Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  Turning slowly to face Teot with confidence, his voice did not waver as he spoke in a tone unusual for a boy of seventeen summers. “Tell the men to gather up whatever salvage can be found. Search the huts.” Then Taros quietly strode toward the smoldering remains to see what he could find as well.

  The boy later returned with a bit of rope and three long tent poles that were seared on each end. He used these to lash together the litter that would drag his mother and their meager belongings behind Falia. He glanced only once at what remained of Cornin, but stared often to the west as he worked. Westward he looked, toward the angry caldera that was the bed to the sleeping Felicima, goddess of the Pescari. Are my people damned or blessed? He did not know.

  Chapter Four

  The swift black ship bounced across the choppy seas. Each time She Wolf crashed onto the waves, she groaned as if it would be her last. The air around her grew noticeably colder and the crew turned up their collars to defend against the spray. Atop the deck stood a small figure draped in leathers as black as the sails above. First glance always missed the tiny woman in the fur cloak. On land she was a mere shadow, but aboard her ship Eusari ruled as a goddess.

  She had spent fourteen of her twenty-seven years at sea. Originally from the farmlands of Loganshire, northern raiders stole her at a time when she should have been flirting with the boys of her town. Instead of making happy memories, the fur-clad Northern demons sold her to a merchant captain with an appetite for young girls. Years of abuse robbed her of innocence, and where she had forgotten how to love, she learned instead to hate. Her childhood innocence had long been replaced with cunning, and what of hers that had been designed to create life was used instead to destroy men.

  She avoided thinking about the life she had lived before the ocean claimed her, keeping the pain at bay through sheer avoidance. She knew that she had family in the world. Perhaps her brothers lived, but her parents were long gone. Her previous world was dead to Eusari, and she accepted that her family were pirates. In spite of their constant company, she lived a lonely existence. She hardly spoke to her few friends, and, when she spoke to her enemies, she preferred to let her blades do the talking.

  Unimposing, the small and quiet woman captained She Wolf while demanding absolute discipline. This allegiance was ensured by Sa’mond, her hulking first mate and extremely capable sailing master. His instinctual mastery rivaled any man of seasoned practice or schooling, and his crew worked with perfect timing and quiet precision. But most of all, and despite her stature, Eusari of Loganshire commanded the loyalty of her crew without the utterance of complaint or questioned order. Fear ruled She Wolf.

  Eusari knew the clouds by their color and shuddered at the pea soup sky. She glanced at the northern horizon and it reflected against her own green eyes. As a child working the western fields of Loganshire, she learned early on when to seek cover from a storm. These clouds had grown black with fury, deepening the dark gray of the cold water. They raced toward her ship with a quiet calm that was broken only by the increasingly colder air. Her suspicious eyes darted once more to the horizon and her instincts screamed to steer a wide berth.

  On this day she chose to ignore her gut. Her mission was urgent enough to push She Wolf to splinters. Her crew seemed to share her anxiety and busied themselves by clearing the decks and tying down loose objects under the watchful gaze of Sa’Mond. The dark skinned giant also took notice of the pending storm and nodded a reassuring smile as if he understood her worry. She turned one more glance at the clouds then headed below to check the hold and her cargo.

  The dark ladder did not bother Eusari. She knew every rung, every board, and every ounce of pitch that held She Wolf together. The vessel had taken her in and out of harm’s way for ten years and the fact that she only needed a small crew to sail the ship worked in her favor. The petite woman exercised a pervasive lack of trust in men and large crews were difficult to control. Her cautious nature obviously dashed out any hope to take an enemy ship by force, instead taking on smuggling jobs that required stealth, speed and silence.

  Artema Horn had personally chosen Eusari for the current job, telling her that it required her “feminine talents.” She had nearly run him through with one of her many hidden blades, staving off for the fact that Artema was one of the three men whom she trusted. Of all the men she had run across or through during her life, he was the first whom she thought of as she once did her father.

  “You are the best wolf I know, Sari,” he had said to her. “Now, I need you to sneak into the flock and steal the shepherd’s prize.”

  “Artema,” she had protested, “I’m better in the shadows. I’m a smuggler and assassin, not a spy. Don’t make me do this. Don’t force me to be seen in daylight.”

  “I’ve never forced you to do anything for The Cove.”

  “Fair enough, and that’s the only reason that I’ve stayed. I go where I choose, take the jobs I want, and kill anyone who tries to force me to their will. I tie up She Wolf without any expectation of fealty.”

  “Eusari, take this job because I ask it of you, and not because you’ll profit from it. Which you will, I assure you.”

  She had scoffed at the mention of profit. “I have plenty of gold, Artema.” She had turned to walk away from him, intent on turning down the job.

  Artema cleared his throat, then added, “Sari, I found him.”

  Her eyes had grown wide in disbelief and turned around to face her friend. “Don’t tease me, Art. You know what this means to me.”

  “This is the last time that I’ll ever ask you to do something for The Cove. But if I’m right, this job will reward you greater than any of us. This is what you’ve been waiting for. I found him, Eusari. I’m certain.”

  Regardless of the promised reward, she had accepted his job out of loyalty, not out-right submission. Her body was hers to use as she wished and Artema was correct in assuming that daggers were not her only weapons. The job took her into the imperial city of Eskera, a small port on the tip of the Southern Marshes. Venturing north of Eskera and west of the marshes would subject a traveler to the hot winds of the Steppes of Cinder with its dangerous fumaroles, steamy caldera and savage Pescari people.

  She had spent a full month in the port town watching her prey, learning his habits, and easing her way into his confidence. In the end, she had worked over the mark like a professional. Under the guise of a wealthy Westonese merchant’s daughter, and after only six months, she had gathered enough intelligence to bring down half of the empirical noble class. Then, the perfect opportunity finally presented itself to Eusari and she seized it. She had quickly made her final arrangements, called in her crew and loaded her newly won cargo aboard She Wolf. The first part of her mission completed, she had left Eskera on the same winds of the night she had ridden in on.

  Now, as a result of her promise, the tiny girl from Loganshire would be forever branded an enemy to the crown. Her face had been drawn from the shadows, would be remembered by those on whom she had played her game of confidence, and worst of all she had made an enemy of the most powerful family in the realm. She risked everything for a promise to Artema Horn.

  Eusari descended the final rungs of the ladder that led below decks. Here, the sound of the sea was louder, beating against the hull like a battering ram on a castle gate. The first time her younger version had heard that sound she cowered in the corner and wept like a lamb seeing the knife before slaughter. This time the sound reminded her she was home, and that no man would take from her anything that she would not willingly give. She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the faint light and then opened the door to the hold. The cargo that she had seduced sat upon a wooden chair in the corner of the room. A chain ran from his neck to the wall and another connected his wrists to his ankles.

  “Go to hell.” Marcus Esterling spat in her direction. Eusari watched the spittle fall to the wooden floor.

  She nodded
agreement to the young lord. “I most likely will.” She closed the door and made a careful effort to lock it behind her as she did.

  “What have you done, stupid girl?” she muttered to no one as she slowly climbed the ladder, worrying once more at the storm on the horizon.

  Sa’Mond approached her and trained his eyes in the same direction. “It be a bad one, mistress, a bad one indeed. I presume that the mission be worth our while?” He patted his large black belly with a hand as dark as the clouds she watched. “May we be seeing some gold or rum in Sa’Mond’s future?”

  “No, we will see none of that Sa’Mond, my old friend.” She turned and reached up on her toes until she could place her gloved hands on his cheeks. She was always gloved. “This mission will bring death and destruction to the life we know.”

  “Ah, me be seeing the truth. We be doing the same job as we always be doin’, then.” Pausing, he turned to look at his mistress with a look of amusement. “We be about to kill a man?” Smiling, he bowed deeply before his friend, grasping the haft of his cutlass.

  “No, my gentle and loyal friend, we are about to topple an empire and betray everyone who trusts us.” Closing her eyes, she kissed the forehead of her first mate. She kissed him gently, as a mother would kiss her simple-minded child. Leaning in, she whispered into the big man’s ear, “Then we get to destroy a man.”

  Sa’Mond’s eyes grew large and alert but his face showed neither pleasure nor thrill. “Which man, Sa’Mond be wanting to know?”

  “A dangerous man, Sa’Mond,” her voice barely reached his ear, but it held his face with intensity. “A man who has grown too big must be taught to stay small, brother of fate. Artema has promised him to me.”

  “Then we best be gettin’ back to The Cove, then, mistress.” The dark eunuch turned and glided across the deck toward the crew. Eusari accepted the storm.

  Chapter Five

  Braen felt his warship jerk as if she were desperate to escape the mooring lines keeping her prisoner against the pier. He watched the handlers tie off the chocks and wrap the bits, although he admittedly watched out of a sense of duty that only feigned interest. The raid had yielded scores of foods which was a commodity worth more than gold to The Cove. Although his haul may save the smuggler town from winter starvation, the stolen cargo did little to improve his anticipation of walking on dry land.

  He was certainly not happy to return home despite that his master had prepared a hero’s welcome in the castle. Or, perhaps that was the source of his anxiety. His ship had barely moored when his insides wrenched at the thought of celebration waiting in the keep. Artema Horn had asked him to do the impossible and he succeeded. An ambitious man would eagerly rush toward the wine, women and roasted meat that conspired to defile both mind and body.

  But no one had accused Braen of ambition in two years. Perhaps once, in a previous place and life, Braen Braston had held the desires that drove mortal men. That version was a different, younger man who viewed the world with optimism. Older and much wiser, he now avoided any responsibility exceeding that of his ship and crew.

  Braen served the outlaw, Artema Horn, who governed Pirates Cove. As the name implied, pirates had built the simple town inside a reef-laden cove. At the center of the town a strong keep stood long abandoned by its founders and had been reclaimed by several recent pirate kings. Artema was only the most recent of these self-crowned noblemen of common birth.

  Dark hearted residents called the town, “The Cove,” and it was positioned in the most defensible harbor within the Islands of Deception. The nearly impenetrable waters attracted the worst of the damned and had always been a known den for smugglers, pirates, and mercenaries. Treacherous currents kept it safe from invaders, and only the trusted few members of the war council knew the secrets to navigating the numerous reefs that protected the rear access to the island. Ship captains who were privileged to visit The Cove were forced to pass between two large batteries of sixteen-pound cannon. Those who crossed the entrance of the main inlet did so under the watchful eyes of town militia perched atop rounded stone parapets.

  Horn had handpicked Braen for the mission from which he had just returned. Those two months at sea found the captain anxiously thinking of ways to turn down his pending reward if he returned successful. Horn had promised him a spot on his private council upon mission completion. “Braen, you’ve served The Cove for a year without asking for anything that benefited you.” The self-made king had stared the northerner down with dark pools that swam with a deadly current. “What is it you came here for if not glory or gold?”

  “There is more to life than gold, Art, and keep your damn glory. I’m a simple sailor now.”

  “You’re a nobleman. Your family is one of the most powerful in Andalon.”

  “Despite my breeding I only want to be a humble servant to The Cove. I follow your orders, captain my ship, and just want to keep a low profile.”

  “Spoken like a piss-poor nobleman,” Horn spat on the ground. “You were half-starved when I found you, fledgling as a rogue pirate and begging me to give you a letter of marque despite being a wanted criminal in your kingdom.”

  “I didn’t kill my father, Art.”

  “I believe you. But I honestly didn’t then. I disbelieved even though I saw something in you. I saw a piece of me, Braen. But surely you have ambitions beyond captaining that leaky piece of driftwood?” Artema had a way of searing one’s soul with a stare, and his gaze often exposed a lie before it could even be uttered. The way he looked at Braen at that moment had caused the larger man to shudder as if standing in an icy wind, albeit ninety degrees on the pier.

  “I’m no longer a nobleman. I told you that I shed that skin when I fled the northern peninsula.” Braen wished that Horn had never learned of his birthright.

  When he and Sippen had escaped Fjorik, they had ridden Ice Prince to the Southern Continent. There, they had waited an entire year in exile while Braen appealed to the Fjorik nobles and proclaimed himself innocent to his brother’s false charges. But no answer came. He was forced to seek out Artema Horn and Pirate’s Cove, if only to escape the assassination attempts and legitimize himself as a licensed pirate of marque in the guild.

  “Old habits die hard, Northerner, but sworn oaths find ways to topple the strongest men to their knees. I trust that you’re loyal to The Cove and I accept your story; that you fled here to escape that tyrant of a brother.” Artema’s eyes narrowed. “But you have a duty to serve and help lead the people of this island. You’re drawn to that duty by your nature, and you’ve been trained to lead men since you slithered out from between your mother’s slit.”

  Braen towered over his master by a measure of six inches, a feat given that Horn stood over eighteen hands. When he drew himself to his full height, the broadness of his massive shoulders could not be missed. Sir Braen Braston, as he was called in the northern kingdom of Fjorik, was a giant among giant men. Standing within the piercing eyes of Artema Horn, however, the colossus wavered. “What is it that you’ll have me do?”

  “That’s much better,” Artema smiled. “Take Wench’s Daughter and raid Lady Esterling’s eastern cache in Noston. They are holding winter stores that her barges will soon transport to her main palace in Eston. You will have to move in quickly and leave before the bulk of her fleet arrives. My frigate has more firepower than your pathetic Ice Prince and will hold more of the food in her hold.”

  “How many ships do you think I’ll face?” Braen had not expected to captain Wench’s Daughter. Horn’s private ship was not the fastest in The Cove, but she truly packed the strongest punch and he would only lend her to him if he expected resistance.

  “About three times as many as you will be commanding, and I am giving you ten.” Artema loved to joke, and he let out a chuckle as he added, “Be careful. Some say the Kraken himself resides in the waters off Estowen’s Landing, and you’ll be sailing straight thr
ough his territory.”

  “I will use that to my advantage.” Braen laughed as he turned and strode toward the docks. He smiled despite the weight of the duty. Horn was likable, and Braen viewed him more of a brother than his own blood.

  “Bring back the queen’s stores and I will make you lieutenant next to Kernigan.” There was the catch. There was always a catch with Artema Horn.

  Braen turned back from the brow of Wench’s Daughter and looked down at Horn. “What about Nevra? Doesn’t blood course his veins? Or do you have plans for him?” Lord Stefan Nevra was a southern continent nobleman who had served Artema for ten years as his right-hand man. He and the mysterious Samani Kernigan were the most trusted in Horn’s council, and the bravest of dissenters gossiped that they were the true rulers of The Cove while Artema focused on the spoils.

  “People come. People go. Some stay longer than others.” Narrowing his eyes, he had added, “Others overstay their welcome.”

  The red hair on the pirate king’s head shone with a brighter fire when the sun caught it fully, glistening with radiance as he whirled on his heel and marched up to the keep. Braen knew that Horn’s image more closely resembled a god than a man when he chose. Good thing for Braen that he did not believe in gods in heaven nor on earth.

  The men had finished tying off Wench’s Daughter and Braen turned command over to Krill. Turning to Sippen, he smiled. The nervous little man outwardly looked like a librarian more than he did a weaponsmith and first mate. His glasses were too big for his small face and he stuttered whenever his nerves overtook his confidence. The Captain gently slapped the little man on the back and asked, “Are you ready to get this party over with?”