Ferran's Map (17 page)

Cobra shifted from foot to foot, full of
unreleased energy. “Unpredictable, am I?” he taunted. “Only fools
mindlessly obey orders. Cerastes sent you after a weak human
because he didn’t think you could handle the Viper.”

Krait’s anger burned cold and clear. “You
call me weak?” she hissed.

“In Cerastes’ eyes,” Cobra replied.

In one swift motion, Krait drew a short crop
from her waist and struck Cobra across the cheek.
Crack!
Given their close proximity, the blow was brutally strong.

Cobra stumbled back, taken off-guard. Her
strike tore off part of his mask. He threw up his arm in reflex,
covering the exposed half of his face.

Krait shifted her weight to one hip and
crossed her arms. “You’re too close for my bullwhip,” she said,
“but next time I’ll remove your skin—whatever’s left of it.”

Cobra wiped a trail of blood from his cheek.
Then he raised the many folds of his cowl and covered his face once
again. The corners of his eyes creased, and a cold shiver went down
Krait’s spine.

“Now who’s unpredictable?” he said. “What
else can you do with that whip?”

“Strike off your manhood, if you like,” she
snarled.

Cobra laughed—a breathy, wheezing sound.
“Perhaps you could, but make no mistake: you
are
weak.” He
stalked forward, closing the space between them. Krait stepped
back, but he kept coming. “That’s why you follow every word he
says. You live in fear. You can’t survive without the Shade. You
think the Dark God really has a place for you in His shadow—some
great destiny. You
need
it, don’t you? You need Cerastes’
strength, because you have no demon.” He released a slow hiss of
breath. “Without the Shade, you’re a useless shell. That’s why you
lap up our master’s words like a dog.”

Krait’s jaw tightened. She reached behind
her and loosened the long bullwhip from her back. “Then you admit
you’re not loyal to Cerastes?” she asked.

Cobra scoffed. “Put your weapon down, little
snake. Only a fool would make Cerastes his enemy. I, too, have my
reasons for joining the Shade.” He shrugged briefly. “But not for
the Dark God’s might. Not to become a servant. Where my desires
lead, I follow.”

“An assassin should have few desires,” Krait
murmured.

“So say the brainwashed slaves of a dying
tradition.”

Her hand tightened on her whip. “I can’t let
you walk free, knowing your true intentions. If you don’t serve
Cerastes….”

Cobra folded his arms. “Go on, then,” he
sneered. “
Waylay me
.”

Krait glared. “You’ve made a sore mistake.”
Her whip struck his chest like lightning. Cobra staggered from the
blow, his breath stolen by the impact. Following the whip’s
circular momentum, she spun and cracked down again, aiming for his
eye, but he twisted away. She left a long, bleeding cut up the side
of his neck.

Cobra danced backward, but Krait attacked
like a stinging wasp, her whip all but invisible to the eye. Her
next blow struck his arm, then his tender outer thigh. With each
vicious crack, she closed the distance between them. Soon the tip
of her braided rope ran with blood.

Finally, she lashed out the whip and caught
Cobra’s heel, then wrenched him to the ground. The small man didn’t
weigh much, and she dragged him forward with a practiced hand. She
would tie him up and return him to Cerastes….

Then, suddenly, he vanished before her
eyes.

She blinked.

He reappeared directly behind her. She
turned too late. Cobra slammed his steel fist into her face,
connecting squarely with her jaw. Krait fell hard onto the mud, her
vision blurred.

The fifth gate
, she thought. But how?
It took years to master….

Cobra’s fist clamped down on her neck. He
held her pinned. “We’re not so different, you and I,” he said
softly. “Cerastes made us both promises. To you, he gave a purpose,
a new life. And I…I have my own interest in the Viper. Cerastes
promised me that.” She sensed Cobra’s cold grin. “I love an angry
vixen, but I won’t hesitate to kill you, should you get in my way.”
He shook her slightly for emphasis, then released her neck. For a
long moment, she could only cough and wheeze through her bruised
windpipe. The realization of his power felt even more crushing than
his fist.

Krait reached for a knife at her belt, but
Cobra’s shadow twisted from his feet to her arms and held her to
the ground. She was outmatched. Cobra must be older than she first
thought—and more powerful. He stood at the brink of Grandmastery.
No wonder Cerastes had recruited him.

Shame grew within her. Despite training with
Cerastes and the other students of the Shade, her skills had
improved slowly. She wielded no magic of her own. She couldn’t
compete with Cobra’s ability. The Harpies had destroyed her demon
during her years on the Lost Isles. Using sunstones, they ripped
the magical core from her body. She could still feel that emptiness
at the base of her skull where the demon’s voice once resonated.
She would never open the fifth gate; in fact, she couldn’t even
open the first.

Cobra abruptly trapped her between his legs.
Then he sat firmly on her stomach. Krait gasped as he pushed the
air from her lungs with his weight. He placed his hands on his
knees and stared at her with gleaming algae-eyes, lit with
poisonous fervor.

“You’re a worthless little snake,” he
murmured. “One day Cerastes will throw you to the fire. Assassins
like you are meant to be sacrificed.” He held her gaze for a long
moment, then stood up. “Leave the Viper to me.” Then he walked
silently through the mud back to the city.

Krait lay still for a long moment, her heart
pounding.
Cerastes will throw you to the fire.
She knew
Cobra wanted to intimidate her, but his words rang with unnerving
truth. Lately, her Grandmaster and Cobra had grown close. Now
Cerastes sent him on private missions without her knowledge.
Suddenly, it made too much sense. Her master had a new
favorite.

I can’t compete with him.
She closed
her eyes and put both hands to her head. Her temples throbbed; her
teeth clenched against the memory of her broken demon. Harpy voices
echoed suddenly in her ears, sharp and metallic. Shards of light.
Searing heat. All of it disjointed and confusing. The fragmented
images built and built, unlocked by Cobra’s words, until she
groaned under their pressure. A fierce, primal shriek welled in her
throat, but she bit it back, unwilling to scream her weakness to
the world.

And then, the images slowed.

A memory surfaced—only a glimmer. Cool
hands.

Gone.

Krait stared up at the stormy sky, allowing
the rain to strike her open eyes. She imagined they were tears—she
hadn’t cried since Cerastes repaired her vision. Tears were not
meant for assassins. She would rather her heart be made of
stone.

Cobra lies,
she thought as her mind
cleared. Her Grandmaster would not betray her. Not after saving her
life and piecing her back together. She had a place in the Dark
God’s shadow—a purpose in her master’s plan. And if that purpose
required sacrificing her life, she would not hesitate.
It’s not
much of a life,
she thought. She was a broken puppet, a mimicry
of an assassin, and no matter how long she lived, she would never
reclaim what the Harpies took. She would offer her master something
better, perhaps: unquestionable fealty.

Cobra played a dangerous game. Eventually,
Cerastes would grow tired of him. Her Grandmaster did not suffer
arrogance. The true strength of an assassin lay in discipline,
which Cobra obviously lacked.

She thought of her brief battle with the
Viper in the city of Delbar, months and months ago.

Cobra wanted to confront him, but she didn’t
think he’d win.

With renewed will, Krait rose silently to
her feet and walked back to the city streets.

CHAPTER 8

Several days of straight downpour greatly
swelled the banks of the Little Rain. Still, that didn’t prepare
Sora for their merge with the Crown’s Rush. In the last mile or
two, the banks had crept inward, becoming more and more narrow,
causing the current to churn and swirl aggressively.

She stood on the bow of the deck with Burn,
Lori and Crash as they neared the end of the Little Rain tributary.
Ferran followed in his smaller boat, giving the
Dawn Seeker
a large berth. Thick, tall pine trees crowned the rocky banks,
their roots exposed and scrabbling for a firm hold in the muddy
soil. To the north, the massive foothills of The Scepter rolled
steeply up from the ground, creating deep basins of storm water,
mudslides and snow run-off: the source of the Crown’s Rush.

Silas’ crew worked double-time against the
mouth of the Little Rain, attempting to enter the Crown’s Rush.
They banked the sails and wrestled hard with the rudder. It took
three men to steer the wheel against the fierce current. They
employed long, sweeping oars to resist the outflowing water. The
Dracians worked tirelessly, yelling to one another above the storm,
tying and retying ropes, swinging the yardarm against the wind and
battling the hemorrhaging river. For almost an hour, it seemed that
they were unable to move forward. The Rush continually pushed them
back down the small tributary. Sora held her breath, gripping the
rail, wondering if they would make it. Crash stood pensively behind
her, watching the crew work.

Then, finally, a fierce wind blew up from
behind them, filling out their sails. Silas roared out orders.
“Unfurl the mainstay!” he yelled into the rigging. Then to the men
at the tiller: “Swing us hard to port! Not too close to the right
bank, or the Crown’s current will run us into the rocks!”

Some of the sailors turned to look at the
mouth of the river, gauging the risk.

“
Now
, you lazy dogs!” Silas bellowed.
He strode the length of the schooner, waving his arms and tying
down ropes where he could.

The ship groaned as the wind caught the
sails and slowly moved forward. “To port!” Silas yelled again,
although the men at the tiller were already hard to port. Slowly
the ship veered forward and to the left.

Sora gasped as the ship shuddered. They were
at the threshold now. The Crown’s current warred between flowing
downriver or diverting into the Little Rain. She stared anxiously
at the rocky banks, imagining their ship twisting and slamming into
the steep, jagged stone.

Then, within seconds, they slid past the
threshold and into the Rush, leaving the Little Rain behind.

“Hard to starboard!” Silas continued to
yell, his voice ragged from so much shouting. “Bring her out into
the channel! We’ve made it, thank the Winds!” The last he said
quietly, barely audible above the river’s heavy flow.

From that point, their schooner shot
downstream like a well-crafted arrow, moving almost four times its
pace on the Little Rain. Burn let out a whoop and leapt excitedly
on the bow of the ship, leaning over the railing into the fierce
wind. The rest of the crew cheered in victory. Sora found herself
grinning fiercely against the rain.
We made it!
By the
laughter and high spirits of the crew, she knew tonight would be
spent celebrating. She and Lori joined Burn at the bow, standing on
either side of him, gazing at the river ahead. Crash hung back, and
she shot him a quick smile over her shoulder.

After several weeks of constant, aggressive
storms, the Crown’s Rush appeared as wide and endless as the ocean.
Swift slate-gray water stretched into the distance, moving at an
alarmingly fast pace. Only a fool would try to swim against such a
current. Sora could imagine the river easily swallowing an entire
house—more than that, an entire town. The frantic, drizzling rain
caused very low visibility, and she had a hard time believing in
the existence of an opposite bank. Iron-gray water flowed into the
vague horizon, dissolving into vaporous curtains of mist and
rain.

Storm clouds sat heavily above the river.
They obscured the treetops and the entire mountain ridge behind
them. Sora felt like she could stretch her arms up and touch the
billowing fog, as dense and textured as wool.

From here, we will make good time,
she thought. Only one more week to the City of Crowns. Silas
claimed they would be the last large vessel to enter the city from
this direction. Soon the snows would set in, and much of the river
and its tributaries would be locked in thick ice, especially this
far north.

As she watched the river, Ferran’s boat shot
ahead of them, much faster than the large schooner. A strong wind
filled his small sail. He waved at them from the back of the boat
where he manned the tiller.

“I’m freezing,” her mother shivered after
another minute. “Would anyone else like some warm tea?”

Sora’s nose felt numb, and she shivered
against the rain. “Yes,” she agreed. “And a hot dinner.” She had
spent almost an hour on the deck of the ship, watching their battle
with the river. She was ready to go back inside.

Filled with exhilaration, she and her mother
turned back to the galley, leaving Crash and Burn to their vigil on
the bow.

* * *

As they neared the City of Crowns, more and
more villages cropped up on the river banks. Small docks, fishing
boats and ferries became a common sight, at times clogging the
channel ahead. Silas rang a loud, heavy bell to warn smaller boats
and rafts out of the way. Townspeople and farmers waved as they
passed.

Some mornings, Sora took her breakfast
on-deck to watch the riverbanks. Housewives wore their hair tied up
in handkerchiefs and their pants rolled up to the knees as they
prepared crayfish, gutted salmon or washed clothes. Most villagers
stopped to hail the large vessel, and Silas encouraged his
look-outs to respond in turn, greeting them with a loud, clear
whistle. He certainly liked the attention and was proud to show off
his long schooner.