by Jon Skovron
“Frain, tuck in your shirts. Hecker, bring us about port and give them a look at our broadside. Ghost or not, we’ll make driftwood of them.”
Frain immediately began putting himself together, his expression calming. Hecker nodded and spun the wheel. “Aye, captain.” Often that was all it took. Show a bit of courage, and the men would find their own.
The Guardian turned slowly, its massive bulk driving against the prevailing current.
“Reporting for duty, sir.” Midshipman Kellert stood at attention, looking pale but steady, his uniform spotless and wrinkle-free.
Captain Vaderton had given him leave to rest after his lashing and was pleased to see the young officer had declined. He put his hand on Kellert’s shoulder and nodded. “Very good, Mr. Kellert. We’ll make a man of you yet. Tell Mr. Bitlow to ready the bow chasers in case they try to come about suddenly.”
“Aye, sir.” Kellert saluted again and hurried off.
The Guardian had completed its turn, the port side facing the oncoming ship.
“Mr. Frain, show them what they’re in for,” Vaderton called to the cannon master.
“Port side cannons at the ready!” called Frain down to the gun deck below.
Vaderton heard the sound of twenty cannons slamming into position, their iron muzzles bristling from the port-side hull. He could almost feel the destructive potential of the ship vibrating in the deck beneath his feet.
“She don’t seem intent on coming about, sir,” said Hecker.
The captain frowned. “A head-on charge at our broadside is suicide. Even at their speed, they’ll most likely be torn to pieces before they get close enough to ram or grapple. Surely their captain must see that.” He trained his glass on them, but even then it was difficult to make out details of the hazy, green ship. He could see no men, no flags or markings. He felt in his bones there was some other trick at work here, but he had no idea what it could be. He couldn’t show that to the men, of course.
“Maybe it’s because they’re already dead, sir,” said Hecker. “Could be our shot will pass right through them.”
“If that’s true, they’ll pass right through us as well. Either way, we’ll find out soon enough,” Vaderton said grimly. “Mr. Frain, fire as soon as we’re in range.”
“Aye, captain.”
A stillness fell on the crew as every man watched the approaching luminous ship.
“Fire!” called Frain.
The line of cannons roared like thunder, sending up a thick cloud of smoke. Their aim was true and the shot struck the approaching ship square in the bow. But instead of merely taking on damage, the entire ship exploded silently into tiny glowing pieces that sprayed up into the night sky, then fell into the sea.
“What in all hells…,” said Frain.
A roar of cannon fire came from the starboard, and the Guardian bucked furiously from the impact. Captain Vaderton spun around, struggling to keep his footing on the swaying deck. He stared in disbelief at the ship that had suddenly appeared on the other side. It looked exactly the same as the first one, except it wasn’t hazy and glowing. This ship was all too real, and had just unloaded a volley of shot into their starboard hull.
“Captain,” said Frain, his voice pinched with fear. “Look at that flag.”
The flag that flew from this ship’s mizzen was a white background. On it was painted a black oval with eight black lines trailing down from it. The sign of the biomancers, which Vaderton knew all too well. But cutting across that symbol was a thick, blood red X. That, he had never seen. But he’d heard of it in all the old stories.
“The flag of the Kraken Hunter,” whispered Hecker. “It’s Dire Bane.”
“No,” said Captain Vaderton, his voice faltering for the first time. “It can’t be. He was slain some forty years ago by Vinchen hand. Dire Bane is dead!”
A sailor ran up from the gun deck and said something quietly to Frain. Frain flinched at the news, then turned to the captain. “She’s taken out most of our starboard cannons, sir.”
“Are we taking on water?” demanded Vaderton.
Frain shook his head.
“There’s that, at least,” said Vaderton, his voice steadying. He watched as the Kraken Hunter cut across the stern and came around to their port side. “They caught us in a neat trick, but this fight is far from over, gentlemen. I don’t know who is flying the flag of Dire Bane, but it’s time to show them what an imperial warship can do. Mr. Frain, how long until the port cannons are reloaded?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a minute or two,” said Frain. “We’ll be ready well before they are.”
“Excellent. Have them fire when ready.”
The Kraken Hunter came about fast and closed rapidly. But before the Guardian could fire a single shot, the Kraken Hunter unloaded another volley, this time at their port side. The ship shook again, and Vaderton could hear the screams of the dead and dying cannoneers below.
“How could they reload that fast?” Frain shook his head in disbelief. “I swear, Captain. It’s not possible.”
“Clearly, it is.” Vaderton watched as the Kraken Hunter hewed closer. The distance was still too great to throw a grapple, but they would likely cut across the bow and close for a grapple on the other side, now that they had no fear of cannon fire.
Then they fired again. This time, it was grapeshot that scattered across the main deck, tearing apart men and rigging with equal ferocity.
“How are they reloading so fast!” yelled Frain.
The Kranken Hunter continued on its trajectory across their bow.
“Where’s my bow chasers!” roared Captain Vaderton. He trained his glass on the bow and saw that the third shot had been concentrated near the forecastle. It had claimed fewer lives than if it had gone across the waist, but now there was no one manning the guns. Among the dead and dying, Vaderton saw Kellert lying dead across one of the guns, as if shielding it with his body. A cluster of shot had taken off the side of his skull, his blood and brains spilled onto the iron bore.
Meanwhile, the Kraken Hunter was coming about on the starboard side. It was still too wide to board, and Vaderton thought it might unload a fourth volley. He bellowed, “Hit the decks!” and the entire crew threw themselves down, including the captain.
But instead of the roar of cannon fire, he heard two distinct pops, like the sound of a rifle shot. He jumped to his feet in time to see grappling hooks shoot out from the bow and stern of the ship at the speed of bullets. They latched on to the Guardian’s port side. The line went taut and the Kraken Hunter reeled itself in close.
“All hands on starboard side to be boarded!”
The crew stumbled to their feet, grabbing swords, pikes, and pistols as they hurried to the starboard side.
Before they reached it, four figures rose up from the Kraken Hunter.
On the far left side was a tall, powerfully built man in a black vest. He had close-cropped hair and a beard. One leg was encased in a steel frame, and he held a heavy mace in his thick hand. His expression was calm. Almost disinterested.
On the far right side was a woman with curly dark hair. She wore a short wool coat and breeches tucked into tall leather boots. In her hands was a strange weapon. It looked like a length of fine chain, but there was a heavy weight on one end, and a knife blade on the other. Her dark eyes glittered more sharply than her chainblade.
Next to her was the tallest woman Vaderton had ever seen. She stood erect, almost regal, in a tight white gown that flared out into long, billowing sleeves. A deep white hood hid most of her face. It reminded Vaderton alarmingly of those worn by biomancers. All that could be seen framed between locks of straight black hair was a sardonic smile with lips painted bright red.
The final figure was a woman with the pale skin and blond hair of someone from the Southern Isles. She wore black leather Vinchen armor and had a sword in place of her right hand. She turned her blue eyes on the captain, and they were so cold and deep, they struck a chill in his he
art.
“Surrender now, and there need not be any more bloodshed,” she said, her voice ringing across the ship.
“You have some surprises, I’ll grant you,” said the captain. “But you’re no Dire Bane, just a woman. And you’re outnumbered besides. I’ll see you dead before sunrise.” Then he drew his pistol and fired at her.
She flicked her sword arm. The blade gave an eerie hum as it swiveled around on a hinge at her wrist and slapped the bullet away. Then she turned to the woman in white and nodded. The woman lifted her arms, the long white sleeves swirling as she splayed her fingers. Then every loaded gun on the deck suddenly exploded. Men screamed as they clutched at powder-burned hands and faces.
That was when Vaderton truly understood what he was up against. He knew women were forbidden in both the Vinchen and biomancer orders. And yet, somehow, that was exactly what he faced.
The Vinchen woman pointed her sword at Captain Vaderton. Then she kept her eyes locked on his as she hacked her way slowly through the now disorderly chaos of wounded, frightened men. Mixed with the cries of pain was her sword’s dark, mournful song.
Her companions jumped into the fray as well. The man laid about him with his mace, caving in skulls almost casually, or sweeping men off their feet with his steel leg. The woman on the other side darted in and out, snapping her chainblade into a sailor’s throat, then another’s eye, all the while using the weighted end to defend herself from incoming attacks. The biomancer woman stood back from the rest, her hands weaving in front of her constantly, as if dancing. Wherever she pointed, death sprang up. Some men caught fire; others crumbled to dust. Still others clawed at their own skin and shrieked as if their blood was boiling them alive.
All too soon, the Vinchen woman gained the quarter deck, leaving a wide lane of headless and limbless bodies in her wake. The air was thick with the smell of blood.
Captain Vaderton drew his sword, but his hand shook, despite his best efforts to still it.
The Vinchen woman’s gaze was as ferocious and unfathomable as the sea. Her voice was quiet as she said, “Captain Vaderton, known servant of the biomancer council. Surrender, or die.”
“A captain never surrenders his ship,” said Vaderton, his voice shaking as badly as his hands. “I will do my duty or die trying.”
She nodded. “Perhaps there’s still some honor left in you after all. I’ll make it quick.” She brought her sword down.
“No!”
Captain Vaderton stared in disbelief as the boy Jillen threw his own slight body between Vaderton and the Vinchen sword.
The Vinchen woman twisted her arm and the blade swiveled to the side. She glared at the boy. “Move aside, or I will be forced to kill you, too.”
Vaderton could feel Jillen’s entire body quivering in terror, but the boy shook his head and didn’t move.
The woman nodded, her face sad. “I understand, and commend you for your bravery.” Then she raised her sword again.
“Hope, wait!”
The Vinchen paused and waited patiently as the woman with the chainblade ran over to them.
She stared at Jillen. “Little Bee? Is that you?”
It was a question that made Jillen shrink back when even a sword hadn’t.
“Filler!” called the woman with the chain.
The man turned his head toward her.
“Come here!”
He calmly brained the man he’d been fighting, then stomped slowly over, his metal leg clanking. “What is it?”
The woman with the chain pointed wordlessly at Jillen.
The man named Filler’s eyes widened. “Jilly? What are you doing on an imp ship?”
Jillen moved forward cautiously. “Filler? Is that really you?”
“Of course it is, Bee. And why are you dressed like a boy?”
“She’s posing as a sailor, obviously,” said the woman with the chain.
“But why?” asked Filler.
Jillen (or was it Jilly?) looked up at Filler like she wanted to move closer, but didn’t want to leave Vaderton undefended. “I’m looking for my mom. She enlisted, remember?”
Filler’s face fell. He touched something on his metal leg so that the knee bent, and he knelt down in front of her. “I’m sorry, Little Bee. Red and I let you believe what that imp soldier said about your mom signing up for the navy. The truth would have given you nightmares.”
“What…happened to her?”
“She was taken by the biomancers.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Jilly,” he said quietly.
“I’ll just kill the rest of them myself, shall I?” called the biomancer woman as she made a sailor’s skull cave in with a gesture.
“Yes, thank you, Brigga Lin,” the Vinchen woman said absently, her eyes still on Jilly. She lowered her sword. “A friend of Red’s is a friend of mine. You are welcome to join my crew, Jilly.”
“I’m a part of this crew, though,” said Jilly.
“Are you?” asked the Vinchen.
Jilly turned to the captain, who had remained silent during this entire exchange, his expression shifting slowly from shock, to horror, to outrage.
“Captain?”
“Deceiving an officer about your gender,” he said in a strangled voice, “is punishable by death.”
“Listen, you cunt-dropping,” said the woman with the chain. “This girl just saved your life.”
Captain Vaderton drew himself up, his anger finally stilling his hands and burning courage into his heart. “I would rather die than be beholden to some treacherous New Laven whore.”
“That is all I needed…” The woman began coiling her chain around her fist.
“Stop,” the Vinchen woman said softly. “Nettles, go assist Brigga Lin with clean-up, then help Alash disable any remaining cannons, cut the rigging, and recover any shot or powder. Filler, go to the captain’s quarters and get the money chest.”
The two left without another word.
Jilly looked nervously between the Vinchen and Captain Vaderton. “What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m going to let him live, whether he likes it or not.” She turned her deep blue eyes back to Vaderton. “We will cast you adrift on your “guardian,” with a crew of the dead men you were supposed to keep alive. If you somehow survive, you will tell everyone you meet about me.”
“Who in all hells are you?” demanded Vaderton.
“I am Dire Bane reborn. And I will purge this empire of the Council of Biomancery, even if I have to dismantle it, ship by ship.”
introducing
If you enjoyed
HOPE & RED,
look out for
SWORDS AND SCOUNDRELS
The Duelists Trilogy: Book One
by Julia Knight
Two siblings.
Outcasts for life…together.
What could possibly go wrong?
Vocho and Kacha are champion duelists: a brother and sister known for the finest swordplay in the city of Reyes. Or at least they used to be—until they were thrown out of the Duelist’s Guild.
As a last resort, they turn reluctant highwaymen. But when they pick the wrong carriage to rob, their simple plans to win back fame and fortune go south fast.
After barely besting three armed men and a powerful magician, Vocho and Kacha make off with an immense locked chest. But the contents will bring them much more than they’ve bargained for when they find themselves embroiled in a dangerous plot to return an angry king to power…
Swords and Scoundrels is the first book in The Duelists Trilogy—a tale of death, magic, and family loyalty.
Chapter One
They say that an ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship. Vocho wasn’t so sure about that. Probably depended on whose blood you were talking about, because blood seemed to have got him into nothing but trouble.
The wood Vocho and Kacha lurked in was a mean little thing, a straggle of trees and stunted bushes that fringed the mudd
y track between some two-cow town in the province of Reyes and a different two-cow, perhaps even three-cow town up towards the mountains and the border with Ikaras. A desolate and rain-sodden spot in the back of beyond, a far cry from the city of Reyes itself. Vocho sat and shivered and dripped as he watched his sister, atop her restless horse, wrestle with the clockwork gun.
“Are you certain you know what you’re doing with that thing?” he said at last. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best thing Vocho could have said to her just then.
Kacha stopped scowling at the gun and scowled at him instead before she raised a cool eyebrow and blew a drip of water off the end of her nose. “Of course. Pretty sure I know where I went wrong last time.”
“You shot my horse’s ear off.”
A curl of her lip from under her dripping tricorne. She was indistinct in the darkness under the sodden trees, her heavy black coat and that ridiculous hat fading into the shadows, leaving only the pale blur of her face.
“Anyone could have made that mistake,” she said airily. “It’s not like, oh, I don’t know, killing the priest we were supposed to be guarding, right?”
“That was an accident!” Vocho was pretty sure anyway – the memories of that night were vague, and though they seemed vivid enough in his dreams, they soon faded to guesswork and ghosts when he woke up. Sadly the duellists’ guild hadn’t seen it as an accident when said priest had turned up with a sword hole in him. Worse, it was Vocho’s sword, the hilt still in his hand. The guild, not to mention the prelate and his guards, tended to take a dim view of that sort of thing. Very dim.
“He was only a priest, and a bad one at that, and that was a good horse.” Vocho still smarted at the fact they’d had to sell the horse – for some reason it had got very nervy after that accident, and nervy horses weren’t good in his new profession of highwayman.
“Maybe only a priest,” Kacha said. “But he was the prelate’s favourite. He was paying our wages, and the prelate’s department and the guild get very upset about people killing priests they’re being paid to guard.” Kacha hefted the gun, prodded the clockwork mechanism and scowled at it some more, like that would make it work properly. “At least in the guild we didn’t have to deal with these sodding things.”
