When Anton tried to close his own hands, they throbbed. He wasn’t sure he could make a good, tight fist, or grip and hold an adversary with his accustomed strength. But he’d just have to cope.
Suddenly Jamark abandoned his mincing boxer’s advance for a bellow and a headlong charge. Caught by surprise, Anton tried to twist out of the way but didn’t make it. His adversary slammed him back into the granite wall, jolting pain through his ill-treated body. Some of the other slaves exclaimed at the impact. Well, at least he’d succeeded in getting them to make some noise.
Jamark reached for this throat. Anton jammed his arms up between those of the other man, breaking the chokehold, then hammered his opponent’s face with the bottoms of his fists. The blows stabbed pain through his hands.
But they didn’t balk Jamark, who hooked a punch into his temple. Anton faltered for a split second, time enough for the other man to bull him back into the wall. It bounced his skull against the stone, splashing sparks across his vision, and drove the wind from his lungs. Jamark caught him, threw him to the floor, and heaved a leg high to stamp on him.
Anton couldn’t avoid the attack. Caught between his foe and the wall, he had nowhere to go. His only hope was to stop it. He grabbed just in time to catch the descending foot and yank and twist it viciously. The ruffian lost his balance and fell.
Anton threw himself on top of Jamark and pounded elbow strikes into his kidneys and any other vulnerable spot he could reach. The ruffian reared up and cocked his arm back for a particularly brutal punch. But it was a mistake to wind up that way; it afforded Anton a good opening to smash him in the teeth. Jamark’s head snapped backward, and blood flowing from his gashed lips, he collapsed. Maybe he was still conscioushis eyes were openbut that final blow had knocked the fight out of him.
Anton turned to the other slaves. “After all that,” he panted, “I hope you bastards saved some food for me.”
They had, and once he caught his breath, he settled down to eat it. Alas, it only took a few bites. As he finished, Jamark sat up and gave him a glower.
“You were lucky,” the bully said, “and you’re stupid, too. Those men I pulled back are dying anyway. That little bit of food won’t do them any good. It could make all the difference to the rest of us.”
Anton smiled. “Somehow, I had the impression you didn’t mean to share it with anyone else.”
Jamark wiped his bloody lips then spat. “So what if I didn’t? I was loyal to my shipmates in my time, but in here, it’s every man for himself. It’s your only hope of stretching your life out as long as possible. Though it’s up to you whether you’d rather do that or die fast and end the pain.”
“I’d rather escape, return with the Turmian fleet, and kill Eshcaz, the wearer of purple, and all their flunkies. Maybe we can if we all hang together.”
Jamark smiled sadly. “I thought that, too, when I first got here. But it’s hopeless.”
“Even for a sorcerer?”
The other man eyed him dubiously. “I haven’t met many mages who could brawl like you.”
“Still, I know a few tricks, and the cultists aren’t aware of it.” Tu’ala’keth hadn’t mentioned it, and since Diero hadn’t known to ask about it, Anton had experienced no difficulty withholding the secret, even when the torment was at its most excruciating.
“Then… you can whisk us all away from here?”
It pained Anton to dowse the other man’s sudden flicker of hope. “No. I’m nowhere near that powerful. But I can at least get out of this cage. I assume a guard comes by from time to time?”
“Yes.”
“Does heor ittake a head count?”
“Not as I’ve noticed.” Jamark grinned. “Dragonkin aren’t all that clever. I doubt it could count unless it did it out loud, pointing with its finger.”
“That’s all right, then.” Anton rose, and everyone pivoted to look at him. He explained that he planned to find some food and that they needed to stay put. One could leave, but if they all disappeared, it would be noticed. He pressed a finger to his lips then turned his attention to the iron grille sealing the chamber.
He whispered the charm of opening, and the lock clacked as it disengaged. The difficult part was easing the door open. In dire need of oil, the hinges squealed as they had before, and he winced at the noise. But no one came rushing to investigate.
He pushed the grate almost back to its starting position, but left it unlatched. With luck, no casual observer would notice the difference. Then he skulked down the passage.
To his relief, creeping through the benighted caverns wasn’t quite as difficult as he’d feared. The reptiles might be able to see in the dark, but the humans couldn’t and had mounted flickering oil lamps at intervals along the walls. A good many creatures and people were still up and moving aboutprobably necromancers slept by day, like vampiresbut the acoustics were such that he could hear them coming, and the complex was so maze-like that it was usually possible to duck into a niche or side gallery until they passed.
Finally he found what he was seeking, a nook the cultists had converted into a makeshift larder. With a frown of regret, he passed by the freshest and most appealing fooda smoked ham, cherriesin favor of dried and preserved stuff the madmen had presumably laid in to eat when everything else ran out… or to grudgingly feed to their captives. One box yielded ship’s biscuits, hard as oak and crawling with mites. Another contained leathery venison jerky and a burlap sack full of dried apples.
He gobbled some of each then stuffed more inside his shirt. As he was finishing up, he heard noise in the passage outside: trudging footsteps and the swish of a dragging tail.
Most of the crates and barrels were flush with the wall, and he had no time to shift them. He hastily crouched down behind one of the few boxes someone had left in the center of the chamber.
The cursed thing just wasn’t big enough. If the dragonkin glanced in his direction, it was almost inevitably going to spot him. The Red Knight knew, he was in no shape for another fight, but he whispered an incantation and sprouted a sharp, bony ridge from the bottom of his hand.
The footsteps halted, and he heard the rasp of the dragonkin’s respiration. It was standing in the doorway, peering in, without a doubt.
Could he kill such a formidable creature with a single strike, before it raised an alarm? To say the least, it seemed unlikely. Still he gathered himself to jump up and charge, and the dragonkin grunted and slouched on its way. It hadn’t noticed him.
Miraculous. It occurred to him that Tu’ala’keth would attribute the luck to Umberlee. Or she would have, before he tried to murder her.
He gave the dragonkin time to move off then slipped back to the cell, closed the door behind him, and divvied up the pilfered food. The other captives wolfed it down as voraciously as before.
“This was dangerous,” said Jamark through a mouthful of jerky. “If the cultists find out, they’ll punish us.”
“I notice the risk didn’t stop you from grabbing a portion. I didn’t take too much, and only the stuff they’re least likely to miss. If they do, they may well assume one of their own has been pilfering since I gather even they’re a little hungry.”
“Well… yes. They haven’t been to Mirg Isle to reprovision in a while. Too busy preparing for their hellish rituals.”
“Right, and on top of that, we’re locked up, so how could we possibly steal? But I will. Enough food to keep us strong, and weapons, too. That may be trickier. But I’ll wager I can at least find a knife or two no one will worry about and a place to hide them until we’re ready.”
“For what?”
“Here’s one possibility. The cultists have a cog. You and I know how to sail her.”
“So we steal her and put out to sea. Then Eshcaz and the other wyrms fly after us and kill us.”
Anton smiled. “All right, maybe it isn’t a perfect scheme. But we’ll keep thinking… and watch for an opportunity.”
Yhe realm called the Xedran Reefs was not, in fact, all coral reef. Most of it was open seabed lying under shallow, sunlit water aglitter with a multitude of flitting multicolored fish.
Tu’ala’keth had plotted a course through the region so as to skirt all the reefs but the one that was her destination then proceeded warily. It was the only way to avoid sentries and patrols who would otherwise attack
