Heart of a Huntsman

by Liam Reese

  Besmir’s companions joined him as he watched to see what was happening. He saw Herofic had taken the time to don his plate armor, his immense battle axe strapped to his back. His eyes flicked to the little storage area where his bow and quiver of arrows lay.

  “Leave it for now,” Zaynorth grumbled from his side. “Let us see what unfolds first.”

  Besmir nodded slowly, keeping an eye on the huge ship. Strange looking men lined the railing as it grew ever closer, and something gnawed at Besmir’s stomach as he watched.

  “Lower sail and prepare to be boarded!” a clear voice reached from the large ship. “By order of His Majesty Tiernon Fringor!”

  “Here we go,” Toras grunted. “Imperius!” he bellowed. “The Dawn Singer is on official business for King Portala Moncarthy of Gravistard and cannot be accosted.”

  “You are a long way from home, Dawn Singer, and in these waters King Tiernon decides who is accosted and who is left alone.”

  “Then we’ll have to wait until His Majesty arrives!” Toras bellowed in return.

  “I speak with His Majesty’s voice,” drifted across the dwindling space. “Drop sail and prepare to be boarded.”

  Imperius remained abreast of Dawn Singer, the schooner slowing as ordered.

  “How likely are we to get out of this?” Besmir asked.

  Toras looked at him, his leathery face shifting into an expression of unease.

  “Can ye swim, lad?” he asked. “Likely we’ll all be put over the side.”

  “Not I,” Herofic mumbled, reaching back to loosen the ax.

  Besmir shuddered when he thought of Herofic being dragged to the bottom, struggling in his cocoon of metal. His own leather clothing would be difficult enough, and he glanced at the shore again to gauge how far it might be.

  Never going to make it.

  “I can’t swim,” Keluse whispered nervously from beside him.

  Besmir grabbed her hand, squeezing gently to reassure her. “Something else I’ve got to teach you?” he said in a playful voice.

  Keluse smiled weakly, glancing over at the massive ship at the same time as the two vessels met with a hollow thump. She jumped and stepped closer to Besmir as a long plank was lowered to the Dawn Singer’s deck and several heavily armed men stumped down it, taking up positions at the end. Once a defensive wall had been set up, Besmir watched another man descend the plank. Dressed in a dark blue and maroon uniform adorned with silver trim, he had an unusual hat atop his curled hair. Although effeminate in appearance, he also wore a sword at one hip and looked to have the physique to wield it.

  “Captain?” he asked.

  “Toras.”

  “Rear Admiral Whermod, Gazluth Navy. Have you your seal and paperwork?”

  “To be sure,” Toras said, reaching into his heavy coat.

  Whermod gestured to one of his men, who trotted obediently across, took them and returned. The rear admiral made a show of examining the written papers before approaching Toras, surrounded by his men.

  “Captain,” he began. “I believe these to be forgeries.” He fixed the other man with a determined stare as he waved the paperwork before his face.

  “Then ye are mistaken,” Toras growled. “Send word to King Portala, he will verify their authenticity.”

  “Oh, I shall,” Whermod said in a falsely obsequious voice. “In the interim, I shall have to insist your vessel is impounded and thoroughly searched. My crew will come aboard to secure your compliance.” He began to turn.

  “That I cannot allow, Rear Admiral,” Toras said, completely unshaken by the other man’s words.

  Whermod snapped back round, white-faced and pale-lipped, shaking with rage. His guards loosened their weapons as tension flooded both ships. Hopelessly outnumbered, the crew of the Dawn Singer gathered behind their captain as Rear Admiral Whermod spat his words through clenched teeth.

  “You are in Gazluthian waters and have been issued a royal order by a ranking member of the navy, Captain. You will obey my order or face the consequences. Now prepare to be boarded and escorted to Port Vartula, where your vessel will be searched and your crew kept aboard.”

  Silence settled over both ships as Toras considered the Rear Admiral’s words. Scores of bows had been drawn on Imperius’s deck, and he scanned them with a keen eye. Everyone there knew the archers could shred the Dawn Singer’s crew in a few heartbeats if given the order.

  Besmir swallowed and felt the crush of defeat before he had even set foot on Gazluthian soil when Zaynorth stepped forward.

  “I do apologize, Rear Admiral,” he said politely. “However, I believe your ship to be aflame.”

  “What insanity is this?” Whermod demanded, spinning to look back.

  A croak of horror escaped his lips when he saw the flames licking greedily up the masts, along the ratlines and bursting out across the sails. He sprinted for his ship, bellowing commands to his men, who started milling about like confused chickens.

  Besmir squinted at the Imperius as she rocked gently in the swell, untouched by the fire her crew was valiantly trying to extinguish. Buckets were drawn and thrown at the fire which refused to go out, as Zaynorth had conjured it in the minds of them all. Sweat broke out across his brow with the effort of beguiling so many minds.

  “Time to leave, Captain,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Toras needed no second prompting and dashed about, howling orders and extorting his men to unfurl the sails. Besmir dashed over to the gangplank and started to heave it over the side, his burden lightening as Ranyor and Keluse joined him. Herofic and Morcath were happily slashing at the lines holding both ships together, securing their release.

  As Dawn Singer pulled away from Imperius, Besmir heard the crew’s groans of misery change to roars of anger as the flames faded from their minds. He turned to see Zaynorth slumped against the railing, a hand pressed against his head where one of the ropes under tension had lashed at him when cut. .

  “Pile on every scrap of sail ye can!” Toras screamed. “Hold out yer shirts to the wind if it helps!”

  The Dawn Singer leaped forward as soon as her crew secured the lines holding the sails in the optimum configuration. Besmir heard a thunderous clap as the mass of sails bellied out, catching the wind and propelling the ship forward away from Imperius.

  “Might be lucky enough to outrun them,” Toras said as he studied Zaynorth’s prone form. “What did ye do?” he asked. “I was not seeing any fire.”

  “Just a little trick I learned a long time ago,” the old mage said breathlessly.

  Besmir offered his hand, helping the other man to his unsteady feet.

  “Ye’s a mage, then,” Toras observed.

  “Sometimes,” Zaynorth said. “Will we outrun them?” he asked.

  Captain Toras looked above him then into the water, considering their speed.

  “Dawn Singer be one of the fastest ships afloat,” he said with pride. “And that Imperius be a bulky great tub. But she got something the Singer does not.”

  “What’s that?” Besmir asked.

  “Slave rowers below decks. Did ye not see the ports along her side, ready for oars to be lowered?”

  Besmir shook his head. Chill shock clutched his chest at the captain’s words. “He uses slaves?” he asked, subdued.

  “Aye, that he does,” Toras grunted. “Prisoners taken in the war. His own citizens Tiernon uses.”

  Besmir looked from Zaynorth to Herofic and Ranyor, turning back to the old mage again. They all nodded slowly, confirming Toras’s words. Hollow sickness grew in Besmir’s chest, similar to his seasickness but subtly different.

  The coast of Gazluth slipped past his unseeing eyes as Dawn Singer tried to outrun the Imperius. Besmir could smell the heady mix of pine forest and salt water that tantalized his nose, but it meant nothing. The cry of gulls reached his ears, but his brain refused to register their presence. The men around him muttered in low tones while the sailors yelled to each other and sang shanties entrea
ting Sharise to afford them more speed.

  Besmir shut it all out. His mind rolled over the same point: Tiernon condoned the use of slaves. That felt bad enough, but for Tiernon to sanction the use of his own people set a fire in Besmir’s belly, unquenchable and fierce.

  “What kind of man is he, to do that?” he asked no one in particular. “A king is supposed to protect his people, not use them as slaves.”

  “Exactly why we spent years searching for you,” Herofic said quietly.

  “Tiernon was always seduced by the lure of power, but your father’s abilities and skills always outshone his,” Zaynorth said. “Not until he married and sired an heir did his brother have any kind of power over him.”

  Besmir heard the sadness ringing in the old man’s tone and wondered how close Zaynorth had really been to his father. Something inside Besmir grew a little at that point. A hardening of his resolve to help those who suffered at Tiernon’s hand.

  “Sail!”

  The cry from aloft made heads turn to see who had called, turning again to look in the direction he pointed. At first Besmir could see nothing save for grey-green rolling waves, a few isolated sea birds bobbing around, diving for fish, and the occasional floating tree. Tense minutes passed as he scanned the horizon along with his companions and he started to believe the lookout had been mistaken or seen a different vessel. Dismay crawled through his chest when the mass of red sails resolved in his vision, revealing the Imperius was, in fact, gaining on them.

  Captain Toras stomped across to where they had all huddled at the aft rail to watch the immense warship grow ever closer. He looked at the ship and then at Zaynorth.

  “If ye have any ideas, mage, I’ll be more than happy to hear ‘em.”

  “Were those papers forged?” Besmir asked when his friend shrugged without speaking.

  Toras stared at him as if he was simple, his eyes wide and yellow teeth revealed in a savage grimace.

  “Of course they were fake, boy,” he growled. “Where would the likes of I be getting hold of a royal letter of marque?” The grizzled captain stared at Besmir for a few heartbeats before adding, “If ye have no more simple questions for me, I have me ship to save.”

  With a final glance back at the ever-growing Imperius, Captain Toras strode away to scream orders at his men. Besmir felt heat flaming in his cheeks as he faced his friends, but the feeling soon drained when he saw the warship had sprouted a bristle of oars that dipped into the water in unison over and over. Carried on the breeze, they could all hear the crack of a whip and the screams of men whose entire lives had become a living hell. In Besmir’s mind, a desperate plan began to form.

  Zaynorth watched Rear Admiral Whermod standing calmly as the Imperius bore down on the schooner. He cast his eye proudly over her crew as they toiled silently to catch the smaller ship. Every piece of equipment was in its rightful place, properly maintained and functional.The triple-masted ship was almost in range, and he turned to his right.

  “Arm the forward ballistae, Captain,” Zaynorth heard clearly.“Admiral.” Captain Serwall addressed him formally. “The slaves are tiring.”

  “Replace them, Captain,” he said, turning a disapproving glance on his subordinate.

  “We have, sir. They have been beaten until they drop, then replaced with others. Now we have no more to replace them with.” The captain tried to hide his terror.

  “Then I suggest you find a way to get more from them, Captain,” Whermod told him in a friendly voice. “Unless you wish to man an oar yourself, that is.”

  Serwall paled and turned to his first officer barking orders to have the slaves replaced with fresh sailors from his crew.

  Imperius jumped forward with every stroke of her oars, closing on the Dawn Singer inexorably, sending ripples of nervous anticipation through his belly. At twenty feet, when he was able to see the whites of the terrified eyes aboard the schooner, Whermod gave the order.

  “Wind forward ballistae.”

  Zaynorth watched in horror as the cranking of gears and creaking of stressed wood reached his ears. The world went abruptly silent and Whermod prepared to give the order to fire, smashing and shredding Dawn Singer’s sails, when the sea between the two ships bellied up.

  Gallons of water formed a dome slowly rising from the sea. At four feet above the water’s surface it broke, sluicing off the head of a creature from a nightmare. Ice-cold panic rooted Zaynorth to the deck as he watched the thing grow ever larger. The Imperius gave a massive jolt, knocking Whermod and his men to the deck. Some of those aloft lost grip, their screams cut short when they smashed into the decking. Whermod hauled himself up, staring in horror as the thing’s head hovered into view.

  Eyes the size of cart wheels stared mercilessly down at the fleeing, panicking men and a mouth that could easily hold a building opened to reveal a razor-edged tongue and teeth the size of horse heads. Zaynorth could see down the creature’s throat, its huge muscles easily capable of crushing a man flat. An appendage exploded from the sea, dark red and multi-jointed, slamming to the deck and splintering the wood like kindling. Muscles as thick as a man bunched, gripping hold of the Imperius as the monster tried to haul itself aboard. The warship gave a sickening lurch as the hull shattered under the weight of the creature and terrified screams echoed up from the oar deck as water and monster invaded the ship.

  “Hold!” Whermod bellowed. “Hold there! It is nothing but illusion as with the fire!” Zaynorth watched as a few of the men around him paused, turning towards Whermod in comprehension.

  Savage grins spread over their faces as the realization sank in. They turned at his order and ran along the shattered decking towards the ballistae. Zaynorth could see the look of satisfaction on Whermod’s face as he watched his men. They would fire the bolts, and the chains holding them together would cut through the masts and rigging with ease.

  “Fire!” Whermod bellowed.

  Multiple twangs split the air as the ballistae fired simultaneously. Zaynorth watched as the bolts shot forward, chain stretched between them. His eyes cut back to Whermod again watching his expression as his rational mind refused to believe what happened then. Rather than sailing through the illusion, the chain bit into the creature’s face, wrapping round it, the pointed iron bolts digging into the red and purple flesh. Its bellow of rage-fueled pain slammed into Zaynorth’s ears like a hammer, dizzying and felling him again. Further limbs exploded from the sea, some wrapping round Imperius while others flapped at the chain, freeing it from its head.

  Sailors scrambled away from the thrashing beast as it tightened its grip on the warship, throwing themselves into the cold sea rather than be eaten. Horrible, final, explosive booms resounded as the ship gave way, timbers splitting and splintering as sections arced high into the air. The main deck tilted to such an angle that men and cargo tumbled towards the beast’s gaping maw. Sections of the rigging and masts leaned slowly, groaning as the damp wood snapped under the weight before smashing down into the sea. Another multi-jointed arm erupted from the sea, wrapping around the broken stump of a mast and dragging the ship inexorably down.

  Below decks men scrambled to escape as the pressure grew, stabbing painfully against their eardrums as the holds flooded. Confused and scared beyond belief they clawed at each other in their desperate need to escape the rising water. Barrels and crates tumbled from where they had been stowed, slamming into the men and knocking them into the roiling waters.

  Zaynorth watched Whermod grab onto the main mast, looking down into the blood-red gate to hell. Captain Serwall had managed to grasp one of the massive teeth, desperately trying to halt his impending doom. Zaynorth watched in fascinated horror as another of his crew fell from the deck, grabbing Serwall as he passed and dragging both men screaming to their doom. Darkness crowded in at the edges of Zaynorth’s vision as he watched both men disappear in a red spray, the sea monster’s peristalsis crushing them.

  Whermod snapped back to full alertness when he found himself tippin
g towards the mouth, fear making his fingers clamp tight to the wood. An explosion of air blew out from Imperius’s below decks as another compartment gave way under the immense pressure the creature exerted. Zaynorth could see bodies and pieces of bodies floating up in the boiling sea before being swept back down in the current.

  Whermod’s final breath was snatched away as the mast beneath his feet jolted sideways, throwing him into the sea. Something massive and hard smashed into his skull with a sickening crunch even Zaynorth could hear. Blood covered his face as he drifted into the deeps.

  4

  The crew of the Dawn Singer stared in horror at the monster that was systematically destroying the Imperius. Limbs and muscles wrapped round what was left of the ship, dragging it down as it sank back into the water. Dark red flowed up from the horrible wound the chain had inflicted, but it had not stopped the creature from demolishing the larger ship completely. Barrels and crates floated on the surface along with hundreds of dead, their pale faces fixed with expressions of horrified fear.

  A few survivors had managed to scramble into the longboat and were already rowing away as fast as they could . One of the red sails billowed to the surface like a ghost beneath the waves before sinking once more.

  “Raise cloth!” Toras screamed, slapping and kicking at his stunned crew. “By the nose of Sharise get us out of here!”

  Dawn Singer lurched as her sails caught the breeze and Toras threw himself at the wheel.

  “By the gods, man!” Toras shouted to Zaynorth in a voice that trembled. “What did ye do?”

  “Not I,” Zaynorth said, pale with horror. He cast about, searching for clues.

  “Besmir!” he cried, noting the younger man’s vice grip on the rail, his closed eyes and rigid stance.

  Zaynorth, Keluse and the others crowded round Besmir, touching and shaking him without response, shouting in his ear to try and wake him up. Herofic pried his fingers from the wood, gasping at the deep gouges Besmir had made from gripping so tightly.