Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows

by Ree Soesbee

  “ ‘May have’?”

  The prince shook his head. “We’ve no time for argument, Commodore. You’re needed.” Edair pointed across the ocean, indicating the battle taking place around them. One of the Seraph came forward, and Edair took the man’s proffered cloak, placing it on Cobiah’s shoulders and wrapping it around his shivering body. “That black-sailed devil of a ship is gone, but my armada’s not doing well. We were unprepared for this assault. Though they have fought bravely, you and the Nomad have taken on the lion’s share of this fight. With the reinforcements from your city—however odd—we may yet have a chance against these Dead Ships.

  “But I hold no such hope for victory against them.” Edair’s finger pointed toward the xebecs with scarlet sails. “The Trident is uninjured and ready to fight. But I . . .” The prince’s voice failed him, and his jaw stiffened with pride. He moved out from under Cobiah’s shoulder, allowing the commodore to stand on his own among the Seraph marines. “I saw you command the Nomad,” Edair added. “I’m asking you to do the same with the Trident. Although the fight is going well—”

  “It doesn’t matter how well it’s going. Those Orrians won’t leave until you’ve destroyed them utterly or they’ve replenished what they’ve lost and won the day. Every loss for you increases their numbers, don’t you understand that?” Cobiah said wryly, pulling the cloak about him. “Macha used to call it a ‘zero-sum equation.’ There’s no such thing as just driving them off. Unless you’re winning—you’re losing.

  “They’ll ram your ships, use their cannons, and leave your men to die at sea—and every sailor drowned in the tide, every vessel that sinks in their attack—they’ll rise to fight against you.” He narrowed his eyes and took a strip of cloth from one of the Shining Blade, wrapping it about his torso to staunch the seeping wounds. His hand had swollen, the flesh torn and ravaged, but everything still worked—for now. Limping to the Balthazar’s Trident’s railing, Cobiah leaned on the smooth wood and looked out at the firefight on the waves. “You can’t fight Orr like you fight charr.”

  The patchwork ships from Lion’s Arch were fighting like nimble piranhas, packing light punches but evading most of the attacks being levied against them. They didn’t have much protection, and their hulls, too long out of the water, couldn’t absorb a powerful blow. Already several were down, their hulls compromised by a single hit from the cannons on the black-sailed galleons. The Krytan vessels, on the other hand, were ready for a fight, and although they were taking a pounding from the Orrians, most of them managed to remain afloat despite a great deal of abuse. However, they were wasting their blows pounding on the already-ruined hulls of the Dead Ships, a tactic that would work on living ships but did very little to this enemy. “This is what you wanted. Lion’s Arch at your fingertips, our fleet at the bottom of the sea. You said the Dead Ships were no danger. You said we were lying.” He glanced back over his shoulder with a hostile snort. “You have everything you asked for.”

  Edair bristled, a satirical reply on his lips. Before he could speak, Livia’s hand fell upon the prince’s sleeve. He paused and took a long, deep breath, closing his eyes as he regained control of his temper. Cobiah turned and looked out at the waves once more, listening to the pound and flash of cannon fire, the booming of gunnery emplacements on the cliffsides, the high, arching loft of flaming balls of pitch heaved from Claw Island’s shore.

  “You were right,” Edair ground out between clenched teeth.

  In a low, angry tone, Cobiah agreed. “Damn straight, I was.”

  The anger slowly left Edair’s eyes, but his shoulders were back, and his stance was still that of a soldier. “Tell me how to save my ships.”

  “And if I do?”

  It took Edair a moment to answer. “I’ll leave your city. Take my ships and my army, and renege on the siege.” Livia’s hand tightened reassuringly on the prince’s arm. Lifting his head, Edair said, “We’ll . . . negotiate a truce. Limited autonomy under Krytan rule, with you as the city’s governor—”

  “Full independence,” Cobiah retorted sharply.

  “Are you mad?” Edair blurted in shock. Several of the Seraph around them reached for their weapons, anticipating an angry command. The Krytan prince shook free of his exemplar’s restraint, stomping closer to Cobiah until their faces were mere inches apart. “Lion’s Arch will never survive. The races weren’t meant to live together. You’ll tear yourself apart!”

  “If we do, that’s my problem. Not yours.” Cobiah met the young prince’s fervent gaze with the cold wisdom of years as a ship commander. As shouts and cannon fire echoed off the water and the Maw rose again to swallow one of the smaller pinnaces whole, the two men stood locked in a fierce battle of wills.

  As smoke wafted past over the Balthazar’s Trident’s deck, Edair made his decision. “Fine. I’ll recognize the city’s sovereignty so long as the Captain’s Council remains in charge.”

  Cobiah put out his uninjured hand. “Done.” Unused to such gestures, Edair shook it awkwardly.

  Now that they were in agreement, Cobiah turned his mind to the battle. “Your ships need to work with ours. Let our faster vessels lure the Dead Ships to the Krytan line and then use your heavier guns to blow apart their masts, shatter their rudders, and target their guns. Don’t waste ammunition on their hulls.” Pulling the warm cloak more firmly about his shivering body, Cobiah warned him, “It takes a hell of a lot more damage than your ships can do in a few passes to get through the layers of bone and gristle hidden beneath their rotting hulls.” The prince blanched at Cobiah’s description but nodded. “If the Orrians can’t chase you and they can’t shoot at you, then you’ll have plenty of time to break them apart.”

  Edair summoned one of the sailors forward. “Have our mesmer pass those commands to the other ships. Send the same message to the Pride and tell them the orders come from Commodore Marriner.” The crewman saluted briefly and raced to do the prince’s bidding.

  “That’s a start. But we’ve got another problem. Those red-sailed ships. The xebecs, the ones with the fire shields and magical artillery.” Cobiah frowned. “They’re more self-willed than the others. I don’t know—maybe they’re smarter, or maybe they’re better able to interpret the dragon’s commands. Those ships won’t fall for our tactics, and cannons alone won’t take them out. The only way to destroy them is with magic.”

  Edair understood at once. “We’ll have to take the Trident in.”

  No, you don’t know a storm ’til you ride the wind

  Beneath cold and blackened skies, O

  ’Til you’re sailing through a thunderhead

  With the lightning in your eyes

  Death, he laughs in the sails and the jags

  And the bloody sun won’t rise, O.

  —“Weather the Storm”

  A   s Cobiah’s battle plan spread among the two fleets, the Krytans and the patchwork armada began to work together. Although neither had the ability to defeat a Dead Ship alone, working as one, they began to turn their advantage into victory. Sykox and Fassur led the charge aboard the Pride, plowing courageously into their enemy as though wholly unafraid. Their bravery was contagious; where the Krytans had been flagging, they picked up the fight once more, inspired by the Pride and her cobbled-together city-fleet. Acting as one, they drove the Orrian vessels back toward the south. Only the two xebecs held their ground, sweeping the sea with fire and lightning, using their powerful magic to eradicate any living ships that happened to cross their path.

  What would Isaye say? Cobiah looked out across the sea at the Nomad II, still foundered near a set of moss-covered rocks that jutted up from beneath the sea. He could make out sailors moving on her deck, trying to fix the yardarms of the one remaining mast, firing volleys at Dead Ships that came too close in their pursuit of more active Krytan vessels. He couldn’t find the dark-haired captain amid the others, but he knew she was there. What would she say if she knew he was taking the prince’s ship—and her son
—into battle? The Balthazar’s Trident could be destroyed if they were outmatched by the ships of Orr. Young Dane could die.

  “He’s dead if I don’t.”

  “What’s that, Commodore?” Livia’s voice was smooth and emotionless. Although the words were a question, there was no hint of curiosity in her voice, and Cobiah wondered if she was already aware of his thoughts before he spoke them.

  He raised his head to look at her. “I need you to issue a command to the Seraph. Get the nobles and other civilians to the center of the ship where they’ll be most protected from shrapnel and other damage to her hull. Keep those people together. If the ship starts to sink, get them to the lifeboats and get them out of here. I don’t like going to battle with them on board, but I can’t afford the time to get them off—and they wouldn’t last long in rowboats. Not with the Maw chewing up everything that fits in its mouth.”

  Livia nodded. “Of course.”

  Quick to defend her more fragile companions, the Pride engaged one of the ships with scarlet sails. The spell-casters of Lion’s Arch were less powerful, their magic less facile, but they’d fought such ships before, and their vessel was the faster. Bit by bit, the Pride led their opponent away from the main battle, leaving the body of the armada to dismantle the rest of the Dead Ships without interference from the devastating Orrian spells.

  The Balthazar’s Trident closed on the second, with Cobiah yelling encouragement and tactics to the three young elementalists aboard. Four guardians, like Osh Moran, stood on the Balthazar’s Trident’s bow, firing orb after orb of energy at the two xebecs. A single mesmer, the Balthazar’s Trident’s messenger and one of the Shining Blade, used his illusions to hide their true position, causing the xebec to waste attacks against empty sea. Still, the red-sailed xebec was smaller than the prince’s galleon and far faster in the water, using widespread area-effect spells to catch the Balthazar’s Trident and deal damage to her hull and masts. Sickly fireballs exploded from the xebec’s cannons, setting the Krytan galleon’s canvas alight, and one of the Krytan elementalists was forced to turn her attention from the battle to use water spells to put out the blaze. The impact had another cost as well: the young mesmer used to coordinate among the Krytan ships had been knocked overboard, swallowed up by the Maw.

  Suddenly, an explosion rocked the rear of the Krytan galleon. Amid the shouting and furious activity, one of the Seraph marines yelled a report to the commanders. “They’re using a wind spell to block our cannons! It’s surrounded the lower decks of the ship. If we continue firing, we’ll only be damaging ourselves.”

  “Order the cannons to hold their fire!” Edair called back to them commandingly. “Continue using the deck guns. Load the carronades with grapeshot and fire at their sails.” He glanced at Cobiah, and the commodore nodded approvingly. Edair pointed at one of the elementalists. “Doralyn, get below and see if you can counter that wind spell—or divert it to our sails. See if we can use their magic for our benefit.” The woman nodded and raced for a nearby hatch to the decks below.

  Clever. Cobiah chuckled to himself. The boy might just make a good commander someday.

  Seeing that the Balthazar’s Trident was in danger, the Pride cut short her attack on one opponent, turning her cannons toward the xebec attacking the prince’s ship. So long as the xebec was fighting the Pride, she couldn’t also assault the Balthazar’s Trident. But that made two Orrian ships against one small pinnace, and the Pride wouldn’t be able to hold them off for long. Meanwhile, the Maw zigzagged between the ships, churning the waves and snapping its massive teeth with a sound like clanging iron. The Pride’s guns harried the xebec, and the Balthazar’s Trident followed suit as best it could, but the Orrian elementalists continued to hold their ground against both sets of opponents.

  “Sykox!” Cobiah yelled at the top of his lungs as the pinnace pulled closer. “Like with the Salma’s Grace!” He pointed at the closest xebec and grinned.

  On the other ship, the rust-furred engineer’s four ears stretched forward, trying to catch Cobiah’s words. Comprehension dawned on Sykox’s face, and he lifted one hand in agreement, turning to yell something to the crew, his words too muffled for Cobiah to make out. Slowly but unrelentingly, the Pride pulled alongside one of the xebecs. With the Balthazar’s Trident on one side and the Pride on her other, the xebec was caught in a simultaneous volley of cannon fire—and the xebec’s magic allowed her to defend against only one. Hull collapsing, her magic overwhelmed by the spells of the Krytan elementalists, the Orrian ship foundered and broke apart.

  Cobiah began to warn Livia: “They’ll come at us under the water—”

  “No. They won’t.” The ancient necromancer raised her hands, her fingers arched like claws and her eyes turning black from edge to edge. The language she spoke echoed with murder, and withering green smoke hissed from her palms and her eyes. As the Orrian zombies and wights touched the Balthazar’s Trident, Livia’s magic took hold of them, shredding their putrid flesh into a thick, reddish goo. Cobiah stared at the necromancer in awe and horror, and took a quiet step away.

  The second xebec came around, shooting bolts of magical fire at the Balthazar’s Trident. One caught her side, setting the hull alight and causing the crew to respond with an immediate brigade of buckets and water spells. Before the scarlet-sailed vessel could fire again, the Pride dodged between them, firing a broadside to get the xebec’s attention away from the slower, wallowing galleon.

  Just then, there was a crashing thump, and the Balthazar’s Trident bucked in the water. Cobiah grasped the gunwale and looked over the side of the ship. The water below them was whitecapped and churning, but through the waves, he caught a glimpse of the Maw rising beneath them. There was a second jolt, and the ship’s keel creaked dangerously. “It’s trying to break the ship apart!” he yelled to Edair.

  Amid the shouts and panic of their crew, Cobiah noted a third ship approaching. For a moment he thought it was one of the Lion’s Arch fleet, but something about the vessel bothered him. Taking a second look, he realized the ship was Yomm’s, the brigantine the merchant had purchased to qualify for a spot on the Captain’s Council. “I can’t believe it!” Cobiah exclaimed. “That cowardly old coot used the asura gates to get to his ship in Rata Sum—and then sailed all the way back alone? Has he gone completely mad?”

  The asuran brig was no war vessel. Cobiah doubted she had enough guns to spearfish along the coast. Despite her blue-glowing, enchanted masts and her alchemically reinforced hull, the sturdy little caravel was a cargo ship, with an expanded hold and a study hall. “Yomm could have at least brought a few more ships. Or a bunch of asuran elementalists,” groused the commodore, trying to catch a glimpse of the asura on the Nadir Shill’s deck. “I can’t imagine what a little dinghy like that is going to do against Dead Ships—or the Maw.” He saw only one robed figure on the deck; the rest were obviously frightened sailors, scurrying about the ship as they prepared to enter the battle zone.

  “My lord prince.” One of the sailors approached them. “Bad news. The explosion below reached our ammunition stores. Elementalist Doralyn was forced to flood the area with water spells to be sure it didn’t catch fire and destroy the ship. We saved most of the munitions, but Doralyn . . . well, sir, she gave her life for the Trident.”

  “Bad news, indeed.” Edair frowned. “And the gunpowder?”

  The sailor shook his head. “Not in good order, sir. Between the wind stoppering our cannons, the explosion in our stern, and the flooding of the deck, it’s all we can do to load the carronades.”

  “Damn it.” The prince stared sullenly toward the second xebec. “We’ve got one more of those gods-cursed vessels left, not to mention the monster below. By Balthazar’s hounds, what are we going to do?”

  Looks like you’re in trouble again, bookah. The whisper came out of thin air, nearly making Cobiah jump out of his skin. It was high-pitched, snarky . . . and wholly familiar. I have no idea how you managed to get along without me.r />
  Cobiah blinked. “Macha?”

  Yomm snuck through the asura gate to Rata Sum, the voice said blithely. You should have seen him begging the Arcane Council for assistance! But his request was rejected. None of the colleges were willing to send help. Who knew they’d be so mad over a little counter-appropriation almost twenty years ago? It’s not like they didn’t make their money back when they double-charged us to build gates in Lion’s Arch.

  “Macha, what are you doing here?”

  In the last few years, I’ve spent a lot of time considering the Eternal Alchemy, and I’ve come to the conclusion that my formula of diverse interaction was flawed. I redid the calculations and found my initial error.

  “What?”

  An audible sigh. I said, I came to make things right.

  The Nadir Shill pushed its way past the others, cresting the whitecapped waves. As it cut in front of the Trident, Cobiah saw four more phantom ships materialize around it. Scarlet spread through the water, and he smelled the overwhelming reek of blood. Apparently the Maw smelled it, too, because the monster broke off its attack on the Balthazar’s Trident and gave chase. Macha’s illusionary ships began to limp and wobble in the water like injured birds pretending to have broken a wing. The Maw eagerly focused its attention on them, teeth snapping through hulls that didn’t exist, tail lashing the water as it was drawn away.

  That left the Pride and the Balthazar’s Trident to deal with the second xebec.

  “I’ve got an idea.” Cobiah brightened. “Helmsman, sail to the west—back where you picked me up. The Pride will follow us.” He signaled toward the Pride, and Sykox waved back. Cobiah gestured for them to unfurl the sails. “Put ours down, too.”