As I scanned the faces of the lizardfolk, I wondered at their seeming. I knew with dread certainty that beneath that placid façade lurked a volcano of primitive savagery and violence, one ready to destroy any who aroused the fires of the ancient hate that burned beneath.
—From The Daughter of the Mist
There was no warning. His mother simply appeared in his doorway that evening and said, “It’s time.”
Ivrian pretended calm as he laid down the pen. He considered the paper where he’d been scribbling possible titles for the epic he’d write, then rose and straightened his shirt.
In the five days since their return from the ill-fated salvage expedition, Ivrian had learned everything possible about the Raas family, particularly Mirian. Half native or not, she would make for the ideal heroine to feature in a new series of leaflets. She was good-looking, and if he sank some money into the booklets to hire a good artist, she’d be gorgeous, which always drew in the male readership, especially if there were another picture or two of her on the inner pages.
He was so certain the leaflets would sell that he was even considering the use of his real name on the byline. Stories about a sexy salvager might have appeal beyond the colony. What he wouldn’t give to have them gathered into some kind of book, like those of the great Ailson Kindler, mistress of adventure. Her novels of brave heroes battling terrible horrors were in demand throughout the Inner Sea, one of those rare instances where a popular writer was also one of the best, and he’d long dreamed of following in her footsteps. Just as Ailson had based many of her tales around her own exploits, he planned to base his around those of Mirian Raas—provided he could get her to open up about said exploits. He could write an entire series with her as the star. He’d cut her in for a percentage, of course, and he was still debating how much he should suggest as he glanced out the window at the estate’s wide courtyard. The sun had dropped behind the outer wall, but its lingering glow painted the clouds with amber and gold.
Ivrian had moved to the city’s center to dwell in the heart of the small theater district. When his mother had told him they’d have to depart at a moment’s notice, Ivrian hadn’t understood at first that it meant he’d have to abandon his quarters downtown. Spies, Mother had explained, might be watching their every move.
True or not, the notion that he might be the subject of espionage appealed to Ivrian’s sense of the dramatic. Besides, his old rooms at the estate were far more spacious, and Cook babied him with his favorite dishes and desserts every night.
He remained fully cognizant of his mother’s hope that he’d follow her footsteps as a government troubleshooter, not to mention the inevitable family duties. Despite that, he’d actually enjoyed his mother’s company in the last few days as they hosted a steady stream of specialists including tailors, bootmakers, and even wizards to outfit them for the adventure that lay ahead.
Ivrian grabbed a pack made from waterproof sealskin identical to the one his mother was already shouldering. Their traveling gear had been moved to Mirian’s ship days ago so that when the Galanors left home they’d carry no luggage. They’d ridden out several times together in the last few days, hoping to lull any watchers into a false sense of security. If their watchers thought the Galanors were simply out for another jaunt, they might not pay close enough attention until it was too late.
“Coming?” his mother shouted.
“Yes, Mother.”
He caught up to her on the central stairs. Together they hurried outside, down the stone steps, and past the carefully squared shrubberies to board the closed carriage.
The vehicle rolled forward as soon as his mother knocked on the panel behind the driver.
With the curtains closed, his mother, sitting across from him, was little more than a dark suggestion of herself, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. “Are you ready for this?”
“Very much so,” Ivrian said.
She laughed.
Ivrian felt a little guilty. His mother seemed certain that this expedition was going to change the direction of Ivrian’s life. “Mother.” He cleared his throat. “I want you to know how much I appreciate this. All of this exposure will make wonderful background for my writing.”
“I thought you’d say that.” His mother sounded pleased.
“I’m still not interested in working with the government. Permanently, I mean.” He didn’t add that he also had no intention of marrying or carrying on the family name or any of that. His mother surely knew his feelings on those subjects hadn’t changed. He’d been perfectly clear about it before he moved out.
She was so silent that Ivrian was afraid he’d hurt her feelings.
“Son,” Alderra said at last, “it’s just a pleasure to be spending time with you.”
That made him feel even worse, and he couldn’t decide if she was still playing master manipulator or if she really meant what she was saying. Fortunately, another line of conversation presented itself.
“We’re going north,” Ivrian noted.
His mother sounded faintly amused. “Yes.”
“The Daughter is berthed to the south.”
“We’re not sailing on the Daughter.”
Ivrian was puzzled for only a moment. “We are still sailing, aren’t we?”
“Yes.” His mother drew out the word as though hoping to lead Ivrian to a conclusion.
“You think the Daughter is being watched.”
“I can almost guarantee it.” Alderra Galanor sounded a little smug. “And any of them would have noted a surreptitious effort to load the ship with foodstuffs and gear over the last week, and careful tending of the vessel itself. I’d hoped they’d assume we thought we were being clever.”
The carriage came to a halt along the north quays. Alderra must have paid in advance, for the carriage left the moment the two climbed down.
The sun had finished its low fade below the horizon during their journey. Now there was only a dim line of light in the west.
The tall masts of ships stood black against the lighter darkness of the night sky and the wealth of stars. Waves lapped against the old stone pylons that held up the wharf as they started down its length.
Lights burned here and there along the ships creaking at their anchors, for there were sailors keeping watch aboard.
Alderra made immediately for a two-master. Ivrian followed her up the gangplank.
Waiting with a directional lantern was none other than burly Captain Rendak. He flashed the light toward but not at them, presumably so they wouldn’t be blinded.
“M’lady.” Rendak bobbed his head slightly.
“Is everyone aboard?” Ivrian’s mother asked.
“Everyone but Mirian and the guides.”
Ivrian’s gaze swept over the ship and saw it was not as abandoned as he’d assumed. It might have looked silent and empty as the other ships, but it was peopled with men and women who sat against the rail or stretched out along the planks.
One lean fellow came strutting across the weather deck and stopped before them, a brimmed hat cocked rakishly over his head. He swept it off with a formal bow.
“Lady Galanor,” he whispered.
Alderra swept a hand to her son. “Ivrian, this is Captain Akimba of the Red Leopard. He comes highly recommended.”
“A pleasure,” Ivrian said.
“The pleasure is mine,” the dim shape whispered. Ivrian had little sense of the fellow save that he had a broad native accent and wore a calf-length coat. Ivrian envied him that choice, for the wind off the water was chill.
“Although,” Akimba said, “I’d naturally feel a little better if I knew precisely where we were headed.”
“Ah,” Alderra Galanor said mischievously. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Akimba grunted noncommittally. “Do you wish to be shown your quarters?”
“I think we’ll wait here. Thank you.”
Akimba replaced his hat and stepped over to Rendak.
Ivrian leaned close to his mother’s ear. “Why aren’t we taking a government ship?”
“They’re spread thin as is. The government can’t afford to have a navy ship wait offshore for a week or more. So I’ve hired the Red Leopard. It’s swift, and Mirian thinks highly of her captain’s judgment. We should be able to outrun any ship afloat, especially with as little cargo as we’re carrying.”
There was a clatter of wheels along the road. Ivrian turned as he felt Captain Akimba and Rendak tense. A few of the sailors muttered among themselves, and a stern voice from near the wheelhouse ordered them to shut their damn mouths. He recognized the voice as belonging to Chilton, the handsome sailor who’d become a steady presence in the household the last few days.
A covered carriage rolled into view, passing a final row of taverns and warehouses before rolling to a stop at the end of their quay. The paneled door opened, and a slim figure dropped to the ground. Though she was garbed in an ankle-length coat, her hair hidden by a tricorne hat, there was no mistaking the wide-hipped figure for a man. Behind her came a man similarly garbed, and Ivrian heard a whispered discussion between them, though he could make out no words.
“Who’s that fellow with Mirian?” he asked.
“Kellic Raas, I expect.” His mother didn’t sound pleased.
Ivrian was about to ask where their guides were when three more figures slipped out of the carriage. Each wore a hooded robe. One carried a strange axe with a very long blade, and another held a staff.
Ivrian’s attention was momentarily diverted by a sudden expostulation from Kellic, who’d drawn up beside Mirian. He was gesticulating in protest as they reached the end of the gangway. Ivrian smirked. So Kellic didn’t approve of the ship.
And then Ivrian’s eye traveled back to the three robed figures and he saw for the first time that something trailed along the ground in back of their robes. Were those tails? His hair rose along the back of his neck.
“What are those things?”
“Lizardfolk,” his mother answered quietly, then moved forward to join Akimba and Rendak as Mirian climbed the gangplank to the ship.
Ivrian lingered just behind so that he might overhear. Mirian kept her hat brim low and brusquely returned their greetings, verifying with Rendak that the team and gear were aboard and stowed, and with Akimba that the ship was ready.
Ivrian watched Kellic. Mirian’s brother removed his hat and stood frowning, his gaze taking in the ship as if he disliked every single thing he saw. He’d sour his looks if he kept up that attitude. What was he so angry about?
Akimba cleared his throat as Mirian and her brother made way for the three robed figures, and Ivrian heard not just mutters but entire conversations, curses, and whispered prayers as sailors caught sight of them. More than one voice could be heard talking about “frillbacks” and how they were bad luck or untrustworthy.
“Belay that!” Akimba snapped. A dark figure moved out from the wheelhouse to mouth warnings to the little clusters of crew. Chilton. Now the sailor’s presence in the house as a “maritime advisor” seemed far less a pretense for his mother to spend quality time with a good-looking younger man. He must have been the go-between for finalizing arrangements like this.
Ivrian’s attention was quickly pulled back to the nearer figures. “It’s time to set sail,” Mirian told the captain.
“I’m at your service.” Akimba bowed his head. “But I lack a course. Or destination.”
“North by northwest for now. Once we’re out of the harbor we can talk at length.”
Akimba’s posture stiffened, but he nodded acknowledgment. “As soon as we’re under way, I expect to see you in the cabin.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Akimba turned and began calling orders in a stage whisper. Instantly his men were up and moving, some scattering across the deck, some scampering up the lines.
Mirian waved the lizardfolk closer, but they remained rooted to the spot. Two sailors stepped widely around them before hauling in the gangplank.
Mirian said, “Step forward, you three. I’d like to introduce you.”
Ivrian paid a little too much attention to the lizardfolk’s movements and their look for their strange, savage names to sink in. The only one he remembered was Kalina. There was something ominous about the one with the staff.
The one without a weapon proved the most talkative, and civilized, for he bowed his head to Ivrian’s mother in a birdlike motion. As he moved, Ivrian caught a glimpse of wide-set eyes behind a lipless, muzzle-like mouth.
“We’d best clear the deck,” Mirian said. “Rendak, why don’t you show everyone below?”
“Of course.”
“I’m not going below,” Kellic said crossly.
“Follow me, if you wish,” Rendak said with a sweeping arm gesture. He led the way aft toward a door beside the stairs to the quarterdeck. Beyond it was a gangway, more ladder than stairs.
Ivrian’s mother was the first behind him, and Ivrian after, which meant that the most savage-seeming of the lizardfolk, the one with the staff, came immediately behind.
But Alderra Galanor seemed not at all troubled. She said, conversationally: “We really won’t be aboard very long. There’s just one overnight.”
“The site’s that close?” Ivrian asked.
“That close.”
Beyond the short gangway was a warren of narrow doors. Rendak indicated one, immediately on the left. “There you are, Lady. And, uh, Lord. The rest of you, follow me.”
Ivrian wouldn’t technically be a lord until, Shelyn forbid, his mother’s death, but he didn’t correct Rendak.
Ivrian watched the salvager lead the lizardfolk into the darkness and wondered whether Rendak was still to be addressed as “captain.” Probably not, given that Akimba commanded the ship and Mirian seemed in charge of the salvagers.
His mother opened the door to their cabin and shone her lantern into the tiny space.
There was barely enough room to slide in sideways. Ivrian spied their storage chests under the bottom bunk and a small porthole beside the top berth. His mother hung the lantern on a hook high on the bunk’s post.
“I call lower bunk,” his mother declared sprightly. “A perk of age.” She grinned. “I’m going topside. I need to be in on this meeting.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No, son. This information is on a need-to-know basis. And you don’t need to know, yet.”
“Oh.” Ivrian was a little disappointed.
His mother squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll tell you all about it later. For now, settle in and get a good night’s sleep. It’ll be your last one on a mattress for weeks. I’ll try not to wake you when I return.” She raised a hand in farewell before stepping out, closing the door behind her.
Ivrian reexamined the cramped surroundings. He could hear the pad of feet on the decks above and occasional low voices, but he had no idea what was happening up there or how he’d describe it in his account. He doubted readers would be interested in seeing a cabin described in any great detail. What would he do, go on about the shades of wood grain or the precise size of the porthole?
Fortunately, he’d been on enough trips he could fake the steps of this departure. Easy enough to imagine the rattle of lines as the sails swung down, the muscled sailors straining to heave up the anchor, the billow of the sails as they swung to meet the wind.
He patted the upper berth. There was very little mattress, but at least it was stuffed with clean-smelling straw. There were two blankets, both of which felt superfluous in the stifling cabin, so he folded one into a pillow and then took off his pack.
He set it on his mother’s bunk. Constructed of sealskin, the pack was clearly new. What wasn’t immediately obvious was that it also bore a powerful enchantment. His mother had personally invested in five of the packs, one for each professional salvager and each Galanor. Every pack opened onto far more internal space than was apparent from the outside—a sorcerous trick. And no matter how much weight was added to one, they’d never feel heavier than five pounds. Ideally suited, his mother had said with a smile, for transporting a fortune in gems.
Right now, all that Ivrian’s pack held was his portable writing desk, which he withdrew and contemplated with pleasure. Nonmagical, it was still a small marvel, complete with hinged top to double the workspace size and a wealth of small drawers that held his inkwell, quills, sharpeners, and paper. While nowhere near the expense of the magical haversacks, it had still seemed an extravagance, and he’d been delighted when his mother presented it to him.
There didn’t look to be enough room to sit upright on the top bunk, so he climbed onto his mother’s, rested the desk in his lap, and began to record his impressions of everything that had happened that evening. He was distracted as he felt the ship surge forward like a great beast let free from its leash.
Ivrian couldn’t help grinning with a sense of exhilaration as the ship rose and fell over the wave swells. They were underway.
Once his notes were complete, he packed up the writing gear, his fingers lingering lovingly on the dark polished mahogany of the desk before restoring it to the haversack. He then stared out the porthole for a while. Mostly he saw endless waves under a velvet, star-shot sky, but under the silver moon he beheld the jagged outline of the Lizard Kings: a weathered series of huge reptilian heads carved out of a line of reefs northeast of Smuggler’s Shiv. They reared out of the waves as though behemoths stood sentinel along the deep ocean beds. He’d glimpsed them only once before, and had been a little disappointed, for most had been softened by wind, wave, and rain. By night they were more fearsome, and it gave him a satisfying thrill imagining what they must have looked like in ancient times.
With the Kings receding, he reached into one of the haversack’s side pockets and carefully removed his second treasure—an autographed copy of Ailson Kindler’s best work, the outstanding In the Council of Corpses.
It was a first run of the first edition, with the misnumbered second folio, which made it even more valuable. He’d leave it on the ship rather than taking it into the jungle, of course. Now that he realized how little they’d actually be on board, he felt silly having brought it. Still, it was always a pleasure to soak in Kindler’s prose. He’d give a lot to write with such luscious, evocative phrases. Every time he tried, though, it sounded too forced, as though he were a child jumping and waving his arms to get attention.
He read the familiar pages for a good hour or more before fatigue crept in. Mother still hadn’t returned to tell him about the meeting. He resolved not to worry about it. There was always the morning. Besides, she had told him it was vital to catch sleep when one could while on an expedition, and he was more and more beginning to sense she knew her business.
He restored his treasure to the sealskin, dragged the heavy chest out from under the bunk to store his pack and shoes, unbuttoned his shirt, and climbed into the bunk. Already he was thinking of the strange coast that lay ahead. His mother had said something about an inland trek and a secret pool, so he fell to sleep with visions of an ancient city built of emerald blocks, choked in greenery and gleaming with golden idols shaped like lizardfolk.
So soundly did he sleep that he never heard his mother return, nor the rising winds and lash of rain and the shouts of sailors.
He didn’t wake at all until the ship slammed into the reef.