Stanwick knew something of his mother’s fear now and he pulled at the chains that bound him, but there was no give in the links.
They were all going to die.
Brother Sequilious stood staring at the chained villagers gathered before him as he prepared the spell.
“What have we ever done to you?” someone in the crowd shouted. “What has the Faith got against Westbay?”
The fact was that the Final Faith had nothing against Westbay, but this coastal settlement was small enough that the disappearance of its populace could easily be covered up. Bandits would be blamed, or maybe the Chadassa.
Brother Sequilious closed his eyes. Behind him, a last small wave lapped at the lake’s shore before the water became unnaturally still. Sweat began to bead his forehead as he envisioned the wheel of dark energy that he turned with his gestures. The temperature in the cavern dropped and flames erupted from his open palms and raced across his body, although he was not burned. Instead, the fire seemed to tease his flesh. With a stifled groan, he climaxed; where his semen jetted onto the stone floor it hissed and spat.
The cries coming from the prisoners were louder now, but nothing could break Brother Sequilious’s concentration. The words that he spoke had been memorised from a fragment of Chadassa manuscript. He had never before used the magic of the sub-aquatic race and, as the last of the glottal syllables died away, he braced himself for a backlash of arcane energy. Instead, he felt a thrumming of power deep within, and his hands blazed with an intense, pure light. If he held onto this power for too long, it would consume him, and so he unleashed the tide of living fire over the huddled villagers.
They burned so fiercely that they were reduced to little more than bundles of blackened sticks within seconds. Yet still they stood, held aloft by the terrible magic that filled the chamber. The intensity of the passing of so many souls strengthened the spell and Brother Sequilious began to weave the final threads of the enchantment together.
Turning his back on the devastation, the sorcerer stared into the calm waters of the lake, channelling the energy surrounding him into its depths. At the same time, he envisioned the Llothriall — the vastly-treasured ship that Katherine Makennon had tasked him to retrieve.
A cool wind blew against his face and he could hear the crash and hiss of rolling surf. At first, just the merest sketch of a ship was visible above the lake, picked out in pale silver lines. If Brother Sequilious squinted, he could just make out the prow, rearing above him as though cresting the swell of a wave. But then it was gone, and, as the wind dropped, the sorcerer desperately clutched for the contact he had briefly made.
There it was again.
The sound of the sea was suddenly, shockingly loud, and Brother Sequilious staggered back as mountainous waves rose up all around him. He mustn’t lose his focus though, else the Llothriall would be forever lost. He stood in two locations at once — one below the ground, one above the waves, far from here — and, as the last of the villagers burned out behind him, he tried to bring these worlds together.
CHAPTER TWO
There was no escape from the heat. For over a week now, the Llothriall had been becalmed, the sea an emerald mirror upon which they sat, seemingly unmoving. As the days grew longer, the temperature began to rise, and the crew escaped below deck, although even here there was no respite. With not a cloud in the sky, water had to be rationed; often, tempers would fray. Several times, Dunsany and Ignacio got into blazing rows, some so intense that Silus had to intervene. Once, when Katya had tried to calm Ignacio herself, the ex-smuggler had turned on her, shortly thereafter finding himself incapacitated and locked in a store room. Four hours confined in the stifling darkness had insured that Ignacio never lashed out again
“Can’t you use your magic or something?” Ignacio asked Kelos one morning, as they lay on the deck, futilely praying for rain. “Can’t you just conjure up a wind to fill our sails and rain to fill our cups?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” the mage said.
In the end Kelos didn’t have to attempt any such sorcery, as they were struck by the mother of all storms.
No one saw it coming. Once it had passed, two of the sails had to be repaired and the hull had to be patched below the waterline. The only blessing was that the sudden change in weather had finally broken the back of the heat.
It didn’t last. The temperature climbed again, the cloud cover boiled away and they were caught once more in a swelter upon a still sea.
When they were on the edge of despair, when they were down to their last few cupfuls of water, the storm slinked back in, pacing the ship far to starboard, before rushing in and lifting the Llothriall high on the back of an enormous wave.
There had been a time when this would have posed little threat, when the Llothriall had been empowered by the magical gemstone at its heart and the song of the ship’s eunuch, Emuel. But the stone had been lost and Emuel no longer had any reason to sing. As they were tossed from wave to wave, all onboard thought that this would be the storm that finally pulled the Llothriall apart.
A shout from above had Silus racing for the stairs leading up to the maindeck, only for the boom to be the first thing that met him; the broken spar swinging round and sweeping him over the side.
The storm was silenced as the sea took him. For a moment, Silus saw the hull of the Llothriall as it was silhouetted by lightning, before a surge carried the ship away. He watched it go for a moment, before filling his lungs with salt water and striking out after it.
Even as the sea invigorated his body, he knew that his pursuit was futile. No matter the powers he had inherited from the Chadassa, Silus wouldn’t be able to outpace this storm. Once or twice he caught sight of the Llothriall, but the tempest departed as quickly as it had come, taking with it all trace of the ship.
Silus surfaced and looked around. The horizon on all sides was the same featureless blue. He could barely make out where sea met sky, and he had no inkling which bearing he should take to locate the ship. It would be all too easy to swim in entirely the wrong direction.
A fin broke the surface not far from where he trod water. A razor dolphin, from the colouring. Silus ducked his head back down below and saw that he was surrounded by a school of twenty or so. The razor dolphins brushed up against him as they tumbled through the water, clicking and whistling in delight at this strange new creature in their midst.
It was then that Silus realised exactly how he’d find the Llothriall.
He raced the school of razor dolphins to the seabed and they followed, eager to outpace him, and just before Silus touched the bottom he spun back and struck for the surface, leaping from the waves, the sleek bodies of the dolphins following in his wake, the rainbow sheen of their hides dazzling in the brilliant sunlight. As much as it might have seemed otherwise to any observer, this wasn’t just Silus killing time with frivolity. Through play, he was trying to gain a hold on the razor dolphins’ minds. The first time he had encountered this species he had found their thoughts slippery, almost impossible to gain a purchase on; but now Silus was beginning to hear and comprehend the song of their thoughts.
They wanted him to stay and play, to come hunting amongst the tuna shoals so that they could get a measure of what manner of creature he was. On any other day, Silus would have delighted in their requests, but now he had a task for them.
As he communicated with the razor dolphins some of them swam away, and then more followed, until he was left with only six looking quizzically at him, their clicks and whistles sounding almost doubtful. But Silus tried to make them understand how important it was to him that they help find the Llothriall. At one point he almost gave
