Vengewar

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Vos barked orders to the remaining hawk guards to follow Analera. He went to the bed himself, bent over, and, despite his exhaustion from the battle, picked up the frail, motionless empra and held her in his arms as if she were no more than a sleeping child. “You’re right. We have to get to a safe place, and if Analera knows one, we’ll have to trust her.” Others would soon respond to the ruckus, and some of them might well be assassins, too.

  For a bent and weary old woman, Analera moved swiftly, rushing ahead. “Come, the back stairs are narrow and dim, but they are safe. Only servants who have worked here a long time use them.”

  “Careful with her,” Cemi said.

  Vos walked behind her, showing no effort with his burden as they rushed after the loyal old servant. “I will be as gentle as possible.”

  Analera and her companions hurried the group along. As they left the empra’s spacious chambers, Cemi saw many bodies in the hall, dead hawk guards and smashed assassins. It gave her grim satisfaction to see the carnage inflicted by their unseen protector.

  Cemi remembered the horrifying night on Fulcor Island when they had rushed the bleeding empra through the rainstorm. The situation now was just as dire. She sensed the shimmering entity somewhere near, though she could no longer see it.

  As the group hurried to the stairs, picking their way around the blood and bodies, they kept their voices hushed. Two of the hawk guards were wounded, looking with dismay at the telltale spatters of blood they left on the floor. Vos called them to a halt, adjusting the limp woman in his arms, and spoke to the man. “Bind your wounds so you do not leave a trail.”

  One of the guards touched a deep cut on his leg. “We might slow you down, Captani, but we can still fight. If assassins pursue, we will stay here and stop them from following you.”

  “They can’t pursue us if they don’t know where we’re going,” Cemi said. “That is the best solution.” She counted them, dismayed to see that only seven hawk guards remained. “The empra needs all the protectors she can get. Enough have died today. We can’t lose any more.”

  Analera opened an unobtrusive doorway that descended into a dim stairway lit by widely spaced torches. The steps were slick with moss and shadows. Cemi followed close behind Vos, looking with concern at her unconscious mentor’s face.

  The servants led them down and down through the tower, past landings that opened to different floors. In the huge palace, Cemi did not understand the complexity of the interior spaces. When the walls became solid stone, bedrock instead of blocks, she assumed they had gone beneath the surface. The air felt moister, colder.

  “There are many choices down here,” said Analera. “I know a good empty storage chamber. No one has been there in ages, and we can cover the doorway. No one will think to look.”

  With a brush of air that raised gooseflesh, Cemi felt the strange presence manifest again, like a brisk wind that blew along with them. She felt a warm confidence. Of all the things she had to fear, this was not one of them. No one else seemed to notice the flitting, hovering presence.

  The old servant paused in front of a large, open chamber hollowed out of the rock. It was dusty and dim inside, adorned with cobwebs, holding a few old crates of long-unused supplies, some pieces of broken furniture. Analera spoke in a whisper. “We can bring you cots and blankets, food and water. This is a good place to hide.”

  One of the wounded hawk guards entered the chamber first, prepared to sacrifice himself in case this was a trap. When he signaled that the room was safe and empty, Vos hurried the empra inside and, after one of the guards threw his cloak on the floor, set her gently down. He rapped his knuckles against the stone. “Solid walls. The seven of us can defend this room, at least for a time.” His face was an angry red from the broth that had scalded him.

  “Eight of us,” Cemi said, counting herself.

  Suddenly, the air thickened again, and shimmering ripples flowed around the stone walls and darted over Empra Iluris, as if to make sure she was unharmed. As Cemi watched, the force flowed toward the opening of the chamber and rose up like a sheet of water, blurring their view of the corridor outside, and then became more opaque. The entity shifted its physical structure until it assumed the appearance of solid stone—the same color and texture as the corridor wall.

  Analera was stunned to see the opening vanish. “Are we trapped?” She pressed the new stone wall that hid the exit. Her hand passed directly through. It was just an illusion!

  Cemi tested it herself. Somehow, the empra’s mysterious protector, the invisible deity or godling … or whatever it was, had created a perfect camouflage. What else can it do?

  “I don’t understand what this thing is,” Cemi said, feeling herself start to relax, “but at least I feel safe.”

  47

  WITH painstaking slowness, the opposing warships drew together around Fulcor Island, held back by the vagaries of winds and currents. Utho watched the inexorable clash with intense interest. For now, the shine was in Mandan’s eyes. The young konag had at first seemed terrified of the naval battle, then fascinated, and now he was just impatient. This was clearly not what he had expected a great clash to be like.

  The ten Commonwealth vessels were armed to the teeth and full of vengeful soldiers. Their raucous challenges boomed across the water, dispersed by the wind and drowned out by the crashing waves. Utho, though, felt no need to respond.

  The distinctive Isharan warships proceeded toward them, seventeen intimidating vessels by Utho’s count. As the conquerors of Fulcor, they patrolled the vicinity of the island, a much larger navy than Konag Conndur had ever maintained here. Instead, Conndur had invited the empra there to chat about an alliance.…

  “What is taking so long?” Mandan leaned over the rail, his eyes bright. The breezes had made a mess of his brown hair, but he didn’t seem to care. “I want to smash them so we can take Fulcor back.”

  Utho explained: “Maneuvering ships on the ocean is not like a cavalry charge, my konag. War at sea is slow and strategic. We can only move where the winds take us, but a masterful captain knows how to work the sails and rigging. Our forces will collide soon enough, have no fear.” He squeezed the young man’s arm, hesitated, then squeezed harder. “Have no fear.”

  He could only imagine how Mandan would react in the thick of battle with clashing swords and burning sails, murderous Isharans trying to hack him to pieces. He warned, “Hand-to-hand fighting on deck requires more involvement than watching helpless prisoners being tortured to death. But I will protect you. That is my vow as a Brava and as your friend. My loyalty is to the konag of the Commonwealth. I serve you.”

  The young man glanced at him with haunted eyes. “Did you not also make my father the same promise? That you would protect him? Why was he not safe with you?”

  Utho thought of the shocked look on Conndur’s face as the realization slowly dawned that his own bonded Brava intended to murder him.

  “Your father … gave me another mission.” He looked hard into Mandan’s eyes. “Be assured that I will safeguard the konag. That is my vow. A Brava vow.”

  Their fleet pressed closer to the stark cliffs of Fulcor. On the fortress walls they could see the tiny soldiers manning the lookout posts. Utho glowered at the invaders, as if his sheer anger could strike them dead. His fleet would have to get past the Isharan ships before the brave soldiers could recapture the stronghold.

  Several Commonwealth captains had better luck catching the capricious breezes, and two ships drove ahead of the flagship, fanning out. Six of the Isharan vessels were still outliers far out to sea, and though they had all set their sails and adjusted course, the outliers would not be able to join the fray for some time. The battle would be over before they could try to help their Isharan fellows, and that improved the odds. As a Brava, Utho had unrivaled confidence.

  One of the enemy vessels pulled ahead, as if the breezes had been magically enhanced to drive them forward. This unexpected advantage made Utho uneasy. He was ce
rtain they did not still have a godling on the island, for the entity would have grown too weak by now. Could Isharan priestlords work their magic and manipulate the weather even without a godling?

  The lead Commonwealth ship was guided by a captain with wild dark hair and an unruly beard. He drove recklessly toward the Isharan vanguard and tried to ram the other ship. The two vessels shifted course at the last minute, but the iron-fist prow smashed into the hull boards, sliding and splintering along the side. As they collided, the Commonwealth captain and a dozen of his fighters sprang aboard the enemy vessel. They began a wild melee, hacking with their swords, even though they were greatly outnumbered. The two ships caromed off each other and drifted apart.

  While the ships were in contact, Isharan sailors hurled pots of burning oil onto the deck of the Commonwealth ship. The pots shattered, spilling the oil and catching the boards on fire. Flames rolled up the masts and rigging and began to devour the sails.

  Out on the open water near a rough line of reef foam, two more ships careened together. The battering ram smashed through the hull of the Commonwealth ship and lodged inside, locking the two vessels together. The fighting crews seemed evenly matched at first, but the Isharans methodically murdered the Osterran crew, without respite.

  From the flagship, Mandan cheered at first, then turned pale as he saw how many of his soldiers were dying, how many of his ships were damaged. A lone Isharan vessel cruised directly toward them, targeting the konag’s ship with an outthrust metal fist.

  Alarmed by its swift approach, Utho shouted to the captain, “Alter course. Move us out of the way!” His stomach roiled with his need to fight these animals, but he would not put Konag Mandan at risk. On deck, the Commonwealth fighters waved their swords, spoiling for a fight.

  More enemy vessels closed in, nearly twice as many as Mandan’s fleet. They launched volleys of flaming arrows, trying to ignite the opposing ships. The Commonwealth captains ordered buckets of seawater drawn up, standing ready. Half the sailors aboard were devoted to extinguishing any burning brand as soon as it landed.

  One smoldering arrow thunked to the deck only inches from Mandan’s foot. He yelped, and Utho swept him to safety as more arrows landed, three of them striking exposed men on the deck. Utho shielded Mandan with his own body, hoping that his finemail cape and chest armor would deflect any projectile. He tucked the young konag between two large crates near the bow. “Stay here. I will lead the battle.”

  Pale with fear, Mandan crouched in the shelter between crates, no longer interested in the excitement of the battle.

  Two more Commonwealth ships were burning, the crews unable to douse the fires in time. Utho saw with angry dismay that four of their ten ships were destroyed or disabled, while the enemy still had a dozen or more on the prowl. With clenched fists, he looked toward the high cliffs and the impregnable garrison above. Fulcor was their goal. He would not be driven away because of unexpected Isharan resistance.

  He shouted to the flagship captain, “Make straight for the harbor! Once we reach the island, we will swarm up and recapture the stronghold.” If they could make it into the narrow cove, their ships could hold off the remaining enemy attackers at the mouth, sheltered by the sheer walls.

  The flagship captain barked orders, and the helmsman adjusted course. Picking up speed, the flagship slipped past two oncoming Isharan vessels without bothering to engage. Utho could only focus on Fulcor now.

  More red-striped sails approached from the outlying waters, and the knot in Utho’s stomach tightened. How many ships did the enemy have? By his count, the brave defenders had defeated five Isharan warships by now, but they had more vessels to lose than the Commonwealth did. The enemy crews also seemed more adept at extinguishing the fire arrows before a blaze could catch. Arrows flew back and forth like a meteor shower.

  The remaining ships in Mandan’s fleet closed behind the flagship as they made a headlong push toward the narrow harbor cove. The flagship captain raised signal banners to explain Utho’s plan. Two outlying vessels kept fighting, engaging the Isharan ships, while the other four altered course directly toward Fulcor. If they could seize the island, Utho was sure they could hold it.

  From his long time stationed there, Utho knew every cranny of the garrison, every cliff face, every defense. He pointed across the water, showing the captain a safe passage between hidden reefs. The strong currents around the island were uncertain, but luckily the ship caught a swift and cooperative flow. The flagship lurched ahead, and the other ships followed them.

  The Isharan invaders crowded along the garrison walls above, ready to defend the island. Utho raised a fist in defiance from the deck, knowing the lookouts could spot a Brava even from a distance. Right now, he didn’t care if these animals did still have a godling. He touched the ramer at his hip, ready to ignite it at the proper moment.

  Two outlying Isharan ships engaged the trailing Commonwealth vessels in the open water, but Utho was intent only on reaching the cove. The flagship and three other warships would be enough. He looked up at the stark walls, the severe defenses installed by generations of Commonwealth fighters. He had thought the Fulcor garrison was impregnable. Now his ships would have to defeat those same defenses. He knew full well that it would be a bloodbath.

  As the four Commonwealth vessels reached the narrow cove, the enemy ships held back, concentrating on the stragglers. Utho was perplexed by their strategy. Surely they would be most intent on saving the garrison?

  His skin tingled. Was it a trap?

  On the fortress walls above, he saw the defenders pulling back, preparing something. He shaded his eyes, trying to see what they were doing. He did not like this. “Beware, Captain—”

  He heard a loud wooden thump and creak and saw a skeletal structure, a long wooden arm driven by ropes or springs, counterweights, and tension. At its end was a huge bowl of metal, a basket or crucible of some kind. “They have a new catapult!”

  The released wooden arm sprang upward and slammed into the stopping block with an explosive crack. The bowl hurled its contents, a seething mass of chemical fire. Utho stared as the molten sphere hurtled toward the ships. Like a roiling blob of the sun, its crackling fire engulfed the ship just behind them. Liquid fire ignited the sails and poured like acid on the crewmen and soldiers. The deck was awash in a sea of flames.

  Crouched between his protective crates, Mandan wailed.

  Within minutes, everyone aboard the engulfed ship was either screaming or dead. Utho shouted, “Get us away from the wreck! Do not let the fire spread over here.”

  From the garrison walls, the Isharans cheered their devastating strike. They creaked back their wooden wheels to pull back the catapult’s throwing arm again.

  The three Commonwealth vessels avoided the doomed, burning vessel and continued toward the cove. A sheet of black smoke roiled into the sky and the wreck drifted about as it burned to the waterline.

  Mandan lurched to his feet, screaming to the captain. “Get us away from the island! The harbor will be a death trap. We need to retreat.”

  Utho spun. “My konag! They cannot use the catapult on us once we enter the cove! We will be beneath them. It’s the only way we can attack and recapture the garrison.”

  “No, we’ll be trapped! That is my command!”

  Up above, the giant siege weapon had been reset and locked in place. Utho knew the animals would be filling the basket with more chemical fire. Despite his hatred for Isharans, he understood that he and Mandan and everyone on these ships would die, bottled up like rats if they did enter the narrow cove.

  Somehow, Mandan had found his command voice. “Turn about and sail away from the island. We’ve already lost too many ships. We need to save what we can.”

  Farther out from the island, the two outlying Commonwealth vessels were engaged on the open water, hammered by Isharan ships. One vessel was already burning, and the second Commonwealth warship had been rammed by an iron fist, its hull ruptured. Isharan fighters c
harged onto the deck of the sinking vessel.

  Of the ten Commonwealth ships, only these three remained.

  Utho groaned and gnashed his teeth. He knew what they had to do. Mandan was right. “Yes, my konag. I swore to protect you.” The flagship captain was already responding, turning the ship away from the island, trying to retreat. Utho came to the stark realization that even more Isharan ships were closing in to cut off their escape. It was going to be very close.

  Mandan pointed to the south. “Sail around the island, Captain! We can get away in that direction.” Utho didn’t see any Isharan ships there, so south seemed like a good choice.

  The other two captains were already racing their vessels out of the catapult’s range. With a second loud groan and crack, the siege engine hurled another blazing sphere, but the Commonwealth ships had sailed far enough away so that the deadly fire splashed into the water just to the stern.

  Mandan was moaning and sick. Utho had wanted the young man to become seasoned in the horrors of war, a step that had begun when Mandan saw his mutilated father on that stormy night. As konag, he would experience many more such moments.

  But this naval battle had turned into a rout.

  One of the other two ships pulled ahead, spiraling away from Fulcor Island. Before they had gone far, though, Utho heard a grinding roar and sudden astonished screams as the fleeing ship ran up onto one of the reefs that surrounded the island like claws.

  Utho looked at the greenish white line of churned water that indicated more submerged outcroppings. “Hard to port!”

  The first ship ran aground, its hull torn open. Many sailors were thrown overboard by the impact, and they swirled in the reef foam, battered to death or swept out to sea.

  The captain gripped the rail and gazed out at the water in dismay. “How can we rescue them?”

  With the enemy ships closing in behind them, Mandan cried, “We can’t stay here! The Isharans are coming.”