by Mike Shel
“We have no maneuverability, and the two sorcerers who could remedy this are currently cut to ribbons from the lash,” observed Lumari, holding a shading hand over her pale eyebrows.
“Madame,” said Hraea, handing his spyglass to Polor, “we have an advantage in these circumstances—that is, beyond the peerless discipline of a Royal Navy warship and our superiority from a moral perspective. They mean to take us as a prize. That means they’d like the Yaryx to sustain as little damage as possible and have officers and dignitaries to ransom to the Crown or their families. I, on the other hand, would be more than happy to send all four vessels and every one of the despicable criminals manning them into Purraa’s cold embrace. They fight for plunder. We fight for the honor of Her Gracious Majesty and our own lives. Now, if you’d make way for my ballistae…”
Three men guided each of the weapons up the steps of the foredeck and wheeled them into position to left and right of the forecastle. They set braces to secure the ballistae to the deck as a line of sailors began dumping bucket after bucket of seawater over them.
“They look like giant crossbows to me,” commented Belech, standing clear of the action at the port foredeck rail with the rest of the party.
“The principle is the same, Mr. Belech,” said Lieutenant Polor with a boyish smile, pointing the spyglass at the approaching vessels. “We aim to launch missiles at the enemy who approach us at our bow.” He indicated the two center ships cutting through the still waters as their flanking cohorts began turning wide in opposite directions with unnatural speed. “You’ll note that the outermost vessels are going to circle around us. While these two in the center attack head on, the others will either take us from the rear or, more likely, sidle up alongside us and attempt to board. You’ll also note that all their sails are nicely filled, giving them excellent speed, despite the fact there is no natural wind. This tells us that each has a sorcerer aboard with skill in aeromancy at least. In fact, I suspect they employ wind demons.”
At that moment, a great gout of flame and clouds of smoke shot forth from one of the two center ships, as though from the nostrils of some great floating dragon.
“And that,” said Hobesson in his grating tone, “tells us they have at least one pyromancer between them. That was meant to frighten us into surrendering without a fight. She can see our sails are in ribbons, but at her angle to us they may not yet know we’re Royal Navy. Otherwise they wouldn’t bother with the pyrotechnic display. They know the Royal Navy doesn’t sell itself cheaply, no matter the odds.”
“Tears of Belu,” whispered Del.
The three pyromancers had mounted the forecastle, chattering among themselves with evident pleasure at the sight of fire and smoke, no doubt anticipating the opportunity to apply their own comparable talents.
“Load and fire the ballistae, Mr. Hobesson,” commanded Hraea, betraying no emotion himself.
Auric was puzzled. The pirate ships were still well beyond range of these weapons, which were themselves out of place on a warship. He had seen ballistae used in siege operations, but never at sea. Did Hraea intend to poke a hole below a ship’s waterline? That seemed unlikely. And why would the captain have them doused with seawater?
After a hurried conference, two of the pyromancers stepped forward and each crouched down by a ballista as it was loaded with a five-foot-long, iron-headed bolt. Both began whispering and caressing the bolts, making strange gestures in the air and signs with their hands, the baffling words of Middle Djao a part of the evocation. Without warning, the length of each bolt erupted with dancing blue flames, sparks flying onto the deck. Sailors quickly poured more buckets of seawater around the ballistae, anxious to prevent a stray spark from igniting the Yaryx’s own wooden floorboards.
Auric leaned to Sira and whispered in her ear. “Whatever advantages our captain believes we have, I think it prudent that at least one of his injured elementalists is well enough to aid us. Go to the medicus’s theater and heal one of them—aeromancer or aquamancer. I realize you haven’t the strength to heal such terrible wounds on them both. I’ll deal with the captain’s wrath afterward, granting we survive.” Sira was heading for the foredeck’s steps before Auric finished his words, crooked smile broad, rubbing her hands together.
The outer pirate vessels were circling around at breakneck speed as the lead ships approached, alive with menace. Ominous ghostly forms swirled around the ships’ sails while strange serpentine shapes churned the seas about them: frenzied air and water elementals driving them forward with unearthly speed. Auric could just make out members of their crews with his unaided eye now. He saw their confidence, their smirking brutality, and excitement.
“Loose, Mr. Hobesson,” said the captain after a few more moments passed.
“Loose!” cried Hobesson.
Both fiery blue missiles launched in a shower of smoke and sparks that had the bucket brigades frantic, washing down the forecastle planks. The arcs of the bolts suggested their aim was true, but the first fell into the sea mere feet from the prow of one of the pirates. The other pirate wasn’t so lucky: the burning missile struck just to port of the ship’s scarred figurehead and the entire bowsprit burst into flames. The blue fires soon consumed their flying and outer jibs and were racing up the foremast. It was clear there would be no containing this sorcerous conflagration. Screams from the pirate crew carried across the water as dozens began leaping over the sides into the sea.
“Now,” crowed Hobesson, his smile wicked, “they know with whom they are dealing.”
“Watch,” said Del, pointing at the as-yet untouched buccaneer’s ship as the crew reloaded the Yaryx’s ballistae. The vessel lurched to the west, a maneuver no natural ship could accomplish.
“Why’s she doing that?” asked Lumari. “She’ll present a fat broadside target!”
“It’s their elementals,” responded Del, attention still fixed on the turning enemy. “They’ve summoned wind demons to fill their sails, notoriously flighty creatures—forgive my pun—and the water elementals are being goaded by cruel entities created with necromantic sorcery. They’re called ‘spirits of the lash.’ This allows for incredible speeds, but the risks make it most unwise, beyond its brutality. You’re seeing that now. The wind demons try to escape the leash their summoner holds—they’re as vulnerable to that sorcerous fire as any flesh-and-blood creature. The water elementals are nearly mindless with pain from the spirits of the lash and only follow the lead of the wind demons. So, the ship steers itself west, out of the pirates’ control, inviting disaster.”
Captain Hraea directed the second volleys of both ballistae at the fleeing vessel as the magical blue flames transformed the other into a raging inferno. Both bolts found their targets: one struck at the foot of the ship’s mainmast, the other tore through its foresail, setting the cloth ablaze like dry leaves cast into a bonfire. Soon both vessels were entirely engulfed in flames and the wind demons summoned by the pirate aeromancers to fill their now-burning sails were screaming through the air in every direction.
“Two against one. Much improved,” said Gnaeus, clapping in appreciation.
“Alas, the ballistae have served their purpose,” said Polor, pointing to the flanking pirate vessels as they made their turns to come alongside the Duke Yaryx. “They only fire forward. Ready yourselves for battle!”
A new call went up, followed immediately by an urgent upsurge in the tempo of the martial drums: “Prepare to repel boarders!”
Auric and the Syraeic agents tore their attention from the pirates’ sister ships, burned down now nearly to their waterlines, and headed to the foredeck steps. Commandant Mastro’s marines, all fifty of them, were now clad in black lacquered breastplates, emblazoned with gold griffins rampant. Each had an arrow nocked in a shortbow at the ready. Captain Hraea had moved toward the stern and now stood placidly on the quarterdeck, near the mizzenmast, urging on his crew. A dozen sailors sto
od at the ship’s port and starboard railings, armed with axes.
The starboard pirate vessel, Sea Witch painted on its bow, swung by as Mastro ordered his soldiers to launch a volley of arrows at the buccaneers. The pirates returned fire, though with less order, and four of the starboard ax-wielders fell to the deck, struck by missiles. Grappling hooks from the Sea Witch followed.
Their duty done on the foredeck, the pyromancers had joined the Syraeic party near the Duke Yaryx’s mainmast.
“I trust the three of you know better than to set fire to ships this close to ours,” said Lumari warily. The male pyromancer gave her a wicked grin and stuck out his tongue, which was alight with curling fire.
To port, the other pirate vessel, Discord in large gold letters across its bow, came alongside. A dozen grappling hooks flew across the gap and bit into the Duke Yaryx’s railing. Sailors went to work with their axes, hacking furiously at their ropes. The Discord’s archers fired with greater discipline, sending a cloud of arrows across at the Yaryx’s sailors working to dislodge the hooks. Those ropes not hacked through drew the combatant ships together, and planks were laid across the gap, bridges for boarders. Auric and Gnaeus both leapt forward, hacking at the exposed legs of the first invaders who attempted the crossing, sending them both into the water below. Her hands a flurry of exacting motions, Lumari mixed a concoction that she divided between two thin glass tubes, which she then hurled one after another at the pirates’ planks. With impressive aim, she struck both. The glass shattered and the liquid within splashed across the wooden boards: in seconds, a dozen would-be boarders fell into the sea as the planks buckled, as though they were made of rubber.
A mob of pirates armed with swords and cudgels had made it across planks laid to starboard, the Sea Witch’s contribution to the battle. Mastro ordered his soldiers to engage them with their own blades, and they cried out as one, charging into the invaders: “Geneviva!” The Discord had replaced the planks Lumari had disposed of, sending more howling fighters across to the Yaryx, their screams demonic. Auric found himself parrying the clumsy sword strokes of a pair of bald and toothless pirates, while having some difficulty finding an opening to go on the attack. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Del, shouting incomprehensible Djao and executing a series of bizarre gestures, finally slamming a fist hard on the deck. A long column of pitch-black smoke burst forth from her mouth, soon breaking into smaller clouds. Those clouds took on the shapes of bat-like creatures with unsettling human faces. The otherworldly beasts let out piercing calls and descended on boarders from the Discord, first tearing at the pirates’ flesh with inky-dark claws, then forcing themselves into mouths and down throats. Their unfortunate hosts collapsed to the deck, choking and convulsing, clutching at their throats. After a few moments, their flailing ceased. Lazy tendrils of black smoke trailed from their nostrils and open mouths and dissipated into the air.
The fighting was fierce, the Yaryx’s crew struggling against the combined combatants of the Discord and the Sea Witch. Belech gleefully concussed one buccaneer after another; Auric and Gnaeus dueled with successive assailants, their blades and the deck growing slick with blood. The pyromancers darted between fights, laying hands on the exposed flesh of pirate boarders, leaving behind terrible burns. Del had summoned a second group of Netherworld creatures: amorphous, rubbery, green-black, eyeless, with fang-filled maws. The dog-sized beasts launched themselves at the Sea Witch’s starboard flank and began to chew. Within minutes, holes began appearing in the ship’s hull as the ravenous creatures consumed oak with famished eagerness. The first hole below the waterline was at the ship’s bow, inviting a torrent of seawater. Efforts to plug the thirsty orifice were futile, and those pirates who attempted to kill the rubbery, masticating beasts soon found the creatures equally enthusiastic in the consumption of human flesh. In no time, the stern of the Sea Witch was in the air as the waters began welcoming the vessel and those aboard it.
A collective moan went up from the crew of the Sea Witch still fighting on the deck of the Duke Yaryx as their ship sank like a stone before their eyes. The pyromancers gleefully visited horrific burns on the demoralized pirates as Mastro’s marines dispatched wounded boarders, driving the rest to the Yaryx’s starboard rail. Finally, the last few surrendered and were quickly hogtied.
The sonorous call of a conch from the Discord broke through the chaotic din. The Discord’s boarders broke for the planks that still lay across the rails of the two vessels, making a reckless retreat from the battle. Several fell into the water between the ships as a cheer went up from triumphant sailors and marines. A sudden rain of arrows from the Discord cut off the celebration. Auric watched Lieutenant Hobesson, who had been acquitting himself admirably with a saber, take an arrow in the eye and fall to the deck, dead. At that same moment, Auric felt as though a hammer struck him in the chest. He was thrown to the deck and his sword went skittering across the boards. It was then that he saw an arrow had punched through the hardened leather of his cuirass and sunk itself into the flesh between his right shoulder and breastbone.
A second volley of missiles flew from the Discord, striking several allies, including the male pyromancer standing twenty feet from Auric near the mainmast. The sorcerer looked for a moment at the shaft protruding from the center of his chest, his mouth agape; but rather than blood, what pulsed forth from the mortal wound were licking tongues of fire, as though the arrow had punctured a roaring furnace rather than a man’s chest. A heartbeat later, the pyromancer’s body erupted in flames and collapsed to the deck, like logs of a poorly stacked campfire. The flames crept up the mainmast and across the deck in Auric’s direction. A nearby marine screamed as the fire ignited the fabric of his uniform trousers. Auric tried to stand, but a terrible lance of pain in his left leg sent him crashing back down to the deck: somehow, another arrow in his leg had escaped his notice. Dreadful thoughts flooded his mind as he felt the heat from the approaching conflagration, dancing closer and closer with evil glee.
Consumed in a fire. Sweet gods of mercy, not that. Better to drown.
As the fire skulked nearer, Auric dragged himself toward the railing, every inch bringing spearpoints of pain to leg and chest. He drew in an agonizing breath of heated air, courtesy of the creeping flames, trying to summon the strength to drag himself over the side of the ship. But as he started to push himself up, an enormous gush of water shot from the stern of the Duke Yaryx, striking the growing blaze at its center and spreading in unnatural currents to douse the flames. Wisps of smoke rose from the guttering fire and the hiss of lifesaving water quenching the blaze carried across the deck. With great effort, Auric turned his head to look behind him and saw Sira supporting Carrick the aquamancer, still clad in the blood-stained tatters of his prisoner’s clothing. Pouring forth in a surreal gush from the aquamancer’s extraordinarily distended mouth was a flood of water. The inferno that was the pyromancer’s body was extinguished and another cheer went up from the crew, who doubtless shared Auric’s dread of fiery death. At that moment, Commandant Mastro rallied his remaining marines with a joyful battle cry, pointing his bloody cutlass at the enemy vessel.
“Discord!”
As a single, deadly unit the black-clad marines swarmed across the remaining planks, boarding the pirate vessel. They were joined by a dozen sailors, roaring for vengeance and waving weapons above their heads. Among them was the aeromancer, Mercele, bloodied blond locks fluttering as though she stood in a gale, two angry-looking wind elementals swimming around her in the air. With another sudden burst of pain, Auric’s vision went dark.
Belech and Sira were kneeling beside Auric when he regained consciousness, the old soldier cradling his head, the priest laying hands on the wound in his chest. Mercifully, he had been unconscious when they drew out the arrows, which lay on the deck beside him, their sharp metallic heads wet with his blood. Already he felt the intensity of the pain in his chest receding as Sira channeled healing energy int
o the injury. His leg still throbbed. Eyes closed in prayer, Sira shifted her healing touch to the other wound. Though she was breathing slow and deep, her hair plastered to her forehead with the sweat of exertion, she also seemed energized, vibrant. He spoke with difficulty, his chest tight, lungs short of breath.
“How…how were you able…to heal both sorcerers, and now me? Too weak to—”
Sira put two blood-spattered fingers to Auric’s lips.
“Friend Auric, I told you I have a gift for healing. Belu has blessed me with this. I was still recuperating from the ceremony that reattached my leg when we were at Tessy. I’ve been told my aptitude for this sacrament is that of a much more experienced cleric.”
“Why…why didn’t you tell me this?”
Sira beamed her lopsided smile, her face so much like Lenda’s it made Auric’s heart ache in concert with the arrow wounds. “I thought I would enjoy surprising you.”
Commandant Mastro’s marines and the aeromancer Mercele made short work of the demoralized crew of the Discord, securing their surrender and their ship with remarkable swiftness. Captain Hraea had them kneeling before him, battered, bloody, and locked in irons, while he made an announcement. Mastro’s marines and members of the Duke Yaryx’s crew well enough to stand were also assembled.
“Sailors of Her Gracious Majesty’s warship Duke Yaryx, intrepid marines, and officers: you have proven to these brigands, these felons of the sea, that they are no match for a fighting ship of the Royal Navy, manned by disciplined and determined servants of the Crown! A well-armed quartet of pirate vessels came at us. Three are now the playthings of Babaloc, and the corsairs who sailed them will crew the god’s sunken fleet for eternity. The fourth ship, I’m happy to say, is our prize!”
All save the shackled prisoners gave a lusty cheer.
“Now, we shall gather our dead, replace our sails, and head for the port of Kalimander, where we will see to it this motley collection of seagoing bandits is hanged for piracy in accordance with Her Majesty’s laws, down to the last pot boy! There, we will also sell our prize, along with whatever booty lurks in her belly. And each man and woman here will reap their proper portion!”