Once Upon a Dreadful Time

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “Oui, my lord. Is there ought else?”

  “As soon as you have relayed the signal to the fleet to come about, have the Sandpiper and the Gull as well as your ship stand ready to dispatch the battle plan.—Now, go.”

  The Tern cinched up the luffed sail and ran up her own signal flags to echo those now flying on the Eagle, then came about and hauled to the windward of the remaining ships, pausing at each to relay Chevell’s orders.

  And with each ship in Avélar’s fleet wearing around the wind, soon all had fallen in behind the Eagle, now heading in the direction of Port Mizon.

  Two candlemarks or so later, the remaining scout ships—the sloop Sandpiper and the schooner Gull—came back into view from their duskwise and sunwise runs, and slowly they overtook the fleet, and shortly thereafter were ready to dispatch the battle plan.

  “We have two advantages,” said Chevell to Marine Captain Delon, “one, they know not we are here, and, two, ’tis the dark of the moon and the night will be black.”

  “A night attack, then?”

  “Not quite, Captain. Instead, I plan to ambush the foe, to run toward the enemy in the predawn marks and come upon them just as dawn twilight fills the sky.” Chevell unrolled a chart, and he placed twenty-four markers in a line upon it. “Here is the enemy fleet, with six more ships than we have.—And here is our force somewhat ahead and to their larboard.” Chevell then placed eighteen markers in a parallel line on the left and to the fore of the enemy. “Now, Captain, just as will we, in the night the foe will be running with fore and aft lanterns to maintain their line.”

  “But if we run with lanterns,” said Captain Delon, “they will see us—Ah, wait, you plan to course upon them unlighted, oui?”

  Chevell smiled. “Just so, Captain, just so.—You see, on command, we will extinguish all our own fore and aft lanterns and swing starboard, and, with a following wind, we bear down upon them”—Chevell began moving the markers—“the last ship in our line taking on the last ship in their line, and our next to last taking their next to last, and so on. As we come into range in the dark, we will loose fire upon them, and slice behind their sterns, raking their decks with our own broadside fire as we pass through their line, like so, and then swing ’round to their starboard wales and grapple, and your marines will board the foe. If we have planned it just right, that should occur in the twilight of the oncoming dawn.”

  “But, my lord,” said Lieutenant Jourdan, “if each one of our eighteen takes on eighteen of theirs”—he pointed to the leading corsair markers—“that leaves six of the enemy ships unengaged.”

  “Oui, Lieutenant, but those six ships are the six to the fore, and given their maneuverability and rate they sail, it will take them a full candlemark ere they can wear ’round and come at us, and by that time we should be ready for them.”

  “Ah, clever, my lord,” said Delon. “Now I see why we take on the eighteen from the rear rather than from the front: ’tis to keep those six out of the fray for as long as possible.”

  Chevell nodded. But then the marine captain frowned. “My lord, the plan depends upon bearing down swiftly upon them, yet what if the wind shifts?”

  “ ’Tis unlikely, Captain, for this is the season of the steady trades, and we are to the windward of them.”

  “My lord,” said Jourdan, grinning, “they ought to call you the Fox of the Sea.”

  Chevell laughed, but quickly sobered. “ ’Twill not be an easy task, yet I ween we can catch them by surprise. Even so, they are not to be taken lightly, for not only are they able seamen skilled with cutlasses, but aboard their ships is an army of Changelings as well.”

  The Tern, Sandpiper, and the Gull swiftly relayed the battle plan unto all captains, and the three scout ships waited until darkness, and, taking turns, kept track of the enemy fleet. In the meanwhile, Chevell calculated: he knew that the sun would broach the horizon five and a half candlemarks after mid of night; yet enough dawnlight to see and be seen would occur a full candlemark ere then, and so he added that into his figures; too, he took into account the lead the king’s fleet had over the corsairs, as well as the distance between the parallel courses of the two fleets—some twenty-two nautical miles. And given the wind speed and the rate at which the slowest ship in the king’s fleet could close upon the foe, he reckoned that just after the midnight mark, they would have to turn on the intercept course. He relayed these figures to the other vessels, and he commanded his captains to set their sails so that all would come upon the foe simultaneously, or at least that was the plan; hence the slowest ship would run full out, while the others would reef their sails enough to match that pace.

  And they hove on.

  And the scouts brought word that the foe, as was their wont, yet sailed in a straight line, all benefiting from the wind on the beam.

  And the constant trades blew.

  And the ships of friend and foe alike sliced through the waters, one fleet knowing the other was there, one fleet sailing in ignorance.

  Finally, a half candlemark after mid of night under the dark of the moon, Chevell gave the signal.

  And ships turned on an intercept course, and then extinguished their bow and stern lanterns.

  Risky was the plan, for close-sailing in a fleet in darkness could lead to collisions, yet Chevell had planned for that, for he kept a hooded lantern on the larboard and starboard of each ship, with orders to extinguish them the moment the top lookouts spotted the fore and aft lanterns of the foe.

  And, so through the darkness did they sail, keeping their own line by the dim glimmers of hooded lights abeam.

  Some two candlemarks after turning on the intercept course, the lanterns of the foe came into view of the lookouts, and the hooded lanterns of the king’s fleet were extinguished. And moments later, the enemy’s lights became visible to the men adeck.

  Captains now counted the enemy ships, and struck courses on their own, each aiming his ship on an intercept heading to take on the foe assigned.

  “Remember, men,” said Captain Delon to his contingent of marines, “cut off the head of a Changeling, and he turns to slime. It is something about their shape-shifting nature that causes such to be.”

  And as Captain Delon instructed his immediate command, his lieutenants did the same on the other ships, all the marines well-trained in grappling and boarding and combat.

  And the sailors aboard each ship stood ready at the ballistas, fireballs loaded on the racks, others in crates at hand, strikers and torches at the ready to be ignited.

  And, at a closing angle, the king’s fleet hove toward the foe in the darkness, guided by the enemy’s own lanterns.

  “Steady as she goes, helmsman,” whispered Chevell.

  “Oui, my lord,” came the murmured response.

  Sssshhhssh . . . Hulls sliced through the brine.

  On they drew and on. . . .

  But at last . . .

  Some ships reached their goal slightly before others, yet all corsairs were taken by surprise, as “Loose fire,” came the command, and strikers struck and torches ignited to light fireballs in turn. Thnn! sang ballistas, and flaming balls hurtled across the waves, the larboard ballistas to rake the foe to the fore, the starboard ones to hurl into the foe aft. Great lateen sails burst into furious flame, and clk-clk-clk- . . . ! clattered ratchets as ballista bows were drawn and new fireballs laded. Thnn! more blazing missiles hurtled through the air to splash on masts and decks and upon awakening enemy, burning, flaming, destroying. Amid screams of men ablaze, the foe cranked up their own fire weapons, yet, for the most part, they could not bring them to bear, for the ships of the king’s fleet were now directly astern each of their target ships and raking the corsair decks with their broadsides.

  And then sailors haled the yards about and the attacking fleet swung ’round, bringing the king’s ships’ larboards to corsairs’ starboard beams. Grapnel hooks flew to chnk! into enemy wales, and marines and sailors hauled to bring the hulls together. Even so, Ch
angelings shifted shape, and in the firelight, hideous were their forms—beastly animals, unnatural creatures, dire flying things, and other such monstrosities. Arrows flew ’gainst these dreadful beings, wounding some, missing others, while some Changelings took to flight and dropped fire down upon the king’s ships and men.

  Sails burst into flame, as did marines and sailors alike, but still the king’s men continued raking the enemy decks with missiles and fire and death.

  Thdd! grappled hulls banged together, and, with swords in hand, marines and sailors yelled and swarmed onto enemy ships, to be met by dreadful Changelings as well as corsairs wielding blades of their own.

  Fierce was the fighting, and on some vessels the enemy prevailed and swarmed onto the king’s ships, and the decks ran red with blood and dark with slime and other colors of slaughter.

  The Hawk went down in flames, burning even as she sank.

  On the Eagle, Chevell and his men leapt over the wales to the dhow and engaged the corsairs and Changelings, for Delon’s marines could not do it alone.

  And amidst battle cries and screams and fire and death, the war at sea raged on. . . .

  And the sky lightened as day crept upon the brine, unheeding of the butchery below.

  But finally, the crew and marines of the Eagle prevailed, the corsair ship nought but a wreck, her sails burnt, her crew dead, the Changelings now nought but dark puddles of sludge.

  But even as Chevell reboarded his craft, “Captain!” shouted Lieutenant Jourdan, “On the starboard beam!”

  Chevell looked, and bearing down upon the Eagle came a dhow under full sail, and at her helm stood a monstrous Ogre, his features twisted in rage; and the crew of the oncoming corsair screamed in terror and some tried to intervene; they feared neither ship would survive such a collision; but the Ogre batted them aside, for he intended to ram.

  “Loose fire!” commanded Chevell, and his men scrambled to obey. Yet the ballistas were slack, uncocked, for on that side of the ship their last raking fire had been loosed as they had clove between their own target ship and the one trailing after.

  Clk-clk-clk- . . . ! rattled the ratchets, yet ere a single fireball was loaded and loosed, with a horrendous crash the prow of the corsair slammed into the Eagle, and the hulls of both ships splintered and shivered, and water began pouring in.

  “Rraww!” roared the great Ogre, and he ran forward and leapt onto the Eagle’s deck. Eighteen feet tall he was, and massive, and with mighty blows he smashed down masts, and slaughtered men, and rent marines asunder. Arrows flew, and the Ogre snarled in pain at these barbs, yet they slew him not. Chevell ran behind the hideous monster, and he clove his sword into the creature’s heel and severed a tendon. The Ogre bellowed in agony, and swung ’round and smote Chevell, knocking him aside, and all went black for the vicomte.

  And still the water poured in, and locked in a deadly embrace, the Eagle and the corsair went down into the brine, and the dhow yet tightly grappled to the Eagle sank with them both. The Ogre, unable to swim, shrieked in fear, and, in spite of flailing about in the waters, drowned, taking men under with him as he sank.

  When Chevell came to he found he was entangled in the rigging of a broken spar, the Eagle’s flag affixed thereon. Painfully, he worked himself loose, and when he was free and clinging to the shattered mast, he looked about, only to see a corsair ship bearing down upon him.

  48

  flotsam

  Orbane kicked Crapaud aside and snarled, “Where are the Changelings? ”

  “I do not know, my lord,” quavered Hradian, keeping her eyes downcast.

  Orbane stalked to the edge of the flet and peered into the turgid waters. “Last night was the dark of the moon, Acolyte; they should have been here by now.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Orbane frowned and looked dawnwise, toward the light of the just-risen sun. “I wonder . . . ?”

  Hradian remained silent, afraid anything she might say would spur his wrath.

  “Mayhap the corsairs have betrayed me,” hissed Orbane. “—Acolyte, ride your besom along the intended line of march and see what delays them.”

  “How far should I go, my lord?”

  Orbane rounded upon Hradian and bellowed, “Till you find them, fool! To Port Mizon or across the sea and all the way to Port Cíent, if necessary!”

  Hradian scrambled hindward and snatched up her broom and moments later flew up above the swamp and away.

  Still trembling, through one border and then another she arrowed. And in but three candlemarks she came to Port Mizon, and as of yet she had seen no army of Changelings making their way across land.

  And so, out over the ocean she hurtled, now on a course for Port Cíent, three points to dawn of sunwise.

  And farther out in the sea, Vicomte Chevell clung to the spar and watched as the corsair clove the water on a course directly for the flotsam of combat, directly on a course for him. And he gritted his teeth and looked about for a weapon he could use, should they take him aboard the dhow. But he saw nought but bits of wreckage that had floated up from the Eagle as she and two corsairs had gone to the bottom, along with her crew and those of the foe and the Changelings led by the Ogre.

  Nothing. No weapon in sight. But I think it matters not, for they’ll merely spend an arrow or two and do me in.

  And so Chevell waited and watched as his doom drew nigh.

  And the ship, she wore around the wind, as if coming to tie up to a buoy. Her lateen sails fell slack as she nosed into the trades, and her headway dropped off until she moved no more.

  And then someone peered over the rail and a voice called out, “My lord, might I give you a lift?”

  ’Twas Armond, captain of the Hawk, that ship, too, now resting on the bottom.

  Even as a line came snaking through the air to splash into the water at Chevell’s side, tears sprang into his eyes, and he managed to croak, “Indeed, Captain, though I find a swim now and again pleasant, I would enjoy the ride.”

  Armond laughed as Chevell took up the line, and the crew made ready to reel the vicomte in, but then Chevell cried out, “Wait!” And he paused a moment to retrieve the flag of the Eagle yet attached to the shivered mast. When he had it well in hand, he called out, “Heave ho,” and the crew drew him in and up and onto the deck of the corsair dhow.

  Dripping, he clasped Armond’s hand and said, “I thought you gone down with the Hawk.”

  “Non, my lord, I and my crew and my complement of marines simply took on this corsair, and though the Hawk sank, still I had a ship to command. I call her the Hawk II.”

  “Nicely done, Armond. Indeed, nicely done.”

  “My lord, I now turn over the command of this vessel to you.”

  “Oh, non, Armond, it is your ship, and I am merely a passenger.”

  Armond inclined his head in acknowledgment, and then gave orders to get underway, and the great long sails were haled about to pick up the wind and the dhow began to move.

  “What of the battle, Captain?” asked Chevell.

  “It yet goes on, my lord, and I plan to rejoin it, for I have taken up more than enough men from the waters to sail into combat again.”

  “Indeed, and I am one of those taken up,” said the vicomte. “Just give me a blade and some dry clothes, and I will be glad to join in.”

  They sailed on a course to intercept a corsair fleeing from the fight, and, by subterfuge and acting as would fellow pirates, they drew alongside the dhow, her decks and rigging showing signs of fire, and her crew appearing shorthanded. “Ahoy, lá!” called Chevell, using the tongue of the corsairs, for the vicomte had been one of their own long past.

  “Quem são você?” replied the enemy captain.

  “He wants to know who we are,” murmured Chevell, and he called out, “A Lâmina Vermelha!”

  “What did you tell him?” asked Armond, even as they drew closer to the enemy dhow.

  “I said we were the Red Blade, the name of my old ship.”

/>   The corsair captain then shouted, “Eu sei de nenhuma Lâmina Vermelha.”

  “ ‘I know of no Red Blade,’ ” translated Chevell.

  By then the Hawk II was close enough, and, at a sharp command from Armond, grappling hooks sailed through the air and thunked into the wales of the corsair, and arrows slashed across the space between, felling foe even as marines haled the two ships hull to hull.

  The fight was short, for not only were the corsairs surprised, but they were disheartened as well, for they had suffered great losses ere the Hawk II had come upon them.

  They quickly surrendered, did the corsairs, and were taken prisoner.

  Then Chevell took command of this ship and flew the flag of the Eagle from the standard at the taffrail.

  Half of the crew of the Hawk II stepped onto the deck of the New Eagle, and together they struck a course for the few ships yet engaged in battle on the sunwise horizon. Yet by the time they got there, the enemy had been done in, their ships burning furiously as they went down.

  And so, a ragtag group of nine ships, two of them dhows—all with decks aslime with the remains of Changelings, masts and sails showing char and burn—took on survivors picked up by the Tern and the Sandpiper and the Gull and finally set sail for Port Mizon, their holds full of human prisoners, their battle this day done.

  And as they cut through the waters, Chevell looked up to see a crow soaring high above, the ebon bird to turn on the wind and fly toward Port Mizon as well. Chevell frowned and wondered just what a crow might be doing this far from land, but soon the bird was out of sight and he questioned it no more.

  Nigh sundown, Hradian came flying back to the swamp, and she lit upon the flet of her cote and trembled to tell Orbane the news. Yet she had no choice.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Hradian fell to her knees upon the floor and buried her face in her hands and pressed her forehead to the wood. “My lord, the corsair fleet is gone, sunk, and nought is left of it but bits of wreckage floating upon the waters.”