The Obsidian Oracle

THREE NYMOS

Agis stood at the quay’s end, squinting out at the harbor. There, a ghostly thicket of white sails was just fading from sight, shrouded by the distance and a murky pall of dust that cleaved to the bay’s surface like a ground fog. The sun had barely risen, shooting tendrils of blood-colored light across the emerald haze of the morning sky, and already the flotilla had reached the far side of the cove. On one of those ships, the noble felt certain, sailed the fugitive king of Tyr.

Agis had entered Balic the previous night, leaving Fylo several miles outside the city. He had begun searching for Tithian immediately. Bribing dozens of street paupers to answer his questions, he had traced his quarry first to the sorcerer-king’s citadel, then to the harbor district. The trail had ended there, and the noble had spent more than an hour trying to find it again. Finally he had learned that, for the first time in a year, a Balican military fleet had sortied earlier that night. Given that Tithian had been seen traveling from the White Palace to the harbor, the departure had seemed more than a coincidence. Agis had concluded that the king of Tyr was sailing with the flotilla.

The noble started back down the quay. Pearl-colored loess lay heaped against the western side of the pier in great mounds, spilling over the stone walkway and making it difficult to tell the wharf from the silty depths it traversed. At the end of the dock, a chest-high hedge of yellow ratany ran along the edge of the harbor, its spindly boughs serving as a crude dust-break.

As Agis approached the end of the pier, he came upon a group of rugged men seated on crates. They were talking quietly among themselves, twining rope and repairing sailing tackle. They had tied scarves around their mouths and noses to keep out blowing dust, and their eyes seemed pinched into permanent squints.

“Hail, stranger,” said one, speaking the trade tongue with the thick Balican accent. Although he looked at Agis as he spoke, his thick fingers continued to dance, twisting three yarns of black cord into a rope. “Are you looking to hire a craft?”

“Perhaps,” Agis said.

“Before you hire Salust, take a look at his boat,” said another, with broad red cheeks peeking over the top of his dusty face-mask. “My own bark is two craft down. She’s as dust-worthy a vessel as you’ll find in this harbor.”

The man gestured to the left side of the pier. There, dozens of boats lay scattered along the edge of the bay, sails furled and centerboards raised so the hulls could rest flat in the dust. All were half-buried, with mountainous heaps of silt piled against their high-sided gunnels. In many cases, the loess had spilled over the tops, completely filling the passenger compartments and giving the craft the distinct impression of derelicts.

“I’m not sure I want to hire any of those boats,” Agis commented.

“If you’re going to steal one, take Marda’s,” commented Salust, staring at the red-cheeked man.

“You’d be doing us all a favor, especially his family. That way, they won’t lose their father when he drops his dingy into a sinkhole.”

This elicited a round of laughter from the other men, who encouraged Salust and Marda as they continued to trade insults. Agis paid them little attention, for his thoughts were on more important matters.

“Can any of your boats catch the fleet that left this morning?” he interrupted.

This silenced the small crowd. “Why would you want to?” asked Marda.

“A criminal from my city sailed on one of those ships,” explained Agis. “I must take him back to Tyr to answer for his crimes.”

“Let him go,” said Salust. “I promise you, he’ll find punishment enough with the fleet.”

“What do you mean?” Agis asked.

“The giants-”

Before Marda could explain further, a pair of Balican templars stepped onto the quay, leaving an escort of six half-giants behind at the ratany hedge. The sailors fell immediately silent, each man fixing his eyes on his work.

When the templars reached the group, one of them pointed at Agis. “You. How long have you been in Balic?” She was a hard-eyed woman with sour, harsh looking features.

“Let me think,” the noble replied. “How long has it been now?” He rubbed his chin, stalling for time as he prepared to use the Way. The energy flowed from his nexus slowly, for he still felt weak from the loss he had suffered in his thought-battle against Fylo.

“If you’ve been here longer than you can remember, then certainly you can tell us where you’re staying,” suggested the second templar, a blue-eyed man with curly yellow hair.

Agis pointed in the general direction of the harbor’s entrance, where he had seen a single large inn stretching along an entire block. He did not speak, however, knowing that the name he gave for the building would probably be incorrect. As in most cities of Athas, Balic’s sorcerer-king forbade common citizens the right to read. Consequently, the city’s trade signs depicted pictures or symbols suggesting the establishment’s name without actually providing it. So, while Agis remembered that the carving of a lion lying on its back hung on the inn’s wall, he had no way of knowing whether the name was the Dead Lion, the Sleeping Cat, or something entirely different.

When Agis did not volunteer the name, the female templar said, “There must be two dozen inns in that direction. Which one?”

“I’m thinking of the Lion,” Agis said, hoping an abbreviated name would suffice.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but before she could press for more detail, Marda said, “He means the Lion’s Back, ma’am.”

“We didn’t ask you,” snapped the woman’s companion.

Marda lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to help. I’ve met milord there many a morning.”

The posture of both templars grew less tense, and they shrugged at each other. To Marda the woman said, “I’ll let your mistake pass this time, but let us know if you see any other strangers in the quarter. A Tyrian left his giant in the fields of House Balba, and the oaf refuses to leave. Lord Balba is offering five silvers to anyone who delivers the scoundrel to his mansion.”

With that, the two templars returned to their escort. As soon as they left the quay, every sailor in the group spat into the bay.

“My thanks for protecting me,” Agis said, secretly amused by the image of a Balican lord attempting to persuade the stubborn Fylo to leave his lands.

“We weren’t protecting you,” said Marda. “We were repaying the king for his ill treatment of us.”

“Andropinis won’t let more than five of us leave port in a day,” added Salust. “And when we get back, his templars confiscate half our cargo.” He nodded toward the shore, where the templars’ heads and shoulders protruded above the ratany hedge as they moved down the street.

“Tariffs,” growled another sailor. Again, they all spat into the bay.

Agis nodded in sympathy, then looked to Marda. “Could your bark catch the fleet carrying my criminal?”

The sailor shook his head. “Not mine, or the ship of any man here,” he answered. “But rest assured, no one on that fleet, including the man you seek, will live to set foot on solid land again. The giants’ll see to that.”

“Perhaps, but that won’t satisfy the people he’s wronged,” Agis said. “I must return him to stand before those whose laws he has broken.”

“Then you’ll have to hire a smuggler,” said Salust. “That’ll be no easy task for a stranger.”

Agis reached into the purse beneath his cloak, withdrawing a silver coin. “Perhaps you could help me?”

“I might show you where to look,” said Salust, reaching out to take the coin.

Marda slapped the hand down. “Don’t waste your silver, stranger. You can’t trust any smuggler who consorts with the likes of Salust.” He pointed toward one of the many buildings on the close-packed harbor front. “If you want to find one who won’t slit your throat for the coins in your purse, go to the Furled Sail tavern and ask for Nymos. He knows that side of the harbor better than most.”

“Many thanks.”

Agis started to hand the coin to Marda, but the sailor shook his head. “Save it for Nymos,” he said, smirking at Salust. “You’ll need it.”

The noble slipped his silver back into his purse, then stepped off the quay into the crowded harborside lane. Despite the ratany silt-break, several inches of pearly loess covered the walkways, and so much dust clung to the building placards that Agis could barely make out the pictures engraved on their surfaces. Nevertheless, he could usually tell the nature of the business he passed by peering inside. In the tackle shops, ropes, sails, oars, pulleys, and a thousand similar articles hung suspended from the ceiling, so that the patrons had to stoop over or push merchandise aside as they moved around. The warehouses contained huge bundles of untwined giant hair, stacks of rough-cut lumber, mounds of freshly shorn wool, and almost any product that could be traded for a profit. Only the taverns did not seem busy, with closed doors and window shutters fastened tight against blowing dust.

Agis came to a sign bearing the image of a sail furled over a yardarm. Like the other taverns, this one appeared closed, but the noble heard chairs scraping against stone as someone cleaned the floor. He knocked on the door, then stepped back to wait.

A moment later, an unshaven man with a round stomach and red nose peered out the half-opened door. In one hand he held a broom, in the other a sword of sharpened bone. “What?”

“I was told to ask for Nymos,” Agis replied.

“So?”

“I have something for him,” the noble said, withdrawing a silver coin from his purse.

The innkeeper’s face lit up. “Good,” he said, snatching the coin from Agis’s hand. “I’ll put this toward his bill.”

With that, the man pulled the door open and stepped aside, then waved the noble toward a ladder in the back of the inn. “I let him stay on the roof. Keeps the birds off.”

Agis climbed the stairs and stepped onto the inn’s roof. It was a relatively flat surface of baked clay, enclosed by a waist-high wall and littered with shattered broy mugs. In one corner, the sun-bleached bones of hundreds of dustgulls lay heaped around the blackened scar of a small cooking fire, with a water jug and a few pieces of chipped crockery sitting nearby. A short distance away, a canopy of untanned hide hung over a nest of gray straw.

At the front wall stood a jozhal. The short, two-legged reptile had cocked his slender head to one side, and he held a three-fingered hand cupped to his ear slit as though listening to something in the street below. He had an elongated snout full of needle-sharp teeth, a serpentine neck topped by a jagged crest of hide, and a long, skinny tail. In contrast to his bony arms, he had huge, powerful legs, each ending in a three-clawed foot. His eyes were covered with the milky film of blindness, and his free hand rested atop a slender walking stick.

“The innkeeper said I’d find Nymos up here,” Agis said, walking to the reptile’s side.

The jozhal jumped as if someone had shouted into his ear, bringing his walking stick around to defend himself. Agis blocked the swing, then grabbed the cane to prevent the creature from making another attack. As the noble did so, he glimpsed the reptile slipping a small, spiral-shaped shell into a skin pouch on his belly.

The jozhal disengaged his walking stick from Agis’s grasp. “I’m Nymos,” he grumbled. “What do you want, Tyrian?”

The noble drew a second silver coin from his purse and placed it in Nymos’s small hand. “Marda said you could use this,” he said, guessing the jozhal had identified him by his accent. “I’m looking for a smuggler with a fast ship who can follow the fleet that left last night.”

Nymos rubbed the coin between the three fingers of his hand. “It’ll cost you more than a silver.”

“I’ll give you another when I find a captain I like,” Agis countered, wondering how the blind reptile could tell that he held silver instead of gold or lead.

Nymos slipped the coin into his stomach pouch. “I’m more interested in magic,” he said. “You wouldn’t have anything enchanted, would you?”

“I have nothing like that,” Agis replied. “I’m no sorcerer.”

The jozhal sniffed Agis’s satchel and belt purse, then shook his head in disgust. “Like trying to squeeze water from a stone,” he snorted. “I’d expect someone of your reputation to have an enchanted dagger or something.”

“My reputation?”

“Of course,” Nymos said. “Even in Balic, the bards sing of the noble who fought to free the slaves of Tyr-Agis of Asticles.”

The noble’s jaw fell slack in surprise. “What makes you think that’s me?”

The jozhal held out his bony hand. “Answers cost.”

Scowling, Agis gave him another coin.

“The streets are full of templars looking for the Tyrian who left his giant in Lord Balba’s field,” said the jozhal.

“So I’ve heard, but that isn’t the answer I paid for.”

“Your giant is less discreet with names than he ought to be,” replied Nymos. “Especially considering who you are.”

“I’m Tyrian, but that doesn’t mean I’m that one,” he said. “There must be a hundred men from Tyr in this city. Any of them could be Agis of Asticles.”

“True,” replied the jozhal. “But I suspect Agis is the only one with reason to follow Tithian.” At the mention of the king’s name, Nymos extended his hand for another coin.

“For one who charges so much, you certainly live in squalor,” observed Agis, handing over another silver.

“My information is not always of such value. Besides, I have a certain fondness for broy.” Nymos slipped the coin into his pouch, then said, “I overheard the high templar of the Balican fleet, Navarch Saanakal, escorting a Tyrian onto his flagship. He addressed the man as King Tithian.”

“You’ll have to do better for that last coin. I knew Tithian was aboard the fleet before I came here,” said Agis. “Did the king leave Balic so fast because he knew I was here?”

“You’re asking me to speculate,” Nymos said, raising his hand again. “That costs-”

“You haven’t earned my last silver yet,” Agis interrupted.

Nymos sighed. “I doubt he knew you were here,” he said. “The fleet left dock long before you reached the harbor-perhaps even before you entered the city.”

“That’s welcome news,” Agis said. “Now, what of the ship I need to hire?”

In reply, Nymos rubbed his mouth.

“With what I’ve paid you, you can buy your own broy,” Agis snapped.

The jozhal repeated the gesture twice more, both times slowly and deliberately.

“I’m not among those who wear the veil,” the noble said, finally recognizing the signal for what it was. “But I can tell you that in Tyr, the Veiled Alliance would not have charged three silvers for its help.”

“We are not in Tyr,” said Nymos. He sat down in the corner, using his cane to motion Agis to do the same. “But we hope someday to liberate Balic as you and Tithian did your city-which is why I’ve lived on this rooftop for the last decade. Nothing leaves or enters this port unless I hear about it.”

“So you have proven,” Agis said, still indignant about the fee Nymos had demanded of him. “Does that mean you’ll guide me to a reliable captain?”

“Yes, if you tell me what’s going on here,” Nymos said. “Andropinis is not the type to lend his fleet, especially to the king of the Free City.”

Agis shrugged. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is this: Tithian has more in common with Andropinis than with the hero legends make him out to be. The reason I’m following him is that he sent a tribe of slavers to attack a small village-one of Tyr’s allies.”

“Because I am short and blind, do not mistake me for a fool!” Nymos hissed. “Even in Balic, we know of Tithian’s deeds. He freed the slaves. He made a public marketplace of the gladiatorial stadium. He gave the king’s fields to the poor. He-”

“Yes, he did all those things,” interrupted Agis. “But in Tyr, the king’s power is not final. The Council of Advisors forced him to issue every one of those edicts. Rest assured that if the choice were his, Tyr would be a tyrant’s plaything.”

Nymos was quiet for a long time. Finally, he asked, “Why should I believe you?”

“Because if you know of Tithian’s reputation, you must also know mine. I wouldn’t say these things unless they were true.” When this didn’t seem to convince Nymos, he added, “From what I’ve said, you must realize that we can’t both be honest. To choose between us, ask yourself who’s sailing with Andropinis’s fleet.”

“Maybe he has a good reason for his actions,” the jozhal suggested, still reluctant to accept that the legendary king of Tyr was just as corrupt as any other ruler.

“You know that can’t be. King Andropinis would not help him if his cause were a worthy one,” said Agis. “Besides, there’s no justification for taking slaves. By breaking Tyr’s most sacred law, Tithian has become a fugitive from his own realm.”

“Not a fugitive,” Nymos said. “If your king were fleeing Tyr’s justice, he would have stayed in Balic, under our king’s protection. No, Tithian wants something with that fleet-and whatever it is, Andropinis wants him to have it.”

Agis frowned. “What could it be?”

Nymos shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But the giants are fighting among themselves. By sending out his fleet, Andropinis has risked drawing Balic into the war. Whatever Tithian is after, it must be something of great importance.”

Agis rose to his feet. “Which is all the more reason I must hurry.”

Nymos also stood. “This concerns Balic as much as it does Tyr. I’m coming with you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps not,” replied the jozhal. “But in ten years, this is the first good excuse I’ve had to get off this roof. You have no choice in the matter.”

“The trip will be too dangerous,” Agis objected.

“Don’t assume that I can’t take care of myself,” hissed Nymos. “Nothing makes me angrier.”

Agis sighed. “Very well. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

“Then we have a bargain?”

“Yes,” the noble said. “But that means we’re partners. I’m not paying you another silver.”

“That’s just as well,” said Nymos, taking the noble’s arm. “You’ll need what’s left to hire the smuggler. There’s only one ship that can follow where the fleet’s going, and its captain drives a hard bargain.”

“Then you know Tithian’s destination?” Agis inquired.

“Of course. I heard him tell it to Navarch Saanakal,” the reptile replied. “It’s Lybdos, the Forbidden Isle.”

As they approached the ladder, Agis heard a woman speaking in the tavern below. “The Tyrian, where is he?” It was the voice of the sour-faced templar who had accosted him on the quay.

“Tyrian?” came the innkeeper’s reply. “There’s no Tyrian here. As you can see, we’re closed.”

“Don’t lie,” growled Salust’s coarse voice. “Marda sent him to see your blind pet.”

“Pet!” hissed Nymos, pulling Agis away from the opening. “I’ll show them who’s a pet!”

The reptile turned his hand toward the rooftop, preparing to cast a spell. The air beneath his palm began to quiver as a surge of energy, barely visible to the naked eye, rose into his hand. Although it appeared Nymos was drawing his magic from the ground beneath the building, Agis knew that was not the case. Most sorcerers could tap Athas’s life-force only through plant life. The power for the reptile’s magic came not from the land, but from the ratany hedge along the edge of the bay. The ground, and the building which sat upon it, were only the medium through which the energy passed.

From the room below, Agis heard the sound of an open hand striking the innkeeper’s face. “Where have you hidden the Tyrian?” demanded the templar.

“The roof,” replied the innkeeper. “Nymos sleeps up there.”

Nymos continued to draw the energy for his spell. Agis was surprised, for if the reptile took too much power, the ratany would wither and die. The ground holding the roots of the plants would become sterile, staying barren until the blood and sweat of hundreds of slaves restored the soil. Despite the length of time the jozhal spent drawing his power, however, Agis knew he would not destroy the hedge. The Veiled Alliance was dedicated to preventing such desecrations, and no member of the group would do such a thing lightly.

The top of the ladder jiggled as someone began to ascend. Nymos closed his hand, cutting the flow of magical energy into his body. He grabbed a pinch of silt and spit on it, then daubed the mixture onto the corner of the hole. At the same time, he uttered his incantation. The dab expanded into a sheet of orange clay and sealed the opening, drawing a muffled cry of surprise from below.

“That should hold them,” said Nymos, motioning for Agis to follow him.

The sorcerer led him to the other side of the roof, where a bone ring had been set into the wall, with one end of a coiled rope tied into it. As Nymos threw the cord over the side, a series of dull thumps sounded from the clay sheet blocking the opening to the roof.

“Always knew I’d have to leave in a hurry,” the jozhal said, tucking his cane under his arm. “We don’t have much time before they hack through my stopper.”

Agis grabbed Nymos’s arm and did not let him climb onto the rope. “One moment,” he whispered, peering into the cramped lane below.

The sorcerer’s rope hardly seemed necessary, for the alley was half-clogged by drifts of silt that would serve to cushion any fall. A single, hard-packed path ran down the street, winding its way past dust heaps, rubbish piles, and the few back entrances that determined shopkeepers kept clear. In one direction, the trail led deeper into the harbor district, a maze of lanes similar to the one below.

The alley ran about fifty yards in the other direction before opening onto the harborside street, where the hulking figure of a half-giant blocked the exit. The brute towered almost as high as the roofs surrounding him, with a helmet of albino kank shell covering his head. For armor he wore a corselet of bleached leather, leaving his loins concealed by nothing more than a dingy gray skirt. He carried only one weapon, a bone club spiked with obsidian shards.

“Which way are we going?” Agis asked.

The sorcerer hesitated before answering. “I’m not really sure,” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve been off this roof.”

“Then how are we going to find our ship?” Agis demanded, watching the half-giant lumber down the alley.

“I’ve heard that it’s docked in front of the Red Mekillot.”

“Which is where?”

“Just down the street from the Blue Cloud, which is around the corner from the Gray King, which is two blocks past the-”

“Just go-but not toward the harborside street,” Agis said, releasing the jozhal’s arm. “There’s a guard coming from there.”

Nymos nodded, then climbed onto the rope. Agis hazarded a glance back toward the center of the roof. The clay stopper remained in place, but the sound of the templars hacking at it had grown less muffled. He summoned the spiritual strength to use the Way. As before on the quay, the energy came to him slowly, and the noble began to worry that his pursuers would clear the plug before he was ready to attack.

The half-giant’s voice drew Agis’s attention back to the alley. “In the king’s name, stop!”

The order boomed through the narrow lane like thunder, shaking the dust off the walls and causing a four-foot rubbish slug to slither out from beneath a pile of trash. The half-giant broke into a run, his massive legs spraying plumes of silvery dust into the air as he plowed through silt drifts.

Nymos’s feet touched the ground, and the jozhal turned away, sprinting down the alley as fast as a kank, waving his cane back and forth to detect unexpected obstacles. Had Agis not known better, he would have sworn the reptile could see.

“Stop!” the half-giant boomed, smashing his spiked club into the back wall of a tackle shop. The blow knocked a melon-sized hole in the clay bricks.

Agis glanced back at the center of the roof and saw a lump of clay fly up from the plug, then he jumped into the alley. He landed in a pile of silt, sinking to his waist and sending a billow of dust boiling across the lane. The noble waded out of the drift, his legs burning with the effort and his lungs choking on the cloud of loess. Once he was free, he did not turn to follow Nymos, but faced the sorcerer’s pursuer.

The half-giant shifted his dull eyes from the fleeing sorcerer to the Tyrian, then rushed forward with a renewed burst of speed. To Agis, he resembled nothing quite so much as a rampaging dust spirit. The massive guard was lost from the waist down in a roiling curtain of silt, with each step sending silvery columns of loess shooting up past his head.

Agis focused his attention on the dust still billowing around his own feet.

The half-giant stopped at Agis’s side and reached down toward the noble. “Got you now,” he growled, keeping his club ready in the other hand.

“No, I have you,” Agis replied, dodging the clumsy lunge.

He used the Way to inject his spiritual energy into the whirling cloud of dust at his feet, then dived away. The small whirlwind increased tenfold, swallowing the half-giant in gray whorls and filling the alley with the shrill whistle of a gale-force wind. The guard roared in anger as the storm swept him off his feet. He crashed into the back wall of the Furled Sail, spraying Agis with shards of brick and filling the air with more dust.

The noble sprinted down the alley after Nymos, coughing and choking. Behind him, the giant flailed about madly, smashing holes into walls and trying to dodge away from the suffocating whirlwind that had engulfed him. His efforts were in vain, for the maelstrom followed him wherever he went.

Agis glanced over his shoulder, worried that the templars would be coming after him. To his relief, he saw that their task would not be easy. His whirlwind had engulfed the entire tavern, rendering it as impossible for them to see him as it was for him to see the building.

The noble turned his attention to catching Nymos. As he had hoped, it was a simple matter to track the sorcerer. The morning was still young, and not many feet had trod the back alleys. Agis soon picked out the jozhal’s three-clawed footprints, then followed them through the maze of crumbling shanties that constituted the harbor district.

It quickly became apparent that Nymos had no clear idea of where he was going. The jozhal’s tracks often doubled back on themselves, or circled around three sides of a block before continuing down the same lane that he had been in originally. At times, the trail became so confused that Agis could not follow it, and he would give a coin to a dirt-smudged child or grimy-faced mother in return for telling him which way the reptile had gone. On several occasions, he even asked directions of someone who told him that Nymos had asked how to reach a particular inn or tavern.

Finally Agis emerged from the shanty warren at the edge of the harborside road. Across the street lay a long wharf, along which rested six sloops with towering masts and huge sails furled on their yardarms. Slaves were busily laboring at each ship, unloading building stone, timber, wool, and even a flock of erdlus-tall, flightless birds with sharp beaks and huge legs.

Near the end of the dock, a two-masted caravel hovered on the surface of the bay. Its square sails hung unfurled and flapping in the breeze, ready to be drawn tight. The figures of more than a dozen men crawled over the rigging, making the ship ready to sail. The helmsman was looking down the quay, as if awaiting some signal to set the craft in motion.

Nymos was nowhere in sight, his tracks lost in the hundreds of others crisscrossing the road.

“I’m given to know yer lookin’ for a ship,” said a gravelly voice at Agis’s side.

The noble turned to face the speaker and found himself looking into the savage eyes of a tarek female, as powerfully built as a mul and with arms so long the knuckles dragged in the dust. The tarek had a square, big-boned head, with a sloping forehead and a massive brow ridge. Sharp fangs filled her domed muzzle, while her flat nose ended in a pair of red, flaring nostrils. From the lobes of her barbed ears hung three copper hoops, a substantial exhibition of wealth for this part of the city-and one that suggested the woman was the match for any cutthroat who might take it into his head to steal the prized metal. She wore a filthy silken breechcloth with a broad belt around her waist, and her four breasts were covered by nothing but a leather harness holding several bone daggers.

“At the moment, I’m looking for a blind jozhal,” Agis replied cautiously.

The tarek nodded toward the caravel. “Nymos’s aboard,” she said, slipping a hand inside Agis’s cloak and reaching for his purse.

The noble clamped a hand around the tarek’s arm, but did not have the strength to prevent her from plucking the sack off his belt. “I don’t lack the skills to protect my wealth,” Agis warned.

“And I don’t lack the strength to take it,” sneered the tarek, pulling the purse out. “But that’s not what I’m about. Before I take ye on, I’ll have a look to make sure ye can afford me ship.”

She opened the sack and peered inside, then raised an approving eyebrow. “Kester’s my name.” She plucked fifteen silver coins from the bag, then handed it back to Agis. “This covers the first week.”

“That’s rather expensive,” Agis answered, not closing his purse. “In fact, it’s outrageous.”

“It is,” Kester assured him, slipping the coins into the purse hanging on her belt. “But ye won’t be hiring any other boat to follow the king’s fleet to the isle of Lybdos.”

“I suppose not,” Agis replied, closing his purse. “I trust you’re worth it.”

“Some say I am-and some say I’m a pirate,” she replied, leading the way across the street.

“Which is it?” Agis asked. “After what I’ve just paid you, I deserve to know.”

The tarek shrugged. “I never know from one day to the next.”

No sooner had they set foot on the dock than a streak of blinding light sizzled past the noble’s shoulder, striking a nearby sloop. A deafening crack rolled over the quay, and the ship’s mast collapsed in a rain of splinters. Agis and Kester hit the ground, surrounded by screaming slaves. Together, they rolled to their backs, facing the harborside street as they returned to their feet.

Across the way stood the female templar and her colleague. The traitorous sailor, Salust, was just stepping out of the alley from which Agis had come. A few yards behind him followed several half-giant guards.

“Seize that man!” yelled the female templar, pointing at Agis. “I command it in the name of King Andropinis!”

Kester looked at the noble and raised her heavy brow. “Nymos didn’t say ye were wanted by the king.”

Seeing that there were too many opponents to disable with the Way alone, the noble reached for his sword. The tarek lashed out with her gangling arm and caught the noble’s hand before he could draw. “A wise man’d leave that sheathed.”

Agis fixed his eyes on Kester’s face, summoning the energy to use the Way. “I see you’ve chosen pirate today,” the noble replied.

An indignant frown flashed across Kester’s face, but the tarek kept her eyes turned toward the templars and made no response.

Salust slipped between the templars. “The bounty is mine,” he said, pointing at Kester. “I’m not splitting it with that smuggler.”

Kester snarled at the man, then motioned for the templars to come forward. “If there’s a reward, I’ll be wantin’ my share.”

“And you shall have it,” said the male templar.

He and his companion started up the quay, accompanied by the bitterly complaining Salust. The trio’s half-giant escorts started to follow, but the woman signaled them to wait on the street.

“We have things under control,” said the sour-faced templar, picking her way past a heap of building stone. “You’ll just be in the way.”

Kester abruptly released Agis’s hand, then pulled a dagger from her chest harness. “I’ll take the woman!” she hissed.

With a flick of her wrist, the tarek sent the dagger sailing straight to the templar’s throat. The woman clasped her hands around the wound and dropped, gurgling, to the ground.

Even as she fell, Agis reached for one of Kester’s daggers.

The noble had no delusions about being able to throw a dagger accurately over such a distance, but he had other means of delivering the blade. After pulling the weapon from the tarek’s chest harness, the noble tossed the knife at the second templar, then used the Way to guide its path. The dagger took its victim in the same place the tarek’s blade had taken the female.

Salust paled and started to back away. At the same time, the half-giants waiting on the street screamed in fury, then stepped onto the quay. They did not rush, however. The half-giants were too large to run without the risk of tripping over a slave or stack of cargo.

“Thanks for standing by me,” Agis said.

“Ye paid me already,” the tarek replied in a gruff voice. She pulled another dagger from her harness.

“Next time, I won’t be so fast to take yer silver.” With that, she threw her weapon at Salust. The blade sank deep into the sailor’s breast. He collapsed, clutching at the leg of a passing half-giant. The brute angrily shook the dying man off, then hurled his club at Kester. The tarek ducked easily, and the big cudgel bounced off the hull of a nearby ship.

Agis drew his sword, bracing himself to meet the half-giants.

Kester grabbed him by the arm. “No need to fight,” she said. “Those oafs can’t catch the likes of us.”

“Then why’d you kill Salust?” Agis said, glancing over his shoulder. Slaves and dockmasters were cringing in terror as the half-giants stepped over them, shoving cargo off the pier and cursing in anger.

“Never trusted him,” she said, pulling the noble down the quay at a sprint.

They dodged past a stack of baled wool, pushed their way through a screeching flock of erdlus, then they were running for Kester’s caravel. As they came closer to the ship, the noble saw that it carried a dozen ballistae and catapults on each side.

As they passed beneath the stern, the noble gestured at the weaponry. “Why all the siege engines?”

“Giants,” answered Kester. She grabbed a thick rope dangling from the stern and handed it to Agis, then took another for herself. “Make way, Perkin!” she called as she began to climb. “Set a course for Lybdos, and be quick about it.”

“Not Lybdos,” Agis corrected, almost losing his grip on the rope as the caravel lurched into motion. “First, we go up-estuary a few miles.”

Kester scowled at him. “That’s no good,” she said. “After what we just did, I don’t fancy sneaking back past Balic. And the fleet’s already got a lead on us. Every hour’s costly.”

“It doesn’t matter. Before we leave, I have a promise to keep,” Agis said, throwing an arm over the gunnel. “Besides, with a little luck, a friend of mine just might be able to stop the fleet cold.”

“If that’s what you want,” Kester said, dangling from her rope with one hand and using the other to push the noble over the railing. “But it’ll cost extra.”