Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  “I have to put her down!”

  Jareen simply nodded, not bothering to waste words that the wind would only carry away and cast into the darkness just as it had the fallen crew members.

  The Voulge rocked back and forth as if fighting to keep a precarious balance upon a knife’s edge. Irna’s battle between her airship and the elements now took place in three dimensions as she fought the vessel’s roll while trying to make a controlled landing.

  “Hold tight!” Irna shouted above the wind.

  Crew passed on the warning to brace themselves for a rough landing as the great swatch of black ground rose up to meet them. Irna tried her best to arrest the airship’s momentum, but the crew had been unable to lower all of the sails, and the wind shoved it forward like a giant hand.

  The Voulge struck the ground and skipped twice before the bow dug into the ground, creating a deep furrow several hundred yards long and two feet deep. Wood cracked like musket shots as it splintered under the impact. Crew launched into the air or rolled across the deck until their safety lines snapped taut or they otherwise managed to arrest their fall.

  The Voulge slid to a stop just long enough for the crew to breathe a sigh of relief before the deck began to cant to one side. The airship continued to fall onto its port side until the masts fetched up against a rocky escarpment.

  Pilot Irna Michaud began barking orders the moment the Voulge came to rest. “Drive in the pilings and tie us down before she flops onto her other side!”

  Men and women climbed around the deck, now slanted at a forty-five-degree angle, grabbing up tools, pitching them over the sides, and rappelling down after them. They hammered iron spikes deep into the ground, attached blocks to them, and ran stout lines through the pulleys. The crew managed to winch the Voulge upright and lock the lines into place without tipping it the other way.

  “Everyone, back on board!” Irna shouted, using her magic to amplify her voice over the roaring wind and blowing sand.

  “Hopefully, the storm will keep the devils away,” Jareen said.

  Irna slowly wagged her head from side to side. “Horned devils hunt under the cover of these storms, and we have a hold full of daggerwing shit. That stuff is going to draw them from miles around.”

  Jareen faced downwind, imagining how far the scent of guano would carry in a blow like this. He shuddered at the prospect. “Light every storm lantern on this ship. I am going to break out the muskets.”

  Jareen took a dozen crewmen with him below decks, ignoring the overwhelming stench of their cargo. The guano was transported in enormous canvas sacks supported by metal frames. The muskets were hidden behind them, stacked in crates against the wall. It took all twelve men to shift the guano baskets out enough to reach the weapons and powder hidden behind them.

  “Keeping the wind from blowing the powder out of the flash pan could pose a problem,” Jareen said as he handed out the muskets. “Have the crew find or construct whatever windbreaks they can. It might come to not filling the pan until they have to fire.”

  “What is it we are expecting to fight?” one of the men asked.

  Jareen looked into the eyes of the men and decided it did no good keeping the truth from them. “Horned devils.”

  Several faces blanched.

  “It might not come to anything,” Jareen said. “It’s just a precaution.”

  “Not with us sitting on the biggest box of bait in the empire,” one said with a snort.

  “Who here has actually fired one of these?” Jareen asked.

  Three of the men raised their hands.

  “You three will instruct the others. Ask around when you pass the muskets out if anyone else has any experience as well. Everyone needs to know how to load and shoot in the next thirty minutes.”

  “You think we got that long?”

  “There’s something to be said for optimism.”

  “There’s also something to be said about becoming devil crap.”

  Laden with arms, the group returned to the deck, which was now lit by dozens of storm lanterns. The lamps did little to provide light beyond a few feet thanks to the thick dust cloying the air, but it was far preferable to being in the dark. By the time they handed all of the muskets out, they had eight men who at the least knew how to load and shoot even if they had no practical experience in firing the new weapons.

  Jareen returned to Irna’s side and handed her a pistol and a small pouch containing powder and shot. “How are we looking?”

  “The ship is stable, but that’s the only good news I have,” Irna replied as she tucked the leather pouch into her waistband.

  “What about the horned devils? What’s our chances of going unnoticed?”

  The pilot pressed her lips into a thin line. “The maps are a few years old, so it’s possible that they have moved on and nested elsewhere. If they haven’t, then I damn sure hope your fancy new weapons can pierce their thick hides.”

  Jareen searched his memory for what little he knew about the vicious creatures. As a child, he had found them fascinating and had read a few books written by those foolish enough to attempt to study them. He knew the young males traveled in packs and would likely be the first to arrive. Being swifter and hungrier than the adult bulls and matrons, they raced toward any source of food with wild abandon before the adults arrived and drove them away.

  The muskets should be capable of taking down the juveniles, assuming the crew was able to wield them effectively, but against an adult, he was far less confident.

  “My biggest concern in that regard is this damnable wind,” Jareen finally answered. “I don’t think we can keep the powder from blowing out of the pans. Is there anything you can do?”

  Irna bent over a speaking tube and shouted, “Sandford, give us a windscreen.”

  Jareen felt the prickling sensation of static in the air before the wind abruptly dropped off. “Well, at least we have that going for us,” he said as he primed his pistol.

  A high-pitched keening cut through the roaring wind, a shrill cry that was followed by others that turned everyone’s blood to ice water. Frightened eyes glanced between comrades to bid silent, final farewells. Jareen stalked across the deck, speaking words of encouragement to men and women whose hands trembled as they held their weapons in a white-knuckled grip. Jareen noticed that some of the sailors had strapped large knives and even swords to the ends of their muskets. He would have to mention this to Atin as he saw the potential benefit of such a dual-purpose weapon.

  Wide eyes stared out over the rails, seeing nothing but the thick dust rolling over the invisible windscreen created by one of the innervators huddled below decks. The other two were now above to lend whatever magical aid they could. Although technically sorcerers, Irna and the innervators were not battle-trained, their magical abilities mostly limited to their particular tasks through years of specialized study. That did not mean they were defenseless, however, and their sorcerous ability could well mean the difference between life and death for many if not all of the people on board.

  Dark shapes, barely distinguishable from the hazy background, flitted along the edge of the lanterns’ glow. Several shots rang out, which were followed by at least two dozen more, the volleys fired off out of panic without having a clear target.

  “Hold your shots until you can see them!” Jareen shouted.

  Those hasty crewmen worked feverishly to reload their muskets. Some never got the chance. Several horned devils burst onto the deck, their hideous claws and incredible strength allowing them to scale the sides of the ship like a cat climbing up a tree. Jareen watched in horror as his people fled from the monsters, many of those who had discharged their muskets prematurely casting them down before running away.

  “Stand firm!” Jareen screamed above the fray and panicked cries of his crew.

  He strode forward with far more confidence than he felt, leveled his pistol at a devil that was disemboweling one of his hapless people, and shot it in the throat. The lead bal
l tore through leathery hide, cartilage, and bone. The creature staggered back, clutching at its throat in a most human-like manner, and tumbled over the railing. Jareen grabbed at the flask containing his powder and tried to reload. Another of the monsters leapt onto the deck in almost the exact spot the one he had shot disappeared.

  The horned devil hissed its fury, displaying a wide muzzle filled with thorn-like teeth. Jareen stumbled back and tried to draw his sword, but the creature rushed forward and he knew he could not bring it to bear in time, not that it would likely have done him much good.

  A mighty reptilian paw raised up high, its black claws gleaming in the lamplight, promising death. An invisible force struck the devil hard enough to drive it several feet back against the rail. It tried to recover and leap forward, but Irna’s shot took it in the left eye, and it too fell back over the side and disappeared.

  Jareen spared the pilot a nod of thanks as he reloaded his pistol. More musket shots cracked out across the deck, his people finding their courage and picking their targets. While the muskets were proving effective, it often took several hits to bring down one of the brutal monsters, but his people were taking casualties, more than they could continue to sustain.

  Jareen called out over the sounds of pitched battle, “Fall back to the aftcastle and form ranks!”

  Jareen, Irna, and the two innervators fought to hold off the horned devils so the rest of the crew could make an orderly retreat to their position, several of them having to aid others who were unable to walk or navigate the stairs on their own.

  Concentrated on the stern’s raised deck, the sailors’ defense became more organized and effective with overlapping fields of fire and controlled volleys that allowed one rank to shoot while the other reloaded. Half a score of juvenile horned devils littered the deck, their blood painting it a red so dark it was nearly black, but still they came on, heedless of the death awaiting them.

  Three more of the creatures fell to the humans’ unprecedented defense, and the deck was finally clear of any threats. The surviving crewmen looked out over the rails and tried to find the monsters they could still hear prowling around the airship.

  “I think we scared them off,” Jareen said.

  Irna stared out into the darkness. “I’m not sure we’re the ones who deserve the credit.”

  “Let’s get a team together and collect our wounded,” Jareen ordered. “Someone tear some cloth into bandages and start binding injuries. Quickly now, we might not be done just yet.”

  Half a dozen crewmen made their way down the steps to the main deck in search of survivors while the few who managed to avoid any real injuries began bandaging the wounded still huddled at the stern. Irna and Jareen, along with a few others who did not require immediate attention, kept vigil over their comrades, their weapons held at the ready.

  A deeper roar trumpeted out of the darkness, a call even more frightening than those of the juvenile horned devils still prowling about on the ground.

  “Let’s work quickly, people,” Irna called out to those tending to the wounded on the main deck.

  Jareen hoped that what he assumed was a bull’s impending arrival would scare the younger devils away, but the adult’s warning call served only to encourage them to renew their attack in a last-ditch effort to acquire a meal before the grown-ups drove them from the table.

  Half a dozen horned devils leapt and clawed their way onto the deck. The humans still aiding their brethren gave up trying to bandage wounds, grabbed their fallen fellows, and dragged them toward the aftcastle with all haste. Musket fire erupted as Jareen and the other sailors tried to drive the monsters away from those below.

  Two devils fell to the deck, writhing and snapping at their wounds. Another lost its courage and disappeared over the rail, but three others continued their advance. The crewmen trying to save their friends stopped their retreat at the base of the stairs, turned, and prepared to add their fire to that of those above.

  A shape dropped down from the rocky escarpment looming over the Voulge’s port side. The bull horned devil’s thousand-pound frame struck the deck with enough force that Jareen heard the timbers crack beneath its feet. The big male bellowed a deafening challenge, flexed its powerful muscles, and charged. The bull lashed out at its younger kin with its dagger-like claws, sending the juveniles fleeing with gruesome wounds as it barreled into the men and women trapped on the deck.

  Bodies went flying, those who were cast over the rail devoured by the juvenile devils waiting below for scraps. The humans renewed their attack with muskets firing as quickly as they could reload them. The bull roared its outrage, but whatever wounds it suffered appeared only to increase its fury.

  Irna and her innervators conjured a kaleidoscope of dizzying lights that swirled around the monster, each luminous orb arcing out and zapping it with electricity. The horned devil roared its displeasure and lashed out at the twinkling motes.

  “Everyone up and get below decks!” Jareen ordered.

  The few trapped below with the huge bull, and who were still able to flee, retreated up the steps, some dragging their wounded crewmen with them, and practically threw themselves through the deck hatch into the pitch-black interior. Jareen, being the last man down, locked the sturdy hatch shut behind him as someone lit a lantern.

  The horned devil, discovering that its prey had gone to ground, bellowed its outrage and clawed at the hatch and deck above. The timbers shook and cracked beneath the creature’s assault. They were fortunate that the Voulge was a warship and not a freighter. Its forecastle and aftcastle were designed as a redoubt of last resort and hardened against incursion. However, Jareen knew it would not keep the monster at bay for long.

  He looked into the terrified, oft bloodied faces of his crew, their numbers horrifyingly fewer than they had been just an hour ago. Wide eyes stared at the creaking timbers over their heads as the horned devil stalked across the deck, the sound of clomping footfalls occasionally broken up by the shattering of crates and ship structures, victims of the monster’s tantrum.

  “How do we stop that thing?” Irna asked. “These muskets only seem to infuriate it.”

  Jareen opened his mouth to reply, but the big male had found them. It hurled itself bodily against the stout door leading into the crowded room. Timbers cracked and dust streamed down from overhead.

  “I have an idea,” Jareen declared. “I need six volunteers to follow me to the hold.”

  “That means we gotta go out there with that damn thing!” someone cried.

  The devil crashed into the door again, causing the hinges to creak and the nails to creep out just a bit.

  “Would you rather stay here and wait for that thing to get inside?”

  Irna asked, “What’s in the hold, other than a few tons of crap?”

  Jareen’s eyes flicked to the battered door. “Bigger guns.”

  Irna’s face brightened. “Of course, the field guns!”

  Jareen nodded. “Obviously, we can’t just stroll through the door. Is there any other way to the storage decks from here?”

  Irna shoved men out of the way and opened a hatch in the floor. “Through here. This leads into the tiller room. From there, you can go through the heart stone chamber and reach the cargo holds.” She looked to her terrified crew. “Now, who wants to be heroes?”

  A few hands inched hesitantly upward. The bull rammed into the door hard enough to shake the entire room, and nearly everyone reached for the ceiling, willing to do almost anything to get out of the compartment.

  The pilot selected six men from the group and turned back to Jareen. “We’ll stay here and keep that thing’s attention as long as we can, but I don’t think we have much time. We’ll all jump down into the tiller room when a breach becomes inevitable and try to reach the strongroom beneath the forecastle.”

  “We’ll be as swift as we can,” Jareen replied.

  Jareen led his group through the hatch, a single lantern lighting their way. The dark, narrow pas
sages bereft of crew left them with the feeling that they were exploring a ghost ship, which it could well become if they failed. Overhead, the horned devil’s claws gouged into the deck, only a few inches of wood and air between the humans and the monstrous creature seeking to devour them.

  The rescue squad was crossing into the next room when the crashing and snarling above them ceased. They could hear the devil shuffling about and taking in deep breaths as it sniffed at the air. With a bestial cry, wood splintered and crashed as it tore through the passageway.

  “Run!” Jareen cried.

  The men sprinted down the corridor with the monster keeping pace just above them, neck and neck in a life or death race. Unlike a freight vessel, the Voulge’s cargo hold was compartmentalized, comprised of several rooms instead of one or two large chambers. While it benefitted them in hiding their illicit cargo, it made it very difficult to maneuver in and free up the crated weapons.

  Jareen spied the large wooden boxes containing the field cannons. “Here!”

  A thunderous crash and a roar reverberated down the passageway.

  “It’s on this deck! We don’t have time to assemble the damn thing!” one of the men said.

  Jareen turned toward the door. “Improvise!”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To distract the thing. Shout when you’re ready and I’ll try to draw it back here. You just be prepared to blow it to the Tormented Plane when I do.”

  Jareen cast his sword and scabbard aside before running down the passageway. The weapon would be useless against a bull horned devil and only serve to trip him up. His only chance to stay alive was to keep out of its reach. He passed through the narrow hatchway just aft of amidships.

  The horned devil was casting its snout about, searching for the humans’ scent amongst a myriad of other smells, the daggerwing guano being the most pervasive. The creature whipped its head around to face Jareen the instant he stepped through the hatchway. It opened its mouth and roared, baring rows of teeth that looked like arrowheads only sharper and far deadlier.

  Jareen raised his pistol and shot it in its open mouth, burying the lead ball in a mass of soft, white flesh at the back of its throat. The devil’s bellow cut off with a choking sound as it clawed at its throat. With a hiss and contemptuous glare, the bull charged at Jareen with a speed that belied its great bulk.