Scimitar War by Chris A. Jackson Page A

seawater. Now he used that power to move the ancient floating city northward, fortified by the heat of the sun, but the surrounding sea dampened his fire and progress was slow. He hoarded his strength, sealed his doors, and let his lower reaches cool. And he tried to ignore the chill of fear, the dread of the surrounding sea that gnawed at him.
    The other fire within him, the hatred and madness, helped burn away that fear. He let the rage smolder: rage at the seamage; at Feldrin Brelak; at her traitorous brother Tim and her worthless fop of a father, everyone...A confusion of memories, fused and distorted, impossible to separate. Some were his, some were not, but he could not always distinguish between the two. He felt as if his new self, their joined minds, burned as brightly as his new body that was Akrotia. He burned with an all-consuming madness; every moment, every memory, wreathed in flames.
    Edan conserved his strength as he urged the winds, watching the sun climb to its zenith, then fall to plunge beneath the endless sea, day after day moving ever northward, guided by stars, moon and sun. Strangely, he knew exactly where he was in the wide ocean. A detailed map of the entirety of the world’s oceans was fixed in his mind, and the angles of the celestial bodies told him his position on that map. So he traveled north, toward the seamage’s island, for he knew what else waited for him there.
    Not only revenge, but power.
    Not the seamage’s power, but something deeper, hotter. He could feel warmth ahead, and that sparked a memory of his ascension, the pinnacle of his life. It was fire, deep beneath the earth, calling to him in a siren song. All the fire of the world, his for the taking…

Chapter 4
    Dangerous Friends
    “Miss Camilla?”
    Camilla started at the sound of her name, but didn’t turn around. She kept her eye on the silver glint moving slowly underwater toward the center of the bay. It might have been a large tarpon, the moonlight shining off of its silver scales…but it wasn’t. She watched until it finally sunk out of sight where the water was deep, where no moonlight could penetrate, and where no one would ever find it.
    “You’re early,” she whispered. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief and turned around. Tipos stood there, looking beyond her as if trying to see whatever had drawn her attention. At his feet lay a bulging sack, and at his waist hung a newly fashioned war club. Paska hurried up behind him, a stolen cutlass on one hip, little Koybur on the other.
    “Where be de guards?” the dark woman asked, hitching the sleepy baby up higher.
    “Just get in the boat,” she ordered them.
    “But it still be chained to de dock,” Tipos said.
    “And de guards?” Paska repeated.
    “Never mind the guards. Just get in the boat!” Camilla snapped.
    They stared at her in shock. She had never used such a tone with them before, but she feared that if they didn’t do this quickly, the hysteria that fluttered her stomach would overwhelm her. The power raging like fire in her veins didn’t help, and with it the voice in the back of her mind had become bold.
    Blood…power…take them all!
    She pushed it aside, willed it to silence. Astonishingly, it obeyed.
    “Get the sails ready, but don’t raise them,” she ordered.
    “Sails won’t do us any good anyway, Miss Camilla,” Tipos said, his voice strained, “when dere’s so little wind that a fog’s settlin’ on de wata.” He lifted his bag and stepped past her.
    “Dis fog ain’t right,” she heard Paska whisper as they boarded the boat. “Never foggy here in de middle of de night.”
    Tipos stepped forward to ready the mainsail as Paska tucked little Koybur into the forward bunk. She handed the bagged jib up to him through the forward hatch. He took it without a word and hanked it onto the forestay. By the time she was back at the tiller, he had the sheets run aft to the winches.
    “Ready when you are, Miss