Empress of Dorsa (The Chronicles of Dorsa)

And yet here she was, risking her life once again for the bloody Empire’s bloody Empress.

She swallowed a yelp of pain when she tore off one of her fingernails, then swallowed another cry a minute later when a nail on the other hand ripped free.

Just when Akella was sure that her cold, wet, and now painfully throbbing fingers would stop obeying her completely and she would plunge from the side of the ship back into the sea, she reached the outcropping where the rigging from the mizzenmast connected to the ship’s side. Relieved, Akella stood on the narrow protrusion, holding herself in place with one of the lines while she opened and closed the other hand to work warmth back into it. When she was confident she could finish her climb without falling, she took a breath and mounted the outermost line – far easier and faster to scurry up a rope the rest of the way than cling to the ship’s side like a human barnacle. A minute later, she slipped over the side of the quarterdeck and crouched in the shadows, scanning the deck.

If this ship was anything like a standard Imperial galleon, and it certainly looked like it was, there would be three hatches leading into its belly. Akella wasn’t particular about which hatch she took; the one that was closest and/or easiest to get to would be just fine.

Dozens of sailors stood motionless on the deck, their faces slack, their eyes showing a familiar vacancy. There were no Order watchers here. As long as Akella stayed low and kept things quiet, this should go relatively smoothly.

Movement on the main deck caught her eye. There they were – her target drones with their crates, marching like ants up the ramp, across the deck, down the hatch. Once one went down with a crate, an empty-handed one came up. Then another down, another up.

Akella made her way to the hatch, weaving around the eerily still sailors. She checked their faces to see if any of them were familiar. Because perhaps this was what they did with their captured Adessian sailors, turned them into shadow-infected slaves and set them to work transporting weapons and supplies to the Imperial East. But her quick scan revealed that they weren’t using her Adessian sailors. At least not on this ship.

Akella squatted beside the hatch just as one of the drones climbed down. Peering into the dim interior of the lower deck, she saw the drone adjust the crate in her arms and move away, then a waiting drone mounted the ladder.

Akella made her move. Rune-marked dagger in hand, she dropped down the hatch feet-first, striking the shoulders of the drone mounting the ladder. Both of them spilled onto the deck. Akella regained her feet first. But as she stood, the man’s glassy eyes momentarily transformed into flames.

He growled like an animal and grabbed her ankle, pulling her back down. Thank Preyla for her fast reflexes.

She’d never used the dagger that Linna had gifted her, partly because it was the work of sorcery, partly because she’d never really had the opportunity. But she understood the theory behind it: Cut someone infected by shadows – the tiniest prick would do, so long as it drew blood – and instantly the shadow would be forced from its human host.

Now she could finally put the theory into practice. She slashed downwards as she fell onto the man, slicing his upper arm in the process. He let go of her immediately, arms falling to his sides, eyes rolling back into his head. A black, smoke-like mist curled out from his nostrils, mouth, eyes, ears. The sight chilled Akella, but then something much worse happened – he aged before her eyes. He shriveled like a decaying fruit left in the sun, hair whitening and thinning, skin wrinkling, eyes sinking into the hollows of his skull. Where a robust, if somewhat overweight, middle-aged man had been lying on his back in front of her a moment earlier, now Akella saw an elderly man.

But the aging didn’t stop there. Before Akella’s eyes, he transformed from elderly man, to corpse, to dust.

All that was left of him was a rumpled pile of empty, plain clothes.

Akella cursed and made a ward against evil, coming shakily to her feet. The little seagull had told her that this very thing had happened to the Order of Targhan assassin who’d been foolishly sent as a gift to the Empress by some Terintan lord, and Akella had seen the Commander turn another witch into an old woman the last time they’d snuck into Persopos, but that wasn’t the same as watching a human being turn into a pile of dust.

Akella reached down to pick up the faded tunic at her feet, but her hand stopped halfway there. Part of the plan was to disguise herself in the clothes of a dead drone, yet she couldn’t bring herself to touch these.

She would find another. Maybe a female closer to her size. Not this one. Hopefully the watching witches above weren’t counting exactly how many drones went down into the ship and came back up.

Another drone climbed down the ladder and brushed past her, oblivious to what had just taken place, shifting a crate from where it had been balanced on his shoulder to carrying it before him.

Akella followed, turning sideways to avoid an empty-handed drone moving in the opposite direction. They came to another ladder, and the drone ahead of her shifted the crate back to his shoulder.

This second ladder should lead down into the cargo hold, where all those spears, arrows, and swords were being packed away for transport to the continent.

She let the drone descend, then followed after him. But just as she prepared to stab the man in the back with the sorcerer’s blade, something unexpected happened. From the gloom of the cargo hold’s outer recesses, two figures leaped forward, each brandishing weapons. Before Akella could react, one was upon her, dagger slashing across her chest. Fortunately, the cut was not deep. Simultaneously, the second figure attacked the drone. The man dropped his crate before twitching once, aging, and dissolving into dust.

Akella stared at the figure who’d attacked her. The woman was grimy, her face blackened with soot, her clothes nearly in rags. Her hair was longer than it was the last time Akella had seen her and she looked somehow… older. But it didn’t matter; Akella would have recognized her in any dress, with any hair, at any age.

For a moment, Akella and the woman who’d attacked her were both too stunned to move or speak.

Akella managed to find her voice first. “Megs … ?”