The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three)

by James Maxwell

  Helmsman Werner looked at the cutlass he held in his hand.

  There was no turning back now.

  8

  CAPTAIN Roslen Meredith added a mark to the chart spread over his desk before making an entry in the ship's log and signing it with a wavering hand. He absently tilted his heavy-bottomed glass, waiting for the warm rush of alcohol to slide past the back of his throat, but frowned, seeing it was dry.

  Tomorrow's course would be much the same as today's, just as yesterday had been the same as the day before. His agreement said that on the day rationing commenced, the Delphin would head back to Castlemere. In two weeks, perhaps three, low stores would force him to turn back with an unhappy Lord Marshal and a crew surly from reduced provisions. He must have been drinking when he negotiated that deal.

  Meredith hadn't always been a drinker, not until the trip when he returned to find his wife in bed with his cousin, an underwriter whose work allowed him to stay in port while Meredith was gone for weeks or months at a time.

  The underwriter was better connected than the ship's captain, and Meredith's wife divorced him, marrying his cousin and taking a large portion of Meredith's wealth. Captain Meredith now had debts he couldn't manage and premature grey hair. To keep up with his repayments to the moneylenders he'd had to take on this foolish quest, a voyage no sane captain would have agreed to. But the interest on his debts was crippling, and here he was. Meredith hated moneylenders, nearly as much as he despised underwriters.

  Meredith sighed and looked at the chart as he refilled his glass. By the stars, they'd travelled an incredible distance. Once, this journey would have ignited excitement within his breast — an infinite horizon and an epic voyage to uncharted lands. Who knew what lay out there? But now, Meredith just wanted to drink.

  Captain Meredith's eyes started to droop, and he heard the watchman strike the first bell of the middle watch.

  ~

  THINKING of Tomas, Amber again couldn't sleep. She hadn't told Miro about her difficulties sleeping, not wanting to add to his worries, but it had gone on for too long now and she wondered if she should speak with the ship's surgeon. She'd stopped by the infirmary once before, which doubled as the surgeon's sleeping quarters, and the surgeon seemed like a man who could keep confidence.

  The ship creaked and groaned, lifted up on one wave before smashing into the next, always in the same up and down, rolling motion. Amber couldn't get the image of a cork being tossed around in a bathtub out of her mind. What made it worse was that she knew her model was all out of proportion. If the cork stayed the same size, the bathtub needed to be scaled up by several orders of magnitude. The thought made Amber giddy.

  Amber rolled again and turned onto her side. Would it be better if she tried sleeping on her back? She tried it, but wasn't sure if it was an improvement. Her cabin was stuffy, but the seas were too strong for her to be able to open the tiny glass porthole.

  Her thoughts turned to a time soon after the war, when she and Miro had returned home to Sarostar. Amber hadn't been home since she'd led the Dunfolk to the great battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta. So much had happened since.

  Her long-awaited homecoming could have been tinged with sadness, but Amber had been surprised to find she was so excited about the future that the past held no power over her, it was simply the past.

  Miro had taken her straight to the Crystal Palace as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd carried Tomas, still a tiny babe, in his arms, and whispered to the child. If Amber hadn't stepped closer she wouldn't have heard.

  "Welcome home," Miro had whispered in the babe's little ear.

  He'd then shuffled Tomas to the crook of his arm and taken Amber by the hand, before leading her up the wide marble steps to her incredible new home.

  Amber had been speechless, and Miro hadn't even noticed.

  She ran the events of her wedding day through her mind. Lord of the Sky, it had been a perfect day to end with such horror. She'd never had a chance to find out what words Ella had written, or have her first dance with her new husband. She never heard her father make a kind speech, or her mother make a well-intentioned yet scathing comment about one of the guests. There was going to be music, and dancing, and incredible food. Tomas would eat too many sweets and then fall asleep. For once, Amber would have all the people she loved in one place, and it wouldn't be because of some great danger.

  A tear formed at the corner of Amber's eye, spilling out to run down her cheek. What was she doing here? Shouldn't she be with her son? Had she made the right decision?

  A vivid image came to her of Rorelan's back, burned red and raw by the explosion. As always, the next image was the mottled pink and purple of Tomas's legs, perfect from the front, yet touched by evil on their backs.

  Who would send a device of such malevolence to a wedding? What dark and warped mind would do such a thing?

  Amber's heart began to race as her pain turned to rage, and breathing evenly, she tried to calm herself and slow the beating down. She realised her fists were clenched and her legs tensed, and gradually she let herself relax.

  But the release of sleep still wouldn't come.

  Amber heard the watchman strike the second bell of the middle watch.

  ~

  MIRO was woken by a sound as the watchman struck the third bell of the middle watch. What time did that make it? About four hours before dawn.

  Surely the bells didn't wake him? They were such a constant presence that they were simply part of the background noise of the ship. He heard a crash, followed by the sound of a man cursing under his breath.

  Miro looked to where his armoursilk hung on a peg behind the door. He felt down to where his zenblade lay on the floor, stretched along the length of his bed. Miro gripped the handle and raised himself up, feeling the weight of the sword comforting in his hands, yet realising it would be difficult if not impossible to use the long weapon in the cramped confines of the ship.

  What was happening outside? Was he overreacting to one of the officers stumbling around after too much drink?

  Miro heard a scream.

  "Amber!" he shouted, leaping off the bed.

  The door to Miro's cabin crashed open and two strangers rushed into the compartment, cutlasses in their hands. Both were bare-chested sailors, big, brawny men with deep chests and arms like ropes.

  What was happening?

  The first man had a pock-marked face and greying hair. He snarled and thrust out with the short cutlass, while the second man, a tattooed sailor Miro recognised, came around behind his friend and raised his weapon, poised to strike.

  Miro dodged to the side, coming up against the cabin wall while the cutlass cut the air where his abdomen had been. Cursing the limited space around him, he swore and dropped his zenblade.

  What in the Skylord's name was going on? These men weren't trying to subdue him. They were trying to kill him.

  The pock-marked sailor attacked again, cutting sideways with his sword, once, twice. Miro was too tall to duck, and the ceiling was too low for him to jump. As his attacker came in Miro grabbed the thick copy of Toro Marossa's Explorations from the ledge beside his bed. He blocked the sailor's sweeping cut, feeling the blade bite into the book. The sailor came closer, obstructing his tattooed ally, and the next time he attacked Miro again blocked with the book and then smashed his fist into the man's pock-marked face.

  He put everything he could into the blow, and with a wide-eyed expression of surprise, the pock-marked sailor went down.

  The tattooed swordsman now came forward, and Miro could see from his stance that he was the more formidable opponent. Grunting, the tattooed sailor feinted and then hacked at Miro's torso. Miro saw the feint, but this time when he blocked, the cutlass cut through the book and opened up the skin below Miro's armpit. Miro felt wetness on his side, and the tattered halves of the book fell out of his hands.

  With a look of triumph on his face, Miro's attacker came in for the kill.

 
The door to the cabin crashed back against the wall as yet another sailor, a huge man with a broken nose, came in, his expression murderous.

  The cabin door swung on its hinges, and Miro again saw his armoursilk, hanging on a peg.

  The tattooed man raised his cutlass to strike.

  Miro shouted a series of activation sequences, turning his head so he wouldn't be blinded.

  The armoursilk flared up, as bright as the sun. A sudden burst of heat washed from it, and the huge broken-nosed sailor screamed in pain.

  Miro's assailant shied at the commotion, and in that instant Miro attacked.

  He turned from a side-on position, using the twisting of his body to generate as much force as possible. His fist crashed into the side of the tattooed man's head. Miro followed it with a series of blows at the sailor's chest.

  The tattooed sailor attempted to swing his cutlass, but Miro came in close, butting his head against his opponent's nose, feeling the crunch as he crushed it against the man's skull. Miro hit the same spot again, and the tattooed man's eyes rolled back in his head as he went down. Miro quickly squatted and took the cutlass.

  He was now armed, with a weapon more suited to his environment.

  The broken-nosed sailor's hair was singed, but Miro hadn't been able to call forth the full power of the armoursilk; it was too dangerous on a wooden ship. The huge man's face was distorted with rage and his mouth twisted as he growled.

  Yet Miro was armed, and his enemy didn't stand a chance.

  A woman screamed.

  "Amber!" Miro cried in anguish.

  "We have your woman, Alturan," a voice called from outside the cabin. "Throw down any weapons and come out with your hands empty."

  "I don't believe you," Miro called.

  "I have a dagger at her throat."

  Miro recognised the voice of the first mate, Julian Carver. Miro cursed and threw the cutlass to the floor. Looking warily at the broken-nosed sailor, he stepped towards the door, moving past the huge man.

  As Miro opened the cabin door wide, the broken-nosed sailor punched Miro's kidney.

  The pain was indescribable, and Miro crumpled to the floor. Stars burst in his vision and for a moment he didn't know where he was.

  When awareness returned, Miro rose slowly back to his feet, still gasping with pain. There were several men in the passageway, and behind him Miro sensed the huge broken-nosed sailor, eager for any opportunity to avenge his fallen comrades.

  Carver stood behind Amber with one arm holding her close and the other holding a shining knife at her neck. Beside him Miro recognised Beck, the wiry second mate, also standing with cutlass bared.

  "I'm sorry, Miro," Miro heard, and there was Captain Meredith, a dagger also at his throat. The plump quartermaster, Ulrich, held the knife, its point pressed up against Meredith's jugular.

  "Shut it," Ulrich said, pressing the knife harder against Meredith's throat. A thin trickle of red ran down the captain's pasty skin.

  Standing beside Ulrich, the helmsman, Werner, also held a cutlass. All the officers were here, excepting the ship's surgeon. Miro wondered if the entire crew was in on the mutiny.

  Miro turned back to Carver. "Don't hurt her." His eyes met his wife's. "Don't worry, Amber, we'll get through this."

  "Ros, here," Beck said. The wiry man tossed the broken-nosed sailor behind Miro some twine, and Miro's wrists were pulled behind his back. He felt the huge sailor expertly tie them together, the cord painfully biting into the skin.

  There was nothing Miro could do.

  "Stop," Amber said.

  All eyes were suddenly on her.

  "I'm warning you," she said. "Let us go."

  "You're warning us," Carver said. He snorted. "You're warning us? How about I give you a warning?"

  The rat-faced first mate nodded at Ulrich. Without a word, the fat quartermaster drew his knife along Captain Meredith's throat, slicing it neatly from one ear to the other. Meredith's head fell back so that the gaping wound was displayed for all to see, and then with a gurgling sound blood gushed out.

  "No!" Miro cried. He watched as the life left Meredith's eyes.

  Ulrich released the captain, and let the man's body crumple to the floor.

  "Looks like I'm the captain now," Carver said.

  "Stop!" Amber screamed again.

  Miro tried to smash his head backwards, but the big sailor behind him easily avoided the blow. Another blow to Miro's kidney made him gasp with pain, but he fought with all his strength to remain standing.

  "Be still, woman," Carver said. He nodded past Miro's shoulder. "Kill him."

  Amber raised a hand, and Miro saw a ring on her finger.

  "Stop," Amber said, her eyes flicking to the ring. Even standing in her nightdress, with a dagger at her throat, there was strength in her voice to make her captors pause. "Don't make the slightest move. I have an explosive device in the hold, in one of the store boxes."

  Miro's eyes widened and he wondered if she was bluffing, but he remembered how wary she'd been of the sailors. She had her tools with her, and some essence. It was possible.

  "If I speak the activation sequence, the device will explode," Amber said, in a voice of steel. "Let us go, or I'll do it."

  "I don't believe you," Carver said.

  "You should," said Miro. "She's an Academy-trained enchantress."

  "We need to be quiet," Beck said, "the men are going to hear."

  "Let's get this over with," Carver said.

  He nodded again to the huge sailor behind Miro. Miro sensed the cutlass come up at his side. He struggled desperately as he saw Carver's knife cut into Amber's throat.

  Amber gasped an activation sequence. "Lithia-tassine."

  The ring lit up in a flash of red. A great thudding boom sounded below their feet, and the ship trembled like a wounded animal.

  For a long instant no one made a move. Suddenly the screams of men sounded outside. The other officers looked uncertainly at Carver, who gaped while his mind worked.

  Then the companionway door crashed open, a sailor's head poking in. "Captain! Anyone! We're taking water!"

  The sailor drew back in shock when he saw the bloody body of the captain.

  Carver swore. He turned to Beck and Ulrich. "The plan's changed. Tie them and gag them while we figure out what to do. We need to save the ship."

  "You," he said to the helmsman, "come with me."

  Another sailor looked in and saw the captain's body, his face draining of colour.

  Miro heard the cries of panicked men. He and Amber were thrown roughly to the floor and gags were put into their mouths. They were bound hand and foot.

  If the ship sank, they couldn't even try to swim.

  9

  ROGAN Jarvish returned to a city of seething tensions.

  The city had changed in his time as Lord Regent. Seranthia's great wall was no longer used as a quick and easy way to execute dissidents, leaving their corpses for the dogs. The rebuilding of the wealthy districts and squalid slums was well underway, and the market houses of the raja were again sacrosanct places where emissaries and trade delegations could engage with each other effectively. Yet there was little trade between the houses, for basic needs such as food and shelter surpassed requirements for Louan-made timepieces and Alturan-made armour. The streetclans still dominated the poorer districts, a problem unfortunately low on the list of issues to address.

  The Lord Regent of the Empire rumbled along the Grand Boulevard in a drudge-pulled carriage, heading directly for the Imperial Palace. With him were his wife Amelia and adopted son Tapel. Lost in thought, Rogan's soldierly instincts suddenly made him look around.

  At first he wasn't sure what had alerted him. Then, as soon as the carriage drew in sight of the Imperial Palace, he knew there was going to be trouble.

  The Grand Boulevard was a broad avenue as straight as a rule, so wide a stone couldn't be thrown across it, and so long one end could not be seen from the other. Manicured parks with beds
of scarlet flowers lined both sides of the street, and the statues of famous men and women from the past frowned down on the people below.

  These people were now all heading in one direction. They were shouting and waving their arms.

  Rogan could see a huge crowd assembling in Imperial Square, where the palace looked down haughtily on the common people below. Nothing in Seranthia was done at a small scale, and the Imperial Palace was no exception. A monumental edifice of crenulated walls and towers, with peaked white roofs poking from behind the battlements, the hundreds of windows only hinted at the size of the interior. Highest of all, rising from the palace above Imperial Square stood a tower with a railed balcony, from which the Emperors of the past had addressed the people of Seranthia.

  Before he could open his mouth to alert the driver, the crowd grew thick around the carriage and Rogan knew it would be impossible to turn around. He leaned out the window, heedless of the people shouting in the street.

  "Forward!" he growled at the driver. "Get closer to the palace!"

  The drudge picked up speed, and space opened up in front of the carriage so that they were able to properly enter Imperial Square.

  "Scratch it!" Rogan cursed. They were so close! He hoped the soldiers would see his carriage and send out some men.

  He turned to Amelia and Tapel, both looking frightened. When they'd docked after their long voyage from Castlemere he'd been so concerned about the state of affairs he hadn't bothered waiting for an escort to arrive. His poor judgement may have jeopardised the lives of his family.

  "Don't worry," Rogan muttered. "I'll sort this out."

  The drudge could go no further and the carriage drew to a halt. Seeing this display of wealth at a time when farmers had no drudges to plough the soil caused a wave of resentment to surge through the densely-packed crowd. Stones bounced off the doors of the carriage and the angry people began to rock it, causing Amelia to shriek.