Rise Of Empire (97 page)

Arista’s eye immediately focused on the large emerald in the pommel, and she bit her tongue to restrain herself. It all made sense. There was only one thing still to learn. To inquire was a gamble, but a good one, she thought. Arista asked, “Did Gaunt like his soup?”

She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

“He ate it, but none of them ever like it.”

“Very good,” she said, and left.

When Arista returned, Modina did not speak a word. After admitting her, the empress stood watching cautiously. Arista started to laugh, then rushed forward and gave her an unexpected hug. “We’ve found him!”

L
ed by a fast-walking Tenkin warrior, the few remaining members of the
Emerald Storm’s
crew made their way down from the Palace of the Four Winds through a series of damp caves to the base of the blackened cliffs where the surf attacked the rock. In a tiny cove, a little sloop waited for them. Smaller and narrower than the Dacca vessel, the ship sported two decks but only a single mast. Wyatt rapidly looked the ship over, declaring it sound, and Poe checked for provisions, finding it fully stocked for a monthlong trip.

They quickly climbed aboard. Poe and Hadrian cast off while Wyatt grabbed the wheel. Derning and Royce ran up the mast and loosed the headsail, which billowed out handsomely. The power of the wind just off the point was so strong that the little sloop lurched forward, knocking Poe off his feet. He got up and wandered to the bow.

“Look at them. They’re everywhere,” he said, motioning at the hundreds of black sails filling the harbor like a hive of bees.

“Let’s just hope they let us through,” Derning said.

“We’ll get through,” Hadrian told them. He was seated on a barrel, holding Wesley’s hat, turning it over and over.
Hadrian had refused to leave Wesley and Grady in Eranda-bon’s hands. Their bodies had been brought aboard for a proper burial at sea. He kept Wesley’s hat. He was not sure why.

“He was a good man,” Royce said.

“Yes, he was.”

“They both were,” Derning added.

The tiny sloop was a bit hard to manage with just the five of them, but it would be ideal once they picked up Banner and Greig in Dagastan. It was a fast ship, and they were confident they could reach Tur Del Fur in time. The armada of Tenkin and Ghazel ships looked to be still gathering.

“Jacob, trim the foresail. I’m bringing her over two points,” Wyatt snapped as he gripped the slick ship’s wheel. “And everyone jump lively. We’re in the Ba Ran Archipelago and this is no place for slow-witted sailors.”

The moment they cleared the cove they understood Wyatt’s warning. Here the sea was a torrent of wave-crashed cliffs and splintered islands of jagged rock. Towering crags rose from dense fog, and blind reefs of murderous coral lay in ambush. Currents coursed without reason, rogue waves crashed without warning, and everywhere the dark water teemed with sweeping triangles of black canvas—each emblazoned with white slashes that looked vaguely like a skull. The Ghazel ships spotted them the moment they cleared the point. Five abruptly changed course and swooped in.

The black ships of the Ba Ran Ghazel made the Dacca look like incompetent ferrymen as they channeled through the surf and flew across the waves.

“Run up the damn colors!” Wyatt shouted, but Royce was already hauling the black banner with white markings that stretched out long and thin.

There was a brief moment of tension as Hadrian watched
the approaching sails. He started to curse himself for trusting Erandabon Gile. But after the colors were hoisted, the sails peeled away like a shiver of sharks, swinging around to resume their earlier paths.

Wyatt cranked the wheel until they were headed for Dagastan, and ordered Royce to the top of the masthead to watch for reefs. No one spoke after that except for Royce, who shouted out obstacles, and Wyatt, who barked orders. It took only a few hours for them to clear the last of the jagged little islands, leaving both the archipelago and the black sails behind. The little sloop rolled easily as it entered the open waters of the Ghazel Sea.

The crew relaxed. Wyatt set a steady course. He leaned back against the rail, caught the sea spray in his hand, and wiped his face as he looked out at the ocean. Hadrian sat beside him, head bowed while he turned Wesley’s hat over in his hands.

Erandabon had sent a messenger to Hadrian as they had left the arena. The search for Allie had produced no results. All previous shipments had been delivered to the Ghazel weeks earlier. He knew females, especially young ones, were considered a rare delicacy. She was dead, likely eaten alive by a high-ranking goblin who would have savored the feast by keeping the girl conscious as long as possible. For Ghazel, screams were a garnish.

Hadrian sighed. “Wyatt …I’ve something to tell you … Allie …”

Wyatt waited.

“As part of the deal, I made Gile investigate the whereabouts of your daughter. The results weren’t good. Allie is dead.”

Wyatt turned to gaze once more at the ocean. “You—you made that part of the deal? Asking about my daughter?”

“Yeah, Gile was a little put out, but—”

“What if he had said no?”

“I wasn’t going to accept that answer.”

“But he could have killed all of us.”

Hadrian nodded. “She’s your daughter. If I thought she was alive, trust me, Royce and I would be on it, even if that meant heading back into the Ba Ran Islands, but …well. I’m really sorry. I wish I could have done more.” He looked down at the hat in his hands. “I wish I could have done a lot more.”

Wyatt nodded.

“We can still save Tur Del Fur,” Hadrian told him. “And we wouldn’t have that chance without you. If we succeed, she won’t have died in vain.”

Wyatt turned to look at Hadrian. He opened his mouth, then stopped and looked away again.

“I know,” Hadrian said, once more fidgeting with Wesley’s hat. “I know.”

Greig and Banner were pleased to see them. Nights living on the little Dacca ship were getting cold, and provisions were dangerously low. They had already resorted to selling nets and sails to buy food in town. They made a hasty sale of the Dacca ship, since the Tenkin vessel was far faster and already loaded.

Wyatt aimed the bow homeward, catching the strong autumn trade winds. The closer they came to home, the colder it got. The southern currents that helped warm Calis did not reach Delgos, and soon the wind turned biting. A brief rainstorm left a thin coat of ice on the sheets and deck rails.

Wyatt continued at the helm, refusing to sleep until he was near collapse. Hadrian concluded that, failing to find Allie,
Wyatt placed his absolution in saving Delgos instead. In a way, he was certain that they all did. Many good people had died along the trip, and they each felt the need to make those sacrifices mean something. Even Royce, suffering once more from seasickness, managed to climb to the top of the mainsail, where he replaced the Ghazel banner with Mr. Wesley’s hat.

They explained to Greig and Banner the events of the previous weeks, as well as Merrick’s plan and the need to reach Drumindor before the full moon. Each night they watched the moon rise larger on the face of the sea, indifferent to their race against time. Fortune and the wind were with them. Wyatt captured every breath, granting them excellent speed. Royce spotted red sails off the port aft twice, but they remained on the horizon and each time vanished quietly in their wake.

Shorthanded, and with Royce seasick, Hadrian volunteered for mast work. Derning spent the days teaching him the ropes. He would never be very good at it. He was too big, yet he managed to grasp the basics. After a few days he was able to handle most of the maneuvers without instruction. At night, Poe cooked while Hadrian sat practicing knots and watching the stars.

Instead of hugging the coast up to Wesbaden, they took a risk and sailed due west off the tip of Calis directly across Dagastan Bay. The gamble almost proved to be a disaster, as they ran into a terrible storm producing mountainous waves. Wyatt expertly guided the little sloop, riding the raging swells with half canvas set, never leaving the wheel. Seeing the helmsman’s rain-lashed face exposed in a flash of lightning, Hadrian seriously began to wonder if Wyatt had gone mad. By morning, the sky had cleared and they could all see Wesley’s hat still blowing in the wind.

The gamble paid off. Two days ahead of the harvest moon they rounded the Horn of Delgos and entered Terlando Bay.

As they approached the harbor, the Port Authority stopped them. They did not care for the style of the ship or the black sails—Wesley’s hat notwithstanding. As the ship was held directly under the terrifying smoking spouts of Drumindor, dock officers boarded and searched the vessel thoroughly before allowing them to pass below the bridge between the twin stone towers. Even then they were given an escort to berth fifty-eight, slip twenty-two of the West Harbor. Being familiar with the city and the Port Authority, Wyatt volunteered to notify the officials of the impending invasion and warn them to search for signs of sabotage.

“I’m off, mates,” Derning announced as soon as they had the ship berthed. The topman had a small bundle over his shoulder.

“What about the ship and the stores?” Greig asked. “We’re going to sell it—you’ll get a share.”

“Keep it—I’ve business to attend to.”

“But what if we can’t get …” Greig gave up as Derning trotted away into the narrow streets. “That seemed a bit abrupt—man’s in a hurry to go somewhere.”

“Or just glad to be back in civilization,” Banner mentioned.

Tur Del Fur welcomed sailors like no other port. Brightly painted buildings with exuberant decorations welcomed them to a city filled with music and mirth. Most of the shops and taverns butted up against the docks, where loud signs fought for attention:
THE DRUNKEN SAILOR
—
JOIN THE CREW! FRESH BEEF & POULTRY! PIPES, BRITCHES, & HATS! LADIES OF THE BAY (WE WRING THE SALT OUT!)

For recently paid sailors who might have been at sea for two or more years, they screamed
paradise.
The only oddity
remained the size and shapes of the buildings. Whimsical western decorations could not completely hide the underlying history of this once-dwarven city. Above every door and threshold was the sign
WATCH YOUR HEAD.