by B A Simmons
“No matter. Seems the Falcons can’t do more than hurt me.”
Another grenade was dropped, but this time, the soldier above them had let the fuse run down before letting it go. It exploded above the group, showering them with shrapnel. Most of this impacted their shields or armor, causing no harm. However, a few hands and feet were struck with bits of pottery, leaving four of them with abrasions.
More shouts emanated from the tower, and Rob looked to see Janet running at them across the open crest. She dodged bolts with unforeseen agility and even once stopped to fire back. Rob pushed Charlie against the wall and ran to meet Janet. Mostly, he wanted to use his shield to protect her, but he also thought that making himself a target might draw away the projectile otherwise destined to end her life.
“It’s too far away! We’re wasting arrows!” she yelled at Rob as a bolt whizzed past her ear.
“You can’t get any closer without risking being hit!” he yelled back.
A bolt thudded into his shield, its bodkin point pierced through near his hand. Janet hid behind Rob as she placed another arrow to the string of her longbow. Three more bolts slammed into his shield and another deflected off his helm before she fired. However, this time, her arrow found its mark. A faint yelp sounded from the tower and grenades ceased to fall on the attackers huddled at the door.
Without a word, Janet ran back into the bushes. Unless another Falcon soldier took to the top of the tower, the archers were useless against it. Rob returned to the tower assault, catching another bolt on his shield. He could feel the added weight of these bronze-tipped missiles on his arm. Either that or his arm was beginning to feel the true weight of a shield used in battle.
By this time, the fire Roland lit under the door had climbed halfway up. Gus continued to beat at it with his axe, though his weary arms did little to improve their access to the inside. Roland had taken the second axe and, with a fervor characteristic to him, made a splintery mess of the wood around the door handle. It hung limp from the bolt, but as it went all the way through, the handle remained a copper ornament occasionally dulling his axe blade.
A small flood of water streamed out from under the door, making the flames spurt and flutter. It doused the torch, which had acted as a base for the fire. Without that base, it wasn’t long before the flames died away.
“Damitall!” Roland shouted and moved his focus to the charred area of the door. The well-built barricade held firm even as Rob ordered Gus to relinquish possession of his axe to another, fresher man.
Charlie came to his feet again and wormed his way around the wall of the tower. He came back a minute later with grim news.
“There’s a ship in the channel between us and Alimia. They’re moving fast, not intending to land this time. They mean to chase the Entdecker off and strand us here!”
Rob knew the mission had failed. He had failed.
“Roland, run back to Janet and the other two on the crest, get them back to the Entdecker. If we’re not back before that ship comes into view, tell Tom to get back to Engle Isle without us. Don’t let him wait.”
Roland nodded and placed his shield behind his head as he ran in a zig-zag away from the tower.
Rob turned to the others. “Help me lift our wounded. Gus, you help Charlie. The rest of you, cover us with your shields until we get back to the bushes. Then get back to the ship as quickly as you can!”
Rob stooped down and lifted Steven Reed, a young Engle Islander whose legs had taken shrapnel from the first grenade. He cursed himself in thought for not having Mark’s strength. Yet, at the same time, he was somewhat surprised that he’d even been able to stand with the body over his shoulders.
He ran. He set his eyes on the dark outline of the bushes ahead and moved there as fast as his legs could carry him. In those tense moments, he no longer thought about the men running next to him, even those he had known from childhood. He didn’t even think about the man on his back, though the weight threw him off balance once or twice.
Once back inside the relative safety of the bushes, Rob stopped to look around. He knew aside from himself and Steven, there should be five others. He saw the mercenary carrying the second wounded man; he saw Charlie and heard him grunt in pain with every step and Gus behind him with a shield. Then the last man, running while his left hand held tight to his right arm. A bolt had found it, the short fletching on the back was barely visible, while the point and much of the shaft protruded out the other side.
Rob herded this man in front of himself and continually urged him onward as they set off for the southern shore of the island. The hope of making it there before Tom was forced to save himself and the Entdecker was all that kept Rob going. The temptation of dropping Steven and leaving the other men behind nagged and pulled at his attention as a hungry child might his mother. Yet the young Engleman, a slave to his sense of duty, pushed and prodded, only stopping once to readjust the body he so desperately wanted to discard.
Just as he wondered if he’d somehow lost his way, they stumbled onto the beach. Piers and Janet met him there and helped hoist them into the ship. It was at that moment that they realized Steven was dead. A crossbow bolt had found a weakness in the armor. The poor man had bled out while being carried to safety.
As the Entdecker made sail and turned southward across the wind, she came under fire from the Falcon ship. To their benefit, the darkness of the night made her a difficult target for the Falcons. They slipped away from their pursuers, taking a few minutes to bury their lost man in the waves before returning home.
They felt the defeat in their hearts as much as in their bodies. Charlie’s bruises, difficult to see under his dark skin tone, were the lightest of the wounds. The two others would be in hospital for some time to come and even then, a full recovery was questionable.
For Rob, the loss of Steven accented his failure as a leader. He reminded himself, as John did after their return, that Mark’s first action ended in retreat also. Yet John, being carried to safety by Mark, hadn’t died. This wasn’t something Rob wanted to discuss. Instead, he began to devise their next plan of action. He would have to create his own Battle of Little Alimia; the victory he’d intended, yet which seemed elusive.
15: Welcoming Strangers
The Fortress de Joc had never looked better. In just over a year, the engineers of the Falcon Empire, with the labor of slaves, had revitalized its former glory. The main keep, which stood near the southern shore of that small island, now reached more than sixty feet in the air. The outer walls and towers spiderwebbed out from it to cover most of the western and northern areas. Only on the east of the fortress island was there any open ground where infantry could amass.
Indeed, as the Anna Louisa sailed through the channel toward the docks at the main island, Falcon infantry paraded in marching columns to the east of the fortress. Edwin had not felt this intimidated since their last visit to the isles. That time, he’d smuggled several armed fighters in his hold. This time, however, he was supposed to be a joyful Falcon acolyte. The impressive display of military might, while intimidating, had to be welcome. So, he forced a smile to his face and touted the Falcon pennant from his mast.
A full squad of light infantry manned the post at the end of the ancient docks. It seemed as though they had lost some of the fear of plague that comes with any first-time visit to Isle de Joc. And yet, the sign warning visitors of the dangers inland had been refurbished and stood larger than ever at the post.
After checking Edwin’s paperwork, the guards loped back to their game of dice in front of the hut. To Edwin’s relief, they seemed wholly uninterested in him or the man now approaching him. Seth looked much older than the previous year. His countenance grim, he looked more at the dirt than at Edwin. Yet once he recognized the master of the Anna Louisa, his eyes lit up and a smile flashed across his lips. He looked to the docks to confirm that it was, in fact, Edwin.
“Well, it certainly has been a long time. I’d wondered if we were to see yo
u or your family again.”
“Hello, Seth. I’m glad to see you too. Every time we passed near this isle, we’ve wanted to come into harbor, just to check on you. The war has made that difficult to achieve.”
“But here you are! Tell me what you can while we conduct business. If we only converse as friends, the watchmen here will grow suspicious.”
“We need to refill our water barrels,” Edwin said, exaggerating that part for potential eavesdroppers. “Then we’d like to purchase some wine.”
Seth nodded. He took from his tunic a piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil, scribbling notes as if jotting down Edwin’s order. In reality, Edwin related all the events from the fighting on Alimia to the most recent rainy season, leaving out his and Anna’s arrest on Isle de James and his connection to Fishhook Isle. In turn, he received a concise history of the Falcon’s goings-on at Isle de Joc during that same time. He learned that the invasion of Long Beard Isle, just before the rainy season, was not going as well as the Falcons wanted. Many of the wounded from that campaign were being stationed at the fortress across the channel.
“Why?” Edwin mused aloud. “It’s farther away than the Falcon Archipelago.”
“Yes, but they don’t want their people to know how badly it’s going. Can’t have shiploads of convalescents wandering about your home islands telling of the horrors of war. Not if you want to maintain that war.”
“Of course,” Edwin said with a smile. Then he glanced behind him to see the sergeant on duty watching them.
“Is this the entire order, sir?” Seth said, using the same exaggerated volume Edwin had. He handed the parchment over for Edwin’s review. On it, Seth had written: What can we do? We are ready to fight.
“Not quite,” Edwin replied. Then taking the pencil he wrote: We’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to fight. “There you are.”
“We’ll be an hour or two in preparing everything.”
Seth left the docks and returned to his village; Edwin to his ship. Within two hours, the water and wine both arrived, and they set to loading them into the cargo hold of the Anna Louisa. The sergeant kept a noncommittal eye on them while continuing to play dice. Edwin smiled and nodded but did not attempt to engage them any more than that.
As they sailed out of the channel, Edwin wondered if it was even possible to take such a fortress. Certainly not by force. It would have to be through a long siege.
The next day, they encountered a Falcon ship coming toward Isle de Joc. Despite the pennant, they ordered Edwin to stop for inspection. The officer who boarded with three marines barely spoke Engle. He looked satisfied with the paperwork shown him as well as the cargo that Edwin described as medicine and wine. The inspection itself took less time than the longboat journey between the ships. Edwin was given the officer’s blessing and allowed to continue on.
“Hoy, Cap’n,” Duncan said after the Falcon ship passed. “While you were dealing with that Falcon, I kept my eyes on their ship. I saw a load of men looking back at us with their arms in slings and with bandages over their heads. Some were missing eyes and ears. Who have they been fighting?”
“Long Bearders, I suppose. Seth said they were using the fortress island at Joc as a convalescent hospital. They may have tried to bite off more than they can chew.”
“That’s a good sign. They’re weakening themselves by fighting in more places,” Duncan agreed.
“Yes, and now we do our job.”
“What do you mean?”
“Used properly, my elixir is a powerful sedative that can do much good for the sick. Many of those men you saw would benefit from it. Their nightmares are just as bad, if not worse, than their wounds. Yet, if what I saw with Marcel is typical of the wealthy and elite Falcons, then we may be weakening them even more.”
“Marcel isn’t a soldier with nightmares,” Duncan said.
“That’s right. He’s an over-stressed, over-indulgent bureaucrat. He’s taken to abusing the elixir, taking more than he should at one time, and it’s affecting him negatively.”
“Negative for him, but good for us. Right?”
“Right. As we start spreading it around their home islands, others will act as Marcel. They’ll become addicted and irresponsible. We’ll not only be taking their money and using it to fund the war against them, but they’ll be less apt to want to fight if their leaders make themselves incompetent.”
“No offense Edwin, but this is devious,” Eugene said, entering the conversation.
“I know. Yet it’s what we have to do to win this war. Doctor Morris was right. We can’t beat their military might, but we can break their will to fight.”
“Where do we start?” Duncan asked.
“We’ll make our way down to Deep Port, or Porto Profundo as the Falcons call it. It’s their capital city and according to Marcel, we should be welcome there as friendly foreigners. We’ll sell most of our product there—elixir with wine to the wealthy royalty.”
“Most, but not all?”
“The rest we take to Pearl City on Isle de Marta. There, an acquaintance of our good friend the ambassador will buy the rest.”
“Then back to Engle Isle?”
“Then back Isle de James by way of Joc and Copper Isles. We can’t return to Engle for some time.”
Edwin knew what this meant for them. Even for Eugene and James, Engle Isle was home. Ches and Ian were still struggling to understand the world, realizing that when Edwin had told them there were “many islands,” he’d truly meant it. When he asked them if they missed Fishhook Isle, they looked even more confused.
“Nah Goffner—I mean, Cap’n Ed-win,” Ches said. “Wees come to it when we sail dair.”
“What about the people there? Do you want to see them again . . . soon?”
“Yeah okay,” both Fishhook natives said, but their faces did not express a feeling of absence from their home, or the distance between them and the people there.
At the helm of his ship, with a crew of loyal men and cargo bound to make him wealthier than any man Engle Isle had ever known, Edwin headed farther east than he’d ever gone. He’d crossed the borders of his own world before, venturing into the unknown. This time, he sailed straight for the home of his enemy.
***
The Alphina had come home. Or at least to the closest to home any place could be for a wanderer. Pete brought his ship to a halt, dropping the anchor and furling the sails in the middle of John’s Bay. Even from that position, they heard the cheers and whistles of the crowd gathered at the docks. Several fishing skiffs and the Entdecker came out to ferry their passengers ashore.
“The Entdecker looks old,” Yusef Massoud said as it came alongside them.
“Not as old as her captain,” Pete shouted, making sure Tom could hear him as he climbed aboard to greet the prodigal sibling.
The two brothers embraced, and Pete pointed to the scar below Tom’s eye.
Tom turned his face away. “Never mind that or you’ll grow jealous.”
“Jealous of you, big brother? When I’ve got the bigger ship and the better-looking crew?”
Pete introduced Tom to Edward who, in turn, introduced Tom to his lieutenants.
“When can we get off this tub?” Edward said. “No offense, Cap’n Pete, but the scenery has become too familiar these past weeks.”
Tom bowed gracefully and gestured toward the Alphina’s smaller sister. “Right this way, sir.”
Once ashore, Edward gave vested attention to the fortifications along the dock. Pete introduced him to Roger, and the two immediately bonded over the mangle nell. As the rest of the Punishers came ashore, Edward made them wait while he finished discussing potential military improvements to the wall and the town.
“An idea I learned from one of my mentors: you take wicker baskets—as tall as a man and three times as wide—line them up and fill them with rubble, and you’ve got a barricade stout enough to protect against cannon. Empty them and move them to a new location and repeat; a
portable defense wall.”
“That’s ingenious!” Roger said.
“Then, in one near the causeway or some such place, you hide a barrel of powder with a long fuse.”
Roger’s eyes lit up with excitement at the sheer novelty of the idea. Its brutality combined with simple artifice made him both love and hate it. He began thinking of specific locations where it could be deployed when a thought struck him.
“The amount of powder needed for such devices . . . we simply don’t have it.”
“Yet,” said a voice from behind. Roger turned to see Rob standing there. “As glad as I am to see you again, Pete, I’m afraid your stay can’t be very long.”
Pete nodded. “I remember.” Then his smile widened, and he embraced his cousin. “You seem taller, Rob. Leadership suits you, though I know the circumstances couldn’t be a worse fit.”
Rob tried to return Pete’s smile. Failing, he said, “I wish I could agree with you . . .”
“You must be the Rob Engleman I’ve been hearing about,” Edward interrupted.
“You must be Edward the Toad.”
Edward laughed, “Seems like we already know each other. Trina had some especially nice things to say about you.”
Rob’s cheeks grew red at the mention of Trina.
“Where is Trina?” he asked.
Pete cleared his throat, “She’s acting captain of the Old Man. Tim was badly hurt in a fight off Forgotten Isle. Jacob too. They’re both recovering at Isle de James, courtesy of Malcolm. Trina had to stay to maintain discipline.”
“There’s no one better suited for command of a ship,” Rob said.
“I don’t know about that,” Edward said. “I think Cap’n Pete would rather she was still with his crew. Am I right?” He laughed again, and it was Pete’s turn to blush.
“Well, I know of a few people who need to talk to you, Pete,” Rob said. “You’d best go have a good visit with your family. Come by the farm after supper.”
Pete nodded and rejoined Tom who had waited to accompany him back to their childhood home.