Marked for Death

Chapter 42

Te’oma’s heart skipped several beats when the hatch to the hold opened. She scurried back into the darkness, as far toward the bow as she could, and waited. She willed her skin, hair, teeth-even the whites of her eyes-to turn black. Her clothes remained the same nebulous color, but there was little she could do about that. She pulled a dull, black knife from her belt and held it before her, ready to strike from the inky shadows.

The justicar entered the hold first, slipping down the steep wooden steps, the shifter close behind. In the flickering light from the ring of fire that cascaded through the open hatch, the changeling could see that neither of them were armed. When the two friends reached the hold’s floor, they looked up at someone through the hatchway.

“How long are you going to keep us down here?” Kandler asked.

“At this speed, we should reach Flamekeep in a matter of days,” said Deothen’s voice, tinged with regret.

A waterskin fell through the open hatch, a pack right behind it. “Most of our supplies ran off with our horses,” Deothen said. “Make this last.”

The hatch closed, plunging the hold into total darkness. Kandler fumbled around near the stern. “I thought I saw-ah!”

He uncovered the lens of an everbright lantern set in the ceiling, and that end of the hold flooded with light. Te’oma didn’t move a muscle, striving to blend in with the shadows that still surrounded her.

The hold was sparse but not bare. Hammocks made of netted ropes lined a short walkway that ran the length of most of the hold. Kandler picked up the waterskin and pack and then walked over and rolled into one of the hammocks. The ropes cradled him, and he swung gently with the movement of the airship.

“Should have let me shoot, boss,” Burch said as he paced through the airship’s tight hold. The floor curved up sharply to where the changeling hid, and the shifter never came close to her, turning aside and going back the other way instead. “That old knight’d be dead.”

“I know,” Kandler said in a resigned voice. He shaded his eyes against the lamp and peered up at the ceiling as if he could see through the planks in the ship’s deck. “I just hope Esprл’s not too scared.”

Burch snorted in disgust. “Bolts through all three hearts before they got near her.”

Kandler put his hands over his face for a moment then dragged them down past his chin. “We’re here, all right?”

“We’re going to Flamekeep, not home.”

“He was right about Mardakine. It’s not an option.” Kandler opened the pack and found some cheese and dried beef wrapped tightly in dry cloths. He helped himself to a meager portion and tossed the pack to Burch, who stopped pacing. “I would have preferred Sharn, but Thrane’s not all bad.”

“Been there?” The shifter fished out some food for himself and set to it.

“Once. On assignment from King Boranel.”

“Kill any knights?”

Kandler took a pull from the waterskin before he answered. “Not too many.”

Burch stopped chewing. “That a problem, boss?”

Kandler sighed. “I don’t think I’m wanted in Thrane. If I was, Deothen would have slapped me in chains days ago.”

Burch nodded and went back to his pacing. When he reached the bow again, the floorboards groaned. Te’oma’s stomach dropped through the floor, and she held her breath tight.

Kandler sat up in the hammock. “Step back from there, Burch,” he said. “Quick.”

“Just a creaky floor,” the shifter said.

Te’oma measured the distance between herself and the shifter. His back was turned to her now. With luck, she could kill him with one strike, but that would leave her trapped in the hold with Kandler-a prospect she did not relish. Still, the justicar was unarmed, and she had her knife and the power of her mind.

“That’s where Majeeda’s spell hit the ship,” Kandler said. “It might not have holed the hull, but I wouldn’t walk on it.”

Burch sidled away from the damaged spot, and Te’oma let out a silent sigh of relief. When the shifter reached the ship’s stem, he sat down on the hull’s rising arc.

“It’s late,” Kandler said. He took a last pull on the water-skin and tossed it to Burch. “Can you cover that lamp?”

“You can sleep now?”

“Burch, it’s been a damned long day. Last night, we fought a pack of vampires and chased that changeling into Majeeda’s tower. The night before, we broke out of prison so we could rescue Mardakine. It’s going to be a while before we make it to Flamekeep, and I could sleep through a war right now.”

The shifter reached up and pulled the lamp’s cover shut, plunging the hold into darkness.

“Thanks,” Kandler said before he drifted off.

Te’oma heard the sounds of Burch munching on a bit more of the food and then climbing into a hammock across the aisle from Kandler. The shifter grumbled to himself a bit and started snoring soon after.

Te’oma waited until she was sure both Kandler and Burch were sound asleep. She considered knifing both of them, but she feared that wouldn’t help her get out of the hold. If the knights came down here and found their prisoners dead, they would scour the hold until they found her, and she wasn’t ready to take them all on.

Te’oma was still sitting awake in the dark when the hatchway opened. The sky outside was only a few shades lighter than the ceiling of the hold, but the light from the ring of fire played off the edge of the folded-back hatch and the top of the ladder beneath it.

“Kandler?” a voice called down. It was Deothen. “Burch? Are you ready to come up and speak like civilized people?”

“We’re not the ones who tossed their friends into the hold, sir knight,” said Kandler.

Te’oma started at the sound of the justicar’s voice. She’d been sure he was asleep.

“I am comfortable with my decision,” the senior knight responded, although an edge in his voice belied his words. “The Silver Flame lights my path, and it is clear.”

“Then we’re happy down here in the dark,” Kandler said. “And we’re sleeping. I’m not getting out of this hammock to make you feel better about betraying us. Good night, good knight.”

Deothen sighed and the hatch closed once more.

Te’oma waited, stretching her limbs where she sat in the dark. She heard footfalls overhead, but they soon tapered off. When the ship had been silent for many minutes, the changeling slipped from her perch and tiptoed over to the ladder below the hatch. Reaching out with her mind, the changeling visualized the restraining bolt holding on the other side of the hatch. Once she had it, she tapped it with her mind. Above her, the bolt slid aside, unlocking the hatchway. Te’oma nudged the hatch upward an inch and then another. When there was just enough room, she peered out through the narrow gap she’d made and surveyed the airship’s deck.

The bridge stood above and behind the changeling. She knew that anyone up there could not see the hatchway. The console on which the ship’s wheel hung blocked the view straight down.

She opened the hatch just enough to see down the length of the rest of the deck, all the way to the bow. Three forms lay huddled near that end of the ship, perhaps trying to escape the heat of the fiery ring for comfort as they slept. One of them was dressed in white. At first she thought it was Esprл, but upon closer inspection she realized it was too large and bulky. A newcomer then. The others had to be knights, although the changeling could not tell which.

Beyond the bowsprit stood the Mournland’s mist-shrouded border. Clouds of the same color and texture filled the sky above. Te’oma smiled, baring her blackened teeth.

“Burch?” a voice behind her whispered. “Is that you?”

Te’oma froze.