Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Someone’s got to talk to them, Feldrin, and unless you can pull another seamage out of your pocket, I’m the only one around.” She climbed clumsily up and over the bulwark, and into the arms of the sea.

  “But Cyn! You’re — ” She didn’t hear the rest; the sea had closed over her head, blocking out the sound of his voice.

  The mayhem below the surface made the tumult above seem calm by comparison. The blood of mer and men alike tinted the water a rosy hue, while bodies — some dead, some still thrashing desperately for life — floated down toward the depths in a slow rain of carnage. Blood ran in rivulets into the sea from the Fire Drake’s sides, and still more mer schooled beneath the ship, scrabbling up her hull or falling back, pierced or cloven. A great harpoon had pierced the hull of the warship; the woven ironweed hawser from its shank was coupled to a huge drum being cranked by a dozen mer, pulling the ship inexorably down. Another iron harpoon was being loaded into the huge launching mechanism, a bow with arms as long as a ship’s masts.

  Enough! Cynthia thought as she moved through the gore, sickened by the slaughter. Thinking only to cease the violence, she centered her power and sent out a shockwave so powerful that every living creature within a mile was momentarily stunned by its force. The mer closest to her floated senseless, spears and tridents falling from their limp hands, while others farther away shook their heads in shock.

  She shot through the water toward the nearest school that retained their senses, though their astonishment at her arrival still had them gaping.

  *Who commands here?* she signed, her anger more than evident in her lack of any kind of greeting.

  Most of them stared at her, still in shock, until one young female signed, *There,* and pointed to the east. *Our commander is there.*

  She could not waste time getting a more detailed answer, instead shooting off in the indicated direction. When she came up on a tight knot of mer, she knew instantly who she sought.

  *Eelback! You are responsible for this!* she signed, her anger flaring.

  *Greetings, Seamage. You are mistaken, as usual.* He gestured toward the ship floating over their heads. *The landwalkers are the cause of this, as we told you they would be if they brought their warships here. The decision to attack was made by the entire school. The Voice of the mer spoke, and we are at war.*

  *No, Eelback! I will not let this happen!* But before Cynthia could act, another mer swam up to the group. In a flash of recognition, she realized that it was Tailwalker, the Trident Holder’s eldest and her betrothed. And he was armed for battle.

  *Tailwalker? You cannot be part of this senseless attack!*

  *The Voice of the mer has spoken, Seamage Flaxal’s Heir,* he signed, his shifting colors signifying his upset. *You must leave. The landwalkers will blame you for our actions if you do not.*

  *Leave! I will not leave, Tailwalker. I will stop this conflict, and we will reach an agreement with the landwalkers. They do not understand the mer. They do not know you as I do.*

  *You do not know us if you mean what you say, Seamage!* Eelback signed, moving beside Tailwalker. *The Trident Holder’s son knows what we must do. You cannot stop us! We are not yours to command. You do not rule the mer!*

  *No, I do not rule the mer, but I can stop this! You cannot stand against me, and you know it!*

  *No, Seamage, I do not,* he signed, making a gesture that she did not recognize. The tight knot of mer behind him split, and a burly warrior swam forward, thrusting his trident at her throat.

  *Wait!* Tailwalker signed, darting forward, but too late.

  Cynthia reacted without thinking, calling on the sea in a reflexive action. Currents as strong as a sea drake’s jaws snatched the warrior, crushing the bones and sinew of his broad chest. Blood jetted from his gills and mouth, and the trident fell from his dead hands.

  STOP!

  The command reverberated in her mind, stunning her for a moment. The word sounded as clearly as if someone had bellowed in her ear, but it was not a mer voice. She knew that voice, and she gaped at the female mer who had invoked it.

  The voice was Odea’s, and the mer before her was…

  *Kelpie?* she signed.

  *You cannot control the mer, Seamage Flaxal’s Heir,* she signed, interposing herself between Tailwalker and Cynthia, the power of Odea swirling around her in palpable currents. *This war is ours, not yours!*

  *But I — *

  Something hit her from behind, at the base of her skull, and the blood-tinged water around her faded to black.

  ≈

  A shock ripped the surface of the sea in an expanding circular wave, reverberating through the hull of Orin’s Pride as if a huge drum had been struck, shaking her from keel to topmast.

  “Well, that ought to get their attention,” Feldrin said, adding a silent prayer that the shock had not knocked any bolts or pins loose from the Pride’s hull timbers. A glance at Fire Drake confirmed that the attack had ceased; the mer on deck were retreating back into the water. “That’ll teach ‘em to mess about wi’ a seamage! Bring her about, Horace. We’ll tack in quick succession until this gets straightened out. Edan, good work on turnin’ that monstrosity of a warship. Do ya think you could play with ‘em a bit? Keep ‘em from gettin’ too close?”

  “Aye, Captain,” the young man said, grinning, though his knuckles were white where they clutched the starboard shrouds.

  “Good man!” Feldrin wondered how Edan would hold up if the conflict grew truly violent, and realized that he didn’t want to know. The sooner the pyromaniac mage and his little demon friend were off his ship, the better. “Brace up there, Horace! Won’t do to have the sails trimmed like we’re a bunch of lubbers in front of his majesty’s flagship!”

  “Aye, sir!” Horace relayed his orders and the sails were trimmed as neat as newly ironed sheets.

  “Right then,” he said as they reached the other end of their tack, “ready to come about! And…hard a lee!”

  “Helms a lee, sir!” the helmsman shouted as the crew snapped to their tasks. Orin’s Pride came back up through the wind again, tacking in a boat length, as smart as a navy review.

  “Bloody fine!”

  “Sir?” Edan’s voice was more than troubled, it quivered with fear. “Sir, they’ve dropped their sails altogether. I can’t hold them in place with just the wind!”

  He turned to see that the boy was right; the Clairissa was closing the gap once again, her sweeps knifing through the swells in precise cadence. Granted, she was moving slowly and maneuvered like a sow in the mud, but she was closing…

  “Bloody hells…” Feldrin and the rest of the crew were so fixated on their tasks and the approaching warship that none noticed the slim, cloaked figure on the foredeck.

  ≈

  The commotion brought Sam out of hiding. She edged carefully forward, listening to the conversations on deck through the open companionway hatch. The ship was racing along at a full heel, water tearing along the hull, the sound roaring around the open space of the hold almost too loud for her to hear a word.

  Warships! she thought, grinning at the opportunity. She went back through the hold and peeked into the fo’c’sle. The overhead hatch was open, and a sailor was opening a hidden compartment under the deck. He handed up cutlasses, boarding axes, pikes and bows, then lifted another panel and began handing up long hardwood shafts tipped with iron. Eight ballista bolts went up through the hatch, then the sailor reached for a row of small casks, each with its own carefully coiled line attached.

  Sam smiled as he gingerly handed one up to the deck crew, then followed it up through the hatch.

  So, that’s where they keep the good stuff, she thought, slinking into the fo’c’sle and peering down into the weapons locker. Dozens of cutlasses, daggers, boarding axes, pikes, bows and grapples lay in neat rows. The other bin was divided in halves, one side stacked with wrist-thick shafts for the ballistae, the other holding a neat row of five-gallon casks marked with a script she
could not read. Each had a waxed bung with a looped woven cord sticking out from it, and a long coiled line attached to that.

  She flirted with the idea of grabbing one of the coiled lines and running aft until it exploded, but she knew she would never be able to get out of the hold before the fire took her. No, she had a better idea…

  She buckled on a cutlass, donned a boat cloak and peered up through the hatch at the crewmen on the deck. All eyes were directed elsewhere, so she stepped up like she knew where she was going and walked right up to the loaded catapult on the foredeck.

  ≈

  The Clairissa’s hull shuddered with the impact of Cynthia’s shock wave. “What the bloody hells was that?” a sailor exclaimed.

  “Quiet on deck there!” Captain Flauglin snapped, bracing himself and glaring at the scene unfolding before him. The seamage’s schooner was running a tight tacking pattern back and forth between the flagship and the Fire Drake, as if a ship less than a tenth the size of the Clairissa could hold him back from his objective. “All topmen to the sweeps! Right at Fire Drake, Lieutenant! Do not deviate course for that schooner! If she gets in our way, run her down!”

  “Aye, sir!” As the man relayed the orders, a lookout called down from the mizzen top.

  “Captain, sir! The attack on the Fire Drake’s broken off. Looks like her decks are clearin’.”

  “What are they doing now?” he muttered, raising his glass again. Something didn’t feel right about this; it was as if the seamage was both preventing him from helping, and challenging him to a fight. Then a thought came to mind and he gritted his teeth. “Lookouts, watch the water around the ship. Sing out if you see mer massing alongside!”

  “You think they’re breaking off to come after us, sir?” the first lieutenant asked.

  “If they are, they’re in for a harder fight than they had with the Fire Drake! Station marines to repel borders at the ports belowdecks, Lieutenant. And archers on the rail; if they foul our sweeps we’ll lose steerage quickly with this opposing wind.” He turned to the commodore and gritted his teeth. “Your permission to engage the seamage’s ship if she becomes hostile, sir?”

  “Permission granted, Captain. Carry on!”

  “Aye, sir,” Flauglin stood tall on his quarterdeck and glared at the nimble little craft that tacked back and forth before him. With only one catapult and four ballistae, there was no way such a craft, however well she sailed, could match his majesty’s flagship.

  ≈

  *You’ve killed her!* Tailwalker signed, rushing to the seamage’s side.

  *No,* Redtail signed back with a grin, lowering his trident. *She lives, but at our mercy!*

  *What are you — * Tailwalker froze.

  Scores of mer arrived on the scene, encircling them at all sides, above and below. Lances and tridents bristled but wavered, as if the warriors did not know exactly where to point them.

  *What has happened, Eelback?* the foremost school leader asked, his eyes wide. The seamage floated, senseless, between Odea’s priestess and the Trident Holder’s son.

  *The seamage thought to interfere with our war, Blacktail. She has killed my friend Sharkbite, so we had to subdue her.* He gestured his school leaders forward. *She has betrayed us. We told her The Voice had spoken and still she chose to interfere. Her interference is over! We resume our attack! Go! Now! Take the small ship and draw the other into the shallows!*

  The school leaders scattered, but a flick of Eelback’s hand held back a select few, a score of his most loyal followers. When the school leaders were out of sight, he turned to his friends and gestured, *It is time, my friends. We have what we need. All is ready. We go now, to Akrotia!*

  *Akrotia! Eelback, what are you — * But Tailwalker could no longer sign his distress, for a thin cord had been looped over his head and tightened around his throat. Two more mer grabbed his arms and bound them behind his back. He stared helplessly as Eelback signed to the stunned priestess of Odea.

  *You now have one more reason to help us, Kelpie. You will come with us and do what is necessary, for if you do not, the one you love will suffer.*

  Tailwalker struggled to free his arms, but the cords were cruelly tight. All he could do was flip his tail in anger as they dragged him away from the battle.

  ≈

  “Captain, look!” Horace bellowed, pointing back at the Fire Drake. “They’re back at it!”

  “Bloody hells!” Feldrin cursed, watching the mer swarm up the sides of the warship, this time meeting a much more organized resistance. His mind, however, was not on the plight of the Fire Drake. If the mer were attacking again, then Cynthia had failed.

  They had just tacked and were cutting back between the advancing Clairissa and the beleaguered Fire Drake. The flagship was not altering course, her sweeps biting the water with renewed vigor. One more tack and there would be no room between the two warships for Feldrin to sail.

  “This ain’t good,” he muttered, suddenly realizing how this must look to the captain of the Clairissa: his compatriot besieged, and Orin’s Pride tacking back and forth between them. “They think we’re drawin’ a line and darin’ ‘em to cross! Bloody hells! Ware ship, Horace! We gotta get to deep water and out of range of that ship’s weapons! Jibe the ship!”

  “Aye, sir!” Horace thundered, but before he could even relay the orders, the crew was responding.

  Orin’s Pride turned to leeward, her long bowsprit sweeping toward the Clairissa as her great booms swept across her decks, lines singing through the blocks as men fought to control a half-acre of straining canvas. Then, as her bow swept around and the deck leveled, something flew from the foredeck with a familiar crack.

  “What the — ” Feldrin watched helplessly as the small cask arched toward the emperor’s flagship, the trigger line trailing behind and finally coming taut.

  White fire exploded in the sky between the two ships, sending streamers of burning hell falling to the water like a flaming waterfall. Mouse cried out in terror right in his ear, while he heard another spritely squeal from Edan’s little demon, this one of delight. Thankfully, the Clairissa had been out of range of the weapon, but for all the world it looked like they’d tried to attack the emperor’s flagship.

  “Who in the hells fired that weapon?” Feldrin bellowed. Every eye on the ship stared in shock at the fiery display. He glared forward and saw a slim figure standing next to the catapult. “Who is that? Johansen, grab that boy!” But the figure was already dashing for the rail, brandishing a cutlass and laughing in a voice far too high-pitched to be a boy’s.

  “Sail out of this one, Feldrin Brelak!” the girl shouted with a mocking salute. “With compliments from Captain Bloodwind!”

  She dove over the side in a graceful arc, vanishing in the foam of the ship’s bow wake.

  “Bloodwind? What the hells?” He stared in shock at the waning streamers of fire, knowing even without looking how the captain of the Clairissa would respond. “Bear off, helmsman! She’s gonna — ”

  “Duck and cover!” Horace bellowed as the ship turned.

  One glance confirmed it: the Clairissa had born off to present her beam and her sweeps had been retracted into her ports, replaced by the tips of ballista bolts. Feldrin turned to see Edan standing and staring at the huge ship, his mouth agape, his hands slack at his sides.

  “Down, damn you!” Feldrin bellowed, shoving the young man hard just as a sound like a ripping mainsail tore at his ears.

  Something hit him, and the world spun around. He fell in a spray of blood and shattered bone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fire and Water

  Chaser and Quickfin charged through the water as fast as their tails would propel them, but Orin’s Pride still pulled away.

  *I have never seen a ship sail so fast,* Quickfin signed, pumping his gills for oxygen and trying to keep up with his faster friend.

  *They hurry to confront the warships,* Chaser signed, slowing a bit to let Quickfin catch
up. The scout had surfaced and briefly glimpsed the ships toward which Orin’s Pride raced. *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir urges the wind and water to help them sail faster! She will confront them, and they will go back to their city — or they will not, and she will crush their ships like clamshells!*

  *I want to be there to watch this!* Quickfin agreed, grinning through his exhaustion. They had been swimming all night, and now were sprinting to catch up.

  Chaser signed agreement, saving his energy for swimming. They were still more than a mile away when the water shook with Cynthia’s shockwave.

  They stopped without a sign, staring at each other in wonder.

  *That was…* Chaser began, at a loss for words.

  *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir,* Quickfin finished for him. *But why would she…*

  *She does this to call us when she wishes to visit, but never so strongly.*

  *She announces her presence to the landwalkers, maybe?* Quickfin suggested.

  *No, the landwalkers use other signs to communicate through air.* He signed curiosity. *She only does this to call to mer, but what mer…*

  They looked at each other, then at the surface. Both jetted up as fast as they could swim and shot high into the air, looking as far to the north as they could see. They were still far away, and mer eyes saw poorly above water, but even so, they could see the ships; Orin’s Pride sailed evenly, while the huge warship to windward fought to claw its way toward the others. The smaller warship stood still under full sails, heeling sickly over on its side.

  They hit the water in a rush of bubbles, and there was only one conclusion to what they had seen.

  *The mer attack the landwalker warships!* Quickfin signed even before the bubbles had cleared. *Come, we must join the school!*

  They dashed to the north, their vigor renewed, but before they reached the battle they met a tight school of mer swimming south. Quickfin pulled up in front of them and began to sign a greeting when he recognized Eelback. Then he saw the limp bundle they carried — the seamage, her face pale, her garments fluttering in the current — and Tailwalker, arms tied, being dragged along. Quickfin pulled his dagger from its sheath.