Reavers of the Tempest

by J M D Reid

  “Uhhhh. . .” Vel’s brow furrowed. “Candied fruit, right?”

  “Exactly! And candied fruit needs sugar.”

  Vel nodded, suspicions relaxing. He couldn’t see why Wriavia would lie. “Right. Plenty of sugar grown on the Fringe.”

  “It’s cheaper to get it right from the source. Once I have enough, I’ll be heading home to manufacture sweets and winter with my lovely mate.”

  Vel’s face fell. Wriavia had possessed the courage to free the hen he loved from her abusive relationship with her last husband, poisoning him with the very substance bulging Vel’s pocket. Frustration boiled in the young man.

  “And how goes your courtship of the newly widowed Chaylene?” Wriavia asked.

  “I . . . I haven’t had a chance to . . .” Vel lowered his voice, his shoulders prickling. More than just officers from the Dauntless crowded the common room. Guts and several marines drank at another table. “You know?”

  Wriavia nodded his head. “It’s a hard thing to do. I understand.”

  “It’s not that.” A sudden surge of energy wanted to burst out of him in a frustrated snarl. He smacked his hand a few times on the tabletop before saying, “I don’t have any way to . . . season only his food. I thought working the galley would give me the opportunity, but it’s one big pot for everyone. What if I . . .” He swallowed. “I don’t want to season anyone else’s dinner.”

  “I’m sure the opportunity will come up,” Wriavia said. “If you’re patient.”

  Vel gave a slow nod. He ached to hold Chaylene in his arms tonight. Every day it grew harder to resist her, his desire fraying his patience. Every time she glanced at him, Vel witnessed the passion in her gray eyes.

  I need to manufacture the opportunity . . .

  Wriavia plopped a single red porcelain coin on the table. “Why don’t you find yourself a friendly maid? That always brightened you up.”

  Vel smiled and snatched up the ruby. “Thank you.”

  Wriavia inclined his feathered head. “I will always be your friend.”

  Vel bought himself a whore. With his eyes closed, he could almost believe Chaylene writhed beneath him.

  *

  Isamoa 29th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Sleeping in a real bed and sharing passions with his wife helped to ease the burden weighing down on Ary. When he woke the next morning, he didn’t feel quite so tainted. As he watched Chaylene slumber, he realized she was right. It was foolish to feel cursed and pitied. He was still himself. He just needed to avoid the Dawnspires. It was an easy vow to keep.

  Ary’s stomach rumbled as he rolled out of bed. He stretched his arms over his head, surveying their room. Their new house was larger than the cottage they’d shared at Camp Chubris. It was a proper home with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a common area, and a root cellar.

  “Morning,” Chaylene murmured.

  Ary smiled at her. “You better get up.”

  “Is it almost revelry?” she moaned.

  “I expect to hear the horn sound any moment,” Ary said while pouring water from a plain pitcher into a washbowl. The house had come lightly furnished. He balled up a cloth and sponged himself.

  Chaylene groaned, rolled out of bed, and padded to him. He handed her a cloth so she could wash. They made small talk as they went through their morning ablutions. After, Ary dressed in his uniform, adjusting everything to make his gig line—the buttons of his jacket lining up with his belt buckle and trouser seam—straight. He found it comforting. If his uniform was neat, his life was in order.

  Chaylene didn’t spend nearly as much time dressing, only tucking her shirt into her white britches and blousing her pants into a pair of boots in dire need of polishing. She even left her coat unbuttoned. She strode out of the room as he picked a piece of fuzz off his jacket.

  He found her sitting at their dining table, maps spread out before her. Her temple and cheeks tightened, giving her an intense look as she traced a finger over the chart, lit by the rising sun spilling through the room.

  “You ready?” he asked her.

  “Maybe.” She gave him a tight smile.

  “You’re ready,” he said, nodding.

  Captain Dhar wanted to meet after breakfast to finalize the Dauntless’s patrol path and goals. Chaylene would pitch her recommendations on where to search for the pirates. She had spent much of the voyage working with Velegrin on this chart.

  Chaylene shook her head, lips pursed tight.

  “I’ll fetch breakfast,” Ary said, kissing her on the cheek. “You make sure it’s perfect.”

  “Thank you,” she said and rewarded him with a kiss on the mouth.

  Ary had a jaunt in his step as he headed to the mess hall, boots thudding on the graveled paths. The crew had a free day while the officers and NCOs planned the Dauntless’s patrol, a chance for them to enjoy their liberty before sailing into potential danger. Ary put that out of his mind as he enjoyed the walk in the morning sun. It wasn’t a chore to fetch breakfast, but a little thing he could do to help his wife.

  He once thought of marriage as this nebulous idea of kisses and sharing fires with his wife. But the reality was far, far more than the physical. It was about making concessions, to bending his life about another person’s desires. Sometimes, he had to give, sometimes she would. Friction sparked as they learned about the other, filing down the other’s hard points into something softer and rounder. Giving up some of his autonomy rewarded him with someone to lean on when things grew difficult. Someone he trusted for help, and who trusted him for the same.

  When Ary’s dark moods beset him with stormy clouds, her love could shine through. Maybe not right away, but she would eventually burn through the murk. The least he could do was get her breakfast so she could feel confident when giving her report.

  Ary entered the mess hall. A line of sailors queued up for the civilian workers of the camp to spoon breakfast into wooden bowls. As a sergeant, he didn’t have to wait. He procured two bowls of barley porridge sprinkled with cubes of fresh pineapple; there was no fish in sight.

  “Sergeant,” a sailor said then sniggered as Ary left the meal line.

  Ary’s spine stiffened. Darkness prickled through him. He fixed his eyes on a group of sailors eating at a table. “Yes?”

  The bulbous-nose sailor’s smirk vanished as he withered beneath Ary’s glare. “Nothing, Sergeant,” the squirming man said. “Forgot what I was ‘bout to say.”

  Ary’s charge played across his knuckles. The glint in their eyes mocked him. The rumors of Chaylene’s adultery filled every nook of the ship. His jaw clenched, tired of everyone thinking he wore a set of horns. The anger swelled inside of him.

  He channeled it.

  “The four of you report to the Bosun,” he growled. “If you have the time to laugh, then you’re not busy.”

  “But it’s our free day,” sputtered a sailor named Charlim.

  “It was. I’ll be seeing the Bosun in an hour, so I’ll know if you didn’t report.” He fixed them all with a meaningful glance. “Now move!”

  “Aye, Sergeant,” muttered Charlim, fixing the bulbous-nose sailor a fierce glance. “Thanks, Sharthamen. Next time you want to pretend you have a big root, don’t do it when I’m around.”

  The others muttered at Sharthamen.

  Ary stomped out of the mess hall. He’d talk to the Bosun and get control of these rumors. She put terror into the sailors. They all jumped when they saw her shadow. The woman could intimidate anyone. Ary bet she could have even gotten the Sergeant-Major to hop.

  After breakfast, Ary and Chaylene headed to the Dauntless. As they boarded the ship, the Gallant was putting out to sky to hunt the Bluefin Raiders, their Windwarden guiding her away from the dock with a gentle wind.

  Ary’s steps boomed. Sparks of anger still smoldered in him. “Bosun,” he said to the one-eyed woman crossing the deck towards the door to the captain’s quarters. “Can we talk?”

  Chaylene shot him a curious glance.

&nbs
p; “Later,” he mouthed.

  “What ‘bout?” the Bosun growled as she stopped before him.

  “Did four sailors come see you?”

  A wicked grin spread across her lips, twisting the scar knifing down her cheek. “They were eager to do some work instead of laze ‘bout all day. Got ‘em scrubbing the galley. That’ll keep ‘em busy.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors ‘bout my wife?” Ary asked.

  “Yeah. Ain’t none of my business.”

  “Ain’t the crew’s, neither.”

  She balled her hand into such a tight fist her knuckles popped and cracked. “I can remind them. There’s plenty of hard work that can keep ‘em too busy to gossip.”

  “Thanks.”

  The Bosun spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the deck. “Nothin’ to it. I hate their gossipin’. All they do. And the men are worse than the women. Always babblin’ ‘bout which flower they claimed to pluck.”

  Ary and the Bosun arrived last to the meeting. Chaylene already had her maps spread out on the table, dominating the captain’s quarters. The other officers sat on folding stools with seats of canvas stretched taught between the frames. Captain Dhar glanced at them, nodded, and said not a word. Ary found a seat between Chief Fossein and flushed-faced Hay.

  “When you’re ready, Warrant Officer,” Captain Dhar said.

  “I have identified every town and village, along with every inlet or cove, that could provide sheltered harbor for the Bluefin Raiders,” Chaylene said, pointing at her map of the three southern Agerzak skylands that bordered Thugri Sound. Many spots were circled with black grease. “Most likely is on Dudgress, the closest to the entrance of the Sound.” As she spoke, Ary heard confidence grow in her voice as everyone stared at her, drinking in her words. She stood straighter, the tightness fading in her voice, the stiffness relaxing from her posture. “I have doubts they would even use Lolren given how much farther north it is. Thurfen is a possibility, but reports on their attacks I’ve looked at indicate they operate at the eastern end of the Sound.”

  Captain Dhar nodded.

  “Now, I can’t be as certain about any spots inland. Our maps are not too accurate outside Dudgress’s edges. So it’s possible they are docking deep in the skylands and sallying forth. We’d have to fly over the skylands to search them. That would definitely be seen as provocative with the Kingdom of Estapf.”

  “So?” The Bosun shrugged. “They’re pirating with ships. I’d say that’s an act of war.”

  “I doubt they are lurking deep in a skyland,” Lieutenant-Captain Pthuigsigk said as he rubbed at his ebony cheek. “There are a handful of towns where the Agerzaks have actual docks. Pirates like to take captured ships to them. One of them will be the base.”

  “Offnrieth’s the farthest east,” Chaylene said, pointing at the map. “It’s where I would sail from. I’d at least base scouts there and have them patrolling the entrance on their horses for—”

  “Horses?” Lieutenant-Captain Fethene asked.

  “Wingless pegasi the raiders ride ‘cross the sky,” growled the chief of the boat.

  Chaylene nodded. “If they are patrolling the mouth, their scouts can gallop back to Offnrieth. Then their ships can sally forth and intercept the whaler. If they are using Vaarckthian corvettes, then they can sail almost twice as fast as a whaler with a full cargo of oil.” Chaylene drew a diagonal line on the map. “If they sailed at this bearing, and used onboard scouts, they could easily find ships transiting the Sound.”

  “So you think Offnrieth is the most likely place to start our search?” Captain Dhar asked.

  Chaylene nodded.

  “Any other spots?”

  “It’s possible they’re stationed on a different skyland or just patrolling at random, Captain. But that’s what I’d do.” She swallowed, her lips tight. “I recommend we head to Offnrieth and then search west along Dudgress.”

  “And what do we do when we get there, Warrant Officer?”

  Chaylene’s brow furrowed. “Er, I suppose that would be up to you, Captain.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  Chaylene drew in a breath. Ary leaned forward, wanting to give her support, but he couldn’t undercut her. She needed to show Captain Dhar and the others her own capabilities.

  “If we find one of their pirate ships, I’d attack,” she answered, voice firm. “Destroy it in port.”

  “And if there is no ship at Offnrieth?”

  “I’d burn the docks since they’re only used for pirating. Deny them a use of a port. There isn’t much wood on Dudgress. Their farmers have cleared most of the skyland of trees. Without weather control towers, they have to be more aggressive with their farming tactics. If the pirates are not sailing from there, well, we head west and eliminate other docks used in piracy.”

  Lieutenant-Captain Pthuigsigk whistled “That’s brash.”

  “We need to flush the pirates out one way or the other, sir,” Chaylene answered.

  “What do you think of her plan?” Captain Dhar asked her first officer.

  “It’s brash,” he repeated. “I like it.”

  “And the Kingdom of Estapf?” Lieutenant-Captain Chemy asked. “This could spark a war.”

  “Like the Bosun said, pirating’s an act of war,” Ary pointed out.

  “Our orders are to kill the Bluefin Raiders.” The Captain grinned. Ary had never seen such an eager look on her face. It reminded him of the Sergeant-Major, hungry for blood. “Sergeant Jayne, are your marines up for burning the docks?”

  “Aye, Captain. If resistance is light, it shouldn’t be a problem. I doubt the Agerzaks have anti-ship weapons or are organized enough to react in time if we’re fast.”

  The chief of the boat let out a growling chuckle, stroking his thick, black beard. “Naw, no anti-ship weapons. They’ll have bows, and there’ll be raiders with greatswords. But if we hit ‘em at night, they’ll be all drunk.”

  “If we hover the Dauntless above the harbor,” Ary said, “my marines can rope in, burn the docks, and climb back up. Shouldn’t take more than a quarter hour.”

  The captain nodded. “We’ll cover you from the ship.”

  “We could bombard the taverns,” the Bosun suggested. “Take care of any aggressors before they can strike back.”

  The captain rubbed at her lips. “I’ll think on that. I’m not sure I want to shell a mostly civilian city unless we encounter resistance.”

  The Bosun shrugged.

  “I’d also like to deploy the auxiliaries,” Ary said. “If there’s any resistance, they’ll keep them off my men’s back while we fire the docks.”

  “Agreed.” Captain Dhar straightened. “We’ll fly to a station off Dudgress out of sight of Offnrieth. At night, Warrant Officer Jayne and her scout will fly a reconnaissance. When she returns, we’ll finalize our plans and attack. If the pirates are docked there, we’ll attack their ship from the harbor; if not, we’ll follow Sergeant Jayne’s plan.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isamoa 29th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  The rising sun’s warmth drove back the morning chill as Estan strolled through the docks of Onhur accompanied by the dull ache from his mending ribs. He observed crates of pineapple, barrels of molasses, and sacks of sugar being loaded onto merchant ships from around the skies by shirtless Agerzak men, shoulders tanned a ruddy brown.

  Estan had a free day. He desired to open a dialogue with Ary and Chaylene, but they were ensconced with the other officers and chiefs in Captain Dhar’s quarters. The Dauntless sailed tomorrow at dawn to begin the hunt for the Bluefin Raiders.

  His thoughts swirled around the events of Isthia. Estan knew something had happened. Many of the crew noted Ary and Chaylene’s tension when they’d returned. A few, like Vay, claimed Ary had leaped off the back of her pegasus. To the gossiping crew, it appeared no more than a mundane argument between a married couple.

  Not to Estan. He’d noticed the faint flickering of the Sky Tower, almost like sunligh
t glinting off the surface, while Ary and Chaylene stood at the base. Ary did something to the Spire, but the distance prevented Estan from making any noteworthy observations.

  As he drifted through Onhur, he wracked his brain again for every scrap of information he’d read about Sky Towers. Had anyone recorded one flickering? Scholars had studied them for centuries. None had discovered any way to utilize them, nor to tap into the awesome power, if the theories are correct, they must contain to hold up multiple skylands. Once, Estan calculated the force it would take to hold them aloft. The amount of potential energy stored in the Towers staggered him.

  Estan blinked when he reached the end of the boardwalk. The Storm boiled before him. He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he drank in his surroundings. He stood at the north ends of Onhur’s docks where smaller jetties, for fishermen to use, thrust out from the skyland. Most plied the skies for the day’s catch and left a few crafts, some no bigger than a wagon, floating behind at their moorings. Their tinier engines could be powered by someone possessing a Blessing of Moderate Wind, unlike the Dauntless and other larger ships. A young woman kneeling at the end of an empty jetty, peering down into the Storm, arrested Estan’s gaze. The low-cut nature of her dress, and the way she leaned over the edge, placed her pale and buxom cleavage on display. A tightness grew in Estan’s britches. His breath quickened. He struggled to gather thoughts scattered by the magnificent display.

  Instead, his mind bent to the pleasing shape and curvy roundness of her bosom. As she stared intently down at the Storm, her breathing gave them a gentle sway, her dress cupping them in a soft grip. A dryness filled his mouth. He had often made study of the friendly maids of Shon when they lounged before the streets, searching for customers. A nervousness entered Estan now. His cheeks grew warm. He shouldn’t be staring so intently at the woman, but the way her attributes shifted . . . He rubbed sweaty palms on his blue britches, feeling the thickness of the wool. She kept kneeling there, peering with such . . .

  Estan frowned. Why is she staring so intently at the Storm?

  Most people avoided even glancing down at the chaotic clouds. If they did, they didn’t study them for more than a heartbeat. Many feared attracting a storm wraith or a lightning spirit. But this girl . . .