The Red Wolf Conspiracy (65 page)

Beneath the pain on her face was a terrible rage. Voiceless, her lips formed a name:
Syrarys
.

Arunis climbed with surprising quickness, holding his dog in one arm. No one moved to stop him. He reached the deck, swung over the rail and let the dog leap down. Smiling, he put out a hand to Chadfallow. But the doctor stepped back, out of reach.

“You do not care for my friendship?” Arunis chuckled. “No matter; it is your wisdom I count on, not your love. And you have chosen wisely, Doctor. Lady Thasha deserves to live.”

“SORCERER!”

The voice erupted from deep in the ship: a frightful, murderous voice.

Arunis' face took on a strange look of rapture. “My lord!” he cried. “Across world and void I come to thee! Through death's gate, by roads of darkness, wastes of years, I return!”

“GIVE IT TO ME! BRING IT FORTH NOW!”

Arunis made no reply. Instead, while the Shaggat went on howling demands, he walked calmly aft. Hundreds of men fell back at his approach, until at last he reached the little group surrounding Thasha.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” he said with a sneer.

Rose was deaf to his mockery. He stood apart, hands covering his eyes, trembling.

“I will take your silence for assent. Now hear me, all of you:
Chathrand
has a new master, and his name is Arunis. You thought to cancel this marriage, Isiq. That will never be. Your daughter will marry a Mzithrini, or die in torment before your eyes. And when she is wed this ship will sail for the Ruling Sea, and its rendezvous with war. Nothing can stop this from happening! If you do not trust me, trust Dr. Chadfallow.”

“Trust him? Never again!” said Isiq. “I would sooner trust a crawly!”

“You are insulted, Doctor!” Arunis laughed. “But there is no time to waste. Go to the Shaggat Ness; unchain him and his sons. You will find the key on that idiot by the wheelhouse.” He gestured contemptuously at Uskins. Then, barely pausing, he turned to Fiffengurt.

“In the doctor's cabin sits a crate. Bring it up. And have the blacksmith's forge hoisted to the deck as well, and a good fire built.”

“What if I don't?” said Fiffengurt.

Arunis raised an eyebrow. Fiffengurt was shaking with fear. But still he managed to raise his voice defiantly, addressing the whole crew: “What if we don't, men? What if we swear to kill this cur and his Shaggat, even if he takes fifty of us with 'im, eh?”

The bravest men began to cheer, but Arunis shouted over them: “In that case I will kill Lady Thasha—and the Emperor will kill you all. Do you mean that
no one has explained?
Captain Rose?”

Rose said nothing. His back was bent, and his gaze far away.

“Well then, Sergeant Drellarek? Isn't it time you admitted what His Supremacy expects of his Turachs?”

Drellarek hesitated. Six hundred pairs of eyes were on him. “We are to keep the Shaggat alive,” he said at last.

“And should any harm befall him?”

“We shall all be killed, with our families, upon return to Ether-horde. But we do not serve you, filth-mage.”

“Nor do I seek your service, dog! Only recall your oath to the crown. Let no one approach His Holiness the Shaggat during the ceremony to come.” He raised his voice to a shout. “You think you defeated Sandor Ott? His plan marches on! Should the Shaggat die, everyone aboard this ship will follow fast.”

“But Ott thought you were dead!” said Uskins, peeping down from the quarterdeck. “You were never part of his plan!”

“That is true,” said Arunis. “But I improved it—perfected it. None here can stand against me now.”

Thasha, her voice a wounded rasp, said, “Ramachni can.”

Arunis laughed once more. “Such faith the girl has in you, Ramachni! But I know you better. You have done too much in this world already—a healing charm I smell about you, to say nothing of your foolish freeing of Mr. Druffle. Any power left to you after that was wasted on the fleshancs. That is why I bothered with them, of course.”

He stepped toward Ramachni, arms flung wide. “You, oppose me? Do it now, weasel! Save your friends!”

There it was, once more—that hint of fear in his voice. Yet Ramachni, claws tight on Hercól's shoulder, bowed his head and said nothing.

“I knew it!” said Arunis. “There's no power left in him! Stay and watch my triumph, wizard: your helplessness will make it all the sweeter. You boys!”

He pointed suddenly at Neeps and Pazel, who froze like startled deer.
He's got us
, Pazel thought.
Oh Rin! Which Master-Word?

But Arunis showed no sign of recognizing his former captives. “Draw a circle on the deck,” he commanded. “Only I, the Shaggat and those I name may enter it during the ceremony. Sergeant Drellarek, your men will kill all others on the spot.”

At noon precisely “the ceremony” began.

The first-class passengers, still locked behind the Money Gate, were the first to hear the great slouching, stomping footfalls. They drew back in horror: the augrongs, Refeg and Rer, were lumbering by, turning their fist-sized yellow eyes on the speechless humans in their finery. They had only budged from their den in the forward hold to help occasionally with anchor-lifting. Now they were squeezing up the main ladderway to the topdeck, where Arunis beckoned impatiently. When they stood at last in the sun they shuffled behind him, docile as hounds.

Below, a woman screamed. While their eyes had been on the augrongs another figure had lumbered down the passage, escorted by a dozen marines. The Shaggat Ness moved like some slow, thick-bodied carnivore. His scarred face twitched like a victim of palsy, and his clouded red eyes looked at them with such hate that even those who had not quailed at the augrongs fell back in terror. Pacu Lapadolma made the sign of the Tree. Walking behind him, the Shaggat's yellow-robed sons saw her gesture and began to mutter of executions.

By Arunis' decree, the entire crew was gathered on deck. Officers and tarboys, sailors and Turach warriors stood side by side, helpless. When the Shaggat stepped out into the light they stumbled backward, like a mob of children who had woken a bear.

Arunis knelt and touched his forehead to the deck. “Master,” he said. “After forty years among knaves and enemies we meet triumphant.”

“Where is it?” said the Shaggat.

Arunis gestured with one hand. On the deck before the mainmast was an ash circle twenty feet across. At its center sat the forge—a mighty oven used to mend breastplates and anchors and other huge things of iron. Heaps of coal surrounded it. Six men worked the bellows that pumped air through its heart of fire. Before its open mouth the heat was so intense no one could stand it for more than a second or two.

The Shaggat stamped his foot. “There it is! Mine! Mine!”

Inside the forge, as if wading in the red-hot coals, stood the Red Wolf. A more fiendish-looking animal could scarcely be imagined. Its ruby eyes seemed fire themselves. The barnacles on its chest were exploding with heat; the lichen was in flames. It stood in a great steel crucible in the very hottest part of the fire. Already the Wolf's legs had begun to glow.

“The hour is come,” said Arunis to the Shaggat. “Once you take up that which I promised you half a century ago, no horde or legion will be able to resist. And I shall walk behind you, Master of All Men—helping, teaching, guiding your hand.”

Arunis cast his gaze over the crowd. “Do you see it at last, you conspirators? Ott's secret weapon will be more powerful than even he dared dream! We will not merely
hurt
the Mzithrini, we will crush them. And then we will crush Arqual. League by league we will burn both empires off the map.”

“You'll need more than a Sizzy-made Wolf,” said Oggosk with contempt. “A relic of the Dawn War, that's what you'll need. Find the Nilstone for your puppet-king, Arunis, if you want to rule the world.”

“Puppet?” cried the Shaggat's sons. “Hang her! Hang her!”

“Soon I shall have no need of hangmen,” said the Shaggat Ness.

The orange glow had spread to the Wolf's stomach. Its lower legs began to soften and bend.

Arunis turned to Lady Oggosk. “You are right, Duchess. Only one weapon will do for the next Lord of Alifros. Watch now and despair.”

Pazel blinked the sweat from his eyes. The Shaggat was only an arm's length away. If he touched him and spoke the Stone-Word it would all be over—and Arunis would kill Thasha in a heartbeat.

All around them, men were murmuring prayers.
“Save us, stop him, let me live to see my wife.”
Pazel looked at Ramachni.
Must I do it?
he thought.
Must I let him kill her to stop the war?
Ramachni's face told him nothing.

Then Thasha caught his eye—the same direct, dazzling look she had given him from the carriage in Etherhorde so many weeks before, but sorrowful now instead of glad. It was a look of understanding, an acceptance beyond all fear.

She was giving him permission.

Pazel looked down quickly.
Let there be some other way. Any other way
.

Coal flew spade after spade into the forge, to the ceaseless huffing of the bellows. The Wolf now glowed from head to tail. If Pazel spoke the Fire-Word he might make the flame go out, and delay whatever evil thing Arunis was up to. But the mage would simply light another fire, and the Word would be gone. And if what Arunis said was true it would mean Thasha's death to use the Stone-Word against him. The cursed necklace would strangle her the instant Arunis died.

Panic seized him. He was alone—surrounded by every friend he had in the world, and still utterly alone. It was up to Pazel to stop this horror, and he had no idea what to do.

But what was this? Ormali! Someone was speaking Ormali—and although it was chanted like a prayer, the words were for him.

“Look at me! At me, my Chereste heart!”

It was Druffle. There he stood at the back of the crowd: starved, bruised and shaky. But when he looked at Pazel, the freebooter's eyes lit up with rascally mischief. Druffle's gaze slid upward—and carefully, one eye still on Arunis, Pazel looked as well.

For a moment he saw nothing but the familiar jungle of ropes and spars. Then he saw him: Taliktrum. He was hidden in the mouth of a block-pulley, ten feet overhead.

“Look away from me!”
he shouted.

He used the normal voice of ixchel, the voice Pazel alone could hear. Pazel obeyed at once.

“Can you stop him?”
Taliktrum went on.
“Answer in Nileskchet.”

“I could if I could touch him,”
Pazel said aloud.
“But I dare not.”

“No,”
he agreed.
“You dare not. But stay close to him, boy. We are not beaten yet.”

“He'll murder Thasha!”
Pazel cried.
“And they'll kill me if I step inside that circle. How do you expect me to stay close?”

But Taliktrum made no answer, and when Pazel risked another glance at the mainsail, he was gone.

The nearest sailors were looking at him with fear and rage: the bad-luck tarboy, speaking in witch-tongues again. But Druffle sidled up to him and clasped his arm.

“He saved me,” he said wonderingly, as if he still could not believe it. “I had a Tholjassan arrowhead six inches deep in my back. He put his arm in the wound and tugged it out. A crawly. A crawly saved my life.”

A sigh came from the crowd: the Wolf's legs had given way and its body now lay in a pool of molten iron, half filling the crucible.

“Taliktrum,” Pazel whispered.
“You
brought him back.”

Druffle nodded. “And his sister, under my clothes.”

“Diadrelu!”

“Aye, Her Ladyship. After Arunis pushed me out of that little boat, they held my head above water until your friend arrived. They're the finest folk I ever met.”

“Where is she?”

But Druffle made no answer. Thasha and Neeps drew near. Thasha's eyes were moist. She looked as though she was taking leave of everything.

“Pazel,” said Neeps, “Arunis is destroying the Wolf!”

“Yes,” said Pazel, still watching Druffle's face.

“What for? He nearly got us killed looking for the thing!”

“It's not the Wolf he wants,” rasped Thasha.

The boys looked at her, speechless.

“I've been reading the
Polylex
,” she whispered. “To the Sizzies, wolves aren't evil. They're symbols of wisdom and strength. They cooperate, protect one another, care for the pack. In Mzithrini legends wolves
warn
people of danger. Don't you see? This Wolf isn't a weapon—it's a hiding place for one. Arunis wants whatever's inside.”

“Thasha,” said Pazel, “I'm not going to let him kill you.”

To Pazel's astonishment, she hugged him tight. He tried to pull away—Arunis might punish her for anything—but she was stronger, and would not let go. Then all at once he felt movement against his chest. After Taliktrum's angry warning he knew better than to look down, but out of the corner of his eye he saw, and understood. Diadrelu was climbing from Thasha's shirt into his own.

“Hug her back, fool!”
said the ixchel woman.
“The mage is watching.”

Pazel hugged her. But Dri wasn't satisfied.
“By the Pits, Arunis is staring at you! Thasha, you went to the Lorg School! Can't you feign affection?”

“Feign?” said Pazel.

“Who's talking?” said Neeps.

Thasha kissed Pazel on the mouth.

Nothing he had ever felt was half so awkward or fascinating. But it lasted only an instant. Then came pain—a sudden, searing pain at his collarbone. Pazel gasped. His first thought was that Dri had stabbed him. But she was nowhere near the spot. No, it was Klyst: her magic shell was blazing beneath his skin, scalding him with murth-girl jealousy. He jerked his head away.

“Stop it!” he said.

Thasha dropped her arms. But now she was blazing, too. “As if it was
my
idea!” she snapped.

The pain stopped. Behind them, Arunis cackled. “Of course it wasn't!” he said. “It was your tutors'—or your father's, perhaps. Give her a tarry sweetheart—and one of the backward races, at that. Let her disgrace herself. Perhaps the Sizzies won't let one of their princes marry a tramp.”