Spellbreaker (51 page)

Francesca had been sweeping the bay for signs of her daughter when the flash and report of lightning drew her here. She had clawed half the ship's aft sails into rags before anti-boarding subspells had repelled her with sharp-edged cloth.

Now Francesca had to maintain a position high enough above the
Empress
to avoid the lightning while threatening a dive attack. She had hoped the
Empress
would soon exhaust her lightning spells and be forced to retreat. However, the ship's captain had directed most of the side sails downward, causing the ship to slowly rise. If he could climb above Francesca, he could ignore her and resume his bombardment. Then there was the matter of support. There was no saying how close the other imperial forces might be.

Light flashed from the
Empress
's bow and Francesca dropped out of her climb and spiraled away. To her surprise, the airship's bolt shot, not upward at her, but downward.

Then Francesca spotted it. A catamaran was speeding away from the island. Curiously, the sails were reefed and the ship was moving far too fast to be powered by oars. Francesca tucked her wings and dropped. The
Empress
began a shallow dive after the catamaran; so Francesca placed herself directly aft of the ship, reasoning that if the lightning originated from the bow, the ship could not loose a bolt directly behind her without obliterating her own hull. This would be what sea captains call a stern chase—the attacker racing behind its prey, trying to catch its stern.

As Francesca closed in, another lightning bolt shot down from the
Empress
but again struck the island. To her surprise, Francesca got within a half mile of the
Empress
before the airship started to come about. Francesca flapped hard, trying to stay on her stern. But the airship turned too fast. Just as the bow came into view, Francesca dove hard and then pulled up. The air below her crackled with lightning, shook with thunder.

She continued to fly hard toward the
Empress
's stern. Below her she could see Leandra's catamaran speeding toward a narrow opening between two standing islands. Lightning struck one of the limestone formations, sending a blast of stone flying.

Francesca's excitement rose as she closed the distance with the
Empress
. It seemed that the captain wanted Leandra so badly that he would chance a level stern chase with a dragon.

At five hundred yards, Francesca flexed her foreclaws in anticipation. Leandra's catamaran slipped between the two standing islands, and the
Empress
began to climb over the obstacles. This adjustment would slow the airship and—because Francesca had higher altitude—make her easier to catch. A twinge of doubt moved through Francesca. The ship's captain could not be so stupid as to start climbing during this stern chase unless …

Francesca pulled up out of her attack and began to scan the sky. The
Empress
's captain should give up the stern chase only if he knew he had protection. At last Francesca saw her, hiding in the low crimson sun, another airship.

As Francesca climbed, she saw her stalker adjust her course to stand off. In that moment, Francesca caught the ship's silhouette and knew her for the
Queen's Lance
. She had no doubt that Cyrus was captaining his old ship, watching and waiting for Francesca to close with
Empress
so that he could run his foresails through her back. Francesca glared back at her old lover, hating him.

Ahead of her the
Empress
cleared the standing islands. Impulsively Francesca dove to pick up speed, pulling up only just above the water. It was the same trick she had pulled in Chandralu; now Cyrus wouldn't be able to dive at her with abandon. More importantly, she might lose him among the limestone pillars.

When she reached the twin islands, Francesca tucked her wings together and, like a sparrow flitting through a chink in a barn wall, passed between the islands to spread her wings and glide above the water. Ahead, a corridor of open water stretched for nearly a mile before the standing islands reconstituted their maze.

Leandra's catamaran was halfway across the corridor and veering left to hide among the limestone formations. The
Empress
flew behind her. A bolt of lightning arced down, overshot the catamaran and struck a standing island ahead of her.

As the thunderclap echoed across the bay, Francesca flew left to where she supposed Leandra was headed and then sprinted into the labyrinthine standing islands. Here the limestone formations were spaced far enough apart for easy navigation. She glanced back. The haze seemed to have increased in the last few moments, and the smell of sulfur had grown stronger. It was as if a nearby volcano were spewing out vog.

But all thoughts of the atmosphere vanished when she caught a glimpse of the
Queen's Lance
. Along the inferior aspect of her foresails shone two figures in bright orange-and-yellow robes.

Francesca veered left, nearly smashed her snout into a standing island, flapped hard to rise high enough to clear it. The dark boom of the pyromantic cannon made her dive toward the bay. Some screaming thing shot overhead, and then the base of a standing island ahead of her erupted into molten fire. Slowly the standing island began to fall.

Francesca flew harder and slipped under the island before it crashed into the bay.

A glance back through the spray and smoke told her that the
Queen's Lance
was still right on top of her. So she ducked into a thicket of islands. Here she could hide, but now she had to frantically dart right and left to avoid slamming up against the standing islands.

When enough space opened between the limestone pillars, she spread her wings wide to slow down, felt them scrape against rock and ferny cycads.

Through the array of stones, she glimpsed Lea's catamaran speeding between two standing islands. Above her, looming like a thundercloud, the
Empress
cast out lightning bolt after lightning bolt.

Francesca made a quick calculation about where Leandra was headed and began darting between the standing islands to intercept. The world became a blur of limestone and vines confined by blue water below and hazy sky above. The thunder was booming louder.

When she came to a place where the standing islands were more widely spaced, she hovered near an island's peak and then, with all four of her claws, grasped hold of a rocky outcropping. She flapped her wings twice for balance, then pressed them flat against the stone.

She craned her long neck and spotted the
Queen's Lance
patrolling an area of dense standing islands about a quarter mile to the east. Francesca clung tighter to the limestone and tried to shuffle sideways along the cliff face to put more of the island between her and the airship, but this disturbed a small flock of white-feathered red-tailed seabirds that rose into the air with screeching scorn.

Francesca froze, afraid that she had attracted an airship's attention. She held her breath and waited, but the
Queen's Lance
continued to fly slowly, patrolling loops around the dense ticket of islands. Meanwhile the boom of thunder, a dark purple sound, grew louder.

Francesca peered over the standing island and saw Leandra's catamaran come into view, moving fast between standing islands. Before the ship swam a dark shape. Holokai? Surprising. Francesca had guessed the shark god would betray Leandra and run back to Chandralu to save his child.

Francesca clung to the standing island and watched her daughter's ship slide into the maze of standing islands.

The thundering grew louder. The sky began to darken. At first Francesca thought it was the
Empress
overhead, but when she looked up she saw that it was, almost unbelievably, the haze. The air was taking on a grayish color and smelled not only of sulfur but also of hot metal.

The sky continued to darken but now she saw that the
Empress
was indeed flying directly overhead. Lightning arced away from the
Empress
's bow and struck somewhere that Francesca could not see. Francesca pressed her face against the limestone and waited for what seemed an eternity. She would get only one chance.

When at last the aft sails were directly overhead, Francesca leapt and rose with powerful wingbeats toward the flagship's underbelly. At fifty yards away, she roared out a savage attack. She closed the final few feet and threw herself into a clawing attack and caught … nothing but air.

Francesca's first sensation was one of unreality. Somehow she was hovering in turbulent air a hundred feet behind the
Empress
.

It seemed impossible, but the flagship had somehow sensed her surprise attack and nearly tripled its upward thrust. From somewhere behind her there came a boom and then a scream. She turned to see the
Queen's Lance
hovering above her. Then the air next to her burst into a spiny, black star of smoke.

A shockwave swatted Francesca out of the air.

 

CHAPTER FORTY

Nicodemus blinked rapidly, felt his eyes sting and tear, squeezed them shut. He tried to rub them but could not raise his hand up much farther than his chest. He was still lying flat in his compound's tearoom, slowly reclaiming his body from the tetrodotoxin.

Doria's teasing voice spoke above him. “The result of struggling against paresis is paresis with aggravation.”

“What in the burning hells is paresis?” Nicodemus croaked, his voice raw from the breathing tube spell.

“A word my Lord Warden doesn't know?”

“You're enjoying this too much.”

“Not technically possible.”

“So what does paresis technically mean?”

“So you don't know what it means?”

“Is your practice to aggravate all of the patients you save from certain death?”

“Just those I care about.”

Nicodemus smiled at his old friend. “Well, that's reassuring.”

“Paresis means partial paralysis, what you're going through as the tetrodotoxin wears off. Don't struggle against it.”

“Doesn't Fran have a saying like your paresis saying?”

“The result of surgery to relieve pain is pain with a hole in it,” Doria provided. “It's popular among more conservative physicians.”

Nicodemus opened his eyes. For a moment, he could focus on Doria's smiling face, wreathed by silvery hair. Behind her, Ellen stood and frowned at them both. The world became blurry again.

“You should be feeling good about your progress,” Doria said. “You're clearing the tetrodotoxin faster than I thought possible. Being a Language Prime spellwright must have changed your physiology.”

“Can I have some water?”

“Not on your life, literally,” Ellen said in her usual flat tone. “Until you're strong enough to protect your airway, nothing but air is going through your mouth.”

Nicodemus groaned.

Doria snorted. “I am always so surprised by how much the future savior of humanity whines.”

“I'd whine a lot less if I had a less cynical physician. Or if I weren't such a phenomenal disaster as a father that I touched off the war that will doom humanity. At this point, I'm more likely to be the Storm Petrel than the Halcyon.”

Ellen made a disgusted noise. “Lord Nicodemus, will you forgive me for speaking frankly?”

“I want to say yes, but that might be a lie.”

“Leandra has done something far worse than anything that can be explained by parenting.”

Nicodemus said nothing, suffered a sudden and vivid memory of falling backward into paralysis. Fear flushed across him. His daughter … How could she …

“There are more immediate matters—” Doria started to say in a diplomatic tone.

“Indeed there are,” Ellen interrupted. “But eventually we will all have to face who Leandra has chosen to become. Fiery heaven, the woman had a spell cast on her mind to prevent her from being able to love. Who would do such a thing? I hope that when my Lady Warden returns, we can consider if we aren't better off without her.”

“Thank you, Magistra,” Doria said coldly. “We all know the situation, and our patient has a great deal on his mind. There will be plenty of time to discuss such matters.”

Nicodemus still had his eyes closed but if he were to open them he had no doubt he would find the two physicians glaring at each other.

The keloid scar on his back was itching again. Maybe that was a good thing, a sign that he was recovering sensation.

“Forgive me, my Lord Warden, I am worried about your wife.” Ellen replied in a tone that, though flat, held a modicum of contrition.

Still struggling to free himself from memories of falling into paralysis, Nicodemus found that he was breathing faster, fighting the urge to sit up. But if he were to try, his weakness would only increase his rising panic. With effort, he slowed his breathing.

“There was a message from the Floating City,” Doria said with the tone of someone deliberately changing the subject. “The Trimuril has declared a state of martial prayer. All Ixonians are to worship war deities a minimum of three times a day.”

“Seems reasonable,” Nicodemus said. He opened his eyes and found he could focus longer. That helped. Ellen had turned to frown out the window. Blurriness returned. Nicodemus blinked rapidly, tears.

Doria cleared her throat. “There's more news. Just before dawn, the Sacred Regent delivered a speech in the Floating Palace, a diatribe from what I heard. He warned that Ixos was under attack by a tyrannical empress who wanted to take away their gods and goddesses. He claimed that the empress wanted to destroy the metaspell written by the Halcyon—that's you, by the way—which allows every human soul to shape the destiny of the archipelago by praying to whatever deity they see fit. The regent claimed that the empress wanted to destroy the gods and create a ruling class of the wizards. He asked if the audience would rather be enslaved by foreign spellwrights or stand together as equals before the host of divinity.”