Chương 46: 45 Highwater Cay

<<Name: Vittorio Vitriol>> <<Race: Drake-kin>> <<Class: Bard Puppetmaster>> <<Rank: Exploit in the Blood Wake>> <<Lvl: Martial-4; Mage-20; Hacker-5>> <<Total: 29>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 11 Will (WIS) — 10 Focus (INT) — 10 Resilience (CON) — 12 Grace (DEX) — 10 Cunning (CHA) — 16 A whip cracked, and a sharp intake of pained breath followed. My head tilted, tracking the slaver who whirled the lash. A Lizard-kin slave snatched his dropped shovel and thrust it into the ground.

This batch of slaves was wearing through. The Lizard's ribs showed, tight through his scales, his movements dragging. A new batch would be there soon. Then we'd finally finish unearthing the weapon. Through the atmosphere of indentured servitude, the sound of industry surrounded me—picks on stone, barked orders, the mechanical tick of a crane.

"You're making good progress," my companion, Yagris, said, swiveling eyes too wide for his human face. We passed an earthen embankment. Behind me, a short dam held the sea back from the dig site, a few weak points spewing water from the constructed barrier.

"Not fast enough," I growled, my scaled hands clasped behind my long coat. Prisoner's Retaliation hung from a cord, the handle resting against my chest.

"Our master is patient," Yagris assured me.

"Time doesn't affect him as it does us." My lip twitched down. I didn't love his use of the words " our" master.

"Dathurul may tolerate slow progress," I said.

"Krathic-Thar does not." Yagris's lips twitched down.

"You should not have included the dragon. That was a risk." My gaze slid his way, while I kept my head locked forward. Cold sweat beaded on Yagris's waxy skin. He may have been a human once, but the Deep Folk mutations stood out on the thrall. Beyond his big eyes and greying skin, his lips had swollen, just barely covering his pointed teeth. He slouched forward, knuckles hanging several inches lower at his side than the last time I'd seen him. We passed another patch of slaves, these likely Paradisians.

A Fey-kin woman turned exhausted eyes my way, the residual energy of the artifact sapping the vitality straight from her bones. That's why we had to use slaves. Highwater Cay consumed those who stayed here too long. We stopped at the bottom of the dig site. Four slaves shoved a cart filled with earth up the track that wound its way out of the pit. The edges of four tilted obelisks stretched from the ground, now mostly uncovered. The granite teeth tilted in toward each other, forming an open channel in the middle.

I strode forward, resting a hand against its stone.

"Incredible," I murmured.

"Who could have known such ancient weapons existed?" Yagris stepped to my side, scanning the ruins. The tops of buildings broke through the ground at several points.

"It's not ancient," he refuted.

"Not even close. It's been buried for less than three hundred years. Hidden when the seal created this abominable world." I winced, irritated with myself for not reaching the same conclusion.

"It may not be ancient to time," I said, dropping my hand.

"But it's ancient to our memories. When something existed pre-recollection, that makes it prehistoric in the eyes of the beholder." The Deep Folk thrall grinned, flashing yellow needle teeth behind swollen lips.

"Our master's memories stretch beyond history, beyond time. That's how he could deliver this weapon to you so easily." My hands tightened behind my back. There it was again— our master.

"What was it for?" I asked, nodding toward the sharp stone columns.

"Anti-Astral Defense System," Yagris said.

"The denizens of the old world used it to fend off invaders from the stars."

"But the incursion that destroyed them didn't come from above," I noted, sweeping my gaze back to the monoliths.

"No," Yagris said.

"The enemy came from right here. Drawing that world into the Crucible."

"Everything except for us," I said.

"All because of Granduncle." The fish man's head shook.

"All because of the seal. Krathic-Thar is just as much to blame as Granduncle and Jorg. Three points to the seal, without any one of them, it all collapses." Behind me, a cry sounded, and the cart that the slaves had been pushing up the helical ramp jumped backward, rushing back down. Wheels screeched, spraying up sparks as the loaded mine car hit a curve and detached from the tracks. The tramcar squealed, and a pair of slaves threw themselves aside, shackles binding their ankles.

Both cleared the cart, but the rogue missile impacted a scaffold, dropping three malnourished workers into a mass of broken wood and raising dust. My lip curled in irritation. These laborers had become useless. Even from less than an hour in the pit, the obelisks had drawn three of my mana away and early fatigue set in. I glanced up at the crack in the sky, the sliver that offered a glimpse into true reality. If Thaddius could get the slaves unloaded quickly, we'd have the weapon uncovered within half a day.

Then all we'd need was a power source. I cleared my throat.

"So, do you have it?" Yagris grinned.

"You held the master's lantern before; now you lust to hold it again."

"I wouldn't have stuck Granduncle without it," I said, voice level.

"And I would appreciate some assurance that this isn't all just a waste." Yagris grinned, his lopsided gaze putting me on edge. He started unbuttoning his shirt. I let my hands drift to my side as Yagris exposed grey-green flesh, fish scales clinging to his ribs in patches. His chest cavity cracked, his ribs opening like fingers, uncurling around a gripped prize. His chest devoid of conventional organs, Yagris reached into himself and plucked a glowing orb from his open cavity.

A dry, husk of a stem trailing eight inches from one side of the artifact. My terminal flashed. <<Dathurul's Lantern: Legendary Artifact>> My hands twitched. I'd held it before; I needed it again.

"So eager!" Yagris chuckled, turning the glowing orb over in his hand. It shimmered like a luminescent pearl, but even from here, I felt its power drawing into the Anti-Astral Defense System. The air seemed to blur between the obelisks.

"Once our master has decided you've done your part, I've been instructed to return it to you." The fish's voice came out like dry paper, and it grated on my nerves.

"Stop saying that," I said. His head twitched.

"Stop saying what?"

"Our master," I said, fingers twitching.

"Dathurul may have opened my eyes, but I serve the Bloodwake Tyrant." Yagris frowned.

"This won't please him."

"See, that's the thing," I said, finally allowing a smile to touch my lips.

"I'm in full fellowship with the Bloodwake again. I am Krathic-Thar's right hand. I see the truth. I don't need Dathurul anymore. I need this—" I motioned at the Anti-Astral Defense System.

"And I need that." I nodded at the legendary artifact in the thrall's hands. I cracked my neck, wide-brimmed hat tilting.

"I guess that means I don't need you anymore." Yagris's eyes widened. My left hand flexed, and I cast Greater Vittorio's Marionette Threads. Semi-translucent lines with needle-point lances from the fingers snaked around and speared the thrall from five different angles, each line embedding back into the ground. A strangled choke escaped the mutant, and he slumped suspended upright on the strings. Dathurul's Lantern rolled from his limp grip, and my right hand caught it before it could drop to the ground.

"The Bloodwake thanks you for your contribution," I whispered, and my left hand flexed again. My arcane threads retracted, reeling and snapping back into my fingertips. Yagris's corpse collapsed to the ground. The Lantern sputtered twice in my hand, and I could feel its owner's rage. <<System Notice: The Bloodwake had violated its alliance with Dathurul>> Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

<<System Notice: Dathurul had declared war on the Bloodwake>> I smiled, and I vanished the lantern into my inventory. Krathic-Thar would be pleased. He'd be much more comfortable with a war with the fish than trusting the eldritch abomination as an ally.

"I hope that's not the way you treat all of your friends!" a voice called behind me. I turned. Thaddius, half-Ogre and leader of the Slavers Guild, strode down the ramp. Lonnie, his psionic, gathered her skirt as she walked at his side.

"Friends?" I said.

"Sometimes. Business partners—never." The Ogre grinned, smoldering cigar dangling between yellowed teeth. He shifted his bowler cap, glancing at the ruins behind me warily.

"You feel it?" I asked, turning to the obelisks.

"It's hungry. And once we whet its appetite, it'll wake up." Thaddius stopped before me and thrust a hand forward.

"Puppetmaster, a pleasure as always." I accepted the hand, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.

"What do you have for me?"

"Six hundred and fifty healthy units," he said.

"Most of them Lizard-kin. Ready to get to work." My head bobbed in appreciation. That would do it. This was the last batch.

"I have your gold. Bars or coin this time?"

"Coin," Thaddius said.

"I lost several ships on this run. I need bigger ones, stronger ones."

"Where's the Raven Reaper?" I asked, glancing at the lip of the dig site.

"Ah, about that. We had a complication."

"He's dead?" I asked.

"Shame." He would have made an excellent exploit. If I could have coaxed him from the guild, I could have used him as a subordinate.

"No, not dead, he's watching the prisoner." I tensed.

"Prisoner?"

"A User. Says he's a Bloodwake Exploit." My lip curled.

"Fool, if he's a Cousin, they can track him through the system!"

"Relax, Puppetmaster," Thaddius said, raising a hand.

"We have him locked deep. He can't see the sky. I know how your system works."

"We were hoping you could verify," Lonnie said sweetly on his side.

"Did the Bloodwake send an Exploit to audit our progress?"

"We have an auditor, but no. He's conducting an inspection on Heim Rock."

"Yes, I heard the Giants joined the Wake," Thaddius huffed, planting his fists on his hips.

"Seems ol' Krathic-Thar is finally making the world move."

"Is it possible the Bloodwake sent any other exploits?" Lonnie asked.

"Possible, yes." I folded my arms.

"Although unlikely."

"Then he is a cousin?" she said decidedly.

"Not necessarily," I said.

"There are rogue Users out there. Hackers from Paradise, or Wake deserters."

"Well, either way, I make a gift of him to you," Thaddius said.

"Perhaps you can add him to your collection." My collection. I sensed the attaché cases waiting in my inventory. Ever since Ourabora had plastered my name across the worldwide HUD, I'd had Cousins bleeding out of the woodwork for their chance to get at me. I presently had nine new puppets in my collection. A few of those encounters had been close calls, too. Some Cousins were creeping up on Aunt and Uncle power levels.

"If he is a Cousin, there'd be others," I warned.

"At least three more."

"He had three Goblins," Thaddius said.

"One died, but we have the other locked up as well." Lonnie frowned.

"He also claimed to have a buyer a day behind us. She could be a Cousin as well."

"Bring him to me," I said.

"I'll determine what he is. Whatever you do, don't let him see the sky."

"Sure thing, boss." Thaddius frowned back at the ruins rising behind me.

"Listen, what you're doing here—it's not going to change the world in such a way that I won't be able to enjoy my money, will it?" I forced a smile.

"Things change, but life goes on," I said simply.

"Wars start in one part of the Archipelago, but in others, people rise, go to their fields, and grow complacent." I nodded at the slaver.

"Then there are those who thrive in change—people such as yourself. You've carved yourself an empire in these troubling times. You're not the type of man who needs to be worried about change. You ought to embrace it. See it for the opportunity it is." Thaddius's jaw worked as he considered the answer.

"Get your new ships," I advised.

"Bigger guns, more men. Train them to be hard. Be wise, and you'll be just fine." Lonnie glanced at the Ogre, hesitation clouding her expression. Thaddius chewed the cigar thoughtfully.

"And what about the other thing?" I straightened.

"I brought up your proposition with the Bloodwake Tyrant. Krathic-Thar agrees. See this done, swear allegiance to the Bloodwake, and he'll grant you access to his system node. Prove yourselves, and we'll make you Users."

<<Name: Antonio Marco Moretti>> <<Race: Human (Derivative)>> <<Class: Swashbuckler>> <<Rank: Cousin of Paradisus Petra>> <<Lvl: User-1; Martial-7>> <<Total: 8>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 08 Will (WIS) — 06 Focus (INT) — 06 Resilience (CON) — 08 Grace (DEX) — 08 Cunning (CHA) — 05 My shoulders flashed with pain, crusted scabs, itchy and hot from infection. The shackles that wrenched my hands above my head strained my joints as I blinked heavy eyes. The Black Chain's brig was massive.

Twenty cages, each the size of the Ash Zephyr's single cell. Deeper in the hold, chained Lizard-kin were affixed within filthy shelving units, turning the open space into a cubic holding block. Two days at sea, the prisoners had been left in their filth, automated pump systems washing the shelving units twice a day. The stench reached me in my larger holding unit, competing with the stink of infection from my shoulder.

Not seeing Ingred or Bianca in any of the other brig cells, I concluded that they'd been secured in the conventional shelving units with the rest of the stock. Drogo and Needles slumped across the hall from me, hands shackled but not secured above their heads. Othess sat in the cell to my left, and Clod, Dustnose, and the eight remaining Kobolds crowded the cell to my right. These were the ones whom Vurel and Jaser had decided were too loyal to me. Footsteps approached, and I raised my aching neck.

It was a Halfling, sun-darkened skin, and dark scruff clinging to his face—Jaser.

"Well, Captain," the Halfling said sweetly.

"Not looking so good there." I shifted, sending a fresh wave of radiating pain through my arms. Needles spat in the cell behind the slaver, and Jaser glared in that direction. He glanced back my way and winced.

"Tex, what happened to your face?" I met his gaze, numb. Forced into a stress position with my arms above my head, the discomfort had stimulated my mutation. A few interrogation sessions with the Raven Reaper, and he'd coaxed the defect to the surface. Now, I looked the way my sister did every day, with smooth black ridges on my jaw and the back of my hands.

"Who did we lose?" I rasped.

"Oh, you mean those convicts you freed to infiltrate us?" he demanded.

"The men you used? Don't pretend as if you cared." I didn't give him the response he wanted. No guilt, anger, or anything for that matter.

"Who?" He watched me for a long moment, then he swore.

"Maybe you do care." A cruel smile graced his lips.

"Mordisco's dead, Sliplock, Flast bled out, Ezio. Obviously, Brace as well, a bunch of your dirt rats—" he shot an accusatory glare at the cell loaded with Kobolds. Dustnose hissed. My vision blurred. How hypocritical. Maybe it was the dehydration or the exhaustion, but I plastered their faces in my mind. Dangerous convictions, the worst society had to offer, but it felt like I'd truly lost someone.

"How self-righteous!" the Halfling sneered.

"You truly think they mattered?" Chains shifted as Othess rose.

"He exposed himself to save us," the cobra said in a low voice, grey eyes glinting in the lantern light.

"You miscalculated. He chose crew over mission. You'd be dead if not for him." The Halfling lifted his lantern at the Naga-kin.

"I was sure it would be the one to betray him. Why'd you kill Brace?" Othess glanced my way, forked tongue darting.

"Brace was predictable. The Captain burns bright." His tongue darted again.

"He's the best available investment." Jaser shuddered.

"Snake. Look where your investment landed you." Othess's eyes seemed to gleam.

"We'll see."

"Jaser!" A voice snapped, and the Raven Reaper melted from the shadows, raven feathers drinking the lantern light on his cloak. Jaser yelped.

"What are you doing here?"

"I um—just wanted to check on the prisoners." The assassin eyed the Halfling disparagingly.

"He's a User. Even here, even in chains, he's dangerous." Jaser wrung his hands, head bobbing.

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir." The Raven Reaper shifted toward me.

"Ready to confess, Cousin?" he asked. I exhaled long and slow, preparing myself for another round of interrogation.

"Tell me," I said, tilting my head.

"Isn't one of your comrades an Uncle?" He tensed, and I tried to laugh. It came out as a dry grunt.

"That's right. K-R 11. Uncle Kerelev. What was your designation?"

"K-J 04," he murmured, lip twitching.

"And you loved being raised as a child assassin so much, you had to turn around and continue Madam Thornsong's work." The assassin produced a set of keys and unlocked the cell. I braced for another round, my hands long numb. The Raven Reaper didn't strike me; he opened the bolt that held my hands above my head. My hands dropped, blood flowing into my arms, and I inhaled sharply at the intake of feeling.

"Where are you going?" Drogo demanded from his cell. The Raven Reaper offered no reply but pulled a bag down over my head. He grabbed me tightly, forcing me to my feet, and I walked blindly. I didn't take the steps to the deck, but the Black Chain must have had some lower access hatch in the ship, because I found myself walking down a ramp, with a cool breeze brushing my skin. Specks of light filtered in through the sack on my head, and I tried to get a peek through.

If I got the bag off, I could link with the system. Aunt Springweather could ping my location and send aid. As if he could read my intent from the micro tensing in my muscles, the Raven Reaper's hand tightened on my arm. No, now wasn't the time. Wait for the right opportunity. I tuned my ears to the sound of labor, tools on rock and stone, punctuated by the crack of a lash and a cry. My arms spasmed, cramping as blood flooded into them. Was I on site?

Was this it—the primary objective, the secret project the High Family had embedded me to find? Where were Ingred and Bianca? Where was Naomi? I didn't get long to contemplate.

"Step," the Raven Reaper said, and I climbed three stairs, my boots thumping on wood. Then a door opened, and I was ushered inside.

"Shutter the window," a voice ordered.

"No skylight inside." People shuffled, then someone struck a match. Warm firelight filtered through the bag. The bag came off.

"Is this one of yours?" Thaddius asked. I was in an office, spacious but simple. Lonnie stood beside the Ogre, and I sensed the Raven Reaper positioned behind me. A Drake-kin stood across from me, leaning over a table. I went numb, rage and dread warring within me. It was him. Puppetmaster. I felt his claw on my hand as he hauled me away from my mother. My gaze rested on the knife handle, hanging from a cord around his neck—Prisoner's Retaliation. The artifact that could save Granduncle.

Blood roared in my ears, my mind going completely blank for a moment. Puppetmaster's brows had pinched together in confusion, then his eyes went very wide.

"Antonio?" I came to myself, and with a snarl, I lunged. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 00: 03: 22: 16: 59>>