Amber stood, wobbling as she did, before clambering to the stern cabin without another word.
Miro sat down beside the tiller and checked their course. Still bearing west, he noted. He couldn't believe their luck. The storm had come unexpectedly and faster than he could have imagined, but the Intrepid had made it through.
He heard splashing sounds and looked down at the side of the caravel with alarm. He relaxed when he saw playful creatures, porpoises, he knew they were called, frolicking and rolling onto their backs. They paced the ship for a time, grinning toothily at Miro and spraying water out of their blowholes, and then they were gone.
The setting sun told Miro he still headed west. The sky was clear but he frowned when he saw a low line of dark clouds on the horizon.
"Please," he whispered, "not another storm."
A sudden boom split the air, but this wasn't the crash of thunder. A whining sound split the air and a tall splash of water fountained up in front of the Intrepid's bow. At the same time Miro turned and saw the source of the explosion, he realised he hadn't been looking at clouds.
It was land.
Amber came running out onto the deck. "What was that?"
She turned and gasped when she saw the ship.
It was painted in garish colours, just like the facades of the abandoned buildings on Valetta, and as big as the great vessel Miro had seen in the dry dock. It was much larger than the Delphin, the free cities galleon they'd travelled in with Captain Meredith, and while it had a similar construction, with three masts and raised decks fore and aft, it was different in more than just its colouring.
Shuttered windows were lined in a row along the ship's side, shutters now pulled open by chains. Bronze tubes, akin to those Miro had seen back on the island, had been run out of the openings, their mouths pointing out the ship's port side.
There was a puff of smoke, and Miro again heard the explosive sound. It reminded him painfully of the device from the wedding. Water shot up, close to the caravel's bow this time.
"I think they want us to stop," Miro said. "We don't have a chance against those weapons."
Amber scurried to the bow where she furled in the sail while Miro turned the caravel into the wind. They instantly lost all speed.
Miro looked at the looming ship as it steadily grew larger and closer. He could now see men with swords, stocky men with bronzed skin and uniforms coloured blue and brown.
"Amber," Miro said, "you'd better go below decks."
The foreign ship hit the caravel with a crash. Looking for the cutlass, Miro found it looped to the makeshift mast by a length of rope. He drew it and faced this new enemy.
He wasn't sure if they wanted to fight, or to parlay, but if they wanted to fight, he would oblige them.
A clipped voice called out. The accent was foreign, but the words were clear. "Take the ship. Check the hold," the voice ordered. "Kill the crew. They're in our waters. They should know better."
"Stay below decks!" Miro called back to Amber.
A sailor with a curved sword jumped down to the deck, while another followed. Miro moved back to give himself space. It didn't matter now what strange weapons the ship possessed. The captain wouldn't fire on his own men.
The cutlass wasn't as sharp as it had once been, but the handle was ribbed, providing Miro a firm grip, and the hilt encompassed his hand in a protective guard. The blade was curved and heavy at the front, made for slashing combat in confined quarters. The last time Miro had fought on board a ship, he'd been taken unawares, his sword too long to wield. This time he was ready.
Miro's first opponent hacked down from overhead. Miro came in close and slammed the solid metal of the cutlass into the sailor's jaw. He kicked his opponent away as the man went down, keeping the deck clear and the sailor where he could see him.
The next swordsman slashed from left to right, coming in fast. Miro shifted to the side as his attacker came forward, spinning around the sailor's back and thrusting into his chest, withdrawing the cutlass tipped with blood. Like the first man, Miro kicked this one to the side, clearing space for his next attacker and making it difficult for his enemies to surround him.
Miro's training at the Pens under Blademaster Rogan had prepared him for this day. The boys Rogan had taught didn't use enchanted blades, they used normal swords, but the practice swords were sharp, and a mistake could be deadly. Miro thanked Rogan that he wasn't dependant on the magic of his zenblade and the protection of his armoursilk. Miro was a bladesinger, but he didn't need Altura's lore to be deadly.
A third swordsman feinted and thrust. Miro blocked the thrust, turning the sword to the side, before punching the sailor's lantern jaw with his left fist. Miro's opponent dropped his guard, and a slash across the throat finished him.
Miro shoved the dying man into the next attacker, and as the sailor stumbled Miro chopped at his neck. Crying out, the sailor fell over the side of the caravel with a cry.
Miro's breathing came strong and regular, though sweat poured down his face as he fought in the late afternoon sun. The lump on his head was forgotten, the weakness caused by the travails of his journey now gone. He took down two more men, yet still more attackers took their places, jumping down to the deck of the caravel and roaring as they attacked.
Miro thrust and slashed, leaping up to the rail and dodging behind the mast. All the while, he guarded the companionway that led below decks. He would never let his enemies past to where Amber waited in terror.
He despatched a swordsman with a feint and thrust, and another with a cut across the abdomen. More men kept coming, and Miro kept taking them down.
Suddenly Miro heard a crack, and felt a bite on his arm. The sound caused his attackers to halt.
"Stop!" a voice called out. It was the same voice Miro had heard order the attack.
Miro looked up at the rail of the foreign ship. He could see a tall man standing where he'd been watching the fight, a cadre of officers around him. The tall man wore a dark blue hat with a feather, and Miro knew this must be the captain.
Beside the captain two men held long stick-like devices pointed in Miro's direction. A trail of smoke rose from one of the sticks.
Miro looked at his arm and saw a small line of blood where something had cut through his sleeve. He had no idea what manner of weapon the sticks were but he wished for his rail-bow.
He thought about the explosion at the wedding. At least he'd made it to the right place.
"Draw back," the captain ordered, and the swordsmen fell back, leaving Miro exposed to the marksmen. His eyes met Miro's. "Do you surrender?"
"Do you guarantee the safety of my wife and myself?"
"Your wife," the captain said, an amused expression on his face. "Yes, I guarantee it. While on my ship neither of you will be harmed."
"Amber, come out," Miro said. He threw the cutlass to the floor.
The sailors came forward and marched Miro and Amber to the side of the strange ship. At sword point they climbed a ladder and were soon under guard on the ship's deck.
A sailor searched the hold of the Intrepid, then climbed up the ladder and reported to the captain. "There's nothing worth taking, Commodore," the sailor said.
"Sink the ship," the captain said. "Let's give our gunners some practice."
Sails were set, and Miro and Amber watched stoically as the bronze barrels sent shot after shot at the Intrepid.
Soon water rushed into a hole in the side of the caravel. Miro watched with sadness as the bold ship that had saved their lives sank.
Miro was suddenly too weary to pay much attention to his surroundings. They were on the main deck of yet another ship, and once again at the mercy of her captain and crew.
He and Amber received strange looks from the sailors, and Miro realised how bedraggled they must look. Amber still wore men's clothing. Miro's trousers were several sizes too big for her and held up by a piece of rope. Her white shirt was equally disproportionate, hanging almost to her knees. Miro wore th
e clothing he'd found on the dead man washed up on the beach, also not his size. The pain from the lump on his head now returned with intensity, and he felt sick. Amber was sunburnt, with cracked lips and blistered hands. Miro turned a palm up and saw bloody blisters on the soft skin, below every finger and at the base of his thumb.
In contrast, this was the cleanest, neatest crew he had ever seen. They wore tailored clothing of blue with brown trim, the seams finely-stitched and material light and supple. Rather than going barefoot, they wore tan shoes of soft leather, and each man's hair was cut short, rather than the motley variety of the Delphin's crew.
Miro had killed several of their number, yet where a less-disciplined crew would have taken revenge on Miro for what he'd done, these men kept Miro under close guard, yet waited on the convenience of their captain.
The tall man with the feather in his hat called out. The bronze tubes were again rolled back into the ship's interior and the wooden shutters closed with a series of slaps. Miro learned the tubes were called cannon.
Once his ship was underway, the captain came over to inspect his new prisoners. He had intense brown eyes and a square jaw, with an accent that reminded Miro of Hermen Tosch, while his dark clothes were of a fine quality Miro had only seen on the richest nobles and merchants in Seranthia. He looked Miro up and down, and then gave Amber a casual glance.
"Put the woman away somewhere before the rest of the men see her," he ordered.
"Aye aye, Commodore."
"Search the man, see that he has no weapons on him, and then bring him to me. I'll be in my cabin. Actually," he paused, "wash his face, hands and hair. The sea gods only know what vermin he's brought aboard."
Amber was taken away while Miro was warily searched and then taken to a bucket and instructed to wash using a piece of yellow soap. With his wife in the hands of these people, Miro wasn't going to try anything.
He wondered why they hadn't killed him with the projectile weapons. Was there still a chance he could rationalise with the captain and explain his situation?
Miro was taken to an ornate panelled door, waiting while one of the sailors knocked.
"Enter," the captain's voice came from within.
A sailor pushed open the door and Miro was taken inside. The cabin was the most luxurious Miro had seen on a ship. Different varieties of wood had been chosen to create a harmony of colour and grain. There was a long desk at one end, with two low recliners next to a squat table at the closer end. Two doors must lead to the captain's personal privy and sleeping cabin.
"Commodore," one of the men at Miro's side spoke. "We've brought the man we captured."
"Thank you," said the captain, rising from his desk and coming around to stand in front. He again looked Miro up and down. "You are strangely dressed for a barbarian, aren't you?"
"I'm not a barbarian," Miro said.
"Of course you're not," the captain said, smiling. "Now, do I have your word that you won't try to harm anyone on this ship? We have your woman under guard."
"I won't try anything."
The captain nodded to his men. "You can stand at ease. Please, leave us."
One of the men opened his mouth to say something, but shut it with a snap.
The captain looked at the sailor and smiled. "You have no need to be concerned." He reached down to touch his belt, and Miro saw he wore a beautiful sword, thin and perfectly straight, with a ruby set into the hilt. "The Holdfast champion, three years running. As good as he is, our man here is unarmed, and we have his wife. Besides," his gaze returned to Miro, "I feel I can trust him."
"Aye aye, Commodore," one of the guards said. He scowled at Miro. "We'll be just outside."
When they were alone, the captain sat down on one of the divans, gesturing for Miro to sit on the other. Miro was surprised at the hospitality, but noticed the captain kept his distance, as if Miro stank. Which, he reflected, he probably did.
"My name is Deniz, and I am captain of the Seekrieger, the ship you are aboard right now. You may address me as 'Commodore', or 'Commodore Deniz'."
"A pleasure, Commodore," Miro said warily.
"You are wondering why I did not have you killed, and in fact I am wondering myself."
"True."
"There are two reasons why you are still alive. The first is that you are one of the finest swordsmen I've ever seen. I'm not without skill myself, and I know it when I see it. I've been to the north, and fought your people, and never have I come across a barbarian with such skill as yours."
"I told you, Commodore, I'm not a barbarian."
"There you go again," Deniz said. "Of course you are a barbarian. You certainly aren't Veldrin. However your words do lead me to the second reason I've let you live. You are something of a curiosity." He counted on his fingers. "You sail in a ship that, while obviously inferior, I have never seen in the northlands. You and your woman — my apologies, wife — both wear men's garments."
Miro opened his mouth, but the captain continued.
"You speak with a strange accent. You sail in waters where barbarians haven't been seen in generations. You are the first barbarian I've seen without a tangle of facial hair — at last! Finally," Deniz had run out of fingers, "you have the light of intelligence in your eyes."
"Commodore," Miro said, "if you'll let me…"
"No," Deniz held up a hand, "this mystery is better unravelled by one wiser than I. Save your words, barbarian. We are not far from home."
Deniz stood, and Miro stood with him.
"I promised you I would not allow harm to come to you, or your wife, while you were aboard my ship. I cannot offer the same promise when you are out of my hands, but I will commend your skill to the Emir. You wouldn't be the first barbarian who has gone on to adopt civilised ways and serve. Do as you are told, barbarian, and you may yet live."
~
MIRO was led to a cabin, and breathed a sigh of relief when Amber turned at the opening door. He was surprised to see she wasn't gagged or tied. The door closed behind him, and Miro heard two guards talk in low tones as they took positions outside. Given the earlier battle, it could have been much worse.
Miro embraced Amber, holding her close. "These people are strange," was the first thing he said.
"They must have a peculiar code of honour," Amber said. "They hardly touched me. It was almost comical, watching them try to bring me here without putting their hands on my body."
"We seem to have struck a deal with the captain," Miro said. He told Amber about his encounter with Commodore Deniz. "He has guaranteed our safety until we reach port, and I believe him."
"What will happen then?"
"All he intimated was that we'd be handed over to someone else. He finds us curious, yet every time I tried to explain to him he wouldn't let me. It must be his way of deferring to his superiors, but I found it odd."
Miro moved over to the cabin window. It was large enough that Amber could look also, and they both cried in wonder at the same time.
They must have entered a harbour, for the wavelets were small and the sea was calm, yet at this stage, all they could see were ships, most at anchor, but some under sail.
More ships than Miro thought could exist in the entire world.
Miro saw scores of mighty warships like the Seekrieger and the vessel Miro had found on the island. He knew they were warships now by the rows of wooden shutters, knowing even the Buchalanti would find them formidable. Hundreds of cruisers were still bigger than any ship Miro had ever seen, while smaller boats abounded: flat-bottomed barges, two-masted caravels, three-masted galleons, speedy galleys and even pleasure craft. Longboats and jollyboats hopped from one vessel to another, ferrying passengers and carrying stores.
Miro saw a lighthouse at the end of a long wall of rock, and realised something he didn't want to admit.
This harbour dwarfed the great harbour at Seranthia.
"Look," Amber said, "the city!"
The buildings were multihued like those Miro had s
een at the Ochre Isles. The city spread arms around the harbour possessively in a way that made Miro think these people prized control of the seas over anything else. It rose in tiers, continuing higher and higher to a tall summit.
The building at the city's highest point could only be a palace, but with its ivory spires and turquoise domes it was like no palace Miro had encountered in all the lands of the Empire.
The sky grew dark as they approached, and lights appeared at the city's innumerable windows. The lights twinkled in a way that told Miro these people used fire.
"Have you noticed," Miro said. "These people use no lore."
"We don't know that for sure," said Amber.
"Commodore Deniz has a beautiful sword, some of the best workmanship I've seen. Not a rune on it. Those lights at the harbour front — you can't tell me they're from nightlamps."
"You may be right," Amber said. "We'll see."
They were soon unable to grasp the size of the city anymore; the ship was now too close to the dock. Deniz carefully piloted the Seekrieger past ships large and small, finally finding his place and hitting the wooden pier with the gentlest of nudges.
Miro waited with Amber while the crew tethered the ship, wondering what would happen next. Eventually Amber gave up watching, resting on the bare wood of a bunk bed while Miro looked out the window. She finally sat up. "What's happening?" she said.
"I can see Deniz standing beside the ship and speaking with someone in a uniform," Miro said. "Something tells me he's talking about us. Now the man's gone, and Deniz is heading back to the ship."
Moments later, the door to the cabin opened. Miro and Amber's questions went unanswered as they were bundled off the ship and taken to where a contingent of soldiers with black uniforms waited.
The soldiers surrounded them, and then Miro heard a voice.
"Barbarian," it was Commodore Deniz, the soldiers parting as he approached. "Welcome to Emirald, capital of Veldria. I wish you luck. If you are allowed to live, and the Emir is generous enough to give you your choice of posts, choose the navy."
The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three) Page 19