Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  “It will.”

  “Very good. Captain Donnely, order your men to stand down. Lieutenant, you will sheathe your sword and assist Mistress Flaxal and her husband onto the pier.”

  “Aye, sir!” both men said.

  The marine holding Cynthia’s arm released her and muttered, “Sorry, ma’am,” as the color returned to his face. She, in turn, nodded, and released her hold on the sea.

  “This way, if you please, Mistress Flaxal.” The lieutenant gestured to the ladder without reaching to touch her.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She climbed up with little difficulty despite Kloe’s weight, with Feldrin right behind. On the pier, however, she received one more surprise.

  Tim rushed to her, crying, “Mistress! You’re back!” and flung his arms around her in a fierce embrace, though careful to avoid squashing the baby. He’d never shown such open affection toward her before, but the explanation came as he pressed close to her ear and whispered, “Don’t tell them anything about Miss Cammy!” As he pulled back she looked into his eyes and understood; they knew about Camilla, and they wanted to keep it secret.

  “Yes, Tim, I’m back…we’re back, and we’re fine.”

  “Mistress Flaxal, Captain Brelak,” the admiral said as he motioned them down the pier, “this way, please. I have several…questions for you.”

  Feldrin put his arm around her as a cordon of marines formed up to escort them up the dock. There was, indeed, much to discuss.

  ≈

  Huffington took station behind the count’s chair, hands clasped behind his back as the others took their seats at the table and servants bustled about serving blackbrew and biscuits. He fingered the device hidden beneath his sleeve, one of his “gifts” from the emperor, loaded with an envenomed dart. He’d donned it when Tim reported who was aboard Flothrindel, and had nearly used it only moments before. For some reason he had hesitated—unusual for him—but now he was glad he had done so. The seamage seemed forthright and fearless for such a young woman, even with a newborn babe on her lap.

  “My first question,” the admiral began, his tone firm but measured, “is how you came into possession of that smack. It and several people, two of my marines among them, went missing only five days ago, and the evidence suggests magic—sea magic, to be precise—was used to aid the culprits.”

  “I assure you, Admiral, I had no hand in Flothrindel’s theft,” Cynthia said. Huffington tapped Count Norris surreptitiously on the back; they could not let this line of questioning go too far. “We stopped at Vulture Isle, where we—”

  “Is Camilla safe?” Norris blurted, right on cue. “Those bloody-handed cannibals took her! Please tell me she escaped!”

  “If you please, Count Norris!” Joslan snapped with a glare. “I will ask the questions here! If you wish to remain at this table, you will remain silent!”

  Norris grumbled a halfhearted apology. Thankfully, Huffington noted, everyone’s attention was on the count and the admiral, which kept them from noticing the flash of consternation on the seamage’s features.

  “I’m…sorry, Count Norris, but we don’t know Camilla’s fate.” She turned back to the admiral. “Tipos and Paska managed to escape from the cannibals with the surviving captives and took them to Vulture Isle, but Camilla…stayed behind. We met them there, and learned of what had happened here. It seemed…prudent for Feldrin and me to bring Flothrindel back with us.”

  “To avoid the loss of your schooners, you mean,” the admiral accused.

  “Schooner, Admiral. There is only one. Peggy’s Dream was lost at Akrotia, along with a number of her crew. Orin’s Pride was damaged, but we limped back. She’s having some minor repairs done at Vulture Isle.”

  “And the pyromage? What happened to him?”

  “We don’t exactly know Edan’s fate.” The seamage took a sip of her blackbrew and gave a brief but detailed account of the expedition to the floating city of Akrotia—the rogue mer plot to steal her baby in order to lure her there, where they planned to reactivate the city’s magic with her own. She glanced at Count Norris as she related the surprise appearance of the lone pirate who murdered the half-elf shipwright, Ghelfan, and tried to kill her. “They must have followed us aboard Manta; it was sighted when we were fleeing, but sank before they could escape. I was unconscious, but Feldrin saw Edan struggling near the chamber. He, at least, must have gone inside it, because somehow Akrotia was activated by Edan’s magic.”

  “Activated? What do you mean by that?”

  “She means the whole bloody city’s on fire,” Feldrin put in. “We barely got out alive.”

  “From what Ghelfan had told us—” Cyntha choked on her words as she mentioned her slain friend, “when the original seamage entered the crystal chamber, he became a part of the city. His magic brought it to life. The…bonding is permanent, until the mage’s death, so I don’t think Edan is coming back.”

  Huffington heaved a silent breath of relief; his duty to the emperor was done. The seamage was cooperating fully and had agreed to return to Tsing, and the pyromage was, if not dead, at least incapacitated. He looked to Master Upton, but the man’s attention was on the admiral.

  “This floating city; exactly where is it now?”

  “I can give you the coordinates from memory,” Captain Brelak said. “These drakes you got make damn good time under sweeps. They wouldn’t have any trouble gettin’ down there and back in much more’n a fortnight. But if you send a ship, tell yer captain not to get too close. That city was hotter than the hub of the Nine Hells.”

  “Thank you, Captain Brelak. I would appreciate those coordinates.” The admiral straightened his waistcoat and shifted in his seat to face the captain directly. “However, securing the rest of the Shattered Isles takes precedence over seeking out a burning city in waters of no consequence to the empire.”

  “I respectfully disagree, Admiral,” Upton interjected. Huffington suppressed a smile at the sudden irritation on the admiral’s face. “I believe that this floating city warrants investigation.”

  “Indeed,” the admiral countered with his usual vehemence, “after we secure the Shattered Isles.”

  “Which brings up another point, Admiral,” the seamage said. “The natives here on Plume Isle, as well as their tribe on Vulture Isle, could be a huge asset to you if you’d let them help. They’re not your enemies, and they know every reef, cut and shoal in the islands, not to mention where the cannibals’ villages are and how to avoid them.”

  “I will consider it, Mistress Flaxal,” the admiral said. “But I would like to ask you about the mer. You say that they were duped into war, but now want peace. I find this difficult to fathom.”

  “The mer are difficult to understand, Admiral, even for me, and I’ve been dealing closely with them for over two years.” The seamage shook her head regretfully. “If I had understood them better, this entire situation might have been avoided.”

  “So, having discovered this deception, you still believe that their leader wants peace?” Upton’s tone was as skeptical as the admiral’s.

  “Trident Holder Broadtail does. But you have to understand one thing about the mer that I do know: they always act in their own self-interest. Individuals may act out of altruism or love, but as a community, they do what’s best for the school.”

  “Then we will use all caution in dealing with them,” the admiral said, though he looked dubious. “I don’t suppose you would give us the location of their city…”

  “No, Admiral, I won’t.” Cynthia’s voice steeled and she stared straight at the admiral, discomforting the officer, and Huffington suppressed another smile. “Perhaps if the emperor commands me, I will, but I fear that if I do, it’ll only lead to war.”

  “I agree with Mistress Flaxal Brelak,” Norris said, straightening in his chair as if he suddenly rec
alled his station as the emperor’s representative. He had been sitting restlessly, letting the admiral and seamage lead the conversation. “There are two threats to your position here, Admiral. The first is the cannibal tribe, and we are fortunate enough to know the location of their largest village. The second is the pirate ship that assaulted this very keep. The corsair’s name was Cutthroat, and she was last moored in the mangroves on the northwest of Middle Cay. I daresay they have probably long since gone, but it should be investigated.”

  “I will dispatch a drake and a frigate to investigate, though I agree that they have probably fled. But your fortune, Mistress Flaxal Brelak, undoubtedly is lost with them.” Huffington detected a hint of smugness in the admiral’s tone, and wondered what about the seamage the man so detested.

  The seamage’s face darkened. “I’ve still got ships, Admiral, and I’d give it all away thrice over for the lives of those who were killed here.”

  “Well, of course,” the admiral huffed, straightening in his seat again and waving the steward forward to refill their cups.

  “If you will excuse me.” Huffington’s attention snapped to Upton as the spymaster rose to his feet. “I must prepare my reports and get ready for the trip to Tsing. I will accompany the seamage and Captain Brelak on their journey to the emperor,” he said to the admiral, who mumbled ascent and turned his back on the little man. As Upton rounded the table, his sharp eyes fixed upon Huffington, and he made a discreet beckoning signal. Huffington sighed; there was no way to avoid this, though he would rather have a conversation with a hungry lion than the emperor’s master of security.

  Huffington tapped Norris on the shoulder and whispered, “Upton wants a word, milord. I’ll be nearby.” Norris gave a nod, and Huffington turned away to follow the spymaster out of the great hall.

  “Well, well.” Upton smiled, his lips a razor cut as their steps synchronized. “It would appear that your services to the emperor are superfluous, Mister Huffington. You must feel as if the world has been lifted from your shoulders.”

  “Yes, sir. It is a relief, I admit.” Huffington could see that the spymaster anticipated more information, and was glad to disappoint him by remaining silent.

  “Well, I daresay she seems cooperative enough,” Upton said with a sidelong look, “I intend to accompany the seamage back to Tsing aboard Resolute, Mister Huffington, but I believe that the count is remaining here, at least until the fate of Lady Camilla is determined, so this is farewell…for now.” He stopped and extended his hand. “I appreciated your help in the murder investigations. Though we recovered no concrete evidence, it appears that cannibals are the most likely culprits. Frankly, I don’t think the admiral will ever recover his two marines. I hope to see you again in Tsing sometime. If you ever are in need of gainful employ, you have but to ask.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Huffington said, shaking the man’s hand firmly. He clenched his teeth to keep from barking out a laugh. He would be destitute and starving in the downwind quarter of Tsing long before he would ask the emperor’s spymaster for a job.

  Chapter 11

  Seeking Information

  “Well, things could be worse, I suppose.” Feldrin leaned back against the wrought-iron bars of the Resolute’s brig and stared at Cynthia. “I mean, he’s kept his word so far; we’re together, sort of.”

  “Sort of,” she agreed, staring back at him through the bars that separated them. Each square cell was large enough to accommodate a bunk, which in Feldrin’s case was decidedly too short, and a bucket to be used as a chamber pot. Cynthia lay the sleeping Kloe down on the thin straw pallet—it was clean and free of vermin, but hardly comfortable—pushing aside the wooden platter on which her meal had been served. Dinner had been a salt-pork stew that was more salt than pork, and ship’s biscuits, as hard as rocks and prone to weevils. “If this is good treatment, I’d hate to see how they treat less-honored guests. I’d hoped for a port, at least.”

  There was no chance of that here; the brig was well below the waterline. She could hear the water sloshing in the bilges below them, and the smell wafted up with every roll of the ship, mingling with the odors of more than a thousand closely packed sailors. Mouse was moody, and had chittered in complaint until she shushed him so the baby could sleep. A dim lantern on a rusty peg was their only light. She joined Feldrin at the bars that separated them and they lowered their voices. The admiral had posted a guard on the other side of the door, but there was no use taking a chance of being overheard.

  “We’d best get used to it, Cyn. I can’t imagine the emperor’s dungeons are much more accomodatin’.”

  “You think he’ll put us in prison?” She’d feared it, but the reality of facing years confined in a cell loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon. She gripped her husband’s strong hands for reassurance.

  “I don’t know if he’ll have much choice. I mean, think on it; we’re indirectly responsible fer the deaths of a hell of a lot of men. Their families are gonna be out fer blood. He’s got to give ‘em somethin’, even if it was really Eelback, Edan and Sam to blame. If he doesn’t, he’ll have riots in the streets.”

  “I never thought of that,” she admitted. An image of the angry families of nearly two thousand sailors screaming for vengeance flashed into her mind. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t publicly executed.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’ll go that far, lass. I mean, he’s bound to be—” Keys clattered in the lock, and the door to the brig groaned open. Cynthia looked up, and her spirits were buoyed by the welcome sight of Count Norris.

  “Mistress Flaxal Brelak, Captain Brelak, I’ve come to bid you farewell,” Norris said, stiffly correct, his countenance dire. He turned toward the guard and said dismissively, “I’ll just be a moment. I’ll knock when I’m done.” The soldier saluted and closed the thick oak door. Before either of them could say a word, Norris made a shushing motion and approached the cells.

  “What do you really know about Camilla?” Norris asked through clenched teeth. “What did Paska and Tipos tell you? She left me a letter—a horrible letter!—telling me she was possessed.”

  “I…I’m sorry.” Cynthia shook her head, her heart aching at the desperation in the count’s eyes. “They said she walked into the jungle and didn’t return. Camilla told them Hydra had possessed her. She…released the prisoners held by the cannibals and stayed behind.”

  “Dura said she tore some cannibal’s throat out,” Feldrin added, and Cynthia shot him a warning glare.

  The count winced. “I can’t believe she would…”

  “It’s not her, Emil! It’s the demon. It’s Hydra.” Cynthia cringed at the pain her words caused the count, but he had to know the truth.

  “But they said that magic was involved. Camilla has no magic! How…”

  “It’s the demon’s magic,” she explained. “I saw Hydra force the ocean to do her will. It was a vile, evil magic that offended the ocean, offended Odea, and made me ill, just like mine pained her.” She held up a forestalling hand when she saw hope bloom in Norris’ face. “There’s nothing I can do for her with my magic. She’s out of my reach.” Cynthia recalled her last encounter with the witch. “The only thing that hurt Bloodwind’s witch was to keeping her from feeding, but that would kill Camilla. The demon consumed the witch from within. I watched it happen. It nearly killed me.”

  “But what was it that Whuafa said, Cyn? Didn’t the natives try somethin’ once that made her sick?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Anything!” Norris insisted, gripping the bars, hysteria flushing his face. “Anything you know might help.”

  “Whuafa, the village wise man on Vulture Isle, said something about tainted blood sickening Hydra, but it was just a legend; he didn’t know any details.” Cynthia frowned. “And it didn’t help. It only made her sick, and she slaughtered them in retribution.”<
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  “Tainted blood…” Norris’ gaze drifted away from hers, then snapped back. He straightened, his mouth still set in a grim line. “Thank you, Mistress Flaxal Brelak. This may help.”

  “Oh, and, Count Norris, you need to know one more thing.” Cynthia bit her lip. “It’s about Samantha.”

  “Samantha? You’ve got news of her, too?”

  “I’m afraid so, and it’s not good. She was the pirate who followed us to Akrotia. She murdered Ghelfan. I still don’t know what she was after, but she wanted Edan to come with her.”

  “And…” the count swallowed and continued. “And did she survive?”

  “I don’t know. I was unconscious, but Feldrin saw her struggling with Edan. I don’t know if Sam was trapped in there with him, or…or if she drowned.”

  “Dear gods…” Emil Norris’ shoulders slumped, then squared again. “I can’t…I’ve got to think about saving Camilla. Samantha’s fate is in the past. I can’t help her anymore.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll go to Vulture Isle and speak with this wise man. Perhaps we can figure something out. At least it gives me a starting point.”

  “Good luck,” Feldrin said, though his tone lacked confidence.

  “And to you,” Norris said with a polite nod. “I know you may think your situation is hopeless, but the emperor is a fair man. I have done all I can to help you; both the admiral and Master Upton carry my letters and recommendations for leniency. Do not try to force the emperor’s hand as you did with Joslan.”

  “Thank you,” Cynthia said, meaning it. She extended her hand between the bars, and he took it.

  “And thank you for telling me of Samantha,” he added, his mien heavy. “At least now I know her fate.” He squeezed her hand, then solemnly shook Feldrin’s.

  “The Resolute is due to weigh anchor, so I must be off. Farewell.” He bowed from the waist, turned and knocked sharply on the door. The guard let him out, and they were alone again.