Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(23)

“Din dumme, dumme fjols,” he said gruffly as he knelt down beside Totschl?ger. “Kun et ryk som du kunne f? sig selv skudt.”

Sera translated his words in her head. You stupid, stupid fool. Only a jerk like you could get himself shot.

Garstig took his comrade’s hand, not caring that it was covered with blood.

Totschl?ger opened his eyes. “Garstig, you big oaf. Is your face the last one I’ll ever see? Gods help me. You’re uglier than a blobfish, and you smell worse than rotten walrus-milk cheese.”

Garstig chuckled. “Always one for sweet words, even when I first met you, back in military school.”

“We had some good times, old friend. Didn’t we?” Totschl?ger said, trying to smile.

Garstig nodded. “Remember when we raced hippokamps through the market in Scaghaufen? I fell off and landed headfirst in a bucket of marsh melons. I still have the scar,” he added proudly, pointing to a jagged mark on his temple. “And a few on my backside, too, from the farmer’s pitchfork.”

Totschl?ger’s smile broadened.

“Remember our first battle?” Garstig asked. “We fought those stinking Feuerkumpel who’d snuck across the border. Sent them off with some nice, juicy wounds. We celebrated that night. Who drank too much r?k?? And threw up for three days straight?”

Totschl?ger laughed, but the laugh turned into a painful, racking cough. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His chest started to hitch.

“Garstig, speak…” he said, struggling to get the words out. “Speak for me…please.”

Garstig tightened his grip on Totschl?ger’s hand. “Of course I will. And Vaeldig will hear me, don’t you worry. You’ll be in Fyr before the stars fade,” he said.

Tears sprang to Sera’s eyes. Fyr, she knew, was the goblin word for the underworld. All goblins, no matter what tribe they belonged to, believed that when they died, Vaeldig, their war god, took the bravest among them to his grand hall in Fyr to fight and feast for all eternity.

Blood was dripping off Totschl?ger’s chin now. He could no longer talk. His breath came quick and shallow. For a few seconds, the light in his eyes burned as brightly as the fire in a goblin forge; then it dulled and faded away.

Gently, Garstig closed those eyes. Tears, as black and thick as oil, streamed down his cheeks. With a roar of grief, he threw his head back and cried out to his god.

“Hear me, great Vaeldig!” he shouted. “I, Garstig, speak for Totschl?ger of the Meerteufel! He was a fierce warrior, brave and loyal! He was an honor to his chieftain, an honor to his tribe! Reward his courage! Carry his spirit to Fyr and seat him at your table!”

As Garstig’s words rang out, Totschl?ger’s face, which had been contorted by pain, softened into a peaceful expression.

Garstig looked down at him. “He’s gone,” he said brokenly. “My best friend…he’s gone.”

His voice broke on the last word, and Sera felt as if someone had thrust a knife into her heart. Garstig’s terrible grief brought back all the losses she’d suffered—her parents, Vr?ja, Thalassa, Fossegrim, Duca Armando, so many. She thought of the losses her merfolk had endured, and merfolk throughout all the water realms. All because of Vallerio.

“Henri,” she said, “take Sophia to the infirmary.”

“No, Sera, I don’t need to go,” Sophia protested. “I want to stay. I want to help.”

“Later, Soph. After the medics stitch up your head.” She kissed her friend’s cheek. “You saved a great many lives tonight, and our weapons. Thank you.”

As Henri led Sophia away, Ling rushed by. Sera called her over.

“The others?” Sera asked.

“All alive.”

“Thank the gods,” Sera said. “I need you to gather them and get them to HQ.”

“Now, Sera? We have wounded to attend to and bodies to bury.”

“I know, but this can’t wait.”

As Sera swam toward the headquarters cave, past crying children and injured parents, anger swelled inside her like a deadly rogue wave. She was the rightful ruler of Miromara, and yet her vicious uncle was always the one in charge. He pushed her all around the board. All she could ever do was try to stay one stroke ahead of him.

Until now.

Vallerio had made a mistake tonight, with this cowardly attack. He had handed her a move.

And she was going to take it.





SERA’S INNER CIRCLE STRAGGLED into the cave one by one. They were in shock and hollowed out by fighting, by seeing their fellow Black Fins wounded or killed. Yazeed had taken an arrow wound to the tail. Des had a cut across his forehead. Neela had a nasty bruise spreading across her cheek.

Sera looked at them and her heart hurt for all they’d been through, and for all that they had yet to face. She was about to make a critical move, and once she did, there’d be no turning back.

She waited until they were all seated, then—without any preliminaries—she spoke.

“Vallerio’s been using his spy to his advantage. Tonight is yet another example of this. The spy told him where Sophia and Totschl?ger would be and when. I’ve had enough. It’s my turn now. I’m going to use his spy to my advantage.”

“How?” Ling asked.

“I’ve decided that we’re going to the Southern Sea first, to kill Abbadon. Des, I respect your position, but I agree with Yazeed’s reasoning. Without the monster, Orfeo can be bested. Without Orfeo, Vallerio can be bested.” Sera paused to let her words sink in, then continued. “So what I want is for all of you to tell the entire camp that we’re going to attack Cerulea. Tell everyone that I was so enraged by my uncle’s ambush, I immediately vowed revenge.”