by Tom Lloyd
‘These cards are all marked,’ the last player said in a distracted voice, twitching in surprise at the growl he got from the other side of the table.
‘Now that’s a dangerous accusation.’
The man blinked at Anatin through his round spectacles as though only now registering who he was talking to. He was one of the Envoy’s personal guard, the awkward one who looked as intimidating as a drunk toddler.
‘Is it? Why?’
Toil leaned forward, pausing in her sewing to fix the man with a hard look. ‘I think Corporal Paranil is making an observation rather than an acccusation, correct?’
The man blinked at her. ‘Certainly, correct, ah – Princess Toil.’
‘Just Toil.’
‘Right, of course. But yes, all I meant was that regular use and a certain lack of hygiene has left a distinctive pattern on certain cards, albeit a faint one.’
‘Calling us dirty now?’ Anatin asked.
The corporal looked down at his own hands, which were certainly cleaner than those of the mercenaries he sat with. ‘Ah, simply that the daily requirements of your profession impose certain—’
‘You don’t sound like any corp I ever met,’ Anatin interrupted.
‘I don’t?’
‘Nope.’
The man paused. ‘Well I am, I assure you. I have the little marks on my coat to prove it. If you dispute the fact, please take it up with Captain … ah, my commanding officer.’ He blinked at the mercenaries, who all looked like cats watching a mouse lecture them. ‘In fact, it’s not your place to question my rank at all. I am not under your command at all so what opinion—’
‘Relax.’ This time it was Toil interrupting. ‘He’s just messing with you.’
‘I was?’ Anatin asked.
‘Yeah, you were. Now back to the game, kids.’
‘What about the cards?’ Teshen interjected. ‘They’re not far off new.’
‘Still there is certain marking, general wear and tear. That one, for example,’ Paranil said, pointing at one on the table in front of Anatin. ‘There’s a slight curl to the edge and a finger-stain. I had the card in the first hand, it’s the Jester of Tempest.’
Anatin’s lip curled slightly and Himbel let out a long, loud groan of irritation. With a baleful look Teshen swept all the cards back in from under the hands of the players and gathered them up together. Without saying a word he rose and went to the gunwale and tossed the whole pack over the side.
‘You owe me a new deck,’ he informed Paranil.
‘Why, none of the rest of you saw the patterns?’
Teshen grabbed the man by the shirt and hauled him up close. ‘Not until you pointed it out, but no bloody point using the cards after that, is there?’
‘Ah.’
‘You know, I’ve met a few educated corporals in my time,’ Anatin mused, ‘and a few with eyes as sharp as yours, but none so gods-howling clueless.’
Paranil opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything a bell rang out over the deck.
‘Watch change!’ barked the second mate from the rear of the deck. ‘Shift yourselves!’
As Lynx reached for the pot where their stakes had been put he raised an eyebrow at Anatin. The commander made no comment so Lynx took his game stake back and left the table.
The afternoon was well advanced by the time he reached his station, the sun slipping behind looming herds of cloud drawing in from further out to sea. A haze lay over the water ahead, rendering the horizon an uncertain shapeless grey. Already it reached its tendrils over the water towards them as though readying for an embrace.
Sitain was already positioned beside one gun placement with Braqe, Lynx’s least-favourite member of Tempest, at another. Since they had returned from Shadows Deep, Braqe hadn’t got in his face much, which was a relief. From their first few meetings, Lynx had assumed one of them would end up killing the other because of Lynx’s past, but she’d been careful to avoid him ever since they’d escaped the caverns.
He guessed Teshen had had a serious word in her ear. The dark woman glowered every time Lynx was forced to speak to her, just in case he’d been foolish enough to think anything had changed, but the imminent prospect of violence had lifted, at least.
‘Mist coming in?’ he asked Layir, who’d been in charge of the last watch.
‘Fast too,’ the young man confirmed. ‘You won’t have much to look at for the next few hours.’
Layir wore the 14 of Snow and was, to all intents and purposes, Safir’s son. Lynx hadn’t got the full story there, but Safir had travelled west with the infant Layir for reasons best not asked about and had lived as his father ever since. Now Layir was seventeen years old and fast catching his adoptive father in both size and skill with the rapier, but it was the box hung around Layir’s neck that Lynx was focused on.
‘The watch is yours,’ Layir said ceremoniously, lifting the rope strap over his head and handing the box to Lynx. ‘All guns loaded.’
Lynx nodded and accepted it. The box was heavy, with steel sheets riveted to the wooden structure, but he didn’t object to that when it contained half a dozen grenades and thirty-odd cartridges in padded compartments.
‘The watch is mine,’ he confirmed.
Lynx looked around at the fellow Tempests who were on watch under his command – Braqe, Flinth and Tunnest – and manned the guns with Sitain. She was a member of Sun but was making up the numbers. Lynx had a suspicion it was also a reminder from Anatin that she was still his responsibility, rank or no rank. Flinth was a quiet woman with a steady manner, Tunnest a brash olive-skinned youth a few years older than Layir but lacking any of the other’s maturity.
The afternoon progressed slowly and continued dull and overcast. The only thing worth looking at was a passing merchantman that kept a respectful distance as it hugged the coast, the stink of salt and seaweed thick on the breeze. As he settled on the gunner’s bench at the very front of the foredeck Lynx realised there was little to see now as the faint outline of the coast had faded to nothing in the distance.
Their ship turned slightly further out to sea as he stood his watch, to ensure a clear run through the mist, but from what he’d heard from the crew the captain knew the route and her charts well enough that the precaution was barely necessary. The haze continued to thicken, however, and as he stared into the uncertain bank of grey the ship’s bell rang again, five swift clangs.
‘What’s that?’ Sitain asked as they all looked back down the deck to the aftcastle. Sailors scurried about with sudden urgency and the second mate began barking orders down through a hatch. More busied themselves under the sails, trimming them to slow the ship.
‘Gunner?’ Lynx asked as a man in black scampered up the steps to the forecastle.
‘Five strikes of the bell means beat to quarters!’ the man snapped. ‘Keep clear and be ready with ammunition.’
‘Eyes on the water,’ Lynx said to his command. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Fog’s come on fast,’ the gunner said as he unshipped the ties around the grenade thrower and started winding the mechanism that powered it. ‘Too fast – might be natural but we don’t take chances.’
‘Pirates?’
‘Some have ice mages,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘Can’t face us at range unless we’re outnumbered, but they can close under cover of fog once we cut speed. First mate’ll be pulling your guns out now.’
Lynx nodded, watching the man work as a second sailor appeared and joined in. The grenade thrower was a sort of small catapult with a sling fitting on the end. The whole contraption was bolted to a platform that could be turned to face in most directions except back towards the sails.
‘We can’t push on through? Go fast and blind to get past it?’
‘Not in these waters, even as good as the captain is with her charts.’
The mist tightened like a spider’s web around the ship, a gauze shroud creeping closer until Lynx could see just a few dozen yards. Without w
arning the ship turned, a sharp move that made him stumble and clutch at the rail.
‘There’ll be more,’ the gunner warned him.
Lynx nodded and dropped to one knee, his free arm wrapped protectively around the ammunition box. As predicted, another turn came half a minute later, then a third to correct and put them roughly back on course. At the aftcastle the junior officers were working frantically and barking figures at each other, keeping a track of their speed and direction. It could be pirates, he knew, or wreckers hoping to drive them on to rocks. Sitting dead in the water wasn’t an enticing prospect; better they trusted to seamanship and kept moving.
In contrast to the captain and her officers, one figure appeared serene – the wind mage. Lynx watched her stand apart from the others. She was watching the sky as though searching for a scent.
‘Our mage don’t seem to be doing a lot about it,’ Lynx commented.
‘She’s waiting,’ the gunner said. ‘Won’t use her strength ’less she has to.’
‘Why? She could sweep all this away.’
The man shrugged and nodded off towards the water. ‘You reckon I know more about magic’n you? This is how she works. If you don’t like it there’s the side, get off any time you like.’
The hammer of boots on the main deck interrupted them, two dozen Cards racing out into the open with mage-guns in their hands. Under the first mate’s instructions the Knights led their units to their designated areas of the ship while a detachment of crew carrying small barrels escorted a man with an ammunition case like Lynx’s to the stern.
‘Barrels?’
‘Bomb-barrels,’ the gunner said. ‘Tricky li’l things, but we can’t throw grenades behind us. Ship’s deck ain’t a good place to use a hand-held thrower.’
‘You shoot at the barrels?’
‘The other buggers have to do that! Gives ’em something to worry about if they’re following us. The barrel bangs into something too hard and the grenade pin gets slammed against the side – they don’t work too well, but they’re real nasty when they do.’ He gave Lynx a nasty grin. ‘One ship I served on had a water mage and the bugger could zig-zag their bomb-barrels all the way into the side of an enemy boat.’
Lynx watched the men and women of Sun take up shooting positions down the starboard side of the main deck, Safir’s Snow troops filing down the port side. Teshen led Stars and the rest of Tempest up to fill the forecastle, everyone kneeling at the rail before they loaded their guns. Toil and Reft went to the aftcastle with the mercenaries of Blood, while the sailors took to the rigging or stood ready on the main deck to await orders.
All the while the noose of mist contracted around them; it was now beyond all likelihood that this could be natural. Lynx felt a tap on his elbow and realised Teshen was passing him his weapons. He nodded his thanks then looked to the rear of the ship, hoping to get a sense of what was going to happen next.
Some sort of exchange went on between captain and mage, the words lost to Lynx, but he could tell they were waiting. The mercenaries and crew followed their lead, each one watching the curtain of mist in the hope – or fear – of seeing something through it.
‘Heave to or be sunk!’ came a distant shout that made more than a few of Tempest flinch. Lynx turned to face forward, thinking the call had come from that direction, but the mist made it difficult to gauge.
‘Heave to or be sunk!’ added another deeper voice from somewhere off the port side.
‘How the shit can they see us?’ someone behind Lynx muttered.
‘They can’t,’ the gunner replied in a whisper loud enough for them all to hear, ‘they just know their waters and know their mage.’
‘What now, then?’
‘Now we see what our mage can do. It’s a waiting game, can’t fire blind without giving our position away.’
‘WHO CALLS?’ roared a man’s voice from the rear of the ship. Lynx turned and realised it was the Envoy of Su Dregir.
Standing beside the captain he looked a tall and imposing figure, with a barrel body and not much older than Lynx, so likely there was some real strength in that frame.
Under the captain’s hand, the ship began to turn, not much but enough to edge to starboard, away from the second voice.
‘Heave to!’ the second voice yelled again, the splash of oars briefly reaching Lynx’s ears as they sought to keep up with the ship.
‘I AM SENATOR ELTRIS AMMEN, BARON AND HIGH ENVOY OF SU DREGIR!’ came the reply. ‘SINK US AND THE ARCHELECT WILL SCOUR THIS SEA OF PIRATES!’
‘Someone’s got a high opinion of himself,’ Braqe muttered, away on Lynx’s right.
‘No law on Parthain!’ the voice yelled, slightly fainter than before. It sounded a well-used line to Lynx’s ears, no doubt the mantra of pirates. They had a point too, he realised. No city was strong enough to impose its law on the water, or the wilds beyond their boundaries, and these pirates wouldn’t be sailing easily identified galleons, but boats that spent most of the year as a fishing fleet.
‘Get ready,’ hissed the gunner, checking back at the aftcastle.
Almost as soon as he spoke the ship began to turn harder, swinging away from the voice. As it did the breeze stiffened, surging up from the rear of the ship to whip across the tips of the waves and drive at the curtain of mist surrounding it.
Lynx watched in fascination as a corridor started to open in the mist, the chill air fading as the wind mage cast her hand towards it and growling gusts tore forth. Above her the sails danced and stretched at the fitful bursts of wind, but steadily the mist was parted and the ship turned into their avenue of escape.
Before they had gone far the chill in the air started to deepen, the cold magic of the pirate mage seeking to renew the cage around them. It wasn’t enough, though, and the first of several boats emerged from the gloom, at first insubstantial but swiftly resolving into the real. A second appeared almost immediately after the first, a third as they started to try and flee.
‘Range?’
‘Two hundred.’
The gunner sucked at his teeth and wound the tension of the grenade thrower, muttering the number of turns under his breath. ‘Grenades.’
Lynx stepped forward and carefully withdrew three red-striped grenades from his box, handing them over to the gunner to place each in the special sling lying below the thrower’s arm. Once he was satisfied each was correctly in place he took the pins and quickly primed each.
‘Stand clear.’
They all stepped back, a few of the mercenaries watching the sling with a faint look of horror on their faces as the deck rose and fell. The rest were watching the boats as the pirate crews pulled around and tried to flee.
‘Firing,’ the gunner announced, pulling the lever a moment later.
Lynx flinched as the catapult arm slammed forward and whipped the sling end up and over. The grenades all flew high and vanished into the mist as the thrower bucked and heaved like an enraged animal. They all held their breath as they waited for the grenades to fall, knowing there was always a chance they would land in a way that the pin wasn’t forced into the magic-charged core, sinking instead of exploding.
Without warning there was a flash of light, followed almost immediately by the crack of an explosion that boomed out across the waves. A smear of fire spread across the water’s surface, then a second burst some way to the right of it. The second caught the nearest boat and smashed into its flank with a hammer-blow. The side of the boat caved in and fire washed over the handful of pirates inside. If there were screams Lynx didn’t hear them, but he caught the flash of movement as people dived overboard.
‘There’s one,’ called Tunnest, his face coming alive as he half-stood and pointed out through the mist.
Lynx turned but couldn’t make much out through the gloom, even as Teshen grunted his agreement.
‘Where?’
Even as he asked Lynx caught a glimpse of a grey line of shadow lifting on the water and the outline of a small sail.
>
‘Can we fire?’
‘You won’t hit at that range,’ the gunner scoffed. ‘Three hundred yards off a ship’s deck?’
‘Try me,’ Teshen said, his usual cold assurance making the gunner hesitate. In that moment there came whistles from the rigging where the lookouts were stationed, mage-guns strapped to them.
In reply the ship’s bell rang twice.
‘Hold your fire,’ the gunner relayed.
They all kept silent now, Teshen and two others keeping the boat in their sights while the rest scanned the flanks, hoping to spot any more pirate ships before they could close the distance enough to punch a hole in the ship’s flank. Both earthers and burners had a short range, but could be devastating. Any fool with a gun could kill them all if they got close enough.
Above their heads the wind grew steadily stronger, lifting the mist as it drove it back. The mage didn’t seem to be overly taxed by the work, but as Lynx watched the hundred-yard curtain driven back he realised it was unlikely anyone could keep it up for long.
As the mist receded further the full sails were unfurled again and the ship began to pick up speed. More boats were glimpsed off the bows, but even with three peals of the ship’s bell signalling they were allowed to fire, the targets weren’t worth the shot at that range through fog.
Just then Lynx felt a chill on his face and sensed the clouds loom once more around them, drawing in from their port side.
‘Mage,’ the gunner announced, readying his catapult to fire again. ‘Must be ahead of us, trying to escape.’
In response the ship’s mage gave a shout of effort and the steady wind rose to a tumult that whipped up the peaks of the waves and tore curling strips from the mist. Lynx kept his eyes to the front, waiting for something to shoot as the air grew wintery. He realised the gunner was right – the pirate mage was desperate now, throwing all their magic into a last bid to escape. That much he didn’t care about, but the heaving sea was not where he wanted to die. A tightness appeared in his chest for a moment as he imagined the chill, dark depths closing around him. Fighting the feeling he pulled the stock of his gun harder against his shoulder and kept scanning.