Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (8 page)

The half-giant's voice drew Agis's attention back to the alley. “Ln the king's name, stop!”

The order boomed through the narrow lane like thunder, shaking the dust off the walls and
causing a four-foot rubbish slug to slither out from beneath a pile of trash. The
half-giant broke into a run, his massive legs spraying plumes of silvery dust into the air
as he plowed through silt drifts.

Nymos's feet touched the ground, and the jozhal turned away, sprinting down the alley as
fast as a kank, waving his cane back and forth to detect unexpected obstacles. Had Agis
not known better, he would have sworn the reptile could see.

“Stop!” the half-giant boomed, smashing his spiked club into the back wall of a tackle
shop. The blow knocked a melon-sized hole in the clay bricks.

Agis glanced back at the center of the roof and saw a lump of clay fly up from the plug,
then he jumped into the alley. He landed in a pile of silt, sinking to his waist and
sending a billow of dust boiling across the lane. The noble waded out of the drift, his
legs burning with the effort and his lungs choking on the cloud of loess. Once he was
free, he did not turn to follow Nymos, but faced the sorcerer's pursuer.

The half-giant shifted his dull eyes from the fleeing sorcerer to the Tyrian, then rushed
forward with a renewed burst of speed. To Agis, he resembled nothing quite so much as a
rampaging dust spirit. The massive guard was lost from the waist down in a roiling curtain
of silt, with each step sending silvery columns of loess shooting up past his head.

Agis focused his attention on the dust still billowing around his own feet.

The half-giant stopped at Agis's side and reached down toward the noble. “Got you now,” he
growled, keeping his club ready in the other hand.

“No, I have you,” Agis replied, dodging the clumsy lunge.

He used the Way to inject his spiritual energy into the whirling cloud of dust at his
feet, then dove away. The small whirlwind increased tenfold, swallowing the half-giant in
gray whorls and filling the alley with the shrill whistle of a gale-force wind. The guard
roared in anger as the storm swept him off his feet. He crashed into the back wall of the
Furled Sail, spraying Agis with shards of brick and filling the air with more dust.

The noble sprinted down the alley after Nymos, coughing and choking. Behind him, the giant
flailed about madly, smashing holes into walls and trying to dodge away from the
suffocating whirlwind that had engulfed him. His efforts were in vain, for the maelstrom
followed him wherever he went.

Agis glanced over his shoulder, worried that the templars would be coming after him. To
his relief, he saw that their task would not be easy. His whirlwind had engulfed the
entire tavern, rendering it as impossible for them to see him as it was for him to see the
building.

The noble turned his attention to catching Nymos. As he had hoped, it was a simple matter
to track the sorcerer. The morning was still young, and not many feet had trod the back
alleys. Agis soon picked out the jozhal's three-clawed footprints, then followed them
through the maze of crumbling shanties that constituted the harbor district.

It quickly became apparent that Nymos had no dear idea of where he was going. The jozhal's
tracks often doubled back on themselves, or circled around three sides of a block before
continuing down the same lane that he had been in originally. At times, the trail became
so confused that Agis could not follow it, and he would give a coin to a dirt-smudged
child or grimy-faced mother in return for telling him which way the reptile had gone. On
several occasions, he even asked directions of someone who told him that Nymos had asked
how to reach a particular inn or tavern.

Finally Agis emerged from the shanty warren at the edge of the harborside road. Across the
street lay a long wharf, along which rested six sloops with towering masts and huge sails
furled on their yardarms. Slaves were busily laboring at each ship, unloading building
stone, timber, wool, and even a flock of erd-lus-tall, flightless birds with sharp beaks
and huge legs.

Near the end of the dock, a two-masted caravel hovered on the surface of the bay. Its
square sails hung unfurled and flapping in the breeze, ready to be drawn tight. The
figures of more than a dozen men crawled over the rigging, making the ship ready to sail.
The helmsman was looking down the quay, as if awaiting some signal to set the craft in
motion.

Nymos was nowhere in sight, his tracks lost in the hundreds of others crisscrossing the
road.

“I'm given to know yer lookin' for a ship,” said a gravelly voice at Agis's side.

The noble turned to face the speaker and found himself looking into the savage eyes of a
tarek female, as powerfully built as a mul and with arms so long the knuckles dragged in
the dust. The tarek had a square, big-boned head, with a sloping forehead and a massive
brow ridge. Sharp fangs filled her domed muzzle, while her flat nose ended in a pair of
red, flaring nostrils. From the lobes of her barbed ears hung three copper hoops, a
substantial exhibition of wealth for this part of the city-and one that suggested the
woman was the match for any cutthroat who might take it into his head to steal the prized
metal. She wore a filthy silken breechcloth with a broad belt around her waist, and her
four breasts were covered by nothing but a leather harness holding several bone daggers.

“At the moment, I'm looking for a blind jozhal,” Agis replied cautiously.

The tarek nodded toward the caravel. “Nymos's aboard,” she said, slipping a hand inside
Agis's cloak and reaching for his purse.

The noble clamped a hand around the tarek's arm, but did not have the strength to prevent
her from plucking the sack off his belt. “I don't lack the skills to protect my wealth,”
Agis warned.

“And I don't lack the strength to take it,” sneered the tarek, pulling the purse out. “But
that's not what I'm about. Before I take ye on, I'll have a look to make sure ye can
afford me ship.”

She opened the sack and peered inside, then raised an approving eyebrow. “Kester's my
name.” She plucked fifteen silver coins from the bag, then handed it back to Agis. “This
covers the first week.”

“That's rather expensive,” Agis answered, not closing his purse. “In fact, it's
outrageous.”

“It is,” Kester assured him, slipping the coins into the purse hanging on her belt. “But
ye won't be hiring any other boat to follow the king's fleet to the isle of Lybdos.”

“I suppose not,” Agis replied, closing his purse. “I trust you're worth it.”

“Some say I am-and some say I'm a pirate,” she replied, leading the way across the street.

“Which is it?” Agis asked. “After what I've just paid you, I deserve to know.”

The tarek shrugged. “I never know from one day to the next.”

No sooner had they set foot on the dock than a streak of blinding light sizzled past the
noble's shoulder, striking a nearby sloop. A deafening crack rolled over the quay, and the
ship's mast collapsed in a rain of splinters. Agis and Kester hit the ground, surrounded
by screaming slaves. Together, they rolled to their backs, facing the harborside street as
they returned to their feet.

Across the way stood the female templar and her colleague. The traitorous sailor, Salust,
was just stepping out of the alley from which Agis had come. A few yards behind him
followed several half-giant guards.

“Seize that man!” yelled the female templar, pointing at Agis. “I command it in the name
of King Andropinis!”

Kester looked at the noble and raised her heavy brow. “Nymos didn't say ye were wanted by
the king.”

Seeing that there were too many opponents to disable with the Way alone, the noble reached
for his sword. The tarek lashed out with her gangling arm and caught the noble's hand
before he could draw. “A wise man'd leave that sheathed.”

Agis fixed his eyes on Kester's face, summoning the energy to use the Way. “I see you've
chosen pirate today,” the noble replied.

An indignant frown flashed across Kester's face, but the tarek kept her eyes turned toward
the templars and made no response.

Salust slipped between the templars. “The bounty is mine,” he said, pointing at Kester.
“I'm not splitting it with that smuggler.”

Kester snarled at the man, then motioned for the templars to come forward. “If there's a
reward, I'll be wantin' my share.”

“And you shall have it,” said the male templar.

He and his companion started up the quay, accompanied by the bitterly complaining Salust.
The trio's half-giant escorts started to follow, but the woman signaled them to wait on
the street.

“We have things under control,” said the sour-faced templar, picking her way past a heap
of building stone. “You'll just be in the way.”

Kester abruptly released Agis's hand, then pulled a dagger from her chest harness. “I'll
take the woman!” she hissed.

With a flick of her wrist, the tarek sent the dagger sailing straight to the templar's
throat. The woman clasped her hands around the wound and dropped, gurgling, to the ground.

Even as she fell, Agis reached for one of Kester's daggers. The noble had no delusions
about being able to throw a dagger accurately over such a distance, but he had other means
of delivering the blade. After pulling the weapon from the tarek's chest harness, the
noble tossed the knife at the second templar, then used the Way to guide its path. The
dagger took its victim in the same place the tarek's blade had taken the female.

Salust paled and started to back away. At the same time, the half-giants waiting on the
street screamed in fury, then stepped onto the quay. They did not rush, however. The
half-giants were too large to run without the risk of tripping over a slave or stack of
cargo.

“Thanks for standing by me,” Agis said. “Ye paid me already,” the tarek replied in a gruff
voice. She pulled another dagger from her harness. “Next time, I won't be so fast to take
yer silver.”

With that, she threw her weapon at Salust. The blade sank deep into the sailor's breast.
He collapsed, clutching at the leg of a passing half-giant. The brute angrily shook the
dying man off, then hurled his club at Kester. The tarek ducked easily, and the big cudgel
bounced off the hull of a nearby ship.

Agis drew his sword, bracing himself to meet the half-giants.

Kester grabbed him by the arm, “No need to fight,” she said. “Those oafs can't catch the
likes of us.”

“Then why'd you kill Salust?” Agis said, glancing over his shoulder. Slaves and
dockmasters were cringing in terror as the half-giants stepped over them, shoving cargo
off the pier and cursing in anger.

“Never trusted him,” she said, pulling the noble down the quay at a sprint.

They dodged past a stack of baled wool, pushed their way through a screeching flock of
erdlus, then they were running for Kester's caravel. As they came closer to the ship, the
noble saw that it carried a dozen ballistae and catapults on each side.

As they passed beneath the stern, the noble gestured at the weaponry. “Why all the siege
engines?”

“Giants,” answered Kester. She grabbed a thick rope dangling from the stern and handed it
to Agis, then took another for herself. “Make way, Perkin!” she called as she began to
climb. “Set a course for Lybdos, and be quick about it.”

“Not Lybdos,” Agis corrected, almost losing his grip on the rope as the caravel lurched
into motion. “First, we go up-estuary a few miles.”

Kester scowled at him. “That's no good,” she said. “After what we just did, I don't fancy
sneaking back past Balk. And the fleet's already got a lead on us. Every hour's costly.”

“It
doesn't matter. Before we leave, I have a promise to keep,” Agis said, throwing an arm
over the gunnel. “Besides, with a little luck, a friend of mine just might be able to stop
the fleet cold.”

“If that's what you want,” Kester said, dangling from her rope with one hand and using the
other to push the noble over the railing. “But it'll cost extra.”

To Tithian, the dusky shape to the
Silt Lion's
leeward side did not appear to be a boulder. For one thing, it seemed to be moving
parallel to the ship, and for another its profile resembled that of a massive head sitting
atop a pair of colossal shoulders. Still, though the distance separating them was less
than fifty yards, the king could not be sure of what he saw. For the fifth day straight, a
heavy wind was ripping across the sea, lofting so much dust into the air that it was
difficult to see clearly from the stern of the schooner to the bow.

Tithian turned to the ship's mate, who was holding a large cone of solid glass to his
eyes. “What's that over there?” the king asked, indicating the direction in which he had
been looking.

“A giant,” the mate reported. “But don't worry. We're in the Strait of Baza. As soon as we
pass into deeper silt, he won't be able to follow.” The catch in the young man's voice
belied his anxiety.

“Let me have the king's eye,” Tithian said, ripping the cone of glass from the sailor's
hands.

“But the ship's blind without it, King Tithian,” the sailor objected. “The dust is shallow
here!”

Ignoring the mate's complaint, Tithian pulled the dust-shields off his eyes, replacing the
grimy lenses with the broad end of the cone. He pointed the tip at the shape he had been
watching. Thanks to the magic Andropinis had instilled in the glass, the silt haze no
longer obscured Tithian's vision.

The thing was definitely a giant, with long braids of greasy hair hanging from his head
and tufts of coarse bristle sprouting on the gravelly skin of his shoulders. His face
seemed a peculiar mix of human and rodent, with a sloped forehead, dangling ears, deepset
eyes, and flat nose that ended in a pair of cavernous nostrils. A dozen jagged incisors
protruded from beneath his upper lip, and a mosslike beard hung over his recessed chin.