Chapter 25
A Dread Tide Rising by Walt Shuler
It’s Monday again! (ugh) This is a shorter chapter than usual. I was tempted to combine it with the next one, but resisted the urge because they really don’t go together like that.
Previously: Mac and the Talon were reunited on the high seas.
Currently: The Talon have to decide what to do with Derro.
A Dread Tide Rising is a serialized, pulp-flavored, epic fantasy novel that follows the Talon, a group of mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, as they come face-to-face with an ancient enemy intent on the destruction of the Rakkian Empire.
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Chapter 25
Derro looked up as Mac, Callan, and Gorm entered the galley. Mac pulled a dagger from his belt and handed it to Callan, then squatted in front of the bound shape changer.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t answer them, or if I don’t like your answers, then I’m of a mind to let Callan here do some cutting on you.”
Derro’s eyes widened as he took in Callan’s rage-filled glare and the half-snarl on his lips.
“I see that we understand one another. You took his brother away from him. Can’t think of any reason he’d be squeamish about this task. Probably be happy to skin you alive an inch at a time.” Mac looked from Derro to Callan and back again.
“Do we have an understanding?”
Derro nodded.
“Good, let’s begin,” Mac said, removing the soggy gag from the shape changer’s mouth. “What’s your name?”
“Derro.”
A dull smack echoed through the galley. The shape changer licked blood from his lip.
“Try again?” Mac asked brightly.
“Derro,” came the reply.
Mac sighed. “Fine. I can see that you’re insistent on paddling against the current.” He turned to Callan. “Want to help me drive the point home?”
In a flash, Callan was at Mac’s side, dagger edge pressed tight to Derro’s throat. The blade trembled slightly, the muscles in Callan’s arm clenching. Maybe sensing that Callan was more than prepared to end his life, the shape changer relented.
“Astol,” he said. “My name is Astol.”
Callan stepped back, and Mac clapped the man on the shoulder. “See, that wasn’t hard! Astol, I’m Mac. You’ve already met Callan and Gorm here.”
He squatted in front of the prisoner once more. “What are you doing on my ship, Astol?”
The shape changer hesitated, eyes flickering from Mac to Callan and back again. “I was told to watch,” he said.
Mac raised an eyebrow. “Who told you to watch? From what Kye tells us, you’ve done more than that. Why the attempts on her life?”
Astol’s lips thinned in a wolfish grin. “Do you think if I had wanted her dead, she would be otherwise? I was testing her.”
“For what?”
Astol fell silent, a sardonic smile on his face.
“I think maybe I can answer that,” Gorm rumbled, entering the conversation for the first time. “It wasn’t until after Holua’s forces attacked that he tried to use his dagger on her. It could be true. The other attempts might have been tests, like he says.”
“To what end, though?” Mac asked.
Gorm looked him in the eye. “I think you can figure that out.”
Mac nodded and then rounded on Astol once more. “So, you were testing her to see if she would use her power. You wanted to force her hand, to reveal herself as a weather worker.”
The smile on Astol’s face slipped, but only a fraction. “You’ve found me out.”
“But why? What does it matter whether the girl can work the weather or not? Surely there are enough of her kind throughout the empire. Why not go after any of them, or Blackspire itself, for that matter? What makes Kye special?”
Astol did not answer.
“Let me encourage him,” Callan said, stepping forward once more, but Mac waved him away.
“Not yet. Let’s try something else.” He tapped Astol on the forehead. “Who told you to watch Kye? Who sent you here?”
Astol’s smile grew. “You have already met him, and he will be the end of you.” He took in Gorm, Mac, and Callan with his eyes. “The end of all of you. Jarl sends his regards.”
“I hear big talk, but doubt there’s anything to fear.”
Astol only glared.
“No? C’mon, where’s your quip to strike fear into us? I mean, we killed his companions pretty readily, and I seem to remember putting three feet of steel through his gut.” Mac laughed.
“But he eluded you at the last, didn’t he?” Astol growled. “Bronë triumphed! And you scurry about in the dark, ignorant of just how badly you’re overmatched.”
“Bronë, is it?”
Astol paled, but he said nothing.
“Well, it’s something at least,” Mac said, exchanging a nod with Gorm. “Now, what can you tell me of Lord Gregory Thynne and his interest in the islands surrounding Süt?”
“What?” Astol looked genuinely confused.
“You heard me. We know about his collusion with Holua and the ships sailing for Praxxis.” A new thought struck Mac then. “Holua, he’s one of yours, isn’t he?”
Something glimmered deep in Astol’s eye, but the man only shook his head. “No idea what you’re on about now.”
Mac stood suddenly. “Well, if you’re pumped dry of information, I guess we’ve got no further use for you. Callan, he was your brother. I think you should have the honors.” He gestured toward the dagger the sailor held in a white-knuckled grip.
Callan stepped forward, face grim and a fell light in his eyes.
“No, don’t!” Kye’s voice cut through the air as she stepped into the galley. Callan stopped, dagger poised in front of Astol’s face. The prisoner could not take his eyes from the gleaming length of its blade.
“Kye…” Mac began, but the girl cut him off.
“Don’t kill him. He was kind to me. Derro, I mean. He taught me knots and clouds and about Batis-Bota.”
Astol tore his gaze away from the dagger in front of him to stare at Kye, his thoughts impenetrable.
“Kye, this isn’t the time…” Mac tried again.
“Please, Mac! We can keep him a prisoner or something. Just don’t kill him. Please, for my sake,” Kye begged.
With the speed of desperation and despite his hands being bound together, Astol ripped the dagger from Callan’s hand, then bent and slashed through the ropes that bound his ankles. Without missing a beat, he was up and running. Mac reached for him but missed by a hairsbreadth. Astol bowled Kye over, sending the girl tumbling to the deck in his headlong plunge. He reached the rail and stopped for a brief moment.
Looking back at Mac, he took in everything, eyes fever-bright in his face. “I meant it, Macland Toth. You’re a fool and you have no idea how overmatched you are.” Then he dove over the side. Water splashed a moment later.
Gorm, Mac, Kye, and Callan rushed to the rail, frantically scanning the water for the shape changer. A minute passed, and then another. Five more minutes passed without a sign of the erstwhile sailor.
“Nothing. Godsdamn it!” Mac swore.
“He’s gone, Mac. Let it go,” Gorm advised, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Mac stared out over the waves. Waves rose and fell while random bubbles floated to the surface. There was no sign that Astol had ever existed. Had he drowned himself on purpose?
“Gone,” Mac repeated. “Yeah, maybe.” He rested his elbows on the rail and his head in his hands. “Gorm, I feel like we’re rudderless here, sailing around in circles.”
“Oh, aye.”
“We need to get our bearings, chart a course. We need more information.”
“You thinking Praxxis?”
Mac shook his head. “No, somewhere a little more friendly, I’m thinking.”
“Molly.”
“Molly,” Mac agreed.
Thanks for reading! I’m grateful that you’re here.
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I'm reading faster than the chapters come out so now I can stop spamming you haha. A wonderful adventure!
Is this the first time Blackspire has been mentioned or have I forgotten it? (Latter is very possible.)