“We have conducted a search of the entire ship, Sai’ana Grace,” the T’golsaid. Even in the bright morning light, it was hard to look at him, as if his body was a projection that was slightly out of focus. “There is no one on board save for ourselves and the crew.”
Grace nodded. It was impossible that someone could be on the ship and the T’golwould not find them. Even so, she had made her own inventory as they boarded the ship. She had used the Touch to seek out and locate the life thread of every living organism on the ship, down to the last rat. It had been exhausting work–the web of the Weirding had kept knotting and tangling in her fingers–but she had done it, and she knew Avhir was right. Whoever or whatever had been pursuing them, it was not on this ship.
“The passage to Al‑Amъn will take two days, Sai’ana Grace. I suggest you use that time to rest. I will show you to your quarters.”
She took Avhir up on his offer, but she did not stay in her tiny cabin belowdecks. Instead she fashioned a quick simple and went in search of Master Larad. On deck, the crewmen were lashing down ropes; they had given the ship full sail now that they had left the harbor behind.
“Excuse me,” she said to one of the sailors–a man with blond hair and a boyish face. “You haven’t seen a sick wizard around, have you?”
“No,” the sailor said.
He was tying a rope to a metal hook. As he worked, Grace noticed a rather nasty‑looking gash on his arm. It was fresh and had barely begun to scab over. He had probably gotten it while working the ropes; a loose line could crack like a whip.
She started to reach for him. “Would you like me to take a look at that cut? I’m a healer.”
“You’d best leave me be and go to your cabin,” he growled. “A woman has no business on a ship. It’s bad luck.”
Then he turned his back on her, grabbed a rope, and scrambled up into the rigging. So much for that sweet, boyish face. She started along the deck, continuing her search for Master Larad, and hoping her sea legs decided to show up soon.
She found the Runelord still leaning over the rail. With effort, she managed to get some of the simple down him, and then with the help of Kylees transferred him to his hammock in the main hold belowdecks. Grace had asked Rafid for help first, but he had scowled and stalked away. A moment later Kylees appeared.
“What’s wrong with Rafid?” Grace asked.
“He will not touch a sorcerer except to slay one,” Kylees said.
“Larad’s not a sorcerer. He’s a wizard.”
Kylees did not answer. Despite her small size, she looped Larad’s arm around her shoulder and hauled him to his feet.
Grace spent most of the voyage at Larad’s side, bathing his brow with a cool cloth and getting what herbs into him she could. Blessedly, the passage was short and the winds fairer than usual of late, and it was just after dawn two days later when they sailed into the harbor at Qaradas.
Master Larad’s condition improved almost immediately upon disembarking, though he remained pale and weak. Grace knew that speed was of the essence, but she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to wait a day in the city to let Larad recover his strength.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” the Runelord said, “I would rather ride at once. At the moment, I wish to get as far away from water as possible.”
“Then you shall get your wish,” Avhir said, appearing out of a swirl of dust. “The others have arranged camels and supplies for our journey. We will set out for Hadassa at once.”
Grace bit her tongue to keep from thanking the T’gol. She cast a glance at the ship–her last connection with the lands of the north–then followed Avhir and Larad through the gritty streets of Qaradas.
19.
The blond‑haired sailor walked along the pier, away from the docked ship.
“Where are you going, Madeth?” a rough voice called out. A group of his crew mates gathered near the end of the pier. “We’re off to find ourselves some wine and dancing women. I’ve heard that in Qaradas they wear nothing under all those fluttering scarves.”
The sailor called Madeth did not stop walking.
“Ah, forget him,” said another man. “He’s still a boy. He’d only get in our way.”
The sailors moved away down the dock. That was good. He could not allow himself to be seen.
Why?a part of him started to question. Why can’t I be seen? Where am I going?
However, those tremulous thoughts were quickly drowned out by a surge of hot blood in his brain. His legs pumped with mechanical efficiency, carrying him into the city. His eyes scanned back and forth until they found what they sought: the mouth of an alley between two white buildings. He moved into the alley, away from the hot eye of the sun, letting the dim coolness envelop him.
The alley was empty save for a dog that snarled at him. Its ribs were showing. He ignored the beast as he had the men. It was time.
He pulled away the rag he had bound around his arm two days ago. The wound beneath was puckered like an angry mouth. Pus oozed from beneath a crusted scab, and red lines spread out from the gash, snaking up his arm. He had gotten the cut while loading the ship, gouging his arm on an exposed nail while he hoisted crates on the dock at Kalos.
And then what happened?He tried to remember. He had cut himself, and then all at once everything went dark, as if a shadow had fallen over him. There was pain–far more pain than a simple cut on his arm should cause, coursing through his body. And then . . .
Oh, by all the gods, then–
Again blood sizzled in his brain, erasing the thoughts. With his free hand he dug under the scab, prying it loose, and pressed his fingers into the wound, opening it up and tearing it wider.
Blood gushed out, and Madeth screamed.
He staggered back against the wall. Dark red fluid poured down his arm, raining onto the ground and pooling there. The puddle grew larger, then the blood began to flow–not down the gutter–but upward, into the air. It gathered in on itself, rising up before Madeth, twisting and writhing like one of the water‑spouts he glimpsed from time to time on the open ocean. And which he would never glimpse again.
His heart ceased its work; there was nothing left for it to pump. The column of dark fluid undulated and took on a new shape: that of a man. Two hot sparks appeared in its face, glowing like eyes. They watched as the empty husk of the young sailor slumped to the ground. The dog’s snarling became a piteous whine as it backed deeper into the alley.
A glistening arm lashed out, reaching much farther than a normal man’s might, and the whining was cut short. The arm retracted, drawing the body of the dog closer, and in a moment its empty body lay crumpled next to that of the sailor.
The creature’s body rippled with pleasure. It re‑formed itself into a tight ball and rolled to the back of the alley, then let itself sink back into a puddle on the ground. This form took the least energy to maintain, and it was best to conserve; soon, it would need all its strength. It would rest while the hot eye glared down from the sky. Then, when darkness covered the world, the hunt would begin again. She was close. It could taste the nearness of her blood. It would pursue.
And when this over, when it had brought its creators to what they sought, it would drink her dry.
20.
Deirdre winced as a crash emanated from the other side of the paneled mahogany door. This was not going well. They had left Beltan alone in the parlor, hoping some rest might calm him. Instead, it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Another crash sounded. She tried to picture the parlor’s decor. There weren’t any Roman busts, Ming vases, or priceless medieval artifacts in there, were there?