The basilisk throne, p.26
The Basilisk Throne, page 26
A small contingent of ships remained between the cliffs, acting as a rearguard—proud galleys from Modjal flying the banner of the hooded serpent. The rest of the combined fleet were already beyond, laying siege to the city of Basilisk itself.
To Crespin’s great frustration, their orders were to stand far from shore. While the merchant ships were excellent for making speed under sail, in the narrow confines of the Mere de Basilisk, the more maneuverable warships that had both sail and sweeps were needed, especially against the demonic Drehhu vessels.
The mercantile fleet, late as it was, could not have been allowed to come later. Some of the Navy crews had been on quarter rations for two weeks, and half the fleet was without quilaine shot or arrows. Galleys came out from Anvvod to take on supplies before returning to the fray. The men they carried had a worn, battered look about them, but with the timely arrival of the ships from Mesembria they seemed newly optimistic that the city would soon fall. Few outsiders had ever walked the streets of Basilisk, but that didn’t stop sailors from speculating what they would find, be it streets paved in rubies or slave women bred for sexual characteristics that Crespin doubted existed in any variety of human being.
For the merchant ships, their lot seemed to be a boring one—or so he thought until the third day. On that day a new fleet appeared, arriving from the south. A fleet with no sails.
In good weather, with a fair wind, Crespin was sure the Leucothea was faster than the devil-driven ships. But wind usually blew one way at a time, and unless you desired to go in exactly that direction, full speed was impossible. The Drehhu fleet had the advantage of being able to move in a straight line, and turn in whatever direction they wanted, whenever they wanted.
Crespin watched the approaching ships impatiently as their own ships raised their sails and began to tack about. His father stood nearby, studying the oncoming fleet as one might observe an odd turn of the weather. If the Mesembrian ships had possessed oars like the galleys beyond the Anvvod gate, they might have been better at turning and assembling to face this new enemy, or taking up another position as might be required.
Calliope came on deck, already swaying, her gold-flecked eyes wandering as she tried to focus on the admiral.
“This was not expected,” she said. “The siege of Basilisk is vulnerable to an attack from the sea.”
His father nodded. “The Drehhu must have sent half of their fleet to Timur,” he said. A small frown creased his forehead, the first sign of worry he had expressed. “Now they return, with most of our ships in the harbor, where they cannot maneuver.”
“How can that be?” Crespin asked. “This has been planned for more than a year. How can our intelligence have been so faulty?”
His father shrugged slightly.
“Does it matter now?” he asked. “We must keep them on this side of the gates until the warships can arrive from the harbor, or all is lost. We’ll form in columns, just as we did at Zamir.”
Zamir had been good practice, at least, and despite the uncanny speed of the enemy vessels and the wind coming against them, the Mesembrians managed to sail into formation. At Zamir, however, the wind had been their friend, and most of the ships they faced had been ordinary galleys, not demon-driven craft.
Night rose up in the east, and the Drehhu ships glowed as if afire with the light of the dying sun. By the time their weapons began to speak, the stars were appearing in a cloudless sky.
“Let us hope,” he heard his father murmur, as the first of their ships burst into flames. He turned to Calliope. “Begin now,” he said.
She nodded and closed her eyes.
Crespin stared helplessly as the enemy’s streaming balls of fire crossed the distance between the fleets, bursting on water or slamming into timber and sail. It was as if the sky itself was falling, and was in a way as beautiful as it was terrifying. They were still too far away for the merchant ships to use any of their own weapons. Anger stirred in him. Why did the Cryptarchia deny them such arms? Surely one magic was as good as another.
If they possessed weapons like the Drehhu…
Across the water, an incandescent flower bloomed, and then another, and in an instant it was nearly as bright as day. Their bowsprit glowed white, the faces of the men were lit, eyes squinting as ship after ship exploded in flame.
He looked to his father and saw the satisfaction on his face.
“They misjudged our range,” Crespin said. “You were right. The sacrifice of our vanguard at Zamir was worth it.”
“Maybe,” his father said. “Maybe not. We will probably never know. They understand that they must enter the Mere de Basilisk before the warships collect themselves. Perhaps they are making a sacrifice of their own.”
* * *
BY EARLY morning the bombardment had ceased, but it was difficult to tell what the outcome had been. The strixes were all exhausted: according to Calliope, many had died. By counting the fires and lucnograph report, they reckoned that more than half of the merchant ships were gone. The Drehhu ships, if any remained, were not to be seen.
Faltering in the dark, they turned with the wind and made their way to the Colossus Gates, forming a wall with their ships and waiting for the dawn.
Then, when Eos drew herself up in her rosy gown, they saw the enemy, half again their number, far out on the horizon, but unmistakably bearing toward them. Crespin moved about the ship, shouting for the men to be ready. He spoke with the lucnograph operator, then returned to his father.
“Our own warships will not reach us for hours yet,” he said. “The Modjal galleys have arrived from Hhark and are moving to our flanks, but we’re still outnumbered.”
His father nodded.
“We have a little time,” he said. “Come below with me and have some coffee.”
* * *
CRESPIN WAS buttering a hard roll when the Leucothea trembled a bit, so that the porcelain cups and saucers rattled on the table and dust drifted down from the beams overheard.
“I guess they’re nearly in range,” he remarked.
Across the table, the admiral lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip.
“Almost,” he agreed.
“I suppose I’d best go above,” Crespin said. “Make ready.”
“Finish your coffee,” the admiral said. “Then we’ll go together.” Crespin raised his cup. It was translucent, almost like glass. Not the usual ware in the mess.
The admiral noticed his expression.
“Picked these up in Li Teal,” he said. “Quite nice.”
Crespin nodded and sipped, savoring the dark, spiced coffee and rum. He set the cup down, just in time for another explosion to rock the ship more violently than the last. The cups and saucers jumped from the table, but were saved from breaking by the Modjal carpet that covered the floor of the mess. The remains of Crespin’s coffee soaked into the intricate weave.
“Well,” he said. “I’m done with that.” He dithered a moment, not wanting to bring up the obvious—but he felt he had to, given his rank.
“The strixe—” he began.
“No,” the admiral said. “She’s finished for today.”
“As you say, sir.”
The admiral nodded, his blue-green eyes morning bright, his expression carefully neutral, as usual.
“Well,” he said, rising and reaching for his sword belt, hung across the back of his chair. “It is time now. Thank you for your company, Crespin.”
“A pleasure, sir,” Crespin answered, feeling a slight lump in his throat. The admiral buckled on his weapon and sent him another half-smile.
“Let’s do our best to die with a little dignity, shall we?”
Crespin returned the grin.
“I’ll do my best, Father,” he promised.
“Of course you will,” the admiral said. “You are, after all, a Nevelon.”
Crespin leaned over, picked up the cup, and put it back on the table. He felt oddly calm.
It had been a long voyage, but it was over now.
* * *
CRESPIN STRAPPED on his saber and began following his father toward deck, but hesitated and instead made his way down the hall to the door at the end. He knocked upon it.
“What is it?”
He pushed the hatch open. The room inside was large, by ship’s standards. It contained a small bed, a closet, a sitting chair, and small writing desk with several drawers. Calliope was sprawled on the bed, a bottle of rum clutched in one hand. Her eyes were the color of lemons, her face pallid and slack. She wore only a shift, and the cuffs of it were stained yellow.
Her gaze seemed to go through him.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Crespin,” he replied.
“Oh,” she said, a sickly smile crawling upon her face. She laughed. “Here I am,” she said. “In my repose. Am I all you dreamt of?”
“I only meant to ask how you are.”
Her eyes finally focused on him.
“And how am I?”
He noticed her accent was different, stronger, more akin to something one would hear in the darker streets of Ophion Magne than in a drawing room.
“I’ll leave,” he said.
“Wait!” she snapped, pushing herself up to take a long, hard drink that would made any turpentine-bobber seem timid in comparison. “You’ve never come here before,” she said.
“I have not,” he replied.
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Rest well.”
He stepped through the door, closed it, and quickly returned to deck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE TSAU DADAN
BY THE time Hound realized they were surrounded, it was too late. He was so shocked, he only barely managed to raise the alarm before the enemy came swarming out of the trees.
They reminded him of the apes and baboons of his homeland, but were much larger, heavier, and shaped more like men, albeit with freakishly long arms. They charged on all fours, running on their palms—they had hands for feet—or swung overhead through the trees. Covered in fur, dappled like fawns, they blended in with the jungle light. Their large, ridged heads rested directly between their shoulders, with no necks to speak of, and their jaws stuck way out.
Their teeth were large and square, save for two pointed ones that were quite prominent.
The attackers slammed into the mounted chevaliers, carrying some of them from their saddles to the ground. The horses screamed in panic, and pandemonium took rule.
Hound managed to kill the first that came at him, striking it between the eyes with his tomahawk, but before he could wrench his weapon from the beast another hit him from behind. It wrapped arms like oak tree roots around him, after which its weight crushed him to the earth.
Rose sunk her teeth into the attacker, ripping away flesh, and he was loose again. Hound fought free and scrambled up a tree, with two of the creatures following him. He kicked one under the chin. It fell and struck the other, giving him the few moments he needed to unwind his sling. Their skulls were thick, but not thick enough at the temples—he killed both and fought his way higher.
Looking down, Hound saw Martin dealing blows with his fists that sent shattered bodies spinning away from him in every direction. The chevaliers had managed to form themselves into a rough fighting square. Hound began slinging in their support.
A movement in the corner of his eye turned out to be one of the beast-men, hurling itself from branch-to-branch. Before he could even get a stone into the sling, it knocked him from his perch. Branches blurred by, then he found the ground. He tried to scramble away but felt as if he wasn’t connected to his body anymore, as if the impact had knocked not just the wind from him, but his soul as well.
The monster landed next to him and raised both fists.
Two crossbow bolts appeared in its chest. Its quick eyes registered surprise, then went dull as it slumped to the ground. A moment later, Selene was there.
“Help me up,” he grunted.
“It’s alright,” she said. “They’ve lost interest in us.”
He sat up as feeling began to return to his limbs.
“Yes,” Martin said. “They got what they came for.”
At first Hound didn’t know what he meant, but then he understood.
Veulkh, the ravens, and Ammolite were nowhere to be seen.
* * *
AMMOLITE LOOKED back the way they’d come, but the fight was no longer visible, hidden by the dense forest. She hoped Hound was still alive. As for the rest, she did not care.
“What are they?” she asked Veulkh, nodding at their strange escort. She, Veulkh, and the ravens were still mounted. The beasts had surrounded them but made no sign that they would attack.
“Stay your hands,” he’d told his men. “If we let them lead us, they will do us no harm.” And so here they were, advancing up the slopes of a mountain, led by the grotesque beast-men.
“They are called Tsau Dadan,” he said, “among other things. And they are supposed to be extinct.”
* * *
TWO MEN-AT-ARMS were dead, both of broken necks. One had been the man of the chevalier Ariston, and he was in a rage. Hound had learned enough of his language to follow him, although some of the expletives escaped him.
“He betrayed us,” the horseman roared. “The damned sorcerer led us into a trap.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Selene said. “We were at his mercy back at his mountain. He could have killed us there, without going to all this trouble.”
“I know what I saw,” Ariston persisted. “The beasts did not touch them.”
“Someone wanted to separate us from Veulkh,” Martin said. “That much is clear, and nothing else. Whether Veulkh was complicit, we cannot yet know, and it does us no good to speculate. We must follow them. Without Veulkh, our mission will fail. There is no more to say. Bind your wounds and gather your things. We move on within the hour.”
“Guyote and Kyros deserve burial,” Ariston said.
“They do,” Martin said, “but there is no time for it now.”
“Perhaps you are no longer leading this expedition,” Ariston said.
Martin looked at him.
“You are bound by oath to follow me,” he said. “Do you renounce your oath?” Ariston locked eyes with him for a long moment. Then his gaze seemed to travel down to Martin’s blood-covered fists.
“I’m no oathbreaker.”
“I thought not,” Martin said. He looked around at the others.
“Within the hour,” he said.
* * *
THEY HAD been in the mountains for several days before the appearance of the Tsau Dadan, and the land had become stranger. Once, from a high ridge, they had seen a distant peak shaped like a great cone, belching clouds of black smoke as if it had a fire inside of it. Flecks of ash settled in their hair and on their shoulders. The earth beneath their feet trembled often, usually a little but sometimes with enough force that keeping his footing required effort.
There were no further signs of the Ngachok warriors, or indeed evidence of any human beings whatsoever. It rained every day, sometimes all day, and now this. Hound remembered Martin’s comment about keeping their eyes open, but it seemed as if they had not been attentive enough.
He hadn’t been attentive enough.
It was a strange thought, made even stranger by the realization that the notion of abandoning Martin and Selene was no longer easy to entertain.
Gradually the tall jungle gave way to fine-limbed laurels, delicate ferns, and lacy green strands that crept along the ground and into the trees. As they gained altitude, this in turn was replaced by scrubby, moss-like plants, clinging to what was little more than bare, black stone.
Without the trees to shorten his vision, it was clear to Hound that they were climbing the slope of a mountain, but unlike the crags and ridges of Vereshalm Mountains, this one seemed very regular in shape and inclination—like the burning cone they had seen a few days before. There was no smoke, however: instead, a white, cloudlike haze rose into the sky from somewhere ahead.
The heat of the lowlands was gone, replaced by a damp chill.
The mountain had no true summit, but instead a rim, as if some god had torn off the peak and dug out a bowl-shaped cavity. They were high above the jungle, and he saw that the mountain was part of a chain marching north and south. The nearest looked like this one, a decapitated cone. Off to the east, he saw a vast blue water that had to be the sea.
The circular valley was half-filled with water, from which rose the cloud of vapor he’d noticed earlier. No trees grew there, only scrubby bushes, moss, and ferns. In the center of the lake stood an island, and on the island a dome of black stone that looked too regular to be natural.
They followed the trail down to the bare rock of the water’s edge, where Hound observed yet another smooth depression.
“That’s where they went,” he said.
Martin looked across at the black dome. He approached the water and dipped a finger in, then withdrew it quickly.
“It’s near boiling.”
“So I don’t guess we’ll be swimming across,” Hound remarked.
* * *
ONCE AGAIN, Ammolite experienced the violent sense of dislocation. Her knees would not hold her. When she tried to open her eyes, she became so dizzy that she shut them instantly. Strong arms took hold of her and would not let her fall. Weariness brimmed in her, and she descended into strange colors and unclear voices.
* * *
SHE WOKE on a bed in room illuminated by a familiar opaline light, and for a moment thought she was back home, that the whole strange adventure had been a dream. But the bed was not familiar to her, and the coverlet on which she lay was dusty and stiff.
The room was equally unfamiliar, and rather small. Veulkh was there, standing over her.
“Quickly,” he said. He took her hands and brought them to his temples.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Don’t be thick,” he said. “You’ve lost your seeming. It may be too late already, but if it isn’t, we must hurry.”
