“Who would not look?” the demon asked breezily.
The captain made a harrumphing noise, neither confirming nor denying the question. “Such beings no longer exist in the world of men. Except as marble statues, of course. There is one such in the harbor to which we sail.”
“I look forward to comparing it to Marius.”
The captain glowered at him. “Your tone is too light, my friend.”
“My apologies,” the demon said, adding after a few seconds of silence, “my sincere apologies.”
“Hm. I look forward to the day when that creature is off my ship.”
“Do you,” the demon said conversationally. “Consider yourself fortunate that he remains a centaur.”
“What? I don’t take your meaning.”
Ravelle nodded, as if that was to be expected. “At one time, he could change from a centaur to a man and back again.”
“Ah,” the captain said.
“If he could do that now, he could go among the sailors undetected.”
“Not on my ship,” said the captain. “The first mate or the bo’sun would winkle him out. Or the men would.”
The demon shrugged. “Well, he is stuck as a centaur.” He fingered the carved stone that hung about his neck without explaining it to the captain. “And in that form he is no more extra work for your men than a horse would be.”
“But even so,” the captain began, “they are not pleased with the presence of your sea-demons on board either. Always coming and going on mysterious errands, and muttering in a language no one can understand.”
“Do they do the work assigned to them?”
“They have taken on more than that,” the captain complained, spreading his big hands open on the table. “Some say they have taken over. They allow no one else up to the crow’s-nest, for one thing.”
“They must keep a good watch, captain. And demons do not sleep much.”
The ship pitched and rolled in the heavy swells.
“And why is that?” the captain asked after a time. “What is it that they watch for?”
“Those who would follow us.”
“Who is that? I have had to quash many strange rumors since we sailed for the Arcan Isles and back again.”
“Such as?” The demon did his best to sound concerned.
“Some men were convinced that they were sailing to their deaths over the edge of the known world,” the captain replied. “A promise of more gold was not enough to allay their fears.”
“Your sailors look alive to me,” Ravelle said nastily. “Swearing and slaving and buggering one another the same as always.”
“They do not consider themselves slaves,” the captain said with anger. “That word is reserved for the damned souls who are chained to the oars.”
Ravelle nodded. “I stand corrected.”
The captain leaned forward and interlaced his thick fingers on the table. “Tell me something, Ravelle. How did you manage to find so many?”
“I have access to a never-ending supply of the damned,” the demon said, “because there is no end of sin in your world and even in the enchanted realm of Arcan.” He looked idly about the cabin, not meeting the captain’s eye as he continued. “Let us just say that they come my way. The Outer Darkness is crowded with the damned.”
“I am sure that is so.”
“They jump at the chance to serve in a galley, thinking that they will contrive an escape and live as before.”
“Indeed.”
The captain himself had escaped the Outer Darkness in exactly that way, but he saw no reason to inform Ravelle of it. A lesser demon held the rights to his immortal soul and that was that.
He turned to take a bottle down from a nearby shelf, lifting it free of the slats that kept it upright and uncorking it. He put the open bottle in the middle of the table with his hand wrapped around it and tipped it toward Ravelle.
The demon shook his head.
Shrugging, the captain treated himself to several swallows of whatever was inside. He exhaled a spirituous breath and a gleam entered Ravelle’s eye.
With a snap of his clawed fingers, he caused a spark and set the captain’s breath on fire. A blast of red flame scorched the table and ignited the spirit left in the bottle, which exploded.
Shards of glass embedded themselves in the wood of the cabin. Ravelle gave a low chuckle. “Why did you do that?” Seeming imperturbable, the captain wiped away the blood on his skin and picked at the glass embedded in his tattooed flesh.
“To amuse myself,” Ravelle said. “And to let you know who is master of this ship.”
The captain suppressed a shudder. “I fear my men are right. I will be glad enough when we sight the harbor.”
“We all will.”
More spirits went down the captain’s throat before he spoke again. “Now then. Getting back to your demon sailors—”
“What about them?” There was again a noticeable edge in Ravelle’s voice.
“It was bad enough I had to pick them up at the edge of the Outer Darkness what with that volcano spewing and all,” the captain said. “But I will not bring them back there. The men will mutiny.”
How fortunate that the volcano had belched fire as they’d passed it on the way to the Darkness, Ravelle reflected. Coincidence, of course, but even so. What fools men were. And how easy it was to frighten them.
Failing that, they could always be corrupted. Ravelle had paid the captain in gold, and he expected full service from him and every sailor on the ship. He would not tolerate disobedience, and the sea-demons had picked up what they needed to learn. The sailors, a low-born lot of criminals and drunks to his understanding, were no longer needed when all was said and done.
He had expected more from the captain, an intrepid and tough man. But Ravelle had marked him as an escapee from a slave ship by the invisible mark upon his forehead.
The mark of terror endured and survived, but never quite vanished. It was invisible to a mortal man, and the captain did not know he had it. But it was not invisible to a demon who traded in fear and shame. In his evil mind, better than gold for his purpose.
Ravelle looked straight at the captain, who quailed under his gaze. The demon’s eyes were glowing red and in them the man saw his own death.
“So Ravelle has him.” Simeon rose and paced the hall of his fortress. “We can do nothing. Every weapon we have is useless in the realm of men.”
Gideon sat before the fire, allowing Rhiannon to rub and soothe his weary wings. “There must be something we can do.”
Simeon, Lord of the Deep, shook his head, lost in thought.
“You did not see Linnea?” Rhiannon asked after a little time.
“No. But I had to fly away—the lookout spotted me only seconds after I saw Ravelle on deck. She may be on the ship. As for Marius, I know nothing of how he was captured or where.”
“I suspect Ravelle captured Linnea first, and then used her to lure Marius. A centaur is naturally wary.”
“We all should be. A small army of demons has come ashore at the Valley of the Great Death,” Gideon said.
“What?” Simeon said incredulously. “How?”
“By ship, I think. The same ship that took Marius away.”
“But my spies and my selkies knew nothing of it. Why did you not tell us of this first?”
Gideon glared at him. “One thing at a time, Simeon. I have been aloft for hours, while you sat in your fortress—”
Megaleen’s gentle voice broke in. “The great lords of Arcan should not quarrel like boys.”
Simeon said nothing.
“And there is much to be discovered.” Rhiannon rose, giving Gideon a final caress. “We have no knowledge of where Marius and Linnea went during their time away from here. What did Lord Vane say, Gideon, when you flew to him?”
“The first time? He said that he had no idea where they were. I thought for a moment that he himself might have designs upon Linnea, but then—”
“Appalling,” Simeon said forcefully. “I would not put it past him.”
Gideon gave a sigh. “I am almost certain he is innocent of that sin. A fire sprite has beguiled him of late.”
Rhiannon favored him with a look that said much about fire sprites—for the most part, that they were no better than they had to be.
“I think, though,” Simeon said after some minutes, “that Lord Vane will prove a formidable ally against the demon. We cannot shut him out of our plans.”
Gideon’s wings gave an involuntary twitch. “I am done flying for the night.”
“Very well. Then I will swim.”
“The Isle of Fire is leagues away,” Megaleen protested.
Simeon only nodded. “Please see to our guests, Megaleen.” He turned and left the hall.
The tunnels that connected the Arcan archipelago were not the swiftest route. Walking as swiftly as he could swim, Simeon soon reached the strand, striding through the rounded pebbles that tumbled over and over with each incoming wave.
It had been too long since he’d swum so freely and strongly, as exhilarated as the seals he and his kind sprang from and no less adept in the water. The powerful undersea currents embraced his sleek body, parting to let him penetrate the depths of the ocean and at last casting him upon the grim shore of Lord Vane’s fiery domain.
Simeon spat out a mouthful of water. Even still in the sea, it tasted not of wholesome saltiness but of brimstone.
He walked out of the waves, shuddering as the sulfurous water clung to his hide, shaking away the last of the foul-smelling drops. Ahead loomed the vast bulk of Vane’s castle. By night the black stones of which it was built seemed even darker, as if they absorbed both moonlight and starlight into themselves.
He found Vane with the aid of a servant, a nervous little man who scuttled away as if he expected to be blown into his next incarnation by a furious upbraiding from the ill-tempered lord of fire.
Simeon hesitated at the door of Vane’s private chambers, knocking loudly.
Vane bade him enter in a boisterous voice. It was wine or a woman, thought Simeon with an inward sigh, noting that it was the latter when he entered.
Hella’s skin shimmered deep blue when she was introduced and a red blush stained her cheeks. She was stark naked and sitting next to Vane in front of the fire on an iron divan. Several of her kind, considerably smaller, were disporting themselves lewdly among the logs.
“You interrupted us.” Vane chucked his beautiful but dangerously hot companion under her chin. “Too bad. Hella has been insatiable lately, wanting more and more. Why is that, my dear? Do you have something to prove or are you trying to distract me?”
Simeon wanted to turn around and get back into the ocean. Shamelessly clinging to Vane, Hellas was a vision of sensuality, her fire-edged curves a potent distraction.
“We were watching—oh, never mind,” Vane said. “You don’t seem to be in the mood for it.” He waved at the entangled sprites and they flew up the chimney. “What brings you here?”
“Marius has been found,” said Simeon without delay or preamble. “But Linnea has not.”
Was it his imagination or did Hella give her lord and master a guilty look? How very odd. Vane did not seem to notice it.
“Where was he?” Vane asked. Hella writhed into his lap, as if she was indeed trying to distract him.
“Gideon glimpsed him on the deck of a ship manned by demons, enchained—must we talk with her here, Vane?”
“She’s only a sprite,” he said cheerfully. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
Gone where, Simeon wanted to say, but didn’t. Gideon had seemed to think that Vane would help them. As usual, the fire Lord was half-drunk and more interested in an ongoing seduction.
Vane was fondling her rather roughly and she seemed to like it. Which didn’t stop him from carrying on a conversation at the same time. But Simeon knew which of them would win the war for his attention and she was blue. “And who was the captain of the ship, Simeon?” Vane asked, nipping at the sprite’s ear. “Mmm. Ravelle?”
“He didn’t know.” Simeon felt like a fool and vowed to leave in the next instant. “He did see Ravelle on deck.”
Lord Vane spread out on the divan, his fire girl licking at his neck. The unabashed display of sexuality caused Simeon the stirrings of arousal. How was it possible that Vane could think with his beautiful blue concubine squirming on his lap?
“Marius can smell a demon leagues away,” Vane was saying, caressing an ass of blue flame absent-mindedly. “He never would have gone willingly or let himself be captured.”
“What are you saying?”
Vane stroked Hella’s hair until it gave off faint trails of smoke. “He would only fall into a trap with Linnea at the center of it. Beautiful, innocent Linnea—ow!”
He removed his bleeding hand from Hella’s mouth and glanced at the bite marks. Then he grabbed her hair and held her head back while he glared severely at her.
Both men saw a flash of pure white fire in her eyes at the same instant.
“Now that is a color I have never seen in your eyes,” Vane said curiously. “You don’t like her name, do you? And you can’t hide it. Do you know what happened to Linnea?”
There was another flash, whiter than white. Pure hate blazed in the sprite’s eyes. The lords of Arcan exchanged a look.