by Simon Archer
“I already have, Admiral,” she purred. “They were broken up about his loss but perfectly willing to continue with his work. Currently, the ranking sorcerer is called Graven.”
“Graven,” I rolled the name over my tongue. “Those creatures so like their affectations.”
“Indeed,” Marai whispered.
“There is nothing for it, then,” I said with a resigned sigh. “We must move forward. If the demon of the mirror is not to be the force that animates my ship, then I will become Death and take its place.”
“Are you certain?” Marai asked, placing a warm hand familiarly upon my thigh.
I looked down at it then turned my cold gaze on her. She frequently offered herself to me, as under the terms of Captain’s Privilege, but I never accepted. Desires of the body and entanglements of the heart were something I shunned, and they had proved to be the downfall of Commodore Arde, formerly my right hand. For now, I would allow her the touch, but she already knew that it did not elicit the response she so desired.
“I am always certain,” I answered at last. “It is those who surround me who frequently suffer from indecision and failure.” Perhaps my words held a hint of the bitterness I felt. Lack had promised much, delivered some, but in the end, he had failed me, just as Arde and that damnable Commodore Potts.
That one had been a recent arrival at Avion, carrying news of the Empire and orders from the Usurper himself. Lack had broken the man’s will, or so he said, so I entrusted the retrieval of The Golden Bull’s location to him.
Again, failure. The Orc Pirate and his misfits intercepted Pott’s ship, Titan, boarded her, and stole the old sailor Brill from beneath the man’s very nose, before killing him in the process. Would that I could create soulless automatons to carry out my will as an extension of my own hands. In theory, that was what the backup plan for my ship was.
I would become her heart, soul, and mind, able to direct her as I would my own lean flesh. Supposedly, this would create a weaker construct than binding the damnable mirror into her, but I had my suspicions Lack was making a play to empower himself even further.
On some level, I did approve of his death, as it allowed me to fill his position with a less willful individual, one who would carry out my orders to the best of her ability without countermanding or questioning me.
Except when it came to this ritual.
“How long will it take to prepare the ritual?” I asked.
“Everything is in readiness,” Marai replied, her eyes darkening a bit. “We can begin at your leisure.”
“Good, then,” I stood. “There is no reason to delay the inevitable.”
Her hand fell away, and she stood, her shoulders slumped a bit in resignation. Poor, sad, little creature. Not even her magic could sate the desires of her loins. She desired me and the power I represented, but I would never fall to her wiles.
“Shall I send word to the ships?” she asked.
“Why?” I asked.
“When the ritual is complete, Admiral, everything and everyone within a mile dies, and their souls empower the subject,” she explained. “That is why Lack wanted the mirror, to rip the demon from it as the fuel for The Pale Horse’s strength.”
I reached over and patted her shoulder with a sly grin and said, “My dear, riding at anchor around us are close to five-thousand souls. Fifty warships, each sporting a crew of nearly one hundred. That does not take into account the merfolk below, certainly within the mile radius of the consuming fire. Perhaps they are a thousand, perhaps two, but their numbers will only add to my ship’s strength.” I dropped my voice into a whisper. “Besides, Lack told me something that you did not.”
Marai’s eyes were wide in some combination of shock and terror as she stared at me. Had she not considered that I placed those men there intentionally? Those ships were filled with the least competent and most morally bankrupt sailors and commanders I had in my employ. Barely better than pirates, in fact.
“What did he tell you?” the witch asked weakly.
“That the master of the ship could seize mastery of any slain in the ritual,” I answered, pleased at her reaction. “Every damned one of those ships out there will be a ghost ship, Marai, under my control.”
Marai nodded slowly and closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. “Then let us proceed, Admiral. Time grows short, and the Orc Pirate was reported passing the port of Jetsam just a day ago.
“That close?” I mused. “How long did you wait before giving me the news of Lack’s demise and the proximity of my foe?”
“Only long enough to verify the truth of the reports, sir, no longer.”
“For your sake, witch, I hope that is true.” I drew myself up to my full height and gestured towards the door. “Now, let us delay no longer. Show me to the ritual chamber, then call the coven and the circle to do their duty.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Marai said, her voice low and resigned.
The sound of the normally confident and assertive witch being so cowed by my plan pleased me rather inordinately. My plan frightened her, perhaps, or the thought of the power I would wield did. Either way, I knew that she would not betray me.
I was inwardly elated at the prospect of what was to come, but there was some part of me that was nervous, too. This was a big step into the unknown for me. Magic had always been something just out of my reach. I craved the power, studied the texts, and practiced the words and gestures in private, where my secret would not be discovered.
To the world at large, I was a scholar of the occult. A theoreticist, unwilling or unable to make the step to practical magic. While my lack of talent for the arcane arts was something I was embarrassed to admit, I was quite knowledgeable about the practices and rituals of witches, sorcerers, demonologists, and necromancers. It was this fascination with the world that was denied me that led me to the crypt where the demon-sorcerer Lack slumbered. Armed with his name, magically engraved bullets, and an imbued blade, I confronted and bound the creature to my service.
Namebinding, you see, did not require a talent. As Lack brought in other practitioners, and the Sisterhood sent me witches via Imperial assignment, I carefully researched, named, and bound all of them that I saw value in. Hence, my assuredness that Marai Bloddwenn, not her real name, would not ultimately betray me. She literally was incapable of doing so.
We arrived in the ritual chamber that had been built into the approximate center of The Pale Horse’s decks, equidistant from stem and stern, port and starboard, deck and keel. The room itself was an octagon, situated so that it effectively was two decks high, and heavily reinforced.
A metal frame, sort of a table, rested in the exact center of the room, placed atop a symbol that had been inlaid in silver into the wood of the floor. Everything here had been placed and built to exacting specifications, under the sharp eyes of Lack and Marai. From this room, silver wires ran to every other deck and device aboard. As the mystical heart of the massive ship, the chamber was connected to the lights, the cannons, and the very helm.
It was a wonder, and part of the reason for the time and cost-overruns that had plagued the construction of the thing.
The witch led me to the frame, tilted it up, and motioned for me to take my place upon it. It was meant to hold a man, or a Mirror, depending on what method was needed.
“Do I need to disrobe?” I wondered.
“Only if you wish to,” Marai replied with a faint smile. “I certainly would not object.”
I did not wish to and silently leaned back against the cold frame while she strapped me carefully into the apparatus. She took a step back, drew a silver, gold-chased bell from within her cloak, and rang it.
The note that pealed out was both clear, yet strangely muddy to my ear, as if it echoed on multiple planes of existence, a little sharp on some, perfect on others, and a little flat on others still. From the entry door, the other two witches of Marai’s coven slipped in, followed by Lack’s circle. All of them took their places, su
rrounding me where I was restrained.
Marai raised her head and gazed sadly at me. “Admiral, from now until I ring the bell again, you will need to not speak. Is this acceptable?”
“Of course,” I brushed off her concern and leaned my head back. “Proceed.”
“So be it,” she said, but I thought I heard “On your head, be it.”
However, I had my part to play. Other than some vague hintings, Lack had told me very little about what to expect during the ritual, so I watched with scholarly curiosity as the group began their parts.
There was a great deal of symbolism to the performance. Each of the ritualists anointed me with their blood, offering their lives to me. No sacrifice was required until the very end, when the spell itself would claim the lives of the unprotected and unwitting souls who waited and went about their business, unaware of what was about to happen.
Each of the participants chanted almost continually, their voices weaving in and out of each other, creating a low, hypnotic drone. The general effect created around me a sort of sphere of sound that I could not hear beyond, nor could I make out the words being spoken.
Marai, as leader of the ritual, sang in a clear voice that rose above the droning of the chants. Still, I couldn’t understand the words, but they seemed to be calling out, inviting, imbuing.
Around me, the symbols carved painstakingly into every board and timber of The Pale Horse began to shine like moonlight, glimmering faintly along with the silver wires and the circle in which I sat. I fancied a voice whispering along in response to the song.
Suddenly, pain wrenched through me, arching my back and sending me into convulsions bad enough that the metal frame rattled beneath me. Somehow, though, my mind remained detached, as if I were witnessing the violent actions of my body from a step outside of it.
Above me, hundreds, maybe thousands of silver wires gathered up a life of their own, crawling over the ceiling of the room to writhe like snakes above my head as I thrashed in my bonds.
Then everything grew still and silent, even the thrashing of my body ceased as Marai rang her little bell once more and gazed at me. Tears trickled from her eyes now, spoiling the look of the kohl that ringed them. In a clear voice she asked, “Admiral Justin Layne, do you accept?”
For a moment, I paused. It was as if a veil had been drawn over my mind. What was it that I had to accept? What was I? Who was I?
Then, clarity, and I responded in a whispery rasp, “I do.”
Sound returned as the wires plunged down into my body like myriad tiny needles. The pain was excruciating, and I screamed, unable to help myself as the silver wires implanted themselves in my body, stretching along my nerves and veins, fusing with my spine and my brain, and joining me, body and soul, with the great ship.
Then, after an eternity, it was over. I was no longer in the rack. Instead, I hung suspended above it and held aloft by the wires embedded in my body. I looked down at Marai and through every chamber and hold of The Pale Horse. My sight and hearing encompassed the whole of the ship, and I could see around it, all the way to the horizon in every direction. It was beautiful, terrible, and excruciating.
“It is done,” Marai said and rang her bell a third time.
This time the sound tolled like a funeral bell, and magic swept out from the heart of the ship, leaving me and the ritualists the only things living for a mile in every direction.
There was a fearsome silence, then the cacophony of thousands of screams rushed inward as the damned souls of the sailors, the merfolk, and myriad small beasts of the sea crashed in on me.
My last thought before I was overwhelmed in the glory of it was, “To think, I hesitated…”
31
We sailed into the Insmere harbor to cheers and cries of welcome. How things had changed. When I set foot onto the dock all those months ago, it had been to derision and an armed escort. In the aftermath of my fight with the undead Commodore Sebastian Arde, I’d learned that Broward and his successor had ruled the place with an iron fist. The folk were happy to be rid of them and quickly threw their allegiance behind me.
Everyone gawped, of course, at the strange silhouette of the ironclad where it sat in the bay. Bord and I had agreed that it was probably best for the dwarves not to tie up at one of the piers. Instead, I’d oversee supplying her myself, with Ligeia in the water with some of her new friends, the young lascu. That would discourage most attempts at spying and sabotage, while the alert dwarves aboard her would take care of anything or anyone that slipped through the cracks.
For the moment, though, thoughts of sabotage and infiltration were lost in the backslapping and embraces of reunion as the crews met on the pier. I’d barely made it four steps off the gangplank when Kargad caught me in a bone-crushing hug.
“Welcome back, Cap’n!” he bellowed. “Ye just couldn’t stand the idea o’ me an’ Shrike sinkin’ The Pale Horse without ye.”
I grinned and caught him back, and for a moment, we strained against each other in a good-natured test of strength. Tendons creaked, and a series of pops ran down my spine before I took the upper hand and broke the clasp.
“If ye think ye can do it, laggard, ye be welcome to try.”
The other big orc snorted and shook his head. “Maybe with The Hullbreaker an’ yon whatever-it-is.”
Mary slipped by, heading for land, followed by a heavily cloaked and shrouded Rhianne Corvis.
“We are headin’ to the keep,” Tabitha called to me. “See ye soon?”
“Once I collect everyone what needs to be at this meetin’, aye,” I answered.
Ember tagged along with her captain, as did Jenny, while Jimmy Mocker and Adra formed up on me. Bloody Bill, Von Kolter, Peter Wry, and Keiran Stannmos gathered, along with Sturmgar Ironhand and the other pirate captains. The elf’s eyes shot daggers at me. Hopefully, she’d stay in line during this operation, and we could settle our issues afterward. Too much depended on everyone pulling together.
“I’ll be speakin’ for the assembled fleet o’ the free towns,” the old orc said to me. “Figured ye’d prefer that.”
“Aye,” I said with a glance at the growing crowd of buccaneers. “I reckon I’ll have my hands full ridin’ herd on that lot.”
“Whores an’ gold.” Sturmgar chuckled and swept past me, heading after the groups already making their way towards the keep while the native townsfolk watched in nervous curiosity.
Ligeia, dressed in her pirate garb, even though her hair dripped with saltwater, joined me, and I finally got us all moving. Interestingly, my entourage was almost as sizeable as the Pirate King’s. If he noticed, though, it didn’t seem to gall him. He was chatting away with Cerridwyn and Wry as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Behind us, Edison Sloan, the last to dock, hurried to catch up with us, and instead of pausing to pay respects to Bloody Bill, passed by and slowed to give me a sly salute. I nodded to him and returned it.
“Good to see ye, Cap’n,” I said.
“Good to be here,” he exclaimed breathlessly. “Thank you for the opportunity, Captain Bardak. Even my crews seem happier now that they’re no longer under the Admiralty yoke, and I’ve seen how the mood of the town has changed.”
“The Death’s Head is subtle and terrible in his manipulations,” Adra said cryptically. “All have suffered, and some more than others.”
“True.” Sloan nodded as if he knew what she spoke of. Perhaps he did, and I was the thick one. I did have my suspicions, though.
It felt like a parade as we made our way through the narrow, cobblestone streets to Insmere Keep and assembled in the audience hall. Someone had arranged three chairs on the raised dais at the far end of the room, and the array of pirates and others spread out through the chairs and benches that filled the rest of it.
Bill, Sturmgar, and I took the seats at the head.
“Ye prepared, Skullsplitter?” the Pirate King asked. He had ceded the central chair to me, a rather telling acknowledgment that
this was my show.
“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, and he chuckled.
“Right,” he said then stood and drew a pistol. He fired a shot into the rafters that quickly silenced the boisterous talk that filled the air. “Okay, ye scurvy lot. Most o’ ye know why yer here, but I’ll reiterate for those that ain’t quick in the head if ye get my drift: Bardak Skullsplitter, Cap’n of The Hullbreaker has a plan to end the tyranny o’ Admiral Layne over the Archipelago. Now, I think ‘tis a good one, an’ I’m happy to throw my ship an’ guns behind it. Many o’ ye came along on my say-so, so I figured I’d confirm for ye before the whole damn lot what I said then. I may not like this damned orc pirate, but he’s a skilled an’ cagey bastard whom I think can pull this barmy shit off.”
Bloody Bill paused and scanned the silent crowd with hooded eyes. He still held his empty pistol in one hand. “Now, any o’ ye disrespectin’ the Cap’n won’t just have to answer to him, they’ll have to answer to me. I don’t think any o’ ye want that.”
A quiet murmur swept through the gathered throng as Bill stepped back and sat down. “All yours,” he said with a crooked smile.
I rose and stayed silent for a moment before speaking. “Ye all know me, from Bloody Bill’s introduction, if not before, so I’ll skip that part so we can dive right into the meat.”
“For too long, now, the Admiralty has been the strong arm o’ the Empire in the Archipelago, especially since the war with Milnest.” Kieran met my gaze and scowled but said nothing. “Admiral Justin Layne, though, has overstepped himself. He’s set himself up as the tyrant o’ the isles, an’ he means to crush all o’ us, pirate, free town, an’ merchant alike unless we swear our fealty to him.”
I paused to let that sink in, and a bit more muttering made its rounds through the crowd. “South o’ Insmere, at the far point of the Isle of Avion, is the Admiralty fort an’ shipyards. Layne’s new ship, The Pale Horse, awaits there. Is she ready to sail? I know not, but I do know that she happens to be a fleet all to herself. I’ve seen her.”
