Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1)

by Brandon Cornwell

  “If I could personally slay every single man that set foot on these islands from the deck of a pirate ship, I would be able to cast my last breath just after the last of theirs and die fulfilled!” He struck the deck one more time, and a flash of green burst out, with a gust of wind, from the bottom of his staff. Crackling green lightning crawled up the staff and along his arm, dissipating into his arm.

  Martin and Geoff were pressed back against the walls of the room, while Jonas stood in front of Jenna, his hand on his hilt, having pushed her back from the table. Only Delain and Elias stayed at the map, eyes locked on Marl.

  Marl slowly lowered his staff, and leaned it against a wall. Gradually, deliberately, he drew his chair back to the table and sat down. “I cannot drive off the scourge of Greenreef by myself. My people have been unable to do so for four centuries. And now... now, we are as close as we were the day after they took our people. Now, we have a chance of pushing them away. Except that now, we are warriors, not dancers. Fighters, not hunters. Mariners, not fishermen.”

  Marl locked eyes with Elias. They had not spoken directly to each other since Elias stormed out of Seagate. “I would tell a thousand more false prophecies. I would live for a thousand times longer rowing oars. I would slay a thousand dragons. I would do everything I have done in a heartbeat again if I knew it would give me a chance.” He pointed at Elias. “And you made us this way. By the will of the gods, you made us this way.”

  Delain leaned back in his chair. “I think, then, that Master Marl has answered all of your questions, to your satisfaction, Lady Jenna?”

  She didn't immediately respond, instead just staring forward at Marl, her jaw set. Finally, she stood and bowed slightly to Marl. “I defer to your experience, Marl. I agree that this island needs to fall. But there is blood in our future. Blood and pain.“ She shook her head. “It won't be as easy as all this. I have a very, very bad feeling about what lay on that island.“

  ~ ~ ~

  8th Waxing Summer Moon, 4369

  Eighteen ships lay anchored outside the harbor, boats rowing back and forth between them and the docks. The port swarmed with men and elves, buzzing with activity. The smiths had been working day and night for three days, making spears and arrows. Swords and axes took far too much steel, and as it was, the sea elves were lending their knappers to the effort, making razor-sharp obsidian arrowheads out of the surprisingly rare volcanic glass, the sole source of which was the fiery mountain on the eastern coast of Rapa Matomato.

  The small, black chunks of glass were mined out of the layers of pumice, most of which were barely a foot in diameter. But even that small amount of black volcanic glass was enough to make thousands of arrowheads. And they would need thousands.

  Elias stood on the forecastle of the Leviathan, looking back at the port. A large stone outcropping protected it from the sea to the east, and the ridge that separated it from Marl's village protected it from the west. From the south, it was wide open, save for a few bald, steep islands where scant vegetation grew. The ship that would be the port's defense was already armed to the teeth and waiting to take its station, plus a full contingent of warriors that would be staying on land.

  As each of the seven other ships that were to act as the defense were stocked, they set sail west, around the island and up the chain. He had seen to the preparations of the ship that was to guard the Seagate himself, picking a ship that was thick hulled and strong. It carried a full two hundred warriors, and a further fifty crew, plus another seventy-five warriors who were in the village itself. He was certain that it was defended, but he worried still.

  Huffing a sigh, he turned to oversee the most recent load of weaponry and supplies that was arriving at his ship. A thousand elven warriors were already aboard, and they took up far less room than he had thought they would. True, below decks, there was hardly room to walk, but there were four decks, two more on the forecastle and three more aft.

  The Iron Oar, captained by Delain, was nearby. On board were another five hundred warriors, their weapons, and supplies. These were the elves that would make landfall with them, fifteen hundred of the best archers, spearmen, and swordsmen on the island. In four days time, these warriors would be fighting and dying under his command.

  He stepped down the ladder that led to the second floor of the forecastle, and into his quarters. The map still sat on the table, covered in their battle plans, wooden ships, and figurines of soldiers here and there, daggers stuck into strategic points on the islands. He looked over the map, rehearsing the plan in his head again. Land, attack the two settlements on either side of the island and funnel the captive sea elves to the waiting ships on the eastern shore, with the mountain between them and the western docks.

  He set his hands on the table. It was a solid plan, but he was still nervous. He had led dozens of raids, sank many ships, and killed many pirates in the last four seasons, but this was entirely different. This would be a land battle. He had only ever fought in one of those, against the Felle scouts, and that was a very small force, in a very short time.

  He turned, looking towards the great windows. A great suit of armor, forged of steel, loomed from the stand near his bed. He had commissioned it from the best armorsmith on the island when he had brought the Leviathan into port. It had taken some time, but it was done and done well. Simple, solid, and strong. Jonas, Martin, and Geoff approved, but Marl and Jenna felt it would make him sink if he fell in the water.

  He chuckled to himself as he walked over, admiring the simple lines of it. He would not wear it on the ship, but it would serve him well on the island. Jonas had shown him the basics of wearing armor, which was more of a skill than Elias had figured it to be. The chain shirt was easy enough to move in, but the breastplate, vambraces, and pauldrons were a bit more restrictive than he had imagined they would be. However, with his great blade, he should be a force to be reckoned with in the open field.

  A horn sounded from outside, and Elias could feel the butterflies rise in his stomach. That was the last of the ships being loaded. It was time for his armada to move. He hadn't been back to Seagate since the night he left Coral... he resolved for it to be his first stop when he returned from this raid. He and Coral needed to talk, but right now, he needed his mind to be focused on the upcoming battle.

  He huffed another long sigh and lifted his greatsword. Attaching it to its harness, he stepped out onto the deck. It was time to be a leader again.

  Chapter Twenty

  12th Waxing Summer Moon. Year 4369

  The shadow of the Cursed Island loomed ahead of them, blotting out the stars closest to the horizon. They had approached from behind the largest island nearby, Ahi Maunga, the Fire Mountain, and waited until dusk before beginning the last leg of the journey towards the slave villages. They doused all of the lights on their ships, and sailed in the gathering darkness, with as much stealth as they could manage with as large of a force as they were, and the moon nearing full.

  They had been sailing for four days nonstop along the island chain, farther west than Elias had ever been. Once they passed Taonga Tama, the Rich Son, they were in the open sea. Though he was technically the captain of the Leviathan, he could neither navigate by the stars nor chart the course through other means, so he had a helmsman and a navigator on board.

  They had hardly put a dent in the stores that they had brought with them, which was enough to feed all of the warriors as well as the refugees they would be bringing back. A thousand warriors on the ship were getting restless, anxious to start the battle they were sailing towards. The last day had been spent wrestling, sparring, and performing various war dances and chants. Elias had very little understanding of the meaning behind the rituals, but Marl assured him it was necessary to appease the gods and gain their favor.

  But now, as they grew closer to the broad, low island, every elf aboard each ship was as taut as a bowstring. A thousand warriors filled the decks of the Leviathan alone, watching the dark mass approach against the b
ackdrops of stars. They had covered their pale skin with red, white, and black paints, the intricate designs making them look like a terrifying force indeed, silent and deadly in the moonlight.

  Delain's ship led the way, several boat lengths ahead. A lantern flashed on the deck, alerting the rest of the armada. It was time to anchor and board the landing boats, while the eight other ships would sail to the opposite sides of the island and wait for dawn. Trying to bring thousands of refugees to safety in darkness was impossible; the light of the rising sun was a necessity.

  Elias went into his chamber and started putting on his armor, with the help of an elf trained to assist him in this. He could feel the weight on his shoulders and arms, but it was more comforting than it was hindering. His mind turned again to the dark knight on the road, back on the mainland, what seemed an eternity before. Is this how he felt, impenetrable and powerful? He shook his head at the thought. Even his knife had found a chink in that armor; best not trust it too much. There could be more agents of the Felle on this island.

  The last things he strapped on were his greaves, metal plates covering his legs from his knees to his boots. He lifted his greatsword off of the hooks he had mounted on the wall, and proceeded to board a landing boat. His armor was heavy, but he could march in it.

  The trip to shore was uneventful, save for at the beach itself. It was a narrow stretch of sand at the foot of some moderately high cliffs. Hundreds of boats were landing and being dragged farther ashore, out of the reach of the tide, and moored with long stakes and ropes. Once on land, the warriors broke into two groups of seven hundred warriors each; fifty warriors had stayed behind to defend each ship, and the rest had been assigned to either the northern or southern raiding party. There was no communication here, as everyone already knew what they were going to do. Shouting over the waves would have alerted any lookouts.

  Elias led the party headed north, accompanied by Geoff, while Jonas and Martin headed the party going south, and Delain stayed aboard the Iron Oar. Each was a few hours away from the village they were targeting, and should reach their destination a bit before dawn. Elias expected the battles to be short and brutal; hit the pirates before they knew what was happening, and finish them off fast.

  As they traveled north, the cliff face slowly dwindled down to even with the beach, and they were able to move onto firmer footing. Walking in the sand was especially difficult for Elias, who was already quite heavy, and was wearing a good amount of steel. There was a bit of noise as he walked, but it wasn't enough to worry him. Not yet, at least.

  Presently, they drew up at the base of a low hill. Elias had sent a few scouts ahead, and they returned with news of a watchtower, manned by three lookouts. A few well-placed arrows closed their eyes permanently.

  The sky to the east was lightening ever so slightly, so the time to act was upon them. With the hill between them and the village to hide his voice, he addressed the small army in front of him. Stepping up on a weathered stone, he drew his blade from its sheath, holding it in one hand.

  “Many of you were not born when this island fell to the pirate invaders, but have heard the tale told and retold by your elders. How the men from the mainland fell upon you like wolves, destroying the lives of your ancestors and driving them from their land. They burned your villages and raped your women! Babies were torn from the arms of mothers, and dashed against stones! Elders were cut down in their beds!”

  He swung his enormous blade in an arc, hacking through a small tree in one strike. “Now is the time when we repay them for the atrocities visited upon your people! Our people! Now is the time for us to take back the land they stole from you, that they stole from the gods themselves! We push them back and liberate our people, and we show them that nobody, man or elf, will live under the whip of a pirate while the wind breathes life into our chests!”

  He pointed his word up the hill. “When we cross that hill, we visit death upon them, and all of the fear that comes with it! Slay any man that stands against you! This time, we fight not for a bounty. Take no prisoners, and cut down every pirate where he stands!”

  In near perfect unison, the assembled elves let out a great battle cry. With that, seven hundred elves surged past Elias as if they hadn't just marched for three hours after being kept on a ship for four days, screaming and howling like demons. Elias charged up the hill with them, the faster elves flowing about him like leaves on the wind. As he started down the hill, he gained momentum, his longer strides outpacing even the fastest unencumbered warrior. He let out a great battle cry, holding his sword aloft as he smashed into the gate of the shoddy wall that stood around the ramshackle village.

  The thin boards, baked by the sun as they were, exploded around him as he bulldogged his way through. Several pirates stood in front of him with their swords drawn, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Wielding his greatsword like a bat, he slashed through one of them in a single strike, spraying blood and entrails all over his companions, who turned and fled in terror. Elven arrows thudded into their backs, dropping them mid-stride.

  The shrieking blue, red, black, and white warriors flooded into the town, moving from bonfire to bonfire, slaughtering every pirate who stood before them. Arrows started raining down on them from watchtowers around the perimeter. Some of the warriors tried scaling the towers but were shot down by the archers above them.

  “Towers! Take down the towers!” Elias bellowed, and like a living thing, his army obeyed, surging forward with axes, chopping at the stout timbers that held the archers aloft. Archers on the ground kept the pirates' heads down as the elves hacked at the wood, quickly making the first tower topple over. A dozen pirates fell with it, some of them crushed by the weight of the platform they stood on, the others set upon by spears and knives as soon as they hit the ground.

  On either side of them, towers were being either scaled or cut down, and the warriors were chasing pirates into the village proper. Shouts and screams could be heard as the slaves came out of their huts from the commotion.

  Elias charged into the village proper, a massive collection of muddy streets and decrepit huts, some having been set ablaze, five spear-wielding warriors at his flanks. He came upon a small cluster of pirates surrounded by fallen elves, some painted, some dressed in rags or entirely naked. He never even slowed down, his vision red in the flickering firelight. He swung his blade hard, gripping the hilt with both hands, nearly cleaving his target in twain. His blade mired in the thick, muddy clay, and was stuck for a moment, and two men were on him, their blades beating at his pauldrons and vambraces. He let go of his sword, which stayed stuck in the mud, and grabbed one of the men, swinging him into the other before crushing his face with a gauntleted fist. He dropped the jerking corpse and grabbed the handle of his sword, only to have his hand slip off from the blood that now coated it.

  A saber swung in from his right, and he held up his arm, catching it on the steel, the blow numbing his wrist. The man wielding the sword pulled back for a thrust, but was caught by a spear in the chest, and then another as two warriors ran him through. He turned back to his sword, and, gripping it in both hands, he wrenched it free and brought it down on a pirate who was pulling his cutlass out of the stomach of a falling elf, splitting his skull wide open.

  Something struck his back and skittered off to his left, and he turned to see an archer standing on a hut, aiming at him with another nocked arrow. Elias hurled his sword in an overhanded throw just before he released it, sending his arrow wide, and striking him with the flat of the blade hard enough to knock him off the roof. When he hit the ground, two elves set upon him with knives, shrieking and howling in their war paint.

  Elias, temporarily clear of anyone trying directly to kill him, ran over to retrieve his sword. As he picked it up, he looked around him.

  The pirates that had been guarding the village had been horrendously outnumbered and were beating a retreat out the western gates. He ran towards them, vaguely aware of the fact that his legs were prot
esting the exertion. His breath ragged in his throat, he called out to his warriors.

  “They are escaping! Run them down! Do not let a single man escape to their ships!”

  As he ran through the battle, warriors broke away from the fray to follow him, chasing the pirates through the shack village. As they approached the western gate, the fleeing pirates shut and barred it before them, from the outside. This didn't slow down the elves at all, who climbed over the fence like grasshoppers, several pausing at the top to loose arrows at their fleeing quarry. Elias did not have the momentum to crash through the wall again, so he turned back to the battle inside.

  There were not many pirates left. Those few were putting their hands up to surrender, only to be cut down by the fury of the sea elves; they definitely knew how to take no prisoners. As the last pirate fell, there was a great victory cry from the warriors. Though they had lost many, the village had been taken.

  Elias turned to the east as the elves sang their victory to the night. Four sails stood out against the growing light of morning, heralding the arrival of the ships that would carry these elves back to the safe islands of Greenreef.

  ~ ~ ~

  There had been over three thousand elves in the walled village, surrounded by three hundred pirate guards. They hadn't stood a chance against the overwhelming force of the sea elves.

  Elias's forces had fallen by roughly a hundred elves, but overall, they had fared quite well in the battle. Not a single pirate had survived; the party Elias had sent after the escapees had returned, decorated with ears and scalps, proof of their quarry's demise.

  Landing boats were already ferrying the refugees to the ships. The process was going to take much longer than Elias had figured it to, and time was of the essence. The sun had already broken over the horizon, just south of the Fire Mountain, and the pirate supply ships would be due to set sail soon, according to the scouts who had watched the Cursed Island in the week before their raid. That meant they had at most six hours of guaranteed time before reinforcements arrived. They needed to be gone before noon.