Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  Callaway shrugged. “It wasn't my decision ta’ kill yer man, Cap'n, ya’ gotta understand. Whoever or whatever is watchin’ over me calls the shots fer me. Had ta’ do what I had ta’ do."

  "Still, this is far more interesting now, so we'll deal with it. We'll be rid of ya’ soon enough anyway."

  "Just keep a watch goin’ at our rudder. If Mortwar was stupid enough ta’ follow, it'd be in yer best interest ta’ be aware of it.” Callaway turned to leave. “So if that'll be all, Cap'n, I'm goin’ back ta’ my quarters in the intestines of this ship, so ya’ can forget about me fer now."

  Sakreega nodded. Callaway headed out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

  For the next several days, sailing was relatively easy and uneventful. The weather was uncharacteristically seasonable, with the brisk winter zephyrs revealing themselves only at nighttime when the sun sank below the western horizon, the skies clear and cloudless. The sea seemed to restrain its anger in response to the intruders in its territory, providing mostly calm waters for them.

  Life on the Arunir was normal, that is to say boring. The crew carried out their daily chores like they had hundreds of times before. The strange weather patterns provided little in the way of excitement at trying to brave a storm or navigate patchy icebergs. Save for the fishing, there wasn't much to do except wait until Mortwar figured out the next phase of the plan to track down Callaway and the Demoron.

  "Looks like they're headin’ inland, toward the Broken Isles,” Buck noted, glassing the horizon from the captain's bridge. “I wonder why? Are they crazy?"

  "Crazy, but not stupid. It's to keep followers from followin',” Mortwar said lightly.

  Buck cast a worried glance at his captain, knowing full well Mortwar meant to stay on course to follow. “Not many sailors have braved those shoals and lived to tell the tale. The currents between those rocks aren't natural ta’ say the least. I can't say the men won't be worried too."

  "Make sure the men worry more about their jobs.” Mortwar meant it more as an order than an empty statement, and hoped Buck would take it as such. “The Arunir is much smaller than the Demoron, hence lighter, faster, and more maneuverable. Trust me, they will have the rougher time of it."

  "I hope so,” Buck sighed, and continued glassing the area.

  "Besides,” Mortwar ventured, “if we go around, we stand a much better chance of losing them. Sea creatures would be less likely to attack the Demoron; her size and firepower will intimidate them. It would probably make more sense to stick close to her, don't you think?"

  Buck collapsed the telescope. “Yes, I agree. It's just not an ideal situation in either case, if ya’ don't mind me sayin', Cap'n."

  Mortwar smirked. “That's why I have you, Buck; you do my worrying for me."

  For two straight days, the chase ensued across the Arthean Ocean without a single incident. The weather was perfect, the currents were swift and carried each ship in the right direction, and there was no sign of Nature's threat by way of creature.

  It was too perfect.

  It wasn't until the afternoon of the third day of their journey when the situation got dicey.

  There were two parallel passages leading into the Broken Isles: north and south, separated by a line of rock. The Demoron made it to the southern passage, slowed her speed, and headed into them. Mortwar swung Arunir around to catch the northern passage. This kept them separated, helping them avoid detection. The sky became overcast for the first time since the start of the chase, and the wind picked up, putting the chilled bite back into the air. Mortwar had to order the sails lowered and the Lenthan reactor powered up to navigate the increasingly treacherous waters. Eddies and pockets swirled around and between the former islands. The currents were unnatural there, and both ships’ crews grew wary of danger. They were close to the land of Dunandor all right, but nothing could have prepared them for the onslaught of the instantaneous change in the weather.

  To make matters worse, a dense fog closed in about the Arunir. Mortwar ordered the Lenthan reactor powered off and the oars extended. Each crewmember took position below decks at his respective row station, and slowly the ship inched along through the miasma.

  "All's not right here,” Buck whispered to Mortwar. The fog was claustrophobic. They tried to ignore it as best they could, but it was always there, nagging.

  "We have no hope of getting through here if this fog doesn't lift a bit,” Mortwar noted, walking the length of the decks in search of some break or rift that would allow him to see beyond. “This is why these isles are cursed; it's plain to see we're unwelcome here."

  Suddenly, something brushed up against the hull of the ship. Mortwar and Buck had to grab the side rails to keep from falling down. Buck hollered for the crew to get back up to the main deck. “And bring weapons,” he added.

  By the time the crew had made it topside; whatever it was that had slammed into the hull was gone.

  "What was that?” one asked.

  "I don't have a damn clue,” Mortwar said. “We're not alone in these waters, that's fer sure."

  "Wonder if the Demoron's havin’ the same luck,” Buck said, trying to wave the fog out of his face unsuccessfully.

  "I think we can forget the Demoron for the time being,” Mortwar ventured. “We need to get out of this fog. Buck, get the men back down below and row us east. We'll keep a watch with a man at the stern, bow, fore, and aft, and report the directions as we get them. We need to keep off the shoals or we're dead men."

  "What about the things in the water?” Buck asked nervously.

  "There's nothin’ for it. We must keep moving, or else we'll find out what's down there sooner than we'd like to. We're wastin’ time."

  "Right. Men, get below and do what the Cap'n ordered ya’ ta’ do. Out with the oars, an’ row east until we tell ya'..."

  Buck's raspy voice trailed off. He raced below to rally the men to keep pushing eastward. Mortwar took his place on the bridge to watch the forward section of the ship with the monocular telescope. Buck emerged from below after the oars had been deployed to watch the starboard side while two other men, Link and Dreylock, watched the stern and bow respectively.

  A ghostly Arunir glided through the fog like a hot knife through a stick of butter. The oars made regular swish sounds in the water while they eased her through the treacherous currents. All nerves were on edge; an eerie silence played tricks on the men's senses. One minute they thought they heard screaming, and the next minute they thought they saw ghastly shapes emerging from the fog; it was enough to test the men's wits. Wits were a pirate's best friend, and Mortwar's crew had the best—had to have the best.

  For what seemed like hours they moved along the northern pass through the Broken Isles. Sweat poured down each of the men's faces, mostly due to the dense humidity in the air, but not for lack of tension either. They were scared. “A small amount of fear keeps men as sharp as an ice blade,” Milon used to say. The words echoed in Mortwar's memory stronger than ever now, throbbed with every beat of his heart.

  Father, where are you? Are you all right? Are you dead? Is this your ring? The inescapable questions haunted Mortwar's thoughts at every turn; every time fear was present they were there. What was Callaway doing with your ring? Why has it been so long since I've been home?

  It was ordained.

  What was ordained?

  That he be in my service, what else? Did you think you had a farmer for a father?

  It doesn't matter.

  Oh, it does matter, Mortwar. You're searching for answers right there in front of you.

  Who is this? Why can I hear your voice in my head?

  Because you called on me. I heard your cries like I heard all the others.

  No, this can't be! Get out of my head! I'll find the answers to my questions myself. You'll see! Wait, why do I hear screaming! Where is that coming from?

  The screaming comes from within. It's your pressing need for answers trying to escape. But I won't let you find
them! HAHAHA!

  No, I won't let you do this to me!

  "Mortwar! Wake up!"

  No, I won't let you do this to me!

  "Mortwar, I really need you to wake up! What's wrong with you?"

  Time to die, Mortwar!

  "No!” Mortwar collapsed on the bridge, striking his head on the wheel when he fell.

  "Help me get him up. We need him right now! Link, get the men below and tell them to man their weapons. We need Atrio on the spear gun. Have Hyrum help him. And get me some cold water, someone!"

  Mortwar shook violently, but quickly came to. In a flash he was on his feet, forehead bleeding. He gasped at the sight before him.

  Ahead of them was the Demoron; she was under attack. But, it wasn't another ship or ambush patrol attacking her; it was a snake-like creature that had coiled itself around the ship's hull. The main mast had been torn down and the sails were shredded. Mortwar could see lifeless crewmen dangling from the open mouth of the beast, their entrails and dismembered corpses impaled on its sharp front fangs. It had tentacle-like whiskers protruding from its elongated head and scales of the most unnatural green and blue hue covering its body. The thick body was wrapped tightly around the Demoron, the cannon fire doing nothing to force the creature to release its grip—the round cannonballs bounced inconsequentially off its scaly hide. Death was near at hand.

  "We must do something, now!” Mortwar yelled to his crew. “Open fire!! Aim for its eyes!"

  Atrio needed little coaxing. He smiled, turned toward the creature, and fired the first spear. It struck the serpent right above the eyelid, opening a wound which sprayed blood across the deck of the Demoron. Hyrum reloaded.

  It worked. The beast's attention turned away from the doomed Doom Vessel; its body grew lax while it bellowed in pain, which gave Mortwar the time he needed.

  "Move Arunir closer to them!” He motioned for the crewmen of the Demoron to dive overboard. Ladders were lowered for them to swim to. Link and two other men tied ropes to spears and fired them into the side of the damaged ship. Then, they heaved together to pull the ship closer. By that time, the serpent was thrashing around in pain, using its tail to swat at the spear protruding from its right eyelid. The sea was a torrent, making it twice as difficult for Mortwar's men to rescue the crewmen. But, despite that, they succeeded. All of them worked together to pull up as many as they could. Some lost energy and sank beneath the waves, never to be seen again.

  The serpent managed to yank the spear from its head and turned on the Arunir in a sudden rush of anger and desperation. Mortwar reacted in a microsecond.

  "Hit the reactor!” he hollered.

  Without hesitation, the men below threw the switch, opening the reactor's core. The energy hurtled forth, propelling the ship ahead so fast that the bow lurched completely out of the water. The serpent's head darted past and slammed into empty waters where the ship just was.

  In a heartbeat, Mortwar was on the bridge and yanking the wheel hard a port. This lined up the spear gun doors on the starboard side of the ship.

  "Fire!” he ordered, thrusting his hand into the air.

  The spears were loosed from the guns in a fury of popping powder charges followed by intense fire flashes. The spears’ pointed tips burrowed between the serpent's scales and into the internal organs. Blood poured out of the creature and it screamed more.

  "Bring us closer!” Mortwar ordered.

  Buck grabbed his arm. “Are you crazy? Ya'll kill us, damn you!"

  "Just do it!” Mortwar fired back, shaking Buck's hand off.

  Buck reluctantly turned, took the wheel, and spun them around again for another close pass.

  The serpent was thrashing wildly now, creating waves nearly seven feet high. The little ship was being tossed around, but Buck was a good first mate—the best. The serpent finally lost its energy, and floated limply atop the surface of the mist-covered waters.

  "Closer now,” Mortwar said. He reached into his leather trench coat and pulled out the device he thought he'd never have to use on a living creature. After staring at the polished metal bindings, the intricate engravings, and the smooth ebony wood, he cocked back the hammer. He took careful aim at the serpent's eyeball. BOOM! Smoke and fire flew from the muzzle of the weapon. The solid metal slug pierced the liquid center of the eye, burrowing through tissue and nerves until it struck the interior of the bony skull. Death seized the creature quickly and painlessly.

  Mortwar saw the life drain from its eye; then it sank into the abyss and disappeared.

  "It's done. Now let's round up what's left of Captain Sakreega's crew."

  "Cap'n Sakreega?” Buck asked, eyes wide with surprise. “Ya’ never said it was him that we was chasin'."

  "Some things are better left unsaid, Buck,” Mortwar said glumly. “I had no choice. The men would've been far more antsy if they realized who we were trackin’ down out here. Trust my decision and let it go at that."

  Mortwar pushed past Buck, leaving his first mate somewhat bewildered.

  Before reaching the Demoron's survivors, Mortwar returned his weapon to its hidden sling within his trench coat.

  "So,” he mused, pacing before them, “we all find ourselves in a predicament here. Your ship is still intact, but you're on my ship now. What to do with you?” He mockingly put his hand to his stubbly chin, then asked, “Where's Captain Sakreega?"

  The exhausted men hung their heads, silent.

  Mortwar looked at each of them with an accusing stare, but no one spilled the information. He asked again—still nothing.

  "You know, there's lots more water out there yet to be covered. We could escort you to Dunandor's port, or toss you all overboard and leave you to fend for yourselves. It's your choice."

  The men looked up at him, shocked.

  "That's better. Now, I'll ask one last time before I give the order to dump you. Where's your captain?"

  "Right here, Mortwar.” Captain Sakreega, his clothes torn and soiled, stood up from amidst his men on the deck. His scraggly hair hung like a deck mop about his face, he was bleeding from numerous wounds on his body, and he was favoring his right arm.

  "Bump it on your wheel?” Mortwar asked sarcastically.

  "It's knocked out of its socket,” Sakreega managed, “and it hurts somethin’ terrible."

  Mortwar made a motion. “Link, Atrio, help the captain with his arm."

  Atrio grabbed Sakreega from behind while Link secured his right arm. One quick snap, a scream of pain, and the arm was reset into place.

  "Ah...thanks, Mortwar,” Sakreega said. He clutched his shoulder and winced. “My men were perfectly capable of taking care o’ that fer me, but your reputation for hospitality precedes you."

  Mortwar simply nodded. “So, what's your mission to the land of Dunandor, Sakreega?"

  "None o’ yer damn business, got it? Ya’ saved us from the serpent. Great, perfect, thank you. We'll make sure we pay homage to ya’ from this day forth. Now can we go? My ship's floating away."

  "Actually, it's a miracle she's still afloat; unless you tell me what you're doin’ all the way out here, the next time you see her will be at the bottom of the Arthean. All I have to do is give the command.” Mortwar raised his hand into the air and nodded to Atrio, who had taken position at the bow spear gun. The other crewmen kept the ropes attached to the former Doom Vessel taut.

  "You'll sink the Demoron, eh?” Sakreega laughed. “And what do ya’ hope ta’ gain by doin’ so, hmm?” Sakreega smiled evilly. “If ya’ sink my ship, ya’ lose the precious cargo ya’ be chasin'."

  Mortwar's eyes narrowed. Sakreega had taken the bait. He smiled and took a step closer to the Senantor Pirate. “Thank you. You just told me what I needed to hear.” He turned to Buck and the others. “Secure them below until we board the Demoron to find what it is we've been chasing. Payday, Gents!"

  A loud cheer went up amongst the crew of the Arunir. Sakreega's face screwed up in confusion.

  "Wait, Mortwar, no...I d
idn't mean it that way...there's nothin’ aboard her worth anythin’ to ya'."

  It was too late. Mortwar suspected Callaway was still onboard somewhere. He'd known it from the moment he looked around and didn't see him with the rest of the crew. Sakreega accidentally confirmed his suspicions.

  "Let's get him,” he ordered. “Tie them up and take them below. Guard them close."

  Link, Hyrum, and three other crewmen of the Arunir bound the hands of the prisoners, gagged them, and forced them below decks into the brig. Atrio, Buck, and Mortwar placed gangplanks between the two ships when they were securely fastened together. The reactor was used to stabilize the pair while they floated in the unpredictable currents of the Broken Isles.

  Once they were across the planks and onto the deck of the Demoron, Mortwar drew his long knife, but left the gun in its place. Too dangerous for close-quarter encounters, he thought, and moved toward the portal stairs leading into the lower decks of the ship. Atrio and Buck followed.

  They descended the stairs, the soft amber glow of hanging lanterns illuminating the hallways and passages before them, albeit dimly. The roar of the ocean's anger outside lessened, replaced by a stale silence. Mortwar and Buck each took a lantern hanging nearby and moved together into the passage leading toward the bow. Every cabin was checked, every barrel turned over—the ones that weren't already upended from the serpent attack. Nothing out of the ordinary turned up, and no sign of Callaway—yet.

  "If Callaway is hidden on the first deck, then he must have the gift of invisibility,” Mortwar sighed. “Let's go below to the cargo hold.” Buck nodded.

  They proceeded to the lowest deck of the Demoron: the cargo hold. The bulkheads were separated by watertight doors used to section off a portion of the hull in the event of a fire or flooding. Crates and other debris were scattered everywhere, making it difficult to navigate the hold adequately.

  Suddenly, they heard a noise behind them. Instinctively, Mortwar spun and pulled the gun from its holster in one swift motion, pointing it at the head of a...boy! Mortwar and Buck both were stunned to find such a young boy down there all alone and alive.