The orc's bodyguard surged forward to protect their leader and exact revenge, and the beastmen champions did not hesitate in meeting the charge. Before him and behind him, Dragyr could hear more forces rushing headlong toward the fight. He had ensured the battle to come would be long and bloody. Could it have ended any other way?
“You cowardly goat!” The orc warlord screamed as he was harried away by a pair of his bodyguards. “You will pay for this! This land, and all of your gods damned kin will suffer for this transgression! We will slay all of you! No mercy!” Perhaps he was a coward and a half dozen other things as the great orc claimed, but that hardly mattered now. The battle surged back into life around him as Dragyr stumbled toward his fallen mentor, his steps faltering with sorrow and disbelief.
Malgar lay on the hard ground in a pose that might almost make it seem he was merely sleeping, were it not for the great rends in his flesh. Dragyr grasped the still form tightly, absently brushing at the blood-soaked fur. This was his mentor, his friend, his kin. This was the only family he'd ever known. This satyr had been father, brother, and tribe to him since he was too young to remember. He had hardly even known him, he was coming to find in recent days. Only at this desperate gathering had Dragyr begun to realize the extent to which the elder had been venerated by all of his kind.
Rage welled up inside him, but not the raw anger he had felt many times throughout his life. This was a purely savage rage, refined and honed with the sorrow of loss. He lowered his mentor's form back to the ground with exaggerated tenderness and care. He brushed his hand along one of his great spiraling horns before striding away to retrieve the heavy axe that lay discarded nearby. The loss burning through his soul, he stalked toward the nearest cluster of struggling forms and cleaved the elder's blade through an orc skull, and then another, and then another.
The battle would rage here, the orcs throwing themselves at the beastmen until their wrath was spent. If the warlord lived, and it seemed like not even an arrow embedded in his skull would see him dead, he would probably rally his remaining forces and do precisely as Malgar predicted. Dragyr could already see it; over the next few months, the greenskin horde would stream from the mountains and plains. The herd would fight a long and brutal campaign to protect their home alongside all the forces of nature the Green Lady could muster.
It was the way of things. The cycle did not limit itself to wolves and rabbits and deer going about their days. The cycle was here too, in this fight between the natural and wholly unnatural. They were but pieces of a greater whole. War was terrible, but perhaps it wasn't so different from the daily hunt. The stakes were just larger. Though he hated to admit, this was a hunt he loved, one he reveled in. The words of his elder a distant echo, for this enemy, there would be no mercy.
Into the Straits of Madness
By Robert E Waters
Lukhantl stared at a large ship through Captain Poraqa’s spyglass. At their distance, he could only make out vague shapes on the deck. Thin, dark shapes. The details of the ship, however, were clearer, though not conclusive.
“Is it our ship?” Poraqa asked, leaning on the railing beside Lukhantl.
Lukhantl shrugged off the anxious heat emanating from the captain’s smaller, though powerful, salamander frame. “It fits our informant’s description. It’s a Twilight vessel for sure. It’s square-rigged fore and main; lateen-rigged on the mizzen. My eyes could be deceiving me, though, at this distance. It may not be an elven vessel at all; it may just be an old carrack merchantman out of Geneza.”
“Alone, and this far south? That’s doubtful.” Poraqa took the spyglass and had a look herself. She adjusted the focus, walking it up and down the railing, changing her angle. “It’s a slaver, and in good shape. Can’t see much of the crew, though.”
“That is worrisome, but not unprecedented when it comes to Kin buccaneers. They hide their numbers well.”
They had been shadowing the ship for a full three days, up from Hokh-Man, the Serpent’s Mouth, and the massive battle that had taken place there near the port city. Lukhantl had only seen a handful of Kin on deck at any given time. That meant one of two things: either the ship had a small crew, or they were hiding their true strength below-decks.
The Kin were a collection of elven cabals that had succumbed to evil and wickedness, their skin growing so pale as to be almost nickel-blue. Those who had no experience with their relentless savagery on the battlefield might consider their dark simplicity beautiful. Lukhantl did not. He hated them all.
“We may have an opportunity here.” Lukhantl flashed his thick, red tongue in excitement, letting it rippled along the line of teeth in his long red snout. “If we act swiftly and before it leaves the straits and enters the Infant Sea.”
“They have a full gun deck,” Poraqa said, changing focus again. “And I see two swiveled ballistae stem and stern, with oiled chains attached, and a fixed forward-firing falconet. Pretty fearful armament.”
“Yes, but if they are under-strength…”
The captain nodded. Lukhantl could see foamy drool at the corner of her broad, toothy mouth. The green scales along her spine rose up like small daggers. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on whatever cargo they are hauling, besides our captured brethren,” Poraqa said. “But we can’t know for sure about the crew. If we go in under the assumption that they are short-handed, we may be in for a deadly fight. I’ve never shrunk from a brawl, mind you, but I prefer having a better handle on the odds before I show my fire. If we fail, we will join our dead brothers and sisters on that bloody field of Hokh-Man.”
Lukhantl had not been at the battle of Hokh-Man, but stragglers huddling on the beaches, awaiting rescue, had told of a total salamander rout as monstrous, eight-legged Abyssal fiends—with Twilight blade-dancers astride—carved huge swaths through terrified, fleeing Prime columns. Lukhantl’s brother, Battle-Captain Lorquan, had been among those fleeing.
Lukhantl tried keeping angry heat welling up inside him under control as he clicked his sharp teeth and looked out over the chop toward the Twilight ship. Praise Kthorlaq the Deliverer, but his brother had survived the rout. Now he lay somewhere on that slaver ship with his personal guard, en route to another, more dangerous, mouth.
The Mouth of Leith.
It would have been better for Lorquan to die with honor on the field.
Salamanders did not possess the same kind of familial structures that other races of Mantica possessed, so there was no concern about Lorquan’s capture shaming the family. Salamander mothers laid their eggs and kept their young safe for a short time afterward. Then they were gone. But strong bonds sometimes formed among the clutches as they struggled to survive in a dangerous world, and Lukhantl owed his life many times over to Lorquan for his protection in those early days.
“This ship can do circles around that big box of lumber,” Lukhantl said, refocusing his mind on the discussion with the captain.
“Yes, but one mighty broadside, and we’re matchsticks. Or if one of those ballistae penetrate our hull, she’ll be ripped to shreds.” Poraqa grunted and spit fire over the side. The boiling phlegm sizzled in the waves. “I wish Kantolq and Burlinq were here. Three corsair captains against one Twilight slaver… we’d make short work of it.”
Lukhantl sighed and spit into the chop as well. “We’re wasting time talking. Let’s go get it.”
Poraqa lowered her spyglass and looked at Lukhantl. She cracked a smile, and Lukhantl could see the fire, the lava, coursing through her face, her eyes, her body. “Under better circumstances, you’d make a fine sea captain. But you’re angry, Lukhantl. I’ve seen angry brethren such as you throw themselves against wall after wall, and get pounded to dust. Anger got you that nasty wound in your shoulder near Cacryn Golloch—don’t look at me like that; I’ve heard the stories—and anger will get you killed, my friend. We’ll follow it for a little while longer, see if we can better ascertain numbers for their crew. Then we’ll rake their sails from the rear with fire
eggs. That’ll get the bees buzzing, and then we’ll know for sure. All right?”
Poraqa was correct. Going in without better intelligence would be foolhardy, but it was difficult for Lukhantl to stow his anger, to be patient under these circumstances, when just over that short distance between ships, his only surviving family was in chains and probably suffering immeasurable privations. Time seemed more important than patience at this moment, but he nodded and tried to return Poraqa’s smile. “You’re right, my friend. We’ll do as you say, but when the time comes to engage, I will lead the boarding party.”
****
Another few hours of watching and shadowing the Twilight ship from a safe distance, then Poraqa finally gave the order once her ship, Devourer’s Fire, had moved within a hundred meters of the enemy’s port side.
“Fire!”
Fire eggs roared out of cannon on the starboard side at the top of the roll. Poraqa preferred to fire at the top of the roll, as it more readily guaranteed some strikes on the initial volley from rigging to hull. Unfortunately, the shot was at an oblique angle, the Twilight slaver moving fast to evade, and thus about two-thirds of the eggs missed. The rest of the volley, however, struck the ship and showered the gunwale on the port side with gouts of small, but lethal, magma. From this distance, Lukhantl could not see if any shot found flesh. He certainly could not hear the terrifying screams that inevitably followed being hit by a fire egg. But all in all, a decent first volley.
The gunners loaded quickly and fired another round, still at an oblique angle, but they had correctly anticipated the pitch of the enemy ship. More fire eggs tore through the slaver’s aft-castle and further down into the rear gun ports. Lukhantl waited to hear any explosions that the shot might have caused further into the hull, but none came. The Twilight ship was still standing, still sailing, and still looking very formidable. An explosion would have been good for them tactically, Lukhantl knew, but he was glad one did not occur. Chained salamanders were in that hull somewhere.
That last volley got the bees buzzing on its deck, as Poraqa had predicted. Kin crewmen scrambled about as their ship tried to turn into the shot and bring its port side gun deck to bear.
“She’s going to stand and fight,” Lukhantl said, adjusting the focus on the spyglass.
Poraqa nodded. “Yes, but look: still very few crewmen. I figure they have half their complement at best. Perhaps there’d been a revolt onboard that shaved their numbers, but whatever the reason, they’ve decided that they can’t outrun us; might as well stand and make a good show of it.” She leaned back, cupped her mouth, and shouted. “Turn starboard. Quickly now. Stow the eggs, and ready chain-shot!”
By turning sharply to the right, they allowed the Twilight ship freedom to turn fully to its portside and open its undamaged gun ports. As ordered, Poraqa’s crew tucked away their fire eggs and readied half-ball split-shot; Lukhantl could hear their muffled voices through the planks but kept his eye on the Twilight ship and watched as one after another, doors were opened along the gun deck and barrels revealed. Too few. He shook his head. “That’s only half. Something must have happened.”
“Mhmm,” Poraqa grunted, spitting into the waves once more. “Steady now! Bring us about!”
The Twilight ship opened fire. Lukhantl observed the expulsion of smoke from each barrel and then heard the roar. His instinct was to duck. Captain Poraqa stood there like a rock, arms folded over her chest, a tiny little smile on her long, angular face.
The Twilight ship, in its desperation, fired at the top of the roll, but in this instance, it would have been better to fire low, as well over half its round shot flew harmlessly through and over the ship. The Devourer’s Fire had too low a profile and was moving too fast to be a firm target, at least at this angle. One lucky ball struck the crow’s nest and shattered it to a pulp. The unlucky salamander in the nest screamed and fell to his death. Another round bounced across the deck, smashing everything and everyone in its path. Three more crewmembers were killed, but Poraqa didn’t blink an eye.
“Damn the gods!” Lukhantl said, collecting himself. “She may be short-handed, but she’s got some powerful guns.”
“Aye!” Poraqa said, shifting her stance a little to get a better view of the situation. “We got lucky, though. We won’t be next time if she’s got another volley in her. We have to bring this matter to a close soon. Fire the chain!”
They fired a full load of split-shot. They hadn’t reached the ideal rake position of fifty meters or so, but it didn’t matter. The guns sounded, and the lateen sail on the mizzenmast of the Twilight ship dissolved before their eyes. Collateral damage from its destruction poured over into the main-mast, ripping deep gashes into the sail and bringing roughly a third of it down. Lukhantl could even see some of the crew being ripped apart by shot that flew head-height across the deck.
Everything grew quiet, save for Poraqa’s crew who scrambled to reload another volley of chain-shot, and the wounded on the Twilight ship screaming their last. Lukhantl waited as Devourer’s Fire completed its reposition to the starboard side of the Twilight ship and then moved into firing range.
“Will she try another broadside?” he asked.
Poraqa shrugged. “I’d wager that, due to limited crew, they have to shift gunners from port to starboard to reload. They could if time were convenient, but we’re not going to give them that time.”
She barked orders to her crew. “Bring her about, and turn her into the prize!”
“Get your boarders ready,” she said to Lukhantl.
Lukhantl nodded and handed over the spyglass, his face reddening with deep fire.
His borders were assembled near the main-mast, with make-shift clubs sharp with lekelidon teeth, boarding axes, cutlasses, and rusty broadswords at the ready. A corsair crew rarely had the finest weaponry, but they made up for it in tenacity. Grapplers with hooks, rope, and modified ladders waited near the port railing. Lukhantl made sure everyone was in place, then he said, “All right, brothers, sisters, steady your courage. They have a weakened crew, and the raking has weakened them even further. But a wounded snake will fight to the death; you know this. Stay together and attack en masse. They have our brothers in the hold.
“I understand that our nature is to battle with fury; trust me, I do. I know that sometimes, the fire, the rage, can overwhelm you in your desire for blood. But in your rage, take caution and do not kill any of our own. If you do, I will kill you. Understand?”
They gave a collective “aye,” and Lukhantl led them to the railing.
Despite their skill and care, Poraqa’s sailors purposely slammed Devourer’s Fire into the Twilight ship. Not strong enough to be considered a ram, true, but one of Lukhantl’s crew fell overboard. There was no time to try to save him, as the hull ran him over, and he was lost forever.
“Fire!”
This time it was Lukhantl who gave the order. Chain-shot roared out of the ship’s port guns and hit the Twilight ship at point-blank range. The slaver had a higher deck than the salamander corsair, and thus the shot was angled upward for maximum effect. Wood splintered. Kin inside the Twilight ship screamed as shot found its way through gun ports and slaughtered cannon crews. The enemy gunwale shattered up and down the hull, and the few men who had been defending it, trying to ready their serrated short-swords and small hand crossbows for the assault, either died in place, or fell back from the concussive rush of so much hot, whistling iron.
One culverin from the Twilight ship fired a half-load of razor-sharp iron needles known as ‘The Teeth of Leith,’ cutting a swath through Lukhantl’s assembled boarders, killing three and knocking many others down.
Then the Twilight crew fired the ballistae from the stern swivel. The iron chain attached to the massive bolt sounded like a lightning strike as it pulled taut flying over the Devourer’s deck. Lukhantl ducked to avoid being struck as it smashed into the main mast and hooked itself on the starboard side. Splintered wood, sail, and rigging fell everywhere; a
nd for a moment, it seemed as if the crew might lose its heart. Then the ships struck each other again due to the pull of the ballistae chain, and Lukhantl wasted no time barking his order.
“Attack!”
The distance was short, but the angle gave the defenders the advantage. Grapples were set, and salamander crew began to climb up the hull of the slaver, rough and scaly hand over hand. Each grapple team had a stout brother assigned for spitting duty. Whenever some Twilight sailor was brave enough to return to the gunwale and try a crossbow shot down at the climbers, the spitter was required to put him down with a nasty gout of poisonous fire in his face. Lukhantl watched the action for a time, but he could not resist joining his brothers in the fight.
He took to a rope and began to climb, his boarding axe tucked in at his belt. Despite the grapple hooks set all along the slaver hull, the movement of the waves made climbing difficult. His hands, his shoulders, ached at the effort. But he kept climbing, kept pulling his weight up from one knot to the next, until he was at the top.
There, he pulled his axe and punched it into the face of a waiting Kin crewman who took an errant sword swing at Lukhantl’s head. The wretched and twisted elf, whose dark armor glistened with salamander blood, whose pale skin shined with sweat, dropped the sword and fell into a bloody lump.
Other Kin defenders had tried to hastily assemble a battle line along the port gunwale. They fired their crossbows as Lukhantl’s boarders rushed them, and a few went down in the powerful volley of bolts, but Lukhantl kept pressing the attack. With his axe swinging, he hacked and hammered his way through the defenders like raw meat.
An explosion rocked the assault. Lukhantl fell to the ground, kept himself from being crushed by the weight of the attack, and noticed that one of the Kin had a bag of small handheld bombs. The Kin pulled another bomb out and tried to light the fuse, but in the chaos of the fight, he was finding it hard to keep steady.
Tales of Mantica Page 14
