Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  “Aye, you got him out, eh?” one man said, then chuckled. “Not bad if I says so meself.”

  “Excellent. Most excellent. Welcome, Mr. Hinterdale,” said one man who appeared to also be some kind of leader. “Today you died in Acardia as a witch. Tonight you are born again on the sea as a free man.”

  Kyrus took in the ragged, hard-eyed men that made up the group and wondered just what they were up to.

  “We had no time for proper introductions on the way here, given the circumstances. I am Denrik Zayne, soon to be captain of that vessel just over yonder.” He pointed out to a navy ship docked in the harbor. “I know you for what you are, and I accept you as such. Now you know me for who I am, and I am giving you a chance to start a new life. Whatever you had here, they took it from you. Come with me and you shall become rich and powerful. You are a fugitive, as am I. Yesterday you might have thought that you and I had little in common, but today I think you will find that we can use each other. I will take you in, and you can use your magic to aid and protect me and my crew. Are you in?”

  Kyrus was amid a dozen or so men—pirates, he supposed—and was nominally being offered a choice.

  “What would happen if I said ‘no’? Would you slit my throat and dump me in the harbor?”

  “We would hardly have to. Just leaving you behind is a death sentence,” Denrik said.

  “It seems I have little choice but to accept,” Kyrus said.

  “Well now, you do have choices, and many more than you think. You could turn yourself in, betray us, and plead for leniency for helping recapture someone far more dangerous than yourself. You could sneak off, stow away on a trade ship, and hope to hide out until you get to Feru Maru to start a new life as a fisherman. You could disappear into the city, try and remake yourself as one of the shadow merchants hereabouts. You could even try using that magic of yours to burn the city down; you are raw, but you have a lot of power in you.

  “No, what I offer you is not your only choice, but your only good solid choice,” Denrik said. “The Acardian Navy took my ship and sank it, since none of theirs would sully themselves at the wheel of it. The Acardian magistrates took three years of my life and kept me from all the wealth I had accumulated in my years at sea. Think about what they are taking from you: your home, your possessions, your livelihood. I am doing something about it; I am taking back what I can. I give you the opportunity to do the same, to take a new life to replace what you have lost. It will not be the same, but it is yours to make of it what you will.

  “The same goes for the rest of you. Most of you have never tried a hand at piracy. Some have sailed ships, and some have killed and robbed for money, but all of you have the chance, tonight, to start anew.”

  “I … suppose I can give it a try,” Kyrus said, not making eye contact with Denrik.

  Piracy was not exactly what he had planned as an alternative to the gallows or the stake. Then again, what careers were available to someone deemed a witch and seen as a threat to the natural order of society merely for living?

  “Mr. Hinterdale, I see you think yourself a good man. I saw the way you looked at those dead guards at the jailhouse, like you had never seen a dead body. You need to harden this in here,” Denrik poked Kyrus in the chest, “or the world is going to chew you up and swallow you. The world comprises sharks and chum. We here are sharks.”

  “I have seen death before. I have killed more than you might guess. I just never reveled in a man’s death, or blocked it from my heart,” Kyrus said just above a whisper. More loudly, he continued: “But I suppose that will change in joining with you. Killing is easy enough, but I still hope never to get used to it.”

  Kyrus was bluffing a bit, but he had all of Brannis’s memories in him, and if he could draw on those experiences to give himself a measure of credibility among these shark-like men, he would do so.

  * * * * * * * *

  Denrik was taken aback a bit. He had always been a shrewd judge of men and could tell a liar better than most. The lad seemed to have as little guile as Andur, yet his claims seemed outrageous. Perhaps the good folk of Scar Harbor had reason enough to wish death on this “witch” after all, without even realizing it.

  * * * * * * * *

  Grosh had been keeping watch, but as the hour approached, everyone moved near the half-open warehouse door and watched for the signal. Kyrus was at the back of the group, along with Denrik. Neither of them felt the particular need to watch, Denrik because it was exactly the sort of thing that one had crews for, and Kyrus because he just was not that eager to go. They had explained the general thrust of the plan, and really that seemed to be about all there was to it.

  They were to wait for Mr. Stalyart’s brother, one of the night watchmen on the ship, to give them a signal that meant he had eliminated the other man on watch duty with him. Then they would race onto the ship and overpower however many men were left on board while the rest were drinking, gambling, and whoring the night away. Then they would sail off with the ship. It seemed far too simple to work, but when Kyrus considered the sort of men that were a party to this heist, he wondered how complex a plan they might carry out properly.

  Mr. Crispin gave a wave in their direction, the signal that all was prepared. Stalyart signaled back to Denrik, and Captain Zayne gave the order: “Keep quiet and move, quickly. No running, but keep it moving.”

  The would-be pirates poured out of the warehouse, disorderly but with a single purpose among them. Their shoes clomped along on the wooden boards of the pier as they made their way to the gangplank, playing a percussive symphony. Kyrus was swept along in their wake, with only Denrik behind him, taking up the rear guard position.

  Despite living in a port city for several years, Kyrus had never found reason to set foot on board a ship before. The gangplank was intimidating—a long, narrow board with no handrails or ropes to hold onto. It was perhaps as wide as he was tall, but felt all the narrower for having nothing to catch himself on if he were to slip on the steep slope. There were wooden ribs at regular intervals, but Kyrus found them to be less than comforting as a safety measure.

  Once he made it onto the deck, the small group had congregated around Stalyart’s brother, Mr. Crispin. He was on watch duty, wearing his navy sailor’s cap and heavy coat to keep out the chill. Tight to his body he held a long knife, similar to the ones that the rest of the pirates were drawing all around him. It was an unnerving sight, even if logically Kyrus knew that the last thing they planned was to drag him up here just to kill him.

  “The captain is asleep in his quarters,” Crispin whispered as Denrik, Stalyart, and a few others leaned in to listen. “The other watchman is in the head, dead.”

  “Crispin, lead the rest belowdecks. Forestall any alarm by acting as if you just came back from shore and have your own men with you. Let surprise do most of the work for you,” Denrik said and then set them off to take care of the crew.

  Kyrus watched with a sense of dread and detachment as Tawmund, Marshfield, and a few others whose names he had not gathered yet all headed down to murder the crew.

  “Mr. Holyoake, Mr. Stalyart, get the ship free of her moorings, then raise the sails. Mr. Hinterdale, when the sails are up, can you raise the anchor?” Denrik asked, honestly questioning his abilities rather than making the order optional just for him.

  “Um, of course. You … I mean, you do want me to do it with magic, right? Otherwise I shall revise my answer,” Kyrus replied.

  “Very well, then, do it, soon as I give the command, or Stalyart does,” Denrik said.

  “Uhh, where is the anchor?” Kyrus asked. He was entirely new to this, and while he knew what an anchor was, he did not know where on the ship it tied up … or bolted … or coiled, or whatever one did with them when they were not anchoring the ship.

  “Starboard bow,” Denrik called back as he headed for the rear of the ship where the captain’s cabin lay.

  Kyrus looked on as Holyoake and Stalyart went around with small axe
s and hacked away at the moorings. He wondered if he ought to ask them if he was correct in thinking that starboard with the right side of the ship; he knew that the bow was the front. Kyrus heard someone down below on the docks notice that something was amiss, and all thought of asking for clarification fled his mind.

  “Hey, what you doin’ up there?” he heard.

  Kyrus rushed to the side of the ship to see what was happening. A man in navy sailor’s garb was sprinting down the pier back toward the taverns and brothels where presumably he would find his fellows and rally them against the intruders.

  Kyrus grew worried. He was now caught between the Acardian Navy and Captain Zayne—the Captain Zayne—and things seemed headed for a collision. The thought flickered in his mind to possibly sell out the pirates and try his luck with the magistrates again, but it never took hold.

  No, whether I like it or not, they have made me their enemy. I will find no comfort with them. These may be wicked men—no, these are wicked men I find myself with, but only for now. I will ride out this storm and see where I come out of it. If Captain Zayne has magic, I will learn it, and I will get myself the skills I will need to rid myself of his company. I will swallow this bitter elixir and hope that it will cure me rather than kill me.

  Kyrus moved quickly to Stalyart’s side. “We have been found out. Hurry, and I will do what I can to delay them.”

  “Very good, Mr. Hinterdale. You earn a place here,” Stalyart said.

  Stalyart moved to the rigging after cutting the last of the moorings. Along with Holyoake, they were making good time in getting the ship prepared for a hasty departure.

  Suddenly there was a shout from the end of the pier. Kyrus crouched low and looked over the bulwark, doing his best to avoid being seen. There looked to be about two dozen men—navy from the uniforms most wore—making all haste for the gangplank. Kyrus had promised to do what he could to hold them off, and he knew he had little time to act.

  “Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora,” and Kyrus swept his hands up. He had managed to lift furniture in his shop when the constables arrived to arrest him. Captain Zayne had been impressed with how strong his iron-melting spell had been. It was time for Kyrus to see just how much he could squeeze out of his powers.

  As the first of the sailors was about to set foot on the gangplank, it was yanked from beneath him. With a yelp and a splash, one fewer assailant was trying to board. Kyrus lifted the plank and twisted it in the air, orienting it crossways to the pier and up on its side. He held it at thigh height to keep it above the piles and began moving it down the length of the pier, sweeping men out of its path. Kyrus angled it slightly so that it scraped the mob of sailors off the far side of the pier and into the water. A few of the more nimble ones managed to duck under it as it passed, and several more retreated back down the pier, but many were dumped unceremoniously into the harbor.

  Kyrus, despite his fears, could not help but enjoy using his magic openly and to such great effect. He swept the gangplank back down the pier in the other direction, spinning it as it went, knocking even the more nimble of the sailors into the water.

  A shot rang out, and the wood of the bulwark just to Kyrus’s right splintered.

  Well, fun time seems to be over.

  He ducked back down behind cover. “Is that gangplank ours, Mr. Stalyart?” Kyrus shouted across the deck.

  “Anything is ours if we wish to take it,” Stalyart shouted back.

  It was a poetic bit of optimism but unhelpful. Kyrus supposed that if gangplanks were supposed to remain with the pier then they could just throw it overboard later. He recalled it and set it down on the deck a few feet from himself.

  “Captain, we are under sail,” Stalyart shouted.

  All pretense of stealth was gone now. The ship had lurched and begun to slowly inch away from its berth. Stalyart and Holyoake were working frantically to raise more sails, having just one to catch wind thus far. No one was yet at the helm, and they appeared to be banking a very mild turn as they got under way.

  Captain Zayne came sprinting from the rear castle of the ship. “Mr. Hinterdale, get that anchor up, now!” he shouted.

  Oops, anchor. Right.

  Kyrus rushed over to the bow and found the chain that headed out the side of the ship and into the harbor. While no nautical expert was he, Kyrus nonetheless knew what an anchor was. He grabbed for the chain, the only way he knew how.

  “Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora,” and up it came.

  He had to cast the spell twice more to get a “grip” farther down and bring the anchor safely to rest. There was a great thunderous crash as he let the chains drop to the deck.

  “Mr. Hinterdale, get up here,” Captain Zayne shouted again. He had taken the wheel and was guiding the freed ship out of its berth at roughly a walking pace. “Look over there. The navy crew are commandeering that merchant ship in the next berth. They mean to take up pursuit. That ship is armed, and we do not have enough men to put up a fight yet. I will show you this once. Then you use it on the sails.

  “Eehu dolkavi esfenetor gelex ajihru,” and Captain Zayne thrust one hand forward, palm facing out, with his fingers spread and making a claw-like gesture.

  Kyrus watched and thought maybe he felt a little breeze. Based on the captain’s comment about using it on the sails, he could only assume it was to make wind.

  So this is how it will be? You need something done and you will show me a spell for it. How much are you going to hold back?

  Kyrus nodded to affirm that he had gotten it, and Captain Zayne took the wheel again in both hands. He looked over and saw that there was a riot of activity on the vessel on their left—port—side, and the ship certainly looked formidable. Kyrus could see the little trapdoors where the cannons hid in the sides, and the sails looked very large and suited for wind-catching. Their own new ship was a navy vessel, though, and ought to be just as formidable. It might not be running with a full crew, but Kyrus supposed that was why they seemed so glad to have him along.

  I will show them, Kyrus thought, starting to feel a bit of self-confidence. I will show them that they would not be able to manage without me.

  “Eehu dolkavi esfenetor gelex ajihru,” chanted Kyrus loudly, mimicking Captain Zayne’s thrusting claw hand action. Kyrus made sure to pull hard on the aether as he finished the spell, funneling as much power into it as he could manage.

  From nowhere, a gale sprang, catching the sail—which had been slack in the light breeze—and snapping it taught. There was a great and ominous creak of wood straining, and the bow of the ship lifted up as the ship accelerated unnaturally. Kyrus lost his footing and stumbled against the pillar that supported the wheel.

  Kyrus was not finished, though. He was tired, and scared, and was suddenly finding an outlet for all the frustration and hopelessness he had found since his capture. He hurried to the port side of the ship and tried something he had been curious about. For all the dangers it was supposed to carry, he figured that there was plenty of water handy to absorb any mistakes. Kyrus leaned out over the railing and extended both hands out toward the merchant vessel that they were starting to pull away from. He did not know if the gesture helped any, but it felt right.

  Kyrus just drew in any and all aether he could manage. The normal cool rush of it burned instead as it tore through him, but it did oh so much more once he released it. A massive gout of flame poured across the expanse separating the two ships and rolled up and into the rigging and sails. He stopped short of raking the decks with flame; angry as he was, he was still not a killer at heart, despite the company he had accepted.

  “Mr. Hinterdale, if you do not mind me asking … why did we need to rescue you?” Captain Zayne asked, clearly taken aback by a display of sorcery that was unheard of in his experience.

  “That was my backup plan. I was not about to go to the gallows without a fight,” Kyrus bragged. He sincerely hoped that in light of the conflagration he had just unleashed, no one would notice the fac
t that he was shaking.

  Over the next few minutes, men emerged from belowdecks, and several helped get the sails set and rigged properly. Stalyart took over the wheel as Captain Zayne took reports on the execution of their plan.

  On the whole, they had suffered only minor injuries. There had been a slaughter below, as Mr. Crispin’s ruse had gotten them to within striking distance, with knives out, before the crew had even realized something was amiss. Eight men had been taken prisoner and the rest were all dead. Before he took over the wheel, Captain Zayne had gone into the captain’s quarters and knocked out Captain Rannison; they went back in after to tie him up. There was no evidence of sabotage or damage to the ship, and there were plenty of supplies stored aboard; the ship had been preparing to leave port in just two more days.

  * * * * * * * *

  Dawn broke and found Captain Zayne a free and contented man. He stood on the deck of his own ship, so new that he had not yet decided on a name for it. He had considered just naming it The Honest Merchant and carrying on as if he had never lost the original, but he knew the name would always ring hollow to him if he did.

  Taking a deep breath of the sea air on a clear morning, he turned to survey his prisoners. There were nine in all—eight common sailors and one captain—standing in a row by the starboard bulwark. Captain Rannison was stripped to his underclothes as Denrik had appropriated his wardrobe and given it to Grosh to make alterations. The former captain was also the only one bound, with his hands tied behind his back.

  The whole crew was on deck, except for Holyoake at the wheel and Kyrus. The hero of their escape had taken to his new quarters on the pretense of exhaustion and had shut himself in. He had commandeered one of the senior officers’ cabins, making it only himself, Mr. Stalyart, and the captain who had deluxe accommodations. The minor officers’ quarters were generally twos and fours, and there were enough of those to go around that none of the crew had to bunk where the navy’s common sailors had slept.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I imagine that after last night’s events, you are all surprised and perhaps grateful to be alive,” Captain Zayne said, speaking loudly enough that all could hear him. “Well, today I am in a magnanimous mood. I have a new ship, and a fresh crew, and the rolling sea beneath my feet again. As you may notice, we are shorthanded. I may go so far as to offer you gentlemen jobs.