Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  “A hit!” Parks shouted, and the crew cheered.

  Donnely was too busy to look, watching Stalwart’s bowsprit sweep toward them as she bore away. Once again, mer gathered at the bow to aid the battleship’s turn, and they cleared Cape Storm’s last trailing boat by mere feet.

  “Captain!” Parks shouted, pointing off their port bow.

  Resolute had trimmed her sails smartly and was closing fast. Unfortunately, the winds were pushing Cape Storm ahead more quickly than he had anticipated. If they didn’t turn, Cape Storm would strike Resolute amidships. But if they turned too much, they would never get their shot. Donnely gauged the angles and relative speeds of the ships and stepped to the helm.

  “Two points to port,” he told the helmsman, adding his own hand to the great wheel. “Don’t let her jibe.”

  “Aye, sir.” The helmsman’s hands were white on the spokes, but he turned the ship deftly. “Sure that’s enough, sir?”

  “Plenty, sailor. Steady now.” It was going to be close.

  Resolute fired with a resounding crack, and Donnely watched the ball arc through the heat-hazed air. It struck right on target, smashing into the hull just below the breach with a horrendous crash. The warship immediately bore away in the only direction available to her…toward Cape Storm. It was going to be very close.

  Donnely grinned as he saw Henkle on his quarterdeck, wide-eyed and glaring but refusing to show fear. Resolute, larger than Cape Storm by many tons, loomed directly in front of the frigate. The helmsman instinctively pushed the wheel to port, but Donnely resisted that force.

  “Steady…”

  He felt a heavy nudge as Resolute’s bow wake shoved against them. Donnely held his breath, hoping against all hope that Cape Storm’s bowsprit didn’t snag the battleship’s shrouds, then—they were past! The bowsprit missed Resolute’s stern by mere feet, while Cape Storm’s bow wake slapped the warship’s stern quarter, aiding their turn. Donnely released his breath and the wheel, then glanced at the target and made up his mind. Stepping to the rail, he doffed his hat and swept it in a courtly bow.

  “My compliments to the commodore’s marksmanship!” he called out, grinning like a fiend.

  “What the bloody hells are you doing, Donnely? Bear off!”

  “Sorry, Commodore, but I can’t hear you with this wind!” He donned his hat and turned forward. “Catapult! Fire!”

  The siege engine sang as it hurled its granite missile. The ball smashed into the city’s hull just to the right of the breach, and stonework shattered in an impressive shower of splintered rock. The impact, however, did not expand the breach. Donnely drew a breath to shout an order, and the heat of the air seared his tongue. The jib burst into flames.

  “Cut that burning canvas down!” Parks bellowed, and men ran forward to obey, but Donnely returned to the helm and overrode the officer’s order.

  “Belay that! All deck crew, over the side!” Parks turned to him with wide eyes. “Orderly now, but get them over, Lieutenant. I’ll evacuate the sweepers at the last minute. My helm, sailor.”

  Parks gave the order, and men scrambled to the stern. Some leapt into the sea; others, probably those who couldn’t swim, grasped the lines trailing the boats and clambered aboard them. When a boat was full, they cut it loose and rowed quickly away. Donnely was impressed by their calm, and found himself grinning again. He gauged the angle through the pall of ashes and burning canvas, and adjusted his heading.

  The heat was unbearable, and as he squinted into the haze, he saw the tarred forestay and foremast shrouds catch fire. The foredeck shimmered and burst into flames. It was time.

  “Abandon ship! All hands, over the side!” He tied off the wheel and dashed to the main hatch, bellowing into the blinding heat as the fire swept aft. “Abandon ship! All of you, now!”

  He reached down to grasp hands, hauling sailors and marines up onto the deck. They streamed from every hatch, sweating and batting at their smoldering clothes. More jumped from the open ballista ports, throwing themselves into the sea.

  Donnely reached down to grasp another hand, but there were no more. He squinted down into the smoke-filled depths, at the rows of empty benches, the sweeps lying untended in their locks. Fire swept the deck around him, and he returned to the wheel, gauging their approach one last time. Barely a ship’s length separated the bow of Cape Storm from Akrotia. The breach was straight ahead, right on course, which was fortunate, since the wheel had burst into flames; there would be no changing course now.

  Captain Donnely glanced once more around the blazing ship, turned and strode through the fire to the taffrail. Doffing his burning jacket, he leapt just as his ship slammed into the breach. As he fell, the roar of flames and shattering timber and stone filled his ears.

  Then…there was silence. Silence, and the coolness of seawater, then the pull of gentle hands drawing him down into the depths.

  Chapter 32

  Into the Depths

  The screech of tortured wood and stone filled the sea, and Tailwalker looked up reflexively. He caught a brief glimpse of one of the landwalker ships wedged into Akrotia’s hull before the water clouded with debris.

  Holy Odea, he thought. The cable suddenly slacked in his hands as Akrotia’s rotation slowed. Then a new sound reached him; the roar of the sea rushing into the city. *The landwalkers have done it!* he signed to the awestruck mer around him. *They rammed one of their ships right down Akrotia’s throat! Hear the water rushing in? Akrotia is sinking!*

  The entire school fluttered their fins in excitement, flipping their tails and darting in tight circles. Debris from above floated down past them. They looked frantically for injured sailors, but there were none. In the distance, Tailwalker could see Broadtail’s school pulling landwalkers to safety, but it seemed that there were none on the ship when it hit. At least, none who escaped. Tailwalker waved his arms to gain his school’s attention.

  *Come, we must help the seamage now. Pull down on the cables!*

  The school grabbed the ironweed cables and flipped their tails, this time pulling the edge of the damaged city down, increasing its list and inviting even more water to pour into the breach.

  ≈

  Pain and panic gripped Edan in a mind-paralyzing embrace as the sea surged in. The cold water doused both his fire and his anger. He could feel it surging through his corridors, sloshing and filling chamber after chamber. He had to stop it or he would sink!

  He slammed closed all of his inner doors. Everywhere the water touched, steam billowed, hissing as it escaped through the air ducts. He considered boiling off the water, but there was too much; trying to boil it all away would only sap his strength, and he needed every bit he had to get to safety, to get away from these suicidal warships and the murderous seamage. He felt the anger and the fear both struggling to overwhelm him, but he forced them down. If he lost control now, he would die. He had to get to land!

  Yes, he would run himself aground; then they could not sink him. He would be safe.

  Edan called the winds and pushed himself toward the distant shore. The side where the ship had struck him dipped lower in the water, but he had closed off that section. The water already inside his hull dragged him down, but not so much that it could sink him.

  Another impact rocked him from below, where the seamage continued to pound at him. A stab of pain, and he felt an arch break away. She was maiming him, chipping away at his underwater structures, but she could not break through his hull. Another lancing pain, huge this time, and he felt an arch rip away from his underside.

  He felt that side of his hull lift, and his spirits rose with the added buoyancy—until he felt chill water climb over his seawalls near the breach. An entirely new panic seized him. He understood now what they were doing. They were trying to flip him over.

  ≈

  Cynthia
gathered her power once again, but she was so weary, it felt as if the sea barely heard her call. She pleaded, and sent another spear of pressure lancing out; more stonework fell into the depths. Then, in the distance, she felt the crash of wood against stone. Another ship had fallen to Akrotia. She shook her head, trying to clear the haze of fatigue. Two ships lost now; their plan was failing. She closed her eyes in grief for the sailors who died with their ships. When she opened them again, she found herself out of place. Akrotia had stopped its rotation.

  Shelly swam off to the side, her flashing colors and fluttering fins evidence of her excitement. She, too, had noticed the change. Renewed energy swept over Cynthia as she heard the far-off clatter of closing doors and the rumble of inrushing water. She chose another target, a convoluted arch, and drew up her power. Hammering at the structure as hard as she could, she sent great pieces of stone shattering free to plummet into the abyss.

  Akrotia began to list significantly.

  More, she thought, as she searched for another piece of stonework she could break away. Though she had pretty much flattened this region of the hull’s underside, at the center was a huge aperture surrounded by spires and towers like an immense anemone with tentacles of stone. The Mouth, the elves had called it, an orifice for circulating water through dozens of smaller channels throughout the structure. Cynthia reached her senses into the Mouth, and followed along the ever-constricting passages. This would work nicely…if she had the energy to pull it off.

  Warily, she positioned herself directly beneath the opening, venturing as close as she dared before the hot water beat her back. Cynthia tried to clear her mind and focus her power.

  Do it now, she thought, bracing her nerves.

  A silver streak shot through the water toward her, shattering her concentration. It was Chaser. He flipped several times, then approached.

  *Seamage Flaxal Brelak, the hull has been breached widely!* He flipped again, his fins fluttering. *A landwalker ship flew straight into the city’s side, damaging it badly. Is this not wonderful news!*

  *It is!* she signed, her hope soaring. *But you and Shelly must move away now. I am going to try to break off a large piece of stone, and if Akrotia flips, you may be caught.*

  *What about you, Seamage?* he signed, his colors mottled with worry.

  *I’ll be fine, Chaser. Go sign to Tailwalker; the school must release the cables if the city capsizes.*

  *Yes, Seamage.* Chaser flipped his tail and dashed off, Shelly right on his flukes.

  Now, Cynthia thought, centering her power and feeling the maze of tunnels branching off of the central channel. She chose one of the tunnels, focused her power into a tight spear of pressure, and pushed. The sea surged through the Mouth and into the smaller channels. She increased the flow, straining to push the water through the small passages. Maintaining the pressure, she searched for the channel’s outflow, then pushed water up that passage, too. Deep within the structure, she felt the two forces meet. Something had to give. Rock fractured like a log split by a steel wedge, and an immense slab of stone peeled away from Akrotia’s hull.

  Right over Cynthia’s head.

  Shaking with exhaustion, she called the ocean to whisk her out of the way as hundreds of tons of shattered stone plunged into the depths. Above her, Akrotia listed farther…farther… When it finally stabilized, its hull sloped about thirty degrees. It was good, but not good enough.

  Akrotia was still afloat. And it had started to move again…toward shore.

  ≈

  “Come about, Lieutenant!” Commodore Henkle ordered as Akrotia’s winds died. He focused his spyglass on Cape Storm’s burning hulk wedged deep into the city’s hull breach. “Maneuver to assist those boats. Boarding nets over the side.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Resolute turned and hove to, still dangerously close to Akrotia. Damn it, Donnely! he thought. Why didn’t you bear off? But he also realized what the foolhardy stunt had accomplished. Water rushed into the hugely expanded breach, even as the frigate burned.

  “Commodore! We’re being boarded!”

  “What the hells…” Henkle turned, reaching for his sword by reflex. Sodden sailors climbed over the rail where they had rigged the boarding nets, but the boats from Cape Storm were still minutes away. His crew moved to help them, and he recognized one officer. “Lieutenant Parks! What in the Nine Hells is going on?”

  “It was the merfolk, sir!” the young man said, coughing and sputtering between words. “They saved us!”

  “The merfolk?” Henkle asked, but as he moved to the railing and looked down, he saw it was true. Silvery shapes were pulling men up from the depths and depositing them within reach of the boarding nets. Hundreds of men clambered aboard, some of them with burned clothes, but few with actual injuries. “By the Nine Hells!”

  “Yes, sir!” Parks peered at his burning ship and his expression sobered. “Did…did anyone see the captain?”

  There was a round of negative responses, then a few of the marines and sailors who had been manning the sweeps said they’d seen him helping men escape from belowdecks. Nobody, however, could say if Captain Donnely had escaped the burning ship.

  The launches from Cape Storm finally arrived, and even more men piled aboard. Then a ragged cheer rose as a sodden figure flopped over the rail. A soaked but grinning Captain Donnely was hoisted aboard by more eager hands than could hope to aid him.

  “Permission to come aboard, Commodore,” the cocky captain said with a proper salute, though he wore no hat, no jacket, and his shirt was burned through in several places.

  “Granted!” Henkle glared, and opened his mouth to deliver a firm rebuke, when the ship shook wildly.

  Akrotia shuddered, then began to tilt. Cape Storm’s burning wreckage was dragged under as the entire near shore dipped below the surface. Cheers rang out, but Henkle had a more pragmatic response to the spectacle.

  “Make all sail and flank speed on the sweeps! Get us the hells out of here, Lieutenant! I don’t want to be anywhere near if that bloody thing capsizes!”

  Sails soared and cracked, and the sweeps thrashed the water as the ship turned its stern to the city and made speed away. All eyes not otherwise occupied stared aft as the vast shape of Akrotia continued to tilt, then stopped.

  “What now, Commodore?” Donnely asked, joining Henkle on his quarterdeck.

  “Now, Captain, we regroup with Admiral Joslan and await his orders.” He turned to Donnely with a wry smile. “You remember what orders are, don’t you, Captain, even if you don’t know how to follow them?”

  ≈

  Damn! Cynthia cursed. She was beyond exhaustion now, at the end of her string. She only had one more attack in her before she would have to rest. She felt the mer still pulling down on the cables, fighting to drag the flooded side of the city down. The ships were scattered now, but she assumed that they would form up for another attack, though their target was now deep underwater. They would have to open a new breach to do any good.

  And Akrotia was moving toward shore.

  She had to act now, but how? Breaking away one or two more spires wouldn’t cause the city to capsize. She needed to either lift the elevated end or push down on the sunken portion, and of those two actions, one was much easier.

  Moving as swiftly as she could in her exhaustion, she surged along the underside of the city to where the mer were pulling on their ironweed cables. She located Tailwalker and signed her plan to him. He nodded, and sent his school scattering to safety. She reached out her senses and felt for the ships. Good! They were a safe distance away.

  It was time.

  Cynthia called once more for the sea to aid her. She felt for its natural rhythm and intensified it, pushing and pulling deftly until the swells began to pile atop one another. Her energy was waning quickly; if this last effort didn
’t succeed, Akrotia would have time to run itself aground before she could muster the strength for another try.

  Pushing and pulling, urging and pleading, her head throbbed with the strain. Using the ocean’s natural power to amplify the swells, she pushed until a mountain of water rose above her. Cynthia felt dizzy with her efforts, but the wave grew until it was a hundred feet high and as broad as Akrotia itself. She held it for a moment while she assessed Akrotia’s movement, then pushed with every ounce of energy left.

  The towering wave crashed down onto the submerged edge of the floating city, shoving it even deeper. She heard a crack, then another; bulkheads and hatches were giving way under the pressure. Cynthia pushed herself to the surface and watched as Akrotia listed farther…forty degrees…forty five…fifty. It hung there for a moment, then, ever so slowly, the weight of the upper structures overbalanced the lower, and the great city of Akrotia capsized.

  ≈

  This was not good.

  The burning city had been a virtual heaven for Flicker, but now it was shaking all around, and the floor was tilting. The sounds of cracking stone and slamming doors worried her, too. If the burning city sank, she would drown.

  Flicker flew to the crystal house as she had a thousand times before, and peered through at her imprisoned master. Edan stood there encased in a lattice of crystal shards, along with the stupid crazy girl. He hadn’t moved an inch, and probably wouldn’t ever again. She’d tried a hundred times to free him, but nothing she did even scratched that crystalline structure. She loved Edan and didn’t want to leave him, but she feared drowning even more. Besides, she couldn’t love anyone ever again if she drowned.