They slunk along the shore and watched as the Zak’reth clashed with the Bazira some paces down the beach. Steel clashed with burning steel, and ice sizzled against the Zak’reth’s enchanted armor that was as hot to the touch as their blades. The Bazira were outnumbered by half, and Niven watched as the red-haired woman, followed by a small contingent of Bazira, broke off fighting and headed for the docks.
“There…” Niven pointed.
“I see her. Let’s go.”
The pair slipped past the battle that raged along the beach, keeping close to the water—but never touching it. Niven was sure one of the strange Zak’reth was going to turn its yellow eyes on them and that would be the end. He had gotten lucky against a Bazira who’d had his back turned; his death would be a foregone conclusion should he have to take arms against a Zak’reth. But the warriors were intent on the Bazira. If any noticed him and Cat creeping along in the pre-dawn darkness, they paid no mind. The Bazira left them alone as well; they had their hands full enough.
The island curved around and Niven saw the little dock was hardly more than a few broken planks and a post where the skiffs were lashed. The sky was lightening in the east; Niven saw the red-haired woman was beautiful but the storm had taken its toll and she resembled a water-logged cat. She and eight Bazira were hurriedly climbing into the boat. He felt a moment’s disgust break through the ever-present fear. The Bazira were outnumbered and dying in great wails of pain and singed flesh, and she was leaving them to save her own skin. If any saw her…
Cat must have seen the same thing for she rose from her crouch and shouted to the Bazira. “Oi! Here! She leaves you to fight and die while she escapes!”
Some Bazira turned to see and were killed immediately for their lapse in caution. Others were more careful and Niven saw their strained faces darken further. Some broke off and made a run for the skiffs. The red-haired woman’s eyes widened in fury.
“Kill them!” the woman ordered her men, jabbing her finger at Niven and Cat as the skiff shoved off. “Or Bacchus will hear of your treachery!”
A few of the dark clerics moved to obey at once, others hesitated.
“Priest Bacchus will know of your treachery, Jude, if you run away in cowardice,” one said as her skiff pulled away from the shore.
This seemed to give the woman pause but then a shudder wracked the beach. Niven thought it the storm had come back but when he looked eastward, he saw a small, rambling shack on a mound of dirt collapse to rubble. The island beneath it caved in and everyone at the dock watched as a cloud of dust rose and was quickly snuffed by the rain. The icy frost that Bacchus had laid over the island melted away in the meridian heat, warming the air, and seeming to relieve it of a heavy foulness.
He’s dead, Niven thought. Selena did it. She killed him and now her wound will close. If she survived the collapse… Let the god be merciful to her, at long last.
Jude watched the collapse and a flicker of relief passed over her features. It broadened into a smile as she took in the scene behind them.
The battle had ended and the victorious Zak’reth silently marched towards them. Niven’s relief turned into numb fear—there was no telling if the warriors would discriminate between those left alive on the beach. The Bazira who remained slogged through the surf, pushing past the dead to try to get at the skiff. Cat hauled Niven away, to the far edge of the shore as the Zak’reth—all one hundred as not a man was lost—tromped past them.
The Bazira called out, cried out, went down with burning blades in their back as Jude and her eight guards rowed away.
“Someone must relay to the Vicar all that has happened tonight, and as I regretfully inform him of our Reverent Bacchus’s demise,” she called to them, a sanctimonious expression on her face as she stood tall among her men. “I will not omit your great sacrifice. You will not be forgotten.”
Niven noticed Cat had readied a throwing knife and he was beset by a dark hope that she would wipe the smug smile off Jude’s face with it. But the sun broke the eastern horizon and the first strong rays of light colored the sky pink beneath fat gray clouds that would not move away. The little lights behind the Zak’reth helmets flickered and went out, and the warriors themselves disintegrated into nothing as the sunlight passed through them.
Cat didn’t throw her knife—the skiff was too far out now—but took hold of Niven’s arm and dragged him behind her. Five Bazira remained, but they were all plunging through the surf in a vain effort to catch the skiff. The water around their legs was fouled and stank of rot, and Niven watched with pity as the men seemed to weaken quickly. They fell to their knees and some plunged face first into the sea, as if they’d fallen asleep. They did not rise again.
The beach was empty. Silent. Dawn’s light—watery and gray—spilled over the gritty sand. Jude’s skiff reached the first Bazira brigantine, and Niven watched as its crew readied for sail.
“Is it over?” he asked Cat.
“I don’t know. Let’s go see.”
She started to lead them to the interior of the island when two shapes emerged. She readied her cutlass again and Niven’s heart gave yet another shudder of fear. A phantom glided toward them, with black pits for eyes and a filmy white dress, stained and dirtied…
“Ori,” Cat said with relief and then spat a curse. “And Sebastian Vaas.” She hefted her cutlass. “To answer your question, Niven, it’s not over.”
The black-sailed ship was sailing away. It was too far to tell for sure, but Sebastian knew that woman, Jude, was on it.
She will report to Zolin and I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and jumping at shadows.
He turned back to the small assemblage on the beach. Niven had moved to stand near Ori, and regarded him warily. The adherent held a Bazira cutlass awkwardly in one hand, likely because no one yet told him he could put it down.
Cat was there. Her hair was no longer orange but black, and though it was cropped short—hacked off, if one were being truthful—he had envision it long and silken, curling over the bodice of a fine dress.
“Greetings, Lady Rathbone. Fancy seeing you here.”
Cat moved in front of Niven and Ori, as if Sebastian were going to burst into a murderous rage at any moment and slaughter them all.
“Where is Ilior?” Cat asked. “Where’s Selena?”
“I don’t know. I never saw either of them.”
The dubious stares that met him spoke volumes.
Sebastian sighed. Here we go. “Where’s my ship?”
“Here. Safe.” Cat said. “Though I don’t know if you could call it yours any longer.”
Niven flinched. “Cat…”