by Simon Archer
We were bound for the town square, where, hopefully, the Imperials would be gathering. A few strange faces, smudged with ash and full of rage, had joined the march. Looked like the free folk of the town were ready to fight, too.
One of them, a human male of middling age, hurried along beside me. “Our thanks, Captain!” he yelled over the fighting.
“Aye,” I gave him a nod, while I kept an eye out for more of the enemy. “Where have they gathered?”
“Where you’re headed,” he replied. “They’ve captives and musketeers a-waiting, though. Have you got more men on the roofs? More coming?”
“The rest o’ me crew be taking care o’ the ships out there. We’re all ye’ve got, for now.” I focused on the road ahead. Several marines fled before us, gaining ground as I kept my pace to a fast, determined walk.
“More than enough, I reckon,” the man observed with a grin. He held a pistol and a double-edged short sword with a sort of leaf-bladed design like he knew how to use them, and who was I to judge?
A few fast-moving groups tried hit-and-run tactics on us as we progressed, striking from alleyways and side streets, but never doing much more than slowing us for the moment or three it took to deal with them and drive them back. We didn’t lose anyone, but only rarely did they.
Finally, we reached the square and drew up. The town hall loomed across the open space with hastily assembled barricades blocking the front doors. Musketeers and marines were lined up to meet us, weapons at the ready.
“Stand down and walk away, Captain!” a confident voice rang out from behind the wall of soldiers. “This is not your fight!”
8
“ N ot my fight?” I roared back. “Not my fight?”
My gaze went to the right, then the left. My crew stood ready, crouched with their weapons up. Mary, her pale skin splashed with blood, gazed intently at the line of troops between us and the town hall.
“Ye bastards made it my fight back in Insmere, or have ye forgotten? Now, I make ye a counter-offer. Stand down or be slaughtered where ye stand.”
A roar went up from my men, and weapons clashed. Mary glanced sidelong at me and winked her mismatched eye. My witch had something up her sleeve.
The Imperials’ answer was silence, and I hefted my axe and narrowed my eyes. How long before the commander behind the lines gave his order?
“Fire!” the voice yelled from behind the front line.
“Attack!” I bellowed in answer.
Mary Night let out a shriek akin to the scream of a raven, her mismatched eye blazing bright as she called on her power. As she did, every one of the Imperial soldiers fired… and every single musket or pistol or whatever misfired.
With a great cheer and roar, my hearty crew, along with some brave souls from among the townies, launched themselves in a charge across the open square. The Imperial commander shouted incomprehensible orders as his men scrambled to meet our charge.
We hit them hard and spread out as we broke their line. I whirled my greataxe in both hands, taking out two of the marines in a spray of blood and gore. The crewmen to either side pushed their opponents back but stalled, except for Mary. My witch spun past a man as he drew his saber, dropped low, and cut two deep slices across the inside of his thighs, sending him screaming to the ground in double sprays of blood.
She rose and fell in beside me as I swept another soldier out of the way and found myself face to face with a grim musketeer. Past him, another rank of them hurried to reload their flintlocks or draw pistols in hopes that the witch’s hex hadn’t disabled them, too.
Mary vanished again into the swirling melee while I cleaved aside a marine who came at me from the side. The musketeer took the opening to lunge at me with his rapier, but I dodged to the side and drove my bulky shoulder into the man. He flew back into the next rank, and I followed with a roar, my axe reaping a harvest of blood as I split skulls to the left and right.
Screams and battle-cries filled my ears, and my blood sang with the call of war. There was only one rank of Imperials left. The doors of the town hall loomed behind them, and that’s where the commander waited.
He was the one who’d have the answers I wanted, like why were Admiralty troops attacking this town?
The last men between me and the door braced themselves as I killed another musketeer. As Mary and Dogar moved up to flank me, I noticed that the witch covered in an inordinate amount of blood. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she bathed in the stuff whenever I wasn’t looking.
It made her even more desirable, the fierce warrior-witch that she was.
I snarled and pulled my brain back to the present and let out a roar that cowed the last of the soldiers holding the door. Dogar stepped up and lashed out with his paired axes, a series of blows that pushed one of the Imperials back until his back hit the door as he fought to defend himself.
The next two were mine. I swung my greataxe overhand as one of the pair lunged at me, forcing me to twist aside, but not far enough to throw off the mighty blow. It took him in the shoulder instead of the skull and cleaved the man all the way to his navel. The other soldier let out a cry of anger and fear that sounded to me like the whistle of a steam-kettle as he launched himself in a mad rush at me.
Perhaps he was trying to get by me and flee into the fight still raging through the town square, or maybe he wanted to avenge his fallen comrade. Whatever it was, I just stepped into his rush and smashed my broad, thick brow into his forehead.
Something crunched, and the man dropped like a stone.
The way cleared, I quickly looked around and assessed the situation. Daka and Dogar grouped up to fend off another rush of attackers, while Mary joined me at the door. Behind her, a soldier slumped against the wooden doorframe, his life ebbing out in a crimson flood from his opened throat.
My witch grinned up at me for a moment, then her eyes went wide. With a surprising burst of strength, she pulled me to the side as a series of musket shots blasted through the wood right where I’d been standing.
“Thank ye,” I growled, then hefted my axe. The moment the shooting stopped, I swung it with all my considerable might at the now-damaged doors, and they burst violently inward.
Shouts of alarm raised within as I took advantage of what I hoped was an extended reload time. If all of the musketeers and marines had taken a chance on shooting me through the door, then I had nothing to fear.
Not like I had anything to fear, anyway. Orcish muscle and bone are notoriously resistant to pistol shot, and muskets fared little better. It would take a very solid hit in a very soft portion of my anatomy to down me.
So I spun into the opening, greataxe in one hand as I quick-drew one of my pistols and fired off a shot into the massed soldiers awaiting me in the hall. They were lined up in a defensive line between the door and the arcing pair of staircases leading up to the second-floor balcony. One dropped with a yell as the rest pressed backward against their fellows to draw their weapons. It was time for close work.
I readied my axe again, roared, and charged into the foyer towards the mass of men. Shots and yells continued behind me as the fight raged on outside. Mary bounded along on my heels, and Daka and Dogar fought their way in behind her. Battle rage overtook me, and I began to swing my greataxe in wide arcs as I stomped forward.
Broken bodies flew about like ninepins, and the screams of the wounded sang in my ears like the sweet music of songbirds. On an open battlefield, these men would have had a chance, but in close quarters, with three orcs and a battle-witch, the fight was almost disappointingly short.
Shots rang out again as we broke past the crowd of dead and dying. A musket ball grazed my shoulder, and another deflected off the head of my axe. Dogar took a solid hit in the thigh and staggered, but kept his feet.
“Reload, you bastards! Don’t let them up the stairs!”
Once again, it was too-little-too-late as Mary led this charge with me following behind. Daka stayed on my heels, and his brother stopped an
d squared himself, prepared to hold the stairs should reinforcements come for the marines. A quick glance past him and the shattered doors showed me a hopeful sign. The numbers looked a great deal more even, and as I turned away, a yowling battle-cry and a familiar orcish roar reached my ears. Kargad and Tabitha were on their way, at a guess.
Off in the distance, more cannonfire rang out, punctuated by the angry, hissing roar of a Dragon Turtle. Shrike, Tiny, and Ligeia finishing the sea-battle. I was sure there’d be tales to tell once this was over, but for now, we had to root out the commander.
My witch danced through the defending line with grace and precision, leaving a pair of musketeers in her wake doing their best to hold in the blood pulsing from long wounds in their forearms.
She’d distracted the whole crew just enough for me to plow into and through them. I hacked down the wounded, whirled my axe to shatter one man’s shoulder, decapitate another, then split the skull of a third before I launched myself up the next set of stairs.
I reached the top just as a thunderclap stopped me in my tracks with ringing ears, and Mary sailed by me to roll bonelessly down the stairs. My vision went red. Someone had dared hurt my Mary! A primal rage surged from my chest up into my brain, and I stalked down the hall towards whoever had done this.
“Careful, my Captain,” my witch groaned. Despite her warning, relief washed through me to know she lived, but it wasn’t enough to force down the rage.
A wind began to gather around me, and my feet splashed in surging water as I made my way towards the unknown assailant.
Ahead, between me and a set of closed double-doors, stood a cloaked and cowled figure. In one hand, he held a sickle, and in the other, a staff. This was no witch. Eyes that glimmered with a pale, green light glared at me from beneath the shadows of the man’s hood.
Whatever the hell he was, he was going to pay in blood for hurting my witch. I let out a roar that shook the rafters and charged, wind and my own blood howling in my ears as I swept down the hall.
The figure’s eyes widened as the wind swept back his cowl, revealing a bloodless, gaunt face tattooed with swirling arcane symbols. I’d heard of these men but never encountered one. Men who wielded the power of witches often were driven out to practice their arts alone and without rules. The magic consumed them and empowered them. Warlocks… oathbreakers… they were called.
He raised his staff to ward me off, the length of wood crackling and hissing with lightning. I swung my axe, and the warlock parried, a clap of thunder sending me staggering back. He followed, slashing with the sickle, but I sidestepped and turned the tide, swinging my axe again and driving him back a few steps.
My rage and determination wouldn’t let me back off, as much as the rational part of my brain urged caution. The wind and water seemed to empower me, and I kept up the assault until the warlock’s heel hit the door at the corridor’s end.
He snarled and thrust the staff and sickle at me with a sharply spoken word. Lightning filled the hall, and something took me in the chest like a cannonball. I may even have lost consciousness for a moment, but when I recovered myself, I was on my back at the top of the stairs.
With a deep breath, I rolled to my feet and stood, glaring daggers and axes at the shadowed figure in front of the door. He stood there and returned my look with one of stoic determination.
I spared a look down the stairs at Mary. She had edged up to prop herself against the wall and seemed deep in some sort of working, eyes closed, fingers tracing patterns in the air. Maybe she was the one lending me this power of wind and water.
Or maybe not. I’d always felt a kinship with storm and wave.
The warlock narrowed his eyes and began a working of his own, staff and sickle leaving crackling arcs of blue-white energy in their wakes as he drew symbols of his own in the tortured air.
While my rage still simmered, the force of my enemy’s magic had momentarily forced it down, and I had an idea.
With a shout, I swept my greataxe through the water gathered around my feet and sent it flying end over end down the hall towards the warlock. A blast of wind carried it along, and I drew my second pistol to add a pistol ball to the mix.
He had a moment to look surprised as he tried to break his casting and deflect the heavy axe, but he was too slow. The blade crunched into his chest and threw him backward, just as my shot took him between the eyes. The warlock hit the door and slid down it in a growing pool of blood.
Mary struggled to her feet and staggered up the stairs. “Bastard warlock,” she hissed, rubbing her chest. A bruise was already visible between her breasts where the blow must have caught her. She met my gaze and grinned fiercely. “It’ll take more than the likes of him to put me down. I just got caught by surprise is all.”
“Glad ye be okay,” I said. “‘Tis almost done.” With those words, I stalked off down the hall with her behind me. If she noticed the water and the wind, she said nothing. When I reached the corpse, I put a heavy foot on its belly and ripped my axe free. It had split him open like a slaughtered pig, cleaving ribs and heart in two. The blood that pooled beneath the body, though, was black and smelled of rot.
Mary almost gagged, but that didn’t stop her from gathering up the warlock’s sickle and staff. “Ready?” she asked.
“Aye,” I answered, then leaned back and kicked in the door.
9
T he door flew open on a pair of musketeers, weapons aimed at Mary and me, an Imperial marine captain in full uniform, and an older human woman wearing free town motley: trousers, boots, and a dark blue captain’s coat. She also wore a sour, irritated expression, and there was no fear in her eyes as she stood, wrinkled hands raised, between the door and the commander. The barrel of the marine’s flintlock rested against the back of the woman’s head, mussing her salt and pepper hair.
Everyone froze.
“I… did not expect that you’d get past my warlock,” the captain mused. His eyes flickered between my witch and me. There was a strong scent from him, but it wasn’t exactly fear.
“He wasn’t quite ready for me,” I said flatly, and focused my gaze on the captain. “I’m rather thinkin’ that ye have no idea who ye be dealin’ with.”
“Captain Bardak Skullsplitter,” he observed. “Former Imperial privateer gone rogue and wanted in the disappearance of Commodore Simon Arde. You are currently associated with the renegade Sisterhood witch, Mary Night, who stands right now at your side. You sailed out of Caber with four ships, including one belonging to a known and wanted pirate, The Black Cat under Tabitha Binx. Shall I go on?”
Mary and I exchanged quick glances. “Ye know a great deal about us, then. I be thinkin’ ye want to parley?”
“Since it sounds like you and yours have managed to overpower my men somehow, I would like to negotiate a trade. My life and safety, along with any survivors, in return for this spry young thing here.” He didn’t take eyes off me as he pushed the woman’s head forward with the gun barrel.
“Well, considerin’ I’ve no idea who ye have there, I’m rather disinclined to let ye walk out o’ this room drawin’ breath. I’ve a counter-offer: Drop yer arms, surrender, an’ ye’ll live to fight another day. Once I’ve gotten a few answers from ye, I’ll maroon ye an’ yer men here someplace where ye can survive til a ship spies ye. I ain’t negotiating further, and I ain’t repeatin’ myself.” I kept my eyes locked with his and tensed, awaiting the violence I expected.
“I’m thinkin’ that’s the best offer ye’ll get, lad,” the hostage cackled. “Best ye take it.”
The captain hissed between his teeth, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shoot the woman right there. His eyes flicked back and forth as he weighed his chances, then, slowly, he raised his hands, pistol hanging loose from his trigger finger. “Quarter, then, Captain. Musketeers, stand down.”
“Aye, sir,” they replied and carefully kneeled to disarm themselves.
The woman stepped away with a swagger I couldn’t help but
recognize. It was something all retired freebooter captains picked up, and it displayed a level of confidence that no person who hadn’t seen action could duplicate. Before anyone could stop her, she scooped up one of the musketeers’ kit and gave me a nod.
“I’ll speak with ye downstairs, Cap’n,” she told me. “Best see to yer prisoners before they have second thoughts.”
I nodded to her before looking to my witch. “Mary.”
My witch grinned fiercely, “On it, my Captain.” Her evil eye flared as she swept it over the three men in the room, and they all froze in place, paralyzed by her hex.
“Ask for Brigh,” the former captive called over her shoulder as she squirmed past me, stepped over the warlock’s corpse with a “tsk, tsk,” and made for the stairs.
Where had I heard that name before? There was something familiar about Brigh, from tales I’d heard, if not personal experience. Many of the mayors and governors of the free towns were retired captains, pirates and freebooters, mostly, but occasionally there was one who’d served the Empire.
Who was she? I watched her walk out until Mary nudged me.
“Something, my Captain?” My witch asked, a sparkle in her mismatched eyes.
I shook my head and went about reloading my flintlocks. “Something rings familiar ‘bout Brigh, lass, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
She answered with a shrug and set to searching our captives for anything of value and any hidden weapons. The musketeers didn’t have anything unexpected, just the usual kits plus everything they needed for their weapons. Imperial muskets were extremely fine weapons and required a bit more maintenance than most of the guns that ended up in the hands of pirates. I figured Jimmy would be pleased by that part of the take, at least.
“Oy,” a familiar voice called from down the hall. “Ye alive in there?”
“Come an’ find out, Mocker,” I yelled back.