by Stina Leicht
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Lieutenant Noronen said.
“Dylan! Where are you?” Suvi shouted out at the water. Her thoughts were frozen with panic, sluggish. They can’t be gone. They just can’t be. “Damn it, Dylan! Answer me!”
An explosion from the first Acrasian frigate caught her attention. Cannon fire.
“Get down!” Lieutenant Noronen shoved her.
Suvi hit the deck shoulder first, hard. Bar shot caught in the mizzen shrouds. She struggled to get up but a sharp pain in her left shoulder brought her up short.
Lieutenant Noronen asked, “Sir? Are you all right?”
Checking her arm, Suvi didn’t find any cuts or punctures. However, she couldn’t actually move her arm from the shoulder. The pain was terrific. She’d bitten her tongue. She spit out blood and spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t know. It’s my shoulder.”
Another round of cannon shot pounded the decks. Noronen felt Suvi’s shoulder. She bit down on an urge to scream. Blinking back tears, she noticed the cannon on the opposite side of the second Acrasian frigate were firing. Who are they shooting at? Indomitable is to starboard, isn’t she? Suvi scanned the mist and found she was right. It must be the sea monster, she thought. However, when she looked for the second Acrasian frigate, she found the monster intent on its destruction.
Answering cannon lit up the thinning mist to port.
“Who is that?” Suvi asked.
“Sea Dragon, I think,” Lieutenant Noronen said.
“It can’t be,” Suvi said. “The Waterborne aren’t at war with the Acrasians. They left us. Didn’t they?”
Another round of blasts split the air.
“They must have changed their minds,” Noronen said.
Suvi let Noronen help her to her feet. Limping to Captain Hansen’s side, Suvi heard the cries from the closest Acrasian ship to port.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!”
Hansen grinned. “The bastards are surrendering.”
“Does Darius’s friend know that?” Suvi asked. “If not, how are we going to stop it from sinking every Acrasian ship?”
“You know, I should care,” Hansen muttered. “But somehow I don’t.”
FIVE
“Repairs are under way,” Captain Hansen said with a hint of pride. “Otter may be small, but she’s a tough bitch.”
“Good,” Suvi said. Her left arm was in a temporary sling. She had consoled herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t screamed much when the dislocated shoulder joint had been shoved back into place. The pain had settled into a low-grade ache that was simple enough to ignore—provided she remembered not to move it. At least it gives me something to think about other than my leg.
The sounds of the repair crews hard at their work drifted through the walls of the captain’s cabin. Suvi ran a hand over the casualty report, smoothing it. They’d lost fourteen of the crew. They’d lose more if they didn’t get to land soon. The surgeon’s healing abilities were hampered by the water. “How soon will Otter be ready?”
“We should have the rigging and the new yards sorted within a few hours,” Hansen said. “We’ve a bigger problem.”
I sent Dylan to his death. Suvi’s good hand trembled as she poured herself a glass of wine. Just hold together for a bit longer, she thought. For now, you have your duty. Fall apart all you like when you’re alone. After you’ve met with the captains. “What is it?”
“Due to the number of … casualties, we can’t spare anyone for a prize crew. We’re still pulling Acrasian survivors out of the water,” Hansen said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with all of them. We can’t take them home.”
It’d required a great deal to convince boat crews that the monster was gone and that it was safe to venture out onto the water—even more so because they were being sent to rescue Acrasians. However, Suvi had enough deaths on her conscience. She blinked back another surge of tears and swallowed the wine in one gulp. There are too many Acrasians to trust the frigate to a light crew. Our sailors would be outnumbered. Command magic isn’t an option on the water. And Acrasians can’t be trusted to keep their parole.
We can’t just butcher them. Not after we’ve fished them out of the water. We can’t let them attack us again, either.
“Maybe Indomitable’s crew is in better shape?” Hansen asked.
There came a knock on the door. “Captain, sir? Commodore Björnstjerna from Indomitable is here. And the Waterborne have arrived. Captain Swiftwind of Sea Dragon brought the Acrasian captain with him to finalize the terms of surrender with the Sea Marshal.”
Hansen looked to Suvi. Suvi nodded.
“We’ll meet them on deck,” Hansen said.
“Yes, sir.”
Suvi checked her uniform one last time in Hansen’s mirror. She would need every ounce of presence she could muster to maintain power over the conversation without the use of domination magic. She took a deep breath and headed out the door behind Hansen.
On deck, the mist had been cleared by a fresh breeze and the sky was a deep, cloudless blue. A rather soggy-looking Dylan stepped forward and gave her a salute. Darius wasn’t far behind.
“Permission to board, sir,” Dylan said, and winked.
Suvi fought an urge to hug him on the spot. “You’re alive! Thank the Mother!”
“No thanks to Dar.”
“You didn’t have to jump in after me,” Darius said. “I was fine.”
Dylan said, “You were drowning.”
“You weren’t even watching like you promised. And how would you know?”
“You were quiet,” Dylan said. “Unlike now.”
“Permission granted,” Suvi said, returning the salute. “Both of you.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze as Dylan passed. Then she returned to business.
The wounded Acrasian captain stood between two Waterborne with a scowl on his face. His golden helmet with its long black feathers was tucked under his arm. Blood stained his uniform coat and trousers. It was obvious he was in pain. His right trouser leg was bloody and torn, and he kept most of his weight on his left leg. She winced a little in sympathy. He was young—no more than five years Suvi’s senior—and handsome for an Acrasian. He had straight blond hair and attractive light gray eyes. His sword was still in its scabbard.
“I don’t understand why we’re bothering with this sham,” the Acrasian muttered in his own language. “You only mean to slaughter us.”
“Is not … intent,” Suvi said in flawed Acrasian. She knew her grammar wasn’t correct, but the stunned expression on the Acrasian’s face served to offset her embarrassment.
The Acrasian blinked and swallowed. He attempted to stand taller and then turned to Captain Silvan. “I, Captain Bradford of His Imperial Majesty’s frigate the Lion of the North, do hereby surrender my ship and crew.” He drew his small sword and attempted to hand it to Commodore Björnstjerna.
The Waterborne ship’s captain, Samuel Swiftwind, translated for those who didn’t speak Acrasian.
Björnstjerna shook his head motioned to Suvi.
“I, Sea Marshal Hännenen of Eledore, accept your surrender,” Suvi said, allowing Swiftwind to translate.
The Acrasian stared at her and didn’t move.
“Is there a problem?” Suvi asked.
“You … you’re not … who I expected,” he said.
“You were expecting to meet me?” Suvi asked.
“Yes, I mean, no … I—” He cut himself off and resumed a cool demeanor. “I cannot surrender my sword to a mere woman.”
“You’re far from home. What were you doing out here?” Suvi asked.
After the question was translated, Captain Bradford paused.
“Answer Sea Marshal Hännenen,” Swiftwind said.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter whether I tell you or not. It will change nothing,” Bradford said.
“Go on,” Suvi said in Acrasian.
Captain Bradford said, “The Regnum has no intention of tolerati
ng an alliance between the Waterborne and Eledore.”
Commodore Björnstjerna asked, “How did they know—”
Suvi held up a hand for silence. She didn’t trust that Bradford didn’t speak Eledorean. There was no point in translating Björnstjerna’s question. It wasn’t as if Bradford would answer. “Commodore Björnstjerna, can Indomitable spare a prize crew?”
Björnstjerna squinted at Bradford in disgust. “No, sir.”
“We can’t take her either,” Swiftwind said. “She’s Acrasian. Without a notice of dissolution of contract, it would be considered unethical.”
“You have a contract with the Acrasians?” Björnstjerna asked.
Of course they do. They’ve contracts with every nation in the world. Once more, Suvi held up her hand to silence Björnstjerna. The others were staring at her, waiting for an answer. She needed a moment to think. Turning from the delegation, she walked to the ship’s rail and gazed over at Lion. Groups of prisoners were clumped on her decks. They looked pale and frightened for the most part. Some gave the impression that they were resigned to a fate more terrible than death. Others stared back at her, defiant. Thinking of all those who depended upon her, she avoided their eyes and concentrated on the rigging. Round black wooden blocks threaded with ship’s line stared back at her. Each wooden piece had three holes in it, forming a face.
Deadeyes, she thought. They’re called deadeyes because they look like skulls. And she couldn’t help thinking for the first time that they very much resembled their name. It was too easy to imagine their gaping mouths and empty accusatory stares.
I can’t have the Acrasians killed. I won’t.
I have to stop them dead in the water. But I can’t cripple them too much.
The deadeyes continued to stare back at her in mute terror. Deadeyes.
She whirled round to face the officer’s delegation. “Captain Hansen?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Mr. Bradford shall be our guest,” Suvi said. Piritta may be able to get information from him once we reach land.
“What?!” Bradford gaped. “You can’t do that!”
You do speak Eledorean, Suvi thought. Got you.
“Björnstjerna? Cut the deadeyes from their rigging and divide them between Otter and Indomitable. Rethreading lanyards through the replacements should keep Lion busy for a long while.”
Hansen let a wicked grin spread across her mouth.
NELS
ONE
Nels swung down from Loimuta’s saddle and tied the reins to the fence. On the other side of the weathered rails, a group of Acrasian prisoners armed with hoes dug between the turnip plants where a shirtless Corporal Petron and the horse plow hadn’t reached. Initially, Nels hadn’t had much hope for the agreement between the prisoners and the farmers. The residents of Gardemeister were too familiar with Acrasian raiders. Therefore, it’d been difficult to convince the elders to accept his proposition. There’d been moments when Nels would’ve preferred to have returned to his company and taken his chances with Pesola. Eventually, the lure of cheap labor finally won out over prejudice. For their part, the Acrasian prisoners had proved to be hard workers—provided their eccentricities were indulged. Their terror of darkness had been a complication due to the days growing shorter. In the end, the tricky negotiations had proved worthwhile. The positive change in the Acrasians over the past couple of weeks was impressive. It was now nearing noon, and the prisoners were almost finished with the day’s work. Nels told himself that in spite of not being with his company, he was at least being useful to his sister in a larger sense. The fields and the people were being cared for, and as it happened, the prisoners benefited too.
All but one of them, Nels thought.
He was jerked from his thoughts when Loimuta shook his head and stamped.
“Behave yourself,” Nels said to the gelding. He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and gave Loimuta half the apple he’d stored there. “I mean it. Misbehave, and you won’t see the second half of that.”
Loimuta made a rumbling sound in the back of his throat, snorted, and then gently took the apple in his teeth. It vanished with a juicy crunch.
“Good boy,” Nels said. He patted Loimuta on the neck.
A seven-year-old girl ran to greet him. “Hello, Captain Hännenen.” Her light brown hair was knotted into pigtails, and her cheeks were dusted with freckles. Her threadbare dress was too large, and her feet were bare, but something about her reminded him of his sister, Suvi.
“Hello, Elmi,” Nels said.
“Can I pet your horse? I’m bored.”
“Then shouldn’t you be helping?”
“I’m not allowed in the fields while the Acrasians are working. Mother doesn’t want me talking to them. I don’t know why she’s scared. They’re too stupid to understand Eledorean,” Elmi said. “They smell funny. They look funny, too.”
“I suppose they do.”
“Mother says they’re monsters. Is that so?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Me neither,” Elmi said with all the cynicism her seven years would allow. “Monsters are a lot uglier.”
Not all of them, Nels thought.
“Is your horse hungry? I’ve got some carrot.”
“Give it to him if you like,” Nels said. “Be careful, though. He bites.”
“All horses bite. How else can they eat?” She gave him a sideways glance. “You just got to know how to feed them. Hand flat. Like this. Don’t you know that?” She placed a piece of carrot in the center of her palm and fed the treat to Loimuta, who accepted it with a dainty nibble.
If a horse could feign innocence, Loimuta would be the very soul of disguised guilt.
Nels raised his eyebrows. “I see.”
“Elmi? Stop bothering the captain. Get over here!”
Elmi wiped a now-damp palm on her dress. “Bye!”
Nels headed for the shady spot at the gate where the private in charge of the prisoners had stationed himself. The private had been sitting and drinking from a bottle that Nels hoped contained water.
Nels returned his salute. “How are the prisoners today?”
“Obedient and quiet, sir.” The private’s breath proved Nels’s hope was for naught.
“I’m here for Corporal Petron,” Nels said.
“Yes, sir.” The private shouted for the corporal. His annoyed, curse-filled Eledorean order was accompanied by gestures impossible to misinterpret.
Corporal Petron acknowledged the order with a nod. Still, he waited until reaching the end of the row before tying off the plow horse’s reins.
Petron’s face was sunburned, and his hair stuck to his face in sweaty clumps. He used the shirt draped over the fence to wipe his face and neck. “Yes, Captain?”
“Let’s talk,” Nels said in Acrasian, and pointed to a water bucket positioned under the shade of a large oak tree.
“You have news about Private Landry,” Petron said in a flat tone. His expression was equally emotionless. “It’s bad news, then?” He tended to be pessimistic.
In this case, he has reason to be. Nels opened the gate. “After you.”
Petron shrugged and then walked through. Nels followed. When Petron got to the bucket, he drank from the ladle. Afterward, he poured more water down his back and washed his face. Nels sat at the foot of the tree, content to let him finish. At last the corporal settled in the grass next to him.
“And?” Petron asked, balancing his forearms on top of his knees. He watched his men working in among the turnips.
“I’m afraid we were too late,” Nels said.
“I knew it.”
“The surgeon did the best he could to save the leg, but it wasn’t possible. If they’d waited any longer, Landry would’ve died.” In fact, it’d taken a sizable bribe to get Landry treated at all, and even then, Nels hadn’t trusted the healer in charge. Of course, Viktor had been the one to supply the bribe money, and of course, Nels hadn’t exactly told him why
he’d needed it.
Petron blinked. “He’s alive?”
“Yes,” Nels said, confused. “Of course.”
“Oh.”
It was then that it occurred to Nels that Acrasian medicine, while advanced in some ways, left a lot to be desired in others. “I’m sorry. The surgeon did his best.”
Petron nodded, stunned.
“There’s something else,” Nels said. “A letter. It’s addressed to you.” He brought out the folded and refolded letter and handed it to Petron.
Nodding, Petron accepted the message but didn’t open it. A long, tense moment passed between them. Nels wasn’t sure what else to do or say. About the time he was prepared to get up, Petron spoke.
“I thought—I was certain—” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Thank you.”
Nels nodded. “How are the new accommodations?”
“An army stable is considerably more comfortable than that animal pen.”
“It’s temporary. Until I can convince Vinter to put you in the detention barracks.”
There was another awkward silence.
“You’re different than most of your kind,” Petron said.
“I am? I’m almost afraid to ask how.”
Petron looked away and the corners of his mouth turned up grudgingly. “It’s perhaps best you don’t know.”
“Fair enough.”
Glancing at the letter, Petron asked, “Where are you from?”
“Jalokivi.”
“That far north? I figured you for a southerner. Maybe even Ytlain. Although why you’d be serving in the Eledorean army is beyond me.”
