Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  When Captain Sark received a promotion to commodore, he made three requests; retention of his vessel, the Alvarez … to bring with him career Sailing Master G’Tabb … and to bring with him Lieutenant Hastings. The choice was well made. In Hastings’s case, though not popular or personable, he was an excellent combat commander, ruthless with an adversary, and held fast to The Code.

  In that first year Jha’Ley engaged with his blade on four occasions. The fourth was the result of a long pursuit, climaxing in a heated boarding battle with the Gaither. When the sound of steel faded, the Cortain was short of lieutenants, including their first officer.

  Commander Hastings gave it only a moment’s thought, G’Tabb had made it clear years ago his position was his calling, ever a sailing master he would be, “The ship is my love and my life. Give me a heading and I will bring her true, but I would rather not to hold accountable the souls of men due to combat … unless the scodger is boarding my ship.” After giving their dead proper burial-at-sea, Hastings bluntly informed the now twenty-year-old lad, “You are now lieutenant and acting first officer, Jann Raul Jha’Ley. Come to my cabin for some wine.” It was as simple as that.

  After defeating Uendi, Commodore Sark received a promotion to Rear Admiral. In reorganization of his squad, Sark made Hastings a full captain and Jha’Ley took commission as his first officer. The Cortain was then assigned duty on the Mon’Cique, hunting down any vessel bearing flag of those with hostile intent to Vedoa … and there were currently four such flags.

  For the next two years the Cortain performed above and beyond that which was expected. Jha’Ley frequently found himself in captain’s quarters making talk with the often morose Hastings, sometimes with G’Tabb, sometimes not. Much was learned about the man, his thoughts, his reasons for existence. Although not allowing himself to be likeable, the lieutenant found himself lending sympathy and wishing to be a friend. Hastings did not, however, truly understand the thought. But thoughts of strategy he knew well.

  Of all those aboard, the only man who gave Jha’Ley cause for anger was Flag Lieutenant Na’Jet, fourth in line of command. A tall, dark, exceedingly hairy and slovenly young man, no one could identify how he had come by a commission in Her Majesty’s Navy, except by favor to his wife’s family.

  The man had quit the Naval Academy due to laziness and married his wife when he was still a teen. She was much his senior and her family was tied in rather strongly to the royal religion. It was said he then made a profession in delivering meat pies for a chef. In order for their son-in-law to appear worthy of the family standard, an arrangement was made to gain him position aboard a vessel.

  Hastings himself told Jha’Ley over wine, “Take no heed of Na’Jet. He is a lout to be tolerated until he serves his term. There will be no advancing him aboard my vessel. If we are lucky, he will succumb to his gluttony or fumble his sword and fall upon it.

  “I have inside word, when he leaves us he will be posted to whatever position his wife’s family deems appropriate, wherever her family is assigned to live by the church.” The captain wrinkled his nose in distaste, “As long as he does what the family tells him, he will have a place to lay his head. He has not the balls to attempt anything of his own accord.”

  Since the last departure from home port, Na’Jet appointed himself as a ship’s minister and constantly preached to Jha’Ley the importance of tithes, social bearing and separation from commoners, who he associated as anyone not equal to his own perceived status.

  In the 9th month of 908 Vedoic, the Cortain happened upon a rich quarry, a squad of three sloops of war flying the emblem of Neah. The Cortain was much better armed than these three, but the war craft of Neah was known for fighting well as a team, and their sloops were quick. Rigged with single-masts with a much more shallow draft than a Vedoan frigate, such as the Cortain, these smaller vessels were infinitely more maneuverable.

  Hastings determined they would be expected to turn and run, so he charged full ahead down the middle. The frigate was set with two ballistae each at bow and stern, with many stations on either side of the vessel with heavy crossbows fastened upon swivel points to the gunwales. The bow was rigged with a special spiking spar of solid steel, often referred to as the unicorn.

  The plan seemed to be well conceived, as the adversary’s countermeasure was late in forthcoming. Clearly, they expected Captain Hastings to be running a bluff. As the lead ship attempted to veer sharply to one side, Hastings plowed into her broadside and meant to board her.

  The plan had worked many times before, but on this occasion the tide was against Hastings himself. As a rule, the ramming maneuver resulted in a thrashed enemy vessel, and the aggressor could easily be pushed back by pole. This time, the two vessels were jammed together. Also, by sheer happenstance, a fragment of wood struck Hastings in the head from his stance at the bow of the ship. The fragment itself would not have been enough to put him out of battle, but tripping backward over lines caused him to fall badly upon a man with readied crossbow. The bolt ran him through, making him the first Vedoan casualty of the engagement.

  Lieutenant Jha’Ley straightway took command as the captain was taken below. The engagement was won, but no time was to be lost as the unicorn required separation from the ship, else the enemy craft would bring both down together.

  The remaining vessels made way to a rocky island cluster, it was presumed to regroup and attack anew the coming morning. ‘A bad move, on their part,’ thought Jha’Ley, as the Cortain was most vulnerable at this time. But it was to the frigate’s advantage.

  The lieutenant, himself, gave aid to the unbolting of the unicorn as he dove into the waters with tools to work. Those above only marveled at the duration of the first officer’s ability to stay down so long, and their fear was great for him as the fins of sharks made themselves visible.

  While below, Jha’Ley saw something else, something which appealed to his fancy. Once the vessel was undone and could drift back from the sinking sloop, he gave orders to drop anchor and give refreshment to the men. He, on the other hand, required private time without disturbance.

  In his small quarters, Jha’Ley slipped into a more comfortable adornment of loin cloth, knife and a long strand of rope. With that, he opened his window and slipped back into the sea.

  ___________________________

  Some small time past night’s middle, with a heavy fog all about, Jha’Ley appeared on deck with immediate orders to cast off and ready all men for battle. Beating-to-quarters was not to be sounded, but that was the word to bear. Sound would travel well in this place and he wanted surprise to be fully on their side.

  There was much misgiving in going to battle with the air seemingly against them, even more so the thickness of the fog … it just wasn’t done. But it was in the fog of that night the legend of Jann Raul Jha’Ley, Commander of the Sea, was truly born.

  Na’Jet was chief of the grumbling and grew zealous in his disapproval. With arrogance in his manner and contempt in his tone, he approached the first officer with three of his cronies and made the declaration, “You are born of evil and of unsound decision. My god has ordered me to relieve you of your com---”

  The dao-sword was out of the scabbard and across the throat of the malcontent. All were taken aback at the sudden move, and Na’Jet grasped his throat in astonished disbelief, as Jha’Ley pointed his blade and with a cold voice made his own declaration, “Your god is in your pockets.”

  Then pointing blade at the three, he cast a glance about the crew and inquired loudly, “Did any of you hear a word of the law or sliver of an article? Then I pass war-bound judgment of intent to commit mutiny, according to Vedoan Articles of Naval Conduct, Section 7, Article 7, Line 7 … commonly referred to as the Tri-7 Judgment. Are there any questions?”

  To the staggering Na’Jet he said with cool contempt, “You are naught but a sanctimonious chest thumper. Get off my ship you coward.” With that, he planted boot against chest and pushed him over the rail, into th
e path of swimming predators below.

  Passing glance to the three, now grievously concerned of their own judgment, Jha’Ley directed his voice, “Decide quickly. If you do not wish to join us, then leave this vessel. Otherwise,” he pointed the blade at the blood on deck, “clean this up and report to station.”

  Then to those lingering, those who were looking to him to command, who would be placing their trust in him, a warrior and first officer of the highest order, but untried as a combat commander, he proclaimed, “ I have knowledge of these rocks. I have seen them upon a map of those who have sailed these remote parts. We have the advantage of knowing our position, and I learned my skill at sailing in fog much worse than this.”

  How much assured the men were, he did not know. But the sailing master was there and giving his man an appraising eye.

  As the ship moved in direction of Jha’Ley’s coordinates, he met with his acting second, the ship’s other remaining lieutenant, a fellow named Cynric, and G’Tabb. Looking directly to his longtime friend and teacher he asked, “Do you remember the Presittorn Tacking Maneuver?”

  Memory took form across the sailing master’s face as with an evil grin he replied, “Aye.”

  Quickly, Jha’Ley explained his plan as the lieutenant just looked from man to man as if they were insane. But, he was in.

  The acting commander stood at bow, intently looking toward the water as they ran without a lantern under full sail. Off to starboard, perhaps one hundred twenty rods, they could just barely see the glow of what must be lanterns. Jha’Ley gave the command, “Beat-to-quarters!” The drums were loud, all lanterns lit and shouts were high as with a pleased grin he knew the enemy vessel was in sudden panic. But his first quarry was further out.

  Jha’Ley knew a rope had been made fast to the first vessel’s rudder on an outcropping not five fathoms below. He wanted the second vessel to have sails readied to either flee of give chase, either would be fine for his purpose.

  Bearing down on his target, he came upon them before they could catch the wind. They were moving blind, he knew, in this mist one could cut a hole from … but he knew their exact position.

  ‘Nothing like a night’s swim,’ he thought, ‘and years of comparing sea bottom position with that above wave.’

  The order was not to fire upon deck, but to literally fire their sails using the enemy lanterns as reference points. Not only had Jha’Ley been able to pinpoint positions, but because he did not splash above the water, he could rise quietly up from only rods away and survey the entire vessel, both of them. This second vessel was the command ship, he had surmised, and it was the one he wanted to bring to home port as a prize, that and her captain if possible.

  Several bolts had been rigged to carry wads of oil-soaked cloth, and the ballistae were fitted with splayed prongs to rip and gouge the sails. Upon command, the bow’s twin ballistae were fired at close range, and they found their marks.

  The sloop retaliated, but their aim was poor as they could not see actual targets of men. The Cortain swung about to position for full broadside attack. The holes in the sloop’s sails spilled the wind and fanned the blaze of the fire. Coming full about the Cortain made another pass of the same attack, then made for sea in the direction of their first target.

  As was planned, the first sloop’s crew had found out their rope mooring and cut her free. Jha’Ley came up close enough to make exchange of missile fire, but then turned about and made as if to run with the wind and flee. It was a half-and-half chance in hope the enemy would quicken their spirit and think to pursue. If not, Jha’Ley’s plan would have to be abandoned and move to the next order of assault.

  But the sloop’s captain was game and made pursuit. The words of the pursuer carried in the wind and a crewman who knew the language reported with humor, “They think us wounded, skipper, they mean to have us.”

  Standing at the bow lost in focus, Jha’Ley gave orders for change of heading … then saw what he was looking for. Voice was given as to the position of the sloop as he gave direction for G’Tabb to slow, only enough to bring them in closer.

  The sloop was sixty-four rods aft when he gave the order, “Tack hard starboard!”

  Counting on the estimated response time of the enemy vessel, Jha’Ley held his breath … then the elated cries of his crew let him know the sloop had collided solidly with the jagged rock below. Her hull was thoroughly split and sinking fast as the Cortain came about to investigate.

  “Shall we pull them in, sir?”

  “No, not this day. We have far to return home, not enough food to spare, and the fish are hungry.”

  Once more dousing the lights, they returned slowly upon the remaining vessel. The burning sails could not be saved, but the crew were game. The fog was still thick and the night full, when like a ghost ship the Vedoan Frigate eased up to lash the sloop’s deck.

  Both crews were armed with crossbows and swords, but as the Cortain’s bow drew up alongside, Jha’Ley called out via interpreter, “We can engage once more, but I would not to shed unnecessary blood. Two vessels are done and crew sorely lost. Do you yield?”

  There was a long interval of contemplation, then their captain gave an order apparently to stand down. He stood up to the frigate and faced Jann Jha’Ley, then said in a thick accent, “Auy doh yeld.” The captain inverted his grip on his sword and handed it to the victor. Jha’Ley smiled his famous smile and cordially said, “You keep it captain. We may encounter pirates. But …” he let the moment hold, “… I would implore you to travel in safety aboard my vessel.”

  The captain passed a shrewd eye to him who must be twenty years his junior, then his own smile crossed his battered face, and a congenial one it was. He was fairly caught, and with dignity as well.

  As they set course for Vedoa, Jha’Ley laid careful eyes upon the rocks now showing themselves in the dissipating mist. If he was not mistaken, this was a significant point in the maps Old Uncle once showed him; maps different from the carefully drawn ones of his father. There was a cave entrance down low next to the seafloor, he thought he had seen it.

  ‘One day,’ he mused, ‘one day he would come see what was hidden in there so special.’

  ___________________________

  The voyage home was made without interesting event. Jha’Ley actually enjoyed talks with the captain and found him to be an interesting man. His father had often told him, “Just because one fights on a different side, it doesn’t make one a villain.”

  Captain Louis enjoyed playing the violin, painting and playing with his five children. He was also a chess player and played the acting commander several good games.

  After eight days of sailing, the Cortain secured lines in her home port of Engeas. Louis and his crew were taken as prisoners of war and his vessel impounded. They were found guilty of crimes against Vedoa, but upon Jha’Ley’s testimony of gentlemanly conduct and good sailing etiquette were allowed to live, albeit with a judgment of undetermined time in prison.

  Hastings was able to move around a bit, but his injury was severe. Yet even as Jha’Ley had performed honorably, it seemed his captain began to resent his taking command and scoring the victory.

  Hastings was of the view Jha’Ley should have pulled back and allowed him time to recover, then direct a proper chase with renewed battle. The captain felt robbed of an unbroken string of victories and the glory which comes with such a record.

  Surprisingly, it was Hastings, who argued for a hearing into the death of Jha’Ley’s fellow officer, Lieutenant Na’Jet. During the proceedings he sat beside the wife and was seen to hold her hand.

  What bond there may have been twixt ship’s captain and his first officer was clearly dashed upon the reef, no explanation rendered.

  The hearing was officiated, but in short, Jha’Ley was cleared of all charges levied by both captain and family of the wife. Many witnesses, including Sailing Master G’Tabb, gave a clear and unanimous report of Na’Jet’s language. The court found the acting comma
nder to be well within the parameters of his action. Na’Jet was deemed and recorded in the books a mutineer and in conspiracy of mutiny.

  The question arose as to what direction to take for Jha’Ley and Hastings, but a plan was already in place by which this only expedited the matter.

  Admiral Sark invited Lieutenant Jha’Ley to his office for wine and conversation, “Mister Jha’Ley, how would you like to captain your own vessel?”

  Chapter 10

  ADMIRAL SARK’S EYE possessed something of a twinkle as he and Jha’Ley walked from the naval office to the docks. The lieutenant was still a bit light-headed at the thought of gaining captaincy. His initial thought was one of perhaps a tug or a coastal craft.

  When they stopped before the burgundy painted schooner, both men were quiet as they surveyed the vessel. Sark broke the silence, “She was laid down in 902 in yet another attempt to follow the design of Captain Greybeard’s vessel, the Kelshinua. As I am sure you know, no one has ever come forward with notes of her design, although we can speculate. The rascal avoided major ports, and only a few could bear him a description.

  “Kelshinua’s sail rigging, however, has been emulated by a few, including the Clarise, which is presented before you. As you see, she is set with seven of our new Balder Ballistae to a side. Each is drawn by a ratchet crank, rather than a windlass, and fitted to launch a variety of projectiles, including balls of iron.”

  Jha’Ley raised his eyebrows.

  “At close range, my good sir, they have been successful at penetrating the hulls of sloops and caravels. And there are variations of the ball which can be fired at up to three hundred rods with accuracy.”

  Jha’Ley took this in and listened carefully with interest, musing on how this could affect naval combat. With a slight grin he commented, “I see great similarity with another vessel, but with differences as well.”