“Aye, sir!”
The great wheel turned and the ship rounded to the south. Crewmen tended their sheets and braces under the boatswain’s delicate encouragement, and in moments Orin’s Pride plowed south-southwest, throwing spray from her bow on every rolling wave.
*
Straw rustled at Cynthia’s feet, stirring her from a fitful slumber. She kicked at the sound, hoping to scare the rat away. She’d already been bitten twice. They smelled blood, and wouldn’t be dissuaded easily.
“Fssst!” she hissed, glaring at two beady little eyes staring at her from the darkness. “Come closer and I’ll kick your little rat brains out,” she warned, shifting her legs to a slightly less painful position.
The rattle of keys and a flare of torchlight heralded the one thing she least expected: visitors. The real surprise came when Koybur limped into view with Bloodwind’s red-haired companion at his side. The jailor joined them, looking nervous.
“You can go now,” the woman told the turnkey, holding out her hand. “I’ll return the keys on our way out.”
“Oh, I can’t let you have the keys, Miss Camilla. I was told ne’r ta let ’em leave me side.”
“Well, then unlock the door and you can come back later to lock it. We’re here to talk to the prisoner and I don’t want to do it through bars. She’s hardly a threat chained to the wall.”
“Aye, that’ll do. Jus’ give a whistle when yer ready.” He rattled the key in the lock and opened the bars a hand-width. “Have a care, now.”
“Thank you,” the woman said as the jailor ambled off. When the outer door thudded closed, her two visitors edged into the tiny cell.
“Here, I brought you a blanket. It’s not much, but it’s softer than stone.” The woman helped position the folded blanked under Cynthia’s backside, easing the pain of the hard floor.
“And I managed a bit from the kitchen.” Koybur pulled a small sack from under his tunic, handing it over to his young companion, who withdrew a half loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese and an earthenware bottle.
“Why are you doing this?” Cynthia asked, eying them both suspiciously before taking a bite of bread. She thought about refusing, but any kindness at this point, even from Koybur, was welcome. “After what you did, why do you care what happens to me? And who are you?” she asked the woman, accepting a bite of cheese and a drink from the bottle. It was water, clean and cool.
“You don’t remember,” the red-headed woman said, her voice a little cold. “You knew me when we were girls. We used to play sharks and mermaids with that little sprite in your back yard.”
“What the…” Bloodwind called her Camilla! Realization struck like a hammer blow, a thousand dim memories of her childhood rushing back in a muddled haze. “Cammy? I thought you were dead! Wait! Koybur, you told me your daughter died at sea.”
“For more’n a year, I thought she had. Then I got a note sayin’ he had her, and I’d do what he said, or she’d be worse’n dead.” He stared at her for a while, letting it sink in. “Maybe you understand a bit better now, Cyn. I don’t ’spect you to forgive me, but maybe you understand.”
“You’ve been here fifteen years?” Cynthia tried to accept it: a childhood friend thought long dead, in fact stolen away by the man who had killed her parents. “How did you… I mean, you’re not in chains, so you must be…”
“Free?” Camilla asked, her tone harboring the anguish of a decade and a half of slavery in that one word. “I don’t know what free is anymore, Cynthia. I was his slave so long I forgot what else I could be. I did what I had to do. He thinks he loves me. I don’t know if he really does, if he can love, but it’s the only chance I have to survive.”
“Oh, Cammy. Gods, I’m sorry.” She couldn’t believe she was saying this, chained and mutilated, a prisoner, apologizing to the mistress of her captor for having to live a life of slavery she knew nothing about and couldn’t have changed if she had. But the apology was heartfelt. She could not imagine surviving so long at the hands of someone like Bloodwind.
“He promised if I helped him get one of your ships that he’d let me take Cammy away, but now…” Koybur’s tone held no apology. “I came here to take her away, an’ now Cammy tells me that ain’t gonna happen. But we can stay here.”
“Nice,” Cynthia said, a little venom creeping into her tone. “You trusted him? I thought you had more sense than that, Koybur.”
“I had to do somethin’, Cyn. Maybe we’re not free, but at least we’re alive, and together. I just came down here to explain, is all. I owed you that much. After all the years, I mean, you was like family to me.” He looked miserable but he held his daughter closely, his hard-won prize.
“What about Ghelfan? Is he here?”
“Aye. Bloodwind’s workin’ the poor feller over pretty hard. He don’t let him alone much. Won’t be long before he cracks, I think.”
A long silence hung between them as Cynthia finished her meal. She thought long and hard, wondering if she dared tell them what she was, what she could do. She decided silence would be best at this point, but could not let the opportunity pass to try one last gambit.
“Before you go, do me one last favor, Koybur. Arrange for Bloodwind to bring me down to see Hippotrin.”
“Why?” he asked. Koybur was no fool. He knew she would make no idle request at a juncture like this. “What’ll that accomplish?”
“When Ghelfan gives Bloodwind what he wants, I become superfluous. I just want to see her, before I die.” She didn’t know if he’d believe the lie, if lie it truly was. Getting aboard Hippotrin with Bloodwind would bring her close enough to the sea to use the only weapon she had. With any luck, she could kill them all and sink the ship as well.
“I’ll see what I can do, Cyn, but I can’t make any promises.”
“I wouldn’t believe you if you did,” she said, meeting his stare one last time before they called the jailor and left her in the dark.
CHAPTER Forty
Blood Dawn
Hydra did not dream, but the bloodlust, the hunger of the demon within her, often plagued her sleep. She stirred, muddled visions and memories not from her own mind blurring into her semi-conscious thoughts. Half awake, half mired in the mind of the demon, she saw mists, and in the mists… Fire… Steel… Blood… Oblivion.
And laughter…
She woke up screaming.
*
“Gods-damned mists,” Pel muttered, rubbing his hands and squinting to the east. The first glow of dawn had shown an hour ago, but the sun’s disk had yet to pierce the eastern horizon. He hated squinting into the mists that hung in the caldera in the calm of dawn; it gave him a headache. The reef and the mangrove channel would be in deep shadow until after the sun broke the horizon.
Finally the first rays of dawn changed the colors around him from muted grays to vibrant greens and browns. He sighed deeply; his relief would be here soon.
“Oi there, Pel! You ready fer yer mornin’ bracer?” a boy’s voice called from around the first bend in the trail.
“Zat you, Tim?” Pel smiled; Tim was a good lad, and would make a fine pirate.
“Aye.” The skinny boy strode up the trail, a kettle and bundle of bread and cheese balanced in either hand.
“Come and share a cup wi’ me.”
“Right!” He put the bundles down on the big flat rock and stretched his skinny frame, focusing his sharp young eyes far to the west, then closer. “Wha’sat?” he asked, pointing down into the dimly lit shadow of the island, just beyond the reef.
“What?” Pel shaded his eyes from the morning sun and looked. Two faint vertical shafts pierced the mists like dead trees above a winter snow. But they were moving. “What the…”
The heat of dawn permeated the air, and the mists began to recede. As they did, the square topsails of a merchant galleon emerged at the bases of those bare shafts, its fore and main masts.
“It’s a ship, lad. And closer’n one oughta be. You run down an’ tell—”<
br />
“There’s another!” Tim shouted, his fervor overriding caution. “An’ that’n’s comin’ up the channel!”
“Holy…” Pel’s oath trailed away as the mists receded further and the triangular topsail of yet another ship materialized, this one even further up the channel and cutting a smooth line between the hedges of giant mangroves.
He reached for the ivory horn at his hip and brought it to his lips. The first note split the air for a count of three. He paused to take a breath then sounded another blast like the first, then another breath. He continued until nine blasts had sounded.
“You best run, Tim. We’re under attack.”
Tim sat down on the wide flat stone at the very peak of the mountain and stared at the ships as the older man ran down the trail toward Blood Bay. He gazed out over the mists, seeing the ships more clearly now. Clouded memories arose—another life, his father’s smile, the crack of a whip… and tears welled up in his eyes.
*
“Fire! Blood! They come!”
“What the hell?” Bloodwind bolted out of bed, the dagger from the night table in his hand. As his mind cleared of sleep, he recognized Hydra’s distinctive screech.
“What is it?” Camilla asked, rolling up and reaching for a nightgown.
“Nothing, I’m sure, my dear. Just Hydra on a rant. I don’t know what’s gotten into—”
The door to his chambers shattered into a thousand splinters. One of his guards landed amid the wreckage and skidded to a stop, his chest a mass of broken bone and torn meat.
“Touch me and die,” Hydra seethed at the other guard before stepping through the obliterated portal.
“What in the name of all Nine Hells is going on, Hydra?” Bloodwind traded the dagger for his cutlass. “Have you lost what shreds of sanity you ever possessed?”
“Death comes to you, Captain Bloodwind. It comes through the mists this very hour!” One craggy finger pointed past him toward the fog-shrouded cove. “The ships of Southaven have found you!”
“Ships? What—”
A horn sounded through the thick air, the nine consecutive blasts that designated an attack.
“Impossible!” He strode to his balcony and peered into the mists. The silhouettes of four corsairs at anchor and Guillotine at rest alongside the pier were clear enough. Then a long bowsprit edged from the gap in the mangroves, its raked foremast following behind. He stared slack-jawed at the dozens of launches and dugout canoes following in the ship’s wake, each crowded with figures.
The crews of the corsairs were responding with the same lethargy, stumbling on deck to stare in wonder at the ship entering the cove. Some shouted warnings, others threats and calls to arms.
Orin’s Pride turned gracefully to present her broadside and a storm of arrows raked the nearest corsair, Black Guard. Men screamed and fell as the captain shouted to cut the anchor free and raise sails. They never got the chance, for a small cask flew in a high arc from the foredeck of the schooner. Just before impact it exploded into a blinding shower of white-hot fire. Before Bloodwind could cry out, the entire ship erupted in flames. Pirates leapt into the water, some burning as they swam, some foundering and sinking, but still burning.
Orin’s Pride rounded the blazing wreck, her bowsprit aimed straight for the pier and Guillotine as a second ship emerged from the hidden channel.
“Rouse everyone!” Bloodwind yelled to his guard as he snatched up a shirt and trousers. “We’ll form up at the palace steps and get to Guillotine.” The guard dashed off. “Camilla, put some clothes on. You’ll be coming along. Hydra, prepare yourself. Your powers may turn the tide.”
“I need blood, Captain.” Her dark eyes drifted toward Camilla.
“Take his.” He pointed to the dying guard. “I’ll have the house slaves brought to you.”
“Very well.” She dropped to her hands and knees, her mouth gaping wide. Needle-sharp teeth plunged into the man’s neck. In moments it was over. She rose and wiped the gore from her lips as Koybur and a dozen guards surged into the room.
“What’n high hell’s goin’ on, Bloodwind?” Koybur hobbled to Camilla, who had donned a gown. “There’s a ship burnin’ in the harbor!”
“It would appear that Feldrin Brelak has found us, and that he has mustered a sizable force.” Bloodwind finished buckling his boots and sword belt. “No matter. We’ll cut them to pieces and take the other ship to replace the one they destroyed. Come on!”
Guards, servants, slaves and a number of officers and crew joined the group as they headed for the entrance to the palace. Yodrin and the entire crew of Hippotrin met them on the steps.
“Three ships at least, Captain,” the assassin said calmly, pointing toward the prow of Syren Song as it edged into the cove. “Hellraker and Blackheart are engaging. Cutthroat’s short handed and can’t make sail. Black Guard’s a loss. They’re armed with some variation of the lightkeeper’s gift I told you—”
“I’ve seen it,” Bloodwind cut him off, gesturing toward Winter Gale, which had taken a tack north toward the shanty town. “They’re landing! We’ve got to get to Guillotine before they set her afire.”
“Yer a little late on that’n, I think,” Koybur said, pointing toward the big corsair tied to the pier. As they watched, Orin’s Pride turned from where her lower hull had been hidden behind Guillotine, and a small missile arced toward the larger ship. This cask exploded on impact, lighting the sky with white streamers of flame and catching the entire rig on fire in an instant. Men and debris rained into the water around the doomed ship.
As they all gaped in shock, Winter Gale lobbed a missile high over the line of boats landing on the black sand beach, right into the center of the shanty town. The cask exploded, raining sheets of white flame down among the ramshackle buildings and setting the entire town ablaze.
Bloodwind stirred from his shock and began barking commands. “Yodrin! Get Ghelfan. He’s in the feasting hall. Meet us back here with as many fighters as you can find. We’ll escape on Hippotrin. Hydra, do something about that damned ship! You, Tommy, go get me the Flaxal woman. They’ll not set us afire with her along. Go!”
Yodrin and Tommy ran into the palace while Hydra stepped forward, raised her arms and forced the sea to her will.
*
“Holy mother of sea and storms! What the hell is that?”
Everyone aboard gaped at the horrific shape rising up out of the water behind Orin’s Pride. A saurian head the size of a wagon formed up on a sinuous neck and turned toward the tacking ship.
“Magic!” Rowland’s assessment seemed unnecessary, considering the thing was made entirely of water. Then its mouth gaped wide and he yelled, “Captain, it’s going to—”
“Hard alee!” Brelak joined Rowland at the wheel, pulling hard over as the great glistening sea serpent vomited a torrent of water at the ship. Orin’s Pride lurched as thousands of gallons of sea water thundered against her hull and deck, knocking everyone flat. Some were swept kicking and screaming over the side or lay senseless, crushed under tons of water. Brelak and Rowland lost their grip on the wheel, and the ship slewed away from the pier.
“Bring her about!” Brelak cried, crawling back to the wheel and pulling her hard to port. “Get her headsail sheeted in!” The ship rounded slowly in the light wind, stern toward the swirling seawater serpent.
Horace’s bellow shook the air. “Rig lifelines and harnesses! Secure for heavy weather! Hatches dogged tight!”
“Captain! Look out!”
Brelak didn’t know where the warning came from, but he ducked and clutched the wheel, turning to look over his shoulder at the towering beast of magic and water that bore down on them.
“Hang on!”
The great maw gaped wide and crashed into the ship’s transom, enveloping the entire afterdeck in a wall of semi-solid water. The ship lurched forward with the force of the impact. Brelak was flung to the deck like a rag doll as Orin’s Pride shot forward. He rolled to his feet, spewing water a
nd clamoring back to the wheel, but too late.
The ship ground to a halt upon a sand bank to the north of the pier, her bowsprit projecting almost to the beach. He looked around, but the magical beast was nowhere to be seen.
“We’re hard aground!” Rowland shouted, regaining his feet and helping him up. “Bloodwind’s got some kind of mage at work, Capt’n. Look!”
He turned as the magical serpent formed again, this time near Syren Song as she tacked toward the shipyard. Two corsairs had cut their anchor rodes and were getting under way, while the third remained tethered in place, unable to man her sails. If the serpent drove Syren Song ashore on the far side of the cove, she would be of no use.
“We’ve got to find whoever’s conjuring that thing!” Brelak took in their situation at a glance: the ship’s bow rode high, hard aground, her mainsail hung in tatters, torn from luff to leech by the force of the attack. “Horace, kedge her off. Launch skiffs and run the anchor out astern. Get that mainsail replaced.”
“Captain! Look! It’s Bloodwind!”
Feldrin looked where Rowland pointed and his hand drifted to the haft of the boarding axe at his belt. A tight knot of figures stood upon the steps of the palace carved into the side of the mountain. One was indeed Bloodwind, and another he recognized instantly as Koybur. In front of them stood a woman, her arms raised toward the cove as if in supplication.
“Damn if that ain’t his witch. Boarding party, with me! Rig a cargo net over the bow! Horace, get the Pride off this damned sand and land her at the pier.”
“Aye, sir, but isn’t that… Captain! Look!”
His eyes darted back to the knot of figures as the one person he sought most stumbled down the steps in the hands of a pirate. “It’s Cynthia. Come on!”
*
Cynthia woke to the rattle of keys and a wave of overwhelming nausea. For a moment, she thought she was back aboard Winter Gale, but the chains on her wrists and the ache of three days in a dungeon reminded her quickly of her situation.
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