Chaos Queen--Fear the Stars (Chaos Queen 4)

by Christopher Husberg

  Another squad of Rodenese soldiers, in light blue tunics and bright mail, had already formed up and were firing on the pirates, but now turned their attention to the men carrying torches. They fired a volley, and half a dozen torch-bearers fell, many of them into the water.

  The Crown Conquest lurched to starboard, trying to get away from the attacking ship, but the ram and harpoons held it too tightly.

  Over her shoulder, Cova sensed a shadow moving. She turned to see another ship, much larger than the one that had rammed the Crown, pulling up alongside them.

  “Tensen—”

  “I see it, Your Grace.” Tensen shouted at his Reapers to split, and half of the elite force moved to starboard. Fortunately, the Reapers were not called elite for nothing; with the cover fire from the archer squad, they were holding off the pirates from the first ramming ship well enough.

  To starboard, three huge planks crashed through the fog and onto the Crown Conquest’s decks, one of them smashing into the upper deck where Cova stood with her guards and captains. Two massive steel claws on the end clamped into the deck boards. It would not be easily moved.

  Immediately, more pirates wielding torches and weapons rushed across the ramp, eyes alight with fire and violence.

  Cova drew her sword. Her guards and the soldiers nearby fanned out in formation to protect her, but she could not afford to stand by when they were so outnumbered. With any luck, some of the Reapers on the main deck would make their way up to where she stood to reinforce her position, but Cova could not rely on it.

  They would have to make a stand on their own.

  The ship that had lowered the gangplanks was a dark shadow in the fog, barely discernible, but the shadow seemed almost as large as the Crown Conquest itself.

  This could not be happenstance. Her luck could not possibly be this bad. Khalic intelligence must have been tracking their movements, and Khale had hired these pirates to attack when her fleet was at its most vulnerable, blinded by the fog.

  The pirates could not defeat her entire fleet, and the Khalic government likely knew that. But it would slow her navy down— and in attacking the flagship, with her on it, could cut off the head of the Rodenese Empire before the war even started.

  Cova was not about to let that happen.

  Pirates rushed across the plank that connected the two ships, screaming as they ran. Faces wild, eyes afire. She braced herself, planted her feet as she’d been taught, sword at the ready.

  The pirates crashed into her small group with battle cries and the slick sound of blades cutting flesh. Her Reapers held strong, easily dispatching the pirates at the head of the charge, and behind them the other soldiers, Horas, and the disgraced Admiral Strongst waited for any who might break through. Cova stood last, tall in her gilded and blue-painted armor, sword ready.

  Wave after wave of fighters crashed into the force before her, more and more slipping through the front line of her Reapers. One managed to break through, and Cova struck him down, her sword threading through his wild swings to pierce through his unarmored chest.

  Not for the first time, Cova wondered whether she shouldn’t have heeded the counsel of her advisors and stayed in Izet. It was traditional for the head of the empire to accompany Roden’s armies on any large-scale campaign, but her presence was needed at home, too. Izet needed rebuilding, and the political structure was fragile at best. She had left the mother of her dead husband, Hama Mandiat, to rebuild and rule in her absence. She’d brought Andia Luce with her, who was part of the Ruling Council of Roden, and, as the once-betrothed of the dead Emperor Grysole, was as close a thing to an heir as she had nowadays, but protocol insisted they travel in different ships, should the unthinkable happen to one of them. Many criticized her for the decision to bring Andia along; Andia Luce was the daughter of her father’s most prominent political rival, and those closest to her suspected Andia might have ulterior motives. And that might be true; but Andia was a valuable ally, and had become Cova’s friend.

  Wherever Andia’s ship was, Cova hoped it was not under attack as well.

  Another wave of pirates crashed into her guard force, and a man broke through unscathed. She caught a glimpse of glittering piercings in his scarred face, and then he was bringing his broadsword down on her. She blocked the attack with her blade, her muscles straining and hand aching even from the single blow.

  She could not last long against this man.

  She leaned out of the way of another slash from her attacker. He was not particularly fast, but he was strong. Another strike, and Cova parried, deflecting his sword with a magnificent ring that pierced the air. Pain shot through her arms and hands.

  “Protect the empress!” came a shout from the lower deck. But the glance she sent that way cost her a precious fraction of concentration, and when she turned fully back to her opponent, his sword was already coming down on her. She brought her own up to parry again, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, and then an arrow shaft sprouted from the pirate’s neck. His eyes bulged beneath pierced eyebrows, and his strike faltered just enough for Cova to knock it sideways and plunge her blade into his chest, piercing through leather and flesh.

  The pirate slumped to the deck just as a loud, bellowing horn echoed through the fog.

  Cova froze in fear as the blast echoed again, thinking the two blasts surely meant another ship would soon engage with them, but then the men in front of her turned and retreated across the plank that had buried itself in the upper deck, running back to the large ship, still shadowy in the fog alongside the Crown Conquest. Admiral Strongst made to follow them across—Goddess, he was the foolhardy sort of brave, and Cova wondered how in Oblivion the Council had ever suggested this man to lead her armada—but Cova shouted his name. Strongst turned to look at her, bloodlust in his eyes. Cova only shook her head. They may have won the battle on the Crown Conquest, barely, but there was no telling what awaited them if they followed the pirates onto their own ships.

  Turning to the lower deck, she saw the pirates there had retreated, too.

  A faint mechanical click echoed across the water, and then the large, shadowy pirate ship to starboard began to glide away into the fog, leaving behind the three wide, barbed planks embedded in the Crown Conquest’s decks. The pirates must have triggered some release mechanism at the hinges; the barbed ends of the planks would take time and great effort to remove.

  The smaller ship that had rammed them to port disengaged, and the Crown Conquest shuddered again. Soon the Crown Conquest was alone in the clearing mist, crippled and listing to starboard. A ragged cheer went up from the Crown’s three decks.

  Cova did not share the sense of triumph. “Why are they retreating?” she asked. “If they’d pressed the attack a bit longer, they might’ve taken the Crown.” They might’ve taken me, she thought.

  “Look around you, Your Grace,” Tensen said quietly. “The pirates suffered heavy losses.”

  Dozens of bodies littered the deck. Most of the wounded up here were pirates, left behind by their comrades. The ship’s boys swarmed up the ladders to report, and Cova waited impatiently while they spoke to the captains.

  “Give me your reports,” she said, when they were finished.

  General Horas was a broad man and, while not quite the tallest on the upper deck (that honor belonged to Flok and Grost), he was the oldest by a few years, nearly as old as Cova’s father before he’d died. His usually smooth-shaven face was rough with stubble.

  “Your Grace, our casualties are minimal,” Horas said, his face and voice grim despite the news. “Less than ten dead, and roughly the same injured. Considering our odds, these are good numbers.”

  “And our attackers? What of their losses?”

  “Significantly greater. Almost three dozen dead or wounded left behind on the Crown. No telling how many more fell into the sea, or back onto their own ships. We defeated them handily, Your Grace.”

  “I would not be so quick to label this a victory,” the ship’s captain
said, overhearing the last of Horas’s report as he arrived on the upper deck.

  “Captain Rakkar,” Cova said, “what is your assessment?”

  “First of all, there is no telling what damage might have been done to the other ships in our fleet. Until the fog clears, I do not believe it prudent to attempt any audible communication. We risk the pirates’ return, perhaps in greater numbers, to finish what they started.”

  Strongst stepped forward with a frown. “Even if every pirate in the nine seas banded together, they could not stand a chance against our armada. We—”

  Cova’s sword, still drawn and bloody, moved to Strongst’s neck.

  “Garen Strongst,” she hissed, “perhaps you have forgotten the words we had when this battle began—when you ignored my commands, and brought about this bloodbath through the shouts of the signal-officer. You have been demoted and have no say in these matters.”

  She glanced at her other commanders. “Gentlemen, Admiral Rakkar is now in charge of the fleet.” She heard Rakkar’s sharp intake of breath, but she was watching Strongst as she lowered her sword. He hung his head. “See to it that Strongst finds his way to the brig until I decide his fate.” Strongst’s neck was smeared with the blood from Cova’s sword.

  “Unless you would like to force me to decide now, Strongst?”

  “No, Your Grace,” he said meekly. If he had deigned to show such humility earlier, he might not have found himself in this position.

  Rakkar gave the nod to two of his sailors, who escorted Strongst down the ladder to the brig. But, try as she might, Cova could not place the blame of this defeat into Strongst’s hands. The Council may have suggested him, but she chose him. If there was any failing here, it was her own.

  “Continue with your report, Rakkar.”

  “Beyond the potential damage to our fleet, beyond the fact that we cannot risk another attack, we must assess our own situation on the Crown Conquest. We are crippled, Your Grace. We are not at immediate risk of sinking, that much is in our favor. The planks causing us to lean to starboard are keeping the battering ram’s puncture above the waterline. We can gently steer her inland, Your Grace, but there is not much more we can do than that.”

  “Can we salvage her?”

  “Your Grace,” Rakkar said slowly, “The time it would take to bring the Crown ashore, get it repaired, and get back on course would delay us immeasurably.”

  “Khale ordered this attack,” Cova said. “Would you all agree?”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Rakkar said.

  Tensen nodded. “They knew they would not stop us, Your Grace, but they must have hoped to slow us down. They hired these pirates to attack us, to attack you, Your Grace. A personal affront to the Azure Crown. They targeted your ship specifically. The best-case scenario for them would have been for the pirates to take this ship, take you, and end the war before it began.”

  Cova tried not to think about what the pirates would have done to her, had they taken her. She had never seen pirates with her own eyes before this day, but she had heard stories of their brutality, the atrocious acts they committed against the women and children they captured. Empress or not, Cova could not imagine she would have been exempt from their violent lust.

  “Very well, we will send the Crown back to Roden for repair, with a skeleton crew.” As much as she hated to lose her flagship, there was no other way. “These Khalic-hired pirates did not take me, and I’ll be damned if they will slow us down.

  “When the fog clears, we will assess our fleet’s situation, repair the damage we can, take the resources from any ships we may need to send home or scuttle, and continue onward.”

  Her captains nodded, and she hoped to the Goddess that the looks they gave one another were positive. She was through with making mistakes.

  The sick feeling in her stomach was just beginning to fade, and along with it, the fog. In the east, the outline of the sun could just be seen through the thinning mist.

  “We will make it to Triah,” Cova said, “and repay this attack a thousand fold.”

  15

  Somewhere beneath Triah

  WHEN ASTRID HEARD THE low clank of the lock turning on the door to her cell, she leapt into a crouch. She had already decided, in the days she had spent alone in her small prison cell, that she would not stop fighting him. Every opportunity she got, she would attempt to escape, she would attempt to fight, she would attempt to kill Cabral.

  The significant word in each of those concepts was “attempt.” She had no illusions that she might actually be successful; Cabral had already shown extreme caution when handling her thus far, and she could not imagine that would change anytime soon. But she could not give up hope.

  So when the heavy iron door began to creak open, Astrid sprang through her pitch-black cell, barreling into the door itself and sending it flying into whoever was on the other side.

  She did not wait to see who it was or how many others there were; instead, shielding her eyes from the bright torchlight, Astrid took off down the lit corridor—

  —and slammed immediately into the tallest, largest vampire she had ever encountered.

  The big man lifted her easily, slinging her over his impossibly broad shoulder. She blinked, stunned by the bright light and the sudden stop; she’d slammed into the vampire with a lot of force.

  Astrid shifted her position, but the vampire’s heavy arm constricted around her. Turning her head, she could see the ceiling of the corridor, rock and dirt and occasional wooden rafters. If she had but one hand free, she could have easily reached up and brushed her fingers against it. And when a particularly low point in the ceiling came along, or a support beam, the huge vampire carrying her had to duck his head.

  The floor rushed past, a dizzying distance beneath her. Three other vampires walked alongside the big one, but none of them even reached his shoulders.

  Bloody bones, he was massive.

  Cabral was not with them. Not surprising; he would think himself above the menial task of fetching prisoners. By the red glow emanating from the eyes of those escorting her, and the green of her own, Astrid could tell it was nighttime. She had been in that cell for at least a week, maybe more.

  The vampire carrying her did not have the same red eyes as other vampires, but neither were they green like Astrid’s. They were almost orange. That marked two sets of eyes Astrid had seen recently that were abnormal. She wished she had some inkling as to what that could mean.

  “Where are you taking me?” Astrid asked.

  None of them answered. The muscles of the big vampire were hard as steel, and that had nothing to do with the nighttime effects vampirism had on his skin. As big as this vampire was, he had very little fat and a great deal of muscle. Astrid repressed a sudden wave of fear at how strong this beast must be with vampiric strength added on to its natural muscle. All vampires were significantly stronger, faster, and tougher at night, when the sun was gone. But their enhanced strength was still based on their natural strength; even at her most powerful, Astrid was still comparatively a child to most other vampires. She was fast, she was quick, and she knew how to fight, but in a contest of strength she wouldn’t stand a chance against a regular vampire, let alone this monster.

  The tunnel forked a few times. Left, left again, then right, then a central fork of three, left again. Finally, it opened up into a much larger space, as her vampire escort passed through a low arch. Astrid’s world turned on its head as the big vampire tossed her from his shoulder to the ground at the foot of a raised platform on which three thrones stood. Astrid tumbled into a heap onto a lavish, braided rug.

  Unlike the austere tunnels and rooms Astrid had seen since Cabral had imprisoned her, this room was lined with tapestries, and in front of them stood pedestals on which sculptures, busts, and weapons rested. Even the sconces were highly decorative ironwork, the torches illuminating the room in a dim, flickering light.

  Vampires crowded the room, Cabral among them.

  She s
tood up, dusting herself off. It was a futile gesture; she’d been wearing the same faded dress and breeches for she didn’t know how long.

  The walls on either side angled inward, leading to a point directly across from the archway through which Astrid had just been carried. The ornate thrones were at the point of the room, their backs reaching high above the heads of the three vampires sitting on them. Astrid recognized the vampire on the left as Elegance.

  Elegance’s yellow eyes pierced the dim room like golden fire. Her hair, still in hundreds of tiny braids, was tied neatly into a topknot, secured by a bright gold band. She wore a yellow robe that complimented her dark skin tone, trimmed with gold. Yellow gemstones decorated her throne and much of her jewelry.

  The vampire seated next to Elegance, on the throne in the middle, was another woman, tiellan, slightly younger and more slender in form than Elegance, her ears poking up out of very short, messily styled silver hair. Her eyes emitted a cool, deep blue glow. She wore a dress of dark blue; sapphires decorated her throne and jewelry.

  “The color coordination is a bit garish in here, isn’t it?” Astrid muttered.

  If any of the vampires in the room heard her, they gave no sign of it.

  The final vampire, seated on the right, was short and wiry, and wore robes that matched his glowing violet eyes, with lightly shaded amethysts and dark tourmalines bedazzling both his throne and the circlet on his head. His hair was speckled with gray, and creases pinched at the corners of his eyes. Astrid glanced over her shoulder. Cabral and his Fangs looked on grimly. Directly behind her was the big vampire, his frame even more imposing in the cavern, torchlight flickering on his face.

  Every other vampire in the room, excepting the three on thrones, the big vampire who’d brought her here, and Astrid herself, had the typical crimson vampiric glow emanating from their eyes, adding a sinister shade to the room’s already ominous flicker.

  Astrid flashed her biggest, most charming smile up at the seated vampires. She clasped her hands together. “First of all I’d like to thank my escort, led by that outrageous piece of pure muscle, for guiding me safely here to be with you all.” She looked over her shoulder again, winking at the big vampire. “I couldn’t have done it without you.