the Dragon?”
He peered at her quizzically. “Just what everyone knows. They’re wizards and lunatics who like wyrms. What kind of fool question is that?”
Anton had warned her Vurgrom might know nothing helpful. Was it possible the spy was correct?
No. It wasn’t. Umberlee had surely brought her to this moment for a reason.
“You have no dealings with the cult?” she persisted.
“No! Never.”
“Then who among the pirates does?” “As far as I know, no one.”
“Where in these islands is the cult’s stronghold?”
“I don’t know that they have one. If they did, they’d keep it a secret, wouldn’t they?”
She pressed the knife against his neck, reminding him of its proximity. “Thus far, Captain, you have given me no help. You must do better, or my oath will not constrain me from cutting your throat.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”
“Let us try again. Somewhere in the Pirate Isles, a group of recluses has established a community. They do not raid as the rest of you do, and their purpose is a mystery. They would prefer to go unremarked, but you have discerned their presence because you strive to know all that occurs hereabouts. Point me to them.”
He frowned. “Well, if you put it that way… Tan?”
Her pulse quickened. “Tell me.”
“They’ve been there for a few years now. Someplace, whatever shelter they’ve built, you can’t see it from offshore. They trade for some of the plunder passing through Mirg Isle, necessities like food and cloth, but stranger and more valuable items, too, like alchemical supplies and fine gems.”
“What account do they give of themselves?”
“Mostly, they don’t. The rumor is, they’re monks, the last followers of some dead god trying to pray and magic him back to life, but nobody really knows. They could be wyrm worshipers.”
They were. Tu’ala’keth was certain of it, and flawless jewels and alchemist’s equipment were the proof. According to Anton, the cultists required such things to transform living dragons into dracoliches.
“So,” growled Vurgrom, “have I earned the right to go on living?”
“I promised,” she said, “in the name of Umberlee.
Now consider the choice before you. You can seek revenge on me, but only by making this humiliation public. Forever after, folk will laugh over the tale of how an ‘ugly fish’ besotted Vurgrom the Mighty. Or you can do nothing, in which case no one will ever know.”
He glared at her. “Curse you”
“Just think about it.” She snatched up the battered cup and bashed him with it. His eyes rolled up in his head.
She reckoned he’d remain unconscious for a while, but that was no reason to dawdle. She strode into Vurgrom’s suite, retrieved her trident and goggles, and hurried on to the door leading to the remainder of the house. She opened it to behold one of the pirate chieftain’s followers, a tall, thin man with a sallow face and drooping mustachios, peering directly at her.
“Yes?” she said.
“I thought I heard noises,” he replied. “Somebody yelling, maybe.”
“Everything is all right. You can go about your business.”
It was possible he’d obey. She still had the enchantment in place to enhance her force of personality. It wouldn’t rouse his amorous inclinationsit had taken guile to make Vurgrom react in that fashionbut it might incline him to believe whatever she told him.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, then…” His dark eyes squinted at her. “Waveservant, is your face bleeding?”
She realized Vurgrom had marked her, and that despite her efforts to heal herself, she must still bear visible scrapes and bruises. After the ordeal she’d suffered, the sting of such petty injuries simply hadn’t registered.
“I had an accident,” she said. “It is nothing.” “I think,” the thin man said, “I should talk to Captain Vurgrom. For a second, anyway.”
“He is sleeping and will be angry if you wake him.”
“Then he’ll swear and yell at me, I suppose. But I still need to do it.”
“As you wish.” She withdrew a pace into the suite, giving him room to pass. Then, as he strode through the opening, she drove her trident into his stomach.
He stared at her and doubled over. She pulled the weapon from his body, and he toppled. She stuck him five more times until the writhing stopped and he lay motionless in a pool of blood.
His death, though necessary, was unfortunate, for suppose someone else came looking for him? Even if Vurgrom remained unconscious, or woke but chose to heed her advice, Tu’ala’keth’s situation was still precarious. She swept her skeletal amulet through a sinuous pass and murmured the opening phrase of another spell.
Anton ushered Shandri into the private room he’d hired on the top floor of the settlement’s least objectionable inn. Candlelight gleamed on crystal and white porcelain trimmed with gold leaf. Red roses perfumed the air, and the sweet, breathy notes of a longhorn trilled from an alcove. The casement stood open, providing a view of the harbor below and the myriad stars above.
Shandri exclaimed in pleasure, as well she might. With all the plunder moving though Immurk’s Hold, a good many luxuries were available, yet in most respects, it remained as crude and raucous a place as any outlaw haven. Accordingly, it took some doing to collect the elements of an elegant, romantic supper for two and assemble them to create the proper effect.
Not that Anton had any authentic claim to breeding or refinement, but as he’d hoped, the trace that had rubbed off on him during his contacts with wealthy merchants and aristocrats was sufficient to impress his companion.
“Vurgrom’s banquets are splendid,” she said. “But this is… lovely.”
“Shall we?” He seated her then poured them each a cup of a ruby-colored Impiltur an wine. He toasted her. “To Shandri Clayhill, fiercest and most ravishing corsair on the Sea of Fallen Stars.”
“To Anton, her gallant ship’s mage.”
They drank. To his undiscriminating palate, the red was too sour, with a hint of bitter aftertaste, but he pretended to savor it so as not to spoil the mood. “The cook said the first course will be up in a minute or two.”
“I’m in no hurry,” Shandri said. “I could sit here all night.”
“I’m glad you like it. Someday, maybe we’ll sup like this every evening.”
She smiled. “I doubt the Hold is up to the task of providing such elegance on a regular basis.”
“Who says we’ll always live on Dragon Isle?”
“We’ll always live on one of the Pirate Isles. Where else is there for reavers to go?”
He shrugged. “We wouldn’t be the first raiders to strike it rich at sea then use a piece to the loot to bribe their way to a pardon, or even patents of nobility, on land. Mind you, I’m in no hurry, but it’s something to bear in mind.”
“Something to dream of, at least.” Bracelets glittering in the candlelight, tattoos crawling on her slim but muscular arm, she reached across the stainless linen tablecloth and laid her hand on his. “I do like it that you imagine us together years hence.”
“Of course,” he said and felt as if he meant it, for a spy deceived others by splitting himself into two people. The one who revealed himself to his dupes truly became the role, the lie, at odd moments even forgetting he was simply a mask. But behind the semblance lurked the true personality, loyal only to Turmish, ready to burst through the shell as soon as circumstances warranted.
“Where, exactly, would you wish to live,” Shandri asked, “once we’re ready to put our cutthroat ways behind us?”
He grinned. “Saerloon seems to be lucky for us, but it’s a nasty sort of place. I wouldn’t want to raise a family there.”
She laughed. “Oh, you’ve decided on children as well.”
“Naturally. Fifteen or twenty stout sons, and maybe a daughter or two to help with your embroidery.”
“If I have to learn to embroider, forget the whole thing.”
