Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘The Envoy has fallen!’ shouted the sergeant, then stepped in closer and swung his maul in a wide arc. Kimi sidestepped the blow and swiped at the sergeant’s knees but the armoured man was surprisingly nimble. Her sword missed its mark and the sergeant replied with a strike at Kimi’s head. The princess folded at the waist to avoid the maul and Marozvolk charged into the man, catching him in the midriff and knocking him down. There was a frenzied scrabble as Marozvolk grasped the sergeant’s maul at each end and pressed down on the man’s throat. He pushed and punched and clawed at Marozvolk but her skin shimmered and turned to stone, weathering his frenzied and desperate attacks. Long seconds passed before the sergeant stopped moving. His arms went slack, his legs stopped kicking, and a dreadful silence descended on the street.

  Kimi offered Marozvolk a hand, helping the former Vigilant to her feet.

  ‘I thought he was going to kill you, your highness,’ said Marozvolk, breathing hard, suddenly formal.

  ‘I thought the same thing. Thanks for saving me.’

  All around were bodies of soldiers. Tief was finishing off the ones who still drew breath, while Sundra attended to the dead and wounded novices.

  ‘So much for going ahead and scouting to make sure things are safe,’ said Kimi as Romola rounded a corner and looked at the scene of carnage.

  ‘What have you done?’ said the pirate captain quietly.

  The rest of the day was spent disposing of the dead soldiers in the bay. Marozvolk hauled another corpse from the back of the wagon. The novices watched from their position on the ship. They stared down with pale faces, too shocked to speak. They were six less in number now, just seventeen souls. Mistress Kamalov had retired to her cabin, refusing to speak to anyone.

  Tief helped Romola and her crew loot the soldier’s bodies, setting aside the coin and stripping the armour. ‘How long before the Empire notices they’re missing?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I count eighteen bodies,’ said Kimi.

  ‘There’s usually ten men to a section,’ said Marozvolk, ‘and three sections to a troop.’

  Tief swore under his breath and Romola pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘So there’s another twelve soldiers out there?’ said Tief.

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Marozvolk. ‘They might have been under full strength. The other section might be in the next town.’

  ‘We keep three crew on watch at all times,’ Romola said to her crew. ‘As soon as we sight Imperial soldiers I’m casting off, and I don’t care who’s still ashore.’ She flashed an angry look at Kimi. ‘Where is Steiner?’

  Kimi shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him. I was scouting ahead. That was what we agreed.’ She eyed the captain with a sour look. ‘Who let Mistress Kamalov off the ship with all of those children?’

  ‘I was overseeing the resupply,’ countered Romola, squaring up to the princess. ‘I can’t be everywhere at once.’

  ‘You didn’t notice two score of children and an old woman sneaking off your ship?’ said Kimi, taking a step closer. ‘Are you blind?’

  ‘This isn’t helping,’ said Marozvolk quietly. ‘We dispose of the bodies, we get the supplies, we cast off. You two can blame each other all day long once we’re at sea.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kjellrunn

  Kjellrunn sat on a coil of rope at the back of the ship, hunched and folded in on herself, one hand resting against her brow. Time and again she had tried to clear her mind of the street battle, tried not to remember the dull echo of weapons on armour or the shrill calls of the dying. Every noise from the docks sounded threatening to her. Every raucous voice belonged to a Solmindre soldier. She snuck a look over the side of the ship, holding her breath until she was sure they were safe.

  The corner of the stern and the coil of rope were a poor substitute for her cabin, but she had no wish to be close to Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn didn’t know what was worse, the way the old woman cursed under her breath or the moments she gave in to silent weeping for the dead children. Kjellrunn nested down on the rope once more and blinked away the memories of the carnage. Six children beaten and bloody on the streets of Virag. Beaten until they stopped moving and breathing. Beaten for bearing the ‘taint’ of witchsign and the misfortune to run across an Envoy with the sight.

  ‘Frøya save us,’ whispered Kjellrunn as a chill wind whipped across the deck, bringing spots of rain with it. The crew of the Watcher’s Wait went about their tasks under a pall of surly silence, keen to sail away under the cover of night. The glee of ransacking Vladibogdan had subsided and the men and women shared sidelong glances, muttering bitterness when they spoke at all. They wore their weapons openly and all humour had been cast aside. Romola directed the resupply of the ship’s stores and not one of them shirked under her stern gaze. Mistress Kamalov appeared on deck and scowled at the grey sky and the promise of rain as if it were a personal affront. She spoke with Sundra and Tief for a moment.

  ‘They can’t wait to be rid of us,’ said Tief, indicating the pirates. ‘We’re bad luck. We’re worse than bad luck.’

  Kjellrunn couldn’t hear Mistress Kamalov’s response, but moments later the old Vigilant was hobbling across the quarterdeck and up the steps. She approached the stern of the ship as if she hadn’t seen her pupil then leaned against the rail a dozen feet from where Kjellrunn sat.

  ‘It is quite a thing to hide in plain sight,’ said Mistress Kamalov, staring out to sea. Kjellrunn shrugged, too tired to argue, but there could be no question that hiding was what she was doing.

  ‘Sometimes it’s good to hide,’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘Sometimes hiding is necessary but sometimes hiding costs people their lives.’

  Kjellrunn flinched at the last word and felt the heat of anger in her cheeks.

  ‘This isn’t about me sitting in the corner of the ship, is it?’

  ‘I always said you were a smart girl.’ Mistress Kamalov looked out to the city of Virag and curled her lip. ‘This entire city smells like rotting fish heads and wet dung, but I doubt the cities of Shanisrond will be any better.’

  Kjellrunn released a breath of relief, glad for the change of subject, glad that the old woman hadn’t taken her to task for failing to protect the children. She was more than capable of doing that for herself. Neither woman spoke for a moment and Kjellrunn stood up, keen to reach the quiet of the cabin and avoid anyone else.

  ‘Strange that you take up arms against that Envoy but not fight with the arcane the way I taught you.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ said Kjellrunn quietly. ‘I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t …’

  ‘What can you not do?’ asked Mistress Kamalov, hobbling forward, a frown fixed above her furious eyes.

  ‘I have nightmares,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘dreams where the souls of all those dead Okhrana drag me back to the woodcutter’s chalet in Nordvlast. They take me down to the deep places in the earth. I can taste death, feel the decay of creatures gone to their rest. Those Okhrana want me dead for what I did. I can’t use the arcane like that again. I can’t destroy a score of people in a heartbeat.’

  Mistress Kamalov looked away and rubbed her face. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and Kjellrunn suspected there would be many more to come.

  ‘You killed the Okhrana with the arcane to avenge Verner,’ said the old woman quietly. ‘And you should have killed those soldiers with the arcane to protect those children. Now they are dead. They are dead because they trusted an old, foolish kozel and a student who has suddenly lost her nerve.’

  ‘What?’ Kjellrunn stepped closer to the old woman.

  ‘You had no such qualms about sinking an entire ship of Imperial sailors off the shore of Nordvlast.’

  ‘That was to stop the Empire coming to Cinderfell.’

  ‘So.’ Mistress Kamalov held up one finger. ‘It is permissible to use the arcane when you wish to avenge a loved one, or to protect yourself, but not to protect anyone else.’

  Kjellrunn pulled back her h
and to slap the old woman across the face when she noticed the raven-haired novice just a dozen feet away. Kjellrunn lowered her hand. The remaining novices had gathered at the stern and were watching the exchange.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Kjellrunn. She eyed the girl with an unfriendly glare and the girl returned it with one of her own. For a brief moment Kjellrunn was back in the street, watching the girl breathe fire, killing the soldier who gripped her arm while Kjellrunn did nothing.

  ‘I’m Trine,’ said the girl. Kjellrunn took a moment to look at her more carefully. She was around the same age as Kjellrunn with the same pale complexion, made stark by the shock of black hair that tumbled down her back. Kjellrunn stood a little straighter but no good came of it. They were roughly the same height, the same scrawny build. They might have been twins if not for their hair. ‘I came to tell you’ – the girl looked at Mistress Kamalov – ‘that we’re staying on the ship. All of us. We’ll come with you to Shanisrond.’ For a fleeting second the girl looked apologetic. ‘And we promise not run off and get into trouble.’ The young girl looked over her shoulder with a hard expression, as if warning the other children.

  ‘How old are you, Trine?’ asked Kjellrunn.

  ‘Sixteen.’ Trine jutted her chin and stared at Kjellrunn with a note of challenge. ‘And I’m not scared of using my powers.’ Kjellrunn felt the rebuke as clearly as if she’d been struck.

  ‘Then perhaps you should be Mistress Kamalov’s new student.’ Kjellrunn pushed her way through the centre of the novices and kept walking until she was at the prow. She didn’t look back.

  The crowds at the end of the pier shifted uneasily but Kjellrunn couldn’t see any soldiers among them from her place on the ship. A small contingent of guild masters lingered for a time, locked in discussion despite the inclement weather. Only three guild masters remained as the evening drew on, along with four of the city watch. A cruel wind whipped at their tabards and coats and Kjellrunn shivered. ‘Where are you, Steiner?’ she whispered, knowing all too well that her brother was spoiling for a fight with the Empire. She’d rather not lose him so soon after getting him back from Vladibogdan.

  ‘Frøya’s teeth, Steiner. Don’t leave me on this rotting ship.’

  The guards on the pier intercepted two people before letting them approach the ship. Kjellrunn didn’t recognise them at first in their new clothes, but it was unmistakably Kimi and Marozvolk that stalked down the pier and not Marek and Steiner. Kimi looked cold and furious, much as she’d done for the whole voyage, while Marozvolk spared a backwards glance towards the city. Kjellrunn watched the former Vigilant bend closer to the Yamali princess and exchange words before both of them broke into a run. Marozvolk had seen something.

  ‘Not again,’ said Kjellrunn. Her mouth went dry.

  The crowds at the docks broke apart and a single scream pierced the confused mumbles of the city folk. More soldiers in black enamelled armour and black cloaks approached. Kjellrunn counted a dozen at least, possibly twenty.

  ‘Cast off now!’ bellowed Romola.

  Kjellrunn’s stomach turned to ice. Kimi and Marozvolk hit the boarding ramp even as two sailors attempted to drag it on board. The soldiers were moving down the pier as fast as their heavy armour would allow.

  ‘Archers!’ Romola’s voice again. She had drawn her sabre and pointed towards the pier. Kjellrunn ran, heading for Romola at midships. Sailors were heaving and grunting as they drew up the anchor and Kjellrunn struggled to slip past them.

  ‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘Wait, gods damn it! My brother is still ashore.’

  The pirates’ arrows raced through the air, embedding in the thick wood of the soldier’s hastily raised shields. Other arrows clattered off the stone pier and ricocheted into barrels and crates near the guild masters. The soldiers had dropped to one knee behind their shields, their advance slowed.

  ‘Keep firing!’ shouted Romola.

  Kjellrunn reached the captain and took her by the arm. ‘We have to wait for my family!’

  ‘It’s your family or my ship and my crew,’ shouted Romola. She shook Kjellrunn off.

  ‘Just a few more minutes!’

  ‘A few more minutes and there won’t be a ship to come back to.’

  Sundra emerged at Kjellrunn’s side and took her hand. ‘Come away from the captain, no good will come of it.’

  A soldier on the pier had slung his shield across his back and ran towards the ship, sprinting as best he could in the heavy armour.

  ‘Cast off, damn you,’ shouted Romola. ‘Push off from the pier.’

  The soldier leapt on, mounting a pile of crates as arrows fell all around him. He was almost at the gunwales when Romola planted a foot against his head and forced him off the ship. The deck was a flurry of action as sailors went about their tasks.

  ‘Look out!’ shouted a pirate beside Kjellrunn. Moments later a handful of grappling hooks streaked over their heads, ropes arcing behind them after. The metal clattered on the wooden deck and the ropes became taut. Someone screamed and Kjellrunn discovered a sailor pinned up against the side of the ship, a grappling hook, thrown from land, embedded in his thigh. Kjellrunn drew the pirate’s cutlass as the pinned man clutched at his leg and howled in agony.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he gasped. Kjellrunn severed the rope attached to the grappling hook and a soldier on the pier collapsed backwards.

  ‘I have wounded here!’ shouted Kjellrunn.

  More grappling hooks were thrown, prompting more calls of alarm.

  ‘How did they know to bring grappling hooks?’ said Romola. ‘They’re soldiers, not marines.’

  ‘Whatever they are,’ said Kjellrunn, pointing to another contingent of soldiers further up the docks, ‘there are a lot more of them.’

  ‘Marines don’t wear armour, halfhead,’ said the captain. ‘Keep firing, you filthy dogs!’ she bellowed at the archers.

  The hissing sound of fabric unfurling filled Kjellrunn’s senses as the main sail dropped from its boom. Kjellrunn caught a glimpse of Mistress Kamalov at the stern of the ship with four novices, all standing with feet spread wide and arms outstretched, fingertips splayed. The sail snapped out and the ship lurched forward. The shouting stopped as all aboard clung to whatever was closest to hand. Kjellrunn dropped to her knees and blinked through the unnatural wind. There was a moment where no one said a word and the only sound was the shrieking arcane gale and an almost unhinged laughter. Kjellrunn turned to see Romola staring up at the main sail with a wide grin.

  ‘May you have witchsign!’ shouted the captain above the howling gale. ‘Glorious witchsign and a fair wind at your back!’

  The Watcher’s Wait surged away from Virag and the sailors dropped more of the sails. Kjellrunn ran to the stern, ignoring Mistress Kamalov and her charges, who squeezed their eyes closed in concentration. The pier was taken over by black-clad soldiers, who stared after the ship in mute fury. Kjellrunn watched the city as it grew smaller and smaller with distance. Somewhere in that sprawl of people was her brother, her father. Did they even know they had been left behind?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Steiner

  The docks were awash with people, some shouting, some crying. Most were staring slack-jawed at the blood-red frigate heading for the open sea. The sails were full with a wind that shouldn’t have existed.

  ‘Seems our good fortune didn’t last long,’ said Marek. Steiner could just make out the gaunt frame of Mistress Kamalov standing at the stern, arms outstretched, summoning a gale to speed them on their way. Four novices stood beside her, following the renegade Vigilant’s lead. Was that Kjellrunn staring from the back of the ship? He hoped so.

  ‘The pier is crawling with soldiers,’ said Kristofine, clutching Steiner’s hand with a wild look in her eyes. The crowd near the pier started to dissipate, keen to be away from the armoured men in black cloaks.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Steiner as the Watcher’s Wait departed Virag. ‘Romola left without us.’
<
br />   ‘She did warn us she’d set sail if soldiers came,’ said Marek. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with one calloused hand. ‘At least Kjellrunn and the children will be safe.’

  ‘That’s good for Kjellrunn,’ said Steiner. ‘But what about us?’

  ‘We need to get out of the city,’ said Marek. ‘The Empire will be asking a lot of questions over the next few days.’ He walked away and headed towards a side street. Kristofine and Steiner followed, their gazes lingering on the ship as it receded into the distance.

  ‘Shouldn’t we try and book passage on another ship?’ asked Kristofine with a worried glance over her shoulder.

  ‘No one will be going anywhere for about a week,’ said Marek. ‘They’ll forbid the captains from leaving port. Every hold and crate will be inspected.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ she replied. ‘We could still catch up with them at the next port.’

  ‘Actually I do know that.’ Marek’s voice was low and his words clipped. ‘I used to serve with those men. I used to give the orders.’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Kristofine, though her tone of voice said otherwise. ‘But we’re on our own and need to be prepared.’

  ‘If we delay we’ll be caught,’ said Marek, his expression grim. Steiner could tell his father was struggling to keep his anger in check.

  ‘But we have nothing but the cloaks on our backs,’ replied Kristofine from between gritted teeth. ‘What’s the point of escaping if we starve to death on the road?’

  ‘She has a point,’ said Steiner, stepping between them. He pointed out a handful of market stalls further up the street. ‘Come on.’

  There was a perfunctory attempt at haggling, but Marek was more committed to being on his way than commanding a good price. Moments later they were outfitted with a satchel and two packs filled with food that would keep them going for a few days at least. The stalls were packing up for the night and the rain, which had never really stopped, began anew.