by T B Phillips
Alec Pogue shook his head and then opened his mouth to spew treason. In a calm voice he said, “I was actually hoping that he’d be the one to take The Cove from you. He wasn’t a perfect choice, but he was a good one.”
Nevra stared back in shock as Pogue drew his sword, holding the point at the king’s neck. “What is the meaning of this? I am your rightful king! Artema left it all to me!”
“Even as pirates we have codes, Lord Nevra.” Pogue took a half step closer, the tip piercing the pox-faced man’s neck just barely, leaving a trickle of fresh blood on his sword.
“Whuh… What code did I violate? I ran everything correctly.” Wait, he thought, he knows about the extra coin? “Is this about the extra taxes?” Nevra wracked his brain but could not think of anything that he had done to violate the code.
“No. Even Artema embezzled.”
“It was the transport and delivery of slaves and human cargo, Stefan.” The voice came from the doorway where Adamas Creech stood with several armed men.
Nevra stared back with eyes wide. “How did you?” And then a thought struck him. “You stole my ledger.” He pointed at Creech. “You both worked together.” Looking back at Pogue, he realized the truth. “You weren’t protecting me! You choreographed the entire fight!” His pox-scarred face narrowed. “Then you know the truth about your wife and pretty little daughters?”
Alex’s face dropped with confusion. “What about Mattie and the girls?”
A sinister smile curled the edges of Stefan’s lips. “You don’t know.” He let out a high-pitched cackle and then roared with delight.
Pogue stepped closer, pressing the tip into the skin just enough to draw a more blood. Anger crossed his face and his next words came out a growl. “What do you know about my family?”
“Guards!” Nevra shouted. “Guards! To me! Save your king!” He was terrified. He knew he was about to die.
“They aren’t close enough to hear you. I sent the palace guard to man the wall against an attack.” Pogue shook his head. “Your reign has ended, now tell me about my family.”
“Alec! Stop!” A new voice had entered the room. Nevra tore free and ran to the corner of the room. The captain turned to see Amash Horslei standing with two swords in his hands.
“Stand down, Amash. He knows about Mattie.”
“Our code demands a trial, Alec. You know that.”
“Your precious Mattie was listed in the ledger, Captain Pogue.” Believing he had escaped death, Nevra felt emboldened. “You are so stupid that you couldn’t figure out that they didn’t leave you. I sold them off and shipped them to be whores on the southern continent.”
Tears formed in Pogue’s eyes. He shook his head in stunned disbelief. “No.”
“It’s all true.”
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“She was just too pretty to be with a lowly guardsman. She fetched me a nice price too. Did you see the entry in my ledger where I sold a thoroughbred? I called her that because she was tough to break in. I had to let Turat help, but he mostly enjoyed your little girls. So did Captain Dominique during his voyage, from what I understand.”
Amash could see that his friend was quickly losing control. “Alec. Don’t do this. He needs to stand trial.”
“He dies.”
“No. No matter what you just heard we have a code to follow.”
“Ain’t no one stopping him!” Adamas laughed at the thought. “There isn’t a man alive that can best Captain Pogue with a blade. Even with his wound he’s the greatest swordsman in The Cove.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Amash leaped at his former friend and captain, swinging the two swords just as Alec had taught him years ago.
Pogue parried with one blade while attacking with the other and the two men became a flurry of steel fighting with alarming speed. Stefan’s eyes could barely keep up with the duel as the men spun around the room, razors flying and the sound of steel on steel ringing in his ears. Flashing a look toward the men at the door he could see that their attention was on the fight. He tried to inch his way around unseen, hoping to escape and get help.
Abruptly a wall of water crashed through the window, washing everyone against the far wall. Stefan sputtered and spit as he coughed and gagged on the ocean water. How had ocean water reached the top windows of the palace? Confused, he tried to reorient himself in the room. Thankfully the water had washed him closer to the door and he fled down the stairs, avoiding debris that had been left behind. Behind him shouts and heavy steps of soldiers announced pursuit.
He burst out of the main doors of the palace and saw that the streets had been deserted. He yelled, but no one was close enough to hear his cries for help. Running, he tripped over a log on the steps and fell a full flight, his arm cracking underneath his weight as he tried to catch himself. No, not a log, he thought as he held his arm, that looks like it was part of the pier! Opening his eyes and taking in the scene, he realized that his entire city was awash under a tidal wave. The air was filled with the stench of dead sea life and seaweed and mud piled up everywhere. He stared confused, until he heard a shout.
Alec Pogue had recovered only one of his swords and charged at him as he lay on the stairs. Stefan cried and begged the man, “Please stop! Don’t kill me!” between sobs he pleaded, “I’m the rightful leader! Artema told me it was mine! Please don’t!” The captain’s sword swung down.
Before the blade struck home, another person appeared in Stefan’s vision. Amash Horslei tackled Pogue from behind, knocking him away. The pirate king lay on the ground sobbing as metal struck metal around him and the men resumed their combat. He trembled at the thought of death and begged the gods to deliver him safely.
Braen blinked in confusion at the battle raging before him. Two men, both expert swordsmen with talent beyond anything he had ever seen, fought with ferocity around a crumpled old man on the steps to the palace. That man looks familiar, he pondered before recognizing the hideously pox-scarred face of Stefan Nevra. Shock gripped him even tighter when he realized that one of the swordsmen was a dead man.
Sippen sputtered, “Buh… but I suh… saw him duh… die!”
Braen shook his head. “Obviously he lived, somehow. Did you know that he could fight like that?”
“Nuh… no.”
More men staggered out of the palace. About twenty or so were dressed in tattered clothing that Braston recognized as former guardsmen to Artema Horn. Another ten were standing behind the Pirate Adamas Creech. All watched the display before them, not wanting to interfere.
Finally, Amash swung under a blow by his opponent and brought his hilt up into the man’s face, crushing his nose. With his other arm he wrapped up Pogue’s sword arm and shifted his bodyweight, breaking the bone and releasing the man’s sword to the ground. Casting his own aside, he again struck, knocking him to the ground and stopping the show. Tears instantly flooded the big man’s eyes as he bent over his former mentor.
“I don’t want to kill you, Alec. But he needs to stand trial. That’s how we do things in The Cove. If we have no honor, no code, then we’re nothing more than pirates.”
“We are nothing more than pirates, Amash.” The man closed his eyes and gasped through the blood in his face.
“No, my friend. Here we’re free to live our lives with justice and due process. I’ll defend that until the day I die.” Kneeling beside his friend he leaned in and spoke softer. “We’ll find Mattie and the girls. I promise we will.”
“Amash! What’s going on here?” Braen spoke, drawing the attention of Creech and his men.
“Braen? How did you get here? Wait, that was you in the harbor? That means that the tidal wave was…”
“More than I was going for, I assure you.” He pointed at Nevra. “So, we’re arresting him? Under what grounds is he to be tried?”
“His ships have been transporting slav
es, mostly children for decades. Pogue found out that he’d sold his wife and daughters under his nose.”
“I agree, Amash. He’ll get a trial.”
“And by what authority do you promise that, Braston? You lost your marque and are an outlaw.” Creech had taken several steps and was dangerously close to Braen.
“So are you, I might add, Creech.” Amash had placed his hand on his sword and positioned himself beside his friends.
Adamas bowed flamboyantly and drew his sword. The men behind him did as well. “It seems to me that the issue of leadership can be decided here, between you and I, Braston.”
“No. There’ll be a vote, Creech. Like Amash said, we have rules and a code that we follow.
“And plus, we have the numbers.” A woman’s voice purred from the corner of the building and all of the men looked up to see Eusari. She was flanked by fifty of her men, all covered in mud and holding rifles. “Marque?”
“Mum?” The man stepped forward and leveled his rifle at Creech.
“Shoot that stupid hat off his head.”
Adamas held his hands up and threw down his sword, “No need for any of that, my lady. We’ll most certainly have elections.”
Eusari nodded and Marque pointed his rifle at the ground. Then she walked up to Braen and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The sun rose above two thousand men lined up with backs against the brown waters of the swamp. An island lay a few hundred yards across the water from the men, and dense forest provided cover from the only high spot on which the enemy could place artillery. The ground next to the waterline was too wet for the heavy guns, so they would have to shoot blind if they wanted to keep their firepower protected in the rear. General Merrimac Lourdes nodded his agreement on Reeve’s choice of battlefields.
Turning to an aide, Mac gave orders for the troop placement. “Move the infantry line just outside of archer range. We are going to pound them with our guns to soften their position. The splinters off those trees alone should amplify the effective fire.” Raising the spyglass, he scanned the meager force before him. He could clearly see Max and the boy standing at the water’s edge behind their troops.
A rider made his way up to the hill. “Cavalry is in position in the forest north of the clearing, sir. They’re ready to charge on your signal.” Nodding, the general again picked up the glass. “Where are their horses?”
“Perhaps they set them loose, sir?”
“Perhaps. They may’ve abandoned them, knowing that they would spook when our artillery opens fire.” The reinforcements had provided strong numbers. An additional five hundred cavalry brought his own totals up to three thousand, and an additional four thousand infantrymen brought his totals up to five. They also brought longer ranged cannons than he had available in Eskera, making the assault easier. This entire attack should be over in less than an hour.
Another aide approached from the south. “Cannons are ready. We should be able to zero in with only a couple of volleys.”
He was about to answer when movement in the enemy ranks caught his attention. The entire column made an about face, turning their backs to his own infantry line. “Interesting. What are they going to do, march into the swamp? The fools are making this even easier.” Abruptly the winds around them shifted from the west, blowing hard and with gale-force. Mac raised his glass and saw that the boy was standing on the water’s edge with his hands outstretched. “What are you up to, Max?”
The winds around him intensified and blew down the hilltop toward an island in the swamp. Slowly, the water parted before the boy, forming a narrow bridge out to the island. “No.” The old general shook his head. He remembered Max’s words, the night before. The boy is as strong as five Falconers, maybe even stronger. Staring at the marvel in disbelief, he came to his senses. “We can’t let them get out of range. Give the order for the artillery.” The first of the troops stepped out onto the mud, now frozen by the exposure to the cold air, and rushed to the island.
Cannon fire roared from the south and rounds rained down a few yards short of the fleeing infantry. Merrimac nodded his approval, estimating that the next volley would find their mark. He raised his hand to signal the next release when shouts of alarm turned his head. Archers on horseback had ridden within range of the artillery and were releasing volley after volley of flaming arrows into the exposed gun positions. Within seconds the powder barrels exploded, sending artillerymen scattering from the hill.
“Demon’s Ass!” As he turned the last of the infantry safely make it across, forming new ranks and a shield wall atop the island and well out of range of the cannons. The boy was still standing on the water’s edge however. Slowly he turned to face the line of five thousand infantry before him, throwing his hands forward as he did. Abruptly the winds shifted from the east with more power than before, sending a microburst directly at the troops and blowing four rows backward with a crash of steel armor.
General Lourdes stared down at the boy with mouth agape. Coming to his senses, he signaled his aide. “Cavalry! Now!” The captain nodded reluctantly, pulling his own eyes away from the spectacle. He raised a signal flag and waved. All at once, the forest edge erupted with hoofbeats as three thousand cavalrymen charged one teenage boy standing alone on the coastline. Mac shook his head at the impending slaughter. “I almost feel sorry for you, Robert.”
The boy raised his right hand as if to signal a halt, but the horses kept charging at top speed. One by one the lead riders smashed into an invisible wall of air next to the boy, breaking the necks of the horses as they made impact, throwing their riders against the shield. Unable to see the carnage in front of them, the rearguard continued headlong to meet the same fate as their comrades. Lourdes stared dumbfounded at how quickly his entire cavalry had exploded into a sea of blood and broken limbs, now piled ten feet high against some unseen wall.
Having seen the fate of the cavalry, many of the infantry broke ranks before the boy, throwing down their arms and running westward toward freedom. The officers tried desperately to hold the lines steady and to fill in the gaps. Mac stared, marveling at how one boy had singlehandedly embarrassed the might of the Eskeran force in less than five minutes.
Finally, ten figures stepped around the amassed infantry. They stood tall in their flowing robes and feathered hoods, walking confidently and converging upon the boy. A sudden westerly wind blew with such force that it sent him flying backward into the swamp. Mac raised his glass but could not find him after he splashed into the cold water, no doubt sunken into the wet mud by the weight of his armor.
Robert felt his breath leave his body when the massive blast struck him in the chest. With only a split second to react, a bubble of air formed around his head, trapping enough that he could breathe while planning his next move. He had expected the Falconers and had been hoping for them. But not so many. He had also not expected such a powerful blast.
He lay on the bottom of the swamp both out of shock and a little fear. He knew that his next action should be swift, but he was still learning his abilities and the ten specters had been practicing theirs for decades. How many links could he make? As a boy he had always wondered about the powers of Falconers, marveling at their versatility and imagining what he would have done with their powers. But Max had told him that their powers, like everything in the world, had limits. With ten of them, they could make any combination of actions against him and his fledgling army standing on the island behind their shield wall.
He quickly did an inventory of how much he had extended his power. He could feel the force of air around Sarai, healing her wounds and forcing clean air into her lungs to assist her labored breathing. He could also feel the wall that held the southern flank secure. He closed his eyes and sensed the bond with his new friend the eagle, circling the sky and searching for any birds that were linked to the Falconers. He had made
a fourth link when he had blasted the front lines of the infantry, but that strained him, weakening his foresight and preventing him from seeing the Falconers approach.
He reached out with his mind, solidifying his connection with the great bird. He watched from several thousand feet above as the ten Falconers stood on the shoreline of the swamp. Ten hawks flew beneath him, circling the water and searching for his body. One of them let out a call, and wisps of air shot out from five of the eerie men. Robert immediately felt manacles form around his hands and feet like ropes to draw him from the mud.
Focusing his strength into the bird he willed the giant eagle to dive at one of the Falconers. The specter looked up at the final second, but that mistake cost him his life as Robert gripped his throat with his sharp talons, ripping through the hood and gripping the soft flesh inside. He again released and rose up into the air out of the range of the other nine. One of the hawks, feeling the bond release from his master, flew southward to enjoy freedom.
Robert felt his body dragging across the swamp floor, mud seeping in through the cracks. If they failed to pull him out, then he would surely remain stuck there in the bog where he would surly run out of air. He concentrated on the bindings, focusing his mind on how they were constructed. When he had used them against Taros, he had not given this kind of thought, focused only on holding the boy. Looking closely, he detected a faint lashing like knots in a tangled string. Setting to work on the tangles, he slowly removed them with his fourth connection.
His hands freed first. He used these to remove the straps on his armor, quickly unlatching the buckles and letting it drop into the mud. Although the heavy weight greatly diminished, this exposed him to the pain and lacerations from the swamp floor. With renewed fervor he went to work on the bindings around his feet. All at once he stopped dragging across the bottom, realizing that his bubble of air was nearly spent. Had he delayed another minute he would have surely drowned.
Scrambling to his feet he leaped upward from the water, standing waist deep halfway between his army and the Falconers. Looking up, he saw that his great bird circled higher than the others who awaited his next plunging attack. He darted a quick look backward toward his troops, hoping to find a way out of his hopeless battle. Abruptly three shields moved, revealing the face of his father staring back at him, smiling proudly and nodding his encouragement.