Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  Her skin started warming, not an insane amount, but enough. It felt like she was wearing a warm coat, but on every part of her body, even her eyes.

  “Wow... thank you.”

  Vex shrugged. “It's an old spell, meant to make living things extra warm so that they can be targeted more easily by a particular kind of undead who seek heat.”

  “Oh...” Celia said. Well, it felt good, that's what mattered.

  “Would you like some warmth as well?” Vex asked Kev.

  The ranker shook his head. “No, my fur and this coat is already more than I need.”

  “But you're not wearing shoes,” Celia said. She'd often wondered how the dierlijt managed with their feet in winter. So many of them didn't wear boots but she'd assumed it was for lack of money. Well-made boots were expensive. The ones she wore now were worth as much as the rest of her clothes put together. Ina had been generous.

  “My feet are fine. There's more fur on them than you think, even between the toes.”

  Celia shrugged. “Oh.” As they walked south she thought of something else, of the little knucklebone in her pocket. Daniel.

  “Why do you use undead?” she asked.

  “Using the living is disgusting,” Vex replied.

  “But isn't Daniel alive?” she asked. Giselle had said something about Daniel being a child.

  “He is, was, and can be again,” Vex said.

  “What?” Celia replied.

  “He is an acolyte. It's a form used to protect our own. We developed it near the end of the war when it was clear the extermination of salmu wizards was possible. He's virtually indestructible, almost immune to damage from normal physical assault, and magical attacks only cause him to revert to the bone,” Vex said.

  “Oh... so you're protecting him? From what?” Celia asked.

  “From everyone,” Vex replied. “He's a wizard, quite powerful as well. He was lucky I found him when I did.”

  “Here it is,” Kev said. “At the end of the next block. See the line of grates?”

  Celia nodded.

  “Those lead down to the place they were holding you-” he paused as a group of five carriages went by.

  As Celia jumped back out of the way so she wasn't run over by the horses. The carriages had once been white, but the white wash was now a streaked gray from mud and rain. They had no other markings to identify their owner. One coachman in a thick overcoat and one footman with a short club on his lap sat atop each of the coaches.

  When they reached the corner, the horses champed and stomped as the line of them came to a stop and the footmen jumped down, clubs at the ready.

  “Let's just back up against the wall here,” Vex said. “We don't want to attract any attention.”

  “Is there a spell you can use?” Celia asked.

  “I already have,” he replied, “I haven't the power left for complete invisibility on all three of us, though that is a misnomer.”

  Celia frowned. “What do you mean by a misnomer?”

  “I mean you can't be completely invisible unless you're blind because the eyes require light to reach them and not pass through... eh, the point is I used a warding spell. It's simple, it's easy, but if someone knows you personally or you make too much noise, it breaks.”

  “So be quiet,” Kev whispered.

  Vex nodded.

  Prisoners were being led out of the jail in groups of six. The six were chained together with leg irons and pushed into one of the carriages like sacks of grain. Anyone who complained was thumped with a club, usually several times. Celia saw none of the people she'd been with before. Had they already been taken?

  “Do you think you could hold on to the back of one of those?” Vex asked his voice low.

  Celia nodded as did Kev.

  “Good, wait until they're done.”

  It took far less time than Celia might have expected. The groups must have been shackled and ready to go before the carriages had even come. It was just a matter of herding them in.

  “Let's go,” Vex said.

  Celia and Kev stole up, keeping low and quiet.

  “Sorry,” she said as she stuffed Vex into her shirt so she could hold on to the grip bars with both arms. She was still somewhat weak from lack of food. It would be weeks before she was back to herself, assuming the food kept coming.

  “What... oh... uh...” Vex muttered from inside of her shirt. It made her smile.

  The carriages took them west and north, to an area near the high docks. Celia hadn't been up there much. It was out of the territory of Risha's clen, but more importantly, it was a production area full of textile workhouses, sorting houses, and stone and metal shaping houses. The products were usually refined raw materials that weren't worth stealing unless you had whole barges to fill.

  The carriages were approaching a huge gray building. It had no windows nor any life to it. It was just a massive grayish box surrounded by a tall wooden fence and... guards. Why guards? Generally people didn't pay guards to protect things of little value.

  Celia motioned to Kev that they should drop off before they were seen.

  “Did we arrive somewhere?” Vex whispered from her shirt. His movements tickled a bit.

  “Yes, it's a big box of a building. The sign says it's a textile factory but those don't usually take in carriages of prisoners or have armed guards,” Celia replied quietly. “I say we go around the back.”

  “No, don't, go to the next building over. See if there's one that's abandoned,” Vex said.

  “Come Kev, stay quiet,” Celia said.

  Kev nodded, smiling. His tongue hung out a little when he did that, it made Celia want to ruffle his furry head. It was no wonder the dierlijt were so often called pets, sometimes they felt like them.

  Chapter 11

  "Cut the lines to the flotsam, lads! All hands, close alongside their starboard and we'll force them aground!"

  -Captain Thea Dollekamp of the PRS Streven, as reported by first officer Pier Geerling, 1617

  Robert's smile was so broad, Thira thought it might cut his head in half. He wouldn't stop talking either. It seemed little had changed about the man save his cleanliness, though even that wasn't as good as it could be. It had been decades since she'd traveled on a sailing ship, hopefully not every one of the crew neglected their personal hygiene as thoroughly as Robert.

  “I can't believe it would be you! Or perhaps I can! It's divine providence, God's favor, or maybe even a little bit of old fashioned luck!” Robert said as he strode along the nailed wooden planks of the low docks. He leaned in toward Wilhelm, “You wouldn't have that short little fellow with the special abilities, would you? I'd imagine he'd be very useful on the high seas, in the event of a pursuit.”

  “Are we likely to be pursued? Why would that be?” Rosa asked.

  Robert laughed heartily. “An extremely unlikely possibility I assure you, but not impossible given the war underway.”

  “Do you have some method for getting through the blockade?” Wilhelm asked openly.

  Thira saw Robert wince as one of the dock master's men strode past, his expression unreadable.

  “Keep your voice down man,” Robert said, returning to his jovial smile, “Besides we're not going anywhere near that part of the ocean. We're bound for Ardenton, of course. That's what our little slip of paper says and I, for one, wouldn't dare contradict the written words of the Purple Republic, would you? Why they might turn purple about it and we couldn't have that.”

  “Every drunkard makes that jibe,” Thira said. “It's old.”

  Robert glared at her. “Well so are you, sour puss.”

  Wilhelm sighed. “So it's to be smuggling then.”

  Robert clapped him on the back. “You don't know the half of it my man.”

  “This man sounds more like a swindler than a reputable captain,” Rosa said.

  “I'll thank you to take that back,” Robert replied, grinning, “For I am most definitely both of those things.”

&nbs
p; They'd been walking so far down the docks, Thira had lost track. The ships all looked the same to her save for one thing, the number of guns. Some had three rows, others two, all were fat and incredibly tall. It was amazing they didn't topple over with all those monstrous wooden spars sticking out of their tops and the endless laces of twisted ropes like a giant spider had made its home atop every one of them.

  “I am happy, however, for though it took three months, we'll finally be off. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to feel the deck roll beneath me again. I hope we get a good slosh on the way. What do you think Cemu? Will we see some swells?”

  Cemu smiled. “I do hope so sir, it's been too long.”

  “That it has!” Robert replied. “How are we with provisions?”

  “We got the last of it this morning, should be stowed by now,” Cemu replied. “I don't know how you got that much with no money but we're ready to set off.”

  “You bought supplies for a voyage without money?” Wilhelm asked. “How did you manage that?”

  Robert shrugged. “It's better if you don't ask, but you did, so I'll tell you. You may regret it later.”

  “Let me guess,” Rosa said. “You swindled someone for them.”

  “Not precisely, no. I cheated at cards... but you can only do that if you're very skilled. So you could say I used my exceptional skills. However, it was really more a demonstration of my charm. You see one of the waitresses caught me, but I... persuaded her not to give me up,” he bumped his eyebrows up and down twice.

  “You bribed her then,” Thira said flatly.

  “Yes I bribed her, but it was my charm that sealed the deal,” Robert said.

  “I doubt that,” Thira replied. “Highly.”

  Robert ran a few steps ahead of them and turned around, his arms out. “Here we are my friends... this is my ship. The Scarosian Queen.”

  Wilhelm frowned. “Is that an Arden frigate?”

  Cemu put up his hand, “It's most of one actually, we-”

  Robert waved his arms at the man. “It is indeed a frigate. Not as powerful as some of the ships here, but far faster.”

  Rosa pointed down along the ship's side. “Your lower guns are fake. The entire second row is nothing but woodcut to look like guns!”

  Wilhelm locked eyes on Robert. “How do you defend the ship in the event of an attack... blow hot air on them?”

  Thira giggled.

  Robert's lips pressed into a tight line. “I told you, she's fast so we don't really run into problems like that.”

  “She's overburdened as well. Whatever you've got in this thing has the water line five feet above where it should be,” Rosa said. “Or didn't you know?”

  Robert's eyes widened. “Of course I know, it's my ship! Why don't you mind your own business?”

  “Mind my business?” Rosa shouted, pointing a finger at the Queen. “Dios mio! I'm supposed to be getting into that death trap. Sure seems like that makes it my business, verdad?!”

  Robert's lip curled. “Oh God, this one-legged witch is a pyrolian? Wilhelm! You surround yourself with only the most delightful souls, truly.”

  “I believe that was sarcasm,” Wilhelm replied.

  “You're damned right it was!” Robert said, rolling his eyes. “Will you all please stop harassing my poor ship and get aboard. The faster we pull the plank, the faster we'll be out of here and on our way.”

  “To Ardenton, of course,” said a voice from behind them.

  Thira turned to see a group of six of them. Five men and one woman, all clad in black, with black tall hats and long cloaks, though some in the back shrouded their faces with hoods. Puritans.

  The man at the head of the group was incredibly tall for a human man, with steely blue eyes and a thick gray beard, trimmed short. His face showed no emotion. Against his left hip, Thira spied an end of coiled leather that could only be a lash.

  Not just puritans, Marlinist witch hunters.

  “I'm sorry sir, but all our berths are full, we cast off momentarily,” Robert said, holding up a hand.

  “Would you be Robert McCarron, captain of the Scarosian Queen?” the lead man said in his low voice.

  Robert narrowed his eyes. “Aye.”

  “Then we are your berths. We purchased passage on this ship three weeks ago,” the man replied. He turned to his companions. “Bring our things aboard.”

  “But sir, we have little space-” Robert tried to protest.

  “We paid you, good sir... Thou art in covenant with us. Break it not, lest ye risk the wrath of our Lord. And also the dockmaster.”

  Robert sighed. “Fine...”

  Rosa went aboard to inspect the ship but Wilhelm remained with Robert as he stood and watched the witch hunters load long rough leather trunks, six of them. Thira, as always, stayed with Wilhelm.

  “Damn,” the captain said under his breath as the last of them ascended the gangway to the frigate.

  “What?” Wilhelm asked.

  “How did they even know we were casting off? They must have paid off the dock master's office,” Robert said.

  “What's the problem? No space?”

  “No... problem is we're not going to Ardenton and it'll only be a matter of time before they find out.”

  “Can't you give them back their money?” Wilhelm asked.

  “Their money is what I put up to gamble for our supplies. I've nothing left. This voyage must go on, and it must succeed, or I'm once and truly fucked.”

  “You... are an imbecile,” Thira said.

  Robert smiled, putting his arms out wide. “That's the best sailing though... when you're riding the waves by the seat of your breeches.”

  Wilhelm shrugged. “I'm game. All I was doing was getting drunk and screwing whores.”

  “You'll fit right in!” Robert replied.

  Thira shook her head.

  As the ship was a frigate, a ship too small to be considered a true combat vessel in the eyes of the Faustlanders, they had no cabin of their own, only hammocks at the rear of the crew quarters. Thira's tail kept hitting things which was incredibly frustrating. Her kind had come from wide-open savannas, space to move was more than important to her, it was essential. It was hard not to feel like everything was getting slightly closer with every moment that passed.

  The Marlinists set up on their own at the opposite end of the deck, which was just fine. She had no interest in hearing them bad mouth her any more than the crew already were. Which was an interesting subject in itself. Half of the crew found her revolting, while the other made eyes like they'd bed her given half a chance. She snarled at all of them equally.

  Oddly enough, Rosa was tolerable to talk to, even producing an herb from her bag when Thira mentioned her stomach's distaste for the movement of ships. Apparently the condition was well known among the dierlijt, at least to technicians.

  When the ship cast off, she stowed her few belongings in the locker at the foot of her hammock and climbed the stair to the deck. Up top, sailors were swarming everywhere, yelling instructions to one another, pulling lines and turning cranks.

  Thira found Wilhelm standing at the starboard rail. His eyes weren't on the dock pulling away, but the large form in the distance, dominating the city with its thick goliath built walls: The Palace of Valendam.

  She stepped up next to him.

  “It will be here when we return,” she said.

  He stared for a while. “Will it? I'm not sure it's here now. So much has changed.”

  “It's still your home. I know it, you know it.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Thank you Thira,” he said.

  “Thira,” Rosa said as she walked up, her wooden leg clunking against the deck. “How many hammock rollings have they offered you?”

  “Four,” Thira replied.

  Rosa's eyebrows raised. “Impressive, only three for me.”

  “It's the peg leg,” Wilhelm said. “Old hat for these folk. Doesn't have the same charm for them as it does for me.”

/>   Rosa laughed.

  Even Thira smiled at that one, in spite of herself.

  As the ship turned, expertly slipping from the dock and orienting herself toward the exit from the harbor, Thira had to admit that Robert knew what he was doing. Whatever doubts she might have had that the dirty smelly prisoner she'd met in the palace dungeon could pilot a ship, let alone command one, lessened. Not gone, but less.

  At the harbor exit ahead, Thira could see what the Faustlander's affectionately referred to as The Ugly Sisters. They were two thick citadels that stood to either side of the neck, guarding the entrance to Valendam harbor. Not only that but as they closed, the guns were turning to train on Robert's ship.

  “Run them up!” Robert yelled.

  “We're ready, sir!” called back his first mate. He was squatting next to the main mast with a group of other men. They had a colorful piece of cloth between them that they were attaching to a long line that ran straight up to the tip of the thick central mast.

  “What are they doing?” Thira asked.

  “In times of war, ships must signal each other from a distance,” Wilhelm said. “Every ship has a multitude of flags to run up that allow it to communicate. Each day the harbor master tells all the dock masters what the proper signal is to be allowed in and out of the harbor. Those ships that fly the wrong flag get a warning shot fired across their bow.”

  “Mmmm... and if they don't turn back?”

  “The ship is sunk,” Wilhelm replied.

  As Thira watched, Robert's crew attached a red flag with a large black square in its center to the mast.

  “I have to say, that is an odd choice,” Rosa said.

  Wilhelm nodded. “Indeed. I hope not prophetic.”

  “Why do you say that?” Thira asked.

  “The red with a black square,” Wilhelm replied. “It's the hurricane flag, meant to be flown prior to the approach of a terrible storm.”

  “Ah,” Thira said.

  At the mainmast, the men appeared to be struggling.

  “What's the hold-up?!” Robert yelled from the wheel, his voice strained.