Vol 5, Chapter 20

Seagulls wheeled above the port, their piercing cries annoying the dockworkers. The salty wind blew in my face, and clouds on the horizon foretold an imminent change in the weather. Far too sudden, in my opinion: just a few minutes ago the sky had been clear, but nothing surprised me anymore.

Without a doubt, the Commonwealth was the most powerful naval power in the world. That much was obvious from this port alone.

Not only was it several times larger than the capital's port, but the ships here were truly massive. The tops of their masts could rival the height of the royal palace.

Most of the ships looked familiar to me… as familiar as ancient wooden titans could be. But some were stranger still, seamless as if grown from living wood.

Fortunately, the Espluar was not one of those. Finding the vessel I needed proved easier than I expected.

At first, I assumed my "rescuer" had arranged for a sloop so I could get my backside out of the Commonwealth. But this was no sloop.

A full three-masted frigate, whose open ports held not cannons, but something else entirely. Slanted downward, the ports were built so that the crystal-like apparatus inside could be aimed almost vertically down. I took a closer look at one such contraption, whose forward crystal a sailor was polishing with a rag: gold, silver, several asymmetrically placed crystals… an elegant, fragile, and clearly expensive piece of work.

I had no doubt that, in our country, some daring soul with a rasp would've already scraped off a bit of that gold from spots no quick inspection would ever notice.

Meanwhile, the ship bustled with activity. They weren't just cleaning the weapons; a sailor hanging in a sling was repainting the golden lettering "Espluar" on the hull. The crew hauled crates up with winches and rolled barrels along narrow planks from the pier. Supplies were stacked right on the upper deck, where cabin boys scurried with buckets and rags, smearing more grime than removing it from the salt-crusted planks.

Overseeing it all was a tall mage in a sky-blue shirt and trousers rolled up to the knee, far less dignified than robes but surely much more practical at sea. Chewing on a straw, he barked sharp orders at the sailors swarming like ants.

"Hey, on the ship!" I called out.

The mage fell silent, gave me a measuring look, and vaulted over the side onto the pier. The height didn't hinder him; he landed softly, as if in slow motion. The gust of wind that slowed his fall hit me in the face so hard I had to shut my eyes for a moment.

"Condor," he stated.

"Correct."

"We'll be ready to sail in an hour. Still waiting for the rejects to be delivered—our supplies were used up on the last voyage. Without them, it's too dangerous to set out… unless you're a High Archmage," he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Not yet," I admitted.

"Pity. Then you'll have to wait," he said, with a note of challenge in his voice.

"I'll admit, I'm not planning to leave just yet. But I'd very much like to learn more about who hired your ship."

He shook his head firmly.

"All questions to the captain. I'm just the navigator, and I couldn't care less who hires the vessel or why. My job is to get it from one port to another, not to ask questions."

Though his tone was calm, his hands fidgeted, nervously rubbing at his wrists.

"Did you see who hired the ship?"

"No," he replied too sharply.

"When exactly was your ship hired? That's not classified information, is it?" I pressed.

"I've already told you I know nothing. If you have questions, take them to the captain."

"And your name, Navigator?" I tried changing tactics.

"Mmm… Will. Yes. Let's say Will."

I'd bet my teeth it was a false name. But he was right: if anyone was to be pried for answers, it was the captain.

"Will" whistled, and a rope ladder was tossed down from the ship.

"I'll take you. He's in his cabin. Follow me," the mage said, and in an instant he was up on deck. Experience.

I followed him, weaving through barrels and bowing sailors, straight to the quarterdeck where the captain's cabin lay.

Knock-knock.

"What is it now, Naik?" came an irritated voice from inside.

"Will," or rather Naik, grimaced.

"Brought you a passenger. You can talk to him; I'll see to the loading," the navigator said, giving a short bow before striding off, even before the captain opened the door.

The man was stocky, his hair and mustache already gray despite his comparatively young age. He wore a strange mix of uniform and robe in a marshy shade. After boring into me with his gaze, he relaxed and stepped aside, allowing me into a relatively spacious cabin.

"I thought we'd be transporting an Archmage," he said with a smirk, then introduced himself: "Flint. Captain Flint. Welcome aboard the Espluar. We'll be ready to depart as soon as our munitions arrive."

I nodded slowly, taking in the cabin: a luxurious carpet, a pair of crossed boarding sabers on the wall, a rack of potions, a chest, a table covered with wind and current charts.

"I'll get straight to the point. I'm not here to sail anywhere. I want to know the identity of your employer."

The captain raised a gray eyebrow.

"This ship was hired specifically to transport you and all your companions to the Kingdom of Steel. I would assume our employer is you."

"Don't play word games. It's been a bad day. Who's paying you? It's certainly not me. I need a name."

"One of your friends, I suppose. This may not be a warship, but it's no coastal ketch either. We sail thousands of cables offshore..."

"Stay on topic."

"Ahem. My point is, it's an expensive undertaking. If you have many friends who can afford this, well, I can only envy you," he said with a nervous smile, sitting down at the table.

I took a few steps toward the sabers on the wall.

"I have more enemies than friends, and I don't advise joining them," I said, checking one of the blades. Dull.

"No need to make this difficult. Let's agree on this: once we're at sea, say a dozen or two miles out, I'll tell you everything I know. Oh! We're in luck, look!" He stood to throw open the window beside him.

A staccato patter of drops filled the cabin. Rain was falling on the pier, and a group of barefoot prisoners, tied together with a long rope, trudged along. Through the rising noise of the downpour came the first mate's order to open the holds.

"There's our munitions. Even without docking, we can set out as soon as they're loaded."

"Munitions, you say?" I turned from the window.

"As I said, we don't cling to the coast. We go far enough that sea creatures sometimes try us with their teeth."

I turned silently toward the saber rack.

"No need to worry, we never cross the line where our lightning scepters stop being effective. Usually one shot is enough to make them leave us alone," he said, misreading my silence.

I still didn't answer, and after a grunt, he went on.

"But anything can happen… you understand? Storms, migration of sea beasts. Better to fight a manticore on land than a demonic shark at sea. Sometimes the guns glow red-hot."

"Why not use cores to power the weapons?"

"What?" The captain looked genuinely shocked. "There are a billion reasons. Do you know how much power they draw? Any small core would turn to dust after a single shot. A single broadside would cost a fortune. And carrying a lot of cores aboard would make us the prime target for every sea monster out there, it's suicide."

"And people are cheaper, right?" I said coldly.

"These are rejects. The academy gives them away almost for free. The Department of Magical Development checks every month for families that haven't produced a gifted child in years... Hm. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Back to the point. Who hired you, when, and under what circumstances?" I asked, stroking the hilt of a saber.

"I'm afraid I can't add anything to what I've already said." He shrugged, which only sharpened my irritation; he'd said nothing useful at all.

The hilt under my hand was cold, gilded. Pretty, but uncomfortable to grip. Both sabers were only decorations, fixed firmly to the wall... but that wasn't a problem for me.

A second later, the saber flowed off the wall into my hand, its edge sharpening instantly to razor keenness.

"I've had a bad day, and I don't like the clouds gathering around me. This ship is the only thread that might clear things up. If that thread snaps, your life will snap with it."

"Oh, I see." Captain Flint clapped his hands. "Not bad, not bad. Threatening a water mage in the rain? And on his own ship? I was being generous, treating a mage a rank below me as an equal. Especially a metal mage. Put the weapon down, and we'll forget this happened."

I stepped forward, pointing the saber's tip at him in silence. Cheap steel, but I didn't want to dirty my own sword.

"I see you won't. Well then… perhaps your employer isn't your friend, but your enemy? Perhaps they wanted me to bind you and deliver you to the right place like a sack of onions? I suggest you don't resist; the voyage will take about two weeks." He gestured, and the rain outside the window stopped.

Not a single drop fell. Even the wind died for a few seconds.

Through the open window slid a massive water serpent. Formed entirely from flowing water, it opened its mouth and tasted the air with a stream-like tongue. Its sleek head constantly shifted shape, while icy dagger-sized fangs steamed with frosty vapor. Water dripped continuously from it… but not a drop reached the floor, turning to mist instead.

Beautiful, good for entertaining children. Except…

The serpent lost its shape, becoming ordinary water. It poured to the floor as if from a giant's cauldron, soaking Flint's legs and the carpet. Two icy fangs fell like pathetic icicles onto the oak planks, shattering with a ring. Their fragments scattered across the cabin, bouncing off the chest, table legs… and landing at my feet.

"I've heard that a true captain should have one eye, one leg, and one arm," I said, continuing to approach. The remains of the serpent crunched and squelched under my boots.

Flint tried to freeze me to the floor, but the water refused to solidify. He gave up when the blade's tip pressed against his throat.

"An artifact of the holy men, is it? Half a century in the mines at best. Looks like I've met an even bolder smuggler than myself…" he said, glancing sideways at the blade.

"Don't waste my time. The employer's name, appearance, place, time, exact wording of the order. I want every detail, right down to the amount you were paid. Speak."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" He leaned back in his chair, twisting a gray mustache around his finger. "You know, when people ask about my hair, I always tell a tale. Sometimes about how black morays gnawed our hull until the ship below the waterline looked like cheese, and I spent days without rest or sleep bailing water until we reached the shallows. Sometimes about…"

I cut him off, slicing off his mustache with a flick of my blade.

"The only story I want to hear is the one where you gave up your employer."

"Hmph. Rushing ruins a good story… The truth is, I went gray not from any heroic adventure. I got caught with contraband. Right there with a pouch of fire crystals from Ashir—thank Merlin, not isolite, ha! Even so, they sent me to the interrogators. What I went through there was fear unimaginable to most people. Do you think one piece of steel at my throat will scare me now?" he finished defiantly, leaning forward.

The tip of my sabre nicked skin, and a trickle of blood ran down the metal.

"So you're saying you don't fear torture? Fine. Then perhaps you fear death? I think you were right when you suggested the employer might be my enemy, not my friend. In that case, your death would ruin his plans, wouldn't it?" I raised the blade.

"My death won't tell you what you want to know," he replied calmly, hiding trembling hands under the table.

"I'll ask the first mate. I think he knows something."

"So be it. The crew will avenge me." The captain closed his eyes. Damn, I'd hoped that would work. Fine, new plan.

The sabre lashed toward his neck, not to sever it but to coil around it as steel wire.

With a sharp tug, I yanked him from behind the table. The bolted-down top held, but his body swept everything else to the floor. Charts, rulers, compasses, all splashed into the water pooled there. Then the mage himself hit the puddle, sending droplets flying like transparent blood.

I split my own sword into six parts: five to pin his limbs to the floor with staples, the sixth shaping into a short dagger.

It had been a while since I'd done this. But this time we'd keep it simple — after all, we had neither the cores nor the abilities to channel a surge of magic in the right direction. Besides, with this many mages around, I didn't want to draw attention.

I didn't need to recruit the captain, only to question him. If he wouldn't answer me, he could talk to Astarot. Since my link to the demon let me feed it magic, why not try feeding it souls?

I focused, rolled up my sleeve, and drew the dagger across my arm to rouse the sleeping, weakened demon.

I don't know how they tortured the captain before, but nothing compares to having your soul devoured alive. I should know.

An invisible vortex sucking in magic surged sharply, the drops of blood evaporating like a snowman in summer heat. The power devoured everything, yet still wanted more… More!

The force wrapped around the mage's body. His Source trembled under the concentrated storm trying to rip it free. Slowly, so slowly. But we were in no hurry.

A scream tore from his throat, quickly muffled by a metal gag I shaped from the dagger. Uncomfortable? Absolutely, but I doubted he cared just now.

"Wait… feel it properly. Don't rush... a good story doesn't take kindly to haste," I whispered in his ear.

***********************************************************

I returned to the estate late in the evening.

The captain hadn't held out long, once was enough to make him spill everything. Unfortunately, he didn't know much. The order came directly from the Academy, and no one refused such offers. The Academy had far too many levers to shut down any uncooperative captain — take the "rejects", for example, without whom any voyage would lose much of its profit and rack up far more expenses.

Beyond that, a dead end. No name, no position. Just an impersonal order with generous payment in advance. The instructions were straightforward: take me and my companions aboard, transport us, unload us. If there were any surprises, the captain didn't know about them.

I no longer knew what to think. Did that mean someone truly wanted to help me? Someone who knew the Magister would come after me, and who wanted me out of the Commonwealth before that happened? And more than that… were they somehow connected to the shadow adept I had pulled from the pyre so long ago?

Either way, the lead was rotten. Same as the one with the maid. When I got back to the estate, I found two pieces of news.

First, good. They'd found her.

Second, not so good. She'd been found with her chest cavity opened and no heart. No idea why someone would kill her so brutally, but every trace had been erased completely.

Asha sat swinging her legs, devouring pie and telling me how a sudden downpour had ensured only water mages made it to the semifinals this year, while I sat with a glass of water, trying to manage a headache.

"Unfair!" she whined, complaining that they hadn't built a roof over the arena.

To hell with it.

Just one more week to endure, no more. The finals were tomorrow, followed by a grand banquet to celebrate the end of the tournament, a couple of magical science exhibitions, and then: through the portal and on to truly useful work. I wondered how many barrels of nitric acid had piled up in the warehouse.

"Can I smash some golems tomorrow?" Asha's words pulled me from daydreams of peacefully tinkering with explosives.

"Huh? What golems?"

"A contest for guests. You get to wreck those tin cans to your heart's content!" she said, eyes sparkling, before biting into her pie.

"Alright, why not. Just… without those things." I pointed to the steel cylinder hanging from her belt.

"Hey, that's the whole point!" she protested.

I wasn't in the mood, so I goaded her.

"You're saying you can't handle a bunch of golems without an edge?"

"Ha! I'll melt them into puddles!" she promised, showing me her fist.

"Good. I'm going to bed."

I got up from the table and headed upstairs to my room. A few maids scurrying about the manor made me glance at them suspiciously, but no, they were just doing their usual work.

I undressed, lay in bed, and tossed and turned for hours. It felt like I'd missed something, forgotten to check, failed to understand.

Hm.

I switched on the magic lamp, and the blue light of the crystal hidden under the lampshade filled the room. The curtains were tightly drawn. Behind them was a cloudy, moonless night. I pulled from my pocket the scroll Nala had given me and the note from the maid, comparing handwriting.

It seemed different, but in places similar. A strange feeling. One text was refined and even, the other had letters slightly crooked, as if written in haste. Larger, uneven. Some details matched, but overall… damn. I wasn't a handwriting expert. Similar? Yes. Identical? No.

What did that give me? Nothing. But at least it wasn't exactly the same… On the other hand, if I were writing it myself, wouldn't I try to make it look different?

Ah, if only I could recall that very first note. But all I remembered was the lip print. I could ask the demon, but doing that in the manor? And without regular feeding, he was weak. Maybe I really should have fed him the captain? Hm.

No new messages in the scroll, and no way to ask the prince if he'd passed my request to Nala. Stefan hadn't even stayed for dinner, only stopping by the ambassador's office before heading out again, likely for the whole night.

Disappointed, I stuffed the note and scroll back into my coat and returned to bed. Morning would bring clarity.

I switched off the lamp. The unease was still there, but exhaustion won out.

I fell asleep in complete darkness, only to wake to the touch of a cold dagger at my throat.

The click of the lamp being turned on stabbed at my ears, and the blue light stabbed at my eyes.

It was hard to breathe, as if a sack of potatoes, or an entire girl, had been laid across my chest.

"You shouldn't have ignored my warning, Randal," a woman's voice purred in my ear.