove the spear straight down, piercing the captain’s right hand and pinning it to the deck. Thanavar cried out, and Fahr lunged forward, but the Rhi’Ahr caught him and cracked a fist into the side of his skull. He dropped like a stone.
Planks burst from the deck, impaling Rhi’Ahr with staves and spars as the Touchstone fought back.
Deck boards rippled beneath Ilvalour’s boots, but rune swept down his body, stifling the ship’s magik at his feet.
He slid the sword from his hip and, in one swift, savage stroke, brought the sword down on Thanavar’s wrist.
My breath caught in my throat, and the ship fell silent. I felt the Touchstone recoil as her beloved’s blood seeped into her skin. Long fingers curled as Thanavar shrank back without them.
Ilvalour leaned down.
“Shall I take your other hand, or just kill you now?”
Thanavar looked up, eyes glittering, and he grinned like a cat.
“Try.”
The sword swung a second time, but patterns sparked and a runeshield sizzled to life before it could hit.
From his knees, Dev clapped his hands together and flung a second shield my way.
I caught it as they beat him to the floor, laced it with chimeric, and threw it over the captain in a starry shroud.
But before I could cast a hold spell, a Rhi’Ahr fist slammed into my belly, and I pitched forward.
A knee to the chin and a backhand to the temple sent me to the deck, and the shield became ashes in the salt wind.
“Aro’el,” Ilvalour said, turning toward me. “The chimeric chaser. Yes, I saw you that day. Impressive.”
He lifted his head and looked around the main.
“I see you all. You are a noble crew, a worthy crew,” said Ilvalour. “But your efforts will not save your captain. He is an enemy of all people and will die here, at the place of his first great crime.”
I could feel the Touchstone’s shock turn to fury, could feel her very bones begin to move.
A Rhi’Ahr warrior pulled a dagger, grabbed a handful of black hair, and yanked Thanavar’s head back.
But the warrior froze, and his dagger clattered to the deck.
A scream burst from his lips, followed by blood, followed by wood.
Larger and wider, the man’s mouth split wide, then his throat, then his chest as the shattered bowsprit carried him up above us all, heaved by a furious mother from the gundeck below.
He thrashed for a long, agonizing moment before the bowsprit burst him apart.
Blood, bone, and flesh rained to the deck.
Thanavar smiled wickedly.
“Try again?”
Ilvalour straightened.
“They love you. That much is clear. But how much do you love them?”
He looked up as the hatch door opened and Echo was pushed onto the deck, blinking in the suns’ bright light.
“Kill his crew. Start with that one.”
“No!” I cried.
One of the Rhi’Ahr swung a cyr, but the blade froze a mere hand’s breath before the faun’s belly.
“I said kill him,” Ilvalour snarled. “Laedith.”
“Ni allath,” said the Rhi’Ahr, and he shook his head. A second pulled his cyr, drove it forward as well, only to have it stop, trembling, beside the first.
I locked eyes with Echo, grateful he was still alive. He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear a word.
“Hythae,” hissed Ilvalour, and he swung round to the crew of the Touchstone.
“Who is doing this?” he barked. “Confess now or I will slaughter each and every one of you.”
A hand waved deftly in the air.
“No need,” said Smoke. “That’s me. Simple Kinestorum spell. One you should have learned in foggin’ mage school as a pup.”
Ilvalour turned as Rhi’Ahr surrounded the quartermaster and dragged him forward.
“You’re being a fool, Kinrath Ilvalour,” said Smoke. “Killing the captain of the Touchstone, one of the most wanted rogues in both helms, for something as petty as revenge. It shows an appalling lack of imagination.”
“Rhi’Ahr are pragmatic,” said Ilvalour. “He is wanted dead or alive. Dead is much easier.”
And he towered over the quartermaster, his golden hair waving in the breeze.
“As you will soon find out.”
Ilvalour swung his sword. It thudded to a stop just before Smoke’s head.
“Again, foolish,” said Smoke. “Why would you kill me? I know all the secrets on this ship. I can help you.”
“You lie like an Oversea whore,” said Ilvalour.
“I’m not the liar. He is.” And Smoke pointed to Fahr, pinned to the deck under Rhi’Ahr boots. “The son of King Stephanus Bonavanczek IV of Oversea.”
“Smoke,” I hissed. “No…”
The quartermaster cocked his head at the Rhi’Ahr.
“Of course, you knew. Yes, the Stolen Prince is still alive after all these years. Could fetch a pretty sum from the court at High Temple.”
Ilvalour swung around.
“This one?”
Dev snarled as he was pulled to his feet.
“The very one. Or better yet, bring him to your Impirius as a prize,” Smoke urged. “Let him do the negotiating. A feather in your cap, I’d say. At the same time, present him with Gavriel Thanavar, the last Priestlord of House WoodRaven. He’s been sinking your ships for years. Two feathers, now.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I was dreaming. I was dead.
“I currently have an accord in place for the prince,” said Ilvalour. “But your arrogance is intriguing. Why should I listen to a privateer?”
“Because I’m only an occasional privateer. I’m really a trader at heart, a merchant of information. I buy and sell things that people want to know. It’s only when I can’t that I steal it.”
He pointed a finger at Buck.
“Take him, for example. He’s a waterspinner and can thrum with the best of them, despite that clanky wooden leg. Or the faun you just tried to kill. He’s a clearseer and a thoughtspinner. He’s also a surgeon. Quite a useful skill set, really.”
He glanced around the deck, laid his expressive eyes on me.
“Or that girl there. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. She spins chimeric with her bare hands.”
I would kill him if I wasn’t dead already.
“The Impirius wishes her brought to his court,” Ilvalour said.
“Well, she’s yours, then, I’m sure,” said Smoke. “If you spare some of her mates. Feather number three. It’d be a shame to lose such an advantage because you’re either reckless or a fool.”
He raised his brows and leaned forward.
“So, which is it, Captain?” he asked. “Are you reckless, or are you a fool?”
Ilvalour stared at him, tapping the sword on the side of his boot.
“What do you want, dworgh?”
Smoke looked across the main, where the Marelethan bobbed in the quiet waters.
“I’ve always wanted me own ship. Give her to me in exchange for everything I know, and I’ll sail for you in Oversea. As a pirate, as a Dreadship, as a spy. Whatever you need, I’ll provide. Take that back to the Impirius. Another feather. You’re almost a bird.”
“Traitor,” I hissed again. He smiled at me, and I hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my sorry life. Stay cold. Stay detached. I couldn’t believe I could have been so blind.
Ilvalour thought a long moment. He slid his sword back in its scabbard and yanked the cyr from the deck boards. Thanavar’s severed hand dropped with a thud.
“You are a privateer,” he said. “Everything is for sale.”
“Everything,” said Smoke.
“Even your loyalty.”
“Clearly.”
“Prove it.”
And he handed Smoke the cyr.
Smoke took it. It was taller than him, but he was a strong man, and he hoisted it in his hand, testing the weight, the length, the feel.
“Choose,” said Ilvalour.
The quartermaster locked eyes with Echo, and my heart stopped. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They played Able Whacks every night. They drank each other’s rum. They were soul mates and lovers and more.
“Suns and moons preserve us,” Smoke said. “Sorry, old Buck.”
And he spun, pitching the cyr toward the bosun. The spear plunged into Buck’s chest, and the minotaur staggered backward, only to pitch over the rail without a sound.
I made up for that.
I’m not sure where it came from, the scream that tore from my throat.
It started in my boots and ripped through my belly before bursting from my mouth, carrying chimeric in waves along with it.
The masts, the shrouds, the spars, the stays all crackled with chimeric, but the Rhi’Ahr captain swung around, his fist knocking my head to the deck boards, and the chimeric dissipated along with my consciousness.
“Bring these few to the Endorathil,” said the captain as my world faded. “Kill the rest.”
I surrendered to the darkness and the black.