Sea Wolves As it had for days, the Emerald Storm remained on its easterly course, making slow progress against a headwind that refused to shift. Maintaining direction required frequent tacking which caused the top crews to work all night. Royce, as usual, had drawn the late shift. It was not Dime's fault. Royce had concluded that the mainmast captain was a fair man, but Royce was the newest member of a crew that rewarded seniority. He did not mind the shift. He enjoyed the nights he spent aloft. The air was fresh and in the dark among the ropes he was as comfortable as a spider in his web. This afforded Royce the opportunity to relax, think, and occasionally amuse himself by tormenting Defoe, who panicked any time his old guild mate lost track of Royce.
Royce hung in the netting of the futtock shroud, his feet dangling over the open space-a drop of nearly a hundred feet. Above lay the dust of stars, while on the horizon, the moon rose as a sliver-a cat's eye peering across the water at him. Below, lanterns flickering on the bow, quarterdeck, and the stern, outlined the Emerald Storm. To his left he could just make out the dark coast of Calis drifting lazily by thick vegetation punctuated by the occasional cliff, often marked by the brilliant white plume of a waterfall catching moonlight.
The seasickness was gone. He could not recall a more miserable time than his first week on board. The nausea and dizziness reminded him of being drunk-a sensation he hated. He spent most of the first night hugging the ship's figurehead and vomiting off the bow. After four days, his stomach settled but he remained drained, and tired easily. It took weeks, but he forgot all that as he nested in the rigging looking out at the dark sea. It surprised him just how beautiful the black waves could be. The graceful undulating swells kissed by the barefaced moon, all below a scattering of stars. Only one sight could beat it.
What is she doing right now? Is she looking at the same moon and thinking of me?
Royce reached inside his tunic, pulled out the scarf, and rubbed the material between his fingers. He held it to his face and breathed deep. It smelled like her. Soft and warm, he kept it hidden-his tiny treasure. On the nights of his sickness, he had lain in the hammock clutching it to his cheek as if a magic talisman to ward off misery. It was how he fell asleep.
The officers' deck hatch opened and Royce spotted Beryl stepping out into the night air. Beryl liked his sleep and, being senior midshipman, rarely held the late watch. He stood glancing around, taking in the lay of the deck. He cast an eye up at the maintop, but Royce knew he was invisible in the dark tangles. Beryl spotted Wesley making his rounds on the forecastle and made his way across the waist and up the stair. Wesley looked concerned at his approach but held his ground. Perhaps the boy would get another beating tonight. Whatever torments Beryl planned for Wesley were no concern of Royce, and he thought it might be time to scare Defoe again.
"I won't do it," Wesley declared, drawing Royce's attention. Once more Royce noticed Beryl nervously looking upward.
Who are you looking for, Mister Beryl?
He unhooked himself from the shrouds and rolled over for his own glance upward. As usual, Defoe was keeping his distance.
No threat there.
Royce climbed to the yard, walked to the end and just as he had done during the race with Derning, slid down the rope so he could hear them.
"I can make life on this ship very difficult for you," Beryl threatened Wesley. "Or have you forgotten your two days without sleep? There is talk that I wi made acting lieutenant, and if you think your life is hard with me as the senior midshipman-as a lieutenant it will be a nightmare. And I'll see to it that any transfer is refused."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to. In fact, it's better if you don't. That way you can sound sincere if the captain questions you. Just find him guilty of something. Misconduct, disrespect, I don't care. You put his buddy the cook on report for not saluting, do something like that. Only this time it needs to be a flogging offense."
"But why me? Why can't you invent this charge?"
"Because if the accusation comes from you, the captain and Mister Bishop will not question it." He grinned. "And if they don't-it's your ass not mine."
"And that's supposed to entice me?"
"No, but I'll get off your back. If you don't-you won't eat, you won't sleep, and you'll become very accident-prone. The sea can be dangerous. Midshipmen Jenkins lost both thumbs on our last voyage when he slipped with a rope, which is strange 'cause he didn't handle ropes that day. Invent a charge, make it stick, and get him flogged."
"And why do you want him whipped?"
"I told you. My friends want blood. Now do we have a deal?"
Wesley stared at Beryl and took a deep breath. "I can't misrepresent a man, and certainly not one under my command, simply to avoid personal discomfort."
"It will be a great deal more than discomfort you little git!"
"The best I can do is forget we had this conversation. Of course, should some unusual or circumstantial accusation be leveled against Seaman Melborn, I might find it necessary to report this incident to the captain. I suspect he will take a dim view of your efforts to advance insubordination on his vessel. It could be viewed as the seeds of mutiny, and we both know the penalty for that."
"You don't know who you're playing with, boy. As much as you'd like to think it, you're no Breckton. If I can't use you, I'll lose you."
"Is that all, Mister Beryl? I must tack the ship now."
Beryl spit at the younger man's feet and stalked away. Wesley remained standing rigidly, watching him go. Once Beryl disappeared below, he gripped the rail and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Wesley took a deep breath, replaced his hat, straightened his jacket, then shouted in a clear voice. "Hands to the braces! Prepare to bring her about!"
Royce had dealt with many people in his life, from serfs to kings, and few shocked him. He knew he could always depend on their greed and weakness and was rarely disappointed. Wesley was the first in years to surprise him. While the young midshipman could not see it, the thief offered him the only sincere salute bestowed since Royce stepped aboard.
Royce ascended to the topsail to loose the yard brace in anticipation of Wesley's next order when his eye caught an irregularity on the horizon. At night, with only the suggestion of a moon, it was hard for anyone to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Royce however, could discern the difference. At that moment, he noticed a break in the line. Out to sea, ahead of the Storm, a black silhouette broke the dusty star field.
"Sail ho!" he shouted.
"What was that?" Wesley asked.
"Sail off the starboard bow," he shouted, pointing to the southeast.
"Is there a light?"
"No, sir, a triangle-shaped sail."
Wesley moved to the starboard rail. "I don't see anything, how far out?"
"On the horizon, sir."
"The horizon?" Wesley picked up the eyeglass and panned the sea. The rest of the ship was silent except for the creaking of the oak timbers as they waited. "I'll be buggered," Wesley muttered, as he slapped the glass closed and ran to the quarterdeck to pound on the captain's cabin. He paused then pounded again.
Te door opened to reveal the captain, barefoot in his nightshirt. "Mister Wesley, have we run aground? Is there a mutiny?" The captain's steward rushed to him with his robe.
"No, sir. There's a sail on the horizon, sir."
"A what?"
"A triangular sail, sir. Over there." Wesley pointed while handing him the glass.
"On the horizon you say? But how-" Seward crossed to the rail and looked out. "By Mar! But you've got keen eyes, lad!"
"Actually, the maintop crew spotted it first, sir. Sounded like Seaman Melborn, sir."
"Looks like three ships, Mister Wesley. Call all hands."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Wesley roused Bristol who roused the rest of the crew and in a matter of minutes men ran to their stations. Mister Bishop was still buttoning his coat when he reached the quarterdeck, followed by Mister Temple.
"What is it, sir?"
"The Dacca have returned."
Wyatt, who was taking the helm, glanced over. "Orders, sir?" he asked coldly.
"Watch your tone, helmsman!" Temple snapped.
"Just asking, sir."
"Asking for a caning!" Mister Temple roared. "And you'll get one if you don't keep a civil tongue."
"Shut up the both of you. I need to think." Seward began to pace the quarterdeck, his head down, one hand playing with the tie to his robe, the other stroking his lips.
"Sir, we only have one chance and it's a thin one at that," Wyatt said.
Mister Temple took hold of his cane and moved toward him.
"Belay, Mister Temple!" The captain ordered, before turning his attention back to Wyatt. "Explain yourself, helmsman."
"At that range, with the land behind us, the Dacca can't possibly see the Storm. All they can see are the lanterns."
"Good god! You're right, put out those-"
"No, wait, sir!" Wyatt stopped him. "We want them to see the lanterns. Lower the long boat, rig it with a pole fore and aft, and hang two lanterns on the ends. Put ours out as you light those then cast off. The Dacca will focus on it all night. We'll be able to bring the Storm about, catch the wind, and reach the safety of Wesbaden Bay."
"But that's not our destination."
"Damn our orders, sir! If we don't catch the wind the Dacca will be on us by tomorrow night."
"I'm the captain of this ship!" Seward roared. "Another outburst and I'll not hold Mister Temple's hand."
The captain looked at the waiting crew; every eye was on him. He returned to pacing with his head down.
"Sir?" Mister Bishop inquired. "Orders?"
"Can't you see I'm thinking, man?"
"Yes, sir."
The wind fluttered the sails overhead as the ship began to lose the angle on the wind.
"Lower the long boat," Seward ordered at last. "Rig it with poles and lanterns."
"And our heading?"
Seward tapped his lips.
"I shouldn't need to remind you, Captain Seward," Thranic said as he climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck, "that it is imperative that we reach the port of Dagastan without delay."
Seward tapped his lips once more. "Send the long boat aft with a crew of four, have them stroke for their lives toward Wesbaden. The Dacca will think we've seen them and will expect us to head that way, but the Storm will maintain its present course. There is to be no light on this ship without my order, and I want absolute silence. Do you hear me? Not a sound."
"Aye, sir."
Seward glanced at Wyatt, who shook his head with a look of disgust. The captain ignored him and turned to Bishop. "See to it Mister Bishop."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"You should have tried for the long boat's crew," Wyatt whispered to Hadrian. "We all should have."
It was still dark but the crescent moon halong since fallen into the sea. As per the captain's orders, the ship was quiet. The only sound came from the whispers of some of the men who had not returned to their hammocks after the long boat launched. Even the wind died, and the ship rocked motionless and silent in the darkness.
"You don't have a lot of faith in Seward's decision?"
"The Dacca are smarter than he is."
"You've got to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. They might think we turned and ran."
Wyatt muffled a laugh. "If you were captain and decided to make a run for it against faster ships in the dead of night, would you have left the lanterns burning? The lantern ruse only works if they think we haven't seen them."
"I hadn't thought of that," Hadrian admitted. "We'll know soon enough if they took the bait. It's getting lighter."
"Where's Royce and his eagle eyes?" Wyatt asked.
"He went to sleep after his shift. Sleep and eat when you can so you don't regret it later-something we've learned over the years."
They peered out across the water as the light increased. "Maybe the captain was right," Hadrian said.
"How do you mean?"
"I don't see them."
Wyatt laughed. "You don't see them because you can't see anything, not even a horizon. There's fog on the water. It happens this time of year."
It grew lighter and Hadrian could see Wyatt was right. A thick gray blanket of clouds surrounded them.
Mister Bishop climbed to the quarterdeck and rapped softly on the captain's door. "You asked to be awakened at first light, sir," he whispered The captain came out fully dressed this time, and proudly strode to the bridge.
"Fog, sir."
The captain scowled at him. "I can see that, Mister Bishop. I'm not blind."
"No, sir."
"Send a lad up the main masts with a glass."
"Mister Wesley," Bishop called softly and the midshipman came running. "Take this glass to the masthead and report."
"Aye, sir."
Captain Seward stood with his hand fidgeting behind his back, rocking on his heels and staring out at the fog. "It at least looks promising so far, doesn't it, Mister Bishop?"
"It does indeed, sir. The fog will help hide us all the more."
"What do you think now, helmsman?" the captain asked Wyatt.
"I think I'll wait for Mister Wesley's report. If you don't mind, sir."
Seward folded his arms in irritation and began to pace, his short legs and plump belly doing little to impart the vision of a commanding figure.
Wesley reached the masthead and extended the glass.
"Well?" Seward called aloud, his impatience getting the better of him.
"I can't tell, sir. The fog is too thick."
"They say the Dacca can use magic to raise a fog when they want," Poe whispered to Hadrian as they watched. "They're likely using it to sneak up on us."
"Or maybe it's just because the air is cooler this morning," Hadrian replied.
Poe shrugged.
The crew stood around silent and idle for an hour before Mister Temple ordered Hadrian to serve the morning meal. The men ate then wandered the deck in silence, like ghosts in a misty world of white. The midday meal came and went as well, with no break in the mist that continued to envelop them.
Hadrian had just finished cleaning up when he heard Wesley's voice from the masthead shout, "Sail!"
Emerging from the hold, Hadrian felt a cool breeze as a wind moved the fog, parting the hazy white curtains veil after veil.
The single word left everyone on edge.
"Good Maribor, man!" Seward shouted up. "What kind of sail?"
"Red lateen sails, sir!"
"Damn!" Seward cursed. "How many?"
"Five!"
"Five? Five! How could there be five?"
"No, wait!" Wesley shouted. "Six to windward! And three more coming off the port bow."
The captain's face drained of color. "Good Maribor!"
Even as he spoke, Hadrian spotted the sails clustered on the water.
"Orders captain?" Wyatt asked.
Seward glanced around him desperately. "Mister Bishop, lay the ship on the port tack."
Wyatt shook his head defiantly. "We need to grab the wind."
"Damn you!" He hesitated only a moment than shouted, "So be it! Hard a port, helmsman. Bring her around, hard over!"
Wyatt spun the wheel, the chains cranking the rudder so that the ship started to turn. Mister Temple barked orders to the crew. The Emerald Storm was sluggish, stalling in the futile wind. The ship slowed to a mere drift. Then the foresail fluttered, billowed, and started to draw. She was coming around slowly. The yards turned as the men ran aft with the lee-braces. The mainsail caught the breeze and blew full. The ship creaked loudly as the masts took up the strain.
The Storm picked up speed and was halfway round and pointed toward the coast. Still, Wyatt held the wheel hard over. The wind pressed the sails and leaned the ship dipping the beam dangerously low. Spray broke over the rail as men grabbed hold of whatever they could to remain standing as the deck tilted steadily upward. The captain glared at Wyatt as he too grabbed hold of the mizzen shroud, yet he held his tongue.
Letting the wind take the ship full-on with all sails set, Wyatt pressed the wheel raising the ship on its edge. Mister Bishop and Mister Temple glanced from Wyatt to the captain and back again, but no one dared give an order in the captain's presence.
Hadrian also grabbed hold of a rail to keep from slipping down the deck. Holding tight, he worried Wyatt might capsize her. The hull groaned from the strain, the masts creaked with the pressure, but the ship picked up speed. At first the ship bucked through the waves sending bursts of spray over the deck, then faster she went until the Storm skipped the waves, flying off the crests with the wind squarely on her aft quarter. The ship made its tight circle and at last Wyatt let up, leveling the deck. The ship fell in direct line with the wind and the bow rose as she ran with it.
"Trim the sails" Mister Bishop ordered and the men set to work once more, periodically glancing astern to watch the approach of the ships.
"Mister Bishop," Seward called. "Disburse weapons to the men, and issue an extra ration of grog."
Royce was on his way aloft as the larboard crew came off duty. "How long do you think before they catch us?" he asked Hadrian, looking aft at the tiny armada of red sails chasing their wake.
"I don't know. I've never done this before. What do you think?"
Royce shrugged, "A few hours maybe."
"It's not looking good, is it?"
"And you wanted to be a sailor."
Hadrian went about the business of preparing for the evening meal, mindful that it might be the last the men would have. Poe, conspicuously absent, hastily entered the galley.
"Where you been?"
Poe looked sheepish. "Talking to Wyatt. Those Dacca ships are gaining fast. They'll be on us tonight for sure."
Hadrian nodded grimly.
Poe moved to help cut the salted pork, then added. "Wyatt has a plan. It won't save everyone, only a handful really, and it may not work at all, but it's something. He wants to know if you're in."
"What about Royce?"
"Him too."
"What's the plan?"
"Sail!" they heard Mister Wesley cry even from the galley, "Two more tartanes dead ahead!"
Poe and Hadrian, like everyone else aboard, scrambled to the deck to see Mister Wesley pointing off the starboard bow. Two red sails were slipping out from hidden coves along the shore to block their retreat. Sailing nimbly against the wind, they moved to intercept.
"Clear th deck for action!" Seward shouted from the quarterdeck, wiping the sweat from his head.
Men scrambled across the ship, once more hauling buckets of sand and water. Archers took their positions on the forecastle, stringing their bows. Oil and hot coals were placed at the ready.
"We need to steer clear," the captain said. "Helm bring her-"
"We need speed, sir," Wyatt interrupted.
The captain winced at the interruption. "Be mindful Deminthal or I'll skip the flogging I owe you and have you hanged!"
"With all due respect, you abdicated that privilege to the Dacca last night. All the sooner if I alter course now."
"By Maribor! Mister Temple take-" The captain stopped as he spotted the tartanes begin to turn.
"See! They expected us to break," Wyatt told him.
Realizing their mistake, the Dacca fought to swing back, but it was too late. A hole had been created.
Seward grumbled and scowled at Wyatt.
"Sir?" Temple asked.
"Never mind. Steady as she goes. Mister Bishop! Order the archers to take aim at the port side ship! Perhaps we can slow them down if we can manage to set one afire."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Hadrian rushed to the forecastle. Having proved himself one of the best archers on the ship, his station was at the center of the port side. He picked a strong, solid bow and tested the string's strength.
"The wind will set the arrows off a bit toward the bow," Poe mentioned, readying a bucket of glowing hot coals. "Might want to lead the target a bit, eh?"
"You're my squire now as well?"
Poe smiled, and shook his head. "I've seen you in practice. I figure the safest place on this ship right now is here. I'll hand the oiled arrows. You just keep firing."
The Dacca tartanes slipped through the waves, their red triangular sails billowing out sideways as they struggled on a tight tack to make the best use of the head wind. Dark figures scurried like ants across the decks and rigging of the smaller ships.
"Ready arrows!" Mister Bishop shouted.
Hadrian fitted his first shaft in the string.
As the Dacca closed on the Storm they began to turn. Their yards swept round and their tillers cranked, pivoting much as Wyatt had, the action all the more impressive as both ships moved in perfect unison, like dancers performing simultaneous pirouettes.
"Light arrows!"
Hadrian touched the oil-soaked wad at the tip of the shaft to the pot of coals and it burst into flame. A row of men on the port side stood ready, a trail of soot-black smoke wafting aft.
"Take aim!" Mister Bishop ordered as the Dacca ships came into range. On the deck of the tartanes, a line of flaming arrows mirrored their own. "Fire!"
Into the blue sky flew a staggered arc of fire trailing black smoke. At the same time, the Dacca launched their volley and the two passed each other in midair. All around him, Hadrian heard the pattering of arrows. The bucket brigade was running to douse the flames and above, Royce dropped along a line to kick free one lodged in the masthead before it could ignite the mainsail.
Poe had another arrow ready. Hadrian fitted it, lit it with the pot, took aim, and sent it into the lower right yard of their mainsail. To his right he heard the loud thwack of the massive ballista that sent forth a huge flaming missile. It struck the side of the tartane, splintering the hull and lodging there.
Hadrian heard a hissing fly past his ear. Behind him, the oil bucket splashed and the liquid ignited. Poe jumped backward as his trousers flamed. Grabbing a nearby bucket Hadrian smothered the burning oil with sand.
Another volley rained, peppering the deck. Boatswain Bristol, in the process of cranking the ballista for a second shot, fell dead with an arrow in his throat, his hair catching fire. Basil, the officers' cook, took one in the chest, and Seaman Bliden screamed as two arrows hit him, one in the thigh and the other through his hand. Looking up, Hadrian saw this second volley came from the other ship.
Shaken but not seriously harmed, Poe found another oil bucket and brought it to Hadrian. As the two ships came close, Hadrian found what he was looking for-a bucket at the feet of the archers. Leading his target, he held his breath, took aim, and released. The tartane's bucket exploded. Hadrian spotted a young Dacca attempt to douse the flames with water. Instantly the fire washed the deck. At that moment, the Storm's ballista crew, having loaded the weapon with multiple bolts this time, released a cruel hail on the passing Dacca. Screams bridged the gap between the ships as the Storm sailed on, leaving the burning ships in their wake.
Once more, the crew cheered their victory, but it was hollow. Amid the blackened scorch marks left by scores of arrows, a dozen men lay dead on the deck. They had not slipped through the trap unscathed and the red sails behind them were closer now.
When night fell, the captain ordered the off-crew, including Hadrian and Royce, below deck to rest. They went to their quarters and took the opportunity to change into their cloaks and tunics. Hadrian strapped on his swords. It brought a few curious looks, but no one said a word.
Not a single man slept and few even sat. Most paced with their heads bowed to avoid the short ceiling, but perhaps this time they were also praying. Many of the crew had appeared superstitious, but none religious-until now.
"Why don't we put inland?" Seaman Davis asked his fellow sailors. "The coast's only a few miles off. We could put in and escape into the jungle."
"Coral shoals ring the shores of Calis," Banner said, scraping the surface of the table with a knife. "We'd rip the bottom of the Storm a mile out and the Dacca would have it. Besides, the captain ain't gonna abandon his ship and run."
"Captain Seward is an arse!"
"Watch yer mouth, lad!"
"Why? What's he gonna do that can be worse than the Dacca?"
To that, Banner had no answer. No one did. Fear spread through the crew, fear of certain death and the poison that comes from waiting idly for it. Hadrian knew from countless battles the folly of leaving men to stagnate with nothing else to occupy their thoughts.
The hatch opened and everyone looked up. It was Wyatt and Poe.
"What's the word?" Davis asked.
"It won't be long now men, make ready what you need to. The captain will call general quarters soon, I expect."
Wyatt paused at the bottom of the ladder and spoke quietly with Grady and Derning. They nodded then went aft. Wyatt motioned with his eyes for Hadrian and Royce to follow him forward. Only empty hammocks filled the cramped space leaving them enough privacy to speak.
"So, what's this plan?" Royce whispered.
"We can't win a fight," Wyatt told them. "All we can hope to do is run."
"You said the Storm can't outrun them," Hadrian reminded him.
"I wasn't planning on outrunning them in the Storm."
Hadrian and Royce exchanged glances.
"The Dacca will want her and the cargo. That's why we made it through the blockade so easily. They were trying to slow us, not stop us. If I had followed Seward's orders we'd all be dead now. As it is, I only bought us a few hours, but they were needed."
"Needed for what exactly?" Royce asked.
"For darkness. The Dacca can't see any better at night than we can, and while they take the Storm, we'll escape. They'll bring as many of their ships alongside as they can to overwhelm our decks by sheer numbers. When they board us, a party of men I've hand-picked will take one of the tartanes. We'll cut the ship free and with luck get clear of the Storm before they see us. Iarkness and the confusion of battle, it might work."
They both nodded.
Wyatt motioned to Hadrian. "I want you to lead the boarding party. I'll signal you from the quarterdeck."
"What are you going to be doing?" Royce asked.
"You mean what are we going to be doing? I didn't come all this way not to find Allie. You and I will use the distraction to break into the captain's quarters and steal any orders or parchments we find. Just watch me. You'll know when."
"What about the elves below?" Royce asked.
"Don't worry about them. They want the ship whole. In all likelihood, the Dacca will treat them better than the New Empire has."
"Who's in this hand-picked team of yours?" Hadrian asked.
"Poe of course, Banner, Grady-"
"All hands on deck!" Temple shouted from above, as drums thundered.
"See you above, gentlemen," Wyatt said while heading for the hold.
The sky was black. Invisible clouds covered the stars and shrouded the sliver of moon. Darkness wrapped the sea, a shadowy abyss where only the froth at the bow revealed the presence of water. Behind them, Hadrian saw nothing.
"Archers to the aft deck!"
Hadrian joined the others at the railing where they lined up shoulder to shoulder, looking out across the Emerald Storm's wake.
"Light arrows!" came the order.
From across the water they heard a sound, and a moment later men around Hadrian screamed as arrows pelted the stern.
"Fire!" Mister Bishop ordered.
They raised their bows and fired as one, launching their burning shafts blindly into the darkness. A stream of flame flew in a long arch, some dying with a hiss as they fell into the sea, others struck wood, their light outlining a ship about three hundred yards behind them.
"There," Bishop shouted. "There's your target men!"
They exchanged volley after volley. Men fell dead on both ships leaving the ranks of archers thin. Small fires broke out on the tartane illuminating it and its crew. The Dacca were short, stocky, and lean with coarse long beards and wild hair. The firelight cast them with a demonic glow that glistened off their bare, sweat-soaked skin.
When the tartane lay less than fifty yards astern, its mainmast caught fire and burned like a dead tree. The brilliant light exposed the sea in all directions, and stifled the cheers of the Storm's crew when it revealed the positions of the rest of the Dacca fleet. Four ships had already slipped alongside them.
"Stand by to repel boarders!" shouted Seward. He drew his sword and waved it over his head as he ran to the safety of the forecastle walls.
"Raise the nets!" ordered Bishop. The rigging crew drew up netting on either side of the deck, creating an entangling barrier of rope webbing. Under command of their officers, men took position at the waist deck, cutlasses raised.
"Cut the tethers!" Mister Wesley's voice cried as hooks caught the rail.
The deck shook as the tartanes slammed against the Emerald Storm's hull. A flood of stocky men wearing only leather armor and red paint stormed over the side. They screamed in fury as swords met.
"Now!" Hadrian heard Wyatt shout at him.
He turned and saw the helmsman pointing to the tartane tethered to the Storm's port side near the stern, the first of the Dacca's ships to reach them. Most of its crew had already boarded the Storm. Poe, Grady and others in Wyatt's team held back watching him.
"Go!" he shouted, and grabbing hold of the mizzen's port side brace, cut it free, and swung out across the gulf, landing on the stern of the tartane.
The stunned Dacca helmsman reached for his short blade as Hadrian cut his throat. Two more Dacca rushed him. Hadrian dodged, using the move to hide the thrust. His broadsword drove deep into the first Dacca's stomach. The second man, seeing his ce, attacked, but Hadrian's bastard sword was in his left hand. With it he deflected a wild swing and drawing the broadsword from the first Dacca's stomach brought it across, severing the remaining man's head.
With three bodies on the aft deck, Hadrian looked up to see Poe and the rest already in possession of the ship and in the process of cutting the tethers free. With the last one cut, Poe used a pole and pushed away from the Storm.
"What about Royce and Wyatt?" Hadrian asked climbing down to the waist deck.
"They'll swim for it and we'll pick them up," Poe explained, as he ran past him heading aft. "But we need to get into the shadows now!"
Poe climbed the short steps to the tartane's tiny quarterdeck and took hold of the tiller. "Swing the boom!" he shouted in a whisper. "Trim the sails!"
"We know our jobs a lot better than you, boy!" Derning hissed at him. He and Grady were already hauling on the mainsail sheet, trying to tame the canvas that snapped above like a serpent, jangling the rigging rings against the mast. "Banner, Davis! Adjust the headsail for a starboard tack."
Hadrian never learned the ropes and stood by uselessly while the others raced across the deck. Even if he had picked up anything about rigging, it would not have helped. The Dacca tartane was quite different in design. Besides being smaller, the hull was sloped like a fishing vessel, but with two decks. It had just two sails; a headsail supported on a forward tilting mast and the mainsail. Both were triangular and hung from long curved yards that crossed the masts at angles so that the vessel's profile appeared like the heads of two axes cleaving through the air. The deck was dark wood and glancing around, Hadrian wondered if the Dacca stained it with the same blood as the sails. It was an easy conclusion to make after seeing the rigging ornamented with human skulls.
On the Storm, the battle was going badly. At least half the crew lay dead or dying. No canvas was visible as the boarding party made striking the sails a priority. The deck was awash in stocky, half-naked men who circled the forecastle with torches, dodging arrows as they struggled to breech the bulwark.
Poe pushed the tartane's tiller over, pointing the bow away from the Storm. The wind caught the canvas and the little ship glided gently away. With the sails on the Emerald Storm struck, she was dead in the water and it was easy for them to circle her. Equally small crews remained to operate the other Dacca boarding ships, but that hardly mattered as all eyes were on the Storm. As far as Hadrian could tell, no one noticed them.
"I'm bringing her 'round," Poe said. "Hadrian, stand by with that rope there and everyone watch the water for Wyatt and Royce."
"Royce?" Derning questioned with distaste. "Why are we picking up the murderer? I can handle the rigging just fine."
"Because Wyatt said so," Poe replied.
"What if we can't find them? What if they die before they can get off the ship?" Davis asked.
"I'll decide that when it happens," Poe replied.
"You? You're barmy, boy. I'll be buggered if I'll take orders from a little sod like you! Bloody Davis here's got more years at sea than you and he's a git if there ever was one. If we don't find Deminthal after the first pass, you'll be taking orders from me."
"Like I said," Poe repeated, "I'll decide that when it happens."
Derning grinned menacingly, but Hadrian did not think Poe, being at the stern, could have seen it in the darkness.
Royce wasted no time hitting the deck at the signal.
"We haven't got long," Wyatt told him. "The captain's quarters will be a priority."
He kicked the door open, shattering the frame.
Fully carpeted, the whole rear of the ship was one luxurious suite. Silk patterns in hues of gold and brown covered the walls, with matching upholstered furniture and a silk bedcover. A painting hung on one wall, showing a man bathed in sunlight, his face filled with rapture as a single white feather floated into his upraised hands. Vast stern windows banked the far wall above which silver lanterns swayed. The bed was to one side while a large desk was across from it.
Wyatt scanned the room quickly then moved to the desk. He rifled the drawers. "He'll have put the orders in a safe place."
"Like a safe?" Royce asked, pulling a window drape aside revealing a small porthole size compartment with a lock. "They always put them behind the drapes."
"Can you open it?"
Royce smirked. He pulled a tool from his belt and within seconds it was open. Wyatt reached inside, grabbing the entire stack of parchments and stuffing them into a bag.
"Let's get out of here," he said, making for the door. "Jump off the starboard side. Poe will pick us up."
They came out of the cabin into a world of chaos. Stocky men painted in red poured over the sides of the vessel. Each wielded short broad blades or axes, that cut down everything before them. Only a handful of men stood on the waist deck, the rest had fallen back to the perceived safety of the forecastle. Those that tried to hold their ground died. Royce stepped out on the deck just in time to see Dime, his topsail captain, nearly cut in half by a cleaving blow from a Dacca axe.
Mister Bishop and the other officers were slow in reaching the castle but now, as the Dacca flooded the deck, they were running full out to reach its walls. Stabbed in the back, Lieutenant Green collapsed. As he fell, he reached out, grabbing at anything. His hands found Midshipman Beryl running past and dragged him down as well. Beryl cursed and kicked Green off but got to his feet too late. The Dacca circled him.
"Help me!" he cried.
Royce watched as the crew ignored him and ran on-all but one. Midshipman Wesley ran back just in time to stab the nearest Dacca caught off guard by the sudden change in his fleeing prey. Wielding his sword with both hands, Wesley sliced horizontally across the chest of the next brute and kicked him aside.
"Beryl! This way, run!" he shouted.
Beryl lashed out at the Dacca then ran to Wesley. Quickly surrounded, the Dacca drove them farther and farther away from the forecastle. An arrow from the walls saved Wesley from decapitation as the two struggled to defend themselves. Pushed by the overwhelming numbers, they retreated until their backs hit the rail.
A Dacca blade slashed Beryl's arm and then across his hip. He screamed, dropping his sword. Wesley threw himself between Beryl and his attacker. The young midshipman slashed wildly struggling to defend the older man. Then Wesley was hit. He stumbled backward, reached out for the netting chains, but missed and fell overboard. Alone and unarmed, the Dacca swarmed Beryl, who screamed until they sent his head from his body.
No one noticed Wyatt or Royce creeping in the shadows around the stern seeking a clear place to jump. They crouched just above the captain's cabin windows. Royce was about to leap when he spotted Thranic step out from the hold. The sentinel exited, a torch in hand, as if he merely wondered what all the noise was about. He led the seret to the main deck where they quickly formed a wall around the sentinel. Seeing reinforcements, the Dacca rallied to an attack. They charged, only to die upon the seret swords. The Knights of Nyphron were neither sailors nor galley slaves. They knew the use of arms and how to hold formation.
Holding his bag to his chest, Wyatt leapt from the ship.
"Royce!" Wyatt shouted from the sea below.
Royce watched, impressed by the knight's courage and skill as they battled the Dacca. It looked as if they might just turn the tide. Then, Thranic threw his flaming brand into the ship's hold. A rush of air sounded as if the sip were inhaling a great breath. A roar followed. A deep, resonating growl shook the timber beneath Royce's feet. Tongues of flame licked out of every hatch and porthole, the air filling with screams and cries. And in the flicking glow of burning wood and flesh, Royce saw the sentinel smile.
Hadrian and the tiny crew of the stolen Dacca ship had only just reached the starboard side of the Storm when the area grew bright. The Emerald Storm was ablaze. Within little more than a minute, the fire had enveloped the deck. Men in the rigging had no choice but to jump. From that height, their bodies hit the water with a cracking sound. The rigging ignited, ropes snapped, and yards broke free falling like flaming tree trunks. The darkness of the starless sea fell away as the Emerald Storm became a floating bonfire. Those near the rail leapt into the sea. Screams, cries and the crackle and hiss of fire filled the night.
Looking over the black water, whose surface was alive with wild reflections, Hadrian spied a bit of sandy hair and a dark uniform. "Mister Wesley, grab on!" Hadrian called, grabbing a rope and throwing it.
Like a man in a dream, Wesley turned at the sound of his name. He looked at the tartane with confusion in his eyes until he spotted Hadrian reaching out. He grabbed the rope thrown and was reeled in like a fish and hoisted on deck.
"Nice to have you aboard, sir," Hadrian told him.
Wesley gasped for air and rolled over, vomiting seawater.
"From that, I assume you're happy to be here."
"Wyatt!" Poe shouted.
"Royce!" Hadrian called.
"Over there!" Derning said, pointing.
Poe turned the tiller and they sailed toward the sound of splashing.
"It's Bernie and Staul," Grady announced from where he stood on the bow.
The two wasted no time scrambling up the ship's ropes.
"More splashing over there!" Davis pointed.
Poe did not have to alter course as the swimmers made good progress to them. Davis was the first to lend a hand. He reached out to help and a blade stabbed him in the chest before he was pulled overboard.
Hadrian saw them now, swarthy, painted brutes with long daggers, their wet glistening skin shimmering with the light of the flames. They grabbed at the netting, and scrambled like rats up the side of the tartane.
Hadrian drew his sword and lashed out at the nearest one, who dodged and stubbornly continued to climb. The Tenkin warrior, Staul, stabbed another in the face and the Dacca dropped backward with a cry and a splash. Defoe and Wesley joined in, thrashing wildly until the Dacca gave up and fell away into the darkness.
"Watch the other side!" Wesley shouted.
Staul and Defoe took positions on the starboard rail but nothing moved.
"Any sign of Davis?" Hadrian asked.
"Dee man be dead now," Staul said. "Be more keerful who you sail to, eh?"
"Bulard!" Defoe said, pointing ahead to more swimmers.
"And three more over there," Wesley announced, picking out faces in the tumultuous water. "One is Greig, the carpenter, and that's Doctor Levy, and there is…"
Hadrian did not need Royce's eyes to identify the other man. The infernal light coming off the burning ship suited the face. It was Sentinel Thranic, his hood thrown back, his pale face gleaming. Derning, Defoe, and Staul were bad enough. Now they had Thranic, of all people.
Thranic needed no help as he climbed nimbly up the side of the little ship, his cloak soaked, his face angry. If he were a dog, Hadrian knew he would be growling, and for that at least, he was pleased. Bulard, the man who came aboard in the middle of the night, looked even paler than before. The reason became obvious the moment he hit the deck and blood mingled with seawater. Levy went to him and applied pressure to the wound.
"Hadrian…Poe!" Wyatt's voice ied from the sea below.
Poe steered toward the sound as the rest stood on their guard. This time there was no need. Wyatt and Royce were alone swimming for the boat.
"Where were you?" Wyatt asked, climbing aboard.
"Sorry, boss, but it's a big ocean."
"Not big enough," Derning said, looking over at what remained of the Storm, his face bright with the glow. "The Dacca are finally taking notice of us."
The main mast of the Emerald Storm, burning like a tree-sized torch, finally cracked and fell. The forecastle walls blazed. Seward, Bishop, and the rest were either lost to blades or burned alive. The Storm had blackened and cracked, allowing the ship to take on water. The hull listed to one side, sinking from the bow. As it did, the fire was still bright enough to see several of the Dacca on the nearest vessel pointing in their direction and shouting.
"Wheel hard over!" Wyatt shouted, running for the tiller. "Derning, Royce, get aloft! Hadrian, Banner-the mainsail braces. Grady to the headsail braces! Who else do we have here? Bernie, join Derning and Royce. Staul help with the mainsail. Mister Wesley, if it wouldn't be too much trouble perhaps you could assist Grady on the forward braces. Bring her round east, nor'east!"
"That will put us into the wind again!" Grady said, even as Wyatt brought the ship round.
"Aye, starboard tack. With fewer crew and the same ship we'll be lighter and faster."
They got the ship around and caught what wind they could.
"Here, Banner, take the tiller," Wyatt said, as he scanned the deck. "We can dump some gear and lighten the load further. Who's that next to you?"
Wyatt stopped abruptly when he saw Thranic's face look up.
"What's he doing on board?" Wyatt asked.
"Is there a problem, helmsman?" Thranic addressed him.
"You fired the ship!" Wyatt accused. "Royce told me he saw you throw a torch in the hold. How many oil kegs did you break to get it to go up like that?"
"Five I think. Maybe six."
"There were elves-they were locked in the hold-trapped down there."
"Precisely," Thranic replied.
"You bastard!" Wyatt rushed the sentinel drawing his cutlass. Thranic moved with surprising speed and dodged Wyatt's attack, throwing his cloak around Wyatt's head and shoving the helmsman to the deck as he drew a long dagger.
Hadrian pulled his swords and Staul immediately moved to intercept him. Poe drew his cutlass, as did Grady, followed quickly by Defoe and Derning.
From the rigging above, Royce dropped abruptly into the midst of the conflict, landing squarely between Thranic and Wyatt. The sentinel's eyes locked on the thief and smouldered.
"Mister Wesley!" Royce shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on Thranic. "What are your orders, sir?"
At this everyone stopped. The ship continued to sail with the wind, but the crew paused. Several glanced at Wesley. The midshipman stood frozen on the deck watching the events unfold around him.
"His orders?" Thranic mocked.
"Captain Seward, Lieutenant Bishop, and the other midshipmen are dead," Royce explained. "Mister Wesley is senior officer. He is, by rights, in command of this vessel."
Thranic laughed.
Wesley began to nod. "He's right."
"Shut up, boy!" Staul snapped. "Et ez time vee took care of dis bidness 'ere."
Staul's words brought Wesley around. "I am no boy!" Turning to Thranic, he added. "What I am, sir, is the acting-captain of this ship and as such, you, and everyone else," he glanced at Staul, "will obey my orders!"
Staul laughed.
"I assure you this is no joke, seaman. I also assure you that I will not hesitate to see you cut down where you stand, and anyone else who fails to obey me."
"And 'ow do you plan to do dat?" Staul asked. "Dis ez not dee Emerald Storm. You command no one 'ere."
"I wouldn't say that," Hadrian commented, maintaining his familiar smile at Staul.
"Neither would I," Royce added.
"Me either," Derning joined in, his words quickly echoed by Grady.
Wyatt got to his feet slowly. He glared at Thranic, but said, "Aye, Mister Wesley is captain now."
Poe, Banner and Greig acknowledged with communal "Ayes."
What followed was a tense silence. Staul and Defoe looked at Thranic who never took his gaze off Royce. "Very well, captain," the sentinel said at length. "What are your orders?"
"I am hereby promoting Mister Deminthal to acting lieutenant. Everyone will follow his instructions to the letter. Mister Deminthal, you will confine your orders to saving this vessel from the Dacca and maintaining order and discipline. There are to be no executions, and no disciplinary actions of any kind without my authorization. Is that clear?"
"Aye, sir."
"Petty Officer Blackwater, you are hereby appointed master-at-arms. Collect the weapons, but keep them at the ready. See to it Mister Deminthal's and my orders are carried out to the letter. Understood?"
"Aye, sir."
"Mister Grady, you are now boatswain. Mister Levy, please take Mister Bulard below so that he can be properly cared for. Let me know if there is anything you need. Mister Derning will be top captain, Seamen Bernie and Melborn report to him for duties. Mister Deminthal, carry on."
"Your sword," Hadrian addressed Staul. The Tenkin hesitated, but after a nod from Thranic, handed the blade over. As he did, he laughed and cursed in the Tenkin language.
"You'd have found that a bit harder than you think," Hadrian replied to Staul and was rewarded with the Tenkin's shocked expression.
Wyatt had everything nonessential and not attached to the ship thrown overboard. Then he ordered silence and whispered the order to change tack. The boom swung over, catching the wind and angling the little ship out to sea. Well behind them, the last light of the Emerald Storm disappeared, swallowed by the waves. Not quite so far away, they could see lanterns bobbing on the following ships. From the sound of shouts, they were displeased at losing their prize. All eyes faced astern, watching the progression of lanterns as the Dacca continued following their previous tack. After a while, two ships altered course, but guessed incorrectly and turned westward. Eventually all the lanterns disappeared.
"Are they gone?" Hadrian heard Wesley whisper to Wyatt.
He shook his head. "They just put out the lanterns, but with luck they will think we're running for ground. The nearest friendly port is Wesbaden back west."
"For a helmsman you're an excellent commander," the young man observed.
"I was a captain once," Wyatt admitted. "I lost my ship."
"Really? In whose service? The empire or the old Warric fleet?"
"No service. It was my ship."
Wesley looked astonished. "You were…a pirate?"
"Opportunist, sir. Opportunist."
Hadrian awoke to a misty dawn. A steady breeze pushed the tartane through undulating waves. All around them lay a vast and empty sea.
"They're gone," Wesley answered the unasked question. "We've lost them"
"Any idea where we are?"
"About three days sail from Dagastan," Wyatt answered.
"Dagastan?" Grady muttered looking up. "We're not headed there are we?"
"That was my intention," Wyatt replied.
"But Wesbaden is closer."
"Unfortunately, I confess no knowledge of these coasts," Wesley said. "Do you know them well, Mister Deminthal?"
"Intimately."
"Good. Then tell us, is Mister Grady correct?"
Wyatt nodded. "Wesbaden is closer, but the Dacca know thi and will be waiting in that direction. However, since it is impossible for them to be ahead of us, our present course is the safest."
"Despite our earlier differences, I agree with Mister Deminthal," Thranic offered. "As it turns out, Dagastan was the Storm's original destination so we must continue toward it."
"But Dagastan is much farther away from Avryn," Wesley said. "The Storm's mission was lost with her sinking. I have no way of knowing her original destination, and even if I did, I have no cargo to deliver. Going farther east only increases our difficulties. I need to be mindful of provisions."
"But you do have cargo," Thranic announced. "The Storm's orders were to deliver myself, Mister Bulard, Dr. Levy, Mister Bernie, and Staul to Dagastan. The main cargo is gone, but as an officer of the realm it is your duty to fulfill what portion you can of Captain Seward's mission."
"With all due respect, Your Excellency, I have no way to verify what you say."
"Actually, you do." Wyatt pulled a bent and battered scroll from his bag. "These are Captain Seward's orders."
Wesley took the damp scroll and asked, "But how did you come by this?"
"I knew we'd need charts to sail by. Before I left the Storm, I entered the captain's cabin and, being in a bit of a hurry, I just grabbed everything on his desk. Last night, I discovered I had more than just charts."
Wesley nodded, accepting this and, Hadrian thought, perhaps chose not to inquire further. He paused a second before reading. Most were awake now and, having heard the conversation, watched Wesley with anticipation. When he finished he looked over at Wyatt.
"Was there a letter?"
"Aye, sir," he said and handed over a sealed bit of parchment. This Wesley did not open, but slipped carefully into his coat.
"We will maintain course to Dagastan. Being bound by imperial naval laws, I must do everything in my power to see the Storm's errand is fulfilled."