by Simon Archer
“Aye,” she replied, and as we strode along narrow, cobblestone streets, she continued with what she’d been telling me.
“Rhianne believes that our enemy’s ships were enchanted with a rather expensive glamour,” my witch said. “Like most works of that nature, it requires a sacrifice in kind and a willing one at that.”
“What sort o’ sacrifice?” Tabitha demanded.
“Each ship enchanted requires the willing offer of a person’s sight,” Mary replied. “At least the works we did for our ships required only a touch of blood for each board.”
Ember let out a long, low whistle, then as we rounded a bend to head away from the docks, we all drew up short. Ligeia had come to meet us, but in a most unexpected way.
First off, she was clothed. I’d seen her wearing a simple pull-over dress once before, at Winemaker’s Run after we’d liberated it from destruction by Admiralty forces. This time, though, she was much more extravagantly clad in a style that much more fit the curvier shape of Mary Night or Tabitha Binx. The slim siren wore a skirt that barely fell to the middle of her thighs in the front but reached the backs of her calves in the back in a ruffled point. It was some sort of floral brocade in red and gold. The skirt hung low on Ligeia’s hips, suspended from a slim, black leather belt.
A short blouse of red, tied beneath my siren’s breasts, left her flat, muscular stomach bare and exposed pretty much all her cleavage. Added to that were anklets, wristlets, and an assortment of necklaces in gold and silver.
It all would have been quite lovely and enticing if it ended there, but my dear siren had taken the whole to a new level. She wore a swashbuckler’s hat upon her head, complete with a peafowl’s sweeping, iridescent feather, black leather gloves, and low, black boots that left her folded leg-fins bared.
Again, that wouldn’t have been so bad, but somehow, she decided that the whole ensemble required an eyepatch to bring it together, and not just any patch would do. Covering her left eye was an ornate flap of red leather, decorated with a cat’s eye agate surrounded by shards of opal.
“What in the hells do ye be wearin’, lass?” I interjected.
Her smile faltered a little. “I wanted to dress like them,” she replied, gesturing with her long-fingered hands to Mary and Tabitha. I supposed I couldn’t blame her for that, as both of those tended towards revealing and ostentatious clothes with plenty of jewelry.
“An’ ye did quite well,” Tabitha spoke up with a bright smile. “But I think yon Cap’n thinks ye may have carried it a touch far.”
“Not that it looks bad, mind you,” Mary added.
“It’s the hat,” Ember broke in at the same time I said, “It’s the patch.”
Tabitha’s witch and I eyed each other. “The hat is a bit much,” she protested.
“I like the bloody hat,” I said, “but why wear a bloody eyepatch if ye’ve got both eyes?”
Tabitha laughed. “I like the patch, I do.”
Ligeia blinked her one visible eye and looked from one of us to the next. “You are all so confusing,” she said, a hint of exasperation finding its way into her musical voice. “I decided that I wanted to look like a pirate, too.”
“We do not dress like that,” Mary protested.
I gave her a sidelong glance. Currently, she was wearing loose black wrap pants tied at the waist and ankles, with a belt hanging low on her hips to carry her customary long knives. A loose white blouse with gathered sleeves was open all the way to her belly button and left next to nothing to the imagination. Otherwise, she wore a hex bag on a leather thong and a few sparse pieces of jewelry. Other than being revealing, her outfit really wasn’t anything that stood out.
Tabitha, on the other hand, was garbed almost exactly like Ligeia, save she wore pantaloons and folded-top boots. Even the colors were virtually identical.
“I do,” the Ailur said. “Other than the hat.”
Ember sighed and rolled her eyes. “Are we done?”
“Aye.” I waved a hand dismissively and then studied Ligeia for a long moment. “Ye look good, lass, but ye’ve no need to be anything other than yerself. Not for me, nor for anyone.” I met her eyes with mine and rolled my shoulders a bit to stretch them. “Wear what ye like if it makes ye happy.”
The siren nodded and then made a soft sound of protest as I started walking again and swept her along. After a moment, the rest of them followed, chuckling among themselves.
As an odd, mismatched cluster, we made our way deeper into the maze of Tarrant’s streets. Our first objective was a supplier, one of the best I knew or at least the most reliable. It cost me, but we’d have The Hullbreaker resupplied with food and drink for a long and uncomfortable voyage, not to mention extra sails and ropes. Bord would handle carpentry, powder, and cannons, as well as whatever he might think he needed for returning the Sea Hammer to working order.
Tabitha sidled up to me and nudged me in the side. “So, Cap’n, be we doing anything fun in this city o’ vice?”
I looked down at her and caught her grinning up at me, her eyes bright. “I want to get this voyage underway, Cap’n, but if ye want to take the others about, I’ll finish the resupply an’ come join ye.”
Her grin widened. “Meet at the Touch o’ Gold?”
“If ye will,” I suppressed a low growl. The Touch o’ Gold had been Bloody Bill Markland’s hideout when we had last met him in Tarrant, but the bastard sailed off into Milnian waters after I’d beaten him in the caves beneath the old elven ruin. “I know it, an’ I’ll be there once the work is done.”
Tabitha bounced up and kissed me on the nose. “We shall see ye anon, then,” she gushed then grabbed the other three girls and bounded off. Ember and Mary seemed resigned, even happy with the situation, but Ligeia just looked confused by it.
I just shook my head and watched them go.
After finishing my business with the outfitter, I went to see a supplier of expeditionary clothes to outfit the crew for cold. Most of the gear would be a little large, but it could be adjusted aboard ship at need. Sailors were expert tailors in general, a useful skill to have at sea, and even I knew my way around a needle and thread.
That done, I sought out a blacksmith and armorer. As much as I liked the Huntsman’s Spear and the odd gun-axe I’d taken from Commodore Potts, I was happiest with a greataxe in my hands. I’d discussed several modifications with Bord, but there was only so much he could do aboard ship. While I’d prefer a dwarf-forged axe, I wasn’t that picky, so long as I could find something that wouldn’t shatter the first time that I used it.
Fortune smiled on me, and I ended up walking out of the blacksmith’s shop with a fair replacement of my old greataxe, along with some armor and a helmet that actually fit me. The armor was a shirt of leather-backed reinforced chainmail that fell all the way to mid-thigh on me and surprisingly fit across my shoulders and chest with little modification.
The helmet, though, was a work of art. It had to have been an orcish relic smuggled from our lands to the north. That was the only way to explain the fit of it and the style. The heavy thing was forged of steel that carried a black, almost oily luster, and the marks of the maker’s hammer were clearly visible in the metal. Perhaps the most glorious thing about it, though, aside from the fact I could actually wear it, was the thick pair of downward curving horns that protruded from just behind the temples and arced down and around to beside my chin when I wore it.
I loved it.
6
I sauntered out of the blacksmith’s shop and into the work-a-day traffic of Tarrant. Despite being the biggest trading, smuggling, and privateering hub of the Archipelago, the city on the cliff had its own industry beyond entertainment and supplies. There were numerous makers of textiles, a lumberyard, a cannon-maker, and a shipyard, as well as warehouses and shops that specialized in everything from food to alchemical goods.
Also, Tarrant sported citizens and visitors of many races aside from humans, from orcs and half-orcs all the way to
the occasional Ailur or elf. It was truly a melting pot out here in the isles.
It was also such that not even I garnered a second glance as I hiked through the streets in the direction of the Touch O’ Gold. I remembered where it was from my last visit to Tarrant when we’d met with Bloody Bill in a back room of that very same establishment. This time, though, I expected an uneventful walk.
Of course, I was wrong.
I stepped out of an alley into a narrow, empty street and quickly sidestepped as my combat-honed reflexes kicked in. A heavy cudgel glanced off my left shoulder, and someone cursed their luck before I just spun around and punched the surprised-looking dockyard tough right in the face. Bone crushed, and blood spurted from his broken nose before the man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped like a stone. Behind him, three more men stood at the other end of the alley with muskets aimed at me.
That was when I caught the sound of more people arriving. What in the hell? Did I have to get into a fight every bloody time I came to Tarrant? I let out a frustrated snarl and spun back to face the street. That put me out of the line of fire if they had muskets and gave me a moment to see what I was facing.
While I’d hoped for brawlers and street-fighters, I got flintlock-wielding buccaneers of all stripes. About a dozen all told, with steely eyes and steady hands.
My axe was still on my back, but I had my pistols and the gun-axe closer to hand. Still, the bastards could probably pull their triggers before I could ready and close, and I lacked a witch to hex their weapons into failing. If I moved fast enough, there was a good chance at least half of them would miss, and more than likely none of the shots would immediately kill me with my armor and orcish toughness.
I very carefully shifted my stance and waited. “What do ye want, ye bastards?” I growled.
A cloaked figure stepped out of a doorway behind the menacing line of fighting men. “Word has that you hold many of the treasures of the old Empire upon your ship, Captain,” she said. “Surrender them, and you walk away, along with your companions at the Touch o’ Gold.”
I gritted my teeth in a snarl, but inwardly, I couldn’t help but grin. These fools didn’t know what they were dealing with if they sought to use Mary, Tabitha, Ember, and Ligeia for leverage. I had to play along, though, if I wanted to know more.
“How do I know ye speak true?” I asked. “Ye might just be bluffing.”
“Are you willing to take that chance, orc?” the cloaked woman asked.
I closed my eyes for a moment and felt the wind stir around me as I called to it. Then, I looked straight at the leader of these ruffians and grinned widely. “Ye know? I believe that I am.”
“Kill him!” the cloaked figure shouted before she stepped back into the shadows and vanished. The gathered thugs all fired.
Winds sprang up around me at that instant and carried me straight up about twenty feet into the air. Pistol shots ricocheted from brick and stone, then I dropped straight back down and landed in a crouch. This time, though, I had my greataxe at the ready.
The closest man died before he could even lower his pistol. I swept his legs out from under him with a swing of my axe, then smashed in his head, sending a wave of blood and brains splashing over the feet of the other nearest thugs. Shouts of surprise went up, and they all went for their close-combat weapons.
It didn’t save the next two. I split another skull, yanked my axe free, and quite literally disarmed the man beside him. He howled and fell back, clutching the stump of his right arm.
Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t grant him a quick death as the rest of the ambushers charged in on me and cut off my plan of attack. That was fine, though. My blood sang with the war chants of my people, and I set to my bloody work with vigor. Two more of my assailants fell beneath my axe blows, and suddenly, I was free of them.
The remaining survivors took to their heels and scattered like rats down the alleys.
That left me standing over the fallen, and there was still one who could speak. The one-armed man, through stubbornness or sheer willpower, sat with his back against one of the nearby buildings while he carefully wrapped his newly acquired stump tightly with his bandanna.
I let out a low growl that got his attention, and he swore softly.
“Well, orc, ye got me,” the bloke said. He was dark-haired, with blue eyes and a surly look on a weathered face. Loss of blood had made him pale, and the quick defeat of his fellows hadn’t done anything to improve his lot.
“Who was the woman?” I asked as I shouldered my axe. “And did she speak true of the Touch o’ Gold?”
One-arm leaned his head back against the wall. “I’d tell ye her name if I knew it. Bitch offered good coin to a group of us to waylay ye. I figure her for a witch or some such since she knew exactly when and where ye’d be.” He let out a pained sigh. “As for the Touch o’ Gold, I figure she did. This was only half the toughs she hired, and she had a bloke with her, some other bastard in a cloak. Wore a mask, too.”
“Damn it all,” I swore, then left the man to his bleeding and took off as fast as my legs would carry me in the direction of the gambling den.
It was strange that the witch had thrown no hexes at me, though perhaps I’d surprised her. If that was true, the woman was much less a witch than any others I’d faced. The Sisterhood made sure its folk were well-versed in fighting as well as spellwork. Mary was the best example of a combat witch I’d seen, even compared to others like Ember, Cerridwyn, or Rhianne.
Maybe the leader of these men hadn’t been a witch at all.
I quickened my pace towards the Touch o’ Gold, and people scurried from my path after taking one look at the sour expression on my face.
Like any other town, Tarrant did have a guard. It was a factional group, mostly composed of thugs and mercenaries paid by the wealthy in uptown and the guilds in downtown to keep the peace. Of course, keeping the peace meant different things to different factions, so by and large, what passed for laws was enforced sporadically, if at all. About the only thing truly frowned upon was open warfare in the streets and theft from guildsmen and the wealthy.
If you couldn’t keep your gold by dint of your own sheer cussedness, then you deserved to lose it, or so the less-savory folks of Tarrant said.
When I reached the courtyard outside the establishment, I ran into several groups of disparate guardsmen, mostly engaged in watching and keeping gawkers back. The Touch o’ Gold was in a complete uproar. Bodies were scattered on the cobbles, with some barely even recognizable as people. Smoke poured from the broken windows and the open door, and the sound of fighting echoed out.
I readied my axe and kept right on going, growling at any of the surrounding folk who got in my way. There was no thought in my head other than that my girls might be in trouble. Perhaps I should have known better.
The mercenary guardsmen parted before me, and I plunged across the open courtyard and emerged into the smoke-filled interior of the tavern and gambling den.
“Oy, Cap’n!” called out a familiar voice as Tabitha Binx waved to me from a broken door into the backroom. “Ye be late to the fun, aye.”
One by one, the other women emerged, sooty and bloodstained, but with broad, satisfied grins that spoke of victory. People emerged from behind upturned tables and the scorched bar, patrons of the place. Some of them began to rummage around to recover scattered coins and other belongings.
“I ran into a bit o’ my own,” I said. “Did ye take any prisoners?”
“Aye,” Mary replied. “Ligeia has their leader. She might not even eat the bastard.”
As if on cue, the siren, her new clothes untorn and pristine, stalked out of another back hallway, dragging a limp, cloaked figure. She wore a faintly bemused expression on her fine-featured face.
“I am not hungry,” Ligeia stated simply before she tossed the unconscious man at my feet. “A present, my Captain.”
“Right,” I growled. “Be alert, lasses. There be another one o’ the
se folk about, a woman with a cloak an’ mask. I think she is a sorcerer or at least a creature pretending to be such.”
Mary nodded and moved to the doorway, accompanied by Ember, while Ligeia and Tabitha stayed with me.
“Are we safe, then?” one of the patrons, a pudgy, well-appointed human man sporting a neatly trimmed beard and a finely tailored coat, called from where he grubbed about on the floor for coin.
“Safe enough,” I replied with a scowl. “But ye may wish to beat a retreat instead of pickin’ for loose coin.”
He blanched and nodded, then grunted as he hauled himself to his surprisingly small feet. Together with a few other former patrons, the man scurried for the door under my gaze.
“And they say pirates are greedy,” I complained with a shake of my head. “This lot stayed behind to scoop up the coins dropped by their comrades during the fight, I’ll wager.”
“Aye,” Tabitha laughed and set to reloading her flintlocks. “Ye expect trouble, Cap’n Bardak?”
“A lot depends on the guard an’ the bitch that spent her men on me,” I said with a shrug. Then I bent down and lifted the unconscious man by the front of his coat. His mask was intact but askew, revealing a weak jawline and a thin neck. He wasn’t a heavy fellow, and he flopped like a dead fish in my grasp. “Maybe she’ll be a smart lass an’ cut her losses.”
“Looks like the guards are staying put,” Mary reported from the doorway. “All the patrons have slipped off, though.”
“They seem to be waiting,” Ember added, then pursed her lips as she gazed out into the courtyard. With a casual wave of her hand and a whispered hex, the fire-witch quelled the spreading flames within the building.
I let out a grunt of assent and focused on the captive. “How’d ye put him to sleep, Ligeia?”
The siren cocked her head, then pointed to a nearby broken chair.
