Deadhouse Landing

Kellanved shifted the three of them from Shadow and Dancer was relieved to find himself back within the House. No surprises for once! After brushing dust from his shirt and trousers, he led the way to the front door. As usual, the armoured giant stood resting in its alcove. Here, Dassem paused, eyeing the empty side room where they had left his friend.

‘As I said,’ Kellanved murmured in the silence, ‘the House has moved her somewhere.’

‘But where?’ the Dal Hon swordsman answered, and Dancer could tell he was upset by the way his hands clenched.

Kellanved gave a small shrug. ‘Perhaps somewhere less … busy.’

Dancer snorted his agreement. ‘I’ll say. It must seem like a major port now with us coming and going.’ He pushed open the door and set out across the yard to the gate. It was evening, the stars emerging overhead. Kellanved followed, and Dassem came along behind.

The wind was high; some sort of blow was closing upon them from the east, which was surprising as most storms swept in from the south. Strange, given that it was a clear night. Not one cloud in the darkening sky.

Dancer glanced down the way to the waterfront and stopped, surprised. A damned huge man-o-war lay at anchor, effectively blockading the harbour. And though its sails were down for the blow, they were clearly a very dark blue.

He gestured towards the bay. ‘What’s this?’

‘That is a Napan vessel,’ Dassem answered.

Dancer looked to the sky. ‘I can see that. I mean what’s going on?’

Kellanved threw his arms out, aggrieved. ‘For the love of Oponn. I leave on a short errand and everything goes to the Abyss!’

‘And there’s a windstorm blowing in over the island,’ Dancer added.

Kellanved squinted east into the gathering murk. His shaggy greying brows rose and he actually straightened a touch, as if rising up on his toes. ‘Oh, dear…’

‘Oh dear what?’ Dancer asked, knowing that tone.

The mage shooed him and Dassem away. ‘Go and see if our friends need help. I’m going to be busy for a time.’

‘Busy doing what?’

The little fellow waved them off. ‘Go now. Run.’

Dancer backed away, unwilling to leave. Dassem was already jogging towards Smiley’s.

The gyring winds struck them then, sweeping up the shore and over the city. It reminded Dancer of the dust storms that often came howling across the central Seti Plains. He raised a hand to shade his eyes against the gusting, stinging grit and dirt. Kellanved now stood at the middle of the street, arms out, as if he were beckoning to the winds.

Dancer took a step towards him. What on earth …

The heavens opened up in a white blinding blast that threw him backwards into a wall. Dazed, he staggered for the street. ‘Kellanved!’

A smoking hole in the cobbles was all that remained. The stones lay about, some glowing red, hissing and crackling. All the gods … he couldn’t possibly … really be … Blinking, Dancer forced himself to look away, then ran for Smiley’s.

He found the place preparing for a siege. Surly’s people were out piling carts and barrels across the front of the bar. Within, an argument was raging.

Dujek and the youth, Jack, stood in the centre of a ring of yelling Napans. Arms open as if begging, Jack was insisting, ‘Please, reconsider.’

‘At least listen to him,’ Dujek put in.

Spotting Dancer, Surly waved her brusque impatience at the two non-Napans. ‘Order these two to stand down.’

Dassem, Dancer noted, stood to one side, listening.

‘What’s the problem?’ Dancer asked Dujek.

Surly’s jaws worked as she swallowed her anger. ‘We don’t have time to argue,’ she snarled.

‘We’re wrong to dig in here,’ Jack told Dancer. ‘We have no avenue of retreat.’ Dujek nodded his support.

‘What would you have us do, then?’

Jack pointed outside. ‘The bridges are natural chokepoints in this swamp of a city. The south channel has only three to speak of. If we barricade those we can hold them off. If they look like breaking through, we fall back to another bridge, and so on.’

Dancer raised a hand to forestall the barrage of objections from the Napan crew. ‘Just how many soldiers are we talking here?’

‘We’re thinking about a hundred elites,’ said Grinner. ‘They’re forming columns now. We have to act.’

‘A hundred?’ Dassem said suddenly. Dancer was quite startled; he’d almost forgotten about the Dal Hon.

‘More or less,’ Grinner answered, wondering where this was going.

‘Which of the three bridges is the narrowest?’ Dassem asked.

Jack answered, frowning, ‘The one highest inland. Why?’

The swordsman strode for the door. ‘Hold the other two bridges and send the Napans to me. I will meet them there.’

He was out the door before Dancer could object. Dujek and Jack stared at one another, quite startled, until Surly threw her arms out, demanding, ‘Who in the name of the Abyss is that madman?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ Dancer answered.

Cartheron poked his head in the door, holding it open against a savagely gusting wind. ‘Are we staying or going? We have to move – now!’