by James Dale
On the quarterdeck of the Seawolf stood Tarsus, Dorad, and Jack. All three men were leaning on the ship's railing, looking out to sea. There was a cool breeze blowing in their faces and the spray from the keel of the ship proceeded them with a booming crash of wood against water. They were dressed for battle. Not because they expected any action this close to Brimcohn but simply because the weight of their mail and the feel of a sword hanging at their side was reassuring.
As he stood at the railing Braedan was filled with a serene calm. But there were doubts as well. Not only about this plan, much of his own making, but the fast-approaching moment when Jack Braedan of the Massachusetts Braedans would take part in a sea port raid among a fleet of pirate ships.
"Do we know what the hell we are getting in to?" Jack asked his two friends.
"Doubts?" asked Tarsus.
"I always have doubts before going into battle," he replied. "Have we missed something important? Is there some vital piece of information Cullen didn't find? This plan is pretty carefree and hell bent for leather."
"What other course could we have taken?" asked Dorad. "The Brotherhood hasn't the resources for any other type of attack."
"True," nodded Tarsus. "We could do nothing else. I won't insult you by saying there's nothing that could go wrong. Hell, we could all be dead before this is finished. It is a good plan Jack. And one, I might add, mostly of your devising."
"Don't remind me," Braedan sighed. "Whatever happens will rest on my shoulders. I just hope this wind holds and we find the Gulf of Nor empty of Norgarthan warships when we arrive. Otherwise..."
"What will happen will happen," shrugged the Amarian. "If we all do our jobs, fate will take care of the rest."
Whether it was luck or fate, destiny or karma, it sailed with the fleet of the Brotherhood. The wind held and they reached the Gulf of Nor eight days after setting sail from Brimcohn. Upon arrival they found the gulf completely devoid of ships. They dropped anchor before sunset, ten miles from the mouth of the Winding River and waited for darkness.
It was a long, tension filled wait. A few of the pirates took the opportunity to rest, somehow finding the will to sleep, but most spent the four or five hours before the attack making last minute adjustments to their armor, sharpening their swords one more time, or just staring out to sea, hoping they wouldn't spot a Norgarthan patrol ship.
On the Seawolf, Braedan had retired to his quarters to work on his gear. In addition to oiling his mail shirt and sharpening both his swords. He also made adjustments on his new recurve bow, a gift from Alnordel. He'd never spent much time with archery until this last month on Brimcohn. But he was a warrior to his bones and had learned the skill quickly. It was all about reflexes, hand eye coordination, judging wind speed and distance and flight time. All disciplines a good Special Forces sniper had pounded into him with long hours of training on the ranges at Fort Bragg. When it came time to use the bow, Jack was confident he would hit whatever target he chose.
After waxing his bowstring, Jack withdrew a small wooden box from his sea chest. In it was something he had placed there untouched since his first day in the Brotherhood. Inside were his two M67 fragmentation grenades. Torches and pitch balls were all well and good but if the need arose for something with a little more kick, he wasn't going to be caught unprepared.
After he finished preparing his gear, Braedan lay down on his bunk, closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Once again, the question came to him of why he was here. For what purpose had he been transported from the mountains of Tennessee to this world the inhabitants called Aralon? A world where sorcerers threatened the safety of men, a world of halfelves, princes and pirates. From Alnordel’s stories, a suspicion had begun to grow that he had not haphazardly stumbled into some medieval Twilight Zone.
The tale of Ljmarn Bra’Adan and his exiled son sounded so unbelievable but…there were parts of it that were troubling in their detail. Braedan did not know…exactly how he came to be here, but he had certainly come through some sort of doorway. And he had arrived at the Temple of the Door. Of that there was no doubt. Alnordel claimed that temple had but one purpose, to await the exiled heir of a long dead High King. Could that heir really be him? Was that any more preposterous than living in some delusional fantasy land, concocted by a traumatized mind? If he truly was this long lost heir, what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Go off looking for some magic sword so he could fight a centuries old monster and save the world? Talk about delusional. King Jack Braedan, chosen by a trickster Creator to save mankind.
“I am no king,” Jack sighed as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. “I am a pirate.” A pirate who just happened to chase a nightmare through a dimensional doorway, and was descended from an ancient Celtic queen named Eilann Braedan.
When Jack awoke some hours later it was pitch dark in the Seawolf’s cabin. Braedan started to light one of the lamps in the room but remembered why he was here. He was not some long, lost king, he was a pirate on a raid into enemy territory. If the operation was under way, a sudden flare of light from the cabin's porthole would alert someone on the shore, or on a stray Norgarthan warship, of the Brotherhood's presence. Braedan silently donned his sword belt, then made his way through the darkness, finding Tarsus and Dorad at their familiar post on the quarterdeck.
"I was just about to send someone to wake you," the captain of the Seawolf remarked.
"It's started then?"
"Aye," nodded Tarsus, grinning like a fiend from hell in the scant light of the almost non-existent moon. "A few more minutes and we'll be at the entrance to the harbor."
Looking to shore, Jack could see the Winding River was perhaps three hundred yards wide at this point. There was nothing in sight but the eight assault ships of the Brotherhood. "Where are the others?" he asked, meaning the ones to be sunk in the river after the attack.
"They are about a thousand yards behind us," answered Dorad, "They will not enter the harbor until they see it in flames."
"And that will not be long," Tarsus added.
They sailed on in silence for the next quarter of an hour. There were two ships in front of the Seawolf, about fifty yards ahead. One was the Laughing Dragon, but Jack could not make out the other. Perhaps the Southwind or the Ravisher? Off the starboard bow was the Huntress. Braedan could just make out figures on the ship's main deck. One was surely Kaiddra. He had not held the Queen of the Sea in his arms since the fleet left Brimcohn and he suddenly realized he longed to feel her body pressed tightly against his own again, to taste her lips, to...His growing fantasies about the beautiful pirate were interrupted by a commotion erupting in front of the armada. The lead ship had just rounded the last bend in the river before entering the harbor and encountered a sloop barring their way.
"Who goes there?" asked a voice from the patrol boat, loud enough to be heard across the calm waters.
"The Third Squadron of the Seventh Fleet!" answered someone from the other ship in the lead with the Laughing Dragon. Jack recognized the voice of Kreel Ess, Captain of the Ravisher. "We have returned for the dedication of the rebuilt temple."
"The Third Squadron has been in port for a week!" replied the captain of the patrol boat. "Who the hell are you?"
He was answered with a shower of arrows from the two ships of the Brotherhood. The small crew of the sloop died under a hail of clothyard shafts and the boat, now unmanned, drifted towards the Ravisher. Kreel Ess ordered his ship to ram the helpless craft and when the large brigantine impacted into the sloop's side about midship, it broke cleanly in half and sank like a stone.
The raid on Norgarth had begun.
When the Seawolf sailed around the bend of the Winding River, Jack received his first view of Norgarth. It was a daunting sight. Over two hundred thousand souls inhabited King Urgiss' capital city. On the right side of the river, buildings pushed all the way to the water's edge, with some of the structures even hanging precariously over the bank. Here were the docks and warehouses of Norgarth,
one and all packed to the bursting point with the goods of Eastern Aralon. Half of the assault force would strike here, burning and looting indiscriminately.
On the left side of the river were anchored the warships of King Urgiss. There were at least one hundred and fifty sailing vessels, from the largest dreadnought to the smallest patrol boat, berthed at the edge of the river. The other half of the assault force would strike here with flaming pitch balls, fire javelins launched from their borelstrades, and fire arrows from their archers. Behind the long row of ships, were large, rectangular buildings, home to over six thousand Norgarthan sailors. There were no lights burning in any of the windows. The Brotherhood would at least have some time to wreak havoc in the harbor before the warships could be manned. Those which had yet to be set aflame at any rate.
To the left went the Laughing Dragon, the Huntress, the Southwind and the Blacksaik. Jack could already see pitch balls streaking through the air like a miniature meteor shower. They landed among the unsuspecting warships with a crackling hiss and immediately several of the dread-noughts began to burn in the darkness. To the right went the Ravisher, the Seawolf, the Fallen Maiden and the Reaver. The latter of the two ships landed at the docks and their crews unloaded with a shout, running into the warehouses waving both torches and swords. The Ravisher and the Seawolf each chose an anchored ship to be their first target. The Ravisher's victim was a rich pleasure craft. It was brightly painted and had hand carved figures engraved upon its railing. Kreel Ess' crew fired grappling hooks from their borelstrades, which crashed into the railing and deck of the hapless vessel with a splintering roar.
Tarsus shouted the war cry of his homeland. "Elar Amar! Elar Tanaevar!" As the Seawolf did the same to the ship they had selected. It was a trading ship, perhaps not as regally outfitted as the other prize but promising none the less. The barbarian vaulted over the Seawolf's railing as soon as the two ships were secured together, followed by a score of his crew. They immediately began ran-sacking the apparently deserted ship.
"Doridan!" cried Dorad, on the heels of his captain. "Doridan and the Ivory Throne!"
Caught up in the excitement of the attack, Jack drew his sword, grabbed a mastline hanging from the foresail, and swung across the small gap separating the two ship like a wild-eyed Captain Blood. It was a short, bloody fight. The sailors on the trader, which the pirates discovered to be only a small number, were well into their cups and put up only feeble resistance. Tarsus and his crew put them down to the last man. A quick search revealed there were no more crewmen onboard and the ship was theirs. They entered the cargo hold and were elated to discover it contained cask after cask of dark, red wine.
"No wonder it was so damn easy!" Tarsus laughed. "They were all too drunk on their cargo to fight."
"What do we do with it all?" Jack asked.
"Why, we load it." the Amarian grinned. He opened the tap on one of the barrels and placed his mouth under the flow. "This is Surcca Valley unless I've totally lost all taste for the grape. I'll wager this stuff is worth twenty golden Thrakens a barrel! If we do nothing else this night, we've made a fortune here!"
"If it's all the same to you," Jack said. "I'll take a couple of the guys and see what's happening on the docks." He had worked himself into a battle frenzy, then had missed the short fight on the trader.
"Sure," Tarsus shrugged. "Just don't wander off too far. All the hell we are raising down here is sure to attract a crowd soon. I wouldn't want you to be cut off when it's time to run."
"I’ll try and stay out of trouble," Jack nodded, then saluted Tarsus with his sword and smiled. "Victory or death captain."
"Go!" laughed the Amarian. "I've work to do."
He quickly climbed out of the ship's hold to collect a few men and check the docks while there was still time, but his enthusiasm was momentarily halted by the sight that met his gaze. The Brotherhood's fire ships were certainly doing their jobs. It looked like all of Norgarth was burning. The entire night sky was a deep, glowing orange and great clouds of smoke filled the air. Every direction Braedan turned there seemed to be nothing but flame and smoke. It reminded him of the scene from Gone with the Wind, when General Sherman burned Atlanta to the ground.
"Judas Bloody Hell," he whispered. In all his life, he'd never seen such a blaze.
A scream from the ship the Ravisher had attacked shook him out of his stupor. It was a high pitched, frightened scream. A woman's scream. He turned to see Kreel Ess and two of his crewmen dragging a struggling form off the vessel.
It was a young girl. She screamed again and Kreel Ess struck her, snapping her head back painfully. Having heard of the captain of the Ravisher's cruelty, Jack knew the girl's fate would be a brutal one unless someone aided her. He quickly scanned the deck of the trader for Dorad but his friend was nowhere in sight. He hesitated with indecision as Kreel and his two pirates carried the girl toward a warehouse yet to be put to the torch. Just before they disappeared into the building, Ess struck the helpless girl again.
"Ah, shit," Jack cursed, and took out after them.
It was well he followed quickly, for when he crashed through the door of the warehouse only a few seconds later, he found the two pirates holding down the sobbing girl by her arms while Kreel Ess kneaded her breasts through the torn material of her dress. The captain of the Ravisher turned at Braedan's sudden entrance and the lust in his eyes was transformed into a look of pure hatred.
"You?" he snarled. "If you value your miserable life, leave this place at once!"
"Let her go," Jack said low and dangerous, bringing his sword to the high guard position.
"Kill him!" Kreel Ess snapped at his two buccaneers. They released the girl and drew their swords.
They came at him together, blades held low. The one on the right struck first. Jack caught the blow effortlessly with the edge of his sword, but overcome with concern for the girl, he’d made the mistake of underestimating his opponents. The pirate on his left took the opportunity to make his own attack and his sword struck him in the side about halfway up his chest. It would have killed him if he hadn't been wearing Dorad's Ithlemere coat. The light scale mail deflected the edge of the weapon easily but the force of the blow staggered Braedan. Gasping for breath he collapsed to his knees.
The two pirates stood over him, laughing at their easy kill, but their mirth only rekindled Jack's outrage and renewed his strength. The man on his right raised his sword to deliver his death stroke but before his arm could descend, Jack swung his own blade with a superhuman effort that severed the man's left leg below the knee. He toppled over like a felled sapling, spouting great streams of blood from his mangled stump, as his anguished scream filling the warehouse.
The other man went wild at the sight of his fallen comrade, raining blow after blow at Jack's head. He blocked each frenzied stroke as he struggled to regain his breath, at the same time slowly working his way back to his feet. The man's berserker like attack proved to be his undoing when Braedan was again standing. Jack executed the difficult form, Wind Wips the Branches and swept aside his sword with a flick of his wrist. With a thrust powered by his outrage at the planned rape, he ran the man through, leaving a foot of steel sticking out of the pirate's back.
Braedan barely had time to jerk his blade free before Kreel Ess was upon him. The enraged captain was like a wild beast in his attack. His eyes were wide and glazed, mucus ran freely from his nostrils and he howled savagely with each swing of his sword. But the man's hate did not make him careless as it had the other pirate. It only made him more dangerous. He fought shrewdly, belying the madness in his eyes, and Braedan realized he would not be defeated as easily as the other two.
They battled back and forth across the floor of the warehouse, with Kreel Ess having the upper hand one moment, then Braedan gaining the advantage the next. Like two primeval monsters they stalked each other, both waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake and be devoured.
Although Jack was clearly the better swordsman, h
e was slowed by the injury he'd suffered to his side. The pirate's blade had not penetrated his mail but the blow had hurt him badly. Every time he blocked one of Kreel Ess' attacks or swung his own blade in return, a sharp, stabbing pain flashed like lightning through his side.
Kreel Ess noticed this and launched a furious assault on the disadvantaged Braedan. His sword rained down savagely, once, twice, three times, bringing blue sparks from Jack's blade and driving back him to his knees. Without warning, the captain of the Ravisher reached out and pulled down a stack of crates on Braedan's head. The edge of one caught him on the temple, the room swirled and everything grew blurry. Kreel Ess moved in for the kill but in his haste to finish off his adversary, he slipped on the blood slick floor and fell.
Even in his disoriented state, Braedan recognized his chance and seized it. He struggled to his feet, using the wall as support, and when Kreel Ess raised his head, Jack kicked him full in the face. The pirate went flying backwards, his mouth bloody and missing some teeth. But the kick hurt Braedan as well. Fire burned in his side and the experienced soldier knew some of his ribs were broken. Gritting his teeth in agony, Jack bent and retrieved his sword, then turned to face Kreel Ess once more.
The man had made it to his knees and was trying to stand when Braedan struck. Ignoring the searing pain in his side, he delivered a sweeping blow that severed the pirate's left arm at the elbow. Hattori Hanzo’s ancient blade continued, cutting through mail like rotten silk, disemboweling the Ravisher's captain. Kreel Ess tried to contain the purple-white coils of entrails spilling from his ruined abdomen with his remaining hand, but to no avail. He looked up at Braedan with frustrated rage, opened his mouth to curse him with his dying breath, but the only thing that came from his throat was a thick jet of black blood. The captain of the Ravisher fell over dead.
"Rot in hell," Jack muttered through clinched teeth. He heard a soft moan off to his right and turned to look at the girl. She was sitting where her would-be rapists had left her, completely forgotten during the brief, violent struggle. Her legs were pulled up protectively against her chest and there was a lost, terrified look on her tear streaked face. With his first good look at her, Braedan realized she was not a girl at all but a young woman. She was perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old and even in her harried state was quiet beautiful, with shoulder length dark hair and eyes as blue as the sea. She shied away at his approach and Jack tossed aside his bloody sword.
