Lynn Abbey - Thieves' World - Turning Points

They had come to the end of the Wideway. Ronal brought the wagon to a halt, and Spyder rose, standing on the seat to study the black ribbon of water. The river ran wide, but not so swiftly as in former days. It had washed out of its old banks and spread over the land, making bogs and marshes. "There is a name for that place," Spyder said with a sweep of his hand.

"The Swamp of Night Secrets," Ronal answered. "An evil place, especially at night."

Spyder climbed down from the wagon and turned slowly. Just behind them between their position and the sea were the low rooftops of Fisherman's Row. "Steal us a boat, Ronal. A skiff, a row-boat, anything that will get us to the other side. Hurry!"

Ronal turned the wagon and slapped the reins across the horses' backs to speed them along. Spyder watched him go, then drawing his cloak about himself, he moved into the shadow of a warehouse and turned back toward the river.

The Swamp of Night Secrets. An evil place, Ronal called it. What better place then for a coven of Nisi witches to make their sacrifices and work their damnable magic? He clenched his fists inside his leather gloves and swore silently. It was no longer enough to thwart their rituals and destroy the Ring of Sea and Fire—that much he had promised Jamasharem. He must also save Lisoh. That he had also promised.

The sharp, feline growl of a jungle cat sounded near the river's bank, interrupting his thoughts. He gazed in the direction of the sound, then sank deeper into the shadows and deeper into his thoughts.

The Ring of Sea and Fire.

Forty years before, two Globes of Power had been forged on Wi-zardwall in the land of the Nis, one each for the King and Queen of Night, who were the greatest warlock and witch of their day. Into those crystal orbs were poured the essences of the blackest sorcery, power magnified and amplified beyond understanding. Armed with such power, Nis looked with hungry eyes on the Rankan Empire, its neighbor.

A long and costly war followed, and though Ranke eventually prevailed, the globes were not destroyed. As with so many things arcane and magical, they made their way to Sanctuary. Here, in the slum district once called Downwind, demigods and sorcerers and vampires and their masters, the strangest of allies, finally shattered them. Spyder sniffed the air as he looked around. Downwind—he stood now upon its very edge, recalling the tales, how for a single night following that destruction every man, woman, or child with a mote of magical talent found their abilities elevated to drastic levels as the power contained in those globes diffused through the city. Then, like fire smothered under sand, the magic went out.

The creak of wagon wheels in the quietness alerted him to Ronal's return. The shorter man hopped down and threw back a tarp, exposing the small rowboat he'd appropriated. "I don't feel good about stealing from honest, hard-working folks," he grumbled as the two men together seized hold of the boat.

"Perhaps you'll feel better about it when someone steals your wagon and team," Spyder commented. "We'll have to leave them here."

Ronal frowned as they lifted the boat and carried it to the water. "And you're a right prick for mentioning it."

Again there came the feline cry that Spyder had heard earlier. Ronal straightened instantly. His startled eyes widened as he whirled and searched the darkness, and he gripped an oar like a club. "That came from behind us!"

Spyder gazed toward the sky again. The full moon hung directly overhead. Yet, there was a thin veil of clouds gathering over the sea, a moon-tinged grayness that had come up without warning out of nowhere. "Get in the boat," Spyder insisted. Climbing in first, he settled himself in the bow with his eyes fixed on the far side of the White Foal.

Ronal pushed off from the bank and seated himself in the middle of the boat. Quickly, he positioned the oars in the oar-locks and dipped them into the water.

A soft splash sounded off to their right. Ronal froze at the oars to stare. Spyder calmly turned his head for a moment. "You're nervous tonight," he said.

Ronal resumed rowing. "Swamps and witches," he muttered. "Witches and swamps. Why would I be nervous? This isn't your usual business, my friend. I've helped you count army divisions in secret, intercepted correspondence for you, watched you seduce information from the wives of generals. This is different."

Under Ronal's determined strokes they moved swiftly across the White Foal. Spyder remained silent, his jaw grim, his teeth clenched. All that Ronal said was true. This was not his usual business. This was far more dangerous, perhaps beyond his talents. Ronal was not the only nervous man under the moonlight. He felt the slight breeze upon his face like an evil breath. He listened to the water dripping from the oars, to the barely audible sound of something swimming off to the right just beyond the range of his vision. He smelled the industry of Sanctuary behind him and the rot of the swamp ahead.

And crawling at the edge of his senses, something more. Already in the air, the taint of Nisi witchcraft.

"When you get to the far side, row northward against the flow. Look for a tributary or a place wide enough to allow a ship to pass or to hide." He gripped the side of the boat until his knuckles cracked with strain and continued in a low voice. "We must stop them, Ronal. We don't dare fail."

Ronal shrugged as he rowed and answered with faint bravado. "It's only a ring," he said. "We break up their nasty little party and snatch the trinket, hopefully killing a few of the bastards as we go."

As they neared the western bank, Ronal turned the boat. Though the river lacked its former power, still there was a current, and his muscles bulged as he worked the oars. "There's more you haven't told me, though," he whispered. "Something worries you."

After a hesitation, Spyder nodded. "The ring is forged from minerals distilled from the sea, but it must also be tempered in fire." He hesitated again. "In the fire of a burning boy with sorcerous blood in his veins." He paused to listen again for the swimming sound that had followed them across the river. He could no longer hear it. "That sacrifice performed under a certain rare lunar eclipse on the ground where the globes were destroyed will complete their ritual."

"I'm a fool for misjudging you," Ronal said, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his friend. "It's not this bunch of mumblers and cauldron-stirrers that have you tied in knots. It's the boy, isn't it? They've got him already, and you know him."

"I don't know him, but his name is Lisoh," Spyder said. "He's fifteen summers old, and he's Aaliyah's brother. He was on a spirit-quest, something his people call Vahana meh aaha diano. It's a kind of initiation into adulthood. But he wandered much too far, and when he didn't return, Aaliyah went looking for him. I found her on the Nis border where I originally tried to stop this coven—and failed."

And you will fail again, Regan Vigeles called Spyder, just as you did then.

Ronal stopped rowing and looked nervously toward the shore. "That wasn't me," he whispered.

The jungle cat's cry sounded again, a shrill, high-pitched roar that chilled the blood.

From the east a sudden wind rose. It shook the leaves and the moss-dripping branches, shivered the reeds, and rippled across the water. The rowboat pitched and rocked. Spyder gripped both sides of the small craft and fought to keep it from overturning while Ronal struggled to do the same with the oars. "We're gonna flip!" Ronal shouted.

But just as suddenly as the wind arose it ceased, and the river became calm once again. Spyder crouched in the bow. "You're not in Nis now, Rime! Your powers are weak here!"

Laughter soared on the night, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and when it faded, the throb of coven drums replaced it, an ominous pulsing beat that came from deep within the Swamp of Night Secrets.