Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Is there a problem, Captain?” asked a gentle voice.

  “No, Mistress Rella,” Chula said. He had been surprised to find that she was Ghelfan’s granddaughter. The shipwright’s legacy, it seemed, was secure. “Dey be knowin’ deir work, sure enough. I’ll give ‘em dat.”

  “That they do, Captain,” Rella replied proudly.

  “How many more days you t’ink it be takin’?” he asked.

  “Four,” she replied without hesitation. “Planking and caulking her seams will take another two days, and painting the hull two more. Have you decided yet where you’ll go?”

  Chula had been thinking of nothing else. Captain Brelak had intended that they avoid the imperials, but he had not known about the pirate, Parek. Chula had no doubt that Orin’s Pride would be confiscated as soon as they sailed into Tsing Harbor, but the captain would understand. Parek would pay for the deaths of their people, and for what he had done to Miss Camilla. He licked his lips nervously before answering Rella’s question.

  “We be sailin’ fer Tsing, but I be havin’ a favor ta ask of you.” He glanced over to where his tall wife was overseeing the shaping of the new mast. “You mind puttin’ up wit’ Paska and Tipos fer a spell?”

  “They are welcome to stay as long as necessary,” Rella said with a look of curiosity.

  Chula heaved a sigh, partly with relief at her acceptance, and partly with anxiety at his upcoming task. “T’ank’e fer dat, Miss Rella. I’ll be lettin’ dem know dey be stayin’ behind tonight, so if ya hear screamin’ and hollerin’, you jus’ neva mind it.”

  Chapter 26

  Crow

  “Where are you taking me?” Cynthia asked, her nerves jangling like the jailor’s key ring as he led her down the cell block. Her question was met with cold, stony silence. That worried her. The jailor had seemed a decent man, but now he walked stiffly in front of her, not even deigning to turn and look at her, much less answer her question. Two armed guards flanked her as they walked down the long corridor. They left the detention wing and entered an older section of the prison complex. This building showed every year of its age. The corridor was poorly lit, with no windows and too-few oil lamps casting sickly yellow pools of light. The air was dank and smelled faintly of mold. Simple wooden doors interrupted the featureless walls at wide intervals.

  Memories of dark cells deep underground haunted her mind. She fingered the scar of her missing finger and remembered the scuttling sounds of rats in the utter blackness. They stopped before a door indistinguishable from any of the others. The jailor selected a large key from his ring, unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a short hall crowded with four guards in royal livery.

  “She’s all yours,” said the jailor as he urged her forward.

  “Wait!” she said, panicked by visions of a quick, clandestine execution.

  The imperial guards surrounded Cynthia, two grasping her arms as the door banged shut behind. They ushered her through the only other door. The room beyond was large, bright and airy, a vast contrast from the lamp-lit halls. She squinted and blinked.

  “Mrs. Flaxal Brelak,” said a familiar voice. Count Norris approached with a nervous smile. The guards released her arms. “I hope you are well,” the count said, and she nodded. He touched her arm and turned her as the guards stepped back.

  “Your Majesty!” she blurted in surprise. The emperor sat behind a burnished table, Lady von Camwynn stationed at his elbow. The sight of the black sword at the bodyguard’s hip sent a shiver up Cynthia’s spine. Resisting the impulse to be defiant, she curtsied. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a royal visit?”

  “We have come at Count Norris’ suggestion…to request your help.”

  “My help?” she asked, unable to resist a note of irony. “Whatever could you need my help for?”

  The emperor steepled his fingers and stared at her for a moment. “The legacy of your expedition to rescue your child has followed you north, Mrs. Flaxal Brelak.”

  “The legacy of my…” Her mind stumbled. What could have followed her? “If you’re concerned about the mer, Your Majesty, you needn’t worry about them. Once they realize that I’m not going anywhere, they’ll tire of waiting and return to their home.”

  The emperor smiled wryly, but his eyes remained grave. “We wish it were so simple a matter. No, this is significantly more important than a few merfolk.” He turned to Norris and raised a hand. “Count Norris?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the count replied with a short bow before turning to Cynthia. “Akrotia has come north. It has already destroyed one warship and erupted at least two volcanoes in the Shattered Isles.”

  “Volcanoes?” A cold hand clenched Cynthia’s heart. “Which islands?”

  “Vulture and Plume Isles were destroyed. We believe that it drew power from the fire of the volcanoes. It was last sighted a week ago, heading north from Plume Isle. We fear it will eventually reach us here.”

  “Destroyed? The islands were destroyed?” Her chest tightened with horror. “What happened to the people living there?”

  “Some were evacuated from Vulture Isle aboard an imperial frigate. The rest fled in their small boats. Plume Isle was evacuated before Akrotia arrived.”

  Relief melted the chill fingers of dread, but even as her heart steadied and she drew a deep breath, the significance of his words pierced her mind.

  “Edan,” she murmured, questions whirling through her mind. Why would he come north? And why would he destroy her home? Perhaps, she considered, he’s just questing for fire. Fire was his life as much as the sea was hers.

  “What about Fire Isle?” she asked. “Did he erupt that volcano, too?”

  “There was no sign of that,” Emil replied.

  “Then why Plume?” she wondered aloud. “Edan told me once that Plume was a dormant volcano. It would take a lot of power to cause it to erupt, much more than it would for Fire Isle.”

  “Perhaps to settle a grudge?” suggested the emperor.

  Cynthia considered that, then shook her head. “Despite our differences, our last moments together were the best we’d had. He helped us save Kloe, and he was happy to be getting out of Akrotia to someplace dry.” She half-smiled when she remembered his wide grin and blush as they praised his skills. Then…Samantha had arrived. Now there was someone with a grudge. She glanced to Count Norris, wondering how much the emperor knew about his daughter’s role in this. She could see the pain in his face. There was no need for her to add to it.

  Cynthia shrugged. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about Akrotia other than what I’ve already reported.”

  She waited, expecting him to order the guards to take her back to her cell. He didn’t. Instead, he sat and watched her. His regard wore on her as nearly a minute passed in silence. Then she realized what this was all about.

  “You want me to destroy Akrotia!”

  “We want Akrotia stopped. Whether that is accomplished through its destruction or by some other means, We do not particularly care.” The emperor pursed his lips. “We are willing to…negotiate for your aid.”

  “Release Feldrin,” she said, her heart fluttering like the wings of a captive bird. She had no idea if she could destroy Akrotia, but that didn’t matter. For once, she had the upper hand. The emperor needed her help.

  “We will commute his death sentence,” the emperor countered, “but he will remain in prison.”

  “For how long?”

  “For his entire life. He is guilty of treason against the empire.”

  “No deal.” She crossed her arms. “If I’m killed fighting Akrotia, I want my son to at least have a father.”

  The emperor glowered at her. “If you die in Our service, we will release your husband in ten years. Until then, your son will remain in the capable hands of Cou
nt Norris and the lady Camilla.”

  “Wait a minute!” Cynthia’s mind spun. She turned to the count. “Camilla’s alive? She’s here in Tsing? She’s…all right?”

  “Yes, she’s fine,” he said with a significant glance. “We managed to get her away from the cannibals before any lasting harm was done.”

  Cynthia heaved a sigh. She’d felt sick at having left Camilla to her fate with the cannibals. She hardened her resolve as she turned back to the emperor.

  “Feldrin is out in five years if I die fighting Akrotia, regardless of whether I succeed or not. And I want that in a contract, ratified by a magistrate.” Cynthia ignored the daggers that leapt from Lady von Camwynn’s eyes as she bartered with the emperor. She knew she was breaking every rule of royal etiquette in the book, but so far he had not called her on it, and frankly, she didn’t care. She would not be intimidated.

  “If you do not succeed, the deal is void and Feldrin Brelak dies on the guillotine.”

  A hot knife of anger slashed through her thin patience at the emperor’s proclamation. “That’s blackmail!” she claimed, unable to pull her punches any longer. “Forget it.” She turned on her heel, fully aware of the mortal insult of her action. The guards blocked her way with crossed halberds but she refused to turn back.

  “Cynthia, please!” Count Norris pleaded. She tensed as she heard his steps close behind her. “Don’t do this! You’re being offered a chance to save Feldrin’s life.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said, biting her words short as she turned to face him. “I’m being coerced,” she glared out of the corner of her eye at the emperor. “If the emperor wants my help, then I need some assurance that if I fight this thing and die, Feldrin will survive to be a father to Kloe. If I don’t get that assurance, there’s no deal.”

  “Let me speak with him and see what I can do, but please, don’t anger him.” His voice lowered. “He will not offer you this opportunity again.”

  “Fine.” She turned back to the emperor, whose face was tight with cold anger, but did not step forward.

  Count Norris approached the table, bowing low. He spoke quietly, and she could neither see nor hear the emperor’s reply. Their hushed voices continued for what seemed hours, but was actually only a minute or so. When Norris turned back to her and stepped aside, the emperor’s face was once again calm and unreadable.

  “His Majesty has agreed to commute Feldrin’s sentence from death to imprisonment if you agree to help fight Akrotia, regardless of your survival or success in the attempt. If you succeed in stopping Akrotia, then Feldrin’s sentence will be reduced to five years. If you fail, he will serve twenty years.”

  “Twenty years…” She imagined a much older Feldrin limping out of prison to meet his adult son. Unfortunately, this would probably be the best deal she could wring from the emperor. It certainly was incentive for her to succeed. Then, one more notion occurred to her. “And my sentence?”

  Count Norris turned to the emperor, who shook his head minutely. They obviously had discussed this issue. “I’m sorry, Cynthia, but that’s not negotiable.”

  Cynthia took a deep breath; at least she had saved Feldrin’s life.

  “Very well. Draw up a contract and I’ll sign it,” she said to Norris, then turned and curtsied to the emperor. “Your Majesty.”

  “The high magistrate will draft a contract for your service to the Empire of Tsing, Mrs. Flaxal Brelak. That service begins as of this moment, and will end with either victory against Akrotia, or your death.”

  “Fine.” She heaved a sigh, satisfied, if not elated, with the outcome. “What next?”

  “We will convene a council to hear what you consider to be the strengths and weaknesses of Akrotia, and your thoughts on a strategy to fight it.” The emperor placed his hands against the table and rose.

  “Let me save some time, Your Majesty,” Cynthia offered. “I don’t know much about Akrotia other than what I saw from inside before it was…animated. That’s all in my report to Admiral Joslan. My advice is to consult the elves. They might not want to admit it, but they built the thing, elves and mer together. I’d suggest consulting the mer, too, but they’re too far to summon in time.”

  “Actually, several mer have been making themselves a nuisance in the harbor for two days,” the emperor said, frowning.

  “They have?” This surprised her. She had assumed that the mer following the ship to Tsing had already departed, their curiosity satisfied. If indeed these were the same mer, then Broadtail must want something. The mer only did what benefited the mer. “If I can speak with them, they may be able to help.”

  “You trust them?” the emperor asked, cocking an eyebrow. “We find that difficult to believe after what Count Norris told Us of their betrayal.”

  “Your Majesty, those who betrayed me also betrayed their own school, and they are dead. Even so, I don’t trust the mer implicitly, but if they’re here, they’re here for me. And they probably know more about Akrotia than I do.”

  “Very well, We will summon the elvish ambassador, and you will…speak to the merfolk. How long do you require?”

  “Not long, Your Majesty.”

  “We will arrange council for this afternoon, then.” The emperor turned, Lady von Camwynn at his elbow and two of the guards behind. He turned back to add, “Count Norris, please see that the seamage is supplied with clothing more appropriate to her upcoming duties.” He departed without another word. Cynthia drew another deep, cleansing breath and turned to Count Norris.

  “I’d like to see my son.”

  “I’ve already arranged it,” he said, smiling tightly. “Kloe is with Camilla and Tim at my townhouse, and I have a clothier meeting us there for lunch.”

  “You were pretty sure I’d agree,” she said.

  “I was pretty sure that he would agree,” he replied in a low voice.

  The two remaining guards flanked Cynthia as Norris turned toward the door, but she grasped his arm before he could take a step. He turned back, a question in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said in a voice husky with tears. The enormity of what she had just accomplished hit her hard, and she fought to keep her tumultuous emotions in check. Feldrin would live, and she would soon see Kloe. That was enough for now.

  ≈

  Keys rattled, and Feldrin turned his head lazily toward the cell door, the blanket rough against his cheek. The physical sensations penetrated the haze that clouded his mind, a self-imposed shield against thought…against despair. Not for himself; he had known the law, knew he was responsible for whatever occurred aboard his ship. No, he despaired for Cynthia, trapped in a prison cell for ten years, and for Kloe, parentless until his mother was released.

  He sat up and watched as the jailor entered, followed by three guards carrying heavy billy clubs and eying him with measured expertise.

  This is it.

  He stood, then shook his head as he realized, It’s too soon. A month had not yet passed. He was not yet due for his one-way trek to the guillotine. What’s changed?

  “Come along,” the jailor ordered as he motioned toward the open cell door.

  “Where?” Feldrin asked suspiciously. This could be good, or it could be very bad.

  “New cell,” the jailor said with a wry smile. “Seems you’ve been given a reprieve, old son. You’re not gonna die. Not on the guillotine, anyways.”

  “A reprieve?” he said, trying to wrap his mind around the news. What could have caused the emperor to commute his sentence? “Cynthia!”

  “Aye, that’s right enough, old son. Seems the sea witch has made a bargain with His Majesty to get yer neck out from under the blade.” The man chuckled as Feldrin stepped forward. “That’s what I call a good marriage, ay lads? I don’t think my old lady’d walk across the street to save my arse. Yer wife mus
t be some kinda woman.”

  “You have no idea,” Feldrin agreed. He stood tall and squared his shoulders, not even glancing back as he stepped out of the cell that was supposed to have been his last refuge before meeting the gods. His heart hammered in his chest, but it felt good. He was alive, thanks to Cynthia. “You have no idea at all.”

  ≈

  Heart aglow with the recent embrace of her son, Cynthia stepped out of the carriage onto the quay. She closed her eyes and saw Kloe’s sweet face, smelled his precious baby smell, her arms already aching with longing to hold him again. Seeing Camilla alive and well had been nearly as overwhelming as her reunion with Kloe. Her friend’s ordeal had changed her—she had lost weight, and there was a haunted look in her eyes—but she seemed well enough. Time and love would heal Camilla, and with Tim and Emil, she had that in abundance.

  Cynthia opened her eyes and took in Tsing Harbor. There were no stone-throwing crowds this time, which was good. The fewer eyes that saw what she was about to do, the better. Her new dress rustled as she kicked off her shoes, stepped to the edge of the pier and looked down into the murky water.

  “No nonsense, now,” warned one of her guards. The two had stuck to her like barnacles to a rock. It had taken Norris several minutes to convince them to give her privacy even to change clothes. She knew they were only doing their jobs, but still…

  She turned to the guard and smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “Corporal Terwillaby, ma’am,” he answered stiffly.

  “And yours?” she asked the other, her smile intact.