by B A Simmons
“I’m trying to end the war. We don’t need these. We don’t have the time to collect them.”
“Fine. I’ll only take—”
At that moment, the air filled with inhuman screams. Rob and Max scooted their way around the pedestal on the east side of the structure to find the source of the Quillian cries. In the water below them, six reed canoes floated in a fan formation, with a seventh and much larger boat immediately before the mouth of Kith-Mor. Each had at least fifteen Quillian warriors, armed and armored. It was a blockade. They knew the Entdecker was inside, and they were waiting for it to emerge so that they could kill all the humans aboard.
“We have to go,” Rob said and began climbing down the steps. Max followed without argument. Back down the dark corridor to the stairway they went, smashing a few wyvern-hawk nests, they descended to the Entdecker.
“There’s a whole Quillian fleet out there waiting for us!” Max shouted.
“We know that already, you meecher!” Harry replied, pointing at the opening.
After Max jumped onto the deck, Rob hesitated.
“Quick, hand me a firebomb and light the ship’s lantern.”
“What are you going to do?” Piers asked.
“Take an advantage they’ve given us.”
With the lit lantern in one hand and one of the few remaining firebombs in the other, Rob dashed back to the upper level. From the pearl-covered pedestal, he carefully peered over the edge of the tomb. The deck of the large Quillian boat filled his view.
For a moment, Rob recognized a feeling he hadn’t had since the day he fought Sheriff Tyler on Alimia. He had long since recognized the feeling as loyalty to friends. He wished he could have felt it more often in the months since that day. Yet, it was there in the moment he lit the firebomb and let it fall onto the Quillian ship. The fire spread quickly, sending a thick black smoke into the wind-whipped air.
A hail of arrows pursued him as he descended again to the Entdecker. Rob realized that the Quillian must have used some kind of oil to coat their reed boats, making the reeds water-resistant. This would account for how quickly the fire spread and how black the smoke was emanating from it.
Tom turned his ship to face the entrance where the burning boat illuminated the other Quillian boats, now distancing themselves from the inferno. The incessant screams and howls unnerved the men inside the building.
“After that ship burns, we’ll wait for them to come in,” Tom said. “Even with their narrower boats, they can only fit through there one at a time.”
Garibaldi spoke quietly to his men in Iyty. His expression grim and his hands on their shoulders, he seemed to be steeling them for the coming fight. Noting the lack of human-made arrows in their supply, Rob began wresting as many Quillian arrows as he could from the hull. Tom gathered the remaining firebombs, four in all, to the bow and trimmed the relit lantern.
Harry stood near Orson, bow in hand with an arrow nocked. Max repositioned the water barrel so that it would shield his back as he sat at the starboard oar. One of the Falcon sailors took the port oar with his companion at his back holding a shield and sword. Lewis Johnson stood with a shield and sword with Raymond Jones behind him holding a harpoon. They had formed a lance unit, as Charlie had taught the militia to do on Engle Isle. Even Jordan, who had awakened during the night, prepared himself as best he could—axe in hand.
Garibaldi approached Rob, “Any of the broken Quillian arrows that are too short for your bows, we can use with this crossbow.”
“I’ll help you sharpen the shafts.”
The two worked together adjusting the broken arrows while the screaming and shouting continued outside. They prepared themselves and waited. Minutes became hours and even after the large boat was nothing but bundles of smoldering reeds, the Quillian did not attempt to pass through the arch. The initial anxiety Rob felt when the Quillian first appeared had subsided. However, it was replaced with dread. He again worried for the other men with him. The weight of his responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders. Yet he knew this feeling would give him the ability to act in the coming battle, to save his friends . . . as well as his enemies.
Rob found it impossible to tell the time of day with the surrounding darkness. The Quillian screams had faded some, or their ears had learned to tune them out. How they were capable of keeping their chaotic chorus going for so long was as mysterious as it was impressive.
“I’m thirsty,” Jordan said.
“There’s no water,” Harry answered.
“It’s time we left for home then,” Tom added.
Rob then looked to Tom and Piers, each with a firebomb ready to be lit and thrown.
“We’re ready,” he said. He understood their decision to wait for the enemy to come to them could no longer be held. For certain, a death at the hands of the Quillian was better than a slow, agonizing death of dehydration.
“We row straight out at them,” Garibaldi said. “Target the boats in the middle of the fan with firebombs. The rest of us will repel boarders.”
One of the Falcon sailors spoke. Garibaldi nodded and said, “Ah, si.”
He and the sailor passed over to Pompeo’s body where it had been stowed in the hold and unceremoniously heaved it into the water.
“Now, we are ready,” Garibaldi said.
“Right then. Dip those oars and heave!” Tom shouted.
The ship started forward just as a volley of arrows flashed in through the arch, connecting with the Entdecker. The thuds of their innumerable impacts startled Rob. He checked the crew. Max and the Falcon sailor were still rowing. Tom and Piers were protected behind the forward bulwarks. Harry, Garibaldi, his other sailor and the two Engle councilmen had ducked behind shields. Then Rob saw Jordan. Two shafts had pierced his unarmored chest. He slumped over on the deck, exhaling for the last time.
More arrows came in through the opening. Max yelped as one struck the oar an inch from his hand. Another struck the leg of the Falcon sailor standing guard over his comrade. He did not fall, even knowing he’d been poisoned, but remained at his post. Harry and Garibaldi loosed arrows in return, but whether they found their targets was impossible to determine. The sheer volume of projectiles coming at them made such efforts seem futile.
Rob was about to call for them to reverse course, a move he knew was as suicidal as continuing forward, when a sudden boom shook the air. Despite the danger from the Quillian arrows, Rob leaned out over the side to get a better view.
It was the Anna Louisa’s three-pounder. One of the Quillian boats in the center of the fan was in ruins, with bits of reed flying through the air. Arrows from the Anna Louisa struck Quillian warriors on the other boats. Rob added his own to the fray, striking down blue-skinned aliens armed with bows and barbed javelins.
Piers launched a firebomb with deadly accuracy. It shattered on the deck of a reed boat off the Entdecker’s starboard bow. The fire spread over the narrow vessel, causing its crew to jump overboard. Tom set fire to the bow of another on the portside.
Rob felt an odd thump on the deck and turned around. Three Quillian had climbed aboard over the quarterdeck. One had tackled Raymond Jones while Lewis Johnson fought against another. The third looked to put its spear through Lewis’s back when Rob sent an arrow into its chest. Dropping the bow, Rob drew out his sword and slit the throat of the one attempting to bite Raymond.
Looking again to Lewis, he saw the lawyer’s right arm had been bloodied. He was using his shield to block the blows coming from the Quillian’s shark’s tooth-edged club. Just as Rob moved to save Lewis, Raymond let out a hoarse cry and rushed forward, using his heavy frame and harpoon to skewer the alien. Lewis then bashed it with his shield, sending it over the rail. Rob hopped up to the quarterdeck and assessed the situation.
The Entdecker continued its forward momentum; nothing deterred Max and the Falcon sailor from rowing. However, Garibaldi had taken the position of guard over the rowers as his other man had succumbed to the poisonous arrow.
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Tom and Piers had thrown all their bombs, managing to set a third Quillian boat aflame. Along with Harry, they sent Quillian arrows back at their makers.
The Anna Louisa had passed by them without Rob noticing. She was now turning around as best she could given that burning reed boats became obstacles. Rob recognized Charlie and John among those fighting on her deck. Most of their crew were armed with bows or hand cannons, the effects of which were devastating to the Quillian.
An arrow whizzed past Rob’s head, bringing his attention back to the fight at hand. Two reed boats still operated between the human vessels, though there were fewer Quillian on each than had been. Many of those still alive were in the water, swimming either to one of their good boats or trying to scale the hull of the Anna Louisa.
Once the Anna Louisa had made her about-face, the rowers dug deep to catch up with the Entdecker. The few Quillian left hissed and screamed but seemed content to let them leave. One of their boats had entered through the archway, perhaps to see what desecration the humans had done to their tomb.
The Anna Louisa followed the Entdecker away from the scene of carnage just as the writhing forms of serpents appeared. They attacked the floating bodies and fought each other over them, leaving the ships to their routes.
Rob and Garibaldi agreed to wait until they reached deeper water before sending Jordan and his dead sailor to their rest in the deep. They kept the ceremony simple, with remembrances for each of the men they lost. The rain began falling during the next hour, helping to wash the decks clean.
The greater difficulty in the journey was in sailing back to Engle Isle. The storm winds increased by the hour and even the waves fought against them. The rough and long ride took an extra day, which by the end, brought a rain-soaked motley crew into Port John.
12: The Rainy Season
The storm lasted five days, increasing in intensity until the fourth. The last day was constant rain without much wind. Rob slept nearly a full day of it. As he disembarked, he gave charge to Charlie to attend to their prisoners’ needs. He then walked, or staggered, in the wind and rain to his family home where he collapsed.
Antoni Garibaldi and his lone surviving crewman, Marinaio Roberto Pisani, were kept in the hold of the Anna Louisa under constant mercenary guard. Once the storm passed, Rob came to the ship and brought the two men out.
“I’m sorry, but we have no other place to keep prisoners at the moment.”
Garibaldi managed a slight smile. “We have both spent most of our lives at sea. This was not the first time we’ve spent a few stormy days in a ship’s hold.”
“I would love to offer you more hospitality,” Rob said as he led them toward the inn, “but you see, my people are extremely wary of Falcons right now. I can’t just put you in a house.”
“That is understandable.”
Inside the inn, Rob ordered food and drink for the two prisoners and sat with them at a table near the doors. A few mercenaries ate or slept in the loft above them, but the only Engle Islanders at the inn were the FitzHughes. Having eaten only dried meat, fruit, and water for a week, Garibaldi and Pisani eagerly devoured the hot goat meat stew, fresh bread, and wine.
“Capitano, I must ask you . . . will your rescue help bring peace between us and your empire?” Rob asked.
Garibaldi considered his words carefully before speaking.
“I am of a noble family. Well connected, you might say. I am a member of the court of Emperor Octavo, and yet . . .”
Rob lowered his head with a sigh.
Garibaldi continued, “You must understand, Rob. Politics in the empire is complicated. Influence is a commodity that must be used carefully. Even if I told his Imperial Majesty of the pains you took to ensure my safe return, he is under the influence of other, more powerful men than I. Even if he ordered us to leave this island in peace, we are expanding. We cannot stop the expansion.”
“You won’t leave Alimia, will you?”
“No.”
“You are a military leader. How many men is your emperor willing to lose for Alimia and Engle Isle?”
“Be careful, Rob. That sounds like a threat.”
“I mean it sincerely. After Misters Johnson and Jones make a report of their captivity aboard your ship, every person on this island will be ready to fight ’til their dying breath. We will continue to attack your ships and soldiers from here to Isle de Joc and beyond. Do you know how many of your young men we’ve already killed? How many ships we’ve taken or destroyed?”
Garibaldi shook his head as he stared back at Rob, who continued his speech.
“If there is no peace between us soon, this will only continue. We are growing in strength and allies. You will lose more ships, more men, until being ordered to Alimia becomes the same as a death sentence. Your mothers and wives will soak their pillows with tears for their lost sons and husbands. Capitano, you must take this message back to your emperor. Tell your people to oppose expansion. Had you come to Alimia last year with merchant ships rather than soldiers, we would not be fighting you. That island needed help, I know. We fought their corrupt sheriff and had a plan to depose him before you invaded and took the Alimians as slaves.”
Rob realized he was near shouting, his voice having risen steadily since beginning his speech. He paused to settle himself. He knew he could not intimidate Garibaldi, but hoped that his words would appeal to the man’s sense of honor.
Garibaldi said nothing. Pisani, even if he didn’t understand Engle, understood the tone and volume of Rob’s voice. He looked from Rob to his captain and back, expecting one or both to become violent.
Neither of them did.
In a calm voice, Garibaldi said that he would deliver Rob’s message to the emperor. Rob then informed them both they would be leaving within an hour for Alimia. He ordered their drinks refilled before leaving.
Three mercenaries escorted the prisoners back to the Anna Louisa, where they were again put below decks. Harry, who had survived the ordeal in the Sea of Grass physically unscathed, stayed aboard as a guard for the prisoners. He would not be returning to service with the Hellhound Consortium. On the other hand, Orson had regained much strength and control over his body. Through slurred speech, he expressed his support for Rob and the consortium, though it would be some time before he could fight again.
Rob watched the Anna Louisa as she sailed out of John’s Bay. He knew letting the two Falcons go was the right course of action. He hoped it would somehow benefit them all. Once the Anna Louisa was out of sight, he began the walk to Harrisville where the Council of Elders was assembling. As he did so, he passed Roland Apgood and two other militiamen, chatting with the mercenaries near the inn. All of them stood erect and raised their hands in salute to Rob.
For a moment, he wondered how to respond. Then he raised his own to salute and nodded to Roland.
In the courthouse in Harrisville, the Council of Elders, the Reverend Matriarch and her counselors, along with an assortment of mercenaries and Engle Islanders assembled to discuss the war. It reminded Rob of the meeting held just before Mark left Engle Isle for the last time. The difference this time was that Raymond Jones spoke in praise of an Engleman, rather than against them. He gave a concise report of his and Lewis’s abduction and rescue, adding in little flamboyance or embellishment. His honesty gave Rob a sudden admiration for the man he previously thought impossible.
Raymond finished his report with, “. . . I credit our rescue to the bravery of our own Rob and Tom Engleman, along with those mercenaries who came with them. Even . . . and I admit that I hesitate to mention this . . . even Max Claythorne acted in such a noble fashion as to make me proud to be from the same isle as him.”
Applause broke out among the council and attendees.
Mister Shipley rose and addressed Lewis. “Mister Johnson, do you have anything to add to the report?”
“While I am not known for humility, I think in this case, I owe it to Mister Jones to exercise some. No, there is not
hing I wish to add.”
“Then we would like to hear from Rob Engleman on the matter of the war.”
Rob stepped forward and noticed, as he did so, that Doctor Morris was in the room. He stood in a discreet corner, calling no attention to himself; but his eyes were on Rob.
Mister Shipley spoke, “Mister Engleman, you chose to rescue the crew of the Falcon ship that attacked us, including the coward ambassador . . . whatever his name was.”
“Pompeo,” Rob said.
“Yes, right. I take it you were attempting to show them good faith in our desire to end the war?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“You determined that it was worth the risk to yourself and the others aboard the Entdecker to follow the Falcons into the Sea of Grass?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rob wondered where this was going.
Shipley continued, “Was it your intent, once you saw their ship was stranded, to send the surviving Falcons back to their empire?”
“Yes. While I certainly placed the safe rescue of Misters Jones and Johnson as my top priority, I figured that whoever else we could save and return safely to their homes and families would feel indebted to us.”
Roger spoke up. In a nervous tone, he said, “You managed to get two of them back here alive, including the Falcon captain, a Signor Garibaldi. Assuming he gives his emperor a favorable opinion of us, what influence does he have among them?”
Rob smiled. Roger had known of his plans to speak with Garibaldi, though Rob now wished he had better news to deliver.
“I spoke with Captain Garibaldi just before his departure a few hours ago. He made it clear that while he intends to be honest in his report to the Falcon emperor, he doesn’t believe it will bring an end to the war. Their political situation is too complicated and precarious.”
“And what about our political situation?” asked Mister McClain, his expression grim.
“How do you mean, sir?” Lewis asked.
“Since the negotiations with Pompeo failed, he is now dead, and this Garibaldi fellow cannot assure us any reasonable hope for peace. Where does that put us? Are we ready for a long war against the Falcon Empire?”