David Drake - Out of the waters

He turned to the sprite, but before he could ask a question she bubbled, "This ship brought the magicians from the Western Isles! It must be the only one left, whenever in time this is."

She looked thoughtful again. "I wonder if we would have had to stay in the ghost world if this ship had been destroyed along with all everything else about Atlantis?"

The harbor was busy, but a sunken hulk lay in the berth between the Atlantean ship and the end of the quay, and no one was aboard the undecked vessel to sternward except for a cat-which was sleeping. The ship's arrival would have aroused interest at least from the customs authorities, though, even if the Westerners had paddled in on the surface at night.

Corylus wondered if they had used magic on the officials as they had on Sempronius Tardus, or if they simply paid them off. The latter would have been good enough and had less risk of arousing suspicion. Though the glass men…

"Cousin?" he said. "Are the Servitors, ah-"

Alive was the wrong word.

"-able move, or is it just the Atlanteans who can make them do that?"

"Oh, one of the magicians has the key from a Minos," the sprite said. "His talisman. That's how they managed to fly the ship, and they use the Servitors too. Though right now-"

She stepped to the nearest of the four and tapped her finger against the hollow of its ear, a ridged dimple in the smooth skull.

"-they've been ordered to wait unless someone tries to board the ship. You're all right unless you get off and try to get back on."

She looked around again, her enthusiasm waning. "What are you going to do, cousin? There aren't any trees around here. We should go somewhere that has trees."

Corylus sucked in his lips sourly. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

He grinned suddenly. Well, I didn't know I'd be arriving in Ostia until this moment, so I don't think I'll flog myself too severely.

Aloud-to settle his thoughts; neither of his companions could be of the slightest help with the question-he said, "I don't have money-"

Pulto had carried his purse.

"-and I don't imagine a port hostler will give me mules and a cart on credit, even if I take off this armor."

Which I'd better do. Swanning about armed and wearing armor that shines like a bonfire is pretty well guaranteed to bring the attention of the Watch Detachment here in Ostia, not to mention the Praetorian Guard if I somehow reached Carce.

Corylus took off the helmet and started turning the latches of the breastplate. "I guess," he said to the sprite, "that I'll hike into Carce, go to-"

His apartment or Saxa's house? The latter, because it was closer to the Ostian Gate where he'd enter the city. The servants knew him as a friend of the family; someone would find him a clean tunic and give him a meal.

His stomach growled at the thought. He wasn't starving, but food-a loaf of real bread in place of the bland putty in the ship's hold-was suddenly his first priority. That too would have to wait till he reached Carce, unless he tried snatching a loaf from a stallkeeper here.

Unless- "Can we fly here, cousin?" he said. "I mean, now that we're back in the-"

What term had she used?

"-the waking world?"

"Of course," the sprite said. "At least if he-"

She nodded toward the grinning Ancient.

"-is more powerful than the western magicians. I think he is, but there are three of them."

She looked at the open cart which was clattering down the quay toward them behind a pair of mules. One of the magicians who had accompanied Tardus to the theater was driving; the other two were in back with a bundle which squirmed beneath the mat that concealed it.

Pandareus, trussed but conscious.

The cart pulled up alongside the ship. The driver was the North African. He slid from his seat, drawing a curved knife. A second magician got out of the back of the wagon, holding an axe with a stone head. The ship floated with its deck almost level with the pavement.

They're seeing a ragged stranger whom they probably take for a sneak thief, Corylus realized. He bent.

The Westerners glanced at one another to coordinate their attack. They jumped aboard simultaneously, to either side of him.

As before, Corylus had laid the weapons belt on the deck in order to take off the breastplate. He drew the orichalc sword in the same sweeping curve that sent its tip toward the African. He shouted and managed to twist in the air, reinforcing Corylus' belief that he had been a sailor.

The last hand's-breadth of the blade carved through the fellow's ribs and lung. Blood droplets sailed from the sword tip and the victim's mouth spewed a red mist.

The other Westerner was older and less agile, but he chopped with the stone axe while Corylus was off-balance. Corylus grabbed the railing with his free hand and jerked himself clear.

A large chip of wood flew from where the axe struck the deck. The fellow might not be a real warrior, but he was clearly strong and willing.

Corylus thrust. The orichalc sword didn't have enough of a curve to make it clumsy. The point entered above the Westerner's breastbone and came out through his spine in the middle of his back. The blade was sharp and as stiff as a granite obelisk.

Corylus leaped to the quay to finish the business. Too late he saw that the third Westerner, the one with a stuffed bird in his hair, was sucking on the stem of his murrhine pipe.

A puff of smoke wreathed Corylus. His muscles froze and he toppled backward onto the ship.

The magician sang a short phrase, smoke jetting from his mouth and nostrils with the syllables. Two Servitors reached down to grasp Corylus' upper arms.

"Stop them," the sprite said.

The Ancient wailed. The sound started high and rose, a jagged edge of sound. The Western magician shouted with surprise and leaped toward the ship.

There was a Crack! like nearby lightning. A Servitor vanished in a shower of glittering dust.

There was a treble Crack! All the glass figures were sand and dust finer than sand. The shrilling cry ended. Corylus still couldn't move.

The Ancient jumped to the railing. The Westerner had teetered to a halt when the Servitors vanished. He blew smoke toward the Ancient and began chanting.

The Ancient reached out, gripping the magician's head with both long arms. He twisted sharply.

There was a muted pop as the victim's spine parted. The Ancient laughed and hopped onto the deck again.

Corylus got up. He didn't need the help of the long, golden-furred arm that the Ancient offered him, but he took it anyway.

Pandareus, gagged but sitting upright, watched from the back of the cart.

David Drake

Out of the Waters-ARC

Alphena hadn't thought she could sleep, but of course she had. This time she must have slept through the herbal smoke when Uktena lit his pipe, but she awakened at last because her skin prickled and the hair stood up on her arms and legs.

She opened her eyes to a haze of crackling light. It shrouded a form that was not the shaman's. Then Uktena expelled a final puff of smoke and thrust the pipe-stem under his sash.

Without seeming to notice her, he started up the ladder. Ghosts of his body hung in his wake when he moved. They grew paler and finally dissipated.

Alphena hadn't taken her sandals off when she lay down, but she had loosened the laces so that her feet wouldn't swell uncomfortably during the night. She tightened them now without waste motion and got up to follow. The copper axe was in her hand.

She couldn't have described how she felt. She climbed, ignoring the jabs and flashes of numbness where her skin touched the wood which Uktena had touched.

I don't feel any way. A thing happened and I am doing a thing in response. The rain falls and the seed sprouts; but the seed feels nothing.