“Damnit,” Festa hissed. “The bastards have a harbor chain.”
Sailors poured over the sides of the doomed vessels as they sank into the dark water and, amid the chaos, Balen saw what the captain meant. A thick chain, its links visible rising out of the water close to the docks on either side, had appeared in front of the ships. “Come on then,” Festa said, “forward, but slow! We’ll see if we can’t save some of those poor basta—”
Suddenly, a roar echoed in the air, and Balen’s eyes went wide at the unmistakable sound of cannon fire. The cannon ball struck one of the ships on the right side, and the ship pitched dangerously, taking on water.
“Captain,” Pater yelled, “enemy ships to starboard!”
The warning was unnecessary, for everyone was already spinning to look off in the distance where ships were appearing on the horizon, a fleet of them. The enemy navy, it seemed, had finally decided to show itself.
The next several minutes were a flurry of activity as Festa and the other ships’ captains turned to face this new threat. The ships nearest Baresh’s navy began to engage, answering with cannon fire of their own, and Festa glowered at Urek. “Well,” he said, “I guess they didn’t leave, after all.”
The big man nodded thoughtfully. “Still, there ain’t all that many of ‘em. Reckon we’ve got ‘em licked at least two, maybe three to one, eh?”
“Sure,” Festa said, “and how much help, do you suppose, will we be able to give to the army camped outside the gates when we’re too busy fighting, eh?”
Urek grunted. “On account of the ships and that chain there?” he asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of where the remnants of the two unfortunate vessels floated on the water.
Festa opened his mouth, preparing, Balen suspected, to issue some scathing retort, and—all too aware that Urek and those standing behind him including the muscular woman, Beautiful, were criminals and not above killing a man, if they saw a need—he spoke first. “A boom chain, they call it.”
Both men turned to glower at him, and Balen winced as their full attention fell on him. “You see, it keeps enemy ships from reaching the harbor,” he said, gesturing uselessly at the floating remains of the two sunken ships. “They raise and lower it with a mechanism controlled by two boom houses.” He scanned the docks, pointing out the towers to which the chain was clearly attached.
The big man studied the distant structures, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “So, it seems to me that all we got to do is get over to them houses there, and drop this chain.”
“Sure,” Festa said, “and since you’re performing miracles, why not fill the ship’s hold up with coin? Not that we’re likely to be able to spend it, the way things are going,” he finished, muttering the last.
Urek turned and glanced at his companions, Beautiful, the hawk-nosed man Balen believed went by the name of Shadow, a youth who was shifting from foot to foot as if unable to remain still, and one more, a man with a perpetually sour expression as if the world had screwed him over plenty, and he was just waiting for it to inevitably happen again.
They all looked back at him, their expressions grim. The woman, Beautiful, nodded, followed by the hawk-nosed man, then the youth and, finally, the frowning man. “Well alright then,” Urek said. He turned back to Festa. “If you’ve got a boat can get us on the shore without becomin’ shark food, we’ll take care of your chain for ya.”
Festa barked something somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Gods, man, I’m not asking you to do that. Anyway, it’d be suicide. There’ll be guards inside the buildings, you know? Not that it’d matter much as the doors will be locked up tighter’n my wife when she’s of a mind. No,” he said, scowling back at the shore, “we’ll figure something else out.”
The big man waited a moment then said. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Festa demanded.
“Figure anything out yet?”
The captain’s face began to grow a deep shade of red, and Balen spoke hurriedly. “Urek, I think what Captain Festa means to say is that it won’t simply be a matter of knocking and asking to be let in—the guards stationed there will have the doors locked up tight, and they’ll be reinforced. You couldn’t break in, if you wanted to.”
The big man grinned widely. “That sounds like a challenge, first mate. Anyway, you let us worry about that—we’re criminals. Gettin’ in places we ain’t wanted is pretty much what we do. Now,” he continued, turning back to Festa, “you got a boat we can borrow or not?”
***
“I still think this is a bad idea.”
Urek grunted, and Balen noted his hand twitching on the oar he held, as if he were considering using it to knock the man overboard. “Shits, if it’s such a bad idea, maybe you should have said as much back on the ship, instead of nodding along.”
“I assumed we were all agreeing about how stupid of a plan it was,” Shits grumbled, crossing his arms across his thin chest.
“It seems to me,” Shadow said, glancing up from where he was picking at his fingernails with the tip of one of his knives, “that you just enjoy complaining. I would even go so far as to hazard a guess you knew exactly what you were agreeing to.”
The other man’s face shifted, as if he might laugh, and he managed a frown belied by the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Well, can’t say as I rightly remember one way or the other. Either way, just because I’m a fool don’t mean it ain’t a shit plan. I reckon I can think of better ways to die than being hacked up by a bunch of city guardsmen. Like maybe havin’ a fat whore try to smother me with her--”
Urek let out a warning hiss, stealing a glance at Beautiful where she sat on the other end of the rowboat. Balen stopped skulking long enough to follow the big man’s gaze and breathed a sigh of relief when the woman seemed not to have noticed the thin man’s comment. Her legs were crossed, her hands resting gently on one knee, something almost dainty about her posture. But Balen had seen the woman fight before, and he knew that the slightly whimsical expression she had would disappear fast enough if some unfortunate bastard managed to piss her off. But instead of growing angry, the woman continued to smile in the direction of the shore, like she was some noblewoman on a boat touring the waterways of the city instead of a criminal on a mission that meant almost certain death while, in the distance, the constant roar of cannon fire could be heard as ship after ship was sent to a watery grave.
As if the thought summoned it, a cannon ball, apparently missing its intended target, landed less than a dozen feet away from their rowboat, and water fountained out, forcing Urek to row desperately for several seconds lest they be capsized.
When he finally managed to get the small vessel under control, the crime boss and his crew all turned to look at each other, their expressions grim. Finally, the one named Shadow shrugged. “Must have been aiming for Shits.”
The thin man scowled at that, but his expression broke, and he began to laugh. Soon they were all laughing, even Beautiful who had left off gazing at the distant shore when the cannon shot hit the water. All, that was, except for Balen. They’re all insane, he thought miserably as their braying laughter boomed out into the darkness. Gods, I’m doomed.
He decided, then, that he should have fought harder when Captain Festa volunteered him to go on the journey, to make sure the thing was “done right.” As if Balen had any idea what the mechanism that controlled a boom line even looked like. Well, he did, fine, but it would have been a simple enough thing for the criminals to figure out on their own, and he had told Festa as much, doing what he thought was—under the circumstances—an admirable job of keeping his voice from cracking as he focused on sounding reasonable.
The captain, though, had only grinned, as if he knew well enough the direction of Balen’s thoughts, and had said every boat needed a sailor, even a skiff like the one they were currently on. Balen had still been trying to form a response to that particular bit of insanity when Urek and the others had stepped up, clapping him on the back, an
d the next thing he knew, he was on a boat heading toward certain death.
“So,” he said, as much to interrupt the loud laughter of the others—the last thing they needed to do was draw any more attention to themselves—as to distract his racing heart. “You haven’t told me what the plan is.”
“It’s shit,” Shits said, using a finger to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Where you been at, sailor?”
“One more crack like that,” Urek said, “and you can take the other boat, Shits.”
“Other boat?” the man asked, frowning and looking around.
Urek grinned menacingly, and Shadow sighed. “There’s no other boat, Shits. I believe what the boss is saying is he’ll throw you overboard.”
“Oh. Right. I knew that.” The man started to say something else, but the crime boss raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and he subsided into sullen silence. Not nearly sullen enough, so far as Balen was concerned. If anything should put a man in a bad mood, it ought to be heading to his death on a boat full of lunatics.
“Anyway,” Balen went on, deciding to try again before he started puking in fear. “How do you mean to get the boom house doors open?”
Urek grinned at him. “Now, see, the lad here’s got that covered,” he said, nodding to the small youth sitting beside Balen at the boat’s center. “Why don’t you tell him, Osirn, set the man at ease. Why, he looks like he’s going to shit gold, he don’t get an answer soon.”
The youth nodded so vigorously that it was a wonder his head didn’t come off his shoulders. “O-of course, Urek. You see, s-sir—”
“Balen, please,” the first mate answered. If we’re going to die together, the least we can do is be on a first name basis.
“R-r-right. Balen. Anyway, t-the way I f-figure it, the problem is, well, you know, that the doors are l-l-locked. Right?”
That’s the first problem, but I reckon there’s better odds it’ll be the guardsmen with the swords that’ll kill us before a door will. “Right.”
“W-well. See. M-my plan is to u-u-unlock them.”
Balen waited for the boy to continue, and several seconds passed before he realized he’d finished. He spun to the big man, giving him an incredulous look, and saw Urek grinning at him. Seeing that grin, Balen’s fear turned into anger. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he said. “That’s the plan?”
The big man shrugged. “Seems like a good enough one to me, Balen. Best thing, in my experience, is to keep a plan simple. That way, there’s less chances of the thing goin’ sideways on ya.”
“B-but that’s not a plan at all,” Balen sputtered, unable to help himself. “That’s like saying the best way to beat another army is to just walk up and, gods, I don’t know, kill them.”
Urek nodded slowly, studying Balen carefully. “Seems to me that’s just about the best way to get it done. You feeling alright, first mate?”
“Am I feeling alright?” Balen repeated, his eyes wide. He saw the other criminals watching him in expectation, genuinely waiting for his reply. Finally, he sighed, slumping back down in his seat. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” the big man said. “The gods know we’ve got a job ahead of us, and the last thing we need is for you to go acting crazy.”
“Gods forbid,” Balen muttered, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice and all too aware of the irony in the man’s statement. An irony which, unless one of the gods decided to perform a miracle for poor old Balen, looked bound and determined to get him killed.
“Still,” Urek said after a moment, “there’s some sense to what you say, I’ll admit that much. And, turns out, I might just have an idea.”
“Thank the gods for that at least,” Balen said, feeling a faint flare of hope in his chest. “So what should we do?”
“Well,” the big man said, nodding slowly as if considering it, “you got me to thinkin’ maybe there’s a bit of the plan that we’re leavin’ out. Might be, we could make this thing a whole lot easier, help the chances we all walk away with all of our bits in their proper places.”
“All of them?” Shadow said, his tone almost bored as he resumed picking at his nails with his knife. “That’s too bad. We’d be doing the world a favor, if we misplaced Shits’s face.”
Urek grunted. “I imagine there’s some whores’d thank us for it, but I don’t think that’d be fair to the ‘em—after all, at least with that mug of his, they all know what they’re in for soon as he walks up.”
“Anyway,” Balen said, desperate to get the crime boss back on track, “you said there was a plan.”
“Well,” the big man said slowly, “I ain’t tryin’ to claim it’s the best of one, but I figure it’s worth a shot.”
“So what is it?” Balen said, only just managing to repress the scream that threatened to come out.
“Well,” Urek said, meeting his eyes and grinning widely, “I figure maybe we ought to knock first.”
The boat erupted in laughter again at that, and Balen sank fully into his seat, thinking it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if the next cannon ball didn’t miss by quite so wide a margin.
***
The creatures came slowly, taking their time as they approached the ragged circle Aaron and the others had formed. In no hurry, and why should they be? The creatures outnumbered his group at least three to one. Even with the Virtues, the outcome seemed all but certain. “Stay close to me, kid,” he said, pushing Caleb behind him. A useless gesture, but it was the only thing he could think to do. There were just too many, that was all, and that was even before he considered the one that still stood beside the bald man, the one who had once been Savrin, a talented, if arrogant, swordsman.
That one, he knew, was different from the others. Better. Aaron had seen him move before, with a speed that put even the other creatures around him to shame, and his strength had been enough to shatter Aaron’s sword with one strike. The other creatures were fast, but at least they were weaker than their hulking counterparts, their limbs too long, too thin. The other, though, had all their strengths and none of their weaknesses. Had they faced him only, the thing would have been in question; never mind the other sixty or more creatures with him.
“What do we do, sir?” This from one of the Ghosts who glanced at Aaron from his own place in the impromptu circle. There was no fear in the man’s voice, only the question. Which just went to show he was either a fool, or he believed in Aaron’s ability to get him out of even this mess—in short, a fool.
Take as many with you as you can and die as best as you can. It was on the tip of his tongue, the words just about to leave his mouth, and he was trying to consider how best to make it to the bald man. If he was going to die, at least he would cut that one down, would give answer to the small smile that he still carried on his face. He’d actually gone so far as to open his mouth, to take a step forward, when another voice, a man’s voice, spoke. But this one didn’t come from any of those standing in the circle with him. Instead, it came from inside his own head.
Touch him.
Aaron recognized the voice as belonging to the long-dead king, the Aaron Caltriss for whom he had been named. Touch him? Touch who?
You know. His power is greater, true, but just because the weaknesses are not as obvious, it does not mean they are not there. Kevlane, in his hate, his arrogance, left the man more of himself than the others. It is this part that makes him greater than they, the part that still remembers what it is to be human.
Wait a minute, Aaron thought, you’re saying he’s still a human? That he remembers being human?
Yes, the king answered. He remembers. He has only forgotten that he remembers. You need only remind him.
And to do that, I have to touch him?
Yes.
So just manage to touch the fastest, strongest living creature on earth—one, I might point out, who seems all too intent on killing me—without somehow getting cut down in the process?
Yes.
“Well,” Aaron
muttered, “I guess I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Sir?” the Ghost asked, a confused expression on his face.
“Stay with me,” Aaron said. “We drive as fast as we can, as hard as we can. Don’t stop for anything. I need to touch that one.” He pointed at the creature which had once been Savrin. He was at once relieved and shocked when no one asked a question, even so much as commented. Instead, they only watched him, confident he knew what to do. Gods, I hope you’re right.
He glanced at Leomin and Seline, at Gryle and Tianya and Caleb. All friends, all here because of him. They nodded to show they understood. And so Aaron drew his sword and charged.
The creatures reacted immediately, rushing forward with blinding speed, but Aaron called on the power of his bond with Co, touching upon what little pieces of their humanity remained, so that he knew where the strikes would come from before they did. His sword lashed to one side, knocking wide a blade aimed at his throat. The creature stumbled, off-balance, but Aaron was already moving past, trusting one of the others to finish it.
And then they were in the thick of it. As he pushed his way forward, Aaron took what few opportunities presented themselves to steal glances at the creature who had once been Savrin and the bald man. The two hadn’t moved, only stood, waiting, the bald man with a smile on his face, the creature with a blank, unreadable expression.
The Ghosts and Virtue-bearers fought well, following him and plunging deep into the waiting line of creatures. But for all their skill, for all their courage, they were outnumbered and surrounded, and soon the greater speed and numbers of the creatures began to tell as first one Ghost fell, then another. Aaron felt the deaths through his bond with the Virtue, felt them like some piece of him being ripped away, and he used the resulting anger to fuel his strikes.
A murderous rage consumed him as it had on other occasions with the Virtue of Compassion but, this time, it was different. This time, no matter how great the fires of his fury burned, still his will, strengthened by the Virtue of Will, was equal to the task of controlling it, of harnessing it. He took what gifts the fury offered—strength, motivation, speed, and left the rest. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, his anger was his, his to grow and tend and use. And so he did.
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