Percepliquis Part 25

"Do we have to surrender?" Alric asked.

"Ghazel don't take prisoners," Hadrian told him. "They don't even have a word in their language for surrender."

"What do we do, then?" the king asked.

"We don't really have a lot of options, Your Majesty," Wyatt told him. "Those s.h.i.+ps hold sixty, maybe as many as a hundred Ghazel each, and we don't even have a means of shooting back. Their archers will drive us into the cabin; then they will grapple on and come aboard uncontested. At that point they could lock us in and sail us to their port."

"Which they will do," Hadrian added. "Then they will drag us into a ring and... and, well, you get the idea. No sense in spoiling the surprise."

"I hate s.h.i.+ps!" Magnus growled. "Infernal things. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide."

"We're going to... die?" Gaunt asked, stunned. "I-I can't die. I'm going to be emperor."

"Yeah, well, we all had plans, didn't we?" Hadrian said.

"I didn't," Royce said, climbing down from the rigging. Arista noted a modest smile on his lips. "I don't think I'll be joining you in the cabin. I don't mind a game of arrow dodging."

"Actually only Arista and Myron should go in the cabin," Hadrian said. "The rest of us will remain on deck. We'll need s.h.i.+elds-anything of wood about an inch thick will do, or metal even thinner. Trilons don't have much penetration power. We can also use the mast as cover."

Arista looked out at the approaching s.h.i.+ps, coming at angles to intercept them. The Ba Ran Ghazel were coming and there would be no rescue by a das.h.i.+ng prince-the Ghazel always ate their victims.

"Not this time," she told herself, and letting go of the rail, she walked forward. She stepped around Wyatt at the wheel and pa.s.sed through the group of men in the waist.

"Arista?" Hadrian called. "You should get in the cabin."

She looked out at the water.

"Mr. Deminthal," she shouted, "take hold of that wheel. Everyone else... hang on to something."

Taking a breath, Arista calmed herself and reached out into the dark-into the energy that lay around them, above and below. She could feel the depths of the ocean, the weight of the water, the floor of the sea, the fish, the seaweed, the glowing algae. She felt the breeze and grabbed it tight.

The wind, which had been a constant presence since they had climbed out of the shaft to the beach, abruptly died. The sails drooped; the incessant quiver and clank of pulleys and ropes halted. Not a breath remained and the world became silent. Even the waves perished. The s.h.i.+ps stopped as the sea became as tranquil as a bathtub. The silence was deafening.

Then across the water the hush was broken by Ghazel voices. She could hear them, like the barks and howls of dogs. She felt them too. She felt everything and held it all in her grip.

She raised her hand, holding her fingertips lightly.

Fire? she thought. She had played that note before. She knew just how to do it. But as enticing as the thought of three flaming pyres against the water was, the light would alert the sh.o.r.e.

Wind? She could sense that chord. It was powerful. She could shatter the s.h.i.+ps. No. Too unwieldy, like trying to pick up a coin with mittens.

Water? Yes! It was everywhere. She twisted three fingers in the air and the world responded with movement.

The sea swirled.

Currents formed, churning, building, rotating, and spinning. The three Ghazel s.h.i.+ps began to rotate, revolving as if they were toy boats in a tub she had flicked with a finger.

Whirlpools formed.

Beneath the goblin s.h.i.+ps, circles appeared-large swirling funnels of spinning water. Faster and faster they moved, the centers giving way, dropping lower as the speed of the rotation increased. They widened, spreading out, and grew in strength. Even the Harbinger began to rock noticeably as the maelstroms reached out to pull on the strength of the whole sea.

The barks of the Ghazel became cries and screams as the s.h.i.+ps continued to spin. A crack issued across the water as a mast snapped. Then another, and another, poles the size of tree trunks popped like twigs. The Ghazel shrieked and wailed, their voices blurring into one note, which Arista also held.

The sheer enormity of the power she worked was incredible. It was so easy and all at her command. Everything-every droplet, every breath, every heartbeat-it was all hers. She felt them, touched them, played with them. It was irresistible, like scratching a terrible itch. She let the power run. It was so big, so potent. She did not just control the power; she was the power, and it was her. She whirled, she frothed, and she wanted to run, to spin and grow. Like a ball sent off a hill, she felt the building momentum. It excited her and she loved the motion-the freedom! She felt herself letting go, giving herself to it, spreading out and becoming a part of the symphony she played-so grand-so beautiful. All she wanted was to blend with the whole, to become- Stop it!

The idea was a discord. An off note. A broken thread.

Stop it! Pull back!

A distant voice called to her, struggling to be heard over the crescendo of the music she played.

Regain control!

She didn't want to listen; she didn't like the sound. It clashed with the melody.

You're killing them!

Of course I'm killing them. That is the whole point.

The Ghazel are gone. That is not who you are killing! Stop!

No. I can't.

You can!

I won't. I don't want to. It's too wonderful to stop, too incredible. I have to keep going. I love it so- Arista woke with a wrenching headache. It was so painful her eyes hurt just from opening. She was in the cabin, lying on the bed where they had found Bernie. A lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling swayed back and forth, casting shadows that sloshed from one wall to the next.

She turned her head and pain swelled behind her eyes. "Ow," she whispered.

Arista raised a hand and found a bandage wrapped around her head. There was stiffness at the back of her head where the bandage pulled at her hair. Drawing her hand away, she found blood on her fingertips.

"Are you all right?" Myron asked. He sat beside her on a little stool and took her hand in his.

"What happened?" she asked. "My head is killing me."

"Excuse me a moment," the monk said, and opened the door to the deck. "She's awake," he called.

Immediately, Hadrian and Alric entered, ducking inside and dodging the lantern. "Are you all right?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? And yes, I'm fine... mostly. But my head hurts." She sat up slowly.

Hadrian looked pained. "I'm sorry about that."

She narrowed her eyes at him, which made her head hurt even more. "You hit me?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"He had to," Alric put in, his expression grave. "You-you lost control, or something."

"What do you mean?"

Arista saw him glance toward the doorway. "What is it? What happened?"

She stood up, weaving a bit, her head still not right, and she felt tired to the point of being groggy. Hadrian extended a hand and steadied her. She ducked her head, careful to avoid banging it against the doorframe, and stepped out onto the deck.

"Oh dear Maribor!" she gasped.

The Harbinger was in shambles. The mast was gone; all that remained was a splintered stump. The beams of the deck were warped. One board was cracked to the point of splintering, and on the starboard side near the bow there was a gaping hole that revealed the hull below. The topsail was gone, along with the topsail yard, but the mainsail lay across the bow, torn and tattered. The railing on the port side was missing as well, sheared away.

"I did this?" she asked, shocked. "Oh my-is anyone..." She looked around, searching for faces-Gaunt, Magnus, Mauvin, Alric, Hadrian..."Where's Royce, Wyatt, and Elden?"

"They're okay. They're working on the s.h.i.+p. Everyone's okay," Alric told her. "Thanks to Hadrian. We tried talking to you, shaking you. Wyatt even poured water over your head. You just stood there mumbling and fiddling with your fingers while the s.h.i.+p came apart."

Mauvin was smiling at her and nodding. On his forehead a deep cut stood out, and his cheek was red and blotchy.

"Did I do that?"

"Actually a flying pulley did that. I was just too stupid to duck." He was still smiling at her, but there was something behind it-something terrible-something she had never seen on Mauvin's face before: fear-fear of her.

She sat down where she was, feeling the strength melt out of her legs. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"It's all right," her brother told her, again with apprehension in his voice. They made a circle around her, but no one came near.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them run down her cheeks. "I just wanted..." Her voice gave up on her and she began to weep.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Hadrian said. He came forward and knelt beside her. "You saved us. The Ghazel are gone."

"Yeah," Mauvin said. "Scariest thing I've ever seen. It was like-like what they said Esrahaddon could do, only he never did. It was-"

"It was what we needed," Hadrian broke in over him. "If she hadn't, we'd all be dead now, and trust me, it would have been a very unpleasant death. Thank you, Your Highness."

She looked up at Hadrian. He appeared blurry through her watering eyes. He was smiling. She wiped her face and peered at him again carefully. She studied his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said.

His hand reached out and brushed her cheeks dry. "What?" he asked again.

"I-I don't want-" She hesitated and took a breath. "I just don't want people to be afraid of me."

"That arrow's already flown," Degan Gaunt said.

"Shut it, Gaunt," Alric snapped.

"Look at me," Hadrian told her, and putting his hand under her chin, he gently lifted it. He took her hands in his. "Do I look frightened?"

"No," she said. "But... maybe you should be."

"You're tired."

"I am-I'm really very tired."

"We're going to be drifting here for a bit, so why don't you lie down and get some rest? I'm sure things will look better when you wake up."

She nodded and her head felt like a boulder rocking on her shoulders.

"Com'on," he said, pulling her to her feet. She wavered and he slipped an arm around her waist and escorted her back into the cabin, where Myron had the bed ready.

"Myron will watch over you," Hadrian a.s.sured Arista as he tucked the blankets tightly around her. "Get some sleep."

"Thank you."

He brushed her wet hair from her eyes. "It's the least I can do for my hero," he said.

She walked swiftly up the Grand Mar, the broad avenue beautifully lined with flowering trees. The rose-colored petals flew and swirled, carpeting the ground, scenting the air, and creating a blizzard in spring.

It was festival day, and blue and green flags were everywhere. They flew over houses and waved in the hands of pa.s.sersby. People clogged the streets. Wandering minstrels filled the air with music and song. Drums announced another parade, this one a procession of elephants followed by chariots, prancing horses, dancing women, and proud soldiers. Stall keepers called to the crowd, handing out cakes, nuts, confections, and fermented drinks called Trembles, made from the sweet blossoms of the trees. Young girls rushed from door to door, delivering small bouquets of flowers in the imperial colors. n.o.blemen on their chariots wore their bright-colored tunics; gold bracelets flashed in the afternoon sun. Older women stood on balconies, waving colored scarves and shouting words impossible to hear. Boys who dodged and slipped through the crowd carried baskets and sold trinkets. You could get three copper pins for three piths, or five for a keng. There was always a contest to collect the largest variety of pins before the day was out.

It was a beautiful day.

She hurried past the rivers of people into Imperial Square. To her right stood the stone rotunda of the Cenzarium and to the left the more brutish columned facade of the blocked Hall of Teshlor. Before her, at the terminus of the boulevard, rose the great golden-domed imperial palace-the seat of the emperor of the world. She walked past the Ulurium Fountain, across the Memorial Green, to the very steps of the palace-not a single guard was on duty. No one noticed. Everyone was too busy celebrating. That was part of the plan that Venlin had laid well.

She entered the marbled hall, so cool, so elegant, and scented with incense that made her think of tropical trees and mountaintops. The palace was a marvel, large, beautiful, and so st.u.r.dy it was hard to imagine what she knew was happening.

She reached the long gallery, the arcade of storied columns, each topped with three lions looking down from their n.o.ble perch at all who pa.s.sed that way.

Yolric was waiting for her.

The old man leaned heavily on his staff. His long white beard was a matted mess. "So you have come," he greeted her. "But I knew you would. I knew someone would. I could have guessed it would be you."

"This is wrong. You of all people should see that!"

Yolric shook his head. "Wrong, right-these words have no meanings except in the minds of men. They are but illusions. There is only what is and what isn't, what has been and what will be."

"I am here to define that value for you."

"I know you are. I could have predicted it. My suspicions, it would seem, have weight. This is the second time now. It has taken a long time to find, but there is a pattern to the world. Wobble it and it corrects, which should be impossible; chaos should beget chaos. Order should be only one possibility and drowned by all the other permutations. But if it corrects again, if order prevails, then there can be only one answer. There is another force at work-an invisible hand-and I think I know what that force is."

"I don't have time to discuss this theory of yours again."

"Nor do I have need of you. As I said, I have finally worked it out. You see, the legends are true."

She was irritated with him; he barred her path but did not attack. He merely babbled on about unimportant theories. This was no time for metaphysical debates about the nature of existence, chaos versus order, or the values of good and evil. She needed to get by him, but Yolric was the one person she could not hope to defeat. She could not take the chance of instigating a battle if it could be avoided. "Do you side with Venlin or not?"

"Side with the Bishop? No."