Chapter 38 The Endorathil #2
“I sink so many of your unfortunate fleet,” he murmured. “So, I am the one who created you. How poetic that you are here for me, now.”
They made war the way other people made love. Beautiful and lethal and gleaming like a spear. I would fill his mouth with the fury of my chimeric, burn his tongue first, crack his gums, and loose his perfect white teeth.
“So, you have become one with the chimeric,” he said. “What do you know of the source?”
I said nothing.
“The RuneTree is just a series of holes, now. Drilled wells and bubbling power. Our power.” He blinked slowly, satisfied and smug. “I was there when she was hewn. I was the one who commanded the ax.”
He sat back, enjoying my distress.
“We shall not be returning the prince to the Coward King of High Temple. I will keep him alive until the Impirius decides how he shall die.”
Oh suns, not Dev, too.
“If I help you,” I began, praying he didn’t see the trembling of my hands. “Will you spare them?”
“Them?”
“The prince, the Touchstone…” I swallowed the catch in my throat. “The captain? My crew?”
I didn’t care if he saw the tears that threatened. I’d lost all pretense of pride.
“If I chase for you, will you spare them?”
He met my eyes. His were breezy and glittering and bright. They studied me as if I were a puzzle or a plaything.
“Absolutely not.”
Sails robbed of wind.
“Then why should I help you?”
He smiled. “So you do not join them at the bottom of the sea.”
Cold swept from my ears down to my boots. But with it, the calm.
Kel’yion.
I’d made my choice.
“I’ll join them.”
He looked over my shoulder to the Rhi’Ahr standing at the door.
“Take her back to her cell.”
“Wait. You made an accord,” I said. “Answer my question now.”
“I did,” he said. “Ask.”
“How do your ships cross the Dreadwall?” I asked. “You have no chasers of your own to find the gaps.”
He smirked at me, then reached into a desk drawer and carefully placed an object on the polished surface.
I released a breath. It was a compass made of RuneTree wood.
“So simple,” he said. “Your captain gave us the idea. Poor boy. He really thought we would help him.”
My eyes stung as I remembered Kier’s words, the breaking of his heart, and the guilt that he carried. I understood why he hated this man. At this moment, I hated him, too.
I looked again at the caged swifts, and he noticed.
“You like my birds?” he asked.
“Are they from Oversea?”
His smile broadened, telling me all I needed to know.
“A gift from your Bracebridge,” he said. “A bribe, if you will. Look around you, Chaser. What do I need that I do not have?”
“Me,” I said.
He laughed as I was ushered out, back to the darkness and the tar.
Forge set first. He always did. Sometimes, in Forgewinter, Ember never set, just hung low and dim along the horizon. In Emberwinter, everything was dark, with the suns little more than moon-size even at noon. Everyone hated Emberwinter. Things died in Emberwinter. People died, too.
I was brought to the main deck, hands bound behind my back, and made to stand at the bulwark with a clear sight of the Touchstone.
The gangway was gone, and she floated quiet in the center of the bay.
She didn’t look to have taken on any more sea, but her mizzen was cracked and her pup all but gone.
Her sails were tattered with gunshot, and holes gaped through her once-proud hull.
Gunports sat open and dark, and smoke drifted from somewhere deep inside.
They must have left the bodies piled below, intending to sink them along with the ship.
Kill them all.
I couldn’t hear her. Not a whisper, not a moan, not a rumble nor a shudder. Perhaps her spirit had left the ship. Perhaps she was already gone.
Perhaps that was a blessing.
Echo, I thought across the waves. Are you there?
Through her rigging, I could see Smoke at the wheel of his blood-money ship.
As requested, the Marelethan had a small crew, though I could only see Smoke on deck.
I was sure he could cobble his way out of the Channel and make some port in the Lower Rim.
He’d have serious work to do then. The Marelethan was clearly Rhi’Ahr, with her gold-shot sails, intricate prow, and elaborate brightwork.
Sails could be traded, and metalwork sold.
Carpenters could sand, and seamen could carve.
It would take much work to make her look like an Oversea vessel.
Still, she was an enemy ship taken in battle; every swab’s dream, be he Navy, pirate, or privateer.
Echo? Mother?
The crew of the Marelethan was still on the Cloudgate, and, once Smoke left, I assumed they would be taken aboard the Endorathil. This crew stood watch, and their cannons made ready, as Forge dipped in the sky and Ember lagged lazily behind.
I turned as Dev was dragged to my side. His hands were also bound behind his back, and his left eye was swollen shut. He looked bad, and my heart ached for all he was about to witness. Truly, we should have left him as dead in Port Corvallan.
He wouldn’t look at me, and I think that was worse than anything.
All hands snapped to, and Ilvalour was on the bridge. He strode to the wheel, a picture of elegance and restrained fury.
“Tonight, we behold Rhi’Ahr justice,” he said loudly over the wind and waves. “The sinking of a notorious ship, under a notorious captain. Gavriel Thanavar, last Priestlord of Lindurithain, traitor and turncoat on the register of Bonavanczek the Bastard.”
They said nothing, but their faces were bullhorns.
“We could kill him now,” said Ilvalour. “And Rhi’Ahr justice would be served. We will leave him to the mercy of the Impirius, but until we reach Brenyn’dinas, we will boast the finest figurehead of any warship to ever sail Nethersea!”
They did not cheer. Rather, they thumped their cyrs against the Endorathil’s gleaming deck as Ilvalour swept his arm toward the bowsprit. My heart stopped beating. I knew it would never beat again.
Thanavar was in chains, elbows bound tightly behind his back to crack his ribs in front.
He was gagged and blindfolded, and the noose at his throat was taut, causing the tendons of his neck to strain.
Blood from his wrist formed a river down his thighs, and welts betrayed the cat across his chest and back.
Oh Forge. They were going to bind him to the masthead. He’d be dead in three days if lashed like that over the sea.
“Remove the blindfold,” said Ilvalour. “I want him to witness the death of his ship.”
He could be a hawk before they could stop him. Why hadn’t he turned? Another dread bargain for the life of his crew? His prince? His ship?
Ilvalour held up his hand.
“The captain, we shall leave to our Impirius, but the Touchstone…” He glanced around slowly. “The Touchstone is ours.”
They did cheer this time, but in rhythm to the beating of the cyrs.
“Notify our men to abandon ship,” said Ilvalour.
“Mor’Rhir! Abandon ship,” called the mate over an elaborate bullhorn. “Leave the Touchstone and return to the Endorathil.”
The Rhi’Ahr on the Touchstone turned and disappeared into the hatch, and I heard the splash of a longboat to starboard as they abandoned her to the bay. Soon, there was only the wind in the sails and the slap of the waves against the Endorathil’s hull.
“Marelethan, prepare your guns,” called the mate over the bullhorn.
Dev took a long, deep breath, and I felt it. The Touchstone had been his home for ten years. I dragged my eyes to the forecastle. Thanavar could barely stand. Oh suns, I had to save him. I had to be able to cast.
The Marelethan unfurled her sails and began to move.
“Not sail, fool,” said Ilvalour. “Guns. Repeat the order.”
“Marelethan, strike sails and set to your guns!”
Over the Touchstone’s prow now, I could see Smoke waving.
“Just coming around for a better shot!” he cried.
And suddenly, my heart stopped.
“Marelethan, we repeat! Strike sail and set to your guns!”
I looked up at Dev. His eyes were closed, his lips moving.
“Well, I would,” cried Smoke. “But there’s not enough crew! I have to do it all m’self!”
Shouts rose from the Endorathil’s forecastle, and I looked to see warriors holding empty chains. White feathers floated on the breeze.
“I’ve got the sails!” cried Smoke. “Guns? Anyone on the guns?”
And then I heard it. The cry of a winter hawk.
One, two, four, more. Twelve guns rolled into twelve gunports on the Touchstone, and her colors ran up the mizzen stay.
Run, Ensign, came Echo’s voice. Not dark. Just run.
Dev looked down at me.
“Shall we?”
Together, we lowered our heads and bolted for the rail, taking the Rhi’Ahr entirely by surprise as we threw ourselves over the gunwale, down, down, down, into the icy waters of the Cloudgate Channel.
And the Touchstone’s cannons boomed above.