by Will Wight
The red-clawed guard raked at his back, trying to deliver another dose of venom. This time, Urzaia was ready for him. He was filled with power and rage, such that nothing could pierce him. Nothing could damage him.
Claws slid down his skin like chalk.
He tossed the armored Guard aside, catching a raised red hand in one of his own. He leaned in to look at the red-clawed guard from only inches away, speaking into the man’s sweat-drenched face. “You get to live,” he said.
Then he slammed a fist into the man’s ribs, lifted him, and tossed him deeper into the hold.
Urzaia spun to catch the attack that he knew would be coming from the back. It had been years, but he could almost feel the arena sand beneath his bare feet, the weight of the sun on his back. The pattern was so simple, he could read it more easily than any book.
He held out his hands to catch a strike that didn’t come.
The armored Guard still lay motionless on the ground, breathing harsh and labored. He wasn’t dead, and for a brief moment Urzaia’s anger almost drowned him. If he wasn’t dead, then he should be up and fighting. And if he wasn’t up and fighting, then he should be dead.
Urzaia raised one foot to crush the man’s head, drawing on the Sandborn Hydra’s power to increase his weight. The boards beneath his foot creaked again, but he hesitated.
Not me, he thought. This is the Hydra.
He forced his raised foot back down, pushing the Hydra’s anger away. No matter how many times he fought in the arena, his strongest opponent was always his own Soulbound Vessel.
The Guild had given him many gifts other than his power as a Soulbound, but the Hydra was his most powerful weapon. And his oldest, never-defeated enemy.
He pushed the urges of the Hydra to the back of his mind, reaching over and picking up his two Awakened hatchets.
If he wasn’t very much mistaken, the Captain and the rest of the crew should be in danger on deck. The Imperial Guards wouldn’t have attacked down here if their brothers and sisters didn’t have the rest of the crew well in hand. The gunshots would give them away otherwise.
In the last fight on The Testament’s deck, Urzaia had been humiliated. A mere poison had brought him low, so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to call upon the Hydra’s power to block it. His alchemical enhancements had eventually neutralized the potion, but it was too late for the fight. Too late for Jyrine.
This time, he would not shame himself. The Captain would not regret giving him his freedom.
With a black hatchet in each hand, Urzaia marched up to the deck. He was calm; he was always calm, just before he stepped into the arena.
And he was still smiling.
~~~
As Calder stepped out of his cabin and saw his entire crew clustered around the mast, surrounded by Imperial Guards, he tried to appear casual.
He turned to the scaled Guard who stood outside his cabin. “I’m sorry, Guardsman, but what’s going on here? Has my crew done something wrong?”
Surreptitiously, he brushed the back of his hand against the railing. He Read the ship, searching for the one crewmember missing: Urzaia.
The former Champion was beneath, sitting peacefully on the ground as two Guards wrapped him in chains. What was he doing? Had they drugged him somehow?
“...safety of the future Emperor,” the Guard was saying, when Calder came out of the Reader’s trance. “If you would join your crew, please, so we can see that everyone is accounted for.”
Calder slowly walked over to the others, taking stock of the situation. Andel’s suit was stained, his hat was missing, and they had taken his White Sun pendant. Just in case he was an unregistered Soulbound, presumably. Petal shivered and hugged herself, hiding her face in the veil of her hair. No change there. Foster sat with his back against the mast, grumbling into his beard. He wore his shooting-glasses, with his reading-glasses still dangling against his chest, but they had managed to get his guns away from him.
“Where’s Urzaia?” Calder asked, as though he had just noticed.
“He caused a scene,” said one of the Guards. “We had to have him confined below deck.”
A roar echoed up from the heart of the ship. Just then, a shot rang out, echoing from the depths of the vessel. Or maybe several shots, overlapping. Calder let himself fall against the mast, reaching through it with his Reader’s senses to get a feel for the ship.
He wanted to laugh. Urzaia was toying with the two Guards like a cat with a pair of mice.
He shook off the trance early and glanced over at the other ship, drifting a few dozen yards away. Red-and-black uniforms had clustered on the side of the deck closest him, and they all seemed to be clutching muskets in their hands, claws, or talons. The Guards on this deck had all conveniently arranged themselves so that they happened to be out of the line of fire.
Only a single figure on the other ship stood out: one man with flowing dark hair, a broad grin, and a red suit.
The scaled Guard took Calder roughly by the arm, shoving his back against the mast. One of his hands rummaged around Calder’s hip and jacket, looking for his pistol.
Calder held it out between two fingers, waving it around while making it clear that he wasn’t going to pull the trigger.
He called over to The Eternal. “Naberius! Once I’m dead, I thought you might want my pistol!”
Naberius laughed, shouting back. “Is that so? Is it worth collecting?”
The Guard froze in reaching for the pistol, hesitating now that the future Emperor had actually responded.
Calder grabbed the gun by its barrel. “It’s a Dalton Foster original!”
Hoping desperately that Foster would get the message, Calder tossed the pistol overhand so that it would land in Foster’s lap.
As the gun sailed through the air, Calder silently pleaded that nothing would go wrong. The Guards would hesitate, the bullet wouldn’t fall out of the barrel in midair, and Foster would take his meaning.
In that meandering second while the gun hung in the air, a familiar weight settled on his shoulder.
Oh, good, Shuffles is here, Calder thought, as tentacles brushed his cheek. So it thinks we’re going to die.
Dalton Foster went from grumbling and staring at the deck to a shooting crouch in the blink of an eye. He snatched the pistol from the air without looking, firing instantly into the feathered chest of a nearby Guard, and then stood. As the Guard fell, he pulled that man’s pistol from its holster and leveled it at another.
The rest of the crew exploded into action at the same moment. Andel elbowed his captor in the nose with the back of his head. It did nothing, because the woman holding him had a beak, but he managed to stumble his way over to the far side of the mast, where fire from the other deck wouldn’t reach him. Calder ducked and slipped out of the scaly Guard’s grip, fumbling at the hilt of the man’s sword, trying to pull his saber free.
As he did, he noticed Petal scrambling for freedom. Most of the Guards seemed preoccupied with the fight, so it was probably the best move.
Over on The Eternal, someone yelled “Fire!” Everyone on The Testament lunged for cover.
Everyone, that is, except for Urzaia Woodsman.
The Izyrian gladiator burst from the hold shouting, shrugging off musket shots. He plowed into a Guard with his shoulder, sending the man hurtling over the side and into the water. He threw a hatchet with each hand, burying one blade in the back of Andel’s captor, and the other into the side of Calder’s scaled Guard.
His scales managed to deflect the hatchet somewhat, but he couldn’t stop the Awakened blade entirely. He grunted, blood leaking down his side, and staggered back to look at his wound.
And Calder managed to get the man’s saber free. Many of the Guards had discarded their pistols in favor of swords, either because they didn’t have time to reload or because they thought the blades would do more against Urzaia.
They were mistaken.
Blades smacked against Urzaia’s bare skin a
nd did no more damage than if they’d caught him on his hardened leather breastplate. He barreled into the first Guard, a man who tried to cling onto the Izyrian with his oversized eagle talons. Urzaia peeled him off, leaped over to the side of the deck, and hurled his opponent straight into the water.
Calder didn’t have time to watch any further, because a musket-ball buzzed past his ear. A Guard leveled his pistol from a few feet away as the barrage continued from the other boat, pointing his gun at Calder’s chest.
Inches from his ear, Shuffles laughed maliciously.
He held a sword in his right hand, but he couldn’t fight like this. If they kept firing from the other deck, then his crew had virtually no chance of escaping with their lives. He either had to figure out a way to take out the Guards on the other ship, or...
Calder collapsed to his knees, avoiding the shot from the nearest Guard’s pistol. His injured leg screamed in protest, but he forced the pain from his mind.
He placed both of his hands against the deck, Reading.
The ship yearns to fight against the intruders on its deck. It was made to fight, not to sit passively by, but it can’t move on its own. It wants Calder to call it to action, so that it can fight beside its crew.
Calder let his Intent flow into the wood, giving orders to his Vessel.
And without warning, the ship listed hard to starboard.
The deck tilted, water and cargo sliding down toward the starboard rail. A Guard lost his footing, sliding closer to the ocean, only to be stopped by one of his comrades’ tentacle. Everyone stumbled equally: Foster missed a shot, Andel had to hug the mast to avoid falling, and Urzaia...well, Urzaia used the slope to slide down closer to another Guard, knocking him off his feet and slamming a hatchet into the bridge of his nose.
But most importantly, the port side had risen, blocking off musket-fire. The only part of The Eternal still visible was the top of its mast and its bright red sails.
A Guard grabbed Calder by the shoulders, trying to stabilize himself, and Calder ran him through with his stolen saber. The body slid off, and another Guard walked up. This one had huge, clawed feet that gouged into the deck as he marched closer, not put off at all by the awkward angle. His blade was broad and thick, and he stood head and shoulders above Calder.
So Calder didn’t fight him. He tucked his mind back into his Soulbound Vessel, calling on The Testament’s power, and grabbed the man with a coil of rope. The rope hurled the Guard, screaming, closer to The Eternal. Shuffles flew off of Calder’s shoulder, flapping in midair, mimicking the Guard’s scream and combining it with triumphant laughter.
The Guard had a better chance of survival if he landed in the ocean rather on the deck, but Calder didn’t care where the man ended up. Another Guard had fallen down in front of Calder from a perch on the mast, brandishing a saber in each taloned hand.
She struck with both swords in rapid succession, trying to force Calder back so that she could break through his guard.
Calder didn’t back up. He knocked the first blade aside, then the second, and then he stabbed the woman just under her collarbone. She folded up, groaning instead of screaming, and slid along the deck down the port side. She wore an almost comical expression of shock and surprise.
Petal edged out from Calder’s cabin, eyes wide. “Captain! You dueled an Imperial Guard! And you won!”
Calder kept an eye out for more enemies, but most of them were focusing on Urzaia. Even Foster and Andel had managed to hide behind the big Soulbound, occasionally taking shots of their own, but mostly hiding until the Izyrian cleaned up.
“I’m actually a highly trained duelist, Petal.”
She hid her eyes behind her hair. “But...you never fight.”
He eyed her. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I fight all the time.”
“Well, you sort of...use ropes. And the ship. And guns. And sometimes you run and hide.”
“You can’t simply wave your sword around all the time,” Calder said, waving his sword around. “It’s not tactically sound.”
Andel hurried over, breathing hard, a few bleeding cuts marring his white shirt. Somewhere, he’d found his hat. “I saw that you managed to win a fight, sir. Well done.”
Calder leaned forward and wiped the blood from his blade on Andel’s shirt, leaving long smears of red on the white. “Why does everyone seem surprised when they say that?”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say we expected you to run away.”
“I use a variety of tactics. It was Sadesthenes who first said, ‘In most of life, to fight is to lose.’”
“Cowards everywhere bow to your expertise, sir.”
Shuffles returned, landing on the top of his head this time. “COWARD!”
Even in the heat of battle, Calder sighed.
Across the deck, Urzaia laughed as he kicked the last Imperial Guard into the Aion, leaving only bodies and the groaning wounded still on deck. He turned to Calder, his scarred face practically glowing.
“What now, Captain?”
Calder considered for only a moment. If they left now, Jarelys Teach would simply catch them on her bird and kill them all. They had only one chance, and it was recklessly risky.
This will teach them to call me a coward.
“Foster,” he said, and reached out a hand. The gunner wordlessly placed a pistol into his open palm.
“Urzaia, you and I will be headed over to The Eternal, where we will take Naberius hostage. Once we have him, we can negotiate our safe passage out of here.”
The Woodsman shouted out another laugh. “Wonderful! Can you make the jump?”
“No, I’m a human being.” Calder reached out and pushed a hand against the mast, once again reaching his Intent down into the ship. Through the chains. And to the Lyathatan.
There is a commotion among the tiny beings above. If it goes on for another cycle of the stars and moon, the Lyathatan may decide to get involved. But there are some dangerous tools on the other wooden vessel, and it is wary.
Calder sends his orders, and the Elderspawn agrees with a mixture of reluctance, old resignation, and tireless wrath.
He clutched a saber in his right hand and a pistol in his left, and he sent another message to the ship. Without warning, the ship corrected itself, crashing down to port until it floated evenly in the water once again.
As soon as the port side bobbed down, Calder ran and jumped onto the railing, launching himself into the air.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Urzaia jumped a moment after Calder, but he launched himself with the force of a Windwatcher bursting into the air. He soared in an arc that would take him directly onto The Eternal’s deck, clutching a black hatchet in each hand.
Calder, on the other hand, jumped off the railing and started falling toward the ocean.
The Lyathatan caught him.
Its blue, six-fingered, webbed hand burst from the dark surface of the water, rising up beneath Calder’s boots. He stumbled but managed to remain standing, despite the shock of pain that ran up the cut in his leg. He forced himself to run across the pliant surface of the palm, vaulting off one of the fingers.
With that boost, he was able to make it onto the dark red deck of Cheska Bennett’s ship.
The Imperial Guard reacted, but they were torn between facing Urzaia, defending against Calder, and defending themselves from what they assumed was an attack by a giant Elderspawn. Some of them rushed to the rail, some of them lowered guns at Urzaia, and only a few of them took a menacing step toward Calder.
Only two of them stood in front of Naberius, defending him with a scorpion’s tail and with ominous metal claws. So they weren’t prepared when Urzaia barreled straight through the first layer of Guards, smashing his way straight to Naberius. Calder simply ran through the highway he cleared, panting and desperately hoping that none of the Guards would snatch him up before he reached the Chronicler.
Naberius had managed to pull out a pistol by the time Urzaia had him i
n hand, one hatchet pressed to his throat. Simply for the sake of redundancy, Calder pulled his own gun, pressing it to the future Emperor’s head.
“Good evening...ladies...and gentlemen,” Calder panted, trying to catch his breath and still speak as loudly as possible. “If you want him...alive...I suggest...you let us speak with the Guild Heads.”
Shuffles descended back onto Calder’s shoulder, having taken to the air during his jump. “IF YOU WANT HIM ALIVE,” it echoed.
A bleak wind passed over the deck, and everyone shivered. Goosebumps rose on Calder’s skin, and he shook as though he saw his own death approaching. It was a nauseating feeling that made him want to run and hide and vomit all at the same time.
He had sensed this before, and suddenly he wondered if he’d made a grave miscalculation.
Armor clanked as General Jarelys Teach marched slowly up to them, one hand on the hilt over her shoulder. Her pale, close-shaved head almost looked bald in the moonlight, and with her eyes so cold, Calder felt as though he were staring down an Empress.
“Release Lord Clayborn and step back,” Teach ordered.
Calder pressed the gun harder against Naberius’ temple. “General Teach! Excellent. We’d like to speak with you. It seems that you tried to have us killed, and I’d like to know what we can do to...make that go away.”
The General didn’t twitch. “Your death has been ordered by the future Emperor. Threatening him will only increase your sentence.”
Calder turned to Naberius. “I think I can get him to revoke that order. What do you think, my friend?”
“This is unwise, Captain,” Naberius said, unruffled.
“And I’m sure allowing you to kill me and dump my body in the ocean would be the epitome of wisdom. General Teach, as you can see, I have a gun to this man’s head. If you attack, I will pull the trigger. Urzaia and I will have to fight our way out, which I’m not eager to try, but trust me when I say that I can take this entire ship down with me. I have a giant Elderspawn chained up over there, and it’s not happy.”
“NOT HAPPY,” Shuffles chuckled.