The Seascape Tattoo (28 page)

“I trust the magic I know and my allies. If I were to kill the general, would you be bound—”

“No. Feel free; I won't hold a grudge. But he's no lightweight. And someone else is trying to kill him, too.”

 

TWENTY-NINE

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Neoloth rented a horse and rode out beyond the city limits to the stony beaches south of the capital of Shrike, beyond the sight of the great statue in her harbor.

The last days had brought both joy and new problems. He had to believe that, overall, things were going his way, that the new challenges actually resulted from an embarrassment of riches. New allies, new problems.

In a week, he had gone from having no idea where the princess might be found to knowing exactly where she was and how she could be obtained … if he could fulfill his side of a deal. General Silith had to die. And that he could do, even if the barbarian was not his instrument.

If he understood the Red Nun correctly, Silith was allied with the Hundred but not formally one of them. Why had he not joined? Because he was not a magic user … although he was willing to use magic to suit his aims. Perhaps he did not wish to be formally ranked less than the One, whom the Red Nun addressed only in hushed, awed tones.

What was the way forward, then? Aros would not assassinate the general. The Aztec would not feel obliged to avenge his death, so long as he was not involved in it. Barbarians were practical if nothing else.

How? Neoloth had killed before … but never like this.

Well. First things first.

Last night he'd used the talisman to call upon the other allies he needed. But he could not send specific information in such a way: a time and location were the most he could manage, and by the time he reached Smuggler's Cove, he was drawing his cloak tightly across his shoulders and shivering with the cold and wet.

The moon was shielded behind dark clouds. When it shone through, it seemed unnaturally huge and silvery, like a bright, pockmarked coin.

Neoloth unseated from his horse and stepped out to the edge of the wave, spreading his cloak and placing the talisman upon it, smoothing out the ruffles carefully with his hands.

Then he sat and began to chant his spells.

In a meditating state, he chanted. Far into the night, until just before the sun would have come creeping up from behind him, he saw the wakes and knew that his spells had been answered.

Two Merfolk had answered his call. If they had young, they had doubtless been told to remain concealed.

The male was bearded, the breasts of the female bare and beautiful, rounded and full in the waning light.

“You call, wizard. Who are you to use the secret signs of the Merfolk?”

“One who is a friend to M'thrilli of the southern waters,” he said. “We have traded often, to mutual benefit. I bring tokens of friendship.”

Neoloth waded out into the water and offered this newcomer four spearheads, upon a folded leather square. The merman took them, and examined them, eyes glittering.

“This is good,” he said. “And what is it you wish of me?”

“Just one thing,” he said. “To get this parchment to M'thrilli. It is of importance to your people. I ask this favor, as an old friend to your people. If you can make this happen, it serves you well, and I will not forget the service.”

The merman extended a hand and Neoloth slipped a folded paper into it. On it were writings in the Mer-language, and others in the language of the Eight Kingdoms.

The merman handed the paper to his bride, and she read them. “I speak and read the human tongue,” she said, speaking for the first time. “I know what you ask. There is danger.”

“Yes. But you must know that what Shrike plans is the end to all magic. It is to both our good that you do as I ask.”

She read them again. “And all you wish is that we get this to M'thrilli. It may take days.”

That was true, and Neoloth cursed under his breath. Time was of the essence.

Then she smiled. “Is it true what they say? That upon a time you danced with our people?”

“Yes,” he said. “They were the best days of my life.”

“Tell me of this time,” she said.

He closed his eyes. And began to speak of a time when a younger man, a more powerful man, fancied himself master of air and water and land. And fell in love with a mermaid, and for a glorious time had been her mate.

Another world, another life. A time when it seemed all things were possible for one such as he. And when he spoke of her, Phashere, he found the emotion rising in his voice and realized that he was not pretending. That he had loved.

As now he loved.

Why was it so easy for him to forget his own emotions?

*   *   *

By the time Aros returned to their lodgings, the sun was alive along the alleyways. He fully expected to meet Neoloth in his cups, but the room was empty.

Where was the wizard? And … what was the next step? He would not kill the general. But if Neoloth attacked him …

How would he respond?

Certainly, he need not help!

He sighed. Things were so much more complicated these days that it almost made his head hurt.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It couldn't be Neoloth. The wizard would have simply entered, servile on the outside, imperious once inside. Aros thought the change was amusing and enjoyed watching it.

But it wasn't Neoloth at the door. It was a boy of perhaps fourteen years, with a pale and narrow face, who wore a quasi-military uniform. He handed Aros an envelope. “From Jade Silith, sir.”

Aros nodded. He waited for the boy to leave, then opened the envelope.

To Captain Kasha

You are cordially invited to the birthday celebration hunt of General Sinjin Silith.

He gazed at it, aware that he was beginning to smile so widely that it would have been embarrassing in public.

The door opened again, and this time Neoloth walked in. As expected, his posture changed the moment he was in the room.

“Things are going well,” Neoloth said.

“Very,” Aros replied. Without being certain why, he concealed the invitation. “Where have you been?”

“Planning,” Neoloth said. He was keeping something to himself, but that wasn't surprising. Each of them had secrets. “And you?”

Aros grinned. “Let's say I've made a friend,” he said. “And leave it at that.”

Neoloth was angling for something, Aros was certain, but he wasn't sure what.

“I know that our transportation will be back in harbor in a week, at the next moon,” the wizard said. “Our plans need to be complete by then.”

“Complete.” That meant the princess rescued, and their escape in hand. “That means very careful timing,” Aros said. “Escape will be difficult once the alarm goes up.”

“We'll need a distraction. I have something in mind,” he said.

“What?”

Neoloth smiled. “When the time is ready, you will know.”

So. Trust was running thin. That reinforced his sense that it would be wise to keep his own secrets to himself.

Neoloth was straightening his side of the room. It seemed to Aros that he was somewhat odd about it, repeating the same movements in a pattern. In entirely too casual a voice, the wizard asked, “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Was there something you needed me to do?”

“If I did?”

“I would have to find an excuse to my officers,” Aros said, lying automatically. “There is a training ride to the northern border. I'm expected to lead the men.”

Neoloth seemed to consider, then turned, suddenly seeming lighter. “Ah! That's right, you've been promoted. The responsibilities of office. I should have news for you upon return.”

Aros nodded. “Good. I'm ready to get the hell out of here.” He yawned. “And now … it was a very long and active evening. I need sleep before I report to the barracks.”

He sighed and rolled onto his bed, covering himself with a blanket and turning to the wall. He was asleep within moments.

*   *   *

Neoloth watched his companion, feeling a vague twinge of guilt. Should he have told Aros of his plans? No. He had saved the Aztec's life and nearly destroyed his newfound alliance in the process. But all would be well. For the first time, he could actually see the means of bringing this affair to a satisfactory conclusion.

If he could get the princess to the harbor and away before the alarm was raised.

If he could break the princess out of her prison.

If the Red Nun's information was accurate, and she was not playing some
other
twisted game.

And most important … if the general's upcoming birthday could be made his last.

 

THIRTY

The Birthday Party

South of the Great Wall was a path of hills far kinder to travelers and day walkers than the harsh and foreboding mountains. This was where the general's caravan headed, on horse and carriage and an odd machine that spat steam.

“I don't understand these things,” Aros said, “but I might get used to them.”

Jade Silith said, “They are amusing. I'm not sure our horses are in danger of losing employment, but it is comfortable.”

The general rode his horse next to the little steam engine. “I love horseflesh,” he said, laughing. “But I have to admit that they can be fractious. I do believe the traffic will all flow more naturally when everything moves by motor.”

“Motor.” Aros would remember the new word, for Neoloth's sake.

Jade had recruited him as her driver for the day, and he was enjoying it. “I still don't understand how it works. Is there a small dragon or demon in that iron container?”

Silith shook his head. “No, I think not. But I'd be lying if I said I knew all about it.”

“How does Shrike have such things?” Aros asked. “I thought that I'd traveled far, and I've never seen anything like what you have here. These strange things that fart steam. The wheeled vehicles that pedal. The steaming ships in your harbor. And the cannons your men carry.” He shook his head. “What wonders! How did you come to possess them? Why don't others have them?”

“There are secrets,” the general said.

“Oh, Sinjin,” his wife laughed. “You and your secrets. I was asking him just those things myself, and he gave me this carriage as a gift.” She leaned closer to Aros, and whispered: “I think that the idea was that I stop asking questions.”

“Did it work?” he asked, looking from her to the general.

“For a while. He tells me just a little while longer, and all my questions will be answered.”

“Can I have such a carriage?” Aros asked.

“You can have much, much more,” Silith replied.

“How much more?”

“I think you're advancing just fine,” he replied. “All things in time.”

All morning, the caravan wound up the mountainside, until they were high above the ocean. Aros helped the general's wife from the wagon and looked down into the waves.

“Quite a drop,” he said. The waves crashed together below. Pools and tides and swirling foam. Few large rocks, but it was still a sobering sight.

Servants were setting up a pavilion beneath which the general's party would sup and enjoy the sight of the sun sinking toward the horizon.

“When I was a boy,” Silith said, “I loved coming up here.”

“What's on the other side of the mountain?” Aros asked.

“The section behind the Great Wall,” he said.

“And when will I see this sight?”

“Soon,” Silith said. “Have patience.”

“Was that easy for you?”

Silith laughed. “What do you think?”

Although Aros had been introduced to the general's friends and family as a bodyguard, there was no mistaking the beam of pride on Jade's face whenever she gazed upon him, to the point where the family was whispering about her. No doubt their first thought was something unwholesome: that she had taken a young lover. Silith's approval of Aros complicated things, he supposed, but then these civilized folks had ways beyond his understanding. He was, after all, a simple man, with simple tastes and appetites.

Mijista Wile sat next to Jade, providing enough private conversation that the expressions of the other women were filled with steamy speculation. Aros felt the back of his neck burn as the men enjoyed the afternoon with races and archery games.

No matter what the game, the general was the winner. At padded swords, no one even came close. No two of them matched him, but when Aros joined forces with another officer, they were at last able to extend him a bit, before he booted the officer in the gut and trapped Aros's blade down, elbowing him in the chest to disarm him. The general roared with laughter, flipped the mock sword up on the toe of his boot, and flipped it into the air.

He caught it, spinning, by the hilt, and handed it back.

“Your Aztec blade, Flaygod. I would try it.”

Aros had doffed that blade in exchange for a more traditional but padded weapon for the play. A practice session with live blades required the utmost skill and trust between competitors.

The audience murmured: clearly they understood this. And more: it was to be a clash of very different weapon styles. This … would be fascinating, for all involved.

Aros walked to his seat at the pavilion and picked up his belt and Flaygod's sheath. Extracted it and weighed it in his hand.

“Tell you what,” the general said. “I'll wager a gold purse against Flaygod that I can disarm you within ten strokes.”

Aros squinted at him. “No, thank you. My needs are few.”

Silith smiled. “I'll use my left hand. That should give you enough advantage.”

Aros stood on the far side of a combat circle they had drawn in the ground for their games. He leaned on Flaygod and grinned at the general. “I'm a simple man, General. My needs are few.”