The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [91]
She whispered spells of silence but winced each time her arms broke the surface too loudly. Her breath rasped in her ears, and she didn’t know how anyone could fail to hear them coming. Even Adam’s stealthy grace deserted him in the water. She forced herself to swim with both arms, though instinct wanted to cradle her injured hand against her chest; the real damage was bad enough, without letting the working muscles stiffen. Her hand throbbed and the stitches burned, but numbness would cost her precious reaction time.
She felt her diamond clearly now. Its presence shivered sharp and cold in her head—someone was using it.
The boat’s lights came into view—lanterns hooded and shutters drawn, but drips and scraps still escaped. A low wide-bottomed craft, the deck mostly enclosed. Figures moved in the shadows of the eaves.
“How many?” Adam asked, treading water beside her.
She listened for heartbeats, felt several. The effort of keeping her head above water distracted her too much for an accurate count.
“At least seven, but probably more.” He swore softly. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me that you’ve faced worse odds before,” she whispered.
Adam snorted. “I have, and usually ended up half-dead.”
“As long as it’s only half.”
Vienh swam closer. “The sentries aren’t patrolling, just standing on the deck. Whoever’s in charge should flog them. If you can be quiet, we’ll go up the anchor chain.”
“You’ve done this before,” Adam said.
“Of course not.” Vienh’s grin flashed in the darkness. “I’m an honest smuggler.” She glided toward the ship, and Isyllt and Adam followed as quietly as they could.
They found the anchor on the far side of the boat—Isyllt could never remember port from starboard—its chain descending from a gap in the railing. The rail was only a yard or so above the water, but the slick, curving hull would be nearly impossible to climb without being heard.
With barely a splash, Vienh hauled herself up the chain and eased over the rail. When no one raised the alarm, Adam followed. Isyllt hooked bare toes into the links, keeping her weight on her legs and steadying herself with her good hand. Rust scraped her palm, tore a fingernail; the chain pinched an already blistered toe and she grimaced. She nearly lost her balance at the top, but Adam caught her arm and heaved her over the railing.
They crouched in the shadows for a moment to catch their breath and listen. The walls were tightly woven wicker on wooden frames, the roof thatched. Shards of light glowed in a golden filigree. Without the distraction of the water, Isyllt felt the sentries nearby, and the cold pulse of her ring. And the bitter chill of the dead.
“Three guards on each side,” she said, “and at least three others inside. And ghosts.”
The diamond throbbed against her chest, tugging gently sideways. After a heartbeat Isyllt realized her ring wasn’t moving, but a new diamond had entered the range of her spell. Another mage was coming.
“Hurry,” she whispered. “We’ll have company soon.”
Something cold brushed her cheek and she started, but it was only a drop of water. A moment later the clouds opened and rain sighed down, rattling against the roof.
“At least we’re already wet,” Adam muttered.
“Somebody’s coming,” hissed Vienh an instant later.
Isyllt wrapped them in shadows just as a man stepped around the corner, humming softly to himself. It didn’t seem these Dai Tranh expected trouble.
Adam’s knife gleamed as it left its sheath and Isyllt caught his wrist. “Don’t kill.” If whoever had her ring knew how to use it, death would alert them immediately.
He nodded, uncoiled from his crouch as the guard turned away. Three strides and he crossed the deck, reversing the knife as he brought it down. The pommel struck the man’s skull with a dull thump and his knees buckled. Adam caught him as he fell, dragged him against the rail.
They slid down the wall facing