by J M D Reid
In some spots across the sky, great rifts had opened in the Storm, sucking in anything that drifted too close. Great, streaking white clouds marked the boundary, forever plummeting down into the Storm. The wall of the Grion Rift churned to the west. It reached up to the roof of the heavens.
Nrein chose to base his ships out of a large skylet floating just above the Storm Below on the eastern side of the Grion Rift. No ships challenged the reefs that surrounded a sky rift or even dared risk sailing within sight for fear of being sucked into one. It wasn’t just the dangerous winds feared by the superstitious sky dwellers, but riftwraiths, lightning reavers, and blue perils believed to haunt the edges. They even thought the “demonic” Stormriders lurked in them, plotting where to send their next Cyclone.
Nrein laughed at that. Stormriders were merely men, not demons. Hestril’s stories of his people agreed on that. Just men chained to the Cyclone’s Eye and hurtling themselves at the skylands in futile rage. Agerz, with the old crone’s sage words, broke those chains and seized the eastern skylands from those nations weakened by the ancient Dawn Empire’s fall into the Storm. The Sons of Agerz spread, carving their own realm in the Skies Above, abandoning their kin to eek out their miserable existence below.
Despite the near-hurricane strength winds howling towards the rift, the air around the Iron Horse didn’t stir at all. Not even a breeze touched Nrein. The captive Windwarden protected the ship from the turbulence of the suck zone. Bits of the flotsam, carried towards the rent, hit the calm around his ship and drifted down like brown snow.
“Cap’n, scouts returning,” Tsossar reported. The grizzled man rubbed at his one good eye.
Nrein drew his spyglass, peering to the south to see Methen riding his horse across the sky. He galloped around a rocky reef the size of a large barn. Methen numbered among his best scouts. He rode low, using the boulder as cover.
“Ready the crew,” Nrein growled. The tingling thrill of impending violence animated his limbs, fingers twitching. Glorious battle approached. Blood would spray through the open sky, misty crimson drifting towards the hungry rift.
Methen galloped his horse at the ship. Sparks flared as his steed’s hooves drummed on open air. He cantered his horse onto the deck and rained up before Nrein, his crippled leg facing the pirate captain. The gnarled mess bent wrong, his foot twisted too far in. A Zzuki’s club had shattered his leg last year and left him hobbling for life. But that didn’t matter once he was a horse with his bow in hand.
“Report!” Nrein growled.
“The Bravado is workin’ their way north just past the tip of the rift. They’re comin’ up the central channel like you figured, Cap’n.”
“Scouts?”
A vicious grin spread across Methen’s bearded face. “The minnows are too scared to let fly them winged horses they gots. ‘Fraid the rift will pluck their feathers.”
“Autonomy naval doctrine.” Nrein smiled before quoting: “‘The danger of a skyrift’s suck zone presents too great a risk for scouts to fly within ten leagues. Ships operating in close proximity to a rift are to use extreme caution.’”
Tsossar snorted. “They’re sailing right where you predicted, Cap’n.”
Nrein nodded, glad he’d correctly deduced their actions. The Autonomy trained its officers and sailors well, but they all learned to think the same, to follow the established doctrine. That was fine when fighting the Vaarckthians, who were even more rigid in their naval traditions than the Vionese, but Nrein knew their weaknesses. The Bravado flew blind. While a frigate was a match for anyone one of Nrein’s corvettes, he had three of them and the element of surprise.
Nrein had no idea how the Bravado’s captain had struck upon the idea of searching along the Grion Rift for the pirates. The pirates raided in Thugri Sound, avoiding the crews who chose the longer, and safer, route of sailing south down Grion Rift then along the bottom of the Fringe.
Someone must have spotted us sailing this way.
“Methen, you’re our eyes,” Nrein barked.
“Cap’n,” nodded the mounted scout. He spurred his horse. With a neigh, the beast galloped up into the skies like it raced on an invisible ramp.
“Unleash the raiders,” Nrein ordered.
Tsossar shouted his commands as Nrein stood on the stern deck, hands clasped behind his back, back straight, not showing any of the nerves churning his stomach. He was the captain, the brutal and fearless leader of the most vicious band of pirates to reave the skies: the Bluefin Raiders. The ship shook as the stern lowered, unveiling the menagerie to the open skies. The raiders, Skydancers all, galloped forth and circled around the ship. Half had large, iron greatswords strapped on their backs while the other half held recurve horsebows made of yew. More of his pirates crowded the railing with bows and crossbows while the press-ganged Vionese sailors unlimbered the three ballistae.
The tension grew in Nrein’s breast as he watched Methen. The anticipation squeezed harder and harder at his heart, trying to crush his life beneath. His heart pounded strong, forged of molten iron. He waited for the signal and hoped Konch Sevenfingers, captaining the Shark’s Maw, and Banch, on the Hammer, lay ready.
Eyes closed, he pictured the Bravado, a two-masted ship like his Iron Horse, but with a wider beam. The hull was constructed of pale, yellow-white cedar, the sails billowing white. Per naval doctrine, red-coated marines and hulking Zzuk auxiliaries would prowl the deck while the ship sailed blind through the rift. The frigate’s four ballistae would be manned and limbered. She would creep through the channel between the floating chunks of rocks, blue-coated scouts in the rigging searching for any hint of danger.
“Crew is ready, Cap’n,” reported Tsossar. “We’ll show these minnows how real men fight.”
“I want no quarter given!” Nrein bellowed. “These Autonomy guppies think they’re the sharks comin’ to hunt us! Let’s show ‘em how real sharks feast!”
A hungry, grating laugh echoed across his decks.
“They have no idea who they’re dealing with. We’re the Bluefin Raiders! We’re the hungriest, meanest, and most vicious sharks of the skies!”
“SHARKS!”
“No pathetic sword made of bone can stand to our iron! We will murder the crew and take the ship as a prize!”
“CAP’N NREIN!”
“SHARKS!”
His reavers’ boisterous cheers intoxicated him almost as much as battle. He wrenched free his greatsword, the metal gleaming in the sun as he thrust it up high. “We are the descendants of Agerz! We are the terror of the skies!”
A great bellowing roar went up from the pirates. Frenzy burned in their amber and brown eyes. They pulled at their bristling, black beards or tugged at braided hair while brandishing their own greatswords or bone blades. Fire danced on Lroff’s hands, burning in reds, blues, greens, purples, and oranges.
The Vionese sailors cowered and whimpered. They had no hope their Navy would save them.
“Methen’s signaling,” Tsossar grunted.
Nrein glanced to his right. The crippled scout waved a red scrap of cloth. A grin split Nrein’s bearded face, the scar on his cheek and nose twisting. “Lroff, attack!”
“Aye, aye!” The Agerzak Firedrinker gathered a ball of green on his hand then hurled it into the air. Brilliant emerald bathed the deck. His raiders circling the ship howled their battle cry as they spurred their horses into a gallop. They raced across the skies, fire dancing about their mounts’ hooves.
“Ahead full!” bellowed Wierf, the Iron Horse’s captain, his cruel face peering at the fearful Chion. The enslaved Windwarden hunched her shoulders as if she could shrink away from the slave collar fitted tight about her neck. A sudden wind gusted from the back of the ship. The sails snapped and billowed.
The Iron Horse charged after the raiders.
Wierf barked orders at his helmsmen. The ship turned around the skylet and swept into the channel. The Bravado hung in the sky right in the heart of his trap. Nrein sheathed his greatsword and took
up his spyglass. The frigate leaped into view. Its sailors raced about the deck as marines took to the gunwales, aiming their thunderbusses at his raiders. He scanned the skies.
Smiled.
The Shark’s Maw’s raiders poured out around a large reef to the east and the Hammer’s to the south. The Iron Horse’s forces attacked from the northeast, surrounding the Autonomy ship.
“Perfect.” He glanced at Wierf. “Cut us across their bow!”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Wierf nodded, then bellowed his orders at the crew.
A raider slumped in his saddle, his horse veering to the left. Nrein didn’t see the crossbow bolt that killed him. Must be a pressure gun. The scouts in the rigging picked off another raider. But they closed fast. The lead pirates drew back their horsebows. Arrows streaked towards the Bravado from three sides, falling amid the crew. Sailors dropped.
Blood spilled.
The thrill pumped molten iron through Nrein’s veins. He could almost smell the tang of spilled life seasoning the air as sailors toppled from the rigging. His hands itched to be out there, riding with the raiders, boarding the Bravado and putting the skyers to death.
Lightning arced from the enemy frigate. Thunder cracked, killing another of his raiders. More bolts sparked white-hot. Horses raced away in mad panic as their riders fell dead. The survivors spread out and circled the Bravado. The archers fired arrows at the marines manning the gunwale. Some died, others hunkering down behind cover.
Men didn’t cower. They charged at the enemy without fear.
“Ballistae! Fire!” Wierf bellowed.
The two bow ballistae cracked as the wooden limbs snapped forward, hurtling the clay shot through the skies at the Bravado. The missiles streaked over the heads of his raiders. With a loud clap, they detonated near the ship’s foremast, spraying shrapnel across the deck. Sharp pebbles tore through the air. A scout tumbled dead from the rigging, his body half-torn apart by the explosion. Sailors rained onto the deck.
The Bravado responded with her own ballistae. The Iron Horse rocked beneath Nrein’s feet as a clay shot detonated above the bow. Acrid smoke drifted across the deck. Men screamed. He smelled coppery life as three of his pirates flopped on the deck like stuck hogs.
The Shark’s Maw and the Hammer closed in on the Bravado behind their raiders, their bow ballistae hurtling shots. Explosions raked the enemy ship. The lightning stopped arcing as the marines cowered. Death tore through the air.
“Keep firing!” Wierf bellowed before another detonation thundered against the Iron Horse. Shrapnel raked across the deck. “You keep those ballistae firing, or I’ll launch you into the next volley!”
Nrein studied the Bravado through his looking glass. Sailors and marines lay sprawled on the deck, the white-yellow wood smeared red. The rigging hung in tatters, sails torn and ropes snapped. The Bravado turned towards the Shark’s Maw. Naval doctrine dictated to close with the enemy. Both of its bow ballistae fired at the Shark’s Maw, black-red explosions ripping into the pirate ship while the Bravado’s stern ballistae spat death at the Iron Horse.
“Lroff!” Nrein barked. “Raiders!”
Blue fire exploded above.
“Cease fire!” Wierf bellowed.
The raiders circling the Bravado wheeled their horses about and pounded towards the deck. The Bravado’s defenders still cowered, expecting more explosions. A few of the remaining marines and sailors peered over the gunwale. White-blue lightning arced and ripped through the charging boarders, another two greatswords forever lost, plummeting into the Storm Below with their sizzling owners.
The raiders hurtled toward the limping Bravado and leapt from the backs of their horses. They crashed down onto the decks, their heavy metal swords flashing. They hacked skyers’ bodies into bloody ruin. Marines drew their bone sabres and charged.
“We got ‘em,” Tsossar grinned, clapping his shoulder. “They’re no match for the boys.”
Nrein’s boarders, whittled down to a half-dozen, were outnumbered, but fearless. They screamed berserk howls as they hacked with greatswords. The balance shifted, the skyers dying by the scores, and then the Zzuk Auxiliaries crashed into his pirates. With massive clubs, the lizardmen crushed bodies.
Nrein’s raiders died.
His fist clenched. His will urged the Iron Horse to sail faster, to close the gap. The Bravado loomed closer and closer. The broken body of a raider slammed into the gunwale and pitched over it. The battering Zzuki raised his club to kill again. A pirate lunged forward, slamming his greatsword into blue-scaled hide.
One Zzuki toppled, but others still fought. Still killed. Nrein’s reavers needed reinforcements. Needed him. His hand squeezed tight about his blade’s leather-wrapped hilt. He felt every thundering beat of his heart. If the Zzuki secured the deck before he arrived . . . if they held . . .
The Iron Horse came alongside the Bravado.
“Grapples!” Nrein roared.
Metal clashed and rang from the Autonomy frigate. Men shouted as they battled, filling the air with their final screams as flashing swords hacked them down. Pirates on the Iron Horse threw bone grapples, attached to sturdy cords, at the Bravado, hooking its gunwale.
Nrein leaped down to the well deck as the grapplers hauled the two ships together. The pirate captain would be the first across, leading his reavers into the fray to slay those brutes. Three still lived. He reached the gunwale, his men bristling around him. They were eager to flood onto the enemy ship.
Ten ropes separated the two ships.
He planted his boot on the gunwale.
Five ropes.
“Let’s show these guppies how real men fight!” he bellowed.
Two ropes.
Nrein leaped across open sky, his men roaring behind him. For a heartbeat, the Storm boiled beneath him. He howled his fury; death had come to feast on skyer’s gristle. He crashed onto the Bravado’s deck. His boots slid on the blood-slicked wood. He cursed as he landed on his backside. Heat leaped to heal the throbbing bruise. He held it back.
A man didn’t need fire to sustain him. To knit his flesh like a woman mending a torn slip.
“Rusted Iron!” he snarled as struggled to get his legs out from beneath him. Sticky blood coated his left hand as he pushed himself up. More soaked through his clothing.
A shadow fell upon him.
A hulking Zzuk, with scales of vibrant blue, raised its tree-trunk-sized club over its head. Nrein rolled to his right. Air whooshed. Wood splintered. The deck groaned and shook beneath the strength of the Zzuki’s blow.
“Why you rollin’, little bug?” hissed the Zzuk in Vionese. “Let Shzaz nsk Wugrez step on you.”
A great, scaly foot caught Nrein in the belly, throwing him like a kelp tumbling across a skyland. He crashed into the legs of a sailor and a raider dueling, both falling on top of the pirate captain. The hulking lizardman stomped across the deck in pursuit, casually braining one of Nrein’s pirates.
“Get off me!” growled Nrein, shoving the sailor to the side as he fought to gain his feet.
His pounding blood animated him with blazing rapture. This is what Nrein craved. The press where blade met blade, where strength, skill, and lucked collided. Pitting his prowess against his opponent beneath open skies, no walls around him, no darkness crushing in on him.
The Zzuki hissed as he advanced, forked tongue flicking out before him. Nrein stood swinging his greatsword in a two-handed overhead attack. He put all his strength into the blow, bellowing like an enraged boar.
This is what a man should do. Fight! Crush his enemies. Risk everything for the prize!
The larger Zzuki caught Nrein’s blow with its thick club. Splinters flew as the greatsword bit deep into the truncheon, almost getting bound in the wood. Nrein jerked back and yanked his blade free. The Zzuki’s counter blow came fast. Nrein swept his sword around, barely parrying in time. A dull thwack echoed. The force of the Zzuki’s mighty blow shivered up Nrein’s blade. Pain wrenched his shoulder socket as he st
umbled back, right arm dropping useless.
Nrein knew that burning agony. Parrying the lizardman’s attack had dislocated his shoulder. Nrein grunted through clenched teeth. Sweat burst across his forehead. He clutched his heavy weapon in his left hand, the blade dipping. The Zzuki’s reptilian eyes stirred. The pirate backed up, throwing a quick glance behind him. The stern deck rose like a wall. He didn’t have far to retreat.
“Did the little bug break?” A sibilant laugh, dry like leaves rubbing together, hissed from the Zzuki.
Nrein’s shoulder throbbed, pulsing with agony. The hulk advanced. Death came for Nrein. He didn’t want to die. He grimaced, hating his weakness, and cheated. He drew on his unmanly power: Fleshknitting.
His ma’s words echoed through the door: “A man doesn’t snivel, Kutsig.”
Pain drowned that memory.
The fires gathered in his dislocated joint and repaired the damage. Ruptured tendons knitted together. Bones ground against bone as his arm popped back into its socket. The pain faded. He flexed the fingers of his right hand. The Zzuki lumbered closer, greatclub prepared to crush Nrein’s head like a ripe melon. Exhilaration flooded the pirate.
He stood on the precipice of life and death.
The Zzuki swung.
With Nrein’s arm healed, he grasped his sword in both hands and lunged beneath the overhead blow. It was a desperate toss. The greatsword lanced point-first at the hulking Zzuki’s chest. Nrein felt the club above him, descending to crush his life. He had to be faster. His blade lanced into the lizardman. The impact jarred up his arms as his weapon sank through the scaly hide and iron-hard ribcage, destroying the brute’s heart. As the lizardman died, Nrein twisted to the side to avoid the club. It hurtled past his head and slammed into the decking.
The Zzuki followed a heartbeat later.
Grinning, Nrein kicked the dead brute over and ripped his bloody sword from its chest. He inhaled deeply. Savored the coppery scent of his victory. Triumph pulsing through his veins, he surveyed the deck. More of his pirates flooded onto the ship from the Hammer and grappled to the Bravado’s port side, slaughtering the surrendering Vionese, hacking down the last lizardmen.
