Nylion arced Silverblade toward the man’s shoulder and cut down the pirate who’d been about to run the captain through from behind.
“Probably not the best time to discuss this,” he told the cringing man.
“Th-thanks,” the captain sputtered.
“You are quite welcome. Now, where is the pirate captain? I must end him and claim his vessel.”
The captain shakily pointed aft. Nylion huffed impatiently. Of course he’d be on the opposite side of the boat.
He took his time getting to the captain’s quarters, cutting a swath of destruction through the middle of the miniature battle playing out on the main deck. He made sure to avoid anyone in a navy uniform. Raimie would be furious if he accidentally killed one of his men.
Climbing up the steps to the captain’s quarters, Nylion shook his head at the lack of swordsmanship the pirates displayed. A slaughter was nice at the beginning, but it quickly grew boring. He hoped the pirate captain provided more of a challenge.
Whistling quietly, he flung open the door to the musty chamber. He leaned backward for the ax to descend in front of him. Taking in the messy cot and generally disorganized room, Nylion released a dark bolt from his hand which he’d aimed to the side. A thump indicated the pirate captain’s collision with the hull.
Satisfied with his inspection, Nylion advanced on the whimpering man.
“Please, don’t kill me,” the handsome man pled. “I’ll give you whatever you want! Booze! Gold! Women!”
“I require none of those things,” Nylion coldly replied as he crouched and rifled through the captain’s pockets with one hand.
“Oh, if that’s what you’re into, I can happily oblige,” the pirate purred and batted his eyes.
Nylion discovered what he needed on the man’s belt. He cut the leather with Silverblade, making the pirate groan, and slid the key ring away. He tossed and caught the jangling metal, rising to loom over the captain.
“What to do with you?” he muttered.
“Anything you desire, master,” the pirate declared with bated breath.
“Will your crew more easily relinquish control of this ship with your declaration of surrender or with the removal of your head from your shoulders?” Nylion asked, cocking his head curiously.
“I… what?!”
Nylion raised his sword.
“Tell me the truth, and I will be inclined to grant you mercy. Lie, and I will make your suffering stretch much longer than you would prefer.”
The pirate gulped.
“They’d rather have my head than surrender while I live,” the pirate answered, voice returned to its natural timbre. “I’m quite popular with the crew.”
Nylion tsked with disappointment.
“Surprising. A pirate who can tell the truth. I suppose I cannot enjoy playing with you.”
The pirate’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak when Silverblade cleanly sliced through his neck. Nylion waited until the blood finished spurting from severed arteries before retrieving the head.
When he opened the cabin door, the battle was nearing its end. Maybe it had been a waste of time interrogating their captain, but Nylion had always secretly desired to become a pirate king. This would probably be the closest he’d get.
He swung up to the highest railing he could reach, balancing there steadily, and tossed the captain’s head into the midst of the fighting.
“Crew of the Green Plague, members of the Serpent Pirate Crew,” he bellowed in an unnaturally loud voice, “I have defeated your captain. By all the codes written, that makes me your leader. Surrender, and I may yet let you live.”
On the main deck, fighting ceased as the pirates glanced back and forth between the crazily smirking Nylion and the head of their former captain. One by one, they dropped their weapons, knelt, and laced fingers behind their heads.
“Excellent!” Nylion grinned wider, clasping his arms behind his back.
He leaped and fell the fifteen-foot drop to the main deck, landing as if it was nothing. Whistling jauntily, he strolled over to the captain’s head and kicked it into the ocean.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
You’re the only one who may have the ability to end me.
Something was off about Raimie. He was enjoying this too much.
The captain’s head soared over the railing and landed with a plop in the waters below. The captured pirates tracked its passage with wide eyes, and dread flooded their features.
“Oswin!” Raimie shouted, and the officer scrambled to him, saluting. “Line the prisoners up, and gather their weapons by the hatch. I will return momentarily.”
Lazily strolling to said hatch, he twirled a key ring around his finger, and Kheled figured out what disturbed him so about his friend. Raimie’s Chaos splinter trotted dutifully behind him like a dog on a leash. There was no sign of Order.
As they passed, Kheled’s Creation splinter hissed threateningly at Chaos, and the healer had to mentally reinforce the command not to attack. Raimie’s splinter looked up at the noise, and it stared beseechingly at Kheled while its human lifted the hatch and descended into the ship’s belly. Not seeing what he’d hoped for from the healer, the splinter hung its head and followed Raimie.
Kheled pondered his friend’s change in behavior while those above deck waited in tense silence. Had Raimie rejected his splinter of Order, and if he had, how would that change the plan? He caught himself tapping his foot agitatedly and forced it still. He was sure there was a simple explanation that his friend would provide at the next available opportunity.
Boots clunked onto the deck beside him, and he stepped aside to give Eledis room to regain his balance.
“Frustrating child,” the old man muttered. “What was he thinking, rushing off on his own like that without protection?”
“Actually, that was my idea,” Kheled informed him.
Eledis’ cold hazel eyes snapped to the healer.
“And what possessed you to share it with Raimie?”
Kheled shrugged.
“He needed a nudge before his mind would allow him to join the fight, and I provided that.”
“Was it your idea to choose a staff as his weapon?” Eledis asked fiercely. “He could have been killed. If you leave an enemy alive as you must with such a weapon, you open yourself up to attack from those you leave in your wake!”
“Unless you’re effective when rendering the enemy unconscious. Plus, it’s not that hard to keep track of those you’ve finished with,” Kheled said, mildly irritated by the old man’s hostility. “Besides, it wasn’t my idea that he use a staff. I merely reminded him that he had it. He put on an adequate display with it, although I noticed a few flaws in his technique that we’ll need to discuss this evening.”
“You’re training him to fight with such a weapon?” Eledis hissed, his hands balling into fists. “He’s your king! He won’t need such a crude, poor man’s weapon when he has Shadowsteal. How much respect has he lost from this one fight?”
Kheled crossed his arms, struggling to stay put and not strangle the old man.
“What happens when the only weapon he has is a staff? Is he supposed to simply submit to death because the weapon was too crude to use? Raimie didn’t lose the respect of his men with this fight. If anything, their admiration has grown! You should learn to pay attention to your surroundings. Sir.”
All around them, those sailors not engaged with guarding the prisoners whispered and excitedly chattered about the royal who’d led the charge, distracting the pirates to ensure safe boarding, and danced around the enemy with a simple length of wood, making his ability to incapacitate his opponents look easy.
“I’ll agree that you’re correct about that,” Eledis grudgingly conceded. “That doesn’t change the fact that he could have been killed, all alone and surrounded by pirates for Alouin knows how long before we could get to him.”
“He wasn’t alone. I was right there with him,” Kheled said with a smirk.
“No one could have touched him.”
There had been a brief moment of concern when he’d seen Raimie, baby primeancer that he was, run out of juice. It was a rookie mistake to release your hold on your source when your life was threatened, but once it was survived, the mistake was never repeated.
Kheled hadn’t needed to intervene in that case. A boarding officer had done so in his place, but the healer didn’t think it wise to mention what could have been a near miss to Raimie’s grandfather.
“Where’s Marcuset?” Kheled asked, cutting off Eledis’ next remark.
“Do you know nothing of the nature of command?” the old man asked with feigned astonishment.
“So you left him in charge, and that means he has to stay with the ship,” Kheled muttered. “Thank you for the answer.”
Eledis looked at him askance and seemed about to make a scathing reply, but fortunately, Raimie interrupted him. The young man sprang on deck from the ship’s innards and extended a hand to assist the people coming after him.
They emerged into the sun, squinting and blinking furiously. Scabs encircled their wrists and ankles where shackles had once chafed the skin. The pirates had achieved the perfect balance of starving their slaves into submission and feeding them enough to provide the strength to row. Their arms and shoulders were muscular and large, as would be expected of a group whose sole purpose was to drag tons of wood and metal through the water, but their faces and stomachs were gaunt, belying the truth of their physical condition. Scars covered their skin where rags couldn’t conceal them, and pale skin spoke to an extreme lack of sunlight, making the tans of the pirates and the sailors appear dark as night.
When the last of them crowded onto the deck, Raimie milled among the former slaves while speaking specifically to the prisoners.
“You have been found guilty of piracy,” he began, drawing the dagger stuck through his waistband and offering it hilt first to a spindly man who took it hesitantly, “and worse, of forcibly enslaving potentially productive members of society who most likely have loved ones and family back home.”
Raimie retrieved a sword from the pile of the pirates’ weapons and handed it to a woman with frazzled hair and tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Their lives were uprooted and destroyed by your actions. My hope is that by freeing them from your clutches, they will be allowed to take whatever new course in life sets their fancy.”
He smiled as he gave a big man a cutlass. He gestured invitingly from the pile of weapons to the former slaves, waiting for each one to make their choice. Once every former slave was armed, Raimie turned upon the pirates, unsmiling.
“By maritime law, I am completely within my rights to see you left behind in a rowboat to be retrieved by the closest authorities. This is sure to be a slow and painful death from dehydration and starvation for you as the closest authority is Doldimar, and I am certain he could not care less what happens to you. In any case, I do not believe that I should be the one to decide your punishment. That should be left up to your victims.”
Deadly silence greeted the proclamation. The sailors guarding the prisoners shifted uncomfortably, and Kheled could imagine their dilemma. They were tasked with safeguarding the prisoners until their proper punishment was handed out. Did Raimie have the authority to decide what that was?
“You said you’d let us live!” one of the pirates shouted in a panicky voice.
Raimie shook his head.
“I said I might let you live,” he said, raising his pointer finger, “and I am. Your victims might show mercy. Then again, they might not. It is up to them.”
He bared his teeth at the condemned men and turned to make the treacherous climb over rigging back to the galleon. He snatched a rope that swung back and forth between the ships from the air.
“And if we’re speaking about the closest authority,” he said, almost as an afterthought, “that would not be Doldimar, would it? It would be me.”
He turned his manic smile upon the soldiers in navy, Eledis and finally, Kheled. The smile faltered for a split second when their eyes met, but Raimie shook it off quickly. He gathered the rope around his arm and shoulder and swung across to the galleon.
The soldiers standing guard around the prisoners exchanged glances and wordlessly stepped to the side. They sheathed swords and holstered pistols to the dismayed cries of the pirates. As one, they began disembarking the pirate ship. Their idle compatriots quickly joined them.
Kheled withstood the stream of departing soldiers, intently watching the scenario Raimie had left behind. The terrified pirates huddled as far away from the grouped slaves as they possibly could. Some stood defiantly, and others remained on their knees with hands extended beseechingly to judge, jury, and executioner.
For their part, the former slaves appeared undecided about what to do with their former captors. Most of them looked shocked by their sudden change in fortune.
One man, the big one Raimie had given a cutlass, strode across the space between the groups to stare down at a prisoner wearing a necklace of withered fingers around his neck. The pirate glanced up and immediately huddled tighter, whimpering.
“You murdered my baby girl,” the former slave grumbled. “You raped my wife. You stole my strength, took my dignity, beat me within an inch of my life so that I would help you do the same to others.”
He used the cutlass’s point to lift the pirate’s chin.
“Why should I show you mercy?”
“Please…” the pirate said, rising to his feet.
The former slave cleaved his captive in two. Even with the built shoulder muscles, the blade didn’t fully complete its journey, halting mid abdomen.
The freedman released the cutlass, and the pirate’s body fell. He trudged back to his comrades as they moved forward to dispense their own justice.
Kheled turned away, conflicted. He made the crossing back to the galleon by mundane means, lost in thought.
On the one hand, he wouldn’t shed a tear for the pirates. Every civilized culture had strictures condoning their execution upon capture. While there were no such strictures concerning slavers, most cultures treated them with disdain and disgust. Both were the lowest of the low, feeding off of the pain and suffering of others.
On the other, Kheled would have argued for a swifter execution of justice. Leaving the pirate’s fates to their former slaves opened up the possibility of torture before they met their end. Maybe the pirates deserved such punishment, but the freedmen didn’t deserve the agonizing guilt that might result from participating in such actions.
Kheled trudged up the steps to the quarterdeck in turmoil. Raimie’s decisions and actions on the Green Plague didn’t reconcile with what he knew of his friend.
“-sure they are fed and watered,” Raimie told Marcuset at the galleon’s bow. “They are to be given the choice to serve or go free. Any who wish to leave may partake of their former master’s property to assist in their endeavor.”
Marcuset cleared his throat.
“A noble gesture, Your Majesty, but what of us?” he asked. “We need the supplies, and their ships could provide a solution to our dilemma.”
“We take what we need of the supplies, of course,” Raimie said, cocking his head in surprise at the commander’s stupidity, “leaving only what the ships’ new owners require to survive to the closest port of call. As for the boats, do you really wish to attempt to contain the entirety of our fleet onto five small ships? It is an impractical plan at best. Perhaps you can explain its merits?”
“I-” Marcuset began.
“I thought not,” Raimie interrupted. “Instead, we shall send a unit of your men with each ship that chooses to depart. They are to acquire aid from any, and I do mean any, who would choose to assist. Do you have further questions or comments?”
Raimie cocked his head to the other side, and Kheled shivered. Marcuset bowed deeply.
“No, Your Majesty,” he stiffly said. “By your leave, I shall ensure y
our orders are carried out.”
“See that you do,” Raimie replied.
He strolled to the starboard railing and clasped his hands behind his back, and while escaping from the quarterdeck, Marcuset took Kheled to the side.
“You’re his friend right?” the commander asked, pointing at Raimie.
“I’m honored to be considered as such.”
“Something’s wrong. The battle hit him harder than I thought it would,” Marcuset said with a pinched look. “Have you seen much combat, Healer?”
“More than I’d like,” Kheled acknowledged.
“Then you know what it’s like. The cool off from a fight, I mean. He needs a friend right now. Can I trust you to help him?”
“I will always do everything in my power to help and protect him.”
The commander patted his shoulder.
“Good man.”
He lumbered down the rest of the steps and disappeared around the corner, and Kheled advanced on his friend.
“Raimie?” he asked hesitantly.
His friend gave no response, and he took another step forward. He glanced down at what the young man was so focused on and grimaced at the blood soaked deck strewn with pirate corpses.
“Are you all right?”
He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“I understand why-“
Raimie spun around, and his fist, swarming with Daevetch’s dark energy, rushed at Kheled’s face. Caught by surprise the healer instinctively drew from Ele, but before he could dodge the incoming strike, the fist stopped, black streaks fleeing from Raimie’s hand. The human narrowed his eyes.
“Kheled?” he asked as if to verify his identity.
“Raimie, your eyes!”
Kheled seized his friend’s head, oblivious to the young man’s uneasy stiffening, and peeled back the lid of one of his eyes. The pupil had dilated so widely that only a delicate rim of blue remained of his iris.
“No wonder you’ve unsettled everyone you’ve spoken to,” Kheled murmured, releasing his hold on his friend’s head. “How are you feeling?”
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 51