The Ruling Sea by Robert V S Redick Read Free Book Online

to kill Thasha with a word. His advantage proved, he had forced the crew to raise the iron forge to the Chathrand’s topdeck, and to stoke a great fire under the Red Wolf. Bit by bit the Wolf had succumbed to the flames. At last, before their eyes, it had melted to bubbling iron.
    There had followed an hallucinatory succession of shocks. The Nilstone, revealed. Captain Rose flying like a madman at Arunis; Sergeant Drellarek clubbing him down. The molten iron spilled, men in agony leaping into the sea. The Shaggat bellowing triumph as he grasped the artifact—and death running like a gray flame up his arm: for the Nilstone (as they all learned presently) killed at a touch any with fear in their hearts.
    Finally, strangest of all, that instant silence, like the deafness after cannon fire, and a brief but ghastly dimming of the sun. When Isiq recovered his senses, he saw Pazel with his hand on the Shaggat—on a stone Shaggat, one withered hand still clutching his prize.
    It seemed this dusty tarboy was himself steeped in magic: he had a language gift (the little bastard spoke some twenty tongues; Isiq had heard him; he was a walking Carnival of Nations) as well as three powerful spell-words, Master-Words he called them, each of which could be spoken only once. He had used the first yesterday: a word that turned flesh to stone. And in a burst of genius for which Isiq would thank him forever, Pazel had foreseen that if the mad king died, Arunis would slay Thasha the next instant. Before the Nilstone could kill the Shaggat, Pazel had leaped forward and petrified him. Arunis believed he could reverse the spell—and as long as he dreamed of doing so, he had a reason to let Sandor Ott’s game of betrayal go forward.
    But the necklace—every scheme for saving Thasha foundered on that necklace. Arunis would kill her if they talked, if he overheard the least rumor of a conspiracy passing among the guests. And the necklace tightened of its own accord if any hand sought to remove it. I cannot even sacrifice myself for her. I have the courage. And no cause left to live for, witless servant that I have been. I would humble them ere they slew me, if I could but strike —
    “Confound it all!” he thundered. “Where are you, girl?”
    “This way, Daddy.”
    He turned a corner and there she was, sipping from his flask again, beside an odd little reflecting pool. No, it was a birdbath. No—
    “Is that … a plant?”
    Thasha pointed to a sign at their feet.
Bird-Eating Bramian Cactus

DO NOT TOUCH!

What seems a multicolored pool is in fact a highly toxic jelly above a vegetal maw. Birds as large as vultures spot this cactus from the air, stoop to drink, and die. Those falling forward pass through the jelly over the course of several weeks and are dissolved. The body of a single desert finch can sustain the cactus for a month.
     
    Isiq put an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “A strange, cruel world,” he said.
    “Yes,” said Thasha, leaning against him, “it is.”
    “They’re fighting again,” said Neeps.
    Pazel held still, listening. “‘A coffin-worshipping, blood-drinking’—Rin’s teeth! She shouldn’t say that.”
    The two ex-tarboys stood near the garden wall, Hercól and Fiffengurt at their sides. Unlike Thasha they kept their voices low. These rose gardens were smaller than their cactus counterparts, and the wedding entourage quite filled them. The flowers were scarlet, white, yolk orange; their perfume hung like a sweet steam in the air. Caterers in royal Simjan livery were dashing among them with trays of clinking glasses. Servants fanned the elder statesmen, who grumbled in their chairs. Beside a fountain in the shape of the Tree of Heaven the king was promising the wilting dignitaries “a feast for the ages” when the ceremony ended. Pacu Lapadolma, true to her Maid-in-Waiting role, hovered by the gate to the Cactus Gardens.
    Fiffengurt trained his good eye on her. “Perhaps we should confide in