Rafe’s first mate spoke first, and Rudolfo turned his head in the direction of the disembodied voice. The voice sounded heavy with something Rudolfo could not quite place. “The island is unoccupied save for the structure and the docks. They have a small garrison of soldiers-maybe a hundred strong judging from the size of the barracks. They’re well armed, bows and swords, but not particularly vigilant about keeping their watch. They appear to be mixed-some Marshers, some of Delta or Emerald Coast dialect. They spoke a unified subverbal that was unfamiliar to me.”
Rudolfo nodded, reaching for the carafe and sniffing the contents. Cherry wine was not one of his favorites, but it would suffice. He poured a glass. “How many ships?”
“Two schooners of a trim and line I do not recognize plus the ten Tam ships-all unmagicked at this point. The steel vessels are anchored and powered down. They patrol with the schooners-one pass per hour, more of a token watch, which suggests they do not expect visitors.”
Rafe nodded. “They’re far enough into the Ghosting Crests to keep most away.”
Rudolfo raised the glass to his lips and sipped the sweet, cool wine. “Gypsies, what saw you inside?”
Even his Gypsy Scout seemed restrained, subdued somehow. “It is accessible, General Rudolfo, from at least three unguarded points. Two windows and a door. We mapped a basement holding area and two floors above that. Third floor and anything beyond, we assume, is guarded more diligently.”
There was a pause, and Rudolfo did not need to see the man to know he felt uncomfortable with what he was about to share. “What else?” he said.
“There are pipes moving fluid from the upper floor-the domed structure-into some lower basement we were unable to reach. We think they’re cutting.”
Cutting. Rudolfo sucked in his breath at the word. “Why do you think they are cutting?”
The first mate spoke up now. “On account of the bodies, Lord.”
The Gypsy Scout continued. “They’ve been burying their dead in mass graves. Like Windwir. We estimate nearly a thousand, and the holding cells below are full to overflowing.”
Rudolfo stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “But where would they. ” He let the words trail off as the answer became apparent. House Li Tam was under the knife-their fleet forfeit. But he doubted very much it was the penitent torture of his own Physicians-those twisted Francines who looked to T’Erys Whym and his darker beliefs about human behavior. Blood magicks had returned to the Named Lands, and these were the old cuttings, the Old Ways. The path of Xhum Y’Zir and his seven sons. and the Wizard Kings that went before them.
His mind flitted back to the Firstborn Feast. It is all connected. Those men had been Marshers, and there were Marshers here. Blood-magicked men had swept the Tam ships to surrender just as they had killed Hanric and the others. Rudolfo would not be surprised at all to find that their blades were all iron, the wizard-bargainer’s steel.
He suddenly recalled something the first mate had said and moved his hands. Attend me, Scout.
There was a warm rustle of wind, and fingers pressed into Rudolfo’s forearm on the table. I am here, General.
He reached out, found a shoulder and put forward his question. The subverbal they used; you recognized it, yes?
Yes. A pause. Y’Zir.
Rudolfo nodded. Yes. A language used still by the Wandering Army of the Ninefold Forest and by the Marshfolk, both peoples once allied with Xhum Y’Zir. recipients of the New World for their servitude and friendship with that dark house. He dismissed the scout with a gesture.
Rafe Merrique looked to Rudolfo. “A resurgence is under way. It makes sense that it would with Windwir gone. The Androfrancines kept watch on those things.”
Rudolfo thought about the packet of papers now in Brother Charles’s care and looked over to the old man. Their eyes met, and the Arch-Engineer inclined his head ever so slightly. What if the resurgence had not simply sprung up in this fertile post-Androfrancine soil? The structure on the island was at least fifty years old, and while an Y’Zirite resurgence could have grown and blossomed here in the Ghosting Crests, outside the purview of the Order, such a thing seemed unlikely.
No, Rudolfo thought, the answer is darker yet.
An Y’Zirite resurgence somehow established enough of a foothold within the Named Lands to bring down Windwir. It bent Sethbert into the plot, using him and his paranoia to bring back a dead master’s last spell. How far could it run?
The details were not difficult for Rudolfo to cipher. They’d infiltrated the Order at some level. And certainly House Li Tam had been compromised along with the United City-States.
It staggered him, but he forced his mind back to the moment. The woman who could cure his son was in a holding cell beneath that white temple-if she hadn’t already gone beneath the knife. He could not bring himself to worry about anything but that. Rae Li Tam’s freedom and Jakob’s life had to be his primary concern.
And yet.
If this resurgence had manipulated the most powerful nation in the Named Lands into bringing down Windwir with such carefully orchestrated precision-using one of the Named Lands’ most powerful families to do so-and if they had also systematically and with ease led the assassinations that dark, winter’s night.? The possibility of it grew in his stomach, cold as a pit of ice. He looked to Rafe Merrique. “What do you propose?”
Rafe sighed. “I propose that we come back with a fleet and an army, bring them down, end this dark business they’ve begun.” He paused and ran a hand through his gray bristling hair. “But that doesn’t free your alchemist. We’re here now, and we have surprise on our side.”
Rudolfo thought for a moment. “They have numbers on us. And their iron vessels are lethal in close quarters.”
“If they can see us,” Rafe added.
Rudolfo nodded and looked to Charles. “Can you operate them? Can you teach others to do so?”
Charles nodded. “I could. But it would take time.”
He looked to Rafe Merrique again. “And could you get men aboard them?”
The first mate’s voice piped up. “They are lightly manned, more a watchman than any kind of opposing force.”
Rafe’s brow furrowed as he thought. “We could take half of them-any more would be unrealistic. But once the boilers are fired, there will be no element of surprise.”
“Then we wait until the last minute to fire them; but once we did, could you hold them?”
He thought for a moment. “It could be done but not easily. They have the schooners and blood magicks to contend with.”
Charles cleared his voice, and all eyes looked to him. “You have cannon powder?”
Rafe shrugged. “Some.”
The Arch-Engineer continued. “And there’s more upon the iron ships?”
Rudolfo nodded. “Yes, if they’ve not unloaded it for storage.”
The Gypsy Scout shimmered now at the table as the powders began to burn out. He leaned forward when he spoke. “They were taking on supplies earlier, not unloading them.”
Charles smiled, and it was grim in the dim-lit galley. “Then I can help you disable the schooners and any of the Tam vessels that will be left behind. I’ll need some time and a few other items.”
“I think we have our plan,” Rudolfo said in a low voice. It sounded more sinister than he intended it. “Rafe, you will see to the vessels. Disable any opposing force on the shore, make sure their ships cannot pursue.”
“That,” Merrique said, “is only half of a plan, Rudolfo.”
Rudolfo sighed. If Gregoric lived, that First Captain would have scowled now and tried to talk him out of the course so clearly laid out in his mind. Maybe it was because of his origins, a young orphan king faced with insurgency within his people, or maybe it was because of his father’s firm guidance and insistence upon what was right. He didn’t know for sure, but the end result was the same: He rarely doubted the right path to take in any given situation, and this was no different. He loathed Vlad Li Tam, had vowed to kill him, but he could not bring himself to leave the man’s family in the hands of these blood-bent cultists.
He looked up at Charles and Rafe. The sailors were shifting back into focus now, too, as the powders lifted. “I will take my Gypsy Scouts, and we will free those we can.”
Rafe choked on his beer. “Three men against a hundred? Are you mad, Rudolfo? Has grief and desperation for your son clouded your judgment?”
No, not him, the assassin had said back in the Great Hall on the night all of this had begun. And the Ninefold Forest Houses had not only survived Windwir’s fall but had benefited from it. There had to be a connection between this resurgence and his family’s dark heritage-but what?
“Perhaps,” Rudolfo said, “I am mad.” When he looked up and his eyes met Rafe’s he watched the man blink and look away at the ferocity of what he saw there. “Regardless, I am going to do what I can.”