Reavers of the Tempest

by J M D Reid

  Sails unfurled above. The Dauntless groaned. Summoned wind, appearing as streaks of white harnessed by the Windwarden and directed into the ship’s sails, howled to life. Something hissed past the Dauntless and exploded against a nearby building.

  Vel reached up to his ship. You’re leaving me?

  Then a figure loomed over him and seized his outstretched hand. Vel gasped as the figure yanked him to his feet. He stumbled, shaking his head and . . .

  Vel gaped. He stood before Ary.

  The brute yelled something.

  Vel only stood, mouth open, ears humming.

  Ary bent down, grasped Vel’s crossbow, and thrust it into the dazed sailor’s hand. Then the brute pointed at the town. Another explosion lit up the sky behind a dark building. A cracking boom penetrated Vel’s buzzing silence as timbers crashed into rubble.

  Vel understood and gulped as he clenched sweaty hands about the crossbow’s wooden stock. Now the Agerzaks attacked.

  *

  “Cut the ropes and unfurl the sails!” bellowed Captain Dhar from below.

  Chaylene’s headache vanished as cold thrill pumped through her veins. She didn’t have the luxury to be sick. The captain rose from the wreckage of the stern deck, her hand clutching her thigh. The first officer’s body lay scattered amid injured sailors. A great breeze rushed over the ship while Ienchie helped unfurl the sails. Another explosion rocked the Dauntless.

  Be safe, Ary, she thought as the Dauntless lurched forward. The rear ballista fired, its shot bursting on the bow of the pirate ship and illuminating the enemy’s two ballistae. Chaylene sighted through her scope, generated a pressure bullet in her rifle, exhaled.

  Fired.

  She watched the path of her pressure bullet warping the air through her scope. A hot surge of exhilaration went through her as she clipped an enemy engineer manning a ballista. He dropped to the deck. She formed another bullet, searching for a target.

  A shot whizzed past the Dauntless and detonated in the city below.

  She fired again.

  The Dauntless turned as she picked up speed, sweeping out over the city. Chaylene pivoted, tracking the enemy ship through the maneuver and firing her pressure rifle as fast as possible. A pair of enemy shots slammed into the port side hull beneath her. Shrapnel hissed through the rigging, tearing into the sails and thudding into mast and spar.

  “All crossbowmen to the port side!” the captain bellowed from below as she limped around the stern deck. “Fire at will! Let’s show these Theisseg-damned pirates the strength of the Autonomy’s Stormwall!”

  “STORMWALL!” roared the crew.

  “Stormwall!” Chaylene croaked.

  She fired again.

  *

  Another explosion rained down from the sky. The thunderclap buffeted Ary. Heat washed over him. Shrapnel buzzed past, creasing his cheek with stinging pain. Out in the Sound, a pirate ship shelled the Dauntless, their shots going wide and landing amid the buildings near the dock.

  Blood poured down Ary’s cheek, his skin ripped raw. Heat surged into the wound, attacking the pain, driving back the agony. Above, the Dauntless banked. The sails glowed blue for a moment, eclipsing Twiuasra as they billowed in the Windwarden’s breeze. He caught a glimpse of Chaylene’s silhouette in the crow’s nest. He couldn’t worry about his wife now. His skin prickled. He could do nothing for her as the Dauntless abandoned his marines to fight the pirate vessel.

  He marched to the fallen sailor, not caring it was Vel. He hauled his former friend to his feet, scooped up the man’s crossbow, and slammed into his chest, bellowing, “Get to the Storming fence!”

  Vel stood, dazed. Blood trickled out of his ears. He gaped at the fence surrounding the dock, broken by the single entrance, the choke point where the Zzuki waited. Ary clenched his teeth. The explosion or the fall had addled Vel’s mind. Ary pointed again as another explosion ripped through Offnrieth.

  The town would investigate and find his marines on the dock. They had to prepare. He wasn’t losing a single man, not even the slimy dung before him. He shook Vel, trying to batter sense into the dazed man. Vel nodded and stumbled towards the position, gripping his crossbow in his tight hand. Estan raced after, the greatsword still slung over his shoulder. Estan reached the rickety slat fence separating the dock from the town proper first. He knelt and aimed his thunderbuss over it. Vel arrived a heartbeat later. Corporal Huson and Vay took cover on the other side of the Auxiliaries.

  Flames roared behind Ary. Guts and Zeirie had fired the second dock. Ary swallowed. They had one more to go. He glanced down the street leading into the dock and spotted a growing mass of Agerzaks milling a few blocks away. They were pointing at the harbor, shouting. Anger rumbled from the mob. They brandished makeshift clubs made from scrap lumber, chair legs, and slats of barrels.

  Warleader Nskuapz hissed at his two Zzuk warriors. The three spread out, readying to break the swelling tide of Agerzaks as more spilled out of a tavern and surrounding houses. The horde’s cries rose, a frenzy building in them as they yelled in their harsh, barbarous language. Rocks flew from the crowd and pelted the fence.

  Vel ducked.

  Ary studied the mob. They reminded him of a flock of agitated ostriches. The more they roared and shouted, the more they fed their anger, the more dangerous they would become. Ary recognized the same fury lurking in his own breast. It wouldn’t be long before it exploded.

  We’re on our own, Ary thought, his shoulders tightening. Pain flared across his back. He felt every ragged stripe. I need to disperse the Agerzaks before they work up the nerve to attack.

  Ary made his decision. He cupped his hands to his mouth and thundered, “Rally!”

  Guts and Zeirie, running for their final pier, slowed. Ary shouted again and pointed at the fence. At the other end of the docks, Jhech and Messiench dropped their pitch pots and charged towards the fence.

  “We’ll fire the dock later!” Ary growled as Guts and Zeirie reached him. “We’re holding the fence.”

  Guts nodded. Zeirie flashed a tight grin. Ary reached the fence last. He took cover next to Vel and peered over. A rock clipped his shoulder. He grunted, sharp pain jolting through his collarbone followed by fuzzy numbness racing down his arm. Heat flowed immediately to the injury. He let Theisseg’s Blessing work on his body, spreading into his back next as the Agerzaks drew closer.

  “Vel, how many crossbow bolts do you have?” Ary demanded.

  “A quiver,” he answered, touching the leather pouch hanging on his side. “About a dozen.”

  “Make them count.”

  “What’s the plan, Sergeant?” Guts, crouched by Estan, asked before ducking a rock.

  “Messiench, you speak Agerzese?” Ary asked.

  The Agerzak marine, crouched on the other side of the street, nodded. “Yeah, Sergeant.”

  “Order them to disperse, or we’ll open fire.”

  Messiench lifted his head over the fence and bellowed in the harsh language. A great, roaring laugh boomed from the crowd. The Agerzaks at the front brandished their weapons and beat upon their chests. A rhythmic roar grew from them, primal, frantic. It throbbed through the air, a frenetic energy crackling to be unleashed.

  “Ready!” Ary roared, his palms clammy on his thunderbuss.

  “Aim!” He pointed his weapon over the fence. His marines and Vel followed.

  The Zzuki braced themselves, rocks pelting their scaly bulks.

  Ary’s charge gathered in his left hand clutching the ceramic barrel.

  “Fire!”

  Eight bolts of lightning and a single crossbow bolt flashed up the street. Yellow-blue electricity arced into the front rank of chanting Agerzaks. Sparks sizzled. Bodies fell, smoking, to the ground, weapons clattering to the street.

  The Agerzaks’ primal chanting faltered. Silence fell across the street, highlighting the squeak of Vel cranking his crossbow’s windlass. Ary trembled, hoping the mob would disperse. They stared at their dead then at the marines rea
dy to unleash another volley of lightning.

  “Please,” Estan whispered.

  The Agerzaks roared in anger and charged.

  Theisseg damn it! thought Ary before roaring “Fire at will!”

  He discharged lightning.

  *

  The Dauntless swung out over the harbor as she soared towards the pirate ship. The sailors manning the port gunwale with their crossbows ducked as another shot struck the hull of the Dauntless. Fire and shrapnel raced up the side of the ship and slashed through the rigging.

  Chaylene sighted the enemy ship, recognizing its profile from her training. It was a Vaarckthian corvette, painted black instead of the usual gray. Sailors manned the deck. As they closed, Chaylene realized that many were brown-skinned Vionese sailors under guard of the paler Agerzaks.

  Chaylene aimed at a pirate. An explosion rocked the Dauntless; her shot went wide, whizzing past the pirate’s head. The Agerzak dived for cover as she fired again. The Dauntless’s port ballista thunked as it fired. Its shot detonated upon the bow of the pirate ship.

  “Keep firing at the bow!” roared the Bosun from below. “Punch a hole through to her magazine.”

  A queasy writhe rippled across Chaylene’s skin. But there are captured sailors on board!

  “Captain!” Chaylene shouted, abusing her vocal chords. Her words didn’t carry far. She tried to shout again, but a hoarse cough rocked her body. She swayed, her throat growing tight. She struggled to suck in a breath and hacked up phlegm. She spat and it landed dark and bloody on the white-yellow wood of the crow’s nest.

  Chaylene gripped the edge of the crow’s nest, breathing as her throat relaxed. Damn vapors. “Captain!”

  Her voice carried. Captain Dhar looked up.

  Chaylene pointed to the ship. “They’ve got press-ganged sailors! We can’t destroy her!”

  The captain shook her head and flashed a hand signal: “Did not hear.”

  “I’ll go down and tell her,” Ienchie said as she clung to the spar below Chaylene.

  “Thanks,” Chaylene nodded.

  Ienchie worked her slender body across the spar, hugging it as she reached the ropes. Another boom slammed into the Dauntless. Ienchie clung to a rope as the ship rocked. The sailor squeezed her eyes shut and then swung off the spar to descend the rigging to the decking.

  Chaylene had to stop those engines from firing. She aimed at the ballista crew, sighting the brown-skinned man cranking back the windlass. The bow-like arms bent back, readying to launch another volley at her ship.

  She had to fire. She had to send her bullet into his head. It would slow down the reloading.

  She couldn’t.

  She’d sworn to protect her countrymen when she was drafted, to be a Stormwall for more than just her husband. How could she kill this man?

  Another Vionese sailor set the shot into the cradle as her target finished cranking the windlass. He reached for the release leaver to fire the weapon at the Dauntless.

  We’re supposed to protect them! We’re their Stormwall!

  Chaylene fired her pressure rifle.

  As he grabbed the release lever, her bullet struck the poor sailor in the head. The back of his skull blew out in a spray brain and blood. He stood for a moment, then his body collapsed into a slump. Chaylene’s stomach churned.

  I had to. I have to protect the Dauntless.

  The other sailor gasped then went for the release hammer, cringing as an Agerzak pirate loomed over him. Chaylene formed her bullet, aiming without thought. Fired.

  The sailor pulled the release. Chaylene’s bullet caught him in the throat. He fell to the deck, choking on his blood.

  Chaylene trembled as the ballista shots whistled through the air, arching towards the Dauntless. It slammed into the base of the mainmast. The explosion swept across the deck, peppering the crew in shrapnel. Wood splintered and the mast swayed hard to port. Chaylene’s stomach lurched as she seized the crow’s nest.

  Sailors in the rigging screamed with Chaylene as the mast buckled beneath the wind propelling the Dauntless. Wood snapped and cracked. The mast toppled forward and crashed into the foremast.

  The impact threw Chaylene forward from the crow’s nest. She slammed into the foremast’s billowing topsail. Her body rolled as she tumbled down the canvas, the world spinning about her. Chaylene’s scream cut off as her stomach slammed into a jutting spar. Air exploded from her lungs. She groaned, her arms seizing the spar out of instinct, clinging to it. Her aching throat strangled her. She struggled to draw air into her battered lungs. She couldn’t breathe through her swollen esophagus. The world swam dark about her as her grip slipped.

  Below, the Storm churned beneath her swinging feet.

  *

  Vel fired his crossbow into the mass of charging Agerzaks. The weapon twanged. He ducked behind the fence without seeing if he’d hit and cranked the windlass. The crossbow squeaked as the bone gears ground together. Four swift turns bent the arms back and readied it to fire. He drew another bolt from his quiver, rose, and aimed over the fence.

  Vel poured his Wind into the engine in the crossbow, allowing his bolt to fly straight, unhindered by any breeze. It was unnecessary at this close range, but Vel couldn’t think. All he could do was act. The repetitive training at Camp Chubris kept him moving.

  Fire. Duck. Crank. Load. Rise. Aim. Fire.

  The marines discharged their lightning rapidly. The air hummed and crackled, the hair on Vel’s arms standing up. The nauseating smell of burnt air filled his nose. Dead Agerzak fell before the charging storm, their bodies trampled by the men surging behind them.

  We’re going to die. Vel cranked.

  The Agerzaks crashed into the Zzuki.

  The auxiliaries hissed as their clubs fell into the living tempest. Their swings battered three or four Agerzaks to the ground at a time. Blood flew from crushed men, painting red across the blue scales of the lizardmen.

  Vel rose and fired his crossbow, catching a black-haired woman wielding a bone knife in the chest. Her body crashed into the fence. He ducked, cranking hard as the Agerzaks surged forward, howling for his death.

  “Hand-to-hand!” Ary roared as he ripped his metal sabre from its sheath.

  Vel swallowed and huddled behind the fence as the marines thrust their weapons over the slats, ramming into the flesh of charging Agerzaks. Men screamed and gurgled. The fence rocked, buffeting against his shoulder as the attackers slammed into it.

  “Here,” Ary said, and reversed the grip of his sword. “Get on your feet and fight, Sailor!”

  Vel gaped at the proffered weapon. He reached out, his hands shaking as he grasped the leather wrap hilt. “But . . .”

  “You always wanted to be the marine when we played as kids. Now’s your chance.” Ary seized his shoulder. “On your feet and fight!” Ary hauled Vel to his feet.

  Without thinking, Vel turned and thrust his sabre over the fence at a fiercely-bearded face wielding a broken table leg. The blade sank into the attacker’s chest. Blood welled around the weapon. Vel ripped his blade free, his rudimentary sabre fencing during training animating his limbs. The metal weapon felt heavier than the bone sabres upon which he’d practiced. He swung it at the next attacker, and, for a moment, Vel was a child attacking Ary with wooden sticks on the stairs of the ruined watchtower while Chaylene waited to be saved.

  I can save her! Vel let out a roar, his heart thundering in his chest. “I can save her!”

  He hacked and slashed, hammering into the makeshift club wielded by a pale-faced youth. Determination animated Vel’s limbs. He screamed as his blade gouged the blocking chair leg. Then he sheared through it, cutting into the boy’s neck. Blood spurted.

  “Estan, give me that big sword!” Ary bellowed as he thrust his arm into the press. He struck an Agerzak’s chest. Sparks erupted. The discharge sent the burly attacker falling back into the horde, a smoking handprint charred into his shirt.

  “Okay,” Estan shouted on Vel’s other side. H
e unslung the massive greatsword while Vel slashed at the next attacker, who was trampling over the dead and dying to reach the fence. Ary reached around Vel to take the blade. He bellowed as he swung the club-like sword in an overhand arc into the charging Agerzaks.

  Vel blanched. The massive blade hacked through the pirate’s body, cleaving through the shoulder and clavicle, the ribs, and burst out near the sternum. The waist-high fence rattled as Ary leaned out over it, his sword slamming into the paving stones. The unfortunate man fell apart in a spray of blood and bone.

  Vel trembled in awe of Ary’s brute strength. Then courage galvanized him: He’s the pirate, and I’m the marine. I can save her!

  The Agerzaks attacked with a frenzy Vel could feel reverberating through the air. The explosions raining down on their city and the presence of the marines and Gezitziz had them howling. They rushed over their dead, not caring that bodies piled up across the street and before the fence. More and more pressed at them, a mob of a hundred versus the handful of defenders. Roars boomed down the street as men and women spewed their rage.

  Vel recognized that same hatred. He felt it for Ary. He understood their vitriol. Their need to kill. He had to slay the brute. But . . . he also had to survive. The fence groaned, crashing inward beneath the weight of Agerzak bodies piling before it. The marines and Vel hacked at those climbing on the fallen to leap over and kill them. Sparks exploded. Blood rained across Vel’s face. Entrails spilled out, blue and slippery.

  Vel sung. Stabbed. Parried. Fought.

  “Fall back!” Ary bellowed, swinging that deadly, monstrous blade. It cleaved through the Agerzaks like a scythe through the wheat harvest. A head flew, the body falling back into the crowd. “Nskuapz! Rally!”

  “Yes!” hissed the hulking Zzuk warleader. Gore smeared his nearly naked, blue scaled body; piles of broken Humans littered about the brutish lizards. Nskuapz smashed his club into another Agerzak, pulverizing the skull into bloody soup.

  “Go with them, Vel!” Ary shouted. He swept the sword before him, holding the Agerzaks back. “Move!”

  Half the marines split off from the barricade. They raced back twenty ropes before Vel could even act. They turned and knelt, moving like the workings of a clock, smooth, deliberate. They aimed their thunderbusses.