by Jon Bender
It took only five minutes to get every sailor and soldier onto the deck, armed and watchful. The rain grew heavier. Jaxom returned to the upper deck, joined by Laiden and Cribble, as well as half dozen sailors who now held bows in calloused hands. Nelix returned to the wheel of his ship with Darian standing next to him. All eyes not occupied with steering the ship watched as the swift current carried them closer to the unknown vessels. As they drew nearer, Jaxom noticed that they were considerably larger and had deeper drafts that forced them to stay well clear of the river banks.
“That’s odd,” Gren said, adjusting his hand on the wet pegs of the wheel.
“What?” Cribble asked.
“Those are ocean vessels. I haven’t seen them this far up the river before.”
“Where do they come from?” Laiden asked.
“Only Ale’adaria, Dradon, and Azuria have such ships, though they could also be from the Untamed Lands.”
Jaxom had seen the Untamed Lands marked on Corin’s map table but had never wondered about them before now. “Who lives there?”
“There are free cities on the coast who don’t answer to any king or queen. They trade with the people who live deep in the jungle and then sell what they trade to the kingdoms. Spices, mostly, which is why they’re so expensive.”
“Thank you for the lesson in commerce, but why would they be here?” Cribble demanded.
Gren ignored the ornery Commander. “I don’t see a flag. They must be from the free cities, but they usually sell their wares at coastal ports where they are moved upriver on smaller vessels better suited to the journey.”
“So they are a threat,” Cribble declared.
“With the disruption in trade, they may be attempting to sell their wares directly,” Gren said, without conviction.
“Whatever the reason, Commander, all we can do is wait and be ready,” Jaxom said.
The other men nodded agreement, but none of them left the upper deck. Jaxom spared a glance down at the sodden main deck where soldiers and sailors stood tensed and soaking wet. As the distance closed between them and the new ships, Jaxom could clearly make out the flag-less masts and the steady, synchronous sweep of their oars. When the unmarked ships were a mile away, they tacked again, changing direction. Jaxom could almost feel the collective sigh of relief from the men around him.
“They are moving away,” Gren said triumphantly.
Cribble grunted but did not give the order for the soldiers to return below. Jaxom watched as the free cities ships tacked once more and were again in line with them. Cribble shouted at the men to return to their hammocks, as Gren directed his crew to stow their arms.
“How much longer?” Cribble asked.
“Six hours at this speed,” Gren replied.
“You said the trip would take a day.”
“I said it would take over a day and a night. Believe me, I want you off my ship as soon as possible.”
Jaxom stepped to the rear railing where he could watch the other ships continue north. “I’m glad they weren’t here for us,” Laiden said, joining him.
“As am I. We don’t need another fight right now,” Jaxom agreed.
“Yes, we need smooth sailing until we get to Taurn.” Jaxom raised an eyebrow at the boy, and Laiden cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t be much help in a battle.”
“I am sure you would find a way to fit in. Look how far you’ve come in less than a year.”
“Thanks to Magus Alimar’s training,” Laiden said, settling his hands on the rail and looking upriver.
Jaxom considered the apprentice for a moment. The rain plastering his hair to his head only made him seem more innocent. “He taught you, yes, but you applied yourself to what he taught. And as promised, I will start teaching you the sword once we have the opportunity. If you are ever in a similar situation, you won’t be defenseless.”
“We might not have time, Magus,” Laiden said.
Jaxom frowned and was about to ask what he meant, then followed his gaze. The two ships had pulled their oars in and were turning around on the wide river. Jaxom yelled to Cribble and pointed. The Guard Commander took one look and began shouting orders between curses at the soldiers who were in the process of shuffling down the stairs. Gren yelled something to a sailor on the deck who rang a bell, alerting the crew and the other ship to the danger.
“Why didn’t they just head straight for us the first time?” Cribble demanded.
“They wanted the wind and current with them. It puts the odds in their favor when they catch up with us,” Gren shouted, over the clatter of men running. Throwing a rope over the wheel to keep it in place, he opened a small box at the base. He pulled out a sheathed falchion and belted it to his waist before taking up the wheel again.
“Why don’t you go faster?” Cribble growled.
“They’re faster than we are. If they mean to fight, we can’t outrun them. Going slower will give us more control. ”
Jaxom looked back and saw the ships closing. It wouldn’t be long before they caught them. On their decks, he could make out dozens of men brandishing swords and bows in anticipation. Jaxom traced his hand over his own sword. He felt the curves of the upward-turned cross guard, then moved to the clawed fist pommel. He drew deeply on the power of death, letting the magic fill his body. He willed the ships to move faster. He could not wait to kill his enemies. The thought shocked him so much that he lost his grip on the magic, a thing that should never happen to an experienced mage. The idea of extinguishing lives excited him. His stomach turned, a wave of nausea sweeping over him, and he fought the urge to vomit. He remembered the first time he was gripped by the desire to kill. Jaxom had been traveling with Warin and Lexa to Ale’adar when they were attacked by shades. Since then, every fight had brought him some measure of satisfaction. Now he found himself craving the life and death struggle.
Someone shook his arm, bringing him back to the rain soaked deck. “We have to take cover. We’re in bow range,” Laiden insisted.
Looking up, he saw that while he had been lost in thought, the two unmarked ships had closed on them. Crewmen had joined them near the rail with their own bows. Looking across the water, Jaxom could now easily make out their pursuers—shirtless men with swirling designs permanently inked into their dark brown skin. Each one held a sword or bow.
Gren had taken cover by the wheel, hunkering low on the other side while still maintaining control. Cribble stood calmly next to him, sword held to the side. “Let’s move to the main deck. When they board, that’s where most of them will go,” he said to the apprentice.
The first bow strings twanged as the crew let their arrows fly. The enemy responded in kind with several arrows that embedded themselves in the ship. One struck a man who went down screaming. As Jaxom hurried down the stairs, the heel of his boot slipped on a step, pulling a curse from his lips as he grabbed the rail to steady himself. On the main deck, he drew his sword and watched Laiden do the same, obviously uncomfortable with the heavy weapon.
“Just stay back and in my sight,” Jaxom said, trying to convey confidence in his voice to reassure the young man.
Laiden nodded and squeezed the pommel of his sword in a two-handed grip. The front of the unmarked ships had come along the stern of their own. The two crews fired arrows quickly at each other before ducking behind the railing. He restrained himself from drawing on the power of death, knowing he would be tempted to use it at the first opportunity. As the enemy vessels drew even with them, the crew and soldiers not holding bows hid behind whatever cover they could find during the exchange of arrows. Jaxom took a place besides the stairs leading to the upper deck with Laiden beside him. He could no longer see other ship, only his own crew, a few of whom were feathered with arrows. He considered fighting through the emora, but thought better of it. The animal with its glowing eyes would be easily recognizable for what it was.
There was an ear-pounding shout as men on ropes began swinging across the gap to land on t
heir deck. Their boat veered away at the last second causing several of the boarders to miss and swing back, some even lost their grip and fell into the churning water. Other tattooed men standing on the decks threw hooks over the railings to pull the two ships together. In that moment, the rain came down with a fury, as if the sky knew the amount of blood that would need to be washed away. As Jaxom moved forward, intent on meeting the enemy, something heavy hit his side, throwing him to the deck. Looking over his shoulder from his kneeling position, he found a bare chested man regaining his balance. The man stared down at Jaxom with a look of rage. Not waiting for the blade that would soon come for him, Jaxom kicked back, connecting with the man’s ankle. The man went down in pain as Jaxom leapt to his feet, slashing downward into the downed man’s stomach. Another attacker had seen the exchange and rushed forward, slashing his sword in a powerful downward stroke. Jaxom stepped back, letting the blade pass mere inches from his face, and retaliated with his own strike. His attack cut deeply into the overextended arm. The man grunted but did not drop his sword. Instead, he switched the sword to his other hand and cut again. This time, his slashes with the curving blade were controlled, coming from different angles and never leaving a clear opening. Any time Jaxom went on the offensive, the blade was there to meet him.
Rain flowed down the attacker’s dark arms in rivulets, mixing with blood. His drawn and pale face showing that he was quickly weakening from the loss. Jaxom unleashed a flurry of strokes to overwhelm his opponent. An attack from the right. A slash from the left. A lunging stab for the abdomen. On and on he struck, until the ringing of steel was a constant vibration in his ears, then down from above with as much strength as he could summon. Jaxom attacked downward, again and again, like he was chopping wood. The man collapsed to a knee under the assault. Jaxom kicked him in the chest and slashed in a large arc as the man fell away, slicing through the tattooed neck.
Jaxom had no time to recover as two more replaced the last, both fresh, with hard looks in their brown eyes. They worked together, attacking from both sides only seconds apart. Jaxom was forced to parry back and forth between the two just to keep steel from finding his flesh. On the third attempt to overwhelm him, the single-edged sword was stopped by a form wearing a blue tabard. Jaxom did not even look to see who had come to his aid. Not wasting the reprieve, he stepped inside the next attack, the tip of his own blade leading. Jaxom hardly felt any resistance as his sword slipped under the man’s ribs and out through his back. The attacker wheezed his last breath in Jaxom’s ear, head collapsing on his shoulder. Shoving the corpse away, Jaxom drew the blade clear. Turning, he saw Laiden stepping back as the second man advanced. The apprentice held his sword in one hand and was raising the other bearing the wolf ring, preparing to unleash the inferno it contained. Jaxom slashed at the man to draw his attention away. When he turned to defend himself, Laiden rushed forward hacking at the back of a thigh. Yelling in pain, the tattooed man stumbled into Jaxom’s waiting blade.
Jaxom nodded to the apprentice. “Get back.”
Laiden retreated, and Jaxom turned to take in the fight. The soldiers and crew were holding their own as fewer of the inked men swung over. He walked into the mayhem, moving closer to where the carts were tied down. He wounded the enemy as he moved, helping to give his men the advantage. His sword began to vibrate, nearing the limit of energy it could contain. He needed a suitable target, and found it in two dark-skinned men preparing to swing across. Jaxom met them as they landed. Pulling power into himself, he sent a portion of it down his arm. Magic flowed into the sword, activating the enchantment. The tip of blade whistled through the air, breaking the single-edged sword that tried to stop it and blasting through the torso of the first man before lodging in the chest of the second. A fine shower of blood mixed with the heavy rain. Jaxom stood panting as the bodies slid from his blade to the deck in a heap. The feeling of exhilaration had returned, pumping through his veins like liquid fire that warmed his core and gave him strength.
The fighting around him paused, leaving only the sound of whipping wind and rain drumming on deck. Even those on the other ship stared at the gruesome display of power. From that point forward, the battle was won. Many of the inked men jumped into the water, fleeing as the odds turned against them. Jaxom noticed a thin man standing near the wheel of the unmarked ship. Though separated by over fifty feet, they held each other’s eyes as if they stood nose to nose. The thin man broke the gaze first and started shouting orders. Soon, the enemy ship was cutting the ropes holding the vessels together and unfurling sails. Men on deck tossed lines into the water to retrieve the men they could, leaving many behind to swim to shore. Others were certain to drown in the swift water.
Jaxom watched as the ship fled down the river. A short distance away, the ship Nelix was on was still under attack. Gren yelled orders to his crew as the wounded and dead were dragged away or dumped over the side if they bore tattoos. Some of the wounded attackers pleaded for mercy as the crew tossed them unceremoniously into the water. Gren steered the ship to intercept and lend aid to their companions. Seeing them approach, the last unmarked ship broke from the fight and followed its companion. As they pulled up beside them, Jaxom saw Nelix directing men on the main deck as they tended to the wounded. Darian showed no sign of injury. Jaxom only hoped that he had not used magic during the fight.
“Gren doesn’t think they will return, and I agree,” Cribble said, walking up behind Jaxom. His rain-soaked livery was splattered with blood stains.
“Does he have any idea what they wanted?” Jaxom asked.
“He thinks it was simple piracy,” Cribble said, looking to the ship’s captain with annoyance.
“Good. If he knew the truth, he may decide we aren’t worth the risk.”
Cribble spit and hardened his glare on the man. “If he tries to turn around, I will truss him up like a pig for the spit and leave him in the bilge.” Cribble moved his stare from Gren to the wounded men. “We are going to have to leave some of these wounded behind.”
“I know, but don’t worry. Once we are in Bruxa, Alexar’s soldiers will protect us.”
Cribble let out a rough, ironic laugh. “That makes me feel better.”
Jaxom nodded, understanding the sentiment and even sharing it. Stepping away from the rail, he found Laiden back on the upper deck watching the enemy ships round a bend in the river. “You probably saved my life,” he said to the apprentice.
“I am glad that I could do something that mattered,” Laiden said, defeat heavy in his voice.
“It did,” Jaxom said.
Laiden met his eyes and nodded slightly. Jaxom took a deep breath and gazed out at the water. He had enjoyed the fight, and it was not until after that he considered how wrong that feeling was. Something was changing inside him, and it scared him.
Chapter 8
Corin moved quietly through the hall with his ever-present shadows following close behind. The four guards always stayed no more than a dozen paces behind. Over the past ten-day, he had been using his freedom to wander the palace with a purpose. As he strolled, he marked the places where soldiers stood guard, which halls led outside, and where he might sneak through a gate or over the surrounding wall. The process had been slow, as he could not afford to draw attention.
He had not yet seen Eleanor today. His morning meal had been brought by a servant whose name he did not know. Thinking of Eleanor brought on a twinge of guilt. How could he abandon her? He went to run a hand over his beard out of habit and found it gone. He had taken up shaving every morning as part of his plan. His beard made him too easily recognizable. A soldier approached his guard and whispered something. The other men nodded and looked in his direction.
“King Alexar commands your presence,” one of the soldiers said.
“Did he say why?” Corin asked.
The soldier gave him a dead stare and turned, leaving Corin to be ushered along by the remaining three. They led him to a formal dining room. Inside, Alexar sat a
t the head of the table, sipping wine with a plate of food before him. Seeing Corin enter, he waved him over and indicated for him to take the chair to his right. Corin sat, and a servant placed a full plate in front of him.
“I thought we could enjoy a meal together,” Alexar said, pouring him a glass.
Corin sipped the wine. “Thank you for the invitation,” he said, assuming the role of honored guest.
“I have come to enjoy your company, and there is a bit of good news to celebrate.”
“You are going to release me?” Corin asked, cutting up the roast beef.
Alexar chuckled. “I am afraid your charm has yet to have that effect.
Corin smirked. “Give it time.”
“I intend to. Your people have arrived in Bruxa with the tribute. They had some complications during their journey, but now they are under the protection of my men. I am glad they decided to honor my request. It would have been such a shame to execute you.”
Corin took a breath, steadying his voice. “What complications?”
Alexar stabbed a vegetable with his fork and held it before him. “From the message I received, your General Nelix was forced to fight on two occasions. The first was against the dark god’s forces, then again against pirates from the free cities in the south. Your men suspect they, too, were agents of Or’Keer.”
Corin nodded. “Nelix has always been a formidable soldier and leader.”
“I knew you would agree. If we did not have such differing views, we could have been great allies.” Corin nodded, keeping his face blank. “My people also tell me they saw no use of magic, which bodes well for you and the General.”
