Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  Norris’ face fell. “I don’t know how long we can hold off Captain Donnely. He’ll be here in the morning, and he seems eager to confront the cannibal situation immediately. And Camilla…”

  Huffington patted his big leather satchel and smiled. “Don’t worry, milord. I’ve got everything we need right in here, courtesy of the emperor himself.”

  Chapter 13

  Surprises

  Shouts of alarm brought Farin bolting upright from a sound sleep. His crew responded with the honed reflexes of experience, so by the time he arrived on deck, his fifty seasoned pirates were armed to the teeth and prepared for battle. One glance downstream, however, and Farin knew they didn’t have a chance.

  Ten imperial longboats were rounding the bend and approaching fast, each one packed with grim-eyed archers, arrows nocked and ready, swords at their hips. Even if King Gull had been armed with ballistae, it would have been a hard fight. The pirates were outnumbered two to one, and they would be seriously disadvantaged against marines wearing mail. Farin had learned a lot as captain of King Gull; he made his decision immediately.

  “Stand down, lads! They’re navy men!” He stepped to the fore, pushing down the blades and bows of his men. Some muttered and cursed, but a glare and a few quick hand signals put a stop to that. “Ahoy there, navy launches! Welcome! Glory be, you gave us a start! We thought we were bein’ set upon by a bunch of cannibals!”

  “Prepare to be boarded!” the officer in the lead boat shouted, pointing with his cutlass. “Stow weapons and have your men stand back from the boarding hatch! Now!”

  “Right away, sir. Right away.” Turning to his men, Farin hissed, “Do as he says! We’re merchantmen!” Farin opened the hatch himself and threw down the boarding ladder, then backed away as the first boat came alongside.

  Four grim marines climbed aboard, splitting left and right to allow their commanding officer access. Ten more marines followed, all with naked blades in hand. They fanned out as the next boat came alongside and disgorged a dozen more soldiers. Before a word was exchanged, the deck of the King Gull was bristling with marines.

  “Who commands here?” the lieutenant in charge barked, raking the crowd of pirates with his eyes.

  “I do, sir.” Farin stepped forward with a deferential nod. “Captain Farin, at yer service.”

  “Captain Farin?” The officer looked him over. “You’re a little young to be captain of a galleon like this, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, sir, I am, but Captain Seoril died of the bloody flux near a month ago. I told him not to eat that sour goat’s milk they serve you down in Fornice, but he done it anyway and it killed him deader than yesterday’s pot roast, it did.” Farin paused; he was proud of the story he’d made up, but he saw that the grim lieutenant wasn’t totally convinced. “The ship’s papers is all in order, sir. We been workin’ trade between Marathia and Fornice fer near two months now, which is why we got so many crew. Things is a little rough down there, and we’ve had to fight off more’n one attack, but the route’s paid off nicely, and we’re headed north to Tsing to cash in.”

  “I’ll look at your papers presently, Captain. Men, disarm them!” He waved a squad of marines forward, and they quickly collected every visible sword and dagger. “I’d like to know what you’re doing here. This very spot was the lair of a band of pirates not a fortnight ago, and here I find you moored.”

  “Pirates? Blimey, sir, but everyone knows there ain’t no pirates in the Shattered Isles no more. Not since that seamage came and wiped ‘em all out.” Farin handed over his cutlass and dirk without protest. “Captain Seoril had this spot marked on his chart as a safe haven from both the cannibals and them bloodthirsty fish folk. We had a long run from Marathia, so we fetched up here for a bit of rest and repairs before the run up to Tsing.”

  “All secure, sir,” a marine sergeant announced, hefting a bag of confiscated weapons.

  “Very good, Sergeant. Send a squad below and secure anything else you find, and bring me a report of the cargo. I’ll be in the captain’s cabin.” The lieutenant assigned three more squads to watch over the crew, confining them to the deck, then turned to Farin. “Shall we have a look at the ship’s books, Captain?”

  “O’ course, sir, but I hope ya don’t mind my askin’ what yer plans are fer us. We’ve broke no laws, and them weapons you took cost us plenty. If you mean to confiscate ‘em, I’d like ta know why.”

  “If your books confirm what you’ve told me, we’ll escort you to Plume Isle and you’ll tell your story to Admiral Joslan,” the lieutenant explained, waving a half-squad of marines forward to accompany them to Farin’s cabin. “If he believes you, then everything will be returned to you and you’ll be sent on your way. It’s only you being here that is suspicious, you understand. We’d gotten word that a corsair was hiding here, but this…ship is obviously not a corsair. Regardless, the admiral must be informed.”

  “There’s an admiral on Plume Isle?” Farin asked in unfeigned surprise. “I thought that was the seamage’s lair.”

  “Until recently.” He waved Farin forward. “Your cabin, if you please.”

  “O’ course, Lieutenant. Right this way.” Farin led him aft and handed over the doctored log book and manifest, documents that the departed Captain Seoril had kept meticulously accurate. Farin thanked his lucky stars that he had kept up the ruse, right down to crew names, pay schedules and repair costs to be reimbursed by a fictional shipping company. Luck, it seemed, could be bad and good at the same time, and if he was careful, King Gull could sail away from this encounter without a scratch.

  ≈

  “Lieutenant Kelly!” Norris rapped on the side of the hut where he knew the poor officer had been taken and called again. “Lieutenant Kelly, Cape Storm has been sighted!”

  He heard muffled curses and a few giggles, and the lieutenant stumbled out, still buttoning his jacket and fumbling with his sword belt.

  “Lieutenant Kelly!” Norris said briskly. “I expected better of you than to abandon your duty to take up with the locals.”

  “I’m sorry, Milord Count!” The man was pale and shaken and kept glancing over his shoulder into the dim confines of the hut. “I don’t know…I mean, I don’t remember…”

  “I suppose I should have warned you that the fermented drink the natives make is quite strong.” He glowered at the man, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I was a young man once,” he said as two women with naught but scraps of leather covering their loins emerged from the hut, grinning at the lieutenant and whispering between themselves. “And I can certainly see the…temptation to establish close diplomatic relations with the native population.”

  “But, milord, I—”

  “Oh, no harm done, my lad. I see no reason to inform Captain Donnely of your lapse.” He clapped the man on the shoulder and grinned. “Now let’s find those marines of yours before Captain Donnely arrives. I think they may have followed their commander’s example, but if we discipline them…well, let’s just not mention it, shall we?”

  “Y…yes, sir!” Kelly stammered, following Norris to round up the two marines.

  Less than an hour later, they stood upon the beach waving to the approaching launch from Cape Storm, her captain standing in the fore.

  “Captain Donnely! Welcome to Vulture Isle.” Norris stood above the high-water mark, watching as several sailors and natives stood in waist-deep water, gripping the captain’s longboat by the gunwales. With the next cresting wave, they hauled the boat up the beach far enough that Captain Donnely stepped off the bow onto the sand without wetting his boots.

  Norris extended a hand and said, “You must have bent every sail aboard the Cape Storm to arrive here so quickly.”

  “Milord Count,” Donnely said, taking his hand for a perfunctory shake. “Where is the schooner?”

 
“Orin’s Pride? Oh, they left at first light. The preliminary repairs were finished, and they were taking her to a shipyard for a complete overhaul. You were there when Mistress Flaxal Brelak told the admiral that, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was there.” Donnely scowled. “Oh, never mind. How have your negotiations with the natives progressed?”

  “I have good news. We talked into the small hours of the morning, and much progress was made. Wouldn’t you say so, Lieutenant Kerry?”

  “Uh, yes, sir,” the red-faced lieutenant answered. Donnely shot the officer a sharp look, but the count waved a hand toward the native contingent that awaited them at the top of the beach and started walking. Donnely caught up in two long strides.

  “Very good, milord,” Donnely said, though Norris thought the man sounded a bit disappointed. “What was decided? Will they aid us?”

  “Ah, as to that, Captain, I’m afraid they don’t see it quite like that. You see, they’re already at war with the cannibals, have been for years, so they see this as an opportunity for you to help them.”

  “Help them what, Count Norris?” Donnely stopped in his tracks and glared at Norris. “His Majesty’s Navy is not in the business of helping native tribes with their petty squabbles!”

  “But this particular petty squabble affords us the opportunity to work with them toward a common goal, Captain.” Norris glared right back. “Correct me if I am mistaken, sir, but isn’t it our goal to address the cannibal threat? To stabilize the Shattered Isles by dealing with these fiends? I grant you, Captain, that I do not have much experience brokering a war, since an ambassador’s job is usually just the opposite. But here we have an experienced and knowledgeable people who share our goal. Surely you’re not going to balk at the semantics.”

  “It’s not about goals, Count Norris. It’s about setting a precedent. If we aid them now, they’ll expect it in the future. The agreement that Admiral Joslan ordered you to negotiate was for the natives to work with us, not for us to work for them!”

  The captain’s tone pricked Norris’ temper. He swallowed hard and worked to keep his voice calm and even. “First, Captain, the agreement that I suggested to the admiral was, as you say, for the natives to work with the Imperial Navy to help neutralize the cannibal threat. I have sealed that agreement. As to who is aiding whom, that is utterly irrelevant. Second, Admiral Joslan did not, and does not order me to do anything. I am a member of a noble house of Tsing, Captain, and you are a warrior in the employ of the emperor, so when it really comes down to facts, you work for me. I’ll have you remember that.”

  “Milord Count! I meant no disrespect. I simply do not want to set the precedent of the Imperial Navy doing favors for these…people.” Donnely gestured at the crowd of natives surrounding them. They all stared unabashed at the two arguing men, some even smiling in amusement.

  “These people, Captain, know every bush, rock and tree on every island from here to Plume, and have for their entire lives been fighting the very enemy you have been ordered to combat. They have exact details of your enemy’s position, numbers and fortifications, so I would advise you, as your diplomatic envoy, to lend your aid. If you refuse the deal I have brokered, you will be fighting outnumbered on unfamiliar terrain with no useful reconnaissance.” He folded his arms and glared at the pigheaded warrior. “Your choice, Captain.”

  Norris watched Donnely’s face, blank and unemotional as he considered his options, and resolved to tell Tim never to play cards with the captain. The man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, blinked and cleared his throat, his decision obviously made.

  “I suppose, in this one instance, the Imperial Navy can come to the aid of the natives of Vulture Isle. What, exactly, Milord Count, do the tribe elders propose?”

  It was all Emil Norris could do to keep from whooping with glee.

  ≈

  Cynthia woke to the rattle of keys. She groaned and rubbed her eyes, then blinked in the unchanging lantern light. There was no way to distinguish night from day so deep in the ship. With no exercise and little rest—neither Kloe’s feeding schedule nor the uncomfortable cot were conducive to restful sleep—she was irritable. But as she sat up, she realized that this was not just another visit from the ship’s cook bearing bowls of bland stew.

  Two marines ducked through the door, followed by Commodore Henkle and two more men. One of these was Master Upton. Cynthia had not liked him from the moment she met him; he was too quiet, and his gaze too probing. The other man was thin and swarthy, and she decided she didn’t like him either, probably because of the loaded crossbow in his hands.

  “Mistress Flaxal Brelak, Captain Brelak,” the commodore said briskly as his four companions took positions to either side of him. “I trust that you are both well.”

  “Well enough, Commodore,” she said, lifting Kloe in the crook of her arm as she stood. Feldrin remained seated, since standing in the low overhead required that he stoop. “Is something wrong?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” The commodore pursed his lips, and continued. “I have just had a very unpleasant surprise. At dawn, crewman on the jib boom noticed two mer pacing the ship. I want you to tell me why mer would be following this ship, and if it is your doing.”

  Cynthia’s brow arched in surprise at the commodore’s claim. Why would the mer be following the ship? The simplest explanation was that they were following her, curious about her fate. But there could be some other reason. She had promised herself that she would never again underestimate or try to second-guess the mer. Looking into Master Upton’s unreadable eyes, she extended that promise to include the imperials.

  “No, Commodore, it is not my doing,” she said sharply as she strode to the bars of her cell. “How could I do anything from in here?”

  All five men shifted at her sudden motion, and she perceived the tension in their stances—the commodore’s clenched fists, the marines’ white knuckles on their sword hilts, the crossbowman’s finger on his weapon’s trigger. They were frightened, she realized, and frightened soldiers were dangerous. With effort, she restrained her temper. “I admit, Commodore, it’s probably safe to assume their actions have something to do with me, but I have no way to communicate with them. My friends among them were troubled that I would be held accountable for their actions against an imperial ship, and undoubtedly are curious as to where I’m being taken.”

  “How would they know you are aboard Resolute?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Some of them can sense sea magic, Commodore. They may be able to feel me here, even though I’m not manipulating the wind or water. I don’t really know.”

  “And you swear that you did not summon them here?”

  “Summon them?” She would have laughed, but restrained herself. “Commodore, you must believe me; I do not control the mer. In fact, I’m not very happy with them right now. A rogue group of mer attacked me, stole my son and tried to blackmail me with his life.”

  “And yet, here they are. Master Upton,” the commodore glanced sidelong at the man, whose own eyes never left Cynthia’s, “as the emperor’s master of security, has suggested certain precautions, and I concur.”

  “Commodore,” Cynthia said with a wry smile, “we’re your prisoners. You’re free to take whatever precautions you wish, though I might remind you that Admiral Joslan promised that we be treated well.”

  “You will be, Mistress Flaxal Brelak,” interrupted Master Upton. His tone was as smooth as a sea snake, and Cynthia didn’t doubt that he was just as deadly. “But I am assigning a round-the-clock watch.” He indicated the man with the crossbow.

  “So if the mer attack, I’m to be killed, and you sort out the details later. That’s convenient.”

  “No,” Upton said. “If anything untoward occurs with the wind, water or the mer, Captain Brelak will be killed. The emperor wishes to meet you, Mistress Fla
xal Brelak, and my job is to ensure that his wishes are granted…safely.”

  “Nice,” Feldrin said, glaring at the security man.

  “Your agreement with the admiral was that you be treated well,” the commodore reminded them, “not that we be nice. It’s my job to see that everyone gets to Tsing.” He flicked a glance at Upton. “And if there are no indications of you using magic, then everyone will arrive safely.” He bowed shortly. “Good day.”

  The commodore spun on his heel, and his men and Master Upton followed him out the door. Without a word, the man with the crossbow moved a three-legged stool into the corner opposite their cells and sat, the weapon not quite pointed at Feldrin’s chest.

  “Well, now all we need is a deck of cards,” Feldrin quipped as he leaned back in his bunk.

  Cynthia returned to her own bunk and sat. She sighed and closed her eyes, considering their situation. Her entire life, she had wished to become a seamage. Now she wondered if Odea’s blessing had instead become a curse.

  Chapter 14

  Tainted Blood

  Huffington crept through the undergrowth behind the four native warriors, following the sound of drums. The natives moved like wraiths through the clinging vines and foot-catching roots; he envied them. It was a good thing the forward scouts had eliminated the sentries, for Huffington was out of his element. Give him a crowded market or a city street, and he was at home; here he had to work hard just to keep from tripping, stepping only where the natives stepped, touching only what they touched. But he could not—would not—fail his master.

  They edged toward a glow of torchlight, and he got his first glimpse of the cannibals’ village. They were in the throes of their ceremony, their drums and chants drowning out the night sounds of the jungle and the approach of the native warriors. As he and his companions settled into position, Huffington peered into the foliage at the edge of the village, but the archers who had preceded them were invisible. The two native marksmen were armed with arrows coated with a cocktail of poisons Huffington had prepared himself. Their goal: fire the arrows into the chosen victim’s heart at the moment Camilla began to feed. Huffington had been dubious about their ability to hit a target the size of a man’s fist from fifty feet away, but they had shown him their prowess by shooting mangoes from a towering tree. And their heavy composite bows were powerful enough to kill a wild boar. The entire plan hinged on their success; if they missed, the demon would wreak havoc upon the attacking forces, and there was no way to call back Donnely’s marines, since they knew nothing of Camilla or the demon Hydra.