The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel

by Patrick McClafferty

  “It’s on the tray.” He saw her sniff the air that was filled with the scent of sausages and fresh pastries, and from under her covers he heard her stomach growl.

  She looked disgusted. “Betrayed by my own stomach.”

  His face, however, was serious. “Today is the day. Eat a good meal.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell.

  The rainbow colors of noon had just washed the docks where the Red Witch was moored, and where Jorse stood watching crewmen replace a cracked spar, when the panting messenger found him.

  “Y’ev gotta come, M’ Lord.” He puffed. “Oh, it’s just so terrible. You’ve gotta come right now!” The messenger, dressed in the Count’s blue and silver livery, stood with his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath from the long run.

  “Catch your breath, man, and tell me what has happened.” Jorse asked, looking at the man intently.

  “Oh, M’ Lord. They kidnapped your sister! She and Countess Elsbeth were in the south garden when it happened.”

  “Is the Countess all right?”

  “Yes, M’ Lord. They just knocked her down, but she was some mad.”

  “Did you think to bring a horse?”

  “No, M’ Lord. They said to come and get you right off, so’s I just ran.”

  “Well...” Jorse looked up from the messenger, and stopped what he had been about to say. At the end of the dock was a small black coach, and standing next to it, two Priestesses. “I believe that my ride is here.” He tried to sound calm, despite the fact that shivers were crawling up his spine. “You stay here until you have recovered, then you can return to the Count.”

  “Yes M’ Lord. Thank you, M’ Lord.” The messenger bowed.

  He growled to himself. The ‘M’ Lord’ crap, along with the bowing and scraping was going to have to stop. He turned toward the carriage. The first priestess opened her mouth to say something, and he pointed a threatening finger at her. “Don’t you start too.” She bowed silently as he got into the carriage, but there was a hint of a smile playing with the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh, Jorse!” Elsbeth flew into his arms, giving him a big hug. “I’m so sorry. Dala and I were talking in the garden when four big men burst in and dragged her away. I fought them as best I could.” She held up a bloodstained poniard. “I marked one good and I don’t think he will see out of that eye again.” A cluster of blue and silver liveried soldiers marched by with swords drawn, following some vague directive. “Now, I’ve sent Mirek off to see to the castle security. If we hurry and seal the port we may be able to catch...”

  “Don’t bother, Aunt Elsbeth.” Jorse interrupted.

  “But we can catch them before they have a chance to get off...”

  “I said don’t bother.” His tone was firm, and Elsbeth blinked at him. Then she glared.

  “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

  Jorse sat down on a cold stone bench next to the standing Countess, took the knife gently from her hand and began to clean it with his handkerchief. He handed it back when the last trace of blood was gone. “Captain Jolenta taught me to always take care of your weapon, and never put it away dirty.” He looked up at Elsbeth’s dark eyes. “Dala has spent the last several weeks setting this up.”

  “But why didn’t she tell me? I could have helped.”

  “Dala said that your reactions when you didn’t know would convince the King’s spies that this isn’t a trap, which of course it is.”

  Elsbeth nodded slowly, then sat down next to Jorse. “It took them a while, but the baron finally figured out who was behind the black and silver ships that are now plying the seas. He’s afraid of you, nephew, and scared men make rash judgments.”

  Jorse frowned. “I thought that the Baron was a bit too wise and too old to take in such adventures.”

  “It’s not the old baron any more, Jorse. It’s Erkan Frigyes, the son. It’s rumored he poisoned his father to get to the throne. Be careful of him. He is a mad dog, or so they say.”

  He took his aunt’s hand. “It’s too late for that now, Elsbeth. We have to play the cards we’ve been dealt. The idea for the story that Dala was my sister, and the arrangements for her kidnapping is mine; mine and Dala’s.” Jorse glanced up at the sun. “We should be getting the ransom demand any time now.” He grinned at his aunt.

  “And what will they be demanding?” He could tell she was getting impatient.

  “Why, my life, of course.”

  ... and the traitor Jorse Schwendau, son to the traitors Hedric and Silla Schwendau, will surrender himself immediately to the justice of the Throne, or his beloved sister Dala will be killed slowly, before his very eyes.

  Signed

  Erkan Frigyes

  King of Vaigach and the Eastern Alliance

  “This is absolute ludicrous nonsense!” Mirek shouted, tossing the parchment on the table with something approaching disgust. His face was red with anger.

  “Not at all, Uncle Mirek.” Jorse replied, more calmly than he felt. That part about killing Dala before his eyes hadn’t been in the original ransom demand. It was obviously added by the madman Erkan and it shook him badly. “Erkan recognized me officially as the son of Hedric and Silla, so therefore, I am the rightful King of Vaigach. Secondly, by claiming himself King he is assuming the role of usurper and murderer. Thirdly, he officially recognized Dala as my sister.”

  Mirek put his hands on the table and shook his head. “I hope you’re right, lad, and I hope your plan works. If you’re wrong, it will cost the lives of both you and your sister.”

  There was a lump of ice in his stomach as Jorse looked up at his uncle. “Don’t you think that the risk is worth the gain, Uncle? We have to stop the killing, and we have to unify our divided world. There are maybe—two or three hundred thousand of us in the known world? How many will be left if I don’t stop the slaughter? I’m not just fighting for Vaigach, or for Prangli. I’m fighting for all of our kind - all of our kinds.” He amended.

  A messenger came in and spoke quietly with Mirek and Elsbeth, and then left. “Well, I hope your Goddess knows how to look out after you, because the Royal Fleet is about to enter our harbor to face your, seven ships is it?”

  Jorse sighed. “Seven, and one is the Red Witch with no guns.”

  “Not good odds.” Mirek said dryly.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “And what happened that time?”

  Jorse gave him a level look, and was silent.

  The thirty ships of the Royal Fleet of Vaigach entered the six mile bowl that was the harbor to the port city of Chita, on the Island of Prangli. In the center of the bay seven ships sat in a circular formation, their black and silver pennons flapping sluggishly in the light breeze. The air was crisp and the sky a deep cerulean blue. Jorse stood on the raked bow of the Red Witch and breathed deeply of the scents of the sea. It was, the old saying went, a good day to die.

  The Royal Fleet moved slowly into the harbor, the first ship moving left, the second right, dividing the ships between right and left until the small circle of seven ships was surrounded by a larger circle of thirty. The last ship to enter was a massive construction. Fully three decks tall, it bore seven cannons, four facing forward, three to the rear. It headed straight for the Red Witch, and Jorse could see the diabolical smile on the face of the supposed king. When the four seamen lowered his small gig into the water, the flagship dropped its anchor, barely a cable length away.

  Jorse bit his tongue to keep from grinning. The four men manning his small boat were the entire crew of the Red Witch. The rest of his own fleet was manned in a similar fashion. All the men crewing the ships were volunteers, and all were good swimmers.

  As the gig touched the side of the massive flagship a rope ladder was lowered, and Jorse climbed up to the scrubbed deck. A quick look took it all in. The deck guns were all manned, and trained at the now empty Red Witch. The ropes were neatly coiled, the crew had smart uniforms. Sails were furled neatly, and yards se
t to identical angles.

  The king, resplendent in his purple and gold uniform, cheap painted ceramic crown slightly awry, stamped to a halt in front of Jorse. He backed up two steps so that he wouldn’t have to look up into Jorse’s face. His expression was haughty, his gold flecked brown eyes betrayed madness.

  “So, you are the renegade Schwendau. I thought you’d be taller. Do you surrender?”

  Jorse glanced at the Fleet Admiral standing at the king’s side. “No. Actually I’ve come to take YOUR surrender.”

  The Admiral frowned, and the king began to shriek. “Are you insane? You...”

  He was interrupted by a distant boom, then another, then another for a total of thirty in all. Waterspouts began to rise alongside each of the fleet ships as the cannonballs landed.

  “Look!” The king pointed. “They can’t shoot at all, those fools. Attack, Admiral!”

  Jorse raised his arm, and another round of shots began from the hidden shore emplacements. The waterspouts were closer this time. A few sails showed the holes of near misses. The Admiral opened his mouth to say something to one of his gun crews but Jorse shook his head and gave the man a sardonic smile. “My ships have no crews, Admiral. Sink them if you wish. It will cost you your fleet if you do. Kill me if you wish, and kill my sister too. It will cost you your fleet—and your life.” Jorse raised an eyebrow. “Surrender and you retain both.”

  “Attack! Attack! Attack!” The king was screaming, flecks of foam at his mouth.

  “The next round from those sighted cannons will sink us you idiot.” The Admiral’s voice was hard. He looked at Jorse and bowed. “Your Majesty.” The Admiral backhanded the frothing king casually, and the monarch slammed against a cannon and was still. “You have my surrender.” He turned to a crewman. “I think perhaps you had better get his sister. This farce has gone on long enough.” He turned back to Jorse, his back straight. “Do what you will to me, but please spare my men and my ships.”

  “Did you fight against my parents?” Jorse asked the stiff man.

  “No, Your Majesty. I was a mere lieutenant, and commanded a small cutter in your father’s navy. We heard about the fighting, but by the time we got back...” He just shrugged his wide shoulders. “I’m a naval officer. They offered us all jobs. Your parents were dead so, what was I to do?”

  Jorse nodded slowly, as Dala came to his side and put her hand through his arm. Her young face was strained and pale. “Want a job?”

  The Admiral looked confused. “What??”

  “You didn’t fight against my parents, and you are a good sea officer. Would you serve me?”

  A smile cracked the stern face. “Yes, Your Majesty I would.” He made a gesture, and the flag on the big ship fluttered down. Soon the flags on the rest of the fleet followed.

  “Nooooo!” A voice behind him screamed. Jorse felt a tearing pain in his back, and the tip of a stelwood sword came out of his stomach. After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As he fell to the deck, he saw the severed arm of Erkan Frigyes sail past his face, spouting blood. The admiral was raising his heavy boarding cutlass to deprive the former monarch of his life, as well as his arm. Just as he heard Dala cry out, Jorse found his own weak voice.

  “No!” He managed a whisper. “Spare him. Now, clear the deck, please.” He heard shouts, and running feet. Soon it was quiet. He looked up. Three women were standing over him; one seemed to be on the threshold of disappearing.

  “I can’t do it.” Anya was whispering. “I’m...” She faded out then faded back. She reached out and touched Jorse, and seemed to flow into him.

  “Can’t you do anything right?” A woman’s voice said with authority. The world went white.

  ~~~

  The air in the room was cool, just on the warm side of goosebumps, and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Jorse was lying on a table that was both hard and downright cold.

  He held his breath, and tried to swallow the great fear that was forming... just below his heart.

  She murmured in a weak voice. He reached out, willing energy into her. Her protests became stronger, and Jorse pulled back, smiling; and opened his eyes. His enhanced memories told him that he was in a hospital, but he knew in his heart that no hospital like this existed on the whole world of Thalassia.

  “Welcome to Elysium, children.” A woman’s soft contralto voice murmured. “I am Thallia, caretaker and guardian of this moon.” Next to Jorse stood a woman of ageless beauty, surpassing even Selene. Her sophistication and poise made every beautiful woman he’d ever seen look a tramp. Long auburn hair hung to her waist in a shining cascade, framing an unlined, ageless face. Her gray eyes were dark pools of wisdom. She was wearing a simple dress in light azure blue, belted with a thin silver chain around her narrow waist. She smiled warmly at Jorse. “I can see the questions floating in your mind, young man. You are here because Selene,” There was a definite edge to the woman’s voice when she said Selene’s name. “screwed up. It was her job to look after you. You were both on the shady side of dead when I got you here.”

  “We’re better now?” His voice came out as a whisper.

  Thallia touched his cheek tenderly. “Not by a long shot, but you both are on the mend. Full healing will take many many months.”

  “The fleet, and the battle?”

  “You won the battle, young Jorse Schwendau. You and Anya did a very good job.” There was laughter in Thallia’s gray eyes. “You know the reward for doing good work, don’t you?”

  Jorse relaxed and returned her smile. “More work?”

  “Smart boy. That is the correct answer. As soon as you are better, and Dala is crowned Queen we need to have a long talk about your future.”

  “As Duke of Dun?” Jorse asked, confused.

  Thallia’s laugh was light and sweet. “Nothing so limited. You and Anya will be administrators to the entire world, until we can add more like you. You’ve proven that you can think globally, and act decisively. I need you to put out fires, fight monsters and help guide this fledgling human civilization out of the Stone Age.” Her wise eyes bored into his. “Are you interested?”

  “But Selene?? She said that she was a part of us, and that we would merge with...”

  Thallia interrupted with her laughter. “There is a person here of some skill that plays the role of Selene the Goddess. The divine traits are just an illusion. Unfortunately, she has played the role for so long that she is beginning to believe in her own divinity. Your destiny was always your own. You will merge with only each other.”

  “She’s not a goddess?” Jorse asked, aghast.

  “Not hardly.” Thallia’s smile widened. “I’ve removed the part of her she left in you and her role in your future is over. Are you ready to call Elysium home?”

  “And the islands that we call our world?” It was Anya speaking through Jorse, and he found the whole process vaguely uncomfortable.

  “You’ll both be able to visit those you love, from time to time, but it will only be a visit.”

  Jorse could feel Anya take his hand in a warm grip. She was chuckling quietly.

  He replied slowly. “How do we get to and from here? We don’t have wings.”

  “Your body has been changed, Jorse. I had to do it to save your life, and Anya’s. All you have to do is ask to come home, and I will bring you. It’s that easy.”

  Jorse swallowed. “We accept.”

  Chapter 18

  The hooded man stepped out of the small trading ship and onto the rough wooden dock. His hood was deep, and shadows hid his face. Breathing in a soft wind, redolent of pine trees and other growing things, he stood and looked up at the pennons flapping gaily on the top of Castle Schwendau. They had been flying there since the coronation of Queen Dala, six months earlier. It had been a full year or more since the defeat of the K
ing’s fleet, and the beginning of the new reign. His gaze passed over a Corsair warboat sitting calmly at anchor in the wide harbor. Some things, he was glad to see, hadn’t changed at all.

  The two guards at the front gate wearing burnished black and silver armor never saw him enter. To the maids and servants he was no more than a passing shadow, drifting soundlessly down the corridors.

  Dala looked up from the book she was reading as he entered the small sitting room, and for a moment fear flickered over her face. Then he pushed back his hood. Her eyes grew very wide.

  “Jorse?” Her voice was a whisper. “Selene said you were badly injured, and that it would take a long time for her to heal you.” Her eyes fell. “I thought you were dead.”

  He chuckled dryly. “Actually, I had Selene to thank for getting hurt in the first place, and she had nothing to do with healing me.”

  Dala was still looking at the floor. “If I’d known you were still alive I’d have waited for you.” She looked up, and there was pain in her eyes. “I’m going to have Gorku’s baby.”

  Jorse blinked. “Gorku? Aren’t you a little young, and isn’t he a little old?”

  Dala’s face hardened. “I’m sixteen years old now, Jorse. You were gone for a year and I was lonely.” He hesitated. Had he been gone so long, healing on Elysium?

  Anya whispered in his mind.

  Jorse changed the subject. “I thought Gorku and Lin were... close.”

  “Lin lost interest after you—went away. But she never lost hope.” Dala’s smile was crooked and self-mocking. “I should have been so faithful.” She looked up with tear filled eyes. “I’m claiming the child is yours. His name will be Hedric, after your father. Uncle Gorku will see to his education. That way I can ensure the continuity of the Schwendau reign. We will move back to the Royal Castle in Boktor after he is born, but I want Hedric to be born here.”

  Jorse chuckled, more than a little surprised at the hard young woman before him. “It’s a fairly good plan, but the timing is off by a few months.”