Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  *Yes, Eelback, we will see,* she signed, her luminous eyes never leaving his. *As we will see where your own loyalty swims.*

  She swam away before he could reply, and he felt a tug at his tail. He turned to his three most trusted allies.

  *She is dangerous,* Slickfin signed, flicking her tail in anger. *You should not have told her of our plans. She will divulge them to the whole school!*

  *She will not betray us, Slickfin. Not until it is too late, and then it will not matter.* He gestured patience, quelling the angry flicks of Sharkbite’s tail and the nervous twitch of Redtail’s gill slits. *We need her, but we must time this properly. She must be near us when the seamage arrives. Then we will act, and she will be with us.* He nodded to Sharkbite, and signed, *Whether she wants to be or not.*

  ≈

  “Lots of sea faeries tonight, sir,” the officer of the watch said, saluting as the captain of the Fire Drake came on deck. “I was just about to call you about it.”

  “Thank you, Mister Lafferty.” Captain Altan returned the salute and surveyed the deck. All seemed in perfect order; the night watch was stationed at intervals between the shrouded catapults, facing outward or walking short circuits. None were lounging or dozing. A glance told him that the Lady Gwen and Clairissa were both on station, the former anchored securely about half a mile to the north, well out of danger should hostilities break out, the latter sailing her circuit, tacking ponderously back and forth to leeward. All was well.

  “Let’s have a look, then, shall we?” He nodded to the young man, a lad of about twenty whose father was a ranking priest in some temple or other.

  “Yes, sir.” The young ensign gestured toward the starboard rail. “They’re brightest over here in the deeper water, sir.”

  The captain strolled to the rail and leaned out over the thick bulwark to look down into the dark, crystalline water. Green glowing lights flickered, and even with only starlight he could see large shapes moving. He noted the tidal flow and the set of the riding sails, and looked again down into the depths at the luminous shapes. It was a captain’s job to worry, and Altan was a good captain: cautious, skilled and not afraid of sharp action when the moment called for it.

  “Well, the tide’s ebbing, so it’s probably just fish feeding on whatever flows out of the bay. I’ve seen the like outside Tsing Harbor on occasion.” He nodded to the ensign and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to bring it to my attention, Mister Lafferty. We are, after all, in hostile waters. Call up Sergeant Torrance, please, and have him put a double watch on deck. And signal Clairissa of our findings, also.”

  “Aye, sir! What should I tell them, sir?”

  “Signal ‘ware below, possible danger.’ That ought to get their ears perked up.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  The ensign dashed off to relay the orders and Captain Altan turned back to the rail, placing his broad hands on the oiled wood and gazing down into the depths, exercising his captain’s prerogative to worry.

  ≈

  “You must understand how this seemed to me when I first arrived,” Count Norris said, handing his empty cup and saucer to one of the keep’s staff and resuming his stroll back and forth across the expansive balcony. He looked down at Timothy as he passed one of the two broad papasan chairs; the boy was dozing, having tried diligently to stay awake, but the adults’ conversation had lasted all of the afternoon, through dinner, and well into the late evening. He brushed the boy’s sun-bleached hair and smiled. “I came to this place and saw a stronghold, fortified and defensible, the home of a powerful mage rich enough to build her own fleet of ships. Ships that could out-sail anything on the sea, mind you, including the emperor’s warships. I saw an even more powerful heir to Bloodwind.”

  “I do see, Emil,” Camilla said, sipping her blackbrew and breathing in the soothing night breeze. “And I appreciate your position. You are the emperor’s eyes and ears in a potentially hostile territory. You believed Cynthia Flaxal was a threat, and I could not convince you otherwise. You did what you thought best.”

  “I did what I thought imperative!” he said, unapologetic. “But now…” he waved a hand at the bay before them, glittering in the starlight, calm and serene. “With all you have told me, and all Timothy has said about Cynthia Flaxal, I feel that I made a grave error.” He turned to her and stopped; admittedly she was a lovely creature, and with a wit as sharp as any marine’s cutlass. Conversing with her was a delight, regardless of whether she agreed with him or fought him tooth and nail on every word. This place, his son, and this…this amazing woman had made him see things so differently than he had seen them only that very morning. “I feel as if I have woken from a dream…no, from a nightmare! And I have you to thank for it, Camilla.”

  “I just hope that your revelation is not too late.” She stood and put her cup and saucer on the server’s tray, stifling a yawn. “Cynthia will have to deal with the mer, but we should be able to act before things get out of hand. She tells me that they are often rash, but a swift action should preempt their wrath.”

  “I hope so.” He turned to look out over the bay once again, and she joined him at the balcony’s railing, her slim hands on the smooth stone. “I will contact Commodore Twig in the morning and recommend that the Clairissa and Fire Drake return to Tsing. We will bring the Lady Gwen into the harbor to avoid any anchoring problems.” He turned to her and smiled, genuinely amazed that he felt so changed; so honestly renewed. “Will that suffice?”

  “Yes, milord Count,” she said, smiling at him, her face a vision in the subdued light. “That will suffice quite nicely. And now, I must say goodnight.”

  “In the morning, then,” he said, taking her hand and bending over it, brushing his lips against her smooth knuckles.

  “In the morning.” She curtsied, color rising to her cheeks as she turned. She reached down to rouse Tim, but Norris touched her arm.

  “Let him sleep here. I’ll be nearby if he wakes.”

  She looked up at him, her face unreadable. “He’s been through a lot, you know,” she said, and he could hear in her voice that she knew more about what his son had been through than anyone should know. He knew more about her now, too: the hell that Bloodwind had put her through, and the revenge she claimed by putting a dagger into the pirate lord’s heart.

  He also knew what Bloodwind had promised her.

  “We’ve all been through a lot, milady,” he said, remembering the years of bitterness at his loss. “And we’ve all survived it.”

  “Yes, Emil, we have.” She smiled up at him, then turned and left him standing in the waning lamplight next to his sleeping son.

  ≈

  The entry grotto stood open, only a single sentry swimming guard to confront Tailwalker as he arrived, gills pumping with exhaustion. Looking past, into the main grotto, he could see few lights; even for this late at night, the place was unduly quiet. The guard recognized him and moved aside, his lance dipping out of the way.

  *Welcome, Tailwalker.*

  *Thank you, Blackscales,* he signed to the guard, gesturing curiosity with a cock of his head. *The grotto is quiet. What has happened?*

  *The grotto is empty, or very near so,* the other signed, his own posture showing a hint of irritation. *The Voice spoke and we are at war with the landwalkers. Eelback takes our school to the grotto of the seamage where warships have anchored. Only a few remain here, those who have young broods and those who must guard.*

  *Eelback leads them?* he signed, realizing what must have happened: while he, Quickfin and Chaser were absent, Eelback had taken the opportunity to martial the school to his cause. At the guard’s nod, he signed, *My father, the Trident Holder?* he asked.

  *Broadtail is in his grotto, Tailwalker. The Voice allowed him to stay with his new brood. The warships are strong, and we would not risk our Trident Holder in the fight.*

  *Thank you, Blackscales. I regret that I was not here for The Voice.*

  *And I regret that I was chosen to stay and
guard,* he signed with a nod and a tail-flick of irritation.

  Tailwalker nodded his understanding and darted off to his father’s grotto. The channels and tunnels of the mer city were eerily quiet, and he wondered how large a force had been sent to confront the landwalker warships. He knew how persuasive Eelback could be.

  Outside Broadtail’s grotto he made the deep thrum of announcement and waited. He fidgeted nervously, wondering if his father had decided to go to battle after all. He made the call again, and almost instantly the draping curtain of woven weeds was swept aside and his father swam there, his colors flushed with irritation.

  *Tailwalker!* The Trident Holder’s colorations swept through the spectrum, from irritation to joy to anger, then back to a more subdued displeasure. *Your jaunt to follow the seamage to the burning island went well, I hope?*

  *Father, much has happened, both here and at the burning island.* He ducked his head in respectful submission. *I regret not informing you that I was going with Chaser, but let us put that in our wake and discuss matters. The firemage that Seamage Flaxal’s Heir has befriended has gained Odea’s blessing as well!*

  *Odea’s blessing!* Broadtail backpaddled his fins, retreating into his grotto and motioning for Tailwalker to follow. *How could Odea give her blessings to a firemage?*

  *I do not know, Father,* he signed as he entered, noting immediately the disarray of a home with a new brood of finlings. Items that were usually carefully stored in nooks and crevices of the coral walls were strewn all over the floor, or floated about on the eddies of current. The tiny faces of a dozen or so of the finlings, almost as long as his hand now, peeked out from behind some of the items, and from the nooks where the items belonged. The sight lightened his heart — his sisters and brothers were growing quickly — but the matters at hand still weighed heavily on him. *I felt Odea’s power come with that of the fire god, Father. I do not know why it happened, but when the sun was but a crescent, their power came together and the mountain’s fire rose up on the winds.*

  *This is news indeed!* Broadtail signed, swishing his tail in thought. *This could mean…*

  *That Seamage Flaxal’s Heir was right!* Tailwalker finished for him, flipping his tail excitedly. *Odea has befriended the burning god, as she has befriended the firemage!*

  *Perhaps. We will see when they return, I suppose, if the seamage will even sign to us after our attack of the landwalker warships.* He swished his tail in irritation. *If only the landwalkers had not brought warships while she was away! By the time she returns, it will be too late!*

  *When will we attack?*

  *That is Eelback’s decision, but I do not think he will wait long before the sun rises.*

  *I must go, then,* Tailwalker signed, making the gesture of taking his leave.

  *You cannot dissuade him, my son. The Voice has spoken!* Broadtail’s surprise and anger flushed him with color, his torso seeming to expand as his gills puffed out.

  *I understand, Father. I do not intend to defy The Voice; I intend to honor it. If The Voice tells us that we must make war on the landwalkers, then I will fight.* He made a gesture of honorable submission. *I would not dishonor you so.*

  *My son, I…* Broadtail’s color faded, his ire melting away. *I did not think you would dishonor me, but I know that you disagree with Eelback. You are friend and betrothed of the seamage, a landwalker.*

  *All the mer are friends of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir, father,* he signed, a flicker of regret showing in his posture. *Whether we are still her friends when this day’s deeds are past, we will see.*

  With a flip of his tail, Tailwalker left his father’s grotto, comforted by the tiny faces peeking out at him from the nooks and crannies of coral and the knowledge that if he died in battle, there would be others to take his place at his father’s side.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Wrath of the Mer

  A rap at his door brought Edan fully awake and sitting up in the span of a heartbeat. Flicker let out a cry of alarm and tumbled off his chest before she could flutter into the air. She shook herself and glared at him, but only earned herself a chuckle. He’d been dozing for the last hour, watching the glow of dawn brighten through the port and wondering if yesterday had been a dream. Watching Flicker sleep on his bare chest, her flame licking at his skin without burning, and feeling the winds coursing along above the ship had confirmed that it had not been.

  “Yes? I’m awake,” he called, wondering instantly if something was wrong. The motion of the ship felt normal, but what did he know of normal and ships?

  “We’ve raised Plume Isle, Master Edan,” a voice called through the door. He thought it sounded like the mate, Horace. “The Captain and Mistress Flaxal would like to know if you’d like to break the fast with ‘em.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he said. Raised Plume Isle? How did one raise an island? He shook his head and reached for his trousers and shirt, flipping Flicker’s chain from one wrist to the other as he put his arms through the sleeves.

  He found the mess a bustle of activity, which rather surprised him given the hour. The sun was not to rise for at least a half hour and the sailors were acting like it was halfway through the morning. He exchanged good mornings with several of the crew and grabbed a tray bearing a huge bowl of porridge, half a loaf of bread, butter and a slab of cheese as thick as his hand, along with a mug of blackbrew. He sat down on the bench across the table from the seamage; as he had noticed last night in the launch, it was uncomfortable for him to be much closer.

  “Good morning, Edan,” she said, sipping her own mug of blackbrew. “You look much rested from your ordeal.”

  “I am. Thank you, Mistress Flaxal.” He sampled the porridge and decided it needed sugar and cream to make it palatable. There was a bowl of sugar on the table, but no cream. He put a double portion of sugar on the porridge, stirred and sampled it with distaste.

  “Sorry there’s no cream,” she said, lifting her cup of blackbrew. “I know how you feel. I can barely choke this stuff down without something to lighten it.”

  “When ya design a schooner with a cow byre in the hold, you’ll sail with milk in yer blackbrew,” Brelak said, earning a chuckle from the crew.

  “Not a bad idea, though it would cut into cargo space a bit,” she countered, raising her cup. “It might be worth the cost after a week at sea with a surly seamage.” That earned a few more chuckles and a light-hearted comment or two, but things settled quickly into easy conversation and diligent eating.

  “I’m eager to hear what you remember of your ascension,” she said to Edan. “Like I said, I was knocked senseless during my own, and remember very little.”

  “I remember being overwhelmed,” he said, thinking it best to skip the bits about the welcome Flicker had given him. “I felt like I might explode, like I’d been filled with too much…too much of everything. Like a cup that was filled to overflowing, but not allowed to overflow.” He shrugged, unable to choose words adequate to describe his experience.

  “And now you control fire, like Cynthia controls water?” Feldrin asked.

  “Yes, but it’s strange. I used to watch my master create fire from nothing, like he called it up from the air. I don’t think I can do that, at least not yet. Any flame, like the lamps here,” he gestured to the oil lamps in their gimbaled brass brackets, “I can feel those. And things that will burn readily — wood, parchment, cloth — I know that I can call fire to those, with a little concentration. It’s easier if there’s already a flame nearby.”

  “And the winds?” Cynthia asked, her eyes alight. “You can feel the winds and call them, we saw that already.”

  “Yes, Mistress Flaxal. That’s easier. The air is always moving, so I can call the winds any time. It’s like there’s this big living thing around me all the time, and all I have to do is…”

  “Ask,” she finished for him. “I imagine the tricks your old master used to do were simple spells, Edan, not true elemental magic. I’ve lea
rned a few spells from the mer, things to help me, but the center of your gift is you. You’ll learn as you go along how to fine-tune your gifts, how to — ”

  “Sail! Sail to the north!” The call came from the watch on deck.

  Everyone looked at one another, then the captain said, “Probably just a merchantman makin’ fer the — ”

  A sailor burst into the mess. “Yer pardon, Captain, but there’s a warship in sight.” Captain Brelak was on his feet and moving before the man could even continue. “She’s standin’ off to the lee of Plume Isle, and she’s the biggest damn thing I’ve ever seen!”

  “Bloody hells,” Feldrin muttered, leading the procession onto deck.

  Cynthia and Edan waited for the crush of sailors to pass before venturing up to see. By the time they arrived on deck, the captain was lowering his glass, his face as grim as a headstone.

  “Yer gonna love this, Cyn,” he said, handing over the glass. “It’s the Clairissa.”

  “The emperor’s flagship? Impossible!” She brought the glass to her eye and Edan watched the color drain from her face. Her seasprite landed on her shoulder, his mood subdued for once.

  “That’s what I would have thought,” the captain agreed, “but that’s her pennant, no mistake. There’s a couple of other ships anchored closer to the cut, but they’re still hull down so we can’t make ‘em out yet. They could be warships, too, for all I know.”

  “Three warships?” the seamage said in a stunned whisper, lowering the glass. “What’s the emperor thinking!”

  “I don’t understand,” Edan interrupted, the old fear rising up from his belly. “Why would the emperor send warships here?”

  “Other than the fact that he’s obviously got a sea urchin up his arse about the Seamage of the Shattered Isles and her own private empire, and probably wants Scimitar Bay as a naval base? Oh, no reason.”

  “If it were that simple, I’d let him have it, Feldrin,” the seamage said, her tone grim. “It’s the mer I’m worried about. I warned him they would react poorly to warships, and he sent them anyway.”