Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  *Is this not the same school that swarmed the sides of the warship at the seamage’s island?* Broadtail signed, hoping to shame them into action. *The landwalkers attack Akrotia from above! Do you have less courage then they do? Are you warriors or finlings?*

  He saw in their shifting colors that his taunt had scored. Their fins flared and the stubborn pride that he knew every mer possessed showed on their faces.

  *We are with you, Trident Holder!* the foremost of them signed, flexing his webbed hands. *Command us!*

  *We must slow Akrotia down, delay the moment when it breaks free. Get the longest cable we have, and split the school to grasp both ends. We will catch one of the city’s outer spires as it passes, and pull against the spin. Go!*

  The school leaders signed orders to their teams, who flipped their tails and vanished into the depths where they had stowed their weapons and supplies. Broadtail took the moment to surface and assess the attack. The wind whipped up the waves and blew spray through the air, but he could see the ships. Oars splashed into the water at their sides as they tried to hold position. Their sails were down, which seemed strange. Then he noticed the landwalkers pouring seawater over the ships, and realized their concerns; Akrotia would burn the sails. With these winds, it would not be easy for them to flee using only the oars. When Akrotia broke free, the warships would need help. The mer returned from the depths carrying a long loop of ironweed, and the school split into two groups, each grasping an end.

  When all were ready Broadtail signed, *Good! Now follow me!* and flipped his tail.

  The trident holder eyed the whirling mass of stone carefully as they approached. The water was warmer here, but only uncomfortable, not dangerous. A spire of dark stone loomed out of the blue haze, sweeping around in an arc toward the school. Broadtail grasped the slack ironweed cable at its midpoint and swam up into the path of the spire. He struggled to maintain his position in the eddies created by the rotating city. The spire rushed right at him. When he felt the wake it pushed along in its van, he released the cable and dodged out of the way. The cable caught on the rough surface and snapped taut.

  Trident Holder Broadtail clamped his webbed hands onto the ironweed cable along with the rest of his school. He shivered in triumph as hundreds of mer flipped their tails and swam against the pull of Akrotia’s rotation. In a flash, he recognized the irony of the situation: here they were, landwalkers and mer, working and fighting together to destroy the very thing that had been created to unify their races.

  ≈

  “Get some water on the quarterdeck!” Joslan shouted. A sailor raced up the stairs and doused the deck, and steam rose and whipped away on the wind. The railing was still smoldering.

  “Ware on the quarterdeck!” cried the first mate as two of the tar-coated mizzen shrouds caught fire. The sailors immediately them cut away to keep the entire rig from catching. Joslan glared up as the wind whipped the burnt ends of the shrouds about like black tendrils of hair. If they had to cut away many more lines, the over-stressed rig would be in danger of toppling.

  “Fire!” came a yell from forward.

  Joslan jerked around, expecting to see flames licking at the deck, but felt the great catapult crack off its shot instead. The stone struck among the debris of their previous impacts. Pieces fell away from the waterline, and he caught a glimpse of interior space. Akrotia’s hull had been breached! Water splashed through the gap, hissing and sputtering against the hot stone. As he opened his mouth to cry out their success, the backstay parted with a deafening crack.

  “Widow maker!” a crewman cried out.

  “Damn!” cursed Joslan. The mizzen mast swayed and groaned against the planks of the deck. With no supporting aft stay, the mast was under incredible strain in this wind, and could snap at any moment. If it fell forward, it would likely take the main and foremasts with it like a row of tipped dominoes. Their moment of triumph had devolved to potential disaster.

  “Hard to port!” Captain Betts cried, but before the helmsman could respond, Joslan stepped forward.

  “Belay that!” He strode to the wheel and grabbed the helmsman’s arm. “We’ll bear to starboard and cut the mizzen away!”

  “But Admiral, with all due respect, that’ll put us even closer to that bloody thing!”

  “For a moment, yes, but we can’t fire the catapult aft of the beam, and we might miss a crucial shot before we can get back into position. Do, it, Captain, or I’ll damned well have you relieved!”

  Betts clenched his jaw and glared at his commanding officer, then nodded. “Very well, Admiral. Steer to starboard and hold her broadside to the wind. Damage crew to the afterdeck! Get running backstays rigged on the mainmast!”

  Indomitable swept to starboard, aided in her turn by the immense pressure of the wind on the higher stern castle. Under perfect conditions, cutting away a mast was a dangerous operation; with a full gale blowing, the entire ship was in peril. If the mast split up its length, it could fall right on the ship instead of over the side. If it split down to its step, it would rip a hole in the deck. The damage crew wrapped a length of wrist-thick hawser around the mast’s base to keep it from splitting. Then the axe-men took up position to both sides and swung. The mast was a solid pole of hard spruce two feet thick, but the axes were broad and shaving-sharp. On the fifth stroke, Joslan heard a crack. On the sixth, there was a series of cracks and pops, and the huge spar trembled.

  “Come on…” he muttered, gauging their angle, relative motion, and the proximity of the floating city. Heat beat on his face as if from the open door of a furnace. The sweep crews had resumed their cadence, struggling to maintain Indomitable’s position. But the ship was broadside to the wind and seas, and her weakened starboard-side shrouds were stretched to their limits. They could end up losing more than one mast if this was not concluded quickly.

  The axes fell again, and the mast gave way, toppling to smash into the port-side rail in a shower of lines, blocks and splinters.

  “Cut it away!” the captain ordered, rushing forward with a boarding axe in hand. “And keep it from fouling the rudder!” The damage crew severed the trailing lines with a vengeance, and the spar drifted away on the wind-tossed sea.

  “To port, Captain! Bring her back on station.” Joslan resumed his pacing, avoiding the stump of the mizzen mast in the center of the startlingly clear quarterdeck. He looked once again toward Akrotia.

  In the short time that all eyes had been on the rigging, something had changed. The city’s rotation had slowed, though the winds seemed as strong as ever. The admiral’s pulse quickened. Could the breach have been enough to increase the drag on the city as it took on water? He heard the catapult crew ready their weapon as the target came round again, but Joslan focused his spyglass on the city’s hull. He heard the weapon fire and watched as it struck, shattering more stone. But though they had increased the size of the hole, water still only splashed into it.

  Akrotia did seem to be slightly lower in the water. He watched it rotate, and with each turn, it sank a tiny bit more. Something was pulling Akrotia down. Again he recalled the report of the Fire Drake.

  Could the mer be doing this? Surely they couldn’t just pull Akrotia beneath the waves!

  The wind gusted even higher, shrieking through the tattered rigging, and Akrotia continued rotating, albeit slower. Joslan snapped his glass closed and turned to Captain Betts, yelling in his ear to be heard over the wind.

  “Ready the jib, and stand by. Something is happening, and I don’t bloody like it!”

  “The sail’s ready, sir, and the crews have kept it doused. Just give the word!”

  But even as the captain spoke, they all felt a great shockwave under the surface of the sea. Indomitable trembled, and all eyes turned to Akrotia. They gaped as the enormous city lurched up like a broaching whale. Whatever the mer had used to hold it in
position had given way. Instantly, the wind shifted, drawing the ships straight toward the massive stone structure. And even more horrifying, a white bow wake formed along the city’s forward edge. Joslan cursed all mages to the deepest of the Nine Hells. Akrotia was coming for them.

  “Hoist the jib and bear away! All other hands to the sweeps, and signal Stalwart to disengage!”

  Canvas exploded aloft from the bowsprit as the sailors hoisted the tiny storm jib. Indomitable picked up speed, sailing away from Akrotia’s path at an angle to the wind. A single signal flag flew up the main halyard, but the dry cloth burst into flames before it got aloft.

  “Come on, Quincy!” Joslan muttered as he watched Stalwart. The other ship was also turning away, but with her bow into the wind to start with, she could hoist no sail to take advantage of this new wind angle. As Akrotia surged forward, Stalwart began to lose ground, her transom getting closer to the blinding heat of the city with every passing second.

  “Bear off and get a headsail up, man!” Joslan urged, glaring at the other ship. Wisps of smoke fluttered from Stalwart’s taffrail. “Hoist a bloody sail, Quincy! Captain, signal Stalwart to make sail!”

  Signal flags, soaked in seawater this time, were hauled aloft. Joslan raised his spyglass. Captain Quincy was clearly visible, firing off orders from his quarterdeck, but no sails were being readied. He was relying on sweeps alone to pull the heavy warship out of trouble, but with this wind dead against him, he was losing. Inch by painful inch, the distance between the ship and Akrotia lessened.

  “He’s doomed if he doesn’t do something,” the captain said, joining Joslan upon the smoldering quarterdeck.

  A jaw-clenching metallic screech sheared through the howling wind like a thousand swords being drawn from rusty scabbards. Joslan’s heart stuttered as he watched one of Akrotia’s towering gates scythe open. The huge bronze plates rotated outward into the stone arch, wreathed in glittering runes of fire. Heat-hazed air made the view through that gaping maw waver, but Joslan could see that the water inside the harbor was bubbling like a pot on the stove.

  “It’s gonna bloody swallow ‘im whole!” a crewman exclaimed, and Joslan couldn’t even make himself rebuke the man. He was right. The battleship Stalwart carried eleven hundred men, and they would all burn to death if her captain didn’t do something very soon.

  “Her transom’s caught fire!” a lookout called out, pointing to the flames licking at the great ship’s stern. Men formed a bucket brigade from the middle deck, and water cascaded over the taffrail, but the flames remained undiminished, whipped to a frenzy by the wind and powered by Akrotia’s magic.

  Then, as if suddenly aided by some less-malevolent magic, Stalwart surged forward. Froth piled at her blunt bow and streamed down her sides. The sailors ran about the deck, pointing over the side and cheering, even as the ship continued to burn. Joslan shook his head in wonder.

  “It’s the mer!” shouted a sailor in Indomitable’s rigging. “They’re pulling her out of danger!”

  “By the Nine Hells, it’s true!” Captain Betts pointed to Stalwart’s bow, which was now throwing up an impressive wake. “Look!”

  Joslan raised his glass just as a large mer leapt in a graceful arc, thrusting a trident forward, away from Akrotia. Joslan just stared, utterly flabbergasted. Only weeks ago, the mer had attacked and destroyed Fire Drake, now they had just saved Stalwart.

  The two warships edged farther and farther away from Akrotia, beating westward, and the unnatural wind waned and finally died away. The city slowed and turned northward once again, its radiance diminishing. Signal flags flew, and Joslan saw that the fire on Stalwart was finally extinguished, and though her transom was blackened, there seemed to be little structural damage. As the winds abated and shifted to their usual direction and strength, the ships cautiously set what sail their charred rigging would bear. Only then did the mer break off.

  Before they vanished beneath the waves, however, the entire school surfaced and waved their webbed hands. Even Admiral Joslan could find no rebuke for the cheering sailors who lined the rail and enthusiastically returned the gesture.

  Chapter 24

  New Arrivals

  A thrum of greeting startled Shelly from a half-sleep. She reached out in the gloom of predawn light, blinked to adjust her eyes, and grabbed Farsee’s wrist. *Did you hear that?*

  He stirred and blinked at her. *What?* His hands moved slowly, as if he were still asleep. The little grotto they had discovered outside the harbor was comfortable enough, though the surge of the waves overhead made it difficult for Shelly to sleep well. Evidently, Farsee didn’t have that problem.

  *I heard a mer call,* she signed, tugging his arm. *Come on!*

  He followed her out of the grotto into open water, and winced as she sounded a call of greeting. His countenance brightened, however, when a responding call rattled their ears.

  *That was close by!* She didn’t have to urge him this time, and when she flipped her tail, he was right at her side. She thrummed again, and this time was answered immediately. Two mer materialized from the gloom, and she recognized them right away. *Tailwalker! Chaser!*

  *Shelly! Farsee! Finally, we have found you!* They all grasped hands in greeting. Shelly had always admired Chaser’s lithe frame and sleek tail, and clasped the scout’s hands lingeringly. *Is this where they have taken Seamage Flaxal Brelak?*

  *Yes. The city is huge, and the water in the harbor is foul, so we have been staying outside. She is still here, but they took her some distance from the water. I can barely feel her presence, and it hasn’t changed for many tides. I don’t know what has befallen her.* She noticed the muted colors of Tailwalker and Chaser’s scales; they were worried. In fact, they both looked haggard and drawn, as if they had swam long without food or rest. *What has happened?*

  *Akrotia has come to the islands, Shelly.* Tailwalker’s motions were jerky; there was true fear in him, fear like she had never seen. *It called up fire from the earth and burned the seamage’s home.*

  *Burned it?* Farsee asked, his hue paling. *The whole island?*

  *More than one island,* Chaser put in, his own signing as choppy and agitated as Tailwalker’s. *We tried to trap it with iron hooks and augers, but it called the burning rock right down into the water, and the ironweed cables broke.*

  *It’s coming north, Shelly,* Tailwalker interjected. *Father and the rest of the school are following it, along with five of the landwalkers’ warships. They will try to fight it if they can.*

  *I don’t understand. Why is it coming north? Why burn the seamage’s island?*

  *Seamage Flaxal Brelak told me that the firemage she helped was taken by Akrotia. That is why the city burns. Perhaps he is angry with her for what happened. We don’t know. But Father sent us to tell her what has happened. How can we contact her?*

  *I don’t know.* She thought about it, and shrugged. *We don’t know where they took her, but there were landwalker soldiers everywhere, and we could not see her.*

  Tailwalker paled at the news. *This is not good. If they have imprisoned her, how will she even know we need to sign to her?*

  *We can make ourselves seen, and hope that they tell her,* Chaser suggested. *At Akrotia, I leapt onto a ship to warn them of the myxine attack. They were frightened at first, but finally understood.*

  *I think they would just shoot you full of arrows.* Farsee flattened his fins in disapproval. *They are not familiar with mer here, and I do not think they like us.*

  *If we jump high and do flips like dolphins, maybe they won’t think we’re dangerous.* Tailwalker grabbed Shelly’s hand and tugged. *We can do it in the middle of the harbor, where their arrows can’t reach us. Come on!*

  Farsee looked at her, his eyes wide with worry, but her brother and Chaser were already flipping their tails, so Shelly just shrugged and followed. Maybe Ta
ilwalker was right, and they could get the landwalkers’ attention without getting killed, but she didn’t trust these city dwellers. There were too many soldiers. She feared they would only draw unwanted attention, or even an attack, by showing themselves in the harbor. But she knew that Tailwalker would try his plan even if she did not go along with it. She would not let him think her a coward. Better that she stay with him, just in case there was trouble.

  ≈

  “Very good doing business with you, Master Torek.” The financier stood from behind his expansive desk and extended his hand with a broad smile. Parek smiled back and shook it. The man had come highly recommended, with a reputation for discretion. If you had enough money, he could get whatever you wanted, be it a new identity, a noble title, or items of more illicit nature. “With the sale of your ship and the funds you have already deposited, you have quite a nest egg.”

  “Thank you, Master Trifold.” Parek squeezed the man’s limp hand, enjoying how the fat banker’s smile faltered. “Yes, my recent endeavors have paid off nicely for both of us. I trust that your continued discretion is assured by your commission.”

  “Most thoroughly assured, Master Torek.” The financier recovered his hand and his smile.

  He bloody well better smile, Parek thought, straightening his new velvet doublet and recovering a long mahogany box from the table beside the door. Inside, Bloodwind’s gold-hilted cutlass rested on a bed of velvet. Other than the two coffers of select gems and baubles that he had put aside for himself and Camilla, it was the only bit of the treasure that he had kept for himself. Not only because it was such a fine weapon, but as a tribute to his mentor. He couldn’t wear it in public in the city yet, but that would change. The rest of his possessions, down to the last stitch of his old clothing, had been sold or destroyed. He was now Master Torek, soon to be Lord Torek, if his petition to purchase the title was approved, then he could wear the sword with pride. All thanks to the rotund Master Trifold...for a mere tenth of the hoard’s worth.