by Lynn Abbey
The queen can keep her silver, the youth thought, if I never have to look at another bucket of pitch again.
A shout arose from behind him. It was followed quickly by another, and Merrick heard "Sound the alarm!" and "Attack!" as the commotion quickly reached a crescendo. Merrick looked up and saw a couple of sailors pointing into the bay, but from where he was standing, Lancer blocked his view. A dozen or so others were scrambling madly about the decks or in the rigging, unfurling sails and pulling on halyards.
The entire quay was a mass of confusion. Merrick heard men and women shouting, and there were screams, too. People were running everywhere, from sailors to laborers to soldiers, all scurrying or just dashing madly past him.
What in creation is going on? he thought, still watching the sailors climbing above him.
Captain Hoke was yelling, "Keep them out of the bloody rigging!" when Merrick finally saw one. A lithe, green-scaled creature that stood like a man but was obviously built for the sea came tumbling over the side of Lancer's gunwale, landing with a wet splat at Mer-rick's feet, a javelin protruding through both its chest and back. A wide death grin was spread across its face, showing too many razor-sharp teeth. It was covered in fins with sharp spines, and the hands that still clutched at the wooden shaft of the javelin were webbed. A cold, salty odor wafted from the creature, as of the deep sea, but what made Merrick gasp were the unblinking, soulless eyes that were all silver and pupil-less. Cold, dead eyes that stared at nothing sent a shiver down his spine.
"Damnation, Merrick!" yelled Hoke from overhead. "Quit standing there like a tart on her favorite corner and move, boy! Release those bloody lines and get up here!"
Merrick blinked, forcing himself to tear free of the death gaze of the creature, and lurched forward to loosen the rope entwined around the bollards. As it came free hi his hands, he saw that the gangway was already being pulled up by a pair of sailors. The frigate began inching slowly away from the pier as the sweeps dipped into the water.
Two more of the creatures appeared suddenly on the quay, not ten paces from Merrick. They had shot up out of the water like quarrels fired from a crossbow, dropping to their feet smoothly, water cascading down their glistening, scaly skin. Each held a dangerous-looking trident and was crouched, scanning for prey. When they spotted Merrick, they turned and made for him, their webbed feet slapping wetly on the stones.
Desperately, Merrick shouted for help as he drew up the slack in the coarse mooring line and leaped up, swinging out over the water and bracing his feet against the hull of the frigate. He grunted as he slammed against Lancer's side and slipped downward a few feet, feeling the rough hemp of the line chaffing his hands raw. Pulling hand over fist as hard as he could, he began climbing, dragging himself up and away from the vicious creatures. Two other sailors who had been hauling the mooring lines saw the danger behind him and launched javelins at the beasts. The two creatures easily avoided the missiles, but it was enough of a delay. Grabbing Merrick by an arm each, the sailors hauled him the rest of the way up. He scrambled over the gunwale and landed with a thud, his heart beating madly as nervous sweat drenched his back.
Bloody sea devils, he thought. They're attacking in the middle of the bloody day!
All around Merrick, Lancer's deck was a scene of frantic chaos. More of the sea devils-sahuagin as they called themselves-had boarded the ship, and sailors fought desperately against them. One of the beasts broke through, gutting a man with the fin along its arm and leaving him screaming, then made for the rigging and clambered up it easily, slicing ropes and sails to ribbons as it went.
"Damnation!" thundered Hoke. "Keep them away from the bloody rigging! We're all sleeping with the fish if we can't get underway!"
Someone fired a crossbow at the sahuagin and caught it squarely in the chest. It spasmed once then went limp, tumbling partially down until it was hung up in the ropes, fouling them further. Hoke had already turned and was running a wounded sea devil through with a spear by the time the one in the rigging stopped moving.
Merrick gaped in awe at the savage battle being waged around him until a tough, leather-skinned sailor who was running by paused and grabbed him by his collar.
"Move, lad!" the snaggle-toothed woman yelled in the youth's face, her breath stinking of fish. "The bloody dragon turtles'll get us!"
The sailor was gone.
Merrick shuddered, remembering the tales sailors told as they gathered in the evenings in the lone taproom on the island, telling grisly stories of ships going down, their decks swarming with sea devils and their hulls punched full of holes from the fierce dragon turtles. Great, snapping jaws that could crush a man in half, or the scalding hot breath that warped wood and boiled a man's skin from his body were the hallmarks of these sea monsters. If they didn't get Lancer away from the docks and out into the bay where she could outrun the beasts, she'd go to the bottom for certain. He shook his head and peered out past the side of the ship toward the rest of the harbor.
Everywhere there was turmoil. Knots of men, women, and sahuagin fought while ships milled about, some listing to the side and half sunk already, others floating aimlessly, their now-tattered sails flapping crazily in the breeze and their rigging a tangled mess. The attack was thorough and complete. Few ships would make it out of the harbor.
Lancer might not make it, either, Merrick told himself sternly, unless we get into open water.
The youth darted toward the stern of the ship where four ballistae, huge crossbows that launched barbed wooden spears nearly as thick as Merrick's leg, sat upon the sterncastle. Before he had taken three steps he was nearly run down by a sailor tugging a halyard tight. The sailor cursed at him but never stopped, and Merrick had to duck to escape getting entangled in the rope. He started forward again, this time being careful to weave around the sailors who crossed his path.
Most of the fighting had subsided. There were only one or two sea devils still on the deck of the ship, and most of the sails were hoisted now. Merrick could feel the ship beginning to gain some speed as the sails unfurled fully into the breeze.
The youth breathed a small sigh of relief as he reached his artillery unit. Lancer'11 make it! he grinned despite himself, thrilling at the fresh, salty breeze that drove the frigate forward and cooled his skin. We're going to make it!
Lancer was a fine enough ship, a fast frigate built for war, but this was the first time she had put to sea since Merrick had come aboard two months ago. He and the rest of her crew had been working long days, building the new shipyards on Thordentor. The youth's gaze swept across the deck of the frigate and past the water of the bay to the sad little shanty town that was being built a little back from the beach. So far, they had little to show for their efforts.
Too much time spent building the ships to give much thought to decent homes, thought Merrick with a disdainful sniff. At least it was better than what the soldiers had been living in before. He glanced beyond the buildings to the old and crumbling watch tower, a fading remnant of some ancient civilization. He hated even imagining what it must have been like for the company of Tethyrian guardsmen before the shipyards sprang up. Nothing at all to do but wait for the next supply ship to arrive from the mainland, nothing to look at but white sand and low, scrubby bushes, as far as the eye could see.
And now, thought Merrick, there's still nothing much to see at all.
"Merrick! Get over here and get ready to handle reload." It was Retny, the chief gunner for the unit. The man was standing at the rear of a starboard ballista, already making adjustments for aiming at targets low in the water.
"Aye, sir," Merrick replied, taking his place near the stockpile of the huge, barbed missiles designed to be fired from the giant weapon. "What will we be shooting at today, sir?" he asked, a grin on his face. He grabbed up the crossbow that was sitting there, holding it easily in the crook of his arm. It was also his job to watch the unit's back between reloads.
"Nothing, if we're half lucky," Retny replied. "If
we have to start shooting at dragon turtles, then we've already let them get too-"
His words cut off suddenly in a strange, strangled squawk and he lurched backward, a long, slender shaft protruding from his chest. The artillerist stumbled into the youth and knocked him off-balance, then fell to the deck and was still, lying across Merrick's legs. Merrick stared up in horror as a sahuagin hanging from the side of the ship tossed the crossbow it had just fired back into the water and began to clamber up over the gunwale. In one webbed hand, it held a jagged-bladed dagger. Merrick could see two more of the creatures pulling themselves into view from the side of the ship even as the first beast took a threatening step toward him.
"Look out!" Merrick croaked, his throat constricted in terror, even as one of the other artillerists, holding a huge bolt, swung it hi a wide arc like a great sword.
The blow caught the scaly attacker full in the chest and knocked it backward against the gunwale. Merrick fired his own weapon, the bolt catching the beast squarely under the jaw. It lost its balance and dropped from view. Other men were there now, blades in hand, trying to drive the remaining two back over the side.
Merrick scrambled out from under Retny-still lying across the youth's legs, soaking the deck with his blood-and leaped back, staring in horror. The man's face was twisted in a sick scream that wouldn't make a sound, his hand feebly opening and closing around the shaft of the quarrel in his chest. He turned and looked at Merrick, trying to speak, but nothing emerged, and with a final spasm, Retny's eyes went blank and his head rolled to the side, staring at nothing.
Merrick wanted to retch. If he'd been paying more attention, if he'd been a moment quicker, he might have seen the creature before it fired, but he had been too late to save Retny.
The two other sea devils that had come aboard had been driven back over the side again, but others had mounted attacks elsewhere on the frigate. Once more, sailors grimly dueled with the hated beasts, driving them all off again at the last, but not before several more men had gone down.
Merrick groaned. Without Retny, the ballista was all but useless. Cocking and loading it shorthanded would be difficult enough, but Retny was the only one among them who had any experience firing the weapon.
"Come about, you dogs!" Captain Hoke roared. "Centaur and Ram have broken free and are running for open water!" A small cheer erupted from the crew. "We'll run with them, and send these devilfish back to hell! Now, move, you bloody fools!"
The angle of the sun changed as the ship turned in the water. Merrick glanced over his shoulder, looking back toward the harbor, and saw that two other frigates had separated from the destruction at the docks and were under full sail. Behind them, the rest of the ships burned or sat half beneath the surface. The attack had been successful, the small fleet at Thorden-tor was all but annihilated. Merrick swallowed hard and looked to see what Star ofTethyr's fate had been. When he did, he gasped in surprise.
The ship had somehow managed to escape the docks, but in the fury of the battle it had strayed off course, near to the dangerous shoals along one side of the bay. Her sails were only half up, and she didn't seem to be tacking properly. From this distance it was hard to tell, but there seemed to Merrick's eyes to be a great deal of fighting going on.
"Cap'n!" Merrick called out, noting that his voice rang clearly. Most of the crew worked in grim silence now, ready to go where their captain demanded, even if it meant taking the battle back to the hated sea devils. "Cap'n, it's the Star." He pointed.
Hoke swore softly to himself and drew out his spyglass, gazing toward the struggling ship for a long moment.
"Bloody hells," he growled. "Gullah has her underway, but without near enough crew to sail and fight, too."
"Cap'n!" came a cry from the crow's nest high overhead. Merrick looked up to see a lone sailor aloft, studying the Star with another spyglass. "Three dragon turtles, closing with the Star/"
Hoke swore again, louder this time. "Blast! They'll never make it. She's weaponless, too. No ballistae aboard her, yet."
A rumble of anger and sorrow arose from the crew. Without ballistae, Merrick knew, the ship didn't have a prayer of warding off the dragon turtles. Hoke watched the Star for a moment longer as the crew seemed to hold its collective breath, wondering what orders the captain would give.
Finally, Hoke slammed his glass into the pouch at his belt. "Blast!" he roared again. "I'll not let them take her without a fight!" A cheer rose up from the crew, Merrick's voice as loud as the rest. "Signal Centaur and Ram to follow!" Hoke ordered, "We're coming about! Helmsman, set your heading for Star ofTethyrl"
A thrill ran through Merrick as Lancer began to come about, her sails billowing and flapping as her crew madly trimmed them for the new heading. She caught the stiff breeze more directly now, and seemed to leap ahead, eager to engage the enemy. Aft, both Centaur and Ram pushed through Lancer's wash in an effort to keep up.
"Listen up!" bellowed Captain Hoke. "When we reach the Star, we rake the thrice-bedamned dragon turtles with artillery, Centaur and Ram following our lead. The rest of you make bloody sure nothing gets aboard this ship. Don't make me sorry we came back. I want those bloody beasts to look like sea urchins!"
Merrick groaned softly to himself. Without Retny, his unit was crippled. He looked around desperately at the other three ballistae mounted on the sterncastle. Each of them still had a full complement of men, primed and ready to fire when needed. He moved to the artillerist of the other starboard weapon and said, "We lost our gunner, sir. We're shorthanded and have no one to fire the weapon."
The man eyed him critically for a moment, then nodded toward the crossbow in Merrick's hands. "You know how to fire that thing?"
Merrick nodded. "Aye, sir. I practiced with my pa's growing up. He was in the militia back home."
The man nodded. "Then you're the new gunner." He turned to one of his own crew. Thurin-we can manage shorthanded here. You cover for the boy."
Thurin eyed Merrick uncertainly, but nodded curtly and moved across to the other ballista, reaching for the crossbow in Merrick's hand to assume his responsibilities.
Merrick himself stood there, staring in bewilderment at the artillerist who had just promoted him. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without saying a word. He turned back to the ballista, shaking.
Me? he thought. I've never fired one of these in my life!
Suddenly, Merrick was remembering with clarity the day he had enlisted in the navy. Gullah was there, at the dockside tavern in Zazesspur, sitting at one of the crude wooden tables, coarse parchment spread out, glaring sourly as Merrick came looking to join the queen's navy.
"You're nothing but a farm boy," Gullah spat. "And a runt at that. Go back home to your cows, boy, and leave the sea to the men."
But Merrick wouldn't be cowed so easily. He argued with the frowning man, insisting he could be of use, until another sailor, overhearing the argument, came over and stood in front of Merrick. The sailor towered over the boy, appraising him with a critical eye. Merrick stared at the floor then, for the youth sensed that this sailor was someone of authority, used to giving orders.
The man's stance was easy, his coat a bit faded but the buttons still shiny. His boots were high and soft, and he wore a wide belt from which hung an open pouch holding a spyglass. The man smelled slightly of spiced fish and sea spray.
"What's your name, lad?" The sailor had asked.
"M-Merrick, sir."
"And why do you want to join the good queen's navy, Merrick?"
To sail on a ship and see the world," the youth answered. "And because I want to do right by the queen, long may her reign be. I reckon she's put a lot into this realm, and it's the least I can do to give a little back again."
The looming sailor laughed, a big, hearty, booming laugh. "Well, lad, you'll see the world, all right. All the dirtiest, most foul, stinking parts of it, to be sure, but you'll see it." He turned to the sour man behind the table. "Enlist him, Gullah. I have a not
ion his spunk will serve Lancer well."
"Aye, Cap'n Hoke," Gullah answered, looking even more disgruntled, if that was possible, as Captain Hoke stomped back to his table.
"Well, runt, you've become a sailor," Gullah growled. "I doubt you'll amount to much, regardless what the captain "says. Pray you stay out of my way, boy." And with that, Merrick had joined the navy of Tethyr.
Now, Gullah's words echoed in Merrick's ears, seeming to haunt him. Thurin and the others eyed the youth expectantly, waiting for him to assume command of the ballista. Still shaking his head, he looked down at the body of Retny, where someone had tugged the man's cloak over his head out of respect. He felt the shame of failing to protect the man, but set his jaw.
I will make up for it, Merrick swore to himself. I'll prove Gullah wrong.
The youth took his place at the rear of the weapon and begin to adjust it, like he'd seen Retny do during drills, trying to get a feel for the thing. Surprisingly, it was mounted well and felt more like a crossbow than he had expected. He balanced the thing and tried aiming it a few times, hoping he was getting a true feel for it.
For the first time since the attack, Merrick realized that he was no longer sweating. The sun was still hot and clear overhead, but the salty breeze and the fear of the coming battle seemed to leave him feeling cold rather than hot and damp. His mouth felt like wool and he longingly eyed the water barrel nearby. It wouldn't do to leave his station, so he tried to ignore his thirst. He turned his attention back to the water rushing by, waiting for a target and an opportunity to fire.
"The dragon turtles are closing fast on the Star, Cap'n," called the lookout in the crow's nest. "It's gonna be close."
Hoke nodded, peering through his glass at the besieged ship once more. "Ready with those tree shooters," he growled. "We'll be on top of them fast at this speed."
Lancer was almost in range of the dragon turtles when the first wave of sea devil attacks hit it. Groups of sahuagin launched themselves out of the water, landing in tight groups on deck and fighting with daggers and tridents. Merrick eyed them nervously but stood fast, keeping an eye on the water and waiting for targets to come into view. At one point, a sea devil made it to the sterncastle, and it was all Merrick could do to keep from cowering away, but Thurin wounded the beast with a shot from the crossbow and other sailors ganged up on it and drove it back into the water. Lancer's crew fought furiously, driving more than one wave back off into the bay. Combatants went down on both sides, but the sea devils never gained a good foothold on the ship.
