On Discord Isle (The Dawnhawk Trilogy)

by Burgess, Jonathon

  “Listen, all of you,” said Fengel. “I know things are tough. And Goddess knows that I’m not the man you want. But I am what you have. This fellow”—he pointed to Hayes—“would dupe you into hunting for blood and vengeance. Yet it was his leadership that got everyone wounded and not a few people killed in the first place.

  “I know some of you feel like you owe him for his rank. You’re thinking about what will happen when you get back to the fleet. That’s understandable. Even admirable. But listening to him is going to get you all killed.” Fengel smiled. “Now, I am more than happy to listen to any of my crew with any sensible suggestions. That even includes Mr. Hayes here, should he actually have anything sensible to say.”

  Chuckles echoed up and down the deck. Well, he thought. That’s taken care of. A glance back at Hayes told him he’d won. The sub-lieutenant stared out at the deck, hands limp at his sides. No one was even looking at him anymore, not even in anger. The man knew that he had lost.

  “Now, friends,” said Fengel gravely. “I didn’t come up here just to chastise the sub-lieutenant. I’m afraid I’ve got a spot of bad news for you as well.” He paused for effect. “While the Goliath is a good ship, a fine ship, she’s in a spot o’ trouble. I’ve been down to the bilge with Sergeant Cumbers and our shipwright and it is my sad duty to inform you all that our ship here isn’t going to be sailing anytime soon.”

  Disbelief and dismay erupted from the crew.

  “But why?” cried Riley Gordon.

  Fengel held up his hands. “My friends, I don’t know how much you knew beforehand, but I heard the rumors myself. And I have to tell you that they’re true, sadly. We’ve run aground right onto some old Voorn ruin. It has punctured the hull, and isn’t going to be coming out anytime soon.”

  Riley Gordon jumped up onto a crate and pointed at Hayes. “You rat bastard. You ordered us in too close, and you knew it!” He looked to his mates. “That son of a bitch is the reason we’re stuck here.”

  The crew growled angrily. Hayes’s eyes widened and he shrank back, shaking his head in denial. Fengel watched carefully. Letting everyone descend to a mob would be going too far. Though he felt surprisingly unmoved. Hayes had tried to have him lynched from the yardarm, after all.

  Midshipman Paine sniffled. “But I don’t want to grow up on a deserted island!”

  “Now, Paine,” said Fengel. “Dry those eyes. You don’t think I’d have come up here just to disappoint you, do you?”

  “No,” replied Paine. “You came up because I said Hayes was planning mutiny again.”

  Fengel froze. “Ah, yes.” He coughed. “At any rate, I do have a plan.” He faced the crowd. “The Goliath may not be taking us away from here anytime soon. But I do know of one ship that could.” He looked back to Cumbers. “Sergeant, what did you say you saw the Salomcani running away with when they fled?”

  Cumbers frowned. “Wood and tools.”

  “Wood and tools,” agreed Fengel. “For making repairs. That, my fellows, means that the Salmalin isn’t a loss. And that means that we can steal it.”

  The men shouted a thousand questions. Fengel waved them all down. “Lads, I know what you think. You’re sailors, you’re Bluecoats. You’d need to be pirates to steal a ship like this. Well, fortunately for you, Mr. Hayes was actually right about one thing.” He winked. “I am an excellent pirate. So let’s go steal us a ship.”

  No one cheered. The crew quieted, however. As he belted out orders to bring up what supplies remained, to see to the wounded, and get them all ashore again, they moved to obey. He set his makeshift officers to tasks. When everything was moving well, he made his way back to the captain’s cabin.

  A figure appeared in the corner of his eye as he reached the door. Hayes had followed him.

  “You’re using them to take the Salmalin,” he said. “That was my idea.” Tears glimmered in his eyes. “How do you do it? How do you keep winning?”

  Fengel straightened. “Because you have yet to learn the difference between proper and popular,” he replied without turning around. “And when each one becomes more powerful. Learn patience, Lucian.”

  Hayes cocked his head. “What? Who did you call me?”

  Fengel stopped with his hand on the handle. He flushed. “Never mind. Make yourself useful and go check on the wounded. Try not to get yourself lynched by the men.” Opening the door to the cabin, he fled inside.

  Getting the crew ashore did not prove so onerous a task. At first, the men seemed depressed over the news about their ship. Fengel made sure to move among them, joking with and encouraging the weary, yet being stern with those who slacked. He remembered the faces of those caught listening to Hayes and pulled them aside, reminding them of the enemy across the isle and revenge. After each little speech they moved with new fire, driving their mates along with increased fervor.

  His new officers proved invaluable. Cumbers was senior among the remaining Bluecoat contingent, who jumped right in whenever the grizzled sergeant yelled at them. Paine, the young midshipman, ran errands and delivered messages, also relaying Fengel’s commands to the sailors themselves, whom he technically had rank over. Aetherite Dawkins had come to an understanding with Fengel, and was left alone in exchange for seeing to the wounded, with a little help from Fengel himself on occasion. Between the three of them, they assembled the few remaining armaments and what little powder was left before moving the crew ashore.

  Fengel sent the Bluecoats first to reoccupy the beach. There hadn’t been any sign of the Salomcani or anyone else since the raid. The action was more symbolic than practical. Cumbers’s men moved warily at first, fanning out to watch the perimeter of the jungle.

  The sailors came next, along with the few wounded. Fengel departed last of all. He regarded the Goliath with amusement as the launch rowed ashore. This was the second time he’d left a Perinese ship without its crew. Told you I’d do it, he thought silently to Natasha.

  He snapped back to the task at hand as the little boat scraped the shore. The sailors milled about, piling their remaining supplies on the sand. Fengel examined them with a frown. Even with the Bluecoat marines, he had maybe thirty surviving men, and barely enough shot, powder, and food for half. Thankfully, though, no one was so injured that he couldn’t walk or fight, barring Harvey the shipwright. Fengel climbed out of the launch and strode up through the surf. He moved up to Cumbers. Paine fell in behind him a polite distance away.

  The sergeant stood beside the small pool Fengel discovered after the last battle. Steaming hot water still filled it, a jet spraying up constantly from the pipeworks in its depths. The jet seemed larger than Fengel remembered.

  A deep rumble sounded throughout the isle. The ground shook and the waves shuddered into froth. The crewmen fell to their knees, shouting. Fengel fought to keep his balance. The shaking subsided a few moments later.

  Fengel grimaced. Nothing like yesterday’s earthquake had occurred since, but little minor temblors now occurred with increasing frequency. He glanced around to make sure no one was hurt, then continued up to the sergeant.

  Cumbers turned at Fengel’s approach. “Well, sir, we’re all ashore, even with the shaking.” He fingered his musket, glancing up at the sky. “But if we’re planning to get a move on, it’s almost noon now. An’ we’ll have to be careful. Those damned heathen raiders could be hiding anywhere in that brush.”

  Fengel glanced at the tree line. It was a mess. Yesterday’s quake had toppled many of the tall palm and banyan trees. Branches lay everywhere. Crawling through it to the other side of the island would be difficult.

  “Agreed, Sergeant Cumbers.” He faced the sailors behind them. “Fellows! Attend. On the other side of this isle wait the devious Salomcani. They’ve hurt us, and they’ve stolen from us. Now it’s time to pay that back.” The crew muttered in a chorus of agreement. Fengel pointed to the pile of supplies. “I want every one of you armed and ready, once we lay eyes on them. Take food, water, and a weapon. Marines to the front.
Those of you with injuries, stay to the back.” Fengel gestured. “Now, all of you, follow me!”

  He made to stride up the beach when someone grabbed his coat.

  “Captain Fengel, sir,” said Paine. “You’re forgetting something.”

  The youth thrust something up at him. It was a saber in a blue enamel sheath. Gold filigree covered the basket and the grip, the latter wound with silver wire. An officer’s weapon. Fengel wanted to shout with glee. Instead he took the blade with a smile. “Why, thank you, young Paine. Thank you indeed.” He hadn’t armed himself these last two days, lest he send the wrong message. If one of the crew gave him a blade, though, that was different.

  The grip fit comfortably in his hand. Fengel closed eyes suddenly watery. He drew the saber, the hissing ring as it skittered out of its scabbard music to his ears.

  He had a sword again. It felt good.

  Beware, witch. I’m coming for you. With a laughing cry, he led the Perinese sailors into the jungle.

  They didn’t get far. The foliage was just as thick as he’d thought, with the fallen timber crushing everything together. If the trees had toppled all the way to the ground, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But some of the wreckage was supported by other greenery, or had only partially fallen. The canopy was still intact, just shorter and denser now. Fengel and the men of the Goliath had to crawl, climb, and hack their way around as best they could.

  Why didn’t I just take them around by the beach? wondered Fengel as he crawled beneath two fallen palms. He dripped with sweat. Even breathing in the muggy undergrowth was difficult.

  Noon came and went as he led the Perinese through the interior of the island. Thankfully their progress took them into the shadow of the volcano at the center of the isle, shading them from the hot tropical sun. The volcano stood above them, though, more ominous and defined than before. All loose dirt and rock had fallen away to reveal a more symmetrical cone. The weird protrusions were also more obvious. What he had thought at first a strange bit of geology were large metallic diamonds—yet more Voorn construction.

  The draconic megalith had not fallen. More of it stood uncovered by the quake, even taller and wider than Fengel had first guessed at. It was a massive bust, with most of the torso, shoulders, neck, and head rising up from the flank of the mountain to bow out over the sea. Falling debris had knocked away some of the dirt and greenery to reveal shining metal underneath, more of the same invincible brass as the spine that had breached the hull of the Goliath. More fine detail could be made out on the giant icon. Its eyes were closed, as if asleep, or praying.

  Fengel hacked with his new saber and pushed through a massive fern. The foliage gave way to open air and a steep, gritty embankment. Beneath him the ground suddenly shook, the plants around him shivering with another tremor. His footing crumbled, and Fengel cursed as he slid down, coming to a stop a few feet below.

  The tremor stopped only a moment later. This won’t do, thought Fengel. We need that ship before this whole place shakes apart. Glancing about, Fengel found himself in a small ravine. The slope back up to the jungle was only ten feet or so. Down at its base flowed a small wide stream, only a few inches deep. On the opposite side rose a similar gritty slope only a little higher, topped by yet more jungle. To the left, the creek curled out of sight. At his right Fengel spied a small, dark cave poked into the base of the volcano. The waters of the stream seemed to issue forth from here.

  The foliage rustled up above. “Sir!” cried Paine. “You okay?”

  Fengel glanced up to see his new officers, as well as several others, poking their heads out of the jungle. “Right as rain,” said Fengel. “Just a bit of a slip. Cumbers, have the men come down here for a bit of a rest. I think this is fresh water. Move carefully, mind.”

  The crew of the Goliath descended. After Dawes tested the water and found it clean, everyone knelt to wash and have a drink. Fengel climbed back to his feet. He walked upstream toward the mouth of the cave, curious.

  The opening was wide. Maybe ten feet across and just as tall. Ambient sunlight only illuminated the interior by a few feet, revealing smooth stone walls and more of the stream as it flowed outward. Something caught his eye, however. In the depths Fengel saw a glimmer.

  A fluttering sounded beside him, followed by a thump. Fengel glanced over to see a parrot squatting on a rock near to the cave mouth.

  It was singularly ugly. The creature had a long, butter-yellow beak, stumpy orange legs, and was shaped like a melon. Brilliant plumage covered it, a shimmering rainbow of color that would have been lovely on anything else, but here only looked garish. The bird looked tired. It panted slightly. When it noticed Fengel, it glared with over-large eyes. Then it opened its beak and squawked at him.

  The noise sounded like something halfway between a honk and a scream. Fortunately, it wasn’t very loud. Fengel pulled back with distaste.

  A great crashing sounded through the underbrush on the far ledge above. Fengel looked up to see a woman push through the jungle atop the opposite slope. She held a scimitar in hand, wore a tattered blouse, and blinked in surprise at the sudden change in her footing.

  It was his wife.

  A number of Salomcani raiders pushed through the jungle to join her. Natasha stared down at the Perinese. Then she saw Fengel. “There they are!” she roared in Salomcan. “There’s the Perinese bastards! Charge!”

  The Sheikdom raiders raced down the slope into the crew of the Goliath. Most of Fengel’s men were caught unawares, sitting in the stream or washing in it. They scrambled to their feet and went for their weapons.

  Fengel drew his saber and ran back to join the fray. A large Salomcani with a blue headscarf and striped trousers leapt from the slope at him, scimitar raised high. Fengel stepped aside and lashed out with his blade. It met resistance as the man fell past. He collapsed into the stream screaming and clutching at now-bloodied shins.

  “Rally!” Fengel cried. “Men of the Goliath, rally to me!”

  More Salomcani charged out of the jungle. A rat-faced man appeared before Fengel, long dagger upraised. Fengel cut at the arm holding the weapon and bashed his pommel into his nose. If I can just make it to her, I can end this quickly. Natasha stood only a short distance away. He watched her cut down one of his crew and smiled as a Bluecoat crept up behind her with his musket held like a club. She ducked as he swung and then whirled to meet the man, lunging forward to run him through. The Bluecoat cried in surprise and pain. Natasha bent in and kissed him on the cheek, then let him crumple down to the stream.

  Fengel growled in anger and charged forward. She danced back and barked out an order, sending two of her Salomcani to meet him with scimitars and daggers in hand. Fengel hacked at the one on the left, a short, stout man, eager to reach past him to Natasha. The raider parried the blow. Fengel rebounded from the block to flick a cut at the tall dark-haired man on the right, who similarly deflected his strike.

  They were strong, and skilled. But Fengel knew that he was better. He fell back a step, enticing them to strike. They took the bait and he beat both blades aside, using the opening to cut at the arm of the man on the right. The raider saw the danger and pulled back, only earning a light cut across his bicep. His mate pulled his own blade back into guard and rushed Fengel, aiming for his head with the pommel of his scimitar. Fengel dodged back, drawing his saber across his assailant’s thigh.

  The three of them drew back with blades upraised in guarding positions. Not bad, Fengel thought. He could beat them, but it would take time. His wife knew what she was doing, damnably.

  Time was something he didn’t have. A quick glance told him that the men of the Goliath were sorely pressed. Cumbers fought well, clubbing a raider to the ground and firing a shot at the man who snuck up on him. Riley Gordon and Midshipman Paine worked as a team, but already sported a number of minor cuts. Aetherite Dawkins gestured at a raider and unleashed a small puff of black smoke. His assailant fell, choking, to the stream. Dawkins rabbit-punched him a
cross the side of the head, then fled back behind his mates. Everyone else was falling back, wounded. They needed a chance to regroup, and Natasha wasn’t giving it to them.

  The dark-haired raider to his right lunged in. Fengel parried and bashed his assailant’s face with the butt of his saber. The man fell back with a grunt and Fengel stepped in to meet his shorter fellow, knocking his blade aside and cutting at his forehead. The blow hit home and the second raider staggered back, blood seeping down into his face.

  Fengel took the opportunity to lash out at a few other nearby raiders. He skewered one and cut the calves of another, taking some pressure off of his crewmen. “Fall back!” he cried. “Men of the Goliath, fall back to me! To the cave!”

  “Ha!” shouted Natasha from somewhere in the struggle. “Run, you dogs. We’ll cut you down all the same! And a fistful of golden sovereigns to the ones that bring me Fengel alive!”

  Fengel’s crewmen made for the opening in the base of the mountain. He gave them what cover he could, blocking and binding any pursuers, falling back foot by foot until he found himself with Cumbers in the mouth of the cave holding off five men at once. A pistol snaked in at the sergeant’s chest. Fengel lopped the fingers holding it off at the wrist before it could fire.

  The wounded raider screamed. He fell back. Unnerved, his mates gave pause and joined him as well. Fengel grabbed Cumbers by the shoulder and shoved him back toward the depths.

  “Run!” he said. “Get the men away to somewhere we can recover!”

  Cumbers panted. He nodded in the gloom and darted behind. Fengel continued to retreat, not taking his eyes from the Salomcani at the mouth of the cave until the opening was just a pinprick of light behind them.

  A yell echoed down to him from the crewmen who had run ahead. Fengel closed his eyes. Eyes of the Goddess. What now?

  He staggered back through the cave. It was uniform, a ten-foot-wide tunnel with a stream at its base. The glimmer he’d spied before was stronger now, some bright light up ahead. His crewmen fled ahead of him at top speed, shoving each other to get away from the Salomcani. The shout had come from the head of the column.