Free The Wizard Hunters by Martha Wells Page A

couldn’t hear anything stirring within. Ixion’s vats had bubbled and churned constantly, so maybe these weren’t the same after all. He felt around it, looking for a way to see what was inside. All he could find was a small wheel near the bottom, above a pipe. The wheel refused to turn, and though he examined it as best he could, he couldn’t tell how it was locked.
    They searched the rest of the space, Ilias taking one side and Giliead the other, picking cautiously through the stacked boxes, pipes and other strange objects. Then a hiss from the other side of the platform called Ilias over.
    Giliead was crouching by the broken lamp. He held up something so Ilias could see it in the light that came from the flying whale. It was the charred end of a black rope with odd-colored bits poking out. In a low whisper, Giliead explained, “These are connected to all the lights. I think when this one broke it started the fire.”
    “Huh.” Ilias took it and sniffed it cautiously. It did smell of burning. He handed it back. “What’s in the crates?”
    Giliead shook his head. “Couldn’t get any open without breaking them. I don’t want them to know we were here. Not yet.”
    That left only one thing to search. They both looked at the open door into the flying whale’s belly. Ilias swallowed in a dry throat. “Well...”
    Giliead took a sharp breath. “I know.”
    Ilias tried not to step on the black ropes as they crossed the platform, but it was hard to miss them in the dark. One of them squished unpleasantly underfoot and he winced, but it didn’t burst into flame or break.
    They reached the edge of the gangplank together. All they could see through the doorway was a dull-colored metal wall. Ilias hesitated, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, and found himself hoping fervently again that the creature wasn’t alive. Walking voluntarily into its belly seemed less suicidal that way. He looked at Giliead, whose expression said he wasn’t feeling so sure of himself either, which made Ilias feel even worse. He nudged him with an elbow and said in an almost voiceless whisper, “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
    Giliead shrugged and shook his head, which Ilias interpreted as “No, but we’re doing it anyway.” He took a tentative step onto the plank and Ilias checked the set of his sword and followed.
    Giliead stopped in the doorway, head cocked to listen. For such a large creature—or thing—the flying whale was oddly silent. He leaned back and whispered, “No guard curses.” Ilias nodded and eased through the door after him. These wizards didn’t seem to use such things to protect their territory; the only ones Giliead had found while they had been here were old, left by Ixion or his predecessors.
    Inside was a long, low-ceilinged chamber, half filled with the containers they had watched the slaves load, lit by a few small white bubbles of curse light attached to the ribbed metal ceiling. The floor was covered with a thin soft stuff like cork that dampened any sound their boots might have made.
    Well, it’s a cargo hold , Ilias thought, but after watching the slaves load it he supposed they could have known that without actually coming in. He moved down a row of crates as Giliead took the other side. The crates were stacked above his head, secured with ropes and nets to hooks in the floor. Ilias tried not to brush against anything even though Giliead had said there were no guard curses to injure intruders or alert the wizards to their presence. The strangeness of the place, the odd scents, the cold light, made his shoulders tight with tension and his nerves twitchy. There wasn’t anything to see but the crates and he circled back around.
    Giliead had found a metal door in the wall to the far right. He listened at it a moment, then gave it a cautious push. It creaked loudly, making Ilias’s stomach do a nervous flip-flop, but it revealed only a dimly lit corridor, with more doors off each side.
    Giliead took a