Queen of the Depths Page 7

  A warrior thrust his spear at Anton. The spy parried—thanks to the magic bound in the massive cutlass, the quick, precise defensive action was easy enough—and hacked open the Thayan’s belly. The soldier reeled and toppled off the pier.

  Anton pivoted, seeking the Red Wizards. He had no doubt the magicians were still dangerous, even bereft of the ability to recite incantations. Some spells, and a good many sorcerous weapons, didn’t require the wielder to jabber words of power.

  At first he couldn’t tell anything. The pier was too narrow. The combatants were jammed together, obscuring the view. Then he caught a glimpse of a Red Wizard leveling a wand. Captain Clayhill slashed his neck with a boarding pike. Half severed, his head flopped back on his shoulders, blood spurted, and the arcane weapon dropped from his twitching fingers.

  Good, one down, but where was the other? There! Anton pushed toward him. Before he could reach him, though, the Red Wizard brushed back his voluminous sleeve and ran his fingertip down the curved length of a tattooed sigil. He vanished in a flash of light—

  —and reappeared beside the monstrous statue. His mouth worked as he screamed the command that would bring it to life then snarled in frustration as he realized the zone of silence enshrouded the image, too.

  He still needed killing, however, as soon as possible. Anton looked for a way past the frenzied fighters blocking his path, but it was hopeless. He snatched a sling from his belt, loaded it with a lead bullet—and the Red Wizard stroked his tattooed forearm. Once again, he disappeared.

  His departure left Anton with nothing to do but slaughter his share of the remaining Thayans as rapidly as he could. To his relief, he and his comrades needed only a few more heartbeats to clear the pier. Afterward, he grabbed Captain Clayhill by the arm and dragged her onto dry land, beyond the statue. The hum of the city popped back into his ears.

  “One of the Red Wizards got away,” Anton panted. “He’ll warn the others. We have to keep moving.” Every moment they delayed gave warriors time to wake, grab their weapons, assemble into squads, and take up defensive positions. Every second was another chance for a wizard or priest to weave a spell.

  “I know,” the captain said. She beckoned urgently, yelling curses even though she must have known her crew couldn’t hear her, and the pirates came scrambling onto the shore. She barked a few orders, and they charged up the slope toward the buildings ahead, dividing into teams as they went to envelop the entire complex quickly.

  Anton and his companions smashed open doors and killed whomever they found beyond. Some of the pirates tried to linger and search for loot, but he bellowed at them to stay with the squad.

  In the center of a small garden with gravel paths, a marble fountain abruptly emitted an eye-watering stink. “Run!” he cried, an instant before the marble basin spewed acid like a geyser. Most of the freebooters reacted quickly enough to avoid all but the diffuse, merely blistering fringe of the discharge. But one man toppled, clothing and skin dissolving. His body was covered in bubbling, sizzling burns, and his eyes melted in their sockets.

  A wisp of spider web enlarged without warning, snaring the men it engulfed in sticky cable. The arachnid at the center grew as well and, when it was as big as a cat, scuttled to bite the first of its prisoners. Straining, Anton managed to slip the cutlass through some of the mesh restraining him, and the preternaturally keen edge severed the gluey strands. He slashed himself free, cut once more, and split the spider’s eight-eyed mask just as it started to pounce at him.

  It was all grueling, frantic, desperate work, and from a certain perspective, it was all inconsequential. Where were the rest of the enemy spellcasters? They were the chief threat, the adversaries the pirates truly needed to confront.

  They reached the end of the lane running between two rows of low sheds and buildings, peeked out into the open space beyond, and at last Anton saw the Red Wizards.

  The surviving Thayans were making a stand in a two-story limestone building like a small but well-fortified manor house. Soldiers shot crossbow bolts through arrow loops or, kneeling, from behind the battlements on the slate roof. The magicians lurked behind windows, popping into view just long enough to hurl bursts of fire and hammering hailstones at the corsairs laying siege to the place then ducking back out of sight.

  The quarrels and flares of magic were taking a toll on the pirates. It was obvious they needed to break into the house and fight the Thayans at close quarters. But it was difficult when their enemies concentrated their attacks on anyone who sought to approach. Even when some daring soul did reach the side of the house, he found it impossible to kick in a door or pry open a shutter. Some charm evidently prevented it.

  Tu’ala’keth, Kassur, and a couple of others had taken cover behind a big, forked-trunk tree at one corner of the battlefield. Chadrezzan wasn’t with them, though. Apparently, like Anton himself, he was late reaching the heart of the battle.

  The priest and priestess of Fury chanted and swept their arms in mystic passes to no particular effect, as far as Anton could tell. Either they were attempting something subtle, or the enemy spellcasters were neutralizing their efforts.

  Perhaps he and Tu’ala’keth together could think of an effective tactic. Crouching low, he ran toward her and the others, and the air ahead of him crackled and burned blue.

  The shining haze coalesced into a trio of dark, long-legged creatures with streaming tails and manes. For an instant, Anton wondered if the Red Wizards had wasted a summoning spell on something as mundane and relatively harmless as horses. Then he noticed the pale, curved horns and glowing crimson eyes. The beasts were black unicorns, corrupted with a taint of demon blood, a prime example of the many abominations bred in Thay.

  Plainly heeding an order to kill the clerics, the unicorns charged the group behind the tree. Anton sprinted after them, but wasn’t exceptionally concerned. Black unicorns were dangerous foes, but Tu’ala’keth’s magic, and Kassur’s, should suffice to fend the creatures off.

  Then, however, wind howled. Anton could barely feel the disturbance in the air where he was, but it staggered the pirates behind the forked tree and ripped leaves spinning upward off the branches. Tu’ala’keth’s goggles jerked off her head and hurtled into the air as well.

  It shouldn’t have mattered. The sunlight of the surface world couldn’t blind her in the middle of the night. But in the same instant the whirlwind died, as abruptly as it began, her face lit up like an ember fresh from a blazing fire. She pawed at her features as if she could wipe the glow away, but to no avail.

  The black unicorns thundered nearer.

  Help her! Anton thought. But as Kassur, brandishing his flickering spear, started to conjure, he backed away from her. No doubt he wanted to ensure that the defense he meant to create would shield only himself.

  Tu’ala’keth must have mastered her panic, must have heard her attacker’s pounding approach, for at the last instant, she tried to spring out of the way. Even so, the black unicorn’s horn gored her side, spun her, and dropped her to the ground. The creature turned and reared to pulp her beneath its battering hooves.

  Still Kassur made no attempt to aid her. It was Harl who rushed in, scimitar raised, interposing himself between the unicorn and its intended prey. He started to strike a blow, but the creature was faster, and the orc dropped with his head bashed to gory, lopsided ruin.

  At least he’d distracted the unicorn long enough for Anton to close with it. He hoped to take the beast from behind and cut a leg out from under it before it knew he was there, but it must have heard or smelled him coming because it whirled to meet him.

  He cut; gashed the equine’s flank; then twisted to the right when the pale, whorled horn drove at him. That put him in position for a chop at the unicorn’s neck, and he raised the cutlass to try. The beast’s horn suddenly glowed like crystal filled with tainted moonlight. It whipped its head sideways and bashed him in the chest with the luminous spike.

  But it didn’t hit with the point
, just the side of the shaft. It should have been a solid, bruising clout, but nothing worse. Alas, the supernatural force the unicorn had invoked amplified the power of the blow. It knocked Anton into the air and threw him several feet. He slammed down hard.

  His chest burned, and he felt as if he couldn’t draw a breath. He had no idea how badly the attack had wounded him and had no time to worry about it either. The unicorn sprang after him and reared to hammer him with its hooves.

  Anton tried to roll out of the way. For an instant that seemed to stretch out endlessly, he thought his abused body wouldn’t answer to his will, but then he broke through the paralysis that came with shock and flung himself to the side. The unicorn’s hooves slammed down mere inches away, pounding dents into the ground and flinging up bits of dirt.

  He had to roll again before he could attempt to scramble to his feet. He was still straightening up when the black unicorn leaped at him, crimson eyes blazing, horn shining with another infusion of malefic power.

  He needed another moment to settle into a balanced fighting stance, but he didn’t have it. He’d simply have to manage as best he could. He tried to sidestep and cut at the same time.

  The unicorn crashed into him. Flung him reeling backward and down on the ground. He was sure he’d taken a mortal wound, but when he ran his hand over his torso, he couldn’t find a puncture. Some part of the beast’s body had struck him, but he’d dodged the horn.

  Something screamed an inhuman scream. Anton forced himself to sit up and look around. His foe lay on its side several feet away, the cutlass buried in the base of its neck. It gave a final cry, and its head thudded down onto the ground. Blood oozed from its mouth and nostrils.

  Anton smiled then glimpsed a surge of motion from the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and another black unicorn charged him.

  Tu’ala’keth’s steely contralto voice cried words of power. The grass beneath the unicorn’s hooves grew long and whipped around its lower legs. The beast’s momentum kept it plunging forward anyway. Bones snapped, and it crashed to the ground to shriek until the shalarin drove her stone trident between its ribs.

  She then hobbled to Anton. The blinding luminescence on her face had disappeared—she’d probably extinguished it with a counterspell—but blood poured from the rent in her side.

  “Are you badly hurt?” she asked.

  “I’ve been knocked around,” he said, “and taken a little jolt of magical virulence, but I can still fight. You’re the one who’s really wounded. Fix it before you bleed to death.”

  “Yes, now that I have time.” She declaimed a prayer and pressed her hand against the gaping cut. Her webbed fingers glowed blue-green, and the gash closed. Meanwhile, Anton yanked his cutlass from the first unicorn’s carcass and looked to see what else was happening.

  Kassur and Chadrezzan stood near the body of the third unicorn, which burned as if someone had dipped it in oil and set a torch to it. Sour-faced, the Talassans were glaring at him and Tu’ala’keth, but they turned away as soon as they noticed him looking back.

  Anton realized it hadn’t been a Red Wizard who’d blinded Tu’ala’keth. It had been Chadrezzan, hiding in the shadows.

  The knowledge infuriated him, but retribution would have to wait. The attack was faltering. The pirates were game, fighting hard, but as long as the Thayans’ bastion remained unable to be breached, they held an insurmountable advantage.

  He turned to Tu’ala’keth. “Are you fit to keep fighting?” he asked.

  She sneered. “Of course. Umberlee’s power sustains me, just as it does you.”

  “Right. How could I forget? Look, I need to get to the side of the house to try my charm of opening.”

  The glimmering membrane flicked across her obsidian eyes. “Do you think it will overcome the enchantment the Red Wizards used to seal the place?”

  “It untied your magic tether, didn’t it? I’m lucky with that particular spell. But maybe not lucky enough to run across the clear space without taking a few quarrels in the vitals, or a lightning bolt up the arse.”

  “I will shield you.” She raised the bloody trident over her head and chanted words in her own tongue. A grayness thickened in the air. In a moment, most of the world vanished beneath a blanket of mist. The vapor smelled of the sea.

  “The enemy will banish the fog quickly,” said Tu’ala’keth. “We must run.”

  “Wait! I’ve lost track of where the doors and windows are.”

  “I remember.” She gripped his hand. “Come on.”

  They rushed the house. A quarrel whizzed down out of the fog and past his head. Evidently some of the Thayan warriors were shooting blind.

  But that was the only missile that came anywhere near him, and the façade of the enemy fortress swam out of the murk. As Tu’ala’keth had promised, she’d led him straight to a door.

  Just as they reached it, though, a pulse of magic that made his head throb scoured the fog from the air. They pressed themselves against the side of the house to make it awkward for anyone inside or on top to target them, and he began the spell. Knowing he had sufficient power to attempt it only a couple of times, and that the articulation needed to be perfect to overcome Thayan wizardry, he resisted the urge to hurry, even when quarrels thumped into the ground behind him.

  As he reached the final word, silvery sparks danced on the surface of the heavy four-paneled door. He tried to twist the wrought-iron handle. It wouldn’t budge, nor would the door shiver even minutely in its frame. It seemed of a piece with the wall around it.

  Footsteps shuffled overhead, and Tu’ala’keth rattled off a prayer. Anton glanced up just as the warriors on the roof overturned a cauldron. Boiling water poured down, but the stream divided as it dropped. It splashed, steamed, hissed all around him and the shalarin, but left them untouched.

  “Next time,” said Tu’ala’keth, “they will drop something besides boiling water. I will find that more difficult to deflect.”

  “Point taken.” He resumed his conjuring.

  In response, the entire surface of the door glowed silver. He twisted the handle, and the latch released. He and Tu’ala’keth scrambled inside, and blazing coals rained, thumping and rattling down on the spot they’d just vacated.

  Anton cast about for defenders waiting just inside the entry. Feet were pounding above his head, but as yet, no one had appeared to bar the way. He turned and bellowed to the pirates: “Come on! Come on! We’ve got a way in!”

  The freebooters dashed forward. The Thayans might have decimated them as they emerged from cover, except that Chadrezzan, shrouded from head to toe in vermilion flame, his serpent-staff held high above his head, hurled burst after burst of fire over their heads. While the barrage lasted, the Red Wizards and their minions had no choice but to hide behind their casements and merlons.

  The first pirates reached the doorway. Anton and Tu’ala’keth led them deeper into the house.

  It was a different fight now, through rooms, along hallways, and up stairs. With walls in the way, no leader could hope to oversee or direct more than a small part of it. Warriors lacked the space to stand in proper formation. Wizards and crossbowmen couldn’t harass their enemies safely at long range.

  Which was to say, it was brutal, howling chaos, and in such a melee, the sheer viciousness of the pirates gave them the upper hand.

  Or at least Anton thought it did. In truth, he too had only the haziest impression of what was occurring beyond the reach of his blade, and didn’t dare divert his attention from the enemies in his immediate vicinity to look around.

  Finally, though, he killed another Thayan, cast about, and couldn’t find any more to fight. Durth yelled, “I saw a mage run up this way!” He scrambled up a staircase with a door at the top, and two of his fellow orcs scrambled after him. The lookout grabbed the handle.

  “Stop!” cried Tu’ala’keth.

  The word was charged with magic. Durth froze for a heartbeat then turned to her in anger and confusion.<
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  “It is warded,” the waveservant said. “I will deal with it.” She hurried up the steps, and Anton followed.

  Tu’ala’keth gripped her dead man’s hand and recited an incantation. Power tinged the air green and made it feel damp. She thrust the tines of her trident into the door, and for an instant, a complex design, inscribed in lines and loops of scarlet light, flared and sizzled into being but without doing anybody any harm.

  “Now,” said Tu’ala’keth, “we may pass.” She threw open the door.

  Beyond the threshold was a richly appointed suite, surely the private quarters of the ranking Red Wizard in Saerloon. His leg torn, leaving bloody spatters and footprints on a gorgeous carpet as he limped about, the mage was stuffing various possessions in a haversack seemingly too small to hold them. It must be one of those enchanted containers that was larger inside than out.

  The mage cursed and pointed an ebony wand with a milky crystal on the end. The attackers ducked for cover as best they could in the confined area of the top risers and the small landing.

  With a roar, force exploded through the doorway and smashed the sections of wall on either side into hurtling scraps. Time seemed to skip, and Anton found himself lying amid a litter of wood and plaster on the floor at the base of the steps.

  His ears rang, his whole body felt as if it were vibrating from the impact, but he didn’t seem to be dead or maimed. He looked around for his companions. One of the orcs had both legs twisted at unnatural angles with a jagged bit of broken bone sticking out of one, but other than that, it looked as if everyone might be all right. They were just battered and dazed.

  The concussion had blasted away the top of the staircase, but a bit of the supporting structure remained, affixed to the wall. Anton used it to clamber high enough to peek into the Red Wizard’s quarters.

  The wretch was gone.

  Anton dropped back down to the floor, where Tu’ala’keth awaited him. “He escaped,” the spy admitted. “Used magic to whisk himself away with his most valuable treasures.”