Skymaster, page 4
part #3 of The Guildmaster Saga Series
"Go." Sesin's cheek was pressed against the icy tiles, her brown skin nearly white from pain and cold and pressure. Blood leaked from her shoulder, though not nearly as much as Rasim expected. Swallowing nervously, he reached for the arrow. Sesin barked, "Goddess, no! Pull it back out and the arrowhead will tear me up."
"Well, then, he—heal yourself if you can! You can do that, you can—" Rasim broke off, unable to give any more orders to his injured crewmate.
Sesin drew a ragged breath, tears spilling over her nose and melting the ice under her cheek. "Go, Rasim, you've got to get out of here. If they catch you then no one will be able to rescue us."
Rasim whispered, "That's crazy," as more arrows fell around them. He swatted at the air, knowing it was stupid, then clenched his teeth and began to rise. She couldn't hear him, but he made a promise anyway: "I'll get you out of here, Sesin."
"Rasim!" Sesin's fist scraped against the roof like she was trying to pull him down again. "Just go! Tell the captain what's happened, tell her I sent you away if she gets mad, but go. Go so you can come save us. Go!"
Rasim grabbed her fist and put his mouth by her ear, speaking as clearly as he could. "No."
Then he stood, calling magic.
5
First he pulled more stone into place, hiding Sesin under a dome instead of just behind a low wall. He would never be able to talk his way out of that, but it didn't matter anymore. Not if he could keep Sesin safe from the slavers below.
With falling arrows clattering off her dome shelter, Rasim turned his attention to the nearby harbor. Ice locked it surface, but he used witchery to find the weak places: at the sea walls, and around the Waifia. Black, cold water surged in response to his power, slopping through narrow crevasses to run quick and clear over the frozen surface. It slithered up the walls, the stone popping as its temperature changed, and it picked up speed as it rushed through the streets to seize the slavers' feet.
He heard cries of outrage and confusion, and then the satisfying crash of bodies hitting the ground. Armor clanked as they were pulled away from the fight by magic-filled water. More slavers fell, not drowning, but removed. If he could split his concentration and use two magics at once, perhaps he could cage them as well as pull them away.
The idea made him woozy. He swayed and put a hand on his stone shield to keep himself upright. Maybe just washing the slavers away would be enough for now. The trick was getting to them and leaving the seamasters standing. It was easy enough on the edges of the fight, where slavers were mostly running toward the fight, but as they waded deeper into battle, it became impossible to tell who was who. It should have been easy: the seamasters should have been able to use their own magic. Rasim would be able to feel it then, but instead—
Shouts rolled through the crowd, and suddenly he could feel their magic. He felt it as slavers commanded mindkiller-numbed witches to find and attack the source of unknown seawitchery. The water he'd pulled into the streets was wrenched away from him as dozens of sailors brought their talent to the fight—
—and turned it against him.
Rasim staggered under the onslaught, his control of the rising tide torn to tatters. He drove his shoulder against the inside of his stone shield, bracing himself and struggling to reach through a wall of oncoming witchery determined to drown his power. It felt impossible. Harder, even, than a lifetime of trying to be good enough with a witchery that could hardly keep his shoes dry. Back then, the guild hadn't turned against him, only pitied him. Some had tried to make things easier for him, even if others definitely hadn't. This was different. This was a ship's worth of seamasters uniting against a single witch. No one could withstand that.
A blush crashed over Rasim's cheeks as he remembered, with shocking clarity, the press of Siliaria's cool, salty lips against his own. She hadn't laughed at him then, but he thought he heard laughter now, light as the lapping waves and mocking as an errant breeze, as if to say, Seamaster? Not this one, and more fool I to think so.
Not that Siliaria would call herself a fool, and not that Rasim dared to either. But she had named him Seamaster, and if he couldn't figure a way to save himself from a boatload of angry witches, he didn't deserve the name. Or the reputation for being clever, either. He peeked around his shield, horrified to see that most of the fighting had stopped and everyone in the streets was focused on his rooftop.
For an instant he was grateful Kisia wasn't among the witches below. When only barely trained in sea witchery, she had thought to use magic to squeeze a man's heart, the way Usia had just done to Rasim. If any of the crew in the streets were that creative, Rasim would be dead.
Well, he could be creative too. He slithered down his shield, huddling in on himself, and closed his eyes. The weight of sea witchery was impressive, with all those sailors lifting water from under the ice and working it toward him. Lucky for him Desimi wasn't there. He'd remember how they'd wove water and flown it through the air to stop the fire in Ilyara. Or maybe the crew did remember that, and were doing their best to not be quite that efficient. He could hope.
Rasim shook off the feeling of their magic and concentrated on his semi-secret stonemastery. If he could make stone shields, he could also grow stone boots from the streets and capture the slavers in place. It wasn't an exciting way to fight, but anything more exciting would leave Sesin alone and pinned to a rooftop. He just wished he could feel stonemastery working the way he could water witchery. He didn't want to keep peeking around his shield to see if his magics were working.
"Seamasters, fight! Fight the slavers! Fight with the magic you command!" Nasira's voice rang out, impossibly loud as it bounced and echoed off rooftops. Rasim shot to his feet, trying to find her. She stood in the distant Waifia's crow's nest. Beside her was Skymaster Arrat, whose magic lifted her shouts until they drowned out all other sound.
Pride rose in Rasim so fast it felt like fury. Captain Nasira wasn't the sort to think of working with other guilds, but she'd done it now, to the benefit of them all. With a fierce grin stretching his face, he turned back to his own part of the fight. The strength of the Waifia's crew was working with him now, fighting the slavers. As Nasira's counter-commands came ceaselessly, Rasim focused harder on his stonemastery, now concentrating solely on the slavers. They needed to be held in place, preventing them from kidnapping his friends and, should they see that the tide had turned, keeping them from fleeing. And now it was easy to tell who were slavers and who were Ilyaran witches, because the crew were using magic. None of the slavers were watching him now, instead paying attention to the water witches around them. Rasim concentrated on one, then another, watching as magic flowed through stone and encased the enemy in rocky boots. Those he'd captured lost their balance or swore, and some began hacking at the stone boots, trying to free themselves.
A momentary break in Nasira's voice made Rasim look her direction again. Skymaster Arrat had batted away an arrow–a whole sheaf of arrows–with the wave of one hand and a look of parental exasperation. Admiration surged in Rasim. The guilds weren't warriors by nature, but together they proved why Ilyara had been a proud, undefeated city for so long.
And they proved why outsiders saw them as so potentially dangerous. Rasim shivered, returning his gaze to the streets, and went still.
A wall of water swept toward them, grey and implacable. It came fast and silent, with no weight of water witchery heralding its arrival. If he hadn't looked up, he would never have known it was coming.
Neither did the sea witches. The oncoming tide slammed into them, knocking them asunder, while somehow twisting and leaping to avoid the armor-clad slavers. The last thing Rasim heard clearly was Nasira's fear-ridden bellow: "Seamasters! Save yourselves!"
Then the water was upon them all, suddenly roaring in Rasim's ears like a tidal wave. He cast magic around himself, keeping the sea spray from wetting him as the ocean ripped through the streets below. Chunks of ice, carried by the onslaught, smashed into houses and people, breaking both. Seamasters were swept away, though Nasira's desperate command saved lives: Rasim saw dry, if terrified, faces as his crewmates were flung through the water. Kisia had saved him from the rising water in the mines the same way, by ordering him to preserve his own life. The mindkiller's limitations would allow that, at least, and for that, Rasim was grateful.
He scrambled out from behind his shield and climbed on top of Sesin's, trying to gain just a little more height to see the chaos. It wasn't natural, it couldn't be natural, even if he felt no witchery behind it. But someone was doing it, whether a sea witch or some unknown Northern magic.
Either way, it could be fought. It had to be fought, if Rasim's crewmates were to survive. From his perch, he could see the water rose from the very center of the harbor itself, where a new hole had been punched through the ice. The sea water there ran deep and cold, and arched upward like a fountain, then crashed to the harbor's icy surface. From there, it careened wildly toward shore. It was a massive undertaking of magic, as tremendous a display of power as Isidri had used when she thawed the Ilyaran harbor. But the Guildmaster wasn't here, and even if she had been, she was no longer strong enough to do this kind of working. Someone else was behind the torrents of water, but no other Ilyaran that Rasim knew of had the raw ability. Not even Desimi. Not even Rasim, now that the goddess had blessed him.
But thinking of Isidri gave him an idea. She'd never waste time fighting the magic if she could find the witch wielding it. There were too many places to hide in Hongrunn's streets: Rasim would have to draw his opponent out. And the best way to do that—
The middle of the harbor seemed a terrible distance away, but someone was hauling water from there to the shore. If someone else could do it, so could a goddess-blessed Seamaster. And Rasim didn't have to drag the water out of its bed. He just had to cut it off. He stretched his hands toward it, almost able to feel the sea running through his fingers. His fingers closed convulsively, like he was throttling the upward rush of water, and threw power into the gesture.
Halfway across the harbor, the rising sea guttered and fell. Rasim sat down abruptly, shocked at the amount of energy necessary to cut the ocean's flow. But it wasn't done: he had to keep his enemy from starting it up again. Isidri might have re-frozen the harbor over the broken hole, but Rasim didn't know how. More, his opponent had already broken it open once already. Refreezing wouldn't be enough of a deterrent. Instead he imagined weight pressing down on the water's surface, preventing it from rising.
But water was forgiving, and slipped around the edges of his pressure. It rose a little with displacement, then fell again in a salty sprinkle across the ice. Rasim, breathing hard puffs of steam into the air, leaned into the magic, pressing his own hands flat against the top of Sesin's shelter, as if he could contain the water that way. His arms trembled with the effort, even though cutting off the fountain of rising sea hadn't been exactly physical.
There didn't seem to be any resistance to the cap he held in place. Shaking, hardly able to lift his head, Rasim stared out at the black hole in the icy harbor and wondered why his adversary wasn't fighting back.
Well, water was heavy. Lifting that much to begin with, even for someone with huge power, was exhausting. He knew that from experience. He'd slept for over a day, after freeing Lars and the other slaves from the mines. He wouldn't have been able to do it again immediately, either.
Which meant he didn't have to keep the pressure on. Instead, he slid off Sesin's shelter and leaned on it, then shook himself and began peeling the stone away with stone witchery. Sesin's eyes were clenched shut. Before light or cold air touched her to tell her that the shelter was melting away, Rasim saw what she had done and lost his breath in shocked admiration.
It must have been terribly painful. The arrow shaft was broken, no longer pinning her down. She had lifted herself off it, and now lay curled around the shaft, clenching it in both hands. As cold air washed over her, her eyes opened in, first wary, then astonished. She sat up, clutching her shoulder, which, though blood-stained and raw-looking, had healed. Her color was still bad, yellow under her dark skin tones, but she still looked much better than she had before. "Rasim." His name was only a whisper. "Rasim, did you shield me with...."
"You healed yourself." Rasim spoke quickly and quietly, not wanting to face the question even though they both knew the answer. Something flashed in Sesin's eyes, but after a few seconds she nodded as Rasim gestured toward her shoulder in awed respect. "Sesi, you did it."
She hesitated a moment longer, but he saw her choose not to pursue the question of the stone shelter. Not right now, at least. For now, her mouth twisted ruefully. "You told me to do it, if I could, and I could, so I had to. It's all right," she said hastily. "I'm not sure I would have been brave enough to try without orders. But Rasim?"
"Yes?"
"Try not to get me in any more trouble, please."
A quick laugh escaped him. "I'll try. No more high places for you and me."
Sesin smiled. "Oh good. How do we get down?"
"I don't know if we can right n—!"
"Look out!" Sesin lunged forward, knocking Rasim sideways as another weight flung itself at him from behind. It hit them both, Rasim squashing Sesin as someone on top of them screamed and kicked ferociously. A knife glinted, shockingly bright in the sunlight. Rasim rolled off Sesin and dug his feet against the roof as he tried to capture flailing hands without endangering himself.
The knife stuck between roof tiles just as the arrow head had. Rasim seized luck and his assailant's wrist at the same time, then flipped himself over to pin his attacker down with his weight.
Familiar features contorted with rage as the woman tried slamming her head against his. Rasim reared back, gaping, then lurched forward to pin her again as he blurted, "Missio?"
6
Missio looked awful. Worse by far than the last time Rasim had seen her as a captive in the Waifia's brig. Then she'd been angry and defiant, but healthy, with good color and a shine to the journeyman's braid she wore her hair in. Now that braid was frazzled loose, her hair dull and coarse, and her skin looked like someone had scraped the color away with a ragged seashell. Yellow circles haunted her eyes and fiery red blotches burned her cheekbones. Worse than that, though, her whole face was drawn and hollow-looking, like someone had knocked her teeth out. Her shoulders and chest heaved under the lightweight cloak and shirt she wore, and sweat slid into her unnaturally bright eyes. She was too skinny, even for a naturally long-boned, thin woman.
It was ridiculous to be concerned. She'd been trying to kill him just now, and had tried at least once before. Rasim's fear and anger still sluiced away into a worried frown. "Missio, are you all right?"
"She's not all right. She's sick," Sesin said. "Hold her still, Rasim, maybe I can help her. Where have you been, Missio?"
"Hold her—!" Rasim nearly laughed in despair as Missio bucked, trying to throw his weight off. She had dreadful strength for someone as thin as she was, and he was smaller than she. "I'd need a rope to hold her!"
Sesin spoke in the superior tone of an older sibling. "Use stone."
Rasim snapped his gaze to her, half amazed and half horrified. Sesin arched an eyebrow with cool expectation. He swallowed and ducked his eyes from that look, only to meet Missio's enraged eyes. She flung herself upward again, trying to knock him away. Rasim gritted his teeth and did as Sesin had ordered, calling stone witchery to make loops around Missio's wrists and ankles, and then, as she pitched her body upward again, over her hips as well. He looked once at Sesin, whose expression was carefully blank. She would make a good Sunmasters' apprentice, Rasim thought, and looked away again.
Before he finished, Missio had realized what he was doing. Her struggles ceased and her eyes narrowed in enraged cunning. "How'd you do it, Rasim? How'd you command a second magic? If you can teach me that, you might get out of here alive."
A ball of worry knotted Rasim's belly, but at the same time, he smiled a little. "I'm not the one stuck in place, Missio. How did you call so much power?" He glanced at the mess lining the streets, and at sea witches still being snatched up, despite his efforts. "Sesin, they're taking the crew. We can't—" He hesitated. "We can't leave her here." He was ashamed that it was almost a question, but Sesin's neutral expression tempered into sympathy.
"We can't. She's too sick." She, too, looked at the streets below, and bit her lower lip. "I think I got the mindkiller out when I healed my shoulder. Maybe I can help."
"Drown yourself in your own blood!" Missio shouted. Rasim and Sesin both startled, then stared at their captive in horror. Her lip curled, then peeled back to bare all her teeth and display gums that were too red as Sesin put a hand to her throat and gave a nervous laugh.
"That's not how I would have tested it, but at least now we know. Thank you, Missio." She knelt, mouth tightening with determination. "Captain Nasira and half the Northern army are out there, Rasim. The slavers are never going to be able to escape with our crewmates, and we're the only ones with Missio. I can't—" Sesin took a deep breath. "She's half mad. I don't even know where to start with a sickness like this, Rasim. We need Seamaster Usia."
Rasim cast a glance toward the room they'd left behind. "If we're really lucky, he's still unconscious and in half an hour he'll be here to help. What do we do if we're not lucky, though?"
"We get her somewhere warm and safe, and find a Northern doctor."
"The palace is the only place I'm sure is safe. There must be doctors there."
"Then we need to get her there."
"No!" Missio threw herself into more violent thrashing, banging her head against the roof and slamming her shoulders.
Astonished, Rasim leaned forward to put his weight on her shoulders, trying to keep her from injuring herself. "What's wrong with the palace?"
