Dark Empress

by S. J. A. Turney

  He smiled humourlessly.

  “The possibility that this is some sort of trap has occurred to us and, if this is the case, you will have the option of falling into it yourself or revealing its existence.”

  Samir nodded.

  “That is fair, of course, master Halcar.”

  “Be quiet! We are not finished. In addition, the council will sail out aboard the ships. It is important both that we add our long experience and expertise to the command, and that we take part in what is, after all, a battle for our survival. Masters Culin, Saja and myself will come out aboard the Dark Empress with you in order to avoid any… unfortunate decisions being made, and we will be bringing a guard with us, of course.”

  He squared his shoulders.

  “More than half the council and many more among the captains have called for your death for what you have done, Samir, and some demand that you be tortured to death. It is only the irreplaceable position you currently hold that is keeping you alive. Therefore, once battle is concluded, if we have taken the day, you will be deemed a traitor to Lassos. You will then hand over your compass to us and you will be taken back to Lassos. There, you will be skinned, salted and then boiled for your crimes.”

  Ghassan straightened.

  “No!”

  Samir shook his head, but Halcar nodded.

  “You will prosecute the war to the best of your ability and then submit willingly to your fate, because we will allow your brother to live, banished from Lassos back to the mainland. If you refuse to submit or attempt to trick us, we will do the same to both of you and to every man who serves on your ship. You may believe that mercy is a prime trait in a pirate captain, but you are alone in that belief. Is that all clear?”

  Samir frowned, his head down.

  “Very clear, master Halcar.”

  “Go then and prepare the Empress for battle.”

  Samir bowed, making sure to keep steady for Ghassan’s support and the pair turned and opened the door, passing through before closing it quietly. In the hall outside, as the room behind them burst into noisy life once more, Ghassan shook his head.

  “This had better work, Samir. I’m not going to see you skinned.”

  Samir smiled.

  “I have no intention of ending my days bobbing pink and white in a barrel, Ghassan. We’ve laid our cards on the table and so has the council. Now we just need to know what hand the Governor holds.”

  Ghassan nodded.

  “We’ll find out first thing tomorrow, I suspect.”

  In which the fleet sails

  Ghassan leaned on the rail, wincing. His back had begun to ooze a little this morning and Samir had worried enough to consult the doctor, who’d merely become irritated and incensed that the taller brother was being too active and not resting enough to allow the wound to heal properly.

  Samir gave him an admonishing glare as he squeezed his eyes tight and fought down the sharp pain.

  “It’s alright, Samir. He says I’m in no immediate danger and, given the situation, I think that’s a better than average estimate.”

  He gestured at the command deck in front.

  The Dark Empress had set off at first light, leading the other eleven vessels from the docks of Lassos and heading into the nightmare reefs in thick fog; the most dangerous time to attempt a passage of the sharp teeth that protected the island. The three members of the council had come aboard just in time to sail, with an escort of more than a dozen hand-picked men chosen from the crew of the other, more dependable, ships.

  Halcar was taking no chances with Samir’s potential treachery and had organised the ship and the fleet so that those vessels who were likely to be more sympathetic to him, under Captains Faerus and Orin, had been manipulated into ‘safe’ positions, far back in the line from the Empress and between more traditional captains who owed their success to the council. Ghassan could see no way that Samir could pull anything out of this mess.

  “What will we do about that?” he asked very quietly, gesturing subtly in the direction of the three masters of Lassos who stood side by side, leaning over the rail at the front of the command deck, keeping a close watch on the activity on deck, while their guard kept a close watch on their safety.

  Samir shrugged.

  “They’re not a problem. If they don’t deal with it themselves, we’ll handle them when the time is right.”

  “Samir, we are rather seriously running out of time.”

  “On the contrary, my dear brother. We have all the time in the world. Quite possibly,” he added, grinning, “we have the whole rest of our lives.”

  Ghassan glared at him.

  “I just wish you’d tell me everything. I’ve got the main plan straight in my head. It’s a good plan… or at least it would be if the council weren’t hog-tying us. But there are so many things you haven’t explained. How are we going to rally your friends? What are you going to do about the three councillors and their thugs? How are you going to stop the others from fleeing back to the island? I’m just too nervous about the uncertainty of everything.”

  Samir nodded.

  “I understand, but there really is nothing to worry about. In fact, I think something is about to fall into place that I’d only tentatively hoped for. The only thing that still makes me tense is the governor. What will he do?”

  Ghassan shrugged.

  “He’ll do as you asked. It’s to his advantage.”

  Samir nodded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  “That may be so, but there are other ways he could look at it. He’d be taking a fairly serious risk and putting his own career in jeopardy. And that’s even if he trusts or believes me, which is a fairly tall order on its own.”

  Ghassan nodded.

  “I don’t worry about the governor. It’s the problems that are a little closer that worry me.”

  “Regardless, Ghassan, right now we need to prepare and steel ourselves. All hell is about to break loose and we need to be ready. Can you see how far back the other ships are?”

  Ghassan narrowed his eyes as he turned and peered over the rear rail.

  “Not really. The fog’s too thick. I can see two behind us, and they’re keeping very close, paying attention to the signals.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I suppose you’ve given thought to the possibility of having your man give a false signal? You could scupper the whole fleet within the rocks. Not a ship would make it out.”

  Samir shook his head.

  “There are good people back there that I wouldn’t leave behind. Besides, I’ve only got one of the compasses. I don’t know yet which captain was given the other, but it’ll be somewhere near the back and someone that Halcar trusts. Even with the chaos I’d cause, it’s more than possible that a ship or two would escape back to Lassos and with the compass to boot.”

  Ghassan nodded.

  “You’re right, of course. I just don’t like uncertainty.”

  “Cheer up” Samir smiled. “We’re about to leave the reefs.”

  “A great relief, I’m sure” Ghassan replied sourly.

  The last few glistening rocks with their sad and pleading occupants slid toward the bow of the ship and washed past in the oppressive, velvety silence, the figures pawing at the timbers as though they could help. Ghassan shuddered. No matter how many times he ever passed these reefs, that sight would still make him shudder.

  Tensely, he watched the slick rocks drift past and into their wake, where his attention was drawn, as the mist thinned and finally evaporated, to the Hart’s Heart behind them, captained by a particularly notorious man named Gharic, and currently also host to two more of the council’s elders.

  “Ha’Rish shine a good face on us today.”

  Samir’s mouth turned up at the corner cheekily.

  “Are you intimating that our favourite goddess has ugly faces?”

  Ghassan flashed a glare at Samir, who merely laughed.

  Suddenly, with the veil of mist
lifted, the Sea of Winter Storms reflected the dancing sunlight back to them in all its glory, revealing a wide swathe of open horizon and drawing the viewer’s attention squarely to the array of sails positioned in a rough arc around the sea into which they sailed. In other circumstances it might look pretty; it was certainly impressive. Perhaps forty or fifty daram of varying sizes and construction face the Empress as she emerged from the fleecy blanket. Three quarters of the sails were white, bearing aloft the colours of the Imperial navy, punctuated by the less common black sail of the fleet of the King of Pelasia. And in the centre of the arc, a particularly outsized daram, bearing the blue insignia of the governor of M’Dahz.

  Ghassan frowned.

  “It worries me that the governor’s flying that pennant. If he’d agreed, I would expect to see a different insignia there.” He ground his teeth. “But then they’re all here… they haven’t blockaded the entire circuit. Isn’t that a good sign?”

  Samir shrugged.

  “Either very good, or very bad. Hush for a moment. One of my more interesting coin tosses is about to come down. Let’s see whether we win or lose this one…”

  Ghassan frowned again as he looked past Samir. Master Culin of the Lassos council was strolling toward them, hands clasped behind his back, while the other two councillors remained at the rail watching the events ahead unfold. As he approached, Culin stopped by the group of menacing looking guards that the councillors had brought aboard and selected half a dozen of them, gesturing for them to join him. Ghassan winced inwardly and realised that his breathing had become shallow and fast. He forced himself to calm down. Culin was the sort of man who could read emotions and appeared to have an intuitive mind, almost a match for Samir.

  “Captain…” the man addressed Samir, and then nodded at Ghassan.

  “Master Culin. What could I possibly do for you?”

  Culin smiled quietly.

  “Samir, please… you are not the only one here able to see beyond the end of his nose. I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to do it, but I have a pretty shrewd idea of what’s about to happen. Somehow, despite being outnumbered more than three to one by an enemy fleet and having most of your own fleet out for your blood, I have this disturbing feeling that next to you may be the safest place to stand today.”

  Samir sketched a light bow.

  “Master Culin, you flatter me. I am a mere gambler with an eye for good odds.”

  Culin’s answering grin was equally self-assured.

  “As am I, Samir. I have been watching you and my peers with interest and trying to decide what to do about my suspicions. As a matter of duty and sense, I fear that what we should most do right now is to dispatch you both and tip you overboard before you can do any more damage.”

  He sighed.

  “My somewhat acute sense of self-preservation, however, presses me to other courses of action. When your little game plays out here, Samir, I would appreciate it if you remember the choice I made.”

  Samir nodded, his smile fading to a grave expression.

  “You are, as you have been for a while, foremost in my thoughts, master Culin.”

  The councillor nodded and then turned to the men with him.

  “Stay with the captain and first officer. You know what to do.”

  The burly pirate he addressed nodded respectfully as the master turned and strode back to the rail to join his peers. Once he was out of easy earshot, Ghassan leaned close to Samir and spoke under his breath.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to with him, but that sounded good?”

  Samir grinned as he nodded.

  “Master Culin has revealed his hand and, I think, that the balance in our own fleet has just tipped in our favour.”

  He smiled curiously.

  “How prophetic I was…”

  Ghassan frowned and Samir laughed.

  “Later, my brother.” He squared his shoulders. “Can you see the ships behind us now? Your eyes are so much better than mine.”

  Ghassan squinted off behind them.

  “Most of them. They’re coming out of the fog and they’re all as close as the ones just behind us. Shall I give the signal?”

  Samir waved his hand noncommittally.

  “Best ask the council for permission first.”

  As Ghassan stood tensely, Samir stepped forward and cleared his throat, addressing the pirate leaders in a loud and clear voice.

  “Masters? May I ask your indulgence and allow my brother to give the order to call the fleet to battle lines?”

  Halcar turned his sour, hawk like face back to them.

  “You do not have to send any messages to your people yet?”

  Samir grinned.

  “That’s taken care of, Master Halcar. We should see a reply any time. Permission?”

  Halcar looked at Culin and Saja, standing to his left at the rail. Saja shrugged his bare ebony shoulders and Culin raised his brow.

  “Why not?”

  Halcar turned back to Samir.

  “You have the council’s permission to prepare for the attack.”

  Samir nodded and turned to his brother.

  “Alright Ghassan, let’s get this fleet into position while we wait for my other coin to fall.”

  In which other coins come down

  With the practiced ease of veteran sailors, the eleven assorted vessels accompanying the Dark Empress from the reefs fanned out into a battle line. Given their hushed conversations the previous night, during which Samir had given his brother a complete rundown of the ships, their captains and any crew or tactics that he knew of, Ghassan rubbed his chin and glanced to the left and right trying to size up the fleet. Careful attention as the ships spread gracefully out into the line had given him the time and leisure to put together a mental map of the battlefield, as it were.

  The Empress held the centre of the fleet. Stretching away to starboard lay six ships. The first, the Hart’s Heart, clearly held little love for the Empress and her captain. The artillery master on the vessel had two of his weapons charged and angled to fire on the enemy fleet, below the rigging and past the mast, but the third weapon stood on a pivot and continually straying back and forth along the hull of Samir’s vessel. Ghassan sighed. The Hart’s Heart would be the most dangerous foe here. Beyond her lay three more ships captained by the more barbarous of Lassos’ occupants, each of whom would have no compunction about sinking the brothers without a moment’s pause. Beyond them, and almost out of useful reach of the Empress, lay one of their few allies: Orin’s vessel, the Southern Fang, itself being shepherded carefully by another council-loyal vessel at the far flank.

  Ghassan gritted his teeth. There was nothing they could do to help Orin that far out and equally nothing that Orin could do to help them, but that was not their problem. Their own great problem would be captain Gharic of the Hart’s Heart, a northern barbarian come south decades ago in search of warmer blood in which to wade. Samir had painted a frightening picture last night not only of the captain’s exploits, but also of his personal pastimes. Gharic would not leave the day without murdering the pair of them, and so he was clearly the most dangerous.

  Except…

  He turned to look across the port rail. To their immediate left sat wallowing the great dark bulk of the Sea Witch, now under the command of a strange easterner called Sho-han, but until recently the vessel of the very councillor Saja who now leaned across their own command rail, scratching his ebony scalp and playing idly with one of his ear-rings as he scrutinised the Imperial fleet opposite.

  Yes… the Sea Witch could well be as much trouble as the Hart’s Heart. Whatever good master Culin thought could come of this and however sure Samir was of their situation, the hawk-like Halcar had trapped the Empress between the two ships that held the firmest connection to the council. Ghassan would be unable to manoeuvre without presenting a soft side to one or the other.

  Therefore it hardly mattered what Ghassan thought of the two other enemy ships beyond
the Sea Witch, or captain Faerus’ Golden Dawn that lay trapped between other more vicious pirates on that flank.

  In short, they could rely on only three of the twelve vessels and each of those was thoroughly constrained by the other pirate ships. He shook his head once again.

  “Captain?”

  Ghassan blinked and reined in his wandering and somewhat gloomy thoughts at the parchment-thin voice that had called from the rail.

  Samir smiled at Ghassan and raised his brow, flicking his eyes toward the three council members in the most commanding position on the bridge. Ghassan pulled himself away from the rail with a groan of discomfort and joined his brother as they strode across to join the masters of Lassos. The tall first officer wiped the eternally bothersome curls from his forehead where they kept becoming plastered down with a mix of salty mist and sweat. This strange calm while the two fleets sat facing one another was almost too much to bear. Every ounce of command experience in him told him they had to make a move soon.