“Ship’s ready for battle, Sir!”
“Very good, Lieutenant Commander, because we’re in for one hell of a fight.”
Pallas stiffened. “It’s the clans, isn’t it?”
Hightower held the glass out to him. “See for yourself.”
Pallas grabbed the miniature telescope and held it to his eye. A quick adjustment brought the harbor into focus. Redune stood more than a mile away, but Pallas could clearly see a large vessel moored at the long docks. A low-riding galleon, numerous hatches lined its hull, all obviously rigged for cannon.
Pallas swept his gaze to the top of the mast, his shoulders tensing as he saw the colors flapping there in the evening wind—a squid with tentacles snaking upward as if to snatch its prey.
“Archite.” The word passed his lips as if it were a curse.
The Archites were indeed one of the thirteen clans of the pirate coast. This would be a deadly encounter. The best chance for Redune and the Avenger was to strike fast and decisively.
Hightower mirrored his thoughts. “Have the helmsman bring her about. We’ll move in and hit them with everything we’ve got.”
“Aye, S—”
Pallas started to lower the glass when a sharp movement caught his eye. Three figures hustled across the deck of the galleon, the middle one struggling against the other two.
“What it is, Pallas?” Hightower breathed impatiently.
“I think… they have a hostage…” He adjusted the lens for a closer look.
The outer pair were most definitely pirates, but the third was not. The figure appeared to be that of a woman—a lady of finery, in fact. Garbed in a fancy green dress, long tresses of bright copper hair swept down below her shoulders. Though there was a vast distance between them, Pallas felt a familiar tingling brush his brow.
“Hostage or not, our course is clear,” the captain interrupted.
Pallas lowered the eyepiece and stared at Hightower. He stood stiffly, his knuckles white from gripping the rail. Pallas could literally feel the waves of anger radiating from him—anger laced with more than a tinge of fear.
“We need to blow these pirates out of the water and show the clans they’re not welcome on our shores.” Hightower emphasized the statement by slamming his fist into his other hand.
Pallas knew he was right, but there was something all too familiar about the red-haired woman. His brow tingled again, followed by a sudden flash of intuition. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but I don’t think we’re seeing the whole picture.”
Hightower fixed him with a stern gaze—he was well aware of his second-in-command’s gifts. “Do you feel this is some sort of trap?”
Pallas shook his head. “I’m not sure, Sir, but I’m sensing there’s more going on here than meets the eye.” He hefted the spyglass in his hand. “With your permission, I’d like to take one more look around.”
Hightower considered it for a moment, then nodded. “A brief look, Lieutenant Commander. We can’t afford to lose the element of surprise.”
“Agreed.” Pallas nodded as he lifted the glass to his eye.
He swiftly scanned the docks again, this time looking beyond the pirate vessel. Sure enough, behind the galleon sat another ship. Completely dark, it had been easy to miss in the fading light.
Pallas’ jaw tightened as he focused in on it. Is Hightower right? Is this some sort of elaborate ruse to draw us in?
He swept his gaze across the darkened deck, but saw no sign of life. From what he could tell, it was a smaller ship than the galleon—not typically one that would be used by the pirate clans. On a hunch, Pallas focused on the top of the main mast. As luck would have it, the last rays of the setting sun caught the edge of the standard flying there.
A crimson crescent on a dark background? That’s the flag of the House Dunamal—Alys Dunamal. It has to be.
Pallas spun to face the captain. “The hostage—it’s the daughter of Alburg Dunamal, Sir.”
Hightower sputtered as he struggled with this new development. “D-Dunamal? The baron’s Master of Coin? The richest merchant in Penwick? Are you sure, lad?”
Pallas described to him the dark ship and the flag that flew above it. “Plus, I’d recognize that red mane anywhere. Alys and my sister, Thea, were inseparable when they were young.”
“Dragon dung!” Hightower cursed, running his hands through his slowly greying hair. “There’s no way we can blow them out of the water with Dunamal’s daughter on board.”
Hightower wasn’t wrong. Alys was Dunamal’s only daughter. They’d be lucky to be merely stripped of their commissions if anything were to happen to her. Not to mention, Thea would never forgive him. I’m not sure I’d forgive myself.
The strained silence that had fallen over them was suddenly interrupted by a cry from overhead. “Ship astern!”
Pallas exchanged a worried glance with Hightower. If another pirate vessel was coming up the coast, they’d be in for the fight of their lives. The two of them took off at a run toward the rear of the ship.
As Pallas reached the stern, his eyes fell on the new vessel. It had just rounded the point, its deck well lit and running lights burning bright. Hightower caught up with him moments later, the older man huffing from exertion.
Pallas nodded toward the approaching ship. “They’re not exactly trying to hide from us, Sir.”
Hightower gave him a grim nod as he caught his breath. “Well… let’s see what… we’ve got here….” He then pointed his spyglass at the new ship. A few seconds went by, then he let out a long sigh, his tall frame visibly relaxing. “Thank the gods. She’s no pirate, just a merchant ship.”
Another merchant? As Pallas gazed at the approaching vessel, something clicked in the back of his mind. It would be risky, but if the merchant captain were willing, it just might work. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but I think I might know a way we can rescue Mistress Dunamal and still save Redune.”
Hightower arched an eyebrow at him. “Speak your mind, Lieutenant Commander.”
Pallas swiftly detailed his plan. It would require a two-pronged assault of spiritblades like himself. Thankfully there was a full complement on board, all rigorously trained by his father.
Pallas would board the merchant vessel with a small team. Their objective would be to get as close as possible and rescue the hostage.
The second team would infiltrate Redune and drive out the looters and cutthroats. The remaining crew would sail the Avenger into port and blast the pirate ship to smithereens once Pallas’ team was clear.
Hightower listened carefully to his proposal, all the while gingerly rubbing his chin. Pallas could feel the older man’s tension slowly ebb. When he was done, the captain nodded. “I see. Very good, Lieutenant Commander—make it so.”
“Yes, Sir!” Pallas responded with a crisp salute. The young officer spun on his heel and rushed back across the sterncastle, barking out orders as he went.
“Draw in the sails!”
“Bring us to a stop!”
“And flag down that merchant ship!”
Night had fallen like a thick blanket over the nearby coast. The only lights visible were from Redune itself, and the deck of the large pirate ship moored in its harbor.
Pallas and his small team huddled behind a stack of crates on the deck of the Endurance. The merchant vessel had just cleared Sentilla Point when they flagged it down. The ship’s captain, one Edward Rochino, had little love for pirates and quickly agreed to their plan.
Pallas swept his gaze toward the mouth of the harbor. There was no sign of the Avenger—with her lights out and sails drawn, the warship was nearly invisible in the encroaching darkness. His eyes shifted back to the approaching pirate vessel when he was hit with an awful feeling of déjà vu. Vivid images flashed through his mind from five years ago.
The Avenger just off-shore, its hull smoking and charred. Waters swirling around the masts of a sunken pirate vessel. Bodies and wreckage spewing out across the surface.
&nb
sp; Pallas blinked and the scene changed.
Four youths lying still on the rocky ground before him. A slim figure with long black hair. Vacant blue eyes staring up at him from an all-too-familiar face. Thea…
Pallas’ heart hammered in his chest. It was all he could do to stop from shaking.
Eyes stinging as he laid out the last body. Gangly arms. Coppery tresses. A freckled face bereft of that dazzling smile. Alys…
Pallas nearly choked on his own hubris. He had failed them. They died. His vow to watch over them, all his years of training, and they died nonetheless. Only by the grace of the gods, and one very stubborn bronze dragon, had they been brought back.
Pallas took a deep breath and willed his racing heart to slow down. Never again. He had failed them once, he would not do so again. On my family’s honor, Alys Dunamal will not die again this day.
That oath brought Pallas back to the here and now. The pirates had let the merchant vessel sail into port unchallenged. It was as he surmised—to them, it was just another opportunity to plunder.
Redune had two long docks. Captain Rochino expertly maneuvered his ship to the far side of the second pier, putting the darkened merchant vessel between them and the pirates.
A number of shadowy figures moved around on the quay. “Throw us your lines!” a voice called out of the blackness.
The heavy-set, dark-bearded Captain Rochino strode up to the ship’s rail. “Much obliged. What’s with all the smoke?”
Rude laughter wafted its way up from the docks. It was quickly hushed, replaced by a placating voice. “Nothin’ ta worry about. A kitchen fire got outta hand at the inn. It’s under control now.”
“Good to hear,” Rochino responded affably.
Pallas was duly impressed with his performance. Whether by the luck of the gods, or some other force, they had been fortunate to run into such an able-minded merchant.
Once the Endurance was moored, six ragged-looking men swaggered up the gangplank. They spread out onto the main deck, brandishing short, thick swords. The lead ruffian declared in a gruff voice, “Everythin’ on board now belongs ta us.”
A few of the cutthroats held brown bottles in their off-hands. Some swayed where they stood. They all appeared inebriated to one degree or another, but Pallas wasn’t taking any chances.
Rochino played along, leading the pirates to the cargo crates where Pallas and his men were hidden. On Pallas’ signal, the spiritblades poured forth, dispatching the pirates swiftly and mercilessly.
When it was over, a lone sailor scurried down from the rigging and joined them on deck. “Captain Rochino, Sir. It’s just as we thought. Nothing but a skeleton crew aboard the pirate ship—the rest of the vultures must be in town looting and pillaging.”
Rochino’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Any reaction to our little shindig over here?”
The thin sailor shook his head. “They didn’t seem to pay us no mind, Captain.”
Rochino nodded at the sailor, then sent him back up to the crow’s nest.
Pallas’ lips pressed into a thin smile. “Thanks for the ride, Captain. We’ll take it from here.”
Rochino let out a soft chuckle. “‘Twas my pleasure, lad.”
The docks were deserted as they disembarked the Endurance. Dark clouds still hung over Redune—distant shouts and gruff laughter echoed across the quay. By Pallas’ calculations, the main contingent of spiritblades should be reaching the town soon. He and his men needed to board the pirate ship before any of the remaining crew were alerted.
The group crossed to the edge of the dock, where they slipped silently into the dark waters. They swam below the surface, only stopping briefly to refill their lungs along the way. A few minutes later, they passed beneath the wide hull of the pirate ship, resurfacing on the side facing away from the docks.
Pallas led the climb up the side of the vessel, signaling for a halt just below the rail. The night around them remained still, except for the gentle lapping of the sea against the ship’s hull. Even the sounds from town had died down. He knew that wouldn’t last much longer, but stealth was their best bet in this situation.
The pirates were most likely holding Alys for ransom. That meant no harm would come to her until they got their payment—unless, of course, their hand was forced.
Despite his mounting tension, Pallas focused his will and waited.
His patience was finally rewarded with the sound of footsteps on the deck above.
Pallas motioned for the others to wait, then took a deep breath and stilled his mind. He felt himself melting inward, deep into the very core of his being. Pallas continued his inward dive, probing the innermost reaches of his essence until he encountered an area coursing with brilliant blue light. He had found his spirit, the inner spark that fueled the gifts of the spiritblade.
The young ‘blade tapped into that power, warmth flooding outward through his torso and into his limbs. His body tingled with energy as he envisioned himself fading into the shadows. In mere moments, Pallas had all but disappeared to the outside eye.
Just another shadow along the side of the ship, Pallas slowly lifted his head ‘til he could see onto the deck. A solitary figure stood directly above him, staring out over the waters of the harbor.
Pallas froze in place, watching silently as the pirate lifted a tankard to his lips. The lone ruffian gulped the contents down in one swig, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then turned and walked back across the deck.
The shadowy ‘blade hoisted himself up and swept his eyes around the ship. Two more pirates stood on deck, one near the gangplank and the other by a door beneath the sterncastle. Most likely where they’re holding Alys.
Neither of the other two cutthroats seemed very alert. The third pirate had plopped himself down, with his back to the main mast, and poured himself another tankard from a nearby barrel.
Three here, and who knows how many others onboard. They had to do this as quietly as possible.
Pallas lowered himself back down and whispered a quick plan to his team. Moments later, he and two other ‘blades were up and over the rail, slipping like wraiths through the shadows across the main deck.
Things appeared to be going smoothly, but unfortunately their time had run out. Pallas drew within a few yards of his quarry when shouts erupted from the direction of town. The rescue of Redune had begun in earnest.
The pirate in front of him abruptly started. He glanced around, his hand going to his sword hilt.
“Dragon dung,” Pallas cursed under his breath. Throwing caution to the wind, he lunged the last few yards, slamming into the man before he could draw his weapon.
Moments later, the pirate was dead at his feet. Pallas swiftly scanned the deck, but the two other cutthroats had been similarly dispatched. Thankfully, none had made much of a racket.
The ‘blades all regrouped just below the sterncastle. There were two doors here. Pallas chose the one that had been guarded. It opened to a steep stairwell that disappeared into the shadows below.
“Why the grim face, Pallas?”
Pallas turned away from the practice dummy he’d been hacking at so intently. A gangly young redhead stood there watching him with keen interest. “I’m trying to concentrate, Alys. I need to be the best ‘blade I can be.”
Alys tilted her head, her freckle-ridden face lit with the most dazzling smile. “But why? Why do you always push yourself so hard?”
It was difficult to stay annoyed at that infectious smile. “Father’s not getting any younger, and someone needs to protect this town.”
Alys’ green eyes sparkled as she twirled the parasol in her hands. “Well, if I ever need protecting, I’ll know who to turn to.”
A determined expression crossed Pallas’ face as he led the way down to the decks below.
A dim light shone at the bottom of the steep staircase. Pallas halted just above the ceiling line, then crouched down and peeked ahead. Before him lay a short corridor, maybe a dozen yards long at most. Midway down its
length, two lanterns hung directly opposite each other. The lamps gave off barely enough light to illuminate the hall, leaving deep shadows clinging to either end.
Pallas spied three doors on each side of the corridor, but what caught his attention was a large figure standing in the shadows at the other end. Thankfully, Pallas’ eyes were accustomed to the dark.
The figure was a huge pirate—a massive man with bulging arms folded across a barrel-like chest. Behind him, Pallas could barely make out the frame of a wooden door. That has to be where they’re keeping Alys.
The situation did not look good. He couldn’t quite make out the cutthroat’s face, but noted his alert posture. This one will not be so easy to sneak up on.
Pallas considered the possibility of rushing the man, but immediately dismissed the idea. He didn’t want to take the chance of the cutthroat slipping through the doorway and harming Alys before they could reach him.
Even if they did reach him in time, they’d be in for a tough fight. The hallway was not very wide. In these close quarters, it would be difficult for more than one person at a time to confront the large pirate.
Pallas was still weighing his options when a loud banging echoed down the hall. It was accompanied by muffled cries.
“Let me out!”
The guard did not seem amused. “Quit yer whinin’. Ye ain’t goin’ nowheres.”
There was a moment of silence before the prisoner responded in an irate tone. “Do you know who I am?”
The guard glanced over his shoulder, a wicked laugh spilling from his lips. “Aye, indeed… we knows who ye are.”
Pallas saw his chance and took it. With a quick signal to the rest of his team, he leaped down and blended into the shadows at the base of the stairs.
“Let me go and you will be richly rewarded!”
The guard glanced backward once more. “Aye. That’s the truth o’ it. Yer father will pay a pretty penny if he ever wants ta see that pretty little head o’ yers again!”
Tales From Thac Page 25