by Mike Truk
“Fire!”
They all twanged and kicked at once, and purple fire wreathed a good half of the bolts causing them to spiral and fly in every direction, missing the tunnel as they flashed out of sight.
Ten or so bolts still thudded into Pony’s form, however, with a couple slipping by him to ricochet down the length of the tunnel.
“Load!”
“Pony?” I reached up to help pull a bolt free of his side. “You all right?”
He just gave me a resigned shrug as he swept the haft of his hammer across his torso, dislodging three or four bolts in one go.
“Ready?” came the cry. Crossbows came back up.
“Kellik,” said Netherys, voice little more than a whisper. “I’m… I don’t think I can…”
“Aim!”
Twenty bolts. Could even Pony take that kind of punishment? And if he fell? Sure, he’d get back up, but what would we do in the meantime? Retreat? The wise move was to back up, but then we’d never emerge again, not through this pipe, and how would we connect with Havatier -
An arrow wreathed in purple and green fire cut through the ranks of the crossbow men like a wire through cheese, followed almost immediately by a scythe of raw wind so violent it sent six or seven more men tumbling to the ground, elbows, arms, and hands shorn off by its cutting edge.
“Kellik!” Cerys stood at the prow of a small ship as it hove into view, gloom bow in hand. “Run!”
Pony grunted, scooped up Tamara, and lumbered out of the pipe, down toward the boat as it slid up onto the muddy shore. Immediately, shouts rang out and a hail of bolts rained down upon his back. He hunched over, wrapping his arms protectively around Tamara’s still form, struggled on, then dropped to one knee.
I looped an arm under Netherys’ own and helped her rise and race forward, Pogo screaming as he sprinted after Pony, Iris a dark shadow in our wake. Frantic orders were being yelled, men were feverishly loading crossbows, but I focused on the boat, tearing my way along the mud, my boots sinking shin deep with each step, my whole body aflame with the agony of exertion.
“Fire!”
Bolts sped amongst us, but these were wreathed in Netherys’ purple magic and missed, some shooting right over our heads to slide into the Snake Head, others flying out wide to hit the crossbow men by the river’s edge. Screams, and then my left foot got stuck, going too deep into the mud, and I nearly fell face-first.
Yashara leaped off the ship to get a shoulder under Pony’s arm. Cerys was firing arrow after arrow over our heads. Calling on what remained of my reserves, feeling feverish, seized by vertigo, I hauled my left foot free, leaving the boot behind, and wrestled forward, hauling Netherys along. Iris took her other arm, and together we half slid, half waded to the ship’s side just as Pony placed Tamara with extreme gentleness aboard the ship and then turned to help us.
He grasped Netherys, raised her with a grimace of effort and set her aboard the ship. There were some twenty or so bolts lodged in his chest, shoulders, and neck; his blood was running down his front in copious amounts, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he took up Pogo, closing his fist around the goblin’s waist, and deposited him onboard as well.
I turned to face the enemy. Four city trolls were nearly upon us, crossbow men were frantically loading their bows, while others were picking themselves up out of the mud or drawing blades.
“Get on the ship!” Cerys’ cry was savage and imperative.
Fuck. I sheathed the frost blade, turned, and leaped up to grab the railing. A bolt took me in the back of the thigh, but all I could do was grunt. Havatier reached down to grab me by the arms and pull me up, Yashara almost throwing Iris aboard beside me.
“Pony!” Cerys slapped her quiver in obvious frustration - all her arrows were gone. “On the ship!”
“We have to go!” Havatier began weaving his fingers together as he chanted a spell. “We’re out of time!”
“Pony!” I climbed to my feet, leaned against the railing. “Get up here!”
The war troll was swinging his hammer back and forth in low sweeps, keeping his four smaller city cousins at bay even as more crossbow bolts kept punching into his blue frame. He backed up into the water, was knee-deep now, but one turn and the city trolls would be on him.
Instead, he reached back, his massive hand fumbling at the prow of the ship, and with a deep grunt gave it a powerful shove, sending us off the mud and sliding into the Snake Head’s current.
Yashara leaped up, caught the railing, then turned to extend her arm back to the war troll. “Come on!”
Pony glanced around at her, considered the ship, then simply shook his head and turned to face the growing crowd of enemies.
He wasn’t going to come.
Panic filled me.
What could I - there!
I stumbled over to where the anchor lay over a coil of chain at the stern. It was an iron cross, as large as a seagull, its points wicked and tapering.
“Bad idea,” I growled as I hauled it up, “bad idea, bad idea!” It took all my strength. “Havatier! When I jump, hit the sail with everything you got!”
Cerys grabbed my arm. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Havatier?” I shouted.
“Ready!”
I took three explosive steps, put my foot up on the gunwale, the second on the railing, and leaped.
The chain uncoiled. Two bolts sped by me, and then I crashed down on Pony’s back, slamming the point of the anchor as deep as I could into the great rope of muscle that ran from the base of his skull to his shoulder.
Sheer weight and momentum caused the point to sink deep. Pony roared in confusion, flailed, and then a terrific wind blew in over our heads, powerful enough to send the city trolls staggering, sending bolts careening in every direction, the ship tearing away from us as it sped into the Snake Head.
For a moment Pony just stood there, with me clutching onto his back, and then the chain went taut and he was ripped off his feet, flying back nearly five yards into the river.
We crashed down into the Snake Head, going under, dragging along at an incredible speed, and then surfaced amid an explosion of continuous froth that broke around our heads and shoulders as we were pulled away, the bank rapidly receding as a few more bolts were shot in our direction.
I held on tight to Pony’s rocky hide, too invigorated by the cold water and our escape to feel my pain, the many wounds, to do anything more than whoop with exultation as we sped out into the Bay of Despair.
Chapter 2
Our combined weight tore the anchor loose of its mooring just as we entered the Bay of Despair, so that Havatier was forced to cease his magic and stop the boat altogether. Pony, as it turned out, couldn’t swim; for a frantic few seconds I thought I was going to go down with him, desperately trying to keep him afloat and failing, but then Yashara dove into the water and swam over, looping an arm around his chest and swimming powerfully back to the boat. I swam alongside, marveling at her sheer athleticism as she pulled the war troll over to where the others could help lever him onboard, and when he finally smashed through the railing and onto the deck more than one person gave an exhausted cheer.
Cerys leaned down to give me a hand. My own strength was rapidly giving out; I’d simply pushed too hard for too long. She had to reach down to grab me by the back of the belt and strain to get me onto the deck through the opening Pony had made in the railings.
The boat settled in the chop. I lay there panting, gazing at the Port Gloom skyline and the myriad lights that smeared themselves in vivid trails across the bay’s waters to where we rocked back and forth. And only then, as I stared at the Royal Provost’s tower in the distance, did it finally hit home: we’d fucking done it.
We’d found Everyman Jack, got the answers I wanted, found my revenge, and then gotten away with it.
I think the same realization hit everybody at roughly the same time; Havatier sagged behind the steering wheel; Yashara sat on the edge of the boat, legs over the side, arms rest
ing on the railing and staring back from whence we’d come. Cerys sank down by my side, while Iris stepped up to rest a hand on my shoulder. Only Pogo moved about, climbing around Pony’s supine form, plucking out crossbow bolts while tsking angrily.
“We did it,” I said, voice numb with shock. “By the Hanged God’s empty nutsack, we fucking did it.”
Yashara snorted. Netherys groaned and rested her forearm over her eyes. Cerys leaned her temple on my shoulder. The boat rose and fell with each wave, and I almost thought I could hear shouts and excoriations coming from the distant shore where the forces of the Family and Port Gloom were no doubt in a frenzy.
“We can’t rest here long,” said Havatier at last. “Word will be sent to the dock as to how we escaped. They’ll be sending boats after us soon.”
“Where to?” asked Cerys. She looked up at me, at once somehow serious and yet with a warmth in her gaze that made me feel like I’d done more than just wrest secrets from Jack. “Down the coast?”
Pogo paused, one foot on Pony’s shoulder, bent over to tug out another bolt. “We clearly cannot return to Port Gloom, tomorrow or the year after. I suggest we stop at the closest friendly port, embrace each other out of cordial respect, and then disappear as quickly as we can in every direction. The Family will hunt us down.”
Yashara roused herself like a lioness pulling herself from slumber. “The Mailed Fist is no more. We’ve lost everyone along the way. Only Pony, Pogo and myself remain.”
“We can build anew!” said Pogo, holding up a tiny fist. “From the ashes shall rise a new company, forged by adversity and the copious amounts of gold Kellik owes us!”
“Pogo’s correct,” said Cerys. “The Family will chase us wherever we go.”
“Agreed,” said Havatier, tone heavy with exhaustion and perhaps regret. “They cannot forgive this black eye. They will haul us back one by one to make an example of us.”
Netherys spoke from beneath her forearm. “Kellik’s not finished with them yet.”
“No?” Havatier and the others turned to me. “But you had your audience with your Everyman Jack, didn’t you? Wasn’t that the sole goal of this operation? What else is there left to do?”
Cerys sat a little straighter. “And what did you learn from him? Why did he betray you?”
Time to speak. I wanted nothing so much as to lie back on the deck and pass out, but alas. With a groan I forced myself to stand. Everything felt off. My arms and legs, hands and chest, shoulders and back. Everything hurt. Was stabbed, scraped, sodden, covered in blood, lacerated or badly bruised. Was it not for my king troll blood, I’d be dead many times over.
“There’s much to tell you all.” I gazed at each of them in turn. “Yes, I spoke with Jack. Yes, I got the answers I wanted. But Netherys is right. I’m far from done. I’m actually only getting started, because what we’ve begun here won’t end till we’re either swinging by the neck on Execution Hill or have destroyed the Family and the city government completely.”
Cerys gave a low laugh. “So you’re saying we’re all dead.”
“Not at all.” I smiled at her. “I’m saying we need to get out of this damn bay before we’re surrounded.”
“Where to?” asked Havatier. “Skull Bay is a half day’s sail to the south, though it’s often occupied by pirates. Or we could tack into the wind and try the northern coast, make for Ilstender - it’s small, but the people there would pay ready coin for this ship and let us go about our way.”
“We’re not making for port,” I said. “Nowhere that close to Port Gloom is safe. No. You’re going to give us one last effort, Havatier, and blow us right after the Bonegwayne.”
“Maestria’s ship?” Cerys’ doubt was obvious. “We were lucky she let us aboard the last time.”
“We won’t give her a choice. She’s going out into deeper waters where it’ll be hard for the Family to follow us, and she’s no doubt moving fast. If we can catch up with her, we can sail in safety until we’re healed up and have devised new plans.”
Havatier shook his head. “She’s more likely to open fire with her cannons at our approach than take us aboard.”
“Something tells me she won’t,” I said. “If we can get in close enough, I’ll charm her with my roguish ways and the promise of gold. Either way, it’s a risk we’re going to have to take. I can’t think of a safer berth. Can you catch up with her?”
Havatier scowled up at the sail, scanned the deck, turned to the distant horizon. “I…I honestly don’t know. The Bonegwayne’s been underway for at least a couple of hours. With this wind, she’ll be going a good twelve knots. That means we’ll have to double her speed and travel for four hours just to catch up. I… I may not have that in me.”
“Try,” I said, “we’ve no other choice. Anything else will most likely see us dead in a day or two. The Family’s not going to fuck around. When word gets out that we destroyed a Family stronghold and killed an uncle and got away, they’ll be livid. We can expect gloom knights to be sent after us, and worse.”
Havatier blew out his cheeks. “Very well. You make a convincing argument. Let us see what I can do.”
I gave him a nod and sank back down to the deck, where I leaned against a chest that had been bolted to the boards.
Yashara offered her services in sailing the ship, given her experience pirating during her youth, and Cerys was another set of hands. The two of them arranged the sails just as Havatier wanted, and then he invoked his powers and a steady wind began to blow, causing the triangular sail to billow out and ease us forward with ever greater speed.
Port Gloom began to fall away. Its towers and great encompassing harbor, the mouth of the Snake Head, the distant bridges, the stench of tar and wood smoke, pollution and filth, all grew steadily more distant. Ten or so minutes later we slid out through the mouth of the bay into the larger waves of the ocean itself, and there our sea journey began in earnest.
It was a mild morning, however, and the waves weren’t a problem. Our boat ran before Havatier’s wind, moving further out till Port Gloom was but a bruise on the horizon, and then, muttering to himself, the weather mage changed our course to a rough southerly one.
“She was heading for Port Lusander,” he called over to where I sat. “That’s about a two-week voyage. Aiming to reach it in time for some grand annual festival. She’ll stay in the offing -”
“Offing?”
“What we call the sea that’s in sight of the land. We’ll stay in the offing for the first few days, then once the Dead Man’s Trench ends she’ll take the direct route right across to Green Haven, leaving all sight of land for a week.”
“Dead Man’s Trench?” I asked. “What the hell is that?”
“Deep trench that follows the coast about five miles out. Steep drop-off. Filled with unholy horrors. Nobody sails over it for fear of being destroyed or eaten alive. Keeps everyone in sight of the shore till it ends just shy of the route to Green Haven.”
“Well, let’s avoid that,” I said, “and catch her before she makes that crossing.”
Havatier gave a bitter laugh and tugged on his bandolier, his gray wispy hair stirring in the wind. “If we don’t, we’re dead. This barge isn’t fit for waves any rougher than this. We’ll capsize and be eaten by soulfish.”
“Let’s avoid that if we can,” said Cerys, walking up from the bow, wiping her hands on her hips.
I drifted in and out of sleep. Much as I wanted to stay alert, I was simply too worn out. The others rested as well; Pony passed out. Yashara dozed at the prow, waiting for commands from Havatier. Tamara remained unconscious. Netherys lay still by her side, taking advantage of her lap with which to cushion her head. I sat with my back to the sole cabin at the rear of the ship, Cerys by my side, head bobbing up and down as I fought sleep.
The hours slid by. Havatier grew ever more hunched where he stood at the wheel. His wind blew on and on, a gale that he summoned out of the clear morning sky, driving us over the waves whose constan
t impact sent shudders through the wood.
Finally, I clawed my way to my feet and staggered over to him. I felt near delirious with exhaustion. Would have given my left fist for a cup of coffee. But when I reached Havatier’s side and glanced at his face, I realized just how good I had it.
His eyes had grown sunken, his lips pulled back from his teeth, and in the early morning light I could see how pale his gums had grown. Lines were carved deep into his face as if by a hot knife.
“By the White Sun,” I said, reaching out then drawing my hand back, “Havatier, you’ve got to stop.”
“No,” he rasped. “There. See them?”
And I turned and stared and made out a shadow of a ship moving far ahead of us.
“You did it,” I said, disbelief and joy banishing my exhaustion. “You gorgeous bastard, you did it!”
“Not yet.” His grin grew predatory. “They’ve sighted us. Somehow. Must be Wracken up in the bird’s nest. Got the eyes of an eagle, that bastard does. Makes sense. They’ve unfurled every sail so as to catch every drop of wind there is. But they don’t have me on board. Don’t have my magic. The race is on, Kellik. If I can keep my heart from giving out, we’ll catch them within the hour.”
“What can I do?”
“Brandy. Rum. Anything to wet my throat. Find it. Now.”
The scratchy desperation in his voice was all the urging I needed. I hurried to the cabin, forced open the door, and ransacked the small room, opening drawers, rummaging through the small chest, until I found a metal flask that sloshed when I shook it by my ear.
“Here,” I said, unscrewing it and handing it to him when I returned to his side. “All I found.”
Havatier never took his eyes from the Bonegwayne. He put the flask to his lips and took four long pulls, his scrawny throat bobbing as he drank, then tore the flask away with a hiss and leaned forward. “That’s the good stuff. Come, my precious winds. One last breath before we die.”
And the gale overhead intensified, causing the mast to creak, the canvas to stretch to bursting, and we surged forward through the endless rolling waves, across the pewter ocean furrowed by shadows beneath the great unwinking eye of the sun.