by T B Phillips
“Well now, if this isn’t a surprise!” The commanding officer grasped forearms with his aide-de-camp and brought him close in an embrace of respect and camaraderie, tipping the boat as he did. After they had pulled back, he pointed at the captain’s eyepatch. “I see that while we’ve been rubbing elbows with pirates you’ve decided to look the part.”
Titus gingerly touched the adornment on his face. “Yes, it seems that I narrowly survived an attack by a jaguar.”
Max nodded. “Robert told us about that. He said that the last he saw you, he thought you dead in the cistern.”
Titus felt his pocket at his side, fingering the animal claw within. Sarge had given it to him as a trophy after surviving the attack from the beast. He had claimed that they had plucked it from his now useless eye. Funny, he thought, that I don’t even remember the surgery.
Reeves gestured toward the city. “Don’t tell me you took the city on your own?”
Titus smiled warmly at his friend and answered, “Honestly, I didn’t do much at all. This was all General Lourdes’ work.”
The smile disappeared abruptly from Reeve’s face and a quizzical expression took over. “But Robert said that Mac died when the wall collapsed.” Hope filled the old soldier’s eyes. “Are you telling me that he survived?”
“Apparently so,” Titus responded, “but I don’t reckon I know what could actually kill that man. He’s proven indestructible up until now.”
“You’ve got that right! Who are these soldiers?” Max indicated the enlisted rowers.
“Loyalists to Robert, sir.” The men behind him beamed proudly at the description. “They found me nearly dead, lying on the beach. They took me in, fed me, and took me to Lourdes. I want to petition for full pardon of each of the deserters…”
Sarge interrupted, “Defectors, Captain.”
Titus smiled. “I mean defectors. They and their Major got us inside the walls, and we were able to take the city in a single night.”
“So, the city is truly ours?”
“Aye, General, with two-thousand loyalists and defectors eagerly awaiting his arrival. He finally has enough to fight this war, sir.”
Robert Esterling disembarked amid fanfare and cheers from both soldiers and civilians. Although he had departed Eskera in the dark of night and under heavy enemy fire, his return would be recorded in history as miraculous. He had dressed for the occasion in a brilliant white uniform that seemingly caught the sun, reflecting off polished golden buttons and aiguillettes. Atop his head he wore a glorious crown with bright red rubies in the shape of his mother’s rose.
He silently thanked Braen Braston for insisting that he allow Sarai to commission the uniform with jewels and precious metals donated by The Cove. A “loan” the pirate had called it.
His queen walked with confidence at his side, a stunning sight in a regal gown of crimson splendor that accentuated the rose in his crown. The vibrant color could be seen from every rampart along the harbor, and the tiara upon her head sparkled like stars on a perfectly moonless night. They were flanked on both sides by bannermen waving the Esterling crest and the crowd cheered at the display. Their shouts echoed off the heavens for the young king who had quickly recovered both the city and their hearts.
A makeshift stage had been erected on the wharf and every eye was on the ceremony. Merrimac Lourdes and Maximus Reeves awaited their monarch with wide smiles, proudly watching as their young protégé celebrated his second victory.
“Nice work, Mac.” Reeves spoke the words to his former mentor over the wild applause.
“It was really nothing,” the much older officer replied. “It’s the least that I could do for the true heir of Charles Esterling!”
Maximus froze at the words, doubt creeping in and making him wonder. “Say that again, Mac? I couldn’t hear you over the crowd.” Despite his sudden concern, he smiled disarmingly.
“Hmm?” Lourdes’ eyebrows lifted questioningly then quickly recovered. “Oh yes, of course only we know the truth about Charles.” In a whisper he added, “I said it like that for the ears.” He gestured around. “As far as this crowd should know that is the solitary truth.”
Reeves nodded his agreement, worries settled as he turned to watch Robert. The king had reached the platform and he and his bride made their way up the steps. “I often wonder if Lady Crestal knew before they were wed.”
Lourdes did not take his eyes from the young king. He asked, “Knew what?”
“That Charles was sterile,” Max explained.
“I’m sure it was discussed beforehand, or else she wouldn’t have lain with Matteas Brohn. At least one of his boys made a strong leader.”
A shockwave of fear passed through the younger general. He was about to press his old mentor, but Robert had arrived. Both men genuflected to their sovereign, hands across their breast in a sign of fealty.
“Arise!” The young king ordered, “Let’s speak upon this glorious occasion.”
Both men recovered and stood with heads bowed in respect. “King Robert,” Merrimac began, “I give you the city and people of Eskera, liberated in your name as you commanded.”
“You deserve a triumph, General, but while time is scant, I offer you instead a boon!” Robert moved in closer to the battle-hardened warrior, placing his hands on his shoulders in a public display of favor. “Speak what you will ask of your king!”
Maximus watched the exchange with a mixture of fear and caution, alarms surging through his mind. Did the fall affect his memory? He quickly recapped the older man’s behavior. The attack on the city was rash, he thought, and certainly would have advised against the risk or urged caution instead. But that wasn’t enough to distrust his friend, now standing inches away from the king. Robert was certain that he had died in that fall!
Max felt his stomach lurch as he remembered Braen and Robert’s report of the Jaguars. Each had retold how the specters reanimated dead Falconers. His instincts screamed warning. If Merrimac Lourdes was an agent of the enemy then he had the perfect opportunity to strike. He suddenly stood too close for Reeve’s liking.
He quickly moved to separate the two. “Your Highness,” he asked, “perhaps the general would ask for clemency for the men who aided in the seizing of the city?” He broke script as he spoke, pushing past his old mentor and stepping between the two men. The words barely escaped his mouth before cold steel enter his ribcage. His vision swam while the onlookers scrambled to defend their monarch. Slowly he slid to his knees, eyes on Robert who watched with horror and with feet frozen by shock. Maximus Reeves whispered out his final breath, “Run!” Darkness replaced the image of his son.
Robert watched as blood spewed from his father’s side, staining his white uniform as he collapsed onto the stage. Behind Max stood General Lourdes, face twisted in hatred as he tried to free a dagger caught between his protégé’s ribs.
“Run!” Max spit blood as he spoke his final words, spraying the king’s jacket with pink froth.
Dumbfounded, Robert stepped away from the danger, confused and suddenly frightened. Lourdes finally freed the blade, wrenching it out with the cracking of bone and a hiss of escaping air. The blood that gushed from the wound came from the general’s heart, punctured by the long blade. His father was dead.
Mac cursed loudly and stepped forward with the speed of a younger man. A shot rang loudly from Robert’s left, dropping the decorated warrior.
Amash Horslei frantically reloaded his smoking pistol while chaos ensued all around. He shouted at the king, “Get to the ship, Boy!”
Meanwhile the defectors had drawn blades and clashed with the king’s soldiers. Gunfire echoed on the pier, drowning out the loud clash of steel upon steel.
Someone shouted, “To the king!” Guards quickly surrounded Robert, leaving Sarai to stand defenseless.
He pointed at this wife and called back to Horslei
, “Protect the Queen!”
One of the defectors stood over a slain soldier, holding the man’s rifle in his hands. He whirled around, looking for the king. Finding him surrounded, he quickly aimed the barrel at Sarai. Everything moved in slow motion then, as Robert tried to shove aside his human shields. A shot rang out, loud and terrifying as the projectile hurled through the air. It moved fast, despite that time had slowed for the king. He reached out instinctively, sending a blast of air to meet the object before it struck his love.
Too late to fully change the trajectory, his wife fell to the ground. He was trapped, unable to move from behind his guards. Robert watched with horror as Lourdes regained his feet and rushed toward Sarai. The older man laughed maniacally as he raised the blade above his head, oblivious to the loss of blood from his belly. He brought the point of the blade down with force, intending to pierce her heart.
Another shot rang out from Amash’s pistol, and the general fell atop Sarai. Robert shoved one of the guards aside and lashed Mac’s body with air, ripping him from atop his queen. He stared intently for signs of life, willing her chest to rise. She was too far away to tell, and so he fought against the soldiers now dragging him toward the ship and safety.
Strange sounds hummed from atop the wall, and the king strained his eyes to watch the citizens move aside. There, he watched twenty Jaguars swaying and singing from where they knelt atop the palisade. Turning again toward the wharf, he watched as every fallen soldier rose, including the body of Maximus Reeves.
Robert Esterling watched in horror as the dead rose to attack his men a second time. The scene resembled a nightmare, just as it did on the night that he and Braen Braston had battled side by side. What has died is never meant to walk again, he thought. Watching as his father cut down two of his own soldiers he added, especially when evil has replaced the goodness that once dwelled within. This day would end as the last, he feared, with the Jaguars forcing him to flee. Looking around he took inventory of the battle.
His cadre of emotants were forming up near the ships. Some tried to help the soldiers, but it was difficult to intervene when both sides fought so closely together. Nearby, Amash had gathered up his sister and was calling for Robert to follow. “Get behind the line! We need to organize them the way Sippen taught you!”
Rank and file, the little man had called the tactic. The first line would fire, then back into the line to reload. Then the second line would fire and so on. There was method to the new weapons, and they would only be effective when used correctly. He nodded to Amash and sent a blast of air toward the Jaguars, momentarily breaking their rhythm and concentration. That bought some time, but, just as he attacked, horns sounded in the city.
Arne, sensing trouble through his master, launched from the flagship and soared skyward. Then Robert finally assessed the situation. It can’t be, he thought, realizing that Marcus’ army had arrived. They must’ve been lurking nearby. And then he realized the worst, they’ve been hiding outside the city and have Falconers! Several large raptors attacked the eagle as it flew, harassing the bird and trying to blind the king on the wharf.
Robert hated Falconers. But he had fought against the hooded specters before and had some luck. They were easy enough to defeat with the element of surprise, but that was not the case here. Worse, they had again joined forces with the Jaguars, and that meant they would kill with improved cunning and efficiency.
A sword swung through the air, barely missing his neck as he dodged, and the scene around him again slowed. Maximus Reeves recovered from the miss and swung a second time, this time aiming for Robert’s hamstring. The young man’s chest suddenly felt tight and he began to wheeze. Not again, he thought, he knows my weaknesses and will recognize my breathing sickness. Reanimated father or not, the monster swinging the sword meant to kill the king.
Wisps of air shot out and grabbed the general’s wrist while another lashed his feet. Robert pulled them tight, tripping him up and causing him to swing wide. But then the interference came. Tendrils of air shot out from an alleyway nearby. Robert threw up a shield that narrowly blocked the attack, then split his mind a third time and caught the sinews that had flown toward him. He coiled these around and around until they formed a thick rope as wide as a mooring line. He swung it up and over the wall, catching each Jaguar in the chest and sending them sailing toward the hard streets below.
Amash nodded his approval and the two rushed to join the others in the rearguard. Robert yelled to rally his men. “Form up! Fall back and reform!” The loyal troops raced after their sovereign, falling in as he passed and forming tight rows as they reached the piers.
Amash looked around, still holding his sister. “I don’t like this. We’re trapped and they can cut this boardwalk to pieces when they reach the batteries!”
Robert looked up, taking notice of the defectors who were nearing those very positions. Thankfully most of the citizens had fled and were off to hide in their homes. The king turned to the nearest ship and shouted to a crewman, “Signal the others! Aim your cannons at each of the gun mounts and fire at will!” What happened next was a cacophony of explosions ripping through the harbor defenses and spraying rubble, slowing the advance of the reinforcing troops.
His eyes darted to Sarai in her brother’s arms. Her chest moved, although he could tell that it was labored. Two deckhands carrying a stretcher raced across the brow, crossing over and recovering their queen from the pier. They hurried her to the waiting ship’s surgeon. Aboard what? Robert let the thought distract him momentarily. This ship doesn’t even have a name and I’m using it as my flagship! A broadside from the nameless vessel roared overhead, striking the nearest harbor defense just as a group of defectors reached it.
A brief moment of clarity followed and King Esterling shouted commands at his men. They were finally in position, the front line fighting with bayonets against the pressing mob. “Second rank, ready and take aim! Fire!” The explosion sent the opposition flying backward. Turning to the ship he called to the captain, “Get some sharpshooters on the rails! Take down anything that looks like a Jaguar!” By now the first rank was ready and he ordered them also to fire.
The soldiers slowly backed the attackers down the pier. With artillery flying overhead to soften the enemy flanks and snipers keeping the Jaguars busy, Robert was able to get a foothold on the wharf, just in time for a harbor cannon to take out the pier they had been standing on previously. The ships rocked but continued their cannonade. Sarai will be safe onboard, he told himself. The cadre of emotants around him quickly found their footing in the battle. In short time, they had captured fifteen of the Falconers, tying them down and lashing them to anything they could find.
Robert looked around for the Jaguars, but could no longer find any. When the dead ceased rising to fight, he finally realized that they had fled the battlefield. He called the ceasefire. One by one he and his cadre of emotants dispatched the Falconers, tendrils of air acting as nooses along the city wall. Only when they stopped kicking, did he know that it was safe to visit Sarai.
To Amash he ordered, “Do what you need to do, but I want the dead burned, even our own.”
Once aboard the ship Robert made straight for sickbay and found his wife. She rested comfortably but was very much alert. He asked the surgeon, “Can’t you give her anything for the pain?”
“No, Your Majesty. I’m afraid that I cannot.”
“Why not?” He asked, quickly losing patience.
“Because,” answered Sarai, “it would be dangerous to your heir.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Percy Roan watched intently as archers circled the Pescari District. The warriors had tried several times to test the new weapons, but were repelled each time by the crossbows. From this vantage he felt safe and away from imminent danger, but he worried for the city. Usually a man without principles, he strangely felt compassion for those trapped. They could not possib
ly defend against superior force and new technology.
Even if the Pescari are killed, he thought, this humanitarian crisis will remain a black mark on the people of Weston for generations. He turned his attention to Eachann standing with his new feathered friends. Occasionally the governor would point, and they would converse about tactics or argue over the best angle for the final attack. And then the moment the accountant feared most came to pass.
Pescari warriors began darting about, tossing torches into piles of debris that Roan had not noticed before. Huge bonfires roared against the darkness, lighting the night with a hellish flickering. A solitary figure emerged into the open. Careful to remain out of range of the new weapons, he stood defiantly in the center of the district. One by one the fires would extinguish, then a fireball would explode atop the walls and send crossbowmen scrambling for safety. As each fire was consumed, scouts would dart out and ensure it was relit. Soon, the flames launched over the walls into the market district, igniting rooftops and threatening the entire city.
Percy watched as the Falconers took charge of the battle, moving into position and weaving the air around them. A spinning vortex formed above Weston, drawing the flames from burning buildings and sucking them into the sky. He watched with awe as they swirled the fire and carefully placed it directly into the center of the Pescari District. The man below tried desperately to steal back the flames, but it was too late his own weapon had been turned against his people.
The cyclone split into several firenadoes that attacked homes and lodges, instantly sending people running into the night. The awful screams clawed at Roan’s ears, threatening to haunt him forever.
“Well Percy, that ought to finish them off, don’t you think?” Eachann’s words broke the accountant from his trance.
“That’s horrible, Cassus.”
“Don’t blame me. He’s killing his own people. The Falconers are merely protecting the rest of the city.”