Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  Glancing up, Camilla watched as Parek beat back Emil’s attacks. She remembered the pirate’s cruel strength, and saw Emil’s slimmer blade shudder with each clash of metal. It was her fault; Emil was going to die, Tim was going to die, they were all going to die. Then she would be in Parek’s hands once again…helpless.

  In front of her, Huffington whirled low, ducking another raking dagger, and flipped his bleeding arm in an arc. His blood splashed her face, and Camilla jerked back in shock. She licked her lip, tasting the salty sweetness. The memories of blood—of power—crashed in on her. She didn’t have to be weak and helpless. She stoked the anger that grew hot in her belly. Never again would she allow her friends and loved ones to die for her.

  ≈

  Parek feinted and lunged, then parried Norris’ counterattack. The fop was good, but no match for him. Under normal circumstances he would have finished the man in seconds, but he was distracted. The boy had leapt to the attack. He had been intercepted by Farin, but now it seemed that the pirate was on the defensive, his daggers ill-matched against the longer reach of the boy’s sword. Whenever Farin faltered, the boy swiped at Parek, who was forced to defend. If he didn’t pay attention, the boy might spit him with a quick thrust.

  Then he heard heavy footfalls from behind and to his left; the men who had gone to the back were pounding up the back stairs. They’d arrive from down the hall to Parek’s left in seconds. If he didn’t move quickly, he’d be trapped.

  He glanced down to the entry hall. The stairs were slick with blood and crowded with battling sailors and pirates; he couldn’t risk that route. Beyond them, he spied Camilla. She stood against the front door, defended only by the bespectacled man, who was already wounded. There, Parek realized, is my way out.

  Farin’s gasp told Parek that he had to move now; the boy had scored a hit, and would soon be on him. The pirate captain feinted and thrust, scoring a cut on the count’s arm. It was hardly a winning stroke, but enough to buy the opportunity to disengage and dash down the corridor above the entry hall. Halfway, he stepped atop the balustrade and leapt for the huge chandelier that overhung the entry hall. Thankful that the beeswax lamps on it were unlit, he caught the chandelier’s heavy rim.

  His momentum sent the wrought iron frame swinging, and he released it at the apex of its arc. He landed heavily in the center of the entry hall, but rolled to his feet with his sword still in his hand. His satisfied grin faded, however, when he saw that the two pirates who had been facing the bespectacled man were lying on the floor, one with a dagger in his stomach, the other bleeding from a slashed throat. Neither was breathing.

  The man stood in front of Camilla, a dagger in one hand; the other hung limp at his side, blood dripping from a gash in his arm. Parek smiled at the injured man and lunged to the attack.

  His opponent raised his dagger to parry, but also lifted his empty hand. Parek caught a glint of steel at the man’s wrist, and twisted away just as he heard the click of a spring. A tiny steel shaft whistled past his ear, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Parek rolled to his feet and lunged again. This thrust was met with a late parry, the man’s dagger skittering up the length of his sword to meet the gilded guard.

  The bespectacled man gaped down at the length of steel that pierced his waistcoat. Instinct saved Parek again as the man slashed at his throat with the dagger that had failed to turn the sword’s thrust. The pirate captain ducked and jerked his blade free.

  “Huffington!” Camilla cried, rushing forward to catch the man as he crumpled to the floor. She knelt over him in a cascade of red hair and golden skirts, but Parek had no time for her sentimentality. She was his ticket out of this mess. He nested his fist in those crimson locks and jerked her to her feet.

  “Up you come, little lady,” he quipped, clutching her close and resting the bloody length of his sword against her beautiful neck.

  ≈

  Camilla felt the blade against her throat. Instead of cold steel, the metal was warm and wet with Huffington’s blood. She heard Parek’s breath at her ear, felt his heartbeat against her back. A sudden silence had descended.

  All the pirates were either lying in pools of blood or standing empty-handed with swords at their throats. Only two of the sailors lay unmoving. They had met the surprise attack with amazing skill, and the reinforcements from the back stairs had turned the tide, forcing the pirates to surrender or die. Norris hurried down the steps, followed closely by Tim, Horace and Chula. They stopped, glaring at Parek as the pirate tightened his hold on her.

  “You’ve lost, Parek,” Emil growled, flourishing his blade and ignoring the cut on his arm. “Let her go.”

  “You still don’t understand pirates, do you?” Parek pressed the edge of his sword against Camilla’s throat. The scent of him, the feel of him pressed against her, brought back a flood of memories, and Camilla shuddered. Parek laughed softly and tightened his fist in her hair. “You see, I’d rather die on the end of a blade than lying down like a dog with my head on the block. I’ve still got something you want, and if you don’t let me leave here, you’ll be weeping over her corpse.”

  “Killing her won’t gain you anything, Parek,” Emil warned as his men fanned out around him, but Camilla saw the fear for her in his eyes, and knew that Parek did, too. “Let her go, and I give you my word that I’ll do my best to get your sentence commuted to prison.”

  “Yes, bargain for the life of your red-haired harlot, Count Norris. Your little girl, Sam, was a whore, too, you know. She spread her legs for any man who could get her what she wanted, but at least she was a pirate! This,” he jerked Camilla’s hair and she cried out at the pain, “this bitch has no honor. She lay with me for no reason but to save her own skin. She gave me Bloodwind’s treasure and led me to her bed while we slaughtered her friends and looted the sea witch’s keep.”

  Visions of a blood-splattered beach and the scent of charred flesh pounded in Camilla’s mind. You are not helpless! whispered the voice in her mind as a flood of rage rose up from the pit of her stomach. She licked her lips and tasted the blood again.

  “I let you live when I could have killed you,” Emil seethed, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword as he shook with rage. “I should have let Tim cut your throat.”

  “But you didn’t, Count Norris. And now I hold the woman you love under my sword, and I will kill her if you take one step closer.” Parek backed up, pulling Camilla with him. The pain eased as he released his grip on her hair, and she heard the click of the front door latch. Parek had only to open the door and pull her through, and he was free. “See where your cowardice has brought you?”

  Emil’s eyes filled with pain at the pirate’s words, and Camilla’s anger surged.

  “It wasn’t cowardice, Parek,” Camilla said as she turned toward him, heedless of the fire across her neck as the cutlass scored her flesh. She looked up into his eyes, and let the rage flow up from her as it had before. “It was honor. Something no pirate will ever understand. But you were right about me; I don’t have any.”

  “You wha—”

  His eyes widened in shock as the dagger Huffington had pressed into her hand pierced Parek’s heart. The golden-hilted cutlass—Bloodwind’s sword—clattered to the floor, and he collapsed to his knees. She watched him as he stared in shock at the dagger protruding from his chest. The hilt twitched once, twice, then stilled, and he looked up into her face.

  Slowly, the life faded from Parek’s eyes, and with it her rage and fear melted away.

  She was not helpless, but she wasn’t a monster, either.

  Chapter 31

  Seas of Fire

  The sky outside was just starting to lighten, and Mouse was fretting. He perched on the edge of Kloe’s crib, watching the baby just as Cynthia had told him to do. That was the problem; she’d told him to watch over Kloe, no matter what, then she’d sai
led off to fight that burning city.

  And left him here.

  Mouse had never disobeyed Cynthia, but he didn’t like being left behind when he could help her. There were enough people here watching over Kloe, and there was only one Mouse to watch over Cynthia. He didn’t know what he could do to help her against Akrotia, but he knew that his place was with her.

  He’d sat all night watching over Kloe and fretting about it. He’d watched as the nurse had come to feed the baby when he woke and cried, and he’d watched the babe fall back to sleep. He’d even watched when she came again to change a particularly smelly diaper.

  The sun continued to rise, and he knew that Cynthia was facing the fight of her life. But she’d told him to stay and watch over Kloe.

  And he had.

  A thought came to the sprite as he remembered her exact words. “You stay and watch over Kloe, Mouse. No matter what.”

  But she hadn’t said how long to watch over Kloe.

  His ears perked up, and his wings shivered. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his little sprite features, and he made a decision. There was a time when a sprite had to do the sprite thing, no matter what!

  He darted down, kissed the sleeping baby on the cheek, inhaled one last breath of that wondrous baby smell, then shot out the open window in a streak of gossamer and crystal dust.

  ≈

  The first rays of sunlight touched Edan’s highest spires, and he felt the warmth melt into him, over his towers, across his archways, and down into his streets. He watched it brighten the darkness of the night, of the ocean…of his mind. But this morning something foreboding accompanied the sun’s rise. Like a cloying breeze that foreshadows a storm, an uncomfortable feeling crept through him, eliciting visions of ocean depths, smothering water, drowning, and he knew...

  The seamage was coming.

  Six ships appeared on the northern horizon, tiny triangles of white that grew as they approached. She was on one of those ships. She had come to destroy him, of that he was sure. Altogether, eleven warships, the seamage and the mer were arrayed against him.

  Let them come, the madness in him raged. I’ll burn them all!

  Edan pushed back the madness, but it was becoming harder to resist. The madness stirred his anger, and anger was better than fear. But if the anger or fear got out of control, he couldn’t think. He had to be more careful this time. Last time, they had hurt him. This time, he would hurt them. He would burn them…

  Yes! Burn them one by one!

  His thoughts came up short as a memory surfaced; Cynthia stepping off the side of a ship into the sea, vanishing below the waves for hours. He couldn’t burn her underwater. How could he lure her up where his fire could reach her?

  Burn the ships, and she’ll come!

  Yes, that might just work. Cynthia wouldn’t just stand by if he brought fire down on the warships. She’d intervene, and to do that, she’d have to come up out of the sea.

  Out of the sea, where his fire could reach her.

  ≈

  Akrotia dominated the horizon, the sails of Joslan’s armada like wisps of torn paper littering the sea beside it. Cynthia shuddered. She’d never thought to see it again, much less try to destroy it.

  She rubbed her weary eyes and blinked. She’d expected to rest as Resolute made her way south from Tsing during the night, but sleep had eluded her. She had finally come up on deck and pulled a tendril of seawater up through the scupper. The contact calmed her, but now, in the day’s light, the sight of Akrotia set her stomach fluttering.

  Henkle’s armada continued south, and finally joined Joslan’s force. Signal flags ran up and down as Resolute and Indomitable traded information. Cynthia drew a deep breath, but the proximity of Edan’s magic made it an effort. Slowly, she made her way to the quarterdeck.

  “The admiral signals that all is ready, Mrs. Flaxal Brelak,” Commodore Henkle said, lowering his glass. “The battleships and frigates will engage as planned. The drakes will stand off to relay signals and offer assistance to any disabled ships.”

  “I can read signal flags, Commodore, and I do remember the plan.” She cast him a tart look, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. My nerves are wound tight right now. Might I borrow your glass? I’d like to look at Akrotia.”

  “No apology necessary,” he said, handing over the glass. “I often forget that you’re a sailor in your own right.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Why do you continue to refer to the city as Akrotia, when the elves insist it should be called Edan?”

  “To me, Commodore, Edan is a person,” she explained, squinting through the spyglass. “A scared young man who overcame his fear to help me rescue my child. I can’t think of the city as Edan. Not if I’m going to destroy it.”

  “I see,” the commodore replied, though Cynthia doubted that he really did.

  She focused the glass on the city. Its runes glowed with fire magic, wavering like mirages in the heat. She had lost so much to fire: her grandmother, her family estate, Peggy’s Dream, Plume Isle. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and the view in the glass quivered as her hands trembled. All the plans were set, all the ships and crews were ready, but it was up to her. She was the one who had to kill Edan.

  I have to do this, she reminded herself, leaning against a shroud to steady her hand. If I don’t, more people will die, and Feldrin will grow old in prison. She bit her lip and blinked away her suddenly blurred vision.

  “I see the damage that Admiral Joslan reported.” She handed the glass back to Henkle. “That’s your target, Commodore.”

  “Right.” He took the glass and raised it, surveying the damage. “Doesn’t look like much, but I can see a breach just above the waterline.”

  “The bigger you can make that hole, the easier you’ll make it for me.”

  “Yes, I do remember the plan, Mrs. Flaxal Brelak,” he said tartly, giving her a wry smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll do our job.”

  “One thing you need to learn about women, Commodore, is that telling them not to worry is like telling water not to be wet, or fire not to be hot.”

  “This may astound you, Madam, but I have been married for over twenty years.” He peered at Akrotia and said, “I learned that particular lesson very early on.”

  Cynthia stared into the water, her mind filled with memories of flames, smoke and the face of a young man with fiery red hair. It was time. She absently worked the clasp of her belt and let her skirt drop to the deck.

  “Lieutenant!” the commodore snapped, quickly doffing his jacket. “Your coat, if you please.”

  Cynthia started as he rushed toward her, until she saw the sailors grinning and gawking at her immodesty. “Sorry, Commodore. I’m afraid pettiskirts are far too restricting in the water. I should have warned you.”

  A blushing young lieutenant also took off his jacket, and the two men held them like a makeshift curtain, eyes carefully averted, while she stepped out of her skirt and pettiskirts. Cynthia nearly laughed out loud at the inanity of it all; they were all about to risk their lives battling a great floating, flaming city, and yet the sight of her in only a chemise provoked this ridiculous act of chivalry.

  “Thank you, Commodore. Please signal the admiral to begin the attack.”

  “Good luck, ma’am,” Henkle said, turning to meet her eyes.

  “Just hit the target, Commodore.” She turned and stepped into the sea.

  Immediately, mer swirled around her in a wall of glittering scales, and the water reverberated with their thrums of greetings. The school extended as far as she could see. Tailwalker had told her that every able adult had come; only those caring for finlings had remained at home. She was grateful; they would need every advantage they could get, and nearly a thousand mer was a formidable force.

  Cynthia sent out a g
entle pulse of sound, and a tight knot of mer peeled away from the school and snapped to a halt in front of her.

  *Greetings, Seamage Flaxal Brelak,* Broadtail signed, sweeping his trident in a broad arc. *We are ready to do battle with Akrotia! The iron hooks have been moved as you directed, to just below the breach in Akrotia’s hull. Half the school will haul on the cables to impede Akrotia’s movement; Tailwalker is their leader. I will lead the rest in aid of the landwalker warships. Chaser and Shelly will stay with you to relay messages between us.*

  *Good. Thank you, Trident Holder. Your aid will save many lives. Make sure all the mer know that they must watch out for falling debris.*

  *They have already been informed, Seamage Flaxal Brelak,* he signed.

  *Good.* She reached out with her senses and felt the ships as they maneuvered into attack formation. Further away, the water churning over Akrotia’s hull lessened; the city had slowed. *It is time to begin, Trident Holder. Let us go.*

  The trident holder gestured and the school broke up, half swimming toward Akrotia with Tailwalker at the fore, the others vanishing in the direction of the fleet with Broadtail. Cynthia urged the sea to aid her and surged toward Akrotia, Chaser and Shelly swimming alongside.

  The water here in the deep was startlingly clear, and the city coalesced from the distant blue like a great, dark storm cloud blotting out the sky. She gaped up at graceful spires, grottos, open corridors, and twisting tunnels though which finlings could swim and play. Outcroppings of coral marred the gentle lines, but even so, she understood the elves’ reluctance to destroy such a creation.