Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  The devil tore through the bulkhead around the portal as if it were paper. Jareen fled as fast as he could, relying as much on instinct as eyesight to navigate his way through the dimly lit interior. The ship was not built to accommodate a creature the size of a horned devil, but with muscles and claws designed to carve large dents into sandstone, the wooden obstructions posed only a minor obstacle.

  Wood cracked and splintered behind Jareen as he fought to stay ahead of the rampaging monster while sharp pieces of debris struck his back. He slid down the ladder to the lower deck and raced along its length. He managed to gain a slight lead as the horned devil tore through the deck to widen the hatchway enough to drop down after him.

  Jareen scampered up the ladder back to the berth deck near the mainmast, narrowly avoiding getting his leg ripped off by a leaping swipe of the horned devil’s paw. More timbers cracked as the creature forced its way through the planking in pursuit of the vile human who had stung it. Jareen weaved his way through the hammocks strung from the overhead.

  The horned devil roared when it ran afoul of the hammocks and clawed at the thick canvas covering its face and wrapping around its limbs. Jareen heard a shrill whistle from the forward cargo hold and poured all of his energy into keeping ahead of the furious creature.

  He rounded the foremast and nearly ran straight into the cannon his men were holding aloft using stout rope as makeshift handles. The horned devil shrieked just behind him, so close Jareen swore he could feel the heat of the creature’s breath on his back.

  Jareen threw himself to the floor just before the cannon, covered his ears, and shouted, “Fire!”

  The field gun erupted in a flash of smoke and fire, the burst burning through the clothes on Jareen’s back and deafening him despite his hasty cover. The three-inch iron shot tore through the horned devil’s breast just below its throat, nearly decapitating it.

  Jareen ignored the burning pain all across his back and legs and looked behind him at the huge bull’s ruined corpse. He glanced toward his men when their cries of pain became audible over the furious keening in his ears. Three of them held arms to their chest, likely suffering serious sprains or possibly broken bones from the cannon’s recoil, the force of which had driven almost half its length into the huge sack of guano they had used to brace it.

  Their pain all but forgotten upon seeing the dead horned devil, the men shouted a ragged cheer. Jareen forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth through the throbbing aches pulsating throughout his body.

  “Good job, but the night’s not done,” Jareen said, his voice grim. “See to your injuries. The rest of you, go inform Irna that the ship is clear, but it isn’t likely to stay that way. I want every able-bodied man to get these field guns topside and assembled posthaste.”

  One of the men, his face blackened by spent gunpowder, asked, “There’s gonna be more of these bigguns?”

  “Bulls have a harem of up to a dozen breeding-aged females that are nearly as big as the male, and they are not going to be happy with the death of their patriarch.”

  Jareen recovered his sword and began sawing the tough muscle and tendons still holding the beast’s head on.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jareen lifted the severed head by the horns, using both hands to manage its weight. “I’m going to inform the rest of those bastards that we aren’t to be trifled with. Hopefully, they will get the message and give us time to set up the field guns. Go, we haven’t much time.”

  The men with lesser injuries raced back to their pilot and crewmates while Jareen struggled with his gory trophy back to the main deck. He reached the rail and hurled the big head over the side. It struck the ground with a thump and raised several hisses from the few juveniles still prowling around.

  “There, you scaly bastards!” Jareen shouted into the darkness. “We’ve killed the least of you in droves and now we’ve bested your strongest! There are no meals on my ship for you, only death!”

  Jareen knew that the creatures did not understand a word he was saying, they were just animals after all, but perhaps they understood his meaning or at least the danger his people represented. None tried to gain the deck again over the next half hour as his crew struggled to get the field guns topside using block and tackles suspended from the masts.

  They had four of the cannons on deck and were hastily assembling them when the females’ first calls split the night, the smell of their patron’s death finally reaching them.

  “Let’s hurry it up, people,” Jareen said as the bestial cries drew ever nearer. “I want two guns loaded with scattershot and the other two with round shot. We can’t depress the bore beyond horizontal, so we’ll have to wait until they poke their heads above the rail to fire. That means we need to set them up in the center of the main deck pointed toward the rails. The gun crews are going to have to turn them quickly to bring them to bear. I want spotters in the rigging directing the fire crews to targets before they breach the railing. Everyone, stay clear of the cannons and wheels or they’ll roll right over you.”

  Emboldened by the impending arrival of the less territorial females, females that would soon be searching for a new patriarch, the juvenile males began testing the Voulge’s defenses once more, clambering up the side of the ship and occasionally dropping down from the bluff above the port side.

  They were fewer in number than before and much more cautious, which created a less chaotic battlefield for the humans. The muskets were sufficient to hold them at bay and reduce their numbers even further now that the shooters were able to take better aim.

  That changed when the infuriated females arrived. Desperate to prove their prowess, the younger males hurled themselves at the humans with renewed vigor alongside the rampaging matrons. The females, while slightly smaller than the bulls, were bigger and stronger than the juveniles but nearly as swift and even more ferocious.

  If not for the lookouts’ early warnings, even the deployment of the field guns would have likely proven insufficient defense against their combined onslaught. With the wheeled cannons set in a circle around the mainmast and with the spotters directing their aim before the horned devils came within the gunners’ view, the humans mounted a devastating defense.

  For hours, musket and cannon shots echoed through the night, heralding the deaths of some of the most vicious creatures to stalk the land and declaring the arrival of a new power within the empire.

  Despite suffering grievous losses, Jareen smiled at seeing what his new weapons were capable of, and this was but a token of what he would unleash against the highlords.

  CHAPTER 24

  The dust storm finally relented two hours before dawn. The breaking light revealed a battlefield littered with the bodies of a score of juvenile horned devils, seven matrons, and one massive bull. Aboard the Voulge, the casualties numbered thirteen dead and another six whose lives balanced on a precarious edge, no one able to guess which way they might fall. Eight more crewmen fought past the pain of their wounds and performed what duties they could. In all, Jareen estimated his crew’s effectiveness was diminished by some sixty percent. It was an inauspicious start to one of their more crucial journeys.

  “Captain, I got something moving in the distance!” a lookout called down from his perch high in the rigging.

  Irna looked up at the man. “More of those damn devils?”

  Jareen doubted it. The creatures had vanished into the wastes just before the sun rose and had ceased their attacks more than an hour before that.

  “Looks like people,” the lookout answered, confirming Jareen’s suspicions.

  Irna followed the man’s gaze and searched the area with her spyglass. “He’s right. Looks like Thuumian nomads.”

  Jareen’s gut clenched. The nomads were openly hostile to outsiders, and landing a military airship in their territory was not going to make them any more welcoming.

  “Do you think they’ll attack us?” Jareen asked.

  “I don’t think so. T
hey are walking openly from a direction that gives a clear view of their approach. If they meant to attack us, we wouldn’t have seen them until they moved to open our guts.”

  “All the same, let’s be on guard.”

  Irna nodded and relayed orders to man the weapons. The crew rushed to the ship’s side, bracing their muskets against the rail while the gun crews rolled the cannons into position.

  The approaching group, about two dozen in number, was less than a mile away when the lookout spotted them, so it did not take long before those aboard the airship were able to see them clearly. The weapons the Thuumians carried indicated that they were likely a war party, but then all Thuumians were armed from the time they were old enough to hold a spear or a blade or draw a bow.

  The wind whipped the Thuumians’ loose clothing about their bodies. Jareen could make out little of their appearance as the flapping black robes hid their shape and their faces were covered by cloth wraps. The Thuum, particularly the nomads, were a unique people in the empire. Thousands of years ago, they were all separate tribes, struggling to survive in a hostile land, frequently warring over scarce resources until they united under a single banner and created Eidolan’s first empire. All except the Thuum.

  Despite absorbing the great trade city of Thuum into the new empire, the Thuumian people retained their traditions, heritage, and even language. While those living in the city blended their customs into that of the new empire, they never fully assimilated, and the nomads not at all. This adherence to the old ways was the principal reason for the Thuum’s hostility toward outsiders, that and the joy and honor of doing battle.

  The group stopped a stone’s throw from the ship. One of the men lowered his face wrap, smiled through a bristly black and grey beard, and waved.

  “He seems friendly enough,” Jareen said.

  Irna snorted. “I’ve seen that smile before. It’s the same one plastered across those horned devils’ faces right before they bite your head off.”

  “Still, it appears he wishes to speak, and if we want to get this tub off the ground again, I don’t see that we have many other options.”

  Irna pressed her lips together, not liking the idea of inviting people aboard whose greatest pleasure is derived from shoving a blade in an enemy’s guts, but Jareen was right. The bull horned devil had done extensive damage in its rampage, the worst of which was destroying several of the gold-inlaid arcane sigils carved through the airship, which enabled it to fly.

  Normally, no airship would lift off without a supply of gold on hand to effect such crucial repairs, but Driscoll had taken it along with his crew and anything not bolted down before he handed the ship over to his brother. Jareen’s nautical ignorance had caused him not to realize the lapse until now.

  “Drop some ladders,” Irna ordered. She gazed down at the smiling man and said, “No more than you and five others are granted permission to board.”

  The Thuumian leader flicked his wrist in acknowledgement as if expecting such a demand. Rope ladders unfurled down the side of the airship and the Thuum contingent scampered up them with the ease of veteran sailors. Those remaining below poked and prodded the dead horned devils, some using small blades to remove teeth, horns, and hides.

  The bearded man appeared to size up everyone he could see on board in an instant, faced Irna and Jareen, placed his hand over his heart, and bent at the waist. “I am Bacchus, leader of this war band.”

  Jareen studied the cerulean tattoos swirling around the man’s face, across the backs of his hands, and, he assumed, up each of his arms and beyond. “I am Jareen Velarius. This is Captain Irna Michaud.”

  Bacchus’ eyes flicked between Jareen and Irna. “She is captain but you are in charge, yes?”

  Jareen nodded. “I am.”

  Bacchus’ face split into another wide smile with more than a couple of teeth missing. “Wonderful, then I shall speak to you.” His eyes locked onto one of the field guns, and he strode toward it, his men already approaching the weapon and making the crew nervous. “And this must be your fire weapon!”

  Irna’s patience reached its end and she snapped, “It is and I’ll kindly ask you to get away from it before I order your men shot down!”

  Bacchus rolled his eyes as if humoring a petulant child and spoke to his men in their rough tongue. The warriors cast fierce glares at the crew but backed away.

  “We saw the fire and heard their thunder from far away,” Bacchus said. “At first, we thought we had brought down a ship full of war sorcerers.”

  Jareen held up a hand. “Wait. You brought the Voulge down?”

  Bacchus bobbed his head, proud and not the least bit ashamed at his admission. “Yes, my wind callers summoned the storm that forced you to land. We were going to raid and probably kill you, unless you were worth ransoming, but the devils got to you first.” He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “A good thing maybe that! Seeing what your fire weapons did to these horned devils, I would not have liked to face them.”

  Irna’s face contorted with fury. “You killed my crew and smile about it?”

  Bacchus looked confused as if he did not understand the source of Irna’s anger. “No, the devils killed your people. I was going to, but I did not.” He produced a long pipe from beneath his robes, stuffed some dried leaves into the bowl from a pouch at his waist, and lit it with a flint striker. “Let us smoke together so we may talk as friends. As long as the bowl is lit, we are friends and may only speak the truth.” His bushy eyebrows knitted together. “To do elsewise would be the gravest of insults.”

  Jareen laid a hand on Irna’s shoulder and nodded. He understood the need for making strange alliances even when the terms left a bitter taste in one’s mouth. He took the pipe and sniffed the heady aroma emanating from the bowl before placing the stem in his mouth and drawing the smoke into his lungs. Jareen fought back the urge to expel the burning vapors as he handed the pipe to Irna.

  Bacchus nodded. “Clear your lungs. Such discomfort is normal to those not accustomed to our smoke. However, any lies you speak from here on will catch in your throat and bring on a horrible cough. So, let us get down to business. I must have your fire weapons.”

  “The only way you’ll get them is from our dead bodies!” Irna declared.

  “If I must, but I think such a thing will be unnecessary.”

  “You see what we did to the horned devils. We’ll do the same to you.”

  “Yes, I see, that is why I sent for two more war parties. They are already surrounding this vessel. Do not bother to look. You will not see them.”

  Jareen restrained his pilot with a hand when she appeared to be about to hurl the man over the rail with her magic. “Bacchus, I cannot give or even trade these weapons to you. They are meant for something far more important than you and I or any one man.”

  Bacchus nodded. “Yes, I thought as much. You are going to Thuum, yes? Your heading pointed directly toward the city. Remember, speak only the truth,” he reminded him when Jareen hesitated in answering.

  “Yes, we are going to Thuum.”

  “Then it would appear that the fates have brought us together for our mutual good fortune.”

  “The fates my ass!” Irna snapped. “It was your damn shamans that brought my ship down and resulted in the death of several of my crew.”

  “The fates work through us all, some more than others. Let me tell you this; had our wind callers not stricken you down, you would all likely be dead soon or in a jail cell awaiting your execution, and then only after they pried the names of every one of your conspirators from your mouths. Then they too would be joining you in death along with their families. Yes, I know too well the kinds of crimes that bring on the so-called highlord justice of purging.”

  “I don’t—” Jareen began to say but a fit of coughing cut off his words.

  “You sought to lie,” Bacchus intoned in a flat voice. “I will forgive you because you think to protect your people, but I caution you, this is the las
t warning you get.”

  Jareen caught his breath. “What do you think you know?”

  “You are a cautious man. I can respect that. This is what I know. I have never seen or even heard of these weapons before and I am certain that the highlords are equally ignorant of their existence, otherwise they would be in the hands of the gendarmes and being used to kill my brothers and sisters. You are in possession of a great warship yet your crew and pilot are not warriors. Your crew has the fearful look of people who just survived their first battle but are resolute in the knowledge that it is not their last. They hold their weapons with hands unfamiliar with wielding them. These are weapons of war and not for mere criminals. Their purpose is suited to something far greater than personal gain. They are weapons to overthrow an empire. Tell me if anything I have said is wrong.”

  Jareen swallowed and forced himself to nod. “Everything you say is correct.”

  “As I said, the fates brought us together for our mutual good fortune. Had you attempted to smuggle these into the city, the gendarmes would have found them almost immediately, arrested, tortured, and killed you. Even if you managed to sneak them past the authorities, my people would have killed you the moment you attempted to make contact with them. They have no trust of outsiders, and anyone inquiring about those who stand against the emperor are turned away or killed out of an excess of caution. My people have been fighting the highlords, on their own, for centuries, and we expect or trust no help from anyone else. So, you will give me these weapons, and I will see that they get to the very hands you sought to deliver them into.”

  Jareen shook his head. “It is far more complicated than that, Bacchus. What my people and I are doing is not merely violence as a method to lash out or hurt the highlords. It is as you said, we seek to destroy the empire as a whole, in a massive, coordinated attack on every city, including Phaer itself. This is going to take time and most importantly, patience.”