Severed Empire: Wizard's War

by Phillip Tomasso

  The men on the Derecho cheered!

  Sebastian wasn’t ready for celebrating. It was far too premature. “Lower the mizzen!”

  There was no echo.

  “Lower the mizzen sail and the main sail!” He screamed out the command this time. The wind from the storm would have to work in their favor. They needed to harness that power. It might be the only thing keeping them from the mouth of the vortex.

  “Lower the mizzen and the main sail!”

  “Lower the mizzen and the main sail!”

  Sebastian watched tars skirt the shrouds, and crawl out on the T’s. They unfastened knots and the sails unrolled. Helix worked with the others tying off the lower end of the sail to pegs.

  Trapped, the wind performed perfectly.

  “Cearl, turn us away,” Sebastian said. “We need to put some distance between us and the devil of a hole.”

  He went toward the stern, not wanting to miss the Osiris ship pulled under.

  The sun’s rays appeared to watch, as well. They shone through the thinning clouds like beacons of victory.

  The Osiris circled around the mouth of The Devil’s Hole. The mouth was as wide as the sky. On the far side of the vortex, Sebastian thought he could see each crewmember scramble around in useless panic. Their fate was sealed.

  Sebastian knew some of his men had been injured, and the ship would need substantial repairs. But all and all, his chest swelled with pride.

  Just when he thought nothing could be better, and he was ready to sail off and assist Berserker and Armory in their fight, the sudden sound of Reed’s voice made him cringe and want to close his eyes. “Incoming!”

  Captain Sebastian watched in horror, as the Osiris ship came back around the edge of the vortex, and three grapple hooks were launched toward them. They were harnessed with thick rope, and had been shot with harpoon guns from their deck.

  The grapples pierced the stern, and then smashed through the wood with a sick and crushing sound.

  “Drop anchor! Drop anchor!” The anchor might buy them some time. If the iron caught on the seafloor, it might prevent them from getting sucked into the bottomless void.

  The Derecho snapped to a sudden stop; the hull groaned in protest. Sebastian was thrown back. He lost his footing, and went down hard. He knocked his head onto the wheel, beside Cearl. He felt warm blood seep from the new cut. And although the timing was odd, realized how it actually felt good—bleeding, in contrast to the icy cold and numbness he’d grown used to.

  He knew the claws of the grapple dug teeth into the walls of the hull.

  Sebastian drew his sword and struggled getting back onto his feet. Cearl reached down and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Captain!”

  “I’m good, Lieutenant,” he said. On his feet he felt dizzy, and lightheaded. The blood spilled into his left eye, blurring his vision. He swayed on his feet. If something wasn’t done there was little hope for them. The problem was he wasn’t sure what could be done.

  He heard tars running around, panicking.

  Sebastian stood at the stern. Below, the three ropes were taut, dragging the Derecho toward the vortex. They were essentially disabled, and being pulled behind the Osiris ship. Once it encircled the east end of the mouth, the whirlpool would have them both.

  “Hold this!”

  It was Reed. He threw a coil of rope at the Captain, climbed up onto the railing with a battle axe in his hand.

  “Secure it to something!”

  “Reed? What are you doing?”

  Cearl snatched the coil of rope out of Sebastian’s hands and ran. Reed held the battle axe in both hands raised over his head. He bent his legs at the knees, and then sprung up and out. Diving over the back of the ship, he nearly splashed into the sea. The rope pulled tight. Reed swung out like a pendulum. On his arc back toward the center of the ship he wielded the axe in a wide downward swing. The razor sharp blade sliced through the grappling’s ropes, freeing the Derecho from the trap.

  Sebastian wasn’t sure if what he’d witnessed actually happened. Had Reed really dived off the back of the ship to save them all? He spun around.

  Lieutenant Cearl had thrown the rope around a post, and also draped the end around his waist. He held the rope in a white knuckle grip. His feet were in the air, planted on the post. It looked like he was levitating on his back, three feet above the floorboards. His face was tomato red. His lips were raised in a snarl. He was grunting as he strained to keep from dropping Reed into the sea.

  Sebastian hollered for help.

  Other tars ran up the stairs, and joined Cearl. Four men now supported Reed’s weight, and Cearl’s natural color slowly returned to his face. Sebastian was relieved. He thought for sure the man’s heart was about to burst inside his chest.

  Turning back to the sea, Sebastian saw the Osiris ship tip onto her side. She went around and around the mouth of the whirlpool. There was no escape. Not now, not any longer. He tried ignoring the sounds of men screaming.

  They weren’t his boys, but they were soldiers just the same. They were people.

  There was no shame fearing death. The unknown of what lay beyond was a frightening thought.

  With both hands braced onto the starboard railing, he watched as the Osiris ship made its final lap around the vortex, as the clouds parted and the sun shone directly over them, and she dropped into the funnel. He heard the horrific sounds as the ship was crushed by the pressure of the sea.

  She was swallowed.

  Devoured.

  “Captain?”

  It was fitting death. Sebastian lived his life on the sea. The sea was more of a home than the islands ever had been. When his time was up he knew he wanted the sea to claim him.

  “Ah, Captain?”

  Sebastian looked around.

  “Captain?”

  It was Reed. Below he hung onto the rope, the axe, and was twisting in the wind helplessly.

  “Ah, could you—if you don’t mind too much—could you hoist me back onto the ship?”

  “Permission to speak freely, Captain?” Helix stood beside Sebastian. He gripped Reed’s lifeline in both hands, and was assisting the others as they pulled Reed back up to the top of the ship.

  “Granted,” Sebastian said. Below, Reed tried walking up the side of the hull, the axe still in his hands. His wet boots didn’t help. He kept losing his footing, and was banging into the boards.

  The Derecho was pulling away from the Vortex, out of reach of the currents. The tiny sail was doing its job just fine. When they reached the end of the anchor chain, they would bring that iron and steel monster back up and sail toward the islands.

  “I’d say that boy may have just earned his place on your ship,” Helix said.

  “I agree with you. I agree.” Sebastian reached over the side and extended his hand.

  They gave a final tug and Reed was back on the vessel.

  Helix pulled at the rope around Reed’s waist. “See there. That’s how you tie a knot.”

  “I have you to thank for teaching me, sir.”

  “I ain’t no sir,” Helix said. He winked at Sebastian.

  The Captain clapped a hand on Reed’s shoulder. “We have you to thank for saving our lives. That was a stupid and crazy thing you did. Bravery, like I have almost never seen before. Thank you.”

  The deck of the Derecho erupted in cheers, only this time the celebration was not premature.

  Chapter 33

  King Hermon Cordillera remained at the bow of his Shadow. He hadn’t expected a battle on the sea. Somehow the Voyagers were ready for his armada with a heavily-armed fleet of their own. His misconception was that they ruled the sea.

  Those days were gone.

  The cannons sang. Cannonballs whistled through the air. The impact wreaked havoc and destruction.

  The shouts, screams, explosions—and coupled with the melody of the storm—was like music to the king. He reveled in the discombobulation all around him.

  His en
ergy increased. The need for rest vanished. The excitement titillated his senses.

  Shadow cut through the waves easily, the wind at her back, filling her sails. She sped across the sea faster than a horse galloping across an open field.

  Currents ran through his body. His fingers and ears tingled. He tasted something like burnt food on the back of his tongue.

  King Hermon’s vision was enhanced, and the dark from the clouds, and the rain, and snow, no longer hindered everything he saw.

  He felt as if he were flying. Soaring. A falcon with wings spread wide, and carried by the wind. It was a freeing sensation.

  His dreams were so close to realization. He could barely contain his stir of emotions. Decided, he raised his arms in the air, threw them forward, and aimed his hands at the closest Voyager ship.

  A whisping trail of smoke flew launched out, snowballed into the size of a boulder, and burst into flames.

  He watched men on the targeted jump overboard.

  The fireball slammed into the sails. They caught immediately, despite the heavy rain, and snow.

  Head-sized embers dropped from the engulfed sails. The deck lit like a giant lantern, and the flames quickly ran from bow to stern.

  Flames, like tongues, burst out of the gun-ports.

  Something exploded.

  Black smoke back-lit with orange fire, spread out in the sky like a blossoming white rose bud.

  Cordillera sighed thoughtfully as he admired the spreading beauty of his work.

  ***

  Mykal and the others tried thanking Refler and Basin for their help. The sound of battle on the sea was all consuming. The constant blast of cannons firing made Mykal cringe each time. He couldn’t imagine the terror felt by the men on the ships. Looking across the water, it was like watching monsters from the depths fight. It was impossible conceiving a winner could sail free and clear amidst the overwhelming destruction and death.

  Blodwyn took Basin’s hand in his. “Your help will never be forgotten.”

  Basin nodded, lips pursed, jaw set.

  The shared, unspoken consensus was no one wanted this war. Mykal knew Basin and the other Voyagers felt as if they were being dragged into a fight that didn’t concern them.

  Or that had been how they felt.

  The battle engaged on the sea changed their mind. Seeing the need to get back out on the water was evident in the men’s eyes, which kept looking toward the ships engaged against the Mountain King.

  “And what will you do?” Basin said.

  “We have to get back to Grey Ashland,” Mykal said.

  He had selfish reasons for his haste. King Nabal would have to be both blind and deaf, not to be aware of what was taking place on the sea. The fires could be seen for miles. The thundering boom of cannons firing echoed across kingdoms, most assuredly.

  “Are we going to poof across the sea?” Coil said. He wore a large smile. It was almost like he didn’t realize death surrounded him, because he was overjoyed from witnessing the use of magic.

  “It’s going to be the only way,” Mykal said. “If King Hermon’s ships get past the Voyagers—”

  “That will never happen, lad,” Basin said.

  “Oh my!” Anna said.

  Everyone turned their attention. They watched a fire grow into massive blazing ball. It punched the sails on one of the Voyager ships. In mere moments the entire vessel was inundated with flames.

  Something on the ship exploded.

  The smoke and fire shot into the sky, and spread like new storm clouds under the old.

  Mykal said, “Mother, there is just the six of us. I can do this—”

  “I will help you. I didn’t think I needed to rest. The journey across the sea was plenty. I feel refreshed, angry. I am ready to stand with you. Together we are going to defeat that monster. We may be the only two capable of bringing him down!” Anna’s fingers were rolled into her palms. Her fingernails dug into flesh.

  “Form a circle,” Mykal said. Everyone held hands.

  Anna stood across from her son.

  “Can you remember Grandfather’s house?” Mykal said.

  “As if I were there, just yesterday.”

  “Imagine the grass just in front of the porch. That’s where I want to take us.”

  Blodwyn gave Mykal’s hand an extra squeeze; it was both encouraging and reassuring.

  “This is quite a distance, from here to there,” Eadric said. He was beside his wife. There wasn’t doubt in his tone of voice. It was simpler than that, just a question.

  “We’ll make it,” Mykal said. “Whenever you’re ready, Mother.”

  Mykal closed his eyes.

  His Mother began reciting her incantation. He saw the wisps of magic inside his head. They came from her in a trail of pale blue, and deep, dark greens. He waited while her tempo increased to a fevered pitch.

  He saw the farm in his mind’s eye.

  The corral, where the horses ran loose, and the barn and stables. He saw the rickety fence that outlined much of the property, and the modest home he shared with his grandfather.

  At the front of the house was the porch.

  The grass just beyond it was where he placed his focus.

  “We’re coming home, Grandfather,” he said, just as he heard Basin and Refler gasp.

  Mykal’s body became weightless. They were inside the space between here and there. It was nowhere, and dark. There were more wisps of magical smoke that swirled around them.

  It was silent.

  And yet he knew they were propelling across a great distance at unimaginable speeds.

  The next instant he was opening his eyes.

  A purple smoke descended toward their chests, their waists, legs, feet, and dissipated.

  Ready to rush and take his grandfather in his arms, Mykal was caught off guard.

  A group of four large men with drawn swords surrounded them.

  The swords were raised, ready to slash through flesh and bone.

  Blodwyn raised his staff in the air. “Stop!”

  Chapter 34

  The four sellswords Blodwyn hired for protecting Mykal’s grandfather lowered their swords. Tension remained thick for several long moments, and only broke after Blodwyn made his rounds and shook hands with and hugged his friends hello.

  The slate grey skies were a welcome sight when compared to the storm that still seemed a bit volatile to the east, over the sea. The snow was not very comforting. The flakes were large, and heavy. The snow began accumulating on the grass, but not so much on the worn dirt paths. The harshest element was the wind. It groaned and hollered as it whipped past the small house, and whistled as it sped invisibly through bare tree branches.

  Mykal shook hands with the man nearest Blodwyn. He tried waiting patiently while they exchanged pleasantries.

  “We’ve received word Nabal is moving his forces toward the coast. The battle on the sea was like no other light show we’d ever witnessed. Or haven’t ever witnessed in countless years.” The sellsword spoke to Blodwyn, but his eyes looked Mykal up and down. “I’ll be honest with you. We took your coins freely, but thought you might be a bit touched in the head when you started going on about a war.”

  Blodwyn smiled, adding nothing to the slight.

  “Thing is; this is looking like it is going to be bad.”

  “All war is bad,” Blodwyn said. “A battle between the banks, with the sea as a natural barrier, could last years.”

  “Could go on much longer than years, sir,” the sellsword said. “If I were the Mountain King, I’d not just assault from one place. Crossing the sea is an open and bold move.”

  “I do believe that King Hermon has let his confidence reach a cocky and unattractive level. A most unbecoming attitude for royalty,” Blodwyn said.

  The sellsword laughed. “I’ve not met royalty with anything less than a stuffy cocksure attitude.”

  This time Blodwyn laughed.

  “Truth is, if there is a way to strike the head
first, and fast, it might be the only way of ending the war quickly.” The sellsword shrugged, as if someone didn’t state the obvious he didn’t want the blame for having kept it to himself.

  When Mykal sensed a pause in their conversation, and no longer hold his tongue, he blurted, “How is my grandfather?”

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  Mykal hadn’t heard the front door open.

  On the porch, Grandfather had wheeled himself out of the house. He had that same blanket draped over his one good leg, and the stump of the other.

  “Grandfather,” Mykal said. The word was spoken so softly that the wind had no issue with whisking it away. The tears that brimmed along his bottom eyelids were like ice on his skin as they crested and rolled down his cheek.

  Mykal ran to the porch, and pulled dropped his arms around his grandfather, and placed his head on the old man’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

  Grandfather hugged Mykal back. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been worried about you, boy.”

  Mykal didn’t want to let go. “So many times I just wanted to come back home. I worried about you every day. There wasn’t an hour that went by that thoughts of you didn’t cross my mind.”

  Mykal took a knee beside the chair, and his Grandfather’s hand in his.

  “I’m so thankful you’re home,” Grandfather said, and used his shoulder to swipe away the tears that had reached his chin. “I knew you’d be back, though. I knew you’d return to me.”

  “Father.”

  Mykal looked over his shoulder.

  Eadric stood, deflated. His arms were flat at his sides.

  Grandfather’s body shook. He fought crying, he fought back sobs. Shaky arms lifted, and trembling hands reached out for his son.

  Eadric fell onto his knees on the snow, two feet from the porch. He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t hide his tears, and let his sobs rack his body. He sucked in air between cries. His hands crawled over his head, and his fingers dug through his hair.

  Grandfather tried getting up and out of his chair.

  Mykal held onto him, stopping him.