“They are ready, sir,” he announced.
“Good. Form up, Ranvir Guard.”
The prince and the mahout walked up to Ranvir, mounting up. The prince extended a hand to Anander, the limber young soldier who had earned his place in the howdah as Ranvir’s ballista gunner. Following him came the lancer, Sanjay, and finally Dhamdalek himself. Below, Guard Captain Ajit gave the customary orders, which were all but unnecessary with the veteran unit. Four guardsmen in heavy armor were positioned next to each of Ranvir’s legs, with Ajit himself standing in the most dangerous position, directly in front of the elephant.
It took a brave or foolhardy man to willingly take that position, but Prince Sharnipur knew the man was no fool. Ranvir knew his scent well enough and Ajit seemed to have a second sense for when the great beast would lurch forward and when he would need defending. Still, anything could happen in the frenzy of battle. The son of a potter, he had earned his place as the Prince of the Waste’s premier foot solder by merit alone and bore the scars to prove it.
“To the western-most camp,” Prince Sharnipur said, and Dhamdalek urged Ranvir on with light touches. The prince checked behind him, to see the jungle elephants walking along in a single file behind Ranvir, their handlers looking eager as they rode along. It was a rare opportunity for them, after all. In the Gutharan Kingdom these lowborn workers could never be trusted with their own elephant.
The column of elephants soon reached the western-most camp and were greeted by Abaeze and his unit of skirmishers, standing ready in four closely packed lines of forty men, attired with tanned leather cuirasses and sandals, with a sling of at least a dozen thin javelins over each shoulder and various curved blades along their belts. The prince smiled in satisfaction at their organization, feeling he had picked the right unit for this operation. Their commander Abaeze, a dark, bearded Veldtlander, approached the Prince and saluted.
“My prince, we are ready to hunt. Who dies tonight?”
Prince Sharnipur chuckled. “That remains to be seen. These Shinzen bastards are either sluggish or traitors and I’m counting on you to find out which. Have your men follow our elephants, operating in separate platoons.” He patted the side of Ranvir as he met the eyes of the jungle elephant handlers. “If you’re in danger, have your elephant trumpet and we will move to assist.”
The prince took hold of his lance and pointed with it to the faint outline of the hill several farsangs to the southwest.
“We need to secure that hill overlooking the river,” his words punctuated by another faint clap of thunder in the distance beyond.
Though by now we all know it’s not thunder.
“Soldiers of the Elephant Corps, are you ready?”
The men let out an enthusiastic bellow, rattling their javelins and swords against their shields, and the prince smiled to see it.
“Move out.”
The lumbering elephants spread out into the jungle, each one trailed by the skirmishers who fanned out all around. The prince waited until the last of his scouts were about a hundred yards ahead and then followed along the rough game trail.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Dragon's Flames
Cannonballs flew over Bekhar and his mixed force of marines and pirates as they ran toward the docks where the two ships were harbored. Chaos and mayhem raged around them, the Hangyul guards still confused. Flames from the watchtower were growing now and it must have been clear to them that making their way aboard the ships was the only chance for safety. In the light of day, Bekhar had no doubt the Hangyul soldiers and sailors would have seen their small force, and stayed to fight and finish off the raiders. But darkness can make cowards of brave men.
Even as he watched, the transport ship was leaving the docks, reflected light from the burning tower lighting its way. There were even scattered rafts in the water, if his eyes could be believed, and another cannonade sent splashes all around the scene and tore rigging away from one of the transport ship’s mast. Bekhar ground his teeth to see it even as he ran his way over, torch held in the air like a tiny pinprick of light for all to see. A few Syriot marines were firing their muskets into a crowd of figures by the docks. It was too late for the transport ship. But the dragon ship?
The dragon ship was leaving.
An unseen arrow zoomed out from the dark. Bekhar felt a sharp pain in his hand as the torch spun and fell to the sandy beach. He cursed as he came to a reeling stop. The arrow had done little else but skin his knuckles, a thin trail of blood now trickling down his right hand, but his torch was all but extinguished now. He snatched the smoldering torch back up in a hurry and glanced at the docks.
The dragon ship was leaving.
Bekhar sprinted forward, had passed the marines some time ago, vaguely aware that a few pirates and Syriots were still with him, and pushed his way to the docks. His path was lit by several other torches, and arrows seemed to materialize of the night sky in perfect silence to sprout on the sandy turf all around them. But he was close to the jetty now and still had his unlit torch along with flint and a knife. That could be enough… if he could get there in time. And yet…
The dragon ship was leaving.
The jetty was perhaps thirty paces long, a rickety wooden structure with evident holes either from the current carnage or sloppy workmanship. It was a rippling mass of confusion, dock hands, sailors, and Hangyul soldiers. Yet at the far end Bekhar saw it.
The dragon ship was leaving.
“No!”
This was his last, best chance for revenge. The ship was a terror on the open seas. And Black Bekhar can be the only terror at sea. This has to end tonight.
“With me, you bastards! We’re going down the jetty!”
Bekhar raised his glaive and charged forward. They were few, precious few, but they had darkness and terror on their side. Bekhar’s first stroke lopped off the arm of a frightened sailor, and his second just missed another. Two Hangyul soldiers ran up with drawn swords, and a blast rocketed the darkness just a pace to Bekhar’s left, leaving his ear ringing. The two soldiers slumped to the ground.
Lajos grasped his blunderbuss with evident pride, a haze of blue-gray smoke floating out of the steaming barrel, and grinned at Bekhar.
“Hell of a gun, isn’t it?”
Bekhar grunted. “So fucking reload it.”
The dragon ship was leaving.
The mass of shapes ahead of him were twisted, dark figures lit by the burning tower behind them, confused wretches jumping into the sea to run from Black Bekhar and his men. In the distance came the trumpet blast for their return.
“I will not wait,” Captain Salassi had said. “Five minutes after the blast and we leave.”
Bekhar had no reason to doubt him. But he did not look at the figures along the jetty, aside from those he leapt over or pushed past. Bekhar did not listen to the trumpet blast or the screaming or the scattered musket fire from the Syriot marines. His eyes were fixed on the dragon ship as he ran forward past panicked Hangyul men and aside from the steady pumping of his heart his ears were dead to the world. And yet it might not be enough.
The dragon ship was leaving.
There was a gaping hole in the side of the ship, some stray cannonball having found its mark in the sloping hull, and Bekhar’s eyes fixed on it as he fumbled to light his torch. His hands struck his knife to flint once, twice, three times, and he waited in growing impatience as the sparks sputtered and caught light on his pitch torch. He gave it a few moments to bloom and blossom into full fire as it caught on the pitch.
“Hey you,” one man said, and without looking Bekhar slashed the man with the knife in his stray hand. The man lurched backward and fell splashing into the water but Bekhar had eyes only for his torch and the dragon ship, which was a scatter of oars that bumped against each other as it tried to back away. It was a disorganized mess, but it made no difference, as it slowly moved further from shore.
The dragon ship was leaving.
The torch was
ready now. There were ten paces of jetty left and Bekhar took all of them, leaping into the air as he lobbed his torch with all his strength. Bekhar fell splashing into the water, yet in an instant he was bobbing up, and saw the torch flickering in the darkness as it spun end over end.
And fell in the open gap.
The trumpets sounded once again, three short blasts, but Bekhar paid them no heed as he floated to the surface and retrieved his glaive. That was all he could hope for. One torch in an open gap. Bekhar watched it. Three blasts means three minutes. At a run I could get back in-
There was a sudden eruption as the flames aboard the dragon ship touched off the ammunition stores.
Bekhar smiled. It was underwhelming as far as explosions went but the fate was the same. The dragon ship was dead in the water. And he had killed it.
Two trumpets had sounded by the time Bekhar had made it back to the beach. All the rafts were gone. Under the hazy light of the moon Bekhar spotted white sails in the distance, moving down the channel past the islet. A difficult target for rafts. Bekhar felt an unearthly calm settle over him as he cinched his glaive to his belt, the axe head stuck tight as the long wooden haft extended behind him. There was no way he’d be leaving that behind.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
The voice was from a Hangyul man, one who couldn’t hide the fear from his voice. Behind him, Bekhar heard the sandaled feet fanning out along the beach as the surviving garrison began to get their wits about them, with the raid already all but over and only Bekhar left behind.
“I said who are you?”
The final trumpet sounded.
Bekhar grinned to himself as he ran into the water, resisting the waves that splashed against him, and leveled himself to swim out to the distant ships.
I’m Black Bekhar. One and only terror of the seas. And I have a ride to catch.
◆◆◆
“Dammit Bekhar, we almost had to leave you behind,” Captain Salassi said, four hundred and sixty seven breast-strokes later. Bekhar stood sopping on the deck, grinning in silence and feeling every one of his muscles throbbing.
“Well, our casualties are light, anyway. Just two dead, four with wounds. You were our only missing. Is that why you’re smiling?” The captain turned to the translator. “Vermilies, why does he keep smiling?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
Bekhar’s grin, if anything, widened. “I killed the dragon,” he whispered to himself.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Prince's Raid
The interminable motion of the elephant had worked its magic on the Prince’s half-lidded eyes, and his head jerked up at a rustling in the nearby jungle. He had been nodding off throughout the past hour as the scouting party had continued their trek to the southern hills. A Veldtlander was running down the trail ahead, his movement swift but silent, and Ajit stepped forward to stop the scout.
“Prince,” the scout hissed past Ajit’s shoulder. “We’ve spotted an encampment.”
The prince gestured for Ajit to let the scout through, and the Veldtlander warily approached Ranvir, who halted at Dhamdalek’s command. Down the column skirmishers bumped into each other as the procession came to a sudden stop, but the Veldtlanders kept their cursing to a low mutter.
“Sir, they’re Shinzen forces. No doubt about it, their standard is lit up by campfire and their sentries are in Shinzen armor.”
“Hmm…”
The prince wasn’t sure what to make of that. He didn’t want to barge into a friendly force on accident but the situation just seemed wrong. I’ve only lived this long because I listened to my hunches. If not I would have died all those years ago when the assassins came, bearing false smiles and hidden blades. But I listened and acted, and they are dead and I am not.
“You were unnoticed?”
“Yes, sir. These jungle elephants are quiet.”
“Good. I will be up with you soon.”
At a gesture, Dhamdalek urged Ranvir forward once again as the Veldtlander scout sped off into the distance. The Prince of the Wastes was acutely aware of the creaking of Ranvir’s harness and howdah, and even the soft sounds of the skirmishers’ steps behind him. Through the march he had only heard the occasional cracking noises of the jungle elephants breaking through the wilderness, but even so, the sentries might have heard something. As the faint, camouflaged outlines of Abaeze’s scouts came into view, the prince’s prediction came to pass.
About a hundred yards to his left shouts broke through the nightly din of the jungle. The sentries must have heard Spotted Brow’s movements. The prince cursed under his breath as Ranvir approached Abaeze and the patiently waiting Boar-killer. For such a large beast he blends in well. I thought that was a tree at first.
“Give me room,” he said. “Stay silent. If Ranvir trumpets, charge the encampment.”
The elephant moved through the skirmish line, emerging in front of the startled sentries. To the west, the trumpeting sound of Spotted Brow broke the silence. Shit.
But there was nothing for it. Ranvir lumbered out of the jungle into a clearing and they approached with boldness as the dark figures of sentries staggered to their feet.
“I’ve been sent from Emperor Banisu,” Prince Sharnipur declared. “Are you loyal, men of Shinzen?”
The sentries hesitated, shifting and looking at each other wordlessly. Another figure had emerged from the darkness and joined the sentries. A Shinzen officer.
“Elephant forces? Who are you?” The man demanded in the coarse dialect of the south.
“I am the Prince of the Wastes, leader of the Elephant Corps, hired mercenary to Emperor Banisu and the Three Clans. Are you loyal to Emperor Banisu?”
The officer swore and drew his sword, answering the Prince’s only question. A hundred yards to his right, one of his elephants trumpeted. Well, they’re on their own for now. But we have elephants, and they do not. At the Prince’s discreet urging, Ranvir let out a ferocious roar into the sentries’ faces.
If they had had any fighting spirit in them before the roar of an unexpected war elephant put a quick end to it. The sentries turned to flee and Ranvir began a lumbering charge into the encampment, a slow lumbering canter that gave the sentries the time to escape. The Shinzen officer waved his sword, trying without success to stop the running sentries, and for his troubles he was hit square in the chest by Anander’s ballista bolt. The winch rattled behind Prince Sharnipur rattled as the gunner readied it for another round.
Ranvir moved forward at a steady pace, and they were soon overtaken by the skirmishers they had left behind, who passed them and began surrounding the multitudes of tents, storming in and impaling the awakening Shinzen soldiers.
Even with the carnage already ensuing, the Prince still had his reservations. He wanted to confirm that the Shinzen clan had switched sides and killing their commoners seemed both pointless and brutal. He could also see that his forces were hugely outnumbered by the sprawling Shinzen army.
“Never mind the tents,” the Prince shouted in Dhamdalek’s ear, bracing one arm on the old mahout’s back. Behind him Sanjay lurched forward with his lance to slash at a fleeing soldier.
“To the pavilion at the top!”
Prince Sharnipur raised his lance so the mahout could see. At the very top of the hill the prince could make out the outline of a large pavilion beside a campfire and the Shinzen standard. The clan leader must be in the command tent near the very top.
His assumption seemed vindicated by a large force of armored swordsmen congregating near the pavilion as the night rang out with panicked shouts of alarm. At Dhamdalek’s command, Ranvir turned in front of the gathering ranks of swordsmen as the Prince glanced back. It was difficult to make out anything with Sanjay’s lance and the howdah blocking the view, even if it hadn’t been night. The ballista thrummed once again from atop the howdah.
As best he could tell, the skirmishers had caused chaos throughout Ranvir’s path, but were now rejoinin
g the Ranvir Guard, followed closely by Boar-killer and the bulk of Abaeze’s men.
The prince turned back to look at the Shinzen soldiers forming to face him, locking shields together and cursing.
“Are you not soldiers of the Emperor? Why have you betrayed your own people?”
This seemed to have some effect on the shifting men, many of whom must have disagreed with Lord Shinzen’s decision. Still, they were likely his most loyal men. A tall man wearing elaborate silks and a drawn longsword exited the command tent, flanked by several armored soldiers, and rushed to the back of the forming line.
“Is that you, Lord Palani Shinzen?”
The man ignored Prince Sharnipur’s call, instead shouting at the surrounding soldiers to face Ranvir as the elephant circled around the men. The skirmishers had come up by now and began releasing javelins at the unguarded right flank of the enemy. Boar-killer padded up along with them, his rider looking at the scene in some confusion.
“Circle around to the left!”
Boar-killer moved to flank at the prince’s command, as the Ranvir Guard circled around the other side, his soldiers keeping a wary eye on the other formation, which mimicked their movements. Boar-killer’s handlers and a dozen skirmishers were now on the opposite side of Ranvir, and directly behind the nervous soldiers. A steady stream of javelins was piercing into the Shinzen ranks from behind and another thrum from the howdah showed Anander had loosed another ballista bolt into the formation.
“Steady, steady!” Lord Shinzen yelled. “Keep your eyes on the big elephant!”
Ranvir had circled all the way around to the unguarded command tent, and now Dhamdalek let Ranvir loose, stampeding through the structure and crushing it underfoot. A few struggling figures showed some had still been inside the tents, their piercing screams partly muffled by the canvas of the ruined tent.
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