The Fifth Empire of Man

by Rob J. Hayes

  “Five Kingdoms are coming,” Tanner said. “Drake wants to make his stand here instead of Fango.”

  “When are they coming?” Stillwater said.

  “Don’t know,” Tanner replied. “Fucking Riverlanders gave us away though.”

  More and more folk were stopping now that some had heard Tanner speak. One man even ducked into the tavern, no doubt to spread the rumour. There was nothing for it now; soon the whole town would know.

  “We dealt with the traitor,” Captain Burn insisted.

  “Aye, mate,” Tanner said, stepping closer and towering over the Riverlander. “So ya say, and ya got a pretty little flap of skin by way of proof, but how are we to know the rest of ya ain’t just as treacherous?”

  “This isn’t helping, Tanner,” Stillwater said.

  “Speaking of the treacherous, you should probably just keep that mouth of yours shut, mate,” Tanner said, turning on Stillwater.

  “Are they really coming for us again?” asked one of the townsfolk nearby, a woman of middling years with stained clothing and a young boy holding onto her leg.

  “I didn’t betray you, Tanner,” Stillwater said, squaring up to the bigger pirate. “I escaped you.”

  “Aye,” Drake roared over all of them – the pirates, the captains, and the townsfolk – then waited for them to quiet down before he continued. “They’re coming for us again.”

  “Where do we run to now?” said one of the townsfolk.

  “Fango,” Tanner shouted quickly before turning his dark eyes on Drake. There was a challenge there that couldn’t be ignored.

  “We’re not going to Fango,” Drake yelled before he lost he crowd. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  He looked around, meeting as many eyes as possible. “Aye, they’re coming for us again, and they’re coming hard.” Drake had no idea how many ships they’d attack them with this time, but they’d escaped five during the parley at Ash. “And we’ll do to them what we did to that monster.” He pointed at the skeleton of the Man of War still keeled over down the beach. It was little more than the bones of a ship these days – every useful plank of wood had been salvaged to help build the town – but they kept it there as a reminder of where they came from.

  “We’re gonna reinforce the town. All work on homes and the like stops; anyone left homeless gets taken in somewhere.” Drake pointed towards the forest. “We need to clear the trees back and build a wall. Watch towers, we’ll need watch towers.”

  “That’s a lot of work, Captain Morrass,” said one of the townsfolk, a large man with more lines in his face than there were waves in the sea. “How long do we have?”

  “I don’t know,” Drake said truthfully. “Could be weeks, could be hours.”

  “Hours?” one of the townsfolk cried. The crowd broke into chaos. Some folk shouted at each other, some at Drake, and others just pleaded or prayed for their lives.

  Drake let out a ragged sigh and looked to his fellow captains for help. He received none.

  “Fango,” Tanner said, just loudly enough for Drake to hear.

  “Yes, it’s a lot of work,” Drake roared. “And no, we don’t have long to do it. But one thing is for fucking certain. They are coming. So the sooner you all stop pissing and moaning to me and get started, the better state we’ll be in when they arrive, because nobody fucking leaves. Here is where we’re making our stand, so anyone with a job, get to it. Anyone without a job, find one.”

  There was some mumbling from the crowd and some of the townsfolk wandered away, but more stayed behind, looking expectantly from Drake to Tanner to Stillwater.

  “Now! Unless you all want to die when the bastards get here,” Drake shouted.

  Stillwater nodded. “Drake’s made the choice, and here is where we fight them. Get to it, people.”

  The crowd began to disperse, pirates and townsfolk alike slipping away to find jobs. Drake was raging inside. The fools hadn’t listened to him. They’d heard his orders and they hadn’t moved until Stillwater agreed with them. He blamed Tanner – the man’s claim that Fango was safer had scared the folk of New Sev’relain, and they believed him.

  “Reckon they just needed someone to agree with you,” Stillwater said once most of the crowd had gone. “You really think this is the best idea, Drake?”

  “You questioning my orders, Stillwater?” Drake turned on the man, wondering when everyone had started doubting him.

  “Good orders should always be questioned,” Stillwater said. “Bad orders should always be ignored.”

  Tanner laughed. “So ya still remember something from aboard me ship, boy.”

  Stillwater shook his head at Tanner. “Oh, aye. I remember you saying it. Also remember you beating me with a bucket for questioning one of your orders.”

  “Never said there wasn’t a price for questioning good orders.” Tanner grinned and turned his attention back to Drake. “We’ll stay and help ya fight, Your Majesty. I do hope we all get through it.” The big pirate laughed and turned away, striding towards the beach and his ship.

  “Bastard is going to undermine me every chance he gets,” Drake said, staring after Tanner.

  “He’s not wrong about Fango being more defensive,” Stillwater said.

  “It’s not about which is more defensive. It’s about territory, and Fango is his. New Sev’relain has to be the seat of my power, the capital of the Pirate Isles, otherwise he has too much influence.”

  “What about the people?” Stillwater said. “They’ve a better chance of surviving at Fango.”

  Drake looked at him and shook his head. “They’ve a better chance of surviving under my boot, not his.”

  Chapter 10 - The Phoenix

  Keelin dug his feet into the dirt and pulled hard on the rope. The woman in front and two men behind him did the same, and slowly the wooden pillar began to rise. Those attached to the other rope, opposite Keelin’s team, let it out hand after hand as Keelin and his three companions pulled it in. The same thing was happening all across the treeline, the bones of a wall being erected to provide New Sev’relain better protection from the forest and anything that might come out of it.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw another pillar going up; this one only had one person pulling on the rope – Beck. Keelin had long known the woman was an Arbiter, ever since she’d used her magic on him and forced him to tell the truth, and now others were starting to suspect. No one person was strong enough to do the work of four, not without the help of magic. The problem, at least as far as Keelin saw it, was that nobody else cared.

  He doubted he was the only one to have cause for grievance with the Inquisition and its murderous ways, but the other pirates and townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. Beck was helping New Sev’relain, getting her hands dirty and pouring as much blood and sweat into the strengthening of its defences as the next person. Much more than some.

  With every pillar the Arbiter helped to erect, with every tree felled and pit dug, with every section of wall built and every watch tower raised, the witch hunter was gaining the respect and admiration of folk who should be running her out of town. She was a murderer as sure as any other Arbiter, and Keelin couldn’t forgive any of them. At least, not until he caught the Arbiter who had murdered his little sister. Not until he showed Arbiter Prin as much mercy as the bastard had shown a scared little girl whose only crime had been recurring sickness and her own intuition.

  “Ease off a bit, Cap’n Stillwater,” said the man behind him. “Ya pullin’ too hard. This ain’t no race. Slow an’ steady is safest, eh?”

  Keelin let out the ragged breath he’d been holding in and matched his pace to the rest of his team’s, aware that his anger towards the witch hunters had got the better of him. He’d just spent so long trying to find his revenge that it often clouded his mind.

  The pillar dropped the last few feet into the post-hole dug for it and they pulled it upright. A girl and her father rushed forwards with a cart full of dirt and quickly shovelled it into
the hole around the pillar, and after a few minutes they were instructed to let go of the ropes. The pillar held upright, and someone patted Keelin on the back.

  “Ten minutes’ break, then on to the next one.”

  Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate coordinating the work and sank gratefully down onto the dirt. He pulled a water skin from his belt, sucking down gloriously wet sips and letting the sweat run down his face and drip from his chin. His eyes found Beck again. The Arbiter didn’t bother to rest – she moved straight on to the next wooden pillar and took up the rope on her own again, working tirelessly. Keelin remembered the screams that tore from his sister’s throat as the fires lit by Arbiter Prin ate her alive. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he could no longer tell if they stemmed from pain or rage.

  Not two years ago Keelin had thought he was close. He’d traded with another witch hunter – passage from Larkos to Fortune’s Rest in return for Arbiter Prin’s location. It turned out the witch hunter had lied; the little town he directed Keelin to had never heard of an Arbiter by the name of Prin.

  A few months later Keelin learned of the Observatory in the ruins of HwoyonDo, the capital city of the Forgotten Empire. There, he was assured, he would be able to find Prin and his vengeance. He paid a high price for the information, and the seller gave no reassurances.

  Keelin told his crew, and they were more than happy to follow him – not for his dream of vengeance, but for the riches hidden within the lost city. Unfortunately, the waters around the Forgotten Empire were as dangerous as the jungle that covered the land, and more than a few ships had been lost sailing blind. They needed the charts of someone who had sailed through those waters before, and only one captain, and one ship, was known to have gone there and come back. Keelin looked around for Drake Morrass, but he couldn’t see the infamous pirate anywhere. He’d started following Drake in the hopes of swiping the charts from him, but somewhere along the course Keelin had found himself believing in Drake’s vision of a unified Pirate Isles. The Five Kingdoms and Sarth were coming, and they were trying to wipe out the pirates. Keelin couldn’t allow that. The isles, and the folk who lived there, had taken him in after he escaped his father. Tanner Black may have made Keelin a pirate and given him a job, but it was the people of Fango and Sev’relain and Black Sands who gave him a home. Drake wanted to protect those same people because he wanted to wear a crown and be in charge of them; Keelin just wanted to help them. He’d seen too many people and cities burn in his short lifetime.

  “You ready, Captain Stillwater?”

  Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate and followed him to the next pillar. He noticed Beck had finished raising another and was holding it steady as dirt was poured into the post-hole. Keelin still didn’t trust the woman, but he had to give her some grudging respect. She was damned useful to have around.

  Aimi raised her left hand and pointed at the target, drawing back her right hand. She took a deep breath and let it out smoothly. Throwing her right hand forwards, she let go of the knife. The little blade spun end over end over end before clattering against the outside wall of Keelin’s cabin and dropping to the deck. She’d missed the target by a good two feet.

  Harsh laughter sounded behind her and she cringed as she recognised Smithe’s voice. The big quartermaster was a special kind of creepy, and Aimi knew his type . She’d spent long enough working in a tavern in Old Sev’relain to be able to tell which pirates were to be avoided at all costs, and Smithe was definitely one. He was the kind of man who enjoyed the violence of the way of life over the freedom. He lived to hurt folk and he would take his enjoyment anywhere he could get it. She tried to avoid Smithe as much as possible, but The Phoenix wasn’t the largest of ships and her relationship with its captain, along with her breasts, only served to draw the quartermaster’s attention.

  “Useless bitch,” he said with a sneer as Aimi collected her knife. She clenched her jaw tight; there was no point in bristling at the man’s comments. Smithe outranked her and could make her life unbearably hellish with the assignment of duties and shore leave, and that would only tempt Keelin to intervene on her behalf, which, she suspected, was exactly what the quartermaster wanted.

  As Aimi bent down to collect her knife something thudded into the wall just inches from her head. She fell backwards, scrambling away on her arse, her heart pounding in her ears and her mouth suddenly as dry as a desert, all to Smithe’s braying laughter.

  The knife that had come so close to ending her life was still wobbling in the wall. It was a long blade with a single edge and a handle that incorporated individual finger guards all made of shiny steel. Aimi could well imagine how a punch from a man like Smithe with that knife in hand could easily do as much damage as a stab.

  “You’re trying to spin the blade,” Smithe said as he walked over, sparing only a glance at Aimi. She sat on the deck, staring at him wild-eyed. He pulled the knife from the wall and kicked Aimi’s little piece of metal towards her. “It wants to fly straight from your hand.”

  Smithe walked a good distance away, then turned back towards the cabin. He held his knife by the blade and pointed it at the wall, then drew back his hand until it was beside his head. In one quick motion he extended his arm and released the little knife, which flew with alarming speed towards the target Aimi had hung on the wall. It embedded itself with a solid thunk.

  “Throw the blade straight and true,” Smithe said, approaching the cabin and pulling his knife from the target. “Let the weight of the handle even out its flight.”

  Aimi gathered her legs beneath her and stood, picking up her knife as she did. Smithe sat down on a barrel, watching her with his too-intense eyes. Aimi hated how nervous the quartermaster made her feel. She walked to the spot from which Smithe had thrown and focused. First she pointed her knife at the target, then drew it back just as Smithe had, then extended her arm and released.

  Her little knife hit the wall of the cabin just a foot from the target and stuck there for a moment before the weight of it dragged its point loose and it clattered to the deck. Smithe laughed again.

  “I was closer,” Aimi said indignantly.

  “Closer don’t mean shit,” Smithe spat. “Ya gonna fight with the rest of the crew, then ya need to know how to stick the enemy an’ not us. Not that ya throw would’ve done much more than piss a real man off. Throw harder or don’t fucking bother.”

  Aimi felt her cheeks go hot. “I’ll try.”

  Smithe leapt off his barrel and stormed over to her. She held her ground, but with the big quartermaster bearing down on her it wasn’t easy. She wanted nothing so much as to run and hide in Keelin’s cabin.

  “Might be my life depends on your fucking trying, one day. Or maybe even the captain’s.” Smithe stank of stale sweat with a hint of sweet perfume, telling Aimi much about his shore leave activities. While the rest of the town was helping build defences and prepare for an attack, Smithe was visiting the brothel.

  For a while Aimi just stared at the deck beneath her, desperately willing her legs not to shake. Eventually Smithe snorted and turned away.

  “Either learn to throw that thing or go hide under the captain’s bed,” he snarled as he stalked off.

  Aimi waited until Smithe had disappeared below decks, then released the breath she’d been holding. She sank down onto her arse. A laugh from above made her glance up. Looking down from just a few feet above her on the main mast was the deeply lined face of Jojo Hyrene. Aimi had spent many an hour in Jojo’s company, listening to his never-ending stories, and she counted the man as a true friend.

  “He works pretty damned hard to be that scary,” Jojo said with a wide smile.

  “It’s not just me then?” Aimi said. “He scares you too?”

  Jojo nodded. “Scares everyone a bit, I think, even the Cap’n, though he’d never show it. Smithe served with Tanner back when this ship belonged to his daughter. He revelled in the cruelty.”

  “Wait,” Aimi said. “The Phoenix belonged to that harp
y, Elaina Black?”

  Jojo laughed and his head bobbed up and down again. “Mhm, before Cap’n Stillwater stole it out from under her. The Phoenix was to be her first ship. Anyone else and I reckon she’d have chased them to Rin’s court and back, but not the Cap’n.”

  Aimi looked away from Jojo, sucking on her teeth and trying not to feel the strange jealousy that bubbled up from deep down. Keelin was hers; he’d chosen Aimi over his old flame. They spent their free time together and talked about everything and nothing, often drinking cheap rum late into the night, and she spent more nights than not in his bunk these days. Still, that he had so much history with Elaina Black worried her. She only knew of the woman by reputation, but what she’d heard made her sound even scarier than Smithe.

  With a noise approaching a growl, Aimi stood and collected her fallen knife. She returned to the practice spot and launched the little blade at the target again, this time imagining it was Elaina Black’s smirking face.

  “Another one comin’ in,” someone shouted from somewhere high above her.

  Aimi looked upwards to see Jojo climb up the mast a few feet and look towards the bay for a moment before breaking into laughter.

  “What is it?” Aimi said as she retrieved her knife from the wall.

  “The name of the ship is My Salty Wife,” Jojo said, still chuckling.

  Aimi snorted out a laugh, but it was all she could manage in her dark mood. Her father used to refer to the sea as his salty wife, and used to say he often cheated on her with Aimi’s mother, but the sea was a jealous bitch and if the waves ever got wind of his adultery, his salty wife would sink him with barely a thought.

  The thought of her parents brought with it a pang of regret. Aimi had never told them she was leaving, nor her sister. She’d just packed her bag and gone. She wondered how they were doing now, and if they still thought of her.

  A laugh bubbled up and erupted from Aimi’s belly. She was halfway across the world, embroiled in a war to build a new empire, and she was fucking the man who was going to stand on the right-hand side of the throne – and she was missing her fisherman father and his wife. If she did one day return to her parents, Aimi could only wonder if they’d even believe her adventure.