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.Some turned and were cut down as they tried to run to make the jump to the barge.Others abandoned the idea of making it to the ship themselves and stood their ground.Lord Omichrome’s army, though, was so huge and had so much pent-up pressure that without a hundred soldiers pushing it back, it burst down the dock, the men behind shoving the men in front of them so hard and so relentlessly that both defenders and the front lines of Lord Omnichrome’s men were pushed straight off the edge of the dock.Dozens, perhaps a hundred men and women splashed into the bay.We’re not going to make it.There’s nowhere for us to go!But Ironfist merely turned his blue path over the waves out.By Orholam, they were going to run all the way out to the barge?Kip couldn’t make it.He was too dizzy.It was too far.“Faster, Kip! Damn you! Faster!” Ironfist shouted.Water jumped up into the air to their right.Kip glanced that way, saw nothing, found himself running right along the edge of the blue path, almost falling in the water, and curved back.More water jumped to each side of them.They’re shooting at us!Lungs heaving, head swimming, in front of them Kip saw magic setting the air alight between the barge and the dock.Gavin was standing at the stern of the boat, throwing out great swathes of flame, darts, light grenadoes—a veritable artillery barrage of chromaturgy.A space cleared around him on the barge as everyone else shrank back, stunned, awed, afraid of anyone who could handle so much magic.Gavin was fighting all the drafters on the dock—by himself.And winning.That’s my father.I can’t let him down.I’ve screwed up everything else.I’m going to get to that damned boat.“I can’t keep this up,” Ironfist shouted, his voice strained.“I’ve got to make it narrower, Kip, or we won’t make it!”“Do it!” Kip yelled.The platform abruptly shrank to barely three hand’s breadths wide.It sank into the water even as Kip ran across it, his feet splashing water.But they had only thirty paces to go.The path started arching up, out of the water to attach to the side of the barge, out of the way of all the magic going back and forth.Kip looked up at Gavin, and saw that someone had stepped into the empty circle behind the Prism.Though the boy wore peasant’s garb, Kip recognized him instantly.Zymun! Zymun had snuck onto the barge with the rest of the refugees, and he was holding a box.Kip’s box.The last thing Kip’s mother had ever given him.The only thing she’d ever given him.Gavin was still hurling magic and deflecting magic.Everyone was either watching him or had crowded to the side of the barge and was watching Ironfist and Kip come in.Ironfist was looking down at the path he was drafting, intent on the magic.Kip was the only person who saw a gleaming knife come out of that box.Kip’s next step missed the narrow luxin platform.He plunged hard into the water.Clumsy Kip.Stupid Kip.His huge splash would make even more of a distraction for Zymun to take advantage of.Lord Omnichrome had sent Zymun to assassinate Gavin.Kip had seen it—and he’d decided to go somewhere else.He’d had a dozen chances to do the right thing, and he’d missed them all.Even five minutes ago, if he hadn’t gone after Ironfist, he would have been on the barge.He could have stopped Zymun.Kip wouldn’t fail again.He refused.He threw his hands down, opened his eyes despite the water, and starting sucking in light.It hurt like hell.He didn’t care.He sucked it in like he was the mouth of one of Gavin’s great skimmer engines.And threw it down.He shot out of the water.By Orholam’s own hand, or by all the luck that had gone against him for his whole life now finally reversing course, he shot in the right direction.He flew onto the barge’s deck, blasting through half a dozen people gathered at the railing looking for him—and he kept his feet, though he was at a crazy angle and had to run as fast as he could just to not fall down.He burst into the opening around Gavin just as Zymun closed on the Prism.Zymun sank the great white dagger into Gavin’s back an instant before Kip collided with him, the top of Kip’s head smashing Zymun’s nose.His momentum carried them both off the opposite side of the barge.They landed with a great splash.Kip got a breath before they went under and immediately began tearing at Zymun, punching him, ripping at the dagger in his one hand and the sheath in the other.Zymun hadn’t taken a breath.He let both go and flailed, trying to get away from Kip with panicky motions.Kip tried to slash the other boy, still underwater, and missed.With a gasp, Kip surfaced.Zymun surfaced five paces away, blood streaming from his broken nose, staining the water.Kip heard screams beyond Zymun.The sharks had come and were turning the water between Zymun and the docks to white froth in the frenzy.“Kip! Grab the rope! Grab the rope!” someone shouted.A coil hit the water close to him.Zymun gave Kip one hateful glance and started swimming for shore.He was a good swimmer, too.Faster than Kip.It would be madness to go after him.And he was bleeding.“Kip!”Kip felt the first tremor of lightsickness hitting him.Oh shit.But he’d lost his dagger before.It was everything.He wouldn’t lose it again.Bobbing in the waves, trying to ignore at least another score of triangular fins cutting the water headed for the dock, he sheathed the blade and tucked it inside his pants, and only then did he grab the rope.Good thing there was a loop on the end.Kip managed to pull it over his head before he threw up the first time.There was nothing in his stomach, so he dry heaved as the barge towed him along for a way until the men on deck could haul him out of the water.“Let go of the rest of the luxin, Kip,” someone was saying to him.“I can’t, I can’t.” He knew it was going to be bad.He couldn’t take any more pain.He couldn’t even open his eyes.“Come on, Kip, do it for me,” Gavin said gently.Kip let go of the last of the luxin.The last thing he was aware of was pain shooting through his head, lances of light blotting out darkness, only to leave more behind.Chapter 92The prisoner was full in the fever’s grip.The gash he’d cut across his chest and the foul hair he’d packed into the cut had done their work.Death or freedom.It was time.He tried to stand, but couldn’t.He was shaking too hard.Maybe he’d waited too long.He’d wanted—needed—to wait until the fever was at its hottest in order to have any chance at all.If he’d miscalculated, he would simply die, and end all of Dazen’s problems for him.That would just be tragic.He propped himself up, found his dirty little hair bowl close at hand, tried to inspect it for flaws for the thousandth time.He couldn’t tell.He felt like weeping, the fever throwing his very emotions into disarray.“I’m sorry, Dazen.I failed you,” he said aloud.Meaningless words.From nowhere.The part of him that had marinated in blue for so many years found that curious.Not unexpected, but still strange.Why should he feel emotions simply because his blood was literally hotter than normal? Strange, but inconsequential.He pulled the cut on his chest open, pulled out the chunky, dirty, blood-clotted wad of filth, and threw it aside.It didn’t all come out together.Some was stuck in the wound.With a grimy fingernail, he scratched out the remaining filth.It made him gag with pain.Stupidity.He’d used his fingernail? When trying to clean a wound? He should have drafted tweezers.He wasn’t thinking straight.He blinked, his body tottering [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]