Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows

by Ree Soesbee

  The feeling on deck wasn’t one of celebration or even tense battle readiness. Silently, the Havoc sailed between the high cliffs that once stood guard over the city’s harbor. They were half as tall now, mere circles of stone peering over the high line of the sea. Around them, the remains of waterlogged masts jutted up through the waves. Cobiah peered over the side of the Havoc, staring down into the water. Silt and earth swirled around the wreckage of houses, shipyards, and even cobbledstoned roads. There was nothing left of the white towers that had ringed the central keep or of the lion statue that stood guard over the city walls. There was nothing left of the home he’d known, the city where he’d been raised. Everything was drowned, buried in the massive surge of water.

  No one had survived.

  So many dead. And why? Where had the wave come from? What magic had overturned the sea? Had the nature goddess Melandru struck out in wrath, or had some darker force cast a horrible spell? Stories claimed that the entire kingdom of Orr had been destroyed by such a spell, cast by an ancient vizier. Cobiah remembered the land he’d seen beyond the great wave. Among those strange mountains and the wide black plain, he’d seen buildings. Tall ones, with spires like Malchor’s Fingers—but far more elaborate and delicate than those jutting stones. Could it have been Orr itself, risen from below the ocean’s depths? The fabled city of Arah? Was such a thing even possible?

  Was King Baede alive? Had the royal family escaped the devastation? Who ruled Kryta, and where had they gone now that Lion’s Arch was destroyed? Cobiah sank to his knees, clinging to the Havoc’s railing. “The ships. The city. Thousands of people . . . Gone.” His thoughts briefly flickered to his mother. Even though he’d hated the woman, he wouldn’t have wished this kind of death on her. On anyone. The vastness of the realization sank in with a rush.

  The city was gone. The Indomitable was lost. Everyone he knew was dead.

  Macha put her arm around Cobiah’s shoulders and tugged at him. “Stand up, you idiot,” she hissed with uncharacteristic gentleness. “The charr are watching.” She helped him to his feet, letting Cobiah lean his elbow on her shoulder.

  Centurion Harrow stood at the forecastle rail, scowling out at the water-filled basin that had once been a city. “May your filthy gods take you all,” he snarled under his breath. “Even the shore’s wasted. Silt-packed, slippery, and shifting. There’s no docks, not even a rock to rest our bow on. Nowhere solid enough to disembark for repairs. We can’t land.” Harrow raised his voice to a growl. It echoed over the still water, the sound bouncing from sheer cliff walls. The rest of the crew tensed, clenching their fists and snarling in disappointment.

  Although the charr’s casual blasphemy sent a shudder down Cobiah’s spine, he understood the captain’s anger. Getting to Lion’s Arch had been a treacherous journey. They had plenty of fish but very little fresh water, and the Havoc wouldn’t survive if the waters turned rough. Moreover, now the charr had no reason to keep Cobiah alive. He could feel them all around, feral with anger and disappointment, looking for someone on whom to visit their wrath. “We have to sail for Port Stalwart,” Cobiah said quickly. “Your plan still works, Centurion. If Lion’s Arch is flooded, then Stalwart’s overflowing as well. That means the storm’s deepened their bay enough for us to make harbor. The Havoc can sail into their bay.” Cobiah tried to keep his voice steady. By now, he knew the charr well enough to realize what they’d do if they heard weakness.

  The centurion’s eyebrow lifted. He turned and fixed an unblinking stare on the human. “A fair point, mouse,” Harrow conceded at last. “But what if the wave’s destroyed Stalwart as well?” A skeptical rumble thundered through the crew.

  “Stalwart’s on high ground. That’s why their harbor’s shallow. The town’ll be there.” The centurion still looked dubious, and Cobiah repeated firmly, “It’ll be there.”

  With a bored noise, Macha yawned. “What the human’s not telling you, Centurion, is that the nations of Orr and Kryta were at war when Lion’s Arch was built. That’s why they put it behind the natural fortifications of those stone escarpments.

  “Stalwart’s newer, designed generations after the Orrian peninsula was destroyed. Despite its doughty name, Port Stalwart is a vacation town, not a fortress. It’s built to have an oh-so-pretty view.” Macha tugged on her multicolored braids, tightening the leather strap that held the thick coil atop her skull. “Unless the tide rose higher than one would surmise by looking at this soggy rubble, Stalwart’s fine. The human’s right.” When Cobiah and Sykox stared at her, the asura tossed her head and had the gall to look annoyed.

  “How did you know all that?” Cobiah whispered. “I never heard that story.”

  “Yes, well,” Macha sniffed. “Some of us can read.”

  The charr crew muttered, arguing back and forth as they chewed on the information, while their centurion considered. Cobiah looked him in the eye and tried not to let his nerves show. One of the charr in the throng laughed darkly. The captain shot him a snarl.

  Sykox cleared his throat, and the centurion’s glare focused on him. “As I see it, sir, the only other choice is to scuttle the Havoc and swim ashore. If we do that, we’re committed to marching through Kryta, over the Shiverpeaks, and all the way across Ascalon to get back to the Black Citadel. That’s eight weeks’ march, sir. Six, if we’re lucky. Ten, if we have to fight our way through a host of Krytan soldiers coming to see what happened to their capital city.” The centurion didn’t seem convinced, and Sykox added, “Most importantly, we’d lose the prototype engine, and it’ll take years to build again. The tribune said—”

  “I know what the tribune said!” Displeased, the centurion clenched his clawed hands around the deck rail. “The engine’s our priority. I am aware of my orders, Engineer. I don’t need you to remind me.” At the rebuke, Sykox stiffened to attention and stepped back.

  Centurion Harrow considered his options in silence. His eyes flicked over the broken masts sticking out of the water, the rough edges of the muddy sea, and the ruins of the city both above and below the tide. There were plenty of reasons to make shore. The strain of the voyage was beginning to tell on the soldiers, and the tides around Lion’s Arch were difficult to navigate—especially so in the massive overflow of water from the giant wave.

  Cobiah tried to stay calm and let no indication of fear show on his face.

  “We sail for Stalwart,” Centurion Harrow announced. “Sykox, the engineers will need to shovel low to save on coal. We’ll use wind power as best we can until the mastheads give way, and then we’ll limp the last portion—”

  “Centurion!” The bosun in the high crow’s nest blew his signal whistle imperiously, drawing attention to his cries. “Sail ahoy! Sail, sir!” yelled the watch. “A ship to south, sir!”

  All eyes turned toward the mouth of the ruined harbor. Indeed, there among the waterlogged tops of ravaged houses, between the trunks of shattered masts, sailed a narrow brigantine. She was smaller than the Havoc but quick in her turns, with two tall, square-sailed masts festooned with mismatched canvas sails. To her fore, two long jib sails stretched to the end of a long bowsprit, and along her side, one word had been crudely painted: Disenmaedel.

  Cobiah could see that the six cannon ports along the Disenmaedel’s starboard side were already open, the black noses of cannons nudging out from within. Along her upper deck, five small carronades perched over the deck railing. At the brigantine’s quarterdeck, a massive garrison gun had been fixed; turned at any angle, it could destroy an enemy with a single shot. Cobiah stared at it in disbelief, recognizing the weapon. It was a bombard, one of the guns stationed on the wall surrounding Lion’s Arch . . . or it had been, before the city was destroyed. The brigantine’s crew must have prized it from its place on the stone and bolted it to their ship. That gun had the firepower to open a four-foot hole straight through the Havoc and out the other side.

  “What are their colors, Bosun?” said Centurion Harrow.

  “They’re not fly
ing colors, sir. No flag a’tall.”

  Cobiah frowned. “If that ship was Krytan, they’d be flying the king’s flag. I don’t think they’re a chartered ship, not with their sails in that condition.”

  “Pirates.” Harrow reached the same conclusion. “Vultures taking advantage of the damage caused by the storm. Plenty of refuse here for them to pick through.” Cobiah nodded, and the centurion continued. “Doesn’t matter if they’re chartered or not, mouse. They’re human. We’re charr. Our ship is obviously wounded.

  “They’ll attack.” The centurion shook his head knowingly, furry mane settling about his shoulders. “It’s what I would do in their place.” Indeed, the little ship tacked toward them, and Cobiah could hear echoes of the sailors on board. Turning away from them, the centurion started barking out orders to his men.

  “Is the Havoc armed?” Cobiah grabbed Sykox’s shoulder.

  Sykox sighed. “Nah. We were just out to test the engines; we weren’t on a combat mission. She’s set sail with barely anything to speak of.” The engineer rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, his rusty whiskers sticking out at all angles between his claws. “Fifteen carronades, six cannons, and four firemauls.”

  Cobiah blinked. “You call that unarmed?”

  Sykox crossed his arms stubbornly. “You do if you’re a charr.” Seeing Cobiah’s eyes light up, the engineer sighed. “I said we sailed with that. I didn’t say we still had it. The wave messed up the Havoc right bad, and we had to dump the heavy load, or her keel’d have given out long before now. Those cannons are at the bottom of the sea. All we have left are the firemauls.” Seeing Cobiah’s blank stare, Sykox explained, “Firemauls shoot balls of fire, not iron, so while they might set that brig alight, they won’t do much to sink her. They’re slow falling, too—the shot’s made of goose dung and powder instead of weighted metal. The brig’ll dance right out from under ’em.”

  “How many shots do we have?”

  “That’s the other problem.” Sykox fell silent. The wind swept through the charr’s fur in ripples, and Cobiah could hear the human sailors on the other ship yelling as they loaded their guns.

  “Can the firemauls win this battle?”

  “No,” Sykox sighed. “Almost certainly not.”

  “Then we have to find something else.” Cobiah found himself desperately wishing he had a pistol. A sword. Something! He snatched up a belaying pin, willing to chuck it at the brigantine if there was any chance it would help. “We’re done for, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t be so overdramatic, mouse. This ship has all the weapons it needs.” Macha narrowed her eyes. “It has me.”

  “That’s right! You’re a mesmer! I forgot. Hey, does that mean you can blast them?” the charr asked eagerly, his four ears flicking forward with delight.

  Macha snorted. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Can you make a big wind to push them away from us?” Cobiah asked hopefully.

  “Of course not. That’s not how my spells work.”

  “Then what help are you?” Sykox tugged at his horns in frustration.

  Macha tossed her head smugly. “I’m smarter than they are.”

  The first volley from the brigantine fell just short of the Havoc’s bow, splashing huge gouts of water across the deck. The echo of guns roared like thunder over the ruined harbor, an earsplitting bang coupled with the acrid smell of powder smoke. The charr were already in their battle positions, but Cobiah was aware how pitifully few they were, and how poorly armed. If they’d been aboard the proud Indomitable, they would have had a chance—a many-gunned ship of the line against the quick brigantine might have been a good fight, but there was no way the Disenmaedel could bring down a well-prepared galleon.

  Against the Havoc, in her battered shape? Cobiah had little hope they would survive.

  The crew pulled out the firemauls: short-barreled guns that looked like crouching lions, their mouths opened wide and their claws clenched around stiff brass wheels. The charr crew quickly loaded the guns with strange, sticky ammunition that looked for all the world like gooey balls of twine. Cobiah caught the scent of lamp oil and a strange, sickly-sweet tang. The black-furred helmsman roared a command, and Havoc’s fire-mauls boomed in response.

  Four balls of flame exploded into the air. Long fiery tails stretched out behind them like comets as they arched toward the Disenmaedel in long languid curves, drifting almost in slow motion. Cobiah could see what Sykox meant about the brigantine dancing out from under the firemauls’ attack—the balls of flame fell far more slowly than cannonballs and were easier to see, even during the day. As soon as their flight began to curve and the pirates saw where the balls of flame would land, they let their sails swell and darted out from beneath the attack. Each of the four comets splashed into the water, unraveling in great, greasy splotches across the bay. Fire spread across each floating oily mass but no farther, making the patches easy to avoid.

  The wind swept smoke from the firemauls across the ship, clouds of it billowing in dark waves around Cobiah. He leaned out across the railing to keep clear of it. He could see the tide tugging on the oily patches, carrying some of the flame to ignite the thin masts of wreckage that thrust up from below like the skeletal bones of Malchor’s Fingers. The Disenmaedel darted between them and turned her port side toward the Havoc to launch another volley of heavy shot at the Havoc’s hull.

  The ship rolled in the heavy surf as the centurion howled for a turn. “Hard to lee, Fassur!” Harrow’s long tail cracked like a whip as he strode over the deck. The helmsman called his assent and spun the wheel at the rear of the quarterdeck. In a breath, the ship tilted dangerously away from the gale. The rudder beneath the Havoc’s stern shifted to the side, and wind leached out of the high sails.

  Sykox spun on his heel and raced toward the stairs that led below. “The engine!” he declared. “I’ve got to keep her fired, or we’ll stall. We need to head against the wind, or they’ll catch . . .” The last words were lost beneath the increasing whistle of more incoming shot. The sheets and braces of the Havoc’s sails creaked against the mast as they tried to catch the wind once more. Macha and Cobiah grabbed the railing as the Havoc tilted, and were rewarded by huge guffs of water exploding from the sea below as the Disenmaedel’s cannonballs landed only a few feet short of the charr ship’s wooden side.

  “One more like that, and they’ll cave us in!” the helmsman roared, his sharp teeth glinting.

  “Ram them!” Cobiah screamed, stumbling to his feet. He lurched toward the centurion and grabbed the charr’s arm, not caring for his own safety. “Sir! Head toward them! Not away!”

  “What in the mists are you rambling about, mouse?” bellowed the centurion. “Are you mad? Their guns—”

  “I know how those carronades work, sir! We have just a few minutes while they water down the guns and reload. If we charge them now, we can board them!”

  “Board them?” the helmsman choked. “Their crew’s three times the size of ours.”

  “Yeah.” Cobiah gave him a thin smile. “But if I remember the stories right—and if your engineer’s bragging has any substance—a charr’s worth four humans in hand-to-hand combat. You don’t have guns,” Cobiah gasped. “But you do have claws.”

  The centurion paused, whiskers twitching. “It’s a trick. You’re trying to get us closer to that ship so you can bolt and join your kind.”

  “Grenth take me if I do!” Cobiah pointed at the other ship with his belaying pin. “One more man on their side wouldn’t make any difference either way. There’s no time, Captain. Point us at the Disenmaedel and argue with me after!”

  The old charr rubbed his white-furred chin. “We could catch them,” he finally agreed reluctantly. “They’re with the wind, and we have the use of our engine—something they won’t expect. We can catch them.” Convinced, the centurion nodded sharply and turned to roar at his crew. “Turn the ship ’cross the wind, full-bore the engine, and run them down!”

  A cheer went up from
the sailors. “Aye, sir!” Grist, the gray-furred old charr, saluted. “I’ll set ’er bow for the rush!” With a groan of wood and creak of sail, the Havoc turned back toward its enemy. Cobiah watched the humans labor desperately aboard the Disenmaedel. Wadding, shot, and gunpowder were being tossed back and forth as the crew hurried to ready their guns once more.

  “Prepare to board the enemy!” Centurion Harrow snarled. He turned on Cobiah with a fierce red glint in his eyes. “You’ll be at the fore, mouse. And if you waver, you’ll die by my claws before you can draw breath.”

  He strode away, ordering the other charr into boarding positions. Cobiah leapt to the deck railing, trying to gauge whether they would draw alongside the Disenmaedel before her guns were ready to fire again. Every second was an agony.

  “What’s your plan, human?” said a quiet voice at his elbow. “Are you really going to help the charr against your own people?”

  Cobiah glanced down at Macha. “Not you, too.”

  “Humans and charr have been at war for generations. They’ve done you a service saving your life, but it’s been forced labor since you set foot aboard the Havoc.”

  He shook his head. “Even if I was the kind to do such a thing, that brigantine over there’s probably filled with valuables picked from the bones of the city I called home. It’s crewed by scavengers. It attacked us, unprovoked, because they saw that we were wounded and looking for aid.”

  “So?” Macha’s wide mouth tilted into a skeptical smile.

  “When the wave came, it took the Indomitable. It took Lion’s Arch. It took everything I had left, after—” His voice broke, thinking of blue eyes and bouncing yellow curls. Gritting his teeth, he reached down and put his hand around the rag doll at his belt. “I don’t have a home, or a job, or a family. All I have is a ship. This ship.” Cobiah set his feet against the motion of the Havoc tossing in the waves. “This crew’s been good to me, whatever their reasons. That one’s picking clean the bones of everything I ever loved.”