Praise for the Scimitar Seas Series
“…a fine fantasy of the sea, well worth the read.” Midwest Book Review
“…a pirate fantasy that’s sure to entertain. I couldn’t put this one down! ” Barbara Theisen, Seven Seas Cruising Association
“…action packed…a very entertaining romp.” Latitudes and Attitudes BoatBooks reviews www.seafaring.com
“Adventure and intreague on the high seas, in a richly imagined world of danger and magic.” Gail Z. Martin, author of the Chronicles of The Necromancer series
“Refreshingly different. A sparkling tale full of engaging characters you’ll want to see again. More please!” New York Times bestselling author Ed Greenwood, creator of The Forgotten Realms®
Scimitar’s Heir
A Scimitar Seas Novel
Book Three
By
Chris A. Jackson
Copyright
Scimitar’s Heir
Copyright © 2011 Chris A. Jackson
All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.
Dragon Moon Press
www.dragonmoonpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This one is for Joe and Kim, dearest friends. Without your inspiration and camaraderie, I never would have put pen to page.
Acknowledgements
A great many thanks go to my editor, Gabrielle, for her friendship, patience and perseverance, and to my publisher Gwen for believing in me. Thanks to Jana and Gail for support and mentorship. A big thank you to the sailing community, including all the Caribbean and Bahamas radio nets for news and friendship, and especially the Seven Seas Cruising Association, for giving a vagabond a feeling of community, and Chris Parker for giving solid weather forecasts that have saved me many uncomfortable days beating to windward.
A special thanks as always to my wife, Anne, for the help, support, editing, plot fixes, continuity checks, and character accent proofs, and for sticking with me through both the beautiful beam reaches and the aforementioned beating to windward.
Table of Contents
Praise for the Scimitar Seas Series
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Prelude
The Seamage’s Heir
*Your son lives, Trident Holder,* Chaser signed, foregoing his usual formal greeting as he entered Broadtail’s grotto.
*Where has Eelback taken him?* Broadtail surged up to the scout, his fins flaring with his temper. Six tides had passed since the mer had waged war against the landwalkers. Six tides since he had discovered that the school had been betrayed by Eelback. Six tides since his eldest son, Tailwalker, had been abducted by the traitors. His brood of young finlings, barely longer than his hand, scattered into every nook around the room, while his wife, Silverfin, hung back, well acquainted with her husband’s temper.
*They swim to the south, Trident Holder. The undine aided us in tracking them through the southern trench, but they refuse to go farther.*
*And what of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir? Did he slay her for betraying us against The Voice?*
*Seamage Flaxal’s Heir lives.* Chaser signed, shifting dark, then light, a sign of confusion or fear. Broadtail also noticed other signs in Chaser; sunken cheeks and sallow eyes that spoke of fatigue and hunger.
*Do not fear my anger, Chaser. It is not directed at you.* He swept his arms wide in a proper welcome. *Come, eat and take some rest while you sign to me. Silverfin, we have some fresh mussels, do we not?*
*We do, my husband.* Silverfin flipped her tail and swam into a smaller grotto, returning in a heartbeat with a double handful of succulent mussels and a shucking knife.
*Thank you, Trident Holder,* Chaser signed, gobbling down the first of the tasty mollusks as he continued his report. *The scents the undine followed were confusing, Trident Holder. Seamage Flaxal is alive, but is no longer with Eelback’s school. She has returned to her own grotto.*
*He released her?* Broadtail’s eyes popped wide, his color shifting in horror.
*Yes, but there was also some of her blood scent, and another scent, another landwalker, like her, but male. This second scent went with Eelback and your son.*
*A second landwalker? Where did it come from?*
*That is the confusing part, Trident Holder,* Chaser said, gobbling down another mussel. *The scent came from nowhere. It was very strong at first, like Seamage Flaxal Heir’s, but different.*
*Her finling!* Broadtail’s color blanched almost white with the horrible realization of what Eelback had done. *He took her heir, Chaser! Holy Odea, Kelpie was with him! She took the landwalker child for Eelback! Seamage Flaxal will now surely destroy us!*
*Took her finling?* Chaser’s features showed only confusion. *But why?*
*I do not—* he began, but Silverfin’s hand on his arm stopped him.
*You say they swam south, beyond the great trench, Chaser?* she asked. As the trident holder’s wife, she was also one of the school’s lore-keepers.
*Yes, Silverfin. The undine trackers would not follow into the vast emptiness beyond the trench that the landwalkers call the Fathomless Reaches, but the course was true.*
*And he took the seamage’s heir.* Her eyes flicked between her husband and Chaser, worry darkening her features. *Akrotia,* she signed, her delicate hands shaking.
*What is that?* Chaser asked.
*Akrotia is a city, Chaser,* Broadtail signed, though his eyes remained fixed upon his wife. *An ancient mer city, built and shared with landwalkers. But it is dead.*
*Dead?* Chaser asked, still obviously confused. *How can a city die? Did its coral become diseased?*
*Akrotia was not built from coral, Chaser,* Silverfin signed. *It was built of stone, metal and the magic of the landwalkers and mer alike. It lived, infused with the life of a landwalker…a landwalker seamage.*
*Eelback!* Broadtail signed, his choppy motions making the name a curse. *You think he plans to bring Akrotia back to life with the seamage’s heir?*
*It seems the only explanation, my husband. I will search the scrolls, but why else would Eelback take the seamage’s heir? Nothing else makes sense.*
*One thing is clear to me,* Broadtail signed, his
attention turning back to Chaser. *Seamage Flaxal must be told what has happened, that Eelback manipulated The Voice and has taken her child. If we can direct her wrath to Eelback, she may not destroy us.*
*You wish me to tell her what we have discovered?* Chaser asked, flushing pale. Being sent to confront the seamage after what had happened, after her child had been literally ripped from her womb, could be a death sentence.
*I do, Chaser.* Broadtail grasped the scout’s shoulders briefly, a sign of confidence and friendship. *Tell her that we submit to her. Eelback manipulated The Voice for his own ends and tricked us into a war with the landwalkers. We seek to help her get her child back as atonement. Whatever she asks, we will do. Whatever allies we have are hers. If we do this, perhaps she will not destroy us all.*
*And Tailwalker?* Chaser asked, his eyes shifting from the trident holder to his wife and back.
*Tell her he is Eelback’s captive. We do not seek her aid in freeing him. That will be our task, Chaser.* Broadtail looked to his wife, then back to the scout. *The force I send with you will have this one secret from the seamage: I charge you with freeing my son.*
*If Seamage Flaxal does not kill me before I can deliver this message, I will be honored to go with her to find Akrotia…and free your son.*
*Thank you, Chaser.* Broadtail grasped him again by his shoulders and nodded gravely. *But have a care. It is said that Eelback has many allies, and we know nothing of Akrotia. He is not foolish. He must know that the seamage will come after him. He may have already made alliances of which we know nothing.*
*I will go to the seamage now, Trident Holder,* Chaser signed, gulping down the last of the mussels and nodding his thanks to Silverfin. *If I return, we will discuss Akrotia.* Chaser bowed formally in farewell, and took his leave.
*You ask much of him, husband,* Silverfin signed, her features grave.
*Yes, my love. For our son, I will ask much, perhaps all, and not only from Chaser.* Broadtail took up his staff of office, the trident of the school. *I will tell all the school of Eelback’s treachery, and I will ask their help. Any who offer their service will accompany Chaser to Akrotia. Our war with the landwalkers is over, but I will not rest until Eelback is brought to justice.*
*Very well, my husband,* she signed, raising one hand to brush the fine scales of his cheek, *and thank you.*
*Thank me when Tailwalker is home safe,* he signed, leaving the grotto, his wife and his curious brood behind.
Chapter 1
Rude Awakenings
The screams of a thousand dying men rose on the pyre of the Clairissa. A pillar of smoke stained the sky, while below the sea spewed out swarms of scaled horrors that dragged the Fire Drake beneath the waves, leaving the surface a slick of carnage.
Fire and water…Blood and death…
Huffington bolted upright, reaching for the dagger under his waistcoat even before he was fully awake. His forehead cracked against the low overhead above his bunk, and stars exploded before his eyes.
“Blast and bloody murder!” he swore as he touched the sore spot. His fingers came away smeared red. Damn these ships and their cramped quarters! he thought before the echo of his nightmare overwhelmed his selfish curses. How many men would thank the gods to be safe in a snug bunk with only a knot on the head to worry about? How many men, he wondered, perished in flames aboard the Clairissa, or drowned as the Fire Drake was dragged to the bottom of the sea?
He shuddered as he blinked away the dancing lights of his trauma and lowered himself back onto the hard mattress. It was still dark, so it mattered not if his eyes were open or closed; both his dreams and his memories were haunted by visions of the horrors of Plume Isle.
Unnecessary horrors, he amended. This needn’t have happened if the emperor had just listened to his opinion of the seamage, rather than to the allegations spouted by advisors who had never even seen the Shattered Isles.
With a start Huffington realized that, with all that had occurred, he hadn’t considered the fate of his master, Count Norris. I hope he survived, he thought, fairly certain that Norris had still been ashore. If by some stroke of bad luck the count had been meeting with Commodore Twig, there was no hope that he had escaped. The seamage had destroyed the two warships completely. The thought lay uneasily on his mind; something about the attack hadn’t been quite right.
The ship lurched sharply, throwing him to the side, and Huffington clutched the bunk’s sideboard to keep from being pitched onto the deck. Such a change in motion usually meant that the ship had altered course, and that meant trouble. The commodore’s order had been to sail directly for Tsing with all haste; they should not be changing their course for days.
He swung out of his bunk, ducking this time to avoid the overhead, and recovered his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket. The cabin was tiny, and his bunk was only one of four. His cabin-mates—the young ensigns who were still learning the skills of the navy—were absent, so he could glean no information from them as to the reason for the course change. The view out of the single hazy port showed only gray predawn light and dim rolling swells. He had slept in his clothes, so he just splashed his face with some water from the basin and slipped his feet into his shoes. Snatching open the sailcloth curtain that served as the cabin’s door, he ventured forth.
Once on deck, he was surprised to see land so close at hand. The Lady Gwen had just jibed, which explained the lurch, and was coming around to the east in the lee of Rockport Rock. The strong outflowing tide coursed along the ship’s hull, hindering her progress. The sails luffed in the shelter of the towering rock, and the ship slowed further. At the deck officer’s command, the sailors furled the sails, and the main anchor splashed into the sea. Chain rattled through the hawsehole, then the heavy anchor rode came taut and Lady Gwen swung around to ride easy on the low swells.
“Lieutenant Fenley!” Huffington called to the first officer as the ship settled at anchor. “What is this? We surely cannot be stopping here.”
“Captain’s orders, Mister Huffington,” the officer said. He turned and strode up the deck, then called back over his shoulder, “Take it up with him if you’ve got a problem with our port of call. Bosun, have the longboat ready and manned in five minutes!”
Huffington’s hasty strides took him to the captain’s door, where two marines barred his way. “Please inform Captain Veralyn that I need to speak with him at once.”
“Very well, sir.” One of the marines rapped on the door.
“What!” called an impatient voice from inside the cabin.
“Mister Huffington says he needs to see you at once, Captain,” the marine said, sparing no sarcasm as he cast an amused smile at his companion. Huffington fumed silently, but remained impassive. Marines were notoriously scornful of anyone non-military, and he, a commoner and no more than a secretary, earned even less respect.
“Show him in, Corporal,” replied the voice from inside the cabin, “and see that Lieutenant Fenley has my shore detail ready.”
“Aye, sir.” The corporal swung the door wide and ushered Huffington into the cabin with a thin smile.
“Captain Veralyn,” Huffington began, “We are making landfall at Rockport? I really must—”
“Ah, Mister Huffington!” the captain said, forestalling him with a wave of his hand. He buckled the baldric that held his dress cutlass, inspected himself in the small mirror that hung on the bulkhead and adjusted the jacket of his full-dress uniform. “I should have sent someone to wake you. Sealed orders, to be opened only in the event of an emergency—and if the events of two days ago don’t qualify as an emergency, I don’t know what does!—have directed me to bring the Lady Gwen here. As the senior surviving member of the diplomatic contingent to Plume Isle, you are welcome to accompany me ashore to determine the crux of these orders.” He grabbed his hat and strode toward the door. “That is, if you ca
n be ready to board a longboat at once.”
Huffington stepped back to avoid being bowled over. He was speechless, though whether due to this abrupt change of plans, the captain’s assumption of Norris’ demise, or being considered the senior member of the diplomatic contingent—he was the only member aboard—he knew not. He dashed to his cabin, grabbed his satchel, and made it to the longboat just in time to shove off.
Eight burly sailors pulled the longboat into Rockport Harbor, straining at their oars against the ebbing tide that had kept the Lady Gwen from entering. Huffington focused his attention on maintaining his grip on the gunwale as the small boat bobbed about like a cork on the chaotic outflow. Thus, it was only as they rounded the breakwater into the harbor and the coxswain muttered, “Holy Gods of Light!” that he brought his eyes up.
Huffington’s mouth fell open in mute astonishment.
A forest of masts crowded the harbor, and all but a few flew the Imperial Navy flag. Three first-rate battleships, six frigates and four drake-class vessels, as well as two supply ships the size of Lady Gwen, all swung at anchor. The largest of the warships, the flagship Indomitable, flew the black and red pennant of the commander of the Southern Fleet, Admiral Joslan.
“Got the whole emperor’s navy ‘ere, they do,” a seaman muttered as he twisted around to see.
“Belay that!” the coxswain snapped. “Mind yer oars.”
The gig’s crew bent to their task, and the little craft cut unerringly to the side of the flagship. Huffington noted the captain’s grim expression and commiserated; the bearer of bad news was never welcome, and Veralyn bore plenty. An old sailor caught his eye and grinned as Huffington struggled to grab the rope ladder and ascend to the ship’s deck after the captain.
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