Naomi froze.
Scorio took a deep breath. He stood on a precipice. One he’d sought to avoid. But here it was, and now was the time. “I feel a profound sense of obligation. Of outrage. Of anger. Not just because of how I was treated when I incarnated back in the Academy, but at it all. Bravurn, Praximar, all the Great Souls like him. The ones who play the game you’re talking about to their own ends. Who discard pieces without a second thought. I don’t want to walk away from the board. I want to flip it, break it, find the truth behind the game, the true players. The Herdsmen.”
“Why?” Naomi’s cry was wild with anger, with imminent loss. “Who gives a shit about the Herdsmen? They’re just another group of murderous Great Souls who’ve taken on a vaguely menacing name. You’ll find them, you’ll reveal them, and then those in power will look at you pityingly and tell you they knew of them all along. You’ll change nothing but reveal yourself an idealistic fool. Scorio. Great Souls are corrupt, from the staff of the Academy to the Houses to the Golden Star and beyond. You can’t redeem what is already lost, you can’t salvage what is rotten through and through.” Naomi laughed. “You’ll throw your life away trying. Don’t play their game. Come with me. There is more lost wisdom in Acherzua than in all of the Academy. Don’t you want to learn? Speak with great and strange fiends, learn their secrets, together?”
“I do.” Scorio took her hands in his own. “That sounds beautiful. But the cost is too high. I still think we can make a difference. We already have. We’ve toppled House Hydra in Bastion and the Rascor Plains, we’ve improved the lives of the people of Bastion, we’ve convinced Plassus to not play Bravurn’s game.”
Naomi gently pulled her hands free. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Perhaps. But I’m walking toward those ideals. Not running from them.”
“It’s wisdom to flee a burning house.”
“The difference between you and me is that you see flames everywhere. I can’t live like that, seeing knives in every hand, betrayal in every heart. I don’t want to be driven by hatred and fear. I want to believe there are good people out there, and that they’re worth fighting with, fighting for.”
Naomi’s head snapped back. Her lips thinned to a line and her face paled. Scorio’s heart pounded and he couldn’t breathe. Had he said too much? Gone too far?
She rose smoothly to her feet and moved to her room.
“Naomi?” Was she going to leave him again? “Where are you going?”
She stopped in the entrance to her quarters but didn’t look back. “To pack. We’re leaving soon to go to the Bone Plains, aren’t we?”
“So you’ll come?”
She hung her head. “Of course.” Her voice was dull, flat, defeated. “Of course I’ll come. I care for you. Where else would I go?”
And then she entered her room and was gone.
Chapter 30
The Great Souls under the Charnel Dukes and Blood Barons evacuated the Fury Spires.
There was a general movement to ascend. Scorio and Naomi fell in with scores of others climbing spiraling tunnels that arose within the walls of the greatest spire, moving through the darkness, ever higher.
The atmosphere was one of tension and excitement. Higher and higher they climbed, round and round, till without warning they turned a corner and stepped out into the twilight gloom of the Iron Weald, hundreds of yards above the valley floor.
A great platform had been bolted to the spire’s side, and bobbing alongside this were two massive whale ships, their aerate bones gleaming eerily in the gloaming, their decks already bustling with activity. One was clearly a Kraken ship, its sail boasting the many-armed monster’s emblem, while the second was a war-torn and ragged construction, black-sailed and looking more like a desperate reaver’s vessel than anything else.
There was no time for gawking. Taron and several other Pyre Lords barked out commands as fresh Great Souls emerged onto the platform, directing people to keep moving and board the ships.
As part of Plassus’ crew, Scorio and Naomi boarded the Kraken ship. He couldn’t help but reach out with his senses as he did so and track the mana manipulation; he’d grown to love guiding Manticore’ sloop through the skies of the Rascor Plains, and now he felt a frisson of delight as he sensed the sheer enormity of scale on which this Kraken galleon operated.
Where The Sloop had been but thirty feet long, the Dread Majesty was over a hundred and fifty, with multiple decks, and a sterncastle that loomed massive over the main deck. Three huge masts extended from its central hub, one straight up, the other two down at oblique angles, so that their manifold sails covered almost the entirety of the air around the ship.
Sailors shouted and crawled about the rigging; the last of crates, barrels, and chests were being loaded, and the Great Souls who were boarding now were directed to a massive trapdoor that led below decks.
Scorio caught one last glimpse of the Iron Weald, its sere cliffs, its miasmic clouds, and then he headed down the wooden steps to the first subdeck.
“Keep going,” said Alain, appearing at Scorio’s elbow. “This here’s the war deck. We’re one further below.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Scorio. “You’re with Plassus?”
“Me?” Alain put his hand to his chest. “By the gods, no. You think me mad enough to sign up for that kind of nonsense?”
The flow of traffic continued down to the next deck. The interior was lit by small crustaceans that were nailed to the beams, their scales giving off a dim blue light as they slowly wriggled in place. The air was musty and already smelled of close-knit humanity.
“I’m just tagging along,” said Alain with a grin. “After all the excitement of the past few days, you think I’d remain behind for Bravurn to throw plates at?”
“You know where we’re going, right?” Naomi’s tone was part amused, part skeptical. “That this isn’t a pleasure trip?”
“War!” Alain pumped a fist. “Battle! For you two, at least. I have the hardest time getting anybody to fight me.”
The crowd filtered into the crew deck. Scorio hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the reality proved prosaic; the length of this deck was a mess of beams to which hammocks could be affixed, though these were stowed for now. Everybody set about claiming different tilted shelving along the walls, each compartment boasting its folded hammock and broad belts of leather with which to strap things down.
“Hurry, c’mon!” Alain wiggled through the crowd of slowly moving folks.
Scorio exchanged a glance with Naomi and hurried after. They cut through the crowd, drawing more than a few dark stares, but Alain rushed on, past the people who were claiming the first spots, and ran lightly down the deck to some empty spots.
“Here,” he said. “We’re a little past the halfway mark of the ship. It’s the steadiest part, whether we’re rising or dipping. The folks at either end will get thrown about, but here we stand the best chances of sleeping well.”
“How do you know so much about whale ships?” asked Naomi, setting her pack on the shelf.
“Eh, I spent a few months catching rides around the Rascor Plains,” said Alain. “Back when I was playing with the idea of heading off alone into deep hell. I mostly just rode from the Fiery Shoals to the Fury Spires, but occasionally I’d catch a ride out to more remote outposts. These big ships are pretty tame compared to the sloops. It takes a real mana storm to make these ladies dance.”
Taron was walking the length of the passenger deck, calling out commands, barking for people to hurry up and pick a berth, clear their gear off the floor, and set to strapping it down.
“We set sail within the hour!” His voice carried through the hubbub. “It’s a two-day trip to the Telurian Band, barring any complications, then another two days sailing along the rim to base camp. Four days, ladies and gentlemen!”