The Hand of the Storm

by Iain Lindsay

  “You mean the Boreal Chamber?” Talin breathed. That was what Tremaine had called it when the Protectorate guards had forced their search.

  “How do you know such things?” The Captain’s shock had lessened his anger and turned it into worry instead. “The Boreal Chamber is the thing that powers the Airship; that keeps it afloat. Only the Air Masters of Ausbridge, the Iron Judges, and the Falcetti know how they are put together, or even what they do.”

  “Every ship comes from one of three Air Docks,” Talin repeated. That was what he had learnt.

  “And every Boreal Chamber has a Ship’s Medallion, which has its partner here,” the Captain tugged at the glove on his left hand, where he wore a signet ring of gold shot through with black, just like the medallion that hung in the air before them.

  “This ring was given to me by my father, who used to be the Captain of the Storm before me, and his father before him. With it and the Medallion, the ship accepts me. She knows me.” Tremaine’s voice went quieter. “It is not something easily explained. But it is why every airship has to have a Captain, and only their chosen Captain, wearing their ring. If anyone else was to try to touch the Storm’s Medallion other than me, then the ship would rebel,” his face was grave. “Lines would loosen, timbers would drop their nails, maybe she’d even drop from the sky.”

  All the assembled shuddered at his words.

  Drop from the sky just like the hulks fall after the Breakers do their work, Talin thought. He could tantalizingly sense the edges of a secret here, like hands encountering a shape in the dark – but it was too baffling for him to see.

  “But the lad said that it came from a junk?” The Quartermaster rumbled, using one of his blackened claws to skewer the cork of the wine bottle and pop it with a satisfied sigh, before taking a long draught. “That means it’s been decommissioned. No Captain. No ring. No ship to disrupt. The Medallion is useless.”

  “But even useless, they still want it…” Tremaine murmured, gesturing for the wine bottle and taking a swig. “They want it badly enough to have summoned up some kind of demonic servant? Maybe we should let them have it.”

  “No.” The Quartermaster was adamant. “The Breakers are slavers, as bad as any other. If Talin here earned himself a bit of gold and got away with it, then I say we let him keep it, at least until we know why they want to cross half the southlands for a bit of useless Sky-metal.”

  “Are you speaking to me as the Quartermaster here?” Tremaine raised the bottle for another fortifying gulp.

  Gulbrand looked at the human steadily. “I’m talking as the heimr who got tortured by those that wanted it. Besides, keeping that disk will put a bucket of cow dung in this Overseer’s plans.”

  “That is an appealing proposition, Quartermaster…” Tremaine considered. “Rigger?”

  Lura nodded. “I’m with the Quartermaster on this, Captain. Let those swobbers after Tal rot. The Storm takes care of its own.”

  “Aye.” The Quartermaster seconded.

  “Fine, I suppose.” The Captain pulled a face. “But I still don’t like it. If that thing brings any harm to my ship, I’ll throw it overboard myself, what say you, Tal?”

  Talin felt a little stunned. He wasn’t used to being included in negotiations, especially ones that seemed so important. Is this what being a pirate is like? “I’ll make sure it doesn’t. Thank you, Captain.” Tal felt awkward and embarrassed as he reached for the Medallion, aware of all of the eyes upon him. As soon as the metal was in his hand, it was cool and inert as he disappeared it back into the waistband of his belt. “I can sell it even, as soon as we find a merchant…” He started to say.

  “Merchant? Who down here wants a merchant?” Shouted a voice from further up the basement tunnel, as the grinning form of Odestin appeared, carrying a slumped, lifeless form of Burandin.

  “You killed him.” Tremaine said flatly, prodding the body of Burandin whom Odestin had dropped to the floor a moment earlier with a wet-sounding thud.

  “It was only meant to be a little tap on the head, to knock some sense into him, like?” The blackbeard had his own fair share of injuries; cuts and scrapes on his bald head, torn leather and a black eye. “It was close quarters up there while you lot were down here chitter-chattering.” Odestin rolled his eyes, but didn’t appear to be too annoyed by the prospect of lots of savage fighting.

  “And Chef?” Tremaine asked.

  “Collecting coins and guarding doors, Cap’n.” Odestin yawned, reaching up to crack his shoulders. “It’s not two hundred and fifty nicker, but Chef reckons that once we’ve totaled up the merchants stashed coins and jewelry and what have you, we might be looking at a cool hundred.”

  “small victories…” Tremaine muttered.

  “Holy waters, Gulbrand – what have they done to you?” Odestin noticed the heimr’s horns, and gave the corpse of Burandin another kick.

  “It’s a long story,” the Quartermaster growled. “But essentially: there are demon-people from the Reach after Tal here, and they found me first.”

  Talin winced.

  “But we’re going to kill them.” The Quartermaster concluded.

  The Captain raised a hand. “Oh, and another thing, we have to rescue a princess while we’re at it…”

  24. Fire & Ruin

  All the lights of Rathine’s house blazed in the morning gloaming by the time that the crew of the Storm arrived, trudging and weary (and now at least two of them were a little hungover). There was a nervy-looking house servant standing at the side door, holding her crossbow warily as she admitted Tremaine and the rest into the house. Inside, Tal saw that there was already a hive of activity marshalled by the sister of their Captain.

  “We’re not outfitters, brother, but we’ve got enough water and foodstuffs for a few days, at least,” the Lady Rathine was wearing fine riding leathers in green; a short jacket with her flint and powder pistol at her hip, and baggy green-canvas trousers. Around her other servants were loading a cart with sacks and crates, whilst another woman was driving forward a black carriage.

  “Rath’… don’t think for a moment your coming with us, it’s far too dangerous.” Tremaine groaned, massaging his temples.

  “What?” she said in apparent amazement. “This is my plan, Jos’ – of course I have to go with you.”

  “Sister…” Tal watched Tremaine say. “Please. I’ve had a long night already, and I don’t want an argument over this. I’m the Captain of the Storm.”

  “Only by dint of luck, not skill, I have to point out.” Rathine snarked. “Do you think that I would be baggage on this journey? That I cannot fight just as well as you? I have managed to live out here in the back of nowhere for the past ten years, brother dear. Bella here will run my affairs while I am gone…”

  “Mistress,” said a quieter voice. It was the older Nhkari that Talin had seen earlier. He still wore his colorful desert robes, but he had augmented it with a staff, a heavy storm cloak, and a small canvas bag. “I can guide them to the Blue Prince’s hide-out, and beyond, to where my friends have told me that the meeting is about to take place…”

  “Father! Are you turning against me as well? What about you, Bella – do you think I should sit inside and embroider while my idiot brother commands my families boat?” Rathine sad haughtily.

  The handmaiden quirked a small smile. “I think you can do anything you want to, Mistress.”

  The Lady turned to stare at her brother. Tal could see the likeness between the two now. The same narrow cheekbones, the auburn hair, the same obstinate pride. But Tremaine was a touch younger, and he was the first to look away. “It’s not that I don’t think that you are capable, sister – it’s that I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. Not you as well.” The Captain raised downcast eyes, and Tal saw something pass between them. They might fight like cats and dogs, but they care for each other.

  Rathine huffed heavily, shaking her head. “Okay. I suppose it makes sense that I manage things here. There wil
l be declarations and petitions to write to the Empress-Protector when this is done.”

  “If we succeed…” Chef Sevesti murmured behind his hand.

  The Lady ignored his comment. “But the plan is clear: Retrieve the Princess, and advance with all speed, to the nearest Protectorate representative, you understand?”

  “And collect the reward…” Odestin muttered to the Chef.

  “No last-chance adventures. No seeking a better deal, and as little danger to the Princess as possible.” She said heavily. “I know what you’re like, Joselyn, you go in cannon’s blaring thinking that you’re the most fearsome thing in the skies – but this is rescue and run, understand? As soon as you have Princess Eliset, I want you to fly north as fast as you can, no matter what you leave behind.”

  “Or who?” Gulbrand glowered. Tal didn’t think that he liked the Lady Rathine very much.

  The Captain made a calming gesture to his crew. “One of these days, sister, you will have to trust me that I have learnt something in all of these years.”

  “Hm. We’ll see about that.” She turned to walk back into the house, calling over her shoulder. “And don’t go dying on me brother, us Tremaine’s are rare enough as it is.”

  Their Captain watched his sister enter the house before turning to them with an embarrassed grin. “I guess that’s what counts as affection in the Great Houses. Come on you lot, get yourself squared away and pick a space on the cart. We move at first light.”

  The morning came sooner than any of them would have liked, and with it the rattle of the cart’s wheels on the cobbles and the stamp of the thin desert horses. Tal sat against a sack of grain whilst on the other side of him Odestin slept. They turned down the winding streets towards the docks, through squares and plaza’s just beginning to fill up with early morning traders.

  “Brute,” Lura gestured to the blackbeard’s rattling snore, sitting on the edge of the cart rail as she tried to put an edge to the dull scimitar blade that Rathine had given her. Tal kept his buckler, but it had been augmented with the least-bloody of the guard’s leather hauberks from Burandin.

  “Won’t the city guards come looking for us?” Talin said, but it was heavy Gulbrand (sitting at the front of the cart, lest his weight drag) who answered. He had added to his arsenal a few small knives from the Merchant’s house.

  “Probably. Although Marduk is a lawless swamp. If they care at all, then we’ll already be high in the sky by the time they track us down.” He grunted. Under canvas and inside crate there were a few more items looted from the dead: a bevy of light crossbows and bolts, and Odestin was using one of the tin helmets of his slain guards as an eye shade as he huffed in his sleep.

  The Captain and his sister were in the carriage in front of them, as was Sevesti and the older Father Kef. Together, they were drawing up the plan to rescue the Princess from the Blue Princes.

  “Never mind the Volt,” Gulbrand gingerly pressed a stubby talon to one of the swollen patches on the side of his jaw, where the scales were cracked and crusted with dried blood. “Never seen them, but I’ve heard tales. Vicious fanatics.” The heimr looked across to Tal. “You picked a good time to sign up, human.”

  Talin was about to agree, when there was a shout from up ahead of them.

  “Fire! Fire!” Bella was shouting, as the carriage slowed to a halt, and thick plumes of black smoke could be seen rising into the early morning.

  “What is it?” Gulbrand was saying, as Lura shot to her feet, ran along their cart to jump across the space onto the roof of their sister-carriage. She stood peering down the terrace of buildings and streets.

  “Coming from the Dock’s, Captain!” She called.

  “By the holy waters…” Odestin grizzled awake. “What time do you call this?”

  Bella snapped the reins of the carriage, forcing the horses into a canter down through the streets as bells started to clang, and people started to shout. Tal clung on as their driver followed suit, and traders and beggars sprang out of their way as they rocketed over the cobbles.

  The docks of Marduk were wide and filled with complication. The entire city was built on the strength of its docks, and stone quays abutted wooden jetties and piers, clustered under the arching ribs that soared into the sky.

  “Has it reached the Storm?” Tremaine was shouting, hanging out of the carriage window as their race endangered life and limb. The horses started to snort and whinny under the black clouds with the smell of soot, but they had been trained well and took them to the last few streets of warehouses before the docks proper.

  “Everyone off! Grab what you can,” Bella was calling, as Tal looked at her worried face. Beyond her, the stone building of the Dock Guard’s house, the very same one that Lura had traded her blade for the Storm’s security for a night, was a blazing inferno, with fire leaping from its doors and windows. There were swathes of red and crimson already consuming some of the tugs at the piers beyond, and the smoke was billowing and gusting everywhere from the breeze.

  “Talin!” Gulbrand pressed a crossbow into his hand and a bag of food into the other, before heaving the largest of the crates onto his back with ease. “Follow me, when I run, you run, got it?”

  Talin nodded, but the Quartermaster was already pacing forward (a little unsteady on his legs) as he paused at the carriage. Tremaine and Sevesti were out, holding their cloaks over their faces as their eyes tried to penetrate the murk.

  “The Storm!” the Captain’s look was anguished.

  “She’s alright, Captain, the fire hasn’t reached her yet, but it’s catching her pier already.” Lura hopped down to the floor, before accepting a sack of food over her own shoulder.

  “Then we go. First to reach her cut her lines, get her anchors up. I’d rather have to swim out to her than watch her burn.” Tremaine said quickly.

  “Jos!” It was Rathine, hanging out of the window.

  “We’ll get to her, Rath. Get yourself safe,” he said quickly, turning to lead the race to save the Storm.

  Talin followed the brooding hulk of Gulbrand as they ran into the murk. Around them they heard shouts and traumatized wails as other sailors and merchants came to watch their beloved boats be consumed. Talin coughed and his eyes watered, but in one moment the smokes cleared and he saw lines of people with buckets and machetes snaking their way to do what they could.

  A wave of sudden heat as something flared past them, but Talin didn’t know what it was. Had a ship’s mast come down? Were they on the wooden boards already?

  Looking down (it was less painful than looking up) he saw that they were. There were hellish glows coming from either side of him, as other boats attached to the dock started to catch light. His foot slipped on something wet. Not water, not seaweed.

  “Oof!” Talin rolled over, dropping his provisions as he smelled something acrid and bitter at the same time. Lamp oil?

  “Ragh!” A sudden growl as a shape coalesced from the smoke. A tall human wearing the cross of a leather thrall harness, dropping an axe straight at him. The lower half of his face, his arms and legs were all wrapped in linens.

  Talin rolled, and the axe missed him by just a hand’s span as it bit into the decking with a heavy bite.

  “Tal!” A shape pounding out of the smokes, his eyes and nose streaming as Odestin staggered through the smoke.

  Tal’s attacker jerked the axe from the deck, swinging it wildly at the disorientated sailor.

  “Waters!” Odestin dove out of the way, as the large man whirled the axe around his head to once again try to strike the Nhkari.

  Thock! Talin rolled and scrabbled as another chunk of wood exploded from the smoldering pier.

  “Oi!” Odestin barged into the thrall, knocking him backward into the smokes with a thump, before the blackbeard grabbed the youth by the scruff of the leather hauberk and kept on running.

  Suddenly, they were clear of the smoke. Talin could see blue water on either side of them, and the sedate bobbing of untouched small b
oats. Risking a look back, he saw that the fire had consumed the foot of the pier, and the next two jetties as well. Where his attacker had gone, he didn’t know. Billows of black oil smoke hung heavy over the docks, but it hung heaviest over this pier alone.

  “Who? What?” Talin coughed.

  “Run, you swob!” Odestin was shouting, as Talin saw a line of flickering blue and yellow light race along the edge of the pier. Flames, catching the spatters of lamp oil, and then, up ahead of them – one of the smaller row boats shook as red flames raced up its sails.

  “Someone set this fire,” Odestin was sneezing and hacking as his steps slowed. “And I bet it was that barbarian…” cough, hack, wheeze. Ahead of them the untouched Storm rose and fell, and Tal saw the white shape of Lura bounding up her outer grab-lines, while Sevesti thumped a hatchet on the heavy ropes. Several strikes for each one, and the Storm started to list and swing. Beside him, the older Nhkari from the Lady Rathine’s employ was already climbing the side of the boat.

  “Move it, get on…the boat…” Odestin staggered to the end of the pier, as rope ladders were thrown from the side by the Captain for his crew. It was all Talin could do to climb a few rungs and cling on as his lungs burned and Sevesti helped the First Mate up and over the edge, before coming back for Tal.

  “Anchors are up!” He heard Gulbrand call.

  “Fore-sails!” Tremaine was at the wheel, already wrestling her into deeper waters.

  Talin wheezed, and then spluttered as Sevesti threw a skin of water over his head. I’m alright, he said, through his eyes were still streaming. He could breathe, but it didn’t rattle or hurt as much as it did a moment ago. Odestin was on the other side of him, coughing and hacking as Sevesti tended to him.

  “If you can work, Tal – work!” Lura called down from the rigging, where she was already busy trying to untie all the knots to release the sails.

  Talin looked back at the destruction and the racing lines of fire that had now almost reached the end of their pier. On either side of it, the rowboats and longboats were like flaming torches, and their way back to Marduk was obscured by thick, black smoke. I can work, he groaned as he staggered to his feet, and climbed the rigging.