Free The Wizard Hunters by Martha Wells

stumbled back into the metal stand supporting a curse light. It swayed over and both wizard overseers shouted in alarm. The slave made a wild grab for it but the heavy light tipped. As the white part smashed against the stone, the curse escaped in an abrupt burst of sparks. A little fire leapt to life on a bundle of tarps piled near the crates.
    The platform suddenly boiled with confusion. The slaves retreated in terror while the two wizards pressed forward, ripping off their jackets to beat at the small fire. The other three wizards ran out of the flying whale, shouting at each other, frantic, panicked. The howlers screamed, probably because everyone else was.
    Completely baffled, Ilias stared at Giliead. “They’re afraid of fire?”
    “I’ll say.” Giliead watched in amazement. “I almost took a burning arrow in the chest once and it didn’t scare me that much.”
    Ilias shook his head. It was such a small fire. “How do they cook?”
    “Very carefully?”
    The little fire died under the wizards’ frantic efforts. Abruptly all the lights on the platform went out, the buzzing hum they emitted dying away. In the dimness figures still milled in confusion but at least the yelling stopped. Tiny lights sprang to life, held in the hands of the wizards.
    Without the buzzing, their speaking voices were audible. As others herded the slaves and howlers away, three of them held a brief agitated conversation, playing the lights over the heavy metal cylinders stacked waiting on the far side of the platform. Then they followed the others, leaving the cave in darkness.
    Except for the glow of light from the open door in the flying whale’s belly.
    Giliead sat up, nudging Ilias excitedly. “This is our chance.”
    Ilias let his breath out in resignation as he pushed himself up off the rock. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

    W hile Giliead cached their pack and waterskin in the bottom of the vertical shaft, Ilias crept out to scout the cavern floor. The shadows were deep and there was cover along the rocky bank of the narrow river, mostly old rockfalls and some boulders that might have been recently dislodged by the wizards’ construction efforts. The whale hung over the cavern, impossibly huge for something so quiet; its presence made the back of Ilias’s neck prickle. They would have to cross under its shadow to get to the platform, like coneys trying to sneak past a hawk; that would be a terrible time to find out it really was alive.
    Giliead joined him and they made their way along the bank of the river, staying low. The channel was deep and narrow and the quick-flowing water stank of grend filth. It must come from near Ixion’s chambers and probably led back into the old city.
    Ilias tried to stay as close to the ground as possible as they crept under the whale’s bulk; seeing Giliead unconsciously duck as he looked up at the thing’s belly made him feel less irrational. It was too dark to see anything up there anyway.
    The wooden supports of the dock platform were easy to climb, offering plenty of handholds. Ilias reached the top first, peeking cautiously over the edge. The chill sorcerous light from the flying whale’s door illuminated the platform, revealing the stacks of boxes, the metal cylinders, the spidery outlines of the stands supporting the quiescent lights. It gave the shadows a sharp outline, as if they were all knife-edged. The smell of burning still hung in the air, though there was an odd unfamiliar taint to it. The wood creaked as Giliead climbed out onto the platform and Ilias scrambled up after him, staying in a crouch, listening intently. They exchanged a wary look but nothing moved in the shadows.
    Giliead went toward the crates nearby and Ilias crept forward cautiously to the shadowy vats and canisters on the far side. The vats stood back against the rock wall, looming in the dark. He touched one cautiously; the metal surface was chill. Reluctantly he pressed his ear to the side, but he