Rise and Fall (Book 1)

by Joshua P. Simon

  “No. Just in a bad mood is all. The padding and armor stopped any arrows and we soaked the tarp well enough where she only got singed.”

  “Only singed! I swear I’m going kill all of you when I get down from here. You swore to me that I was only to be a distraction and nothing more. I didn’t know I’d be target practice for them lackwits.”

  “Complain to me all you want later. Did you drop the bottles?”

  “Aye. I dropped them all. And I’ll be doing more to you than complain later, that’s for sure.”

  Jonrell turned to the man still struggling with the rigging as Hag cursed his clumsiness and lack of speed. “Put her off to the side for now. She won’t be going up again and I need you with the archers on this pass.” The man smiled and Hag swore but Jonrell paid neither any mind.

  Jonrell met Glacar at the railing, as he tossed the last dead body overboard and picked his double sided axe back up, grip wrapped in shark skin. The man’s beard and hair were so wild and unkept they nearly met in the middle of his face, with just a scarred nose and a hint of dark eyes peeking out. Glacar had turned out to be one of the few positives from their last trip to Thurum so many years ago. The burly man had stayed on with the group after the nightmare surrounding the battle of Asantia.

  “How did we fare?” asked Jonrell.

  “Well enough.” The mercenary looked down at Jonrell’s blood sprayed gauntlet.

  “Did we lose anyone?”

  “Two of the ship’s crewman, both burned from the green mage. We’ve got a couple men of our own bloodied up, but they ain’t dead yet.”

  “Good. See that they last another pass. We’ll tend to them afterward.”

  “Aye.” Glacar grabbed a passing soldier by his arm and spun him around, bellowing orders of his own, determined not to let anyone relax.

  Next, Jonrell turned to the archers as they restacked and secured the barrels that fell during the first boarding. “Get those braziers lit.” He pointed. “Next pass I want you eight to aim for the stern near the captain’s wheel.” He pointed again. “You ten will concentrate your fire on the center, especially where the green mage is positioned if you can. Everyone else, light up their sails.”

  “What about us, Sir?” came a voice from above.

  Jonrell peered up to the crow’s nest where Rygar hung over the side, looking down at him. “Aim for any broken glass near that mage.”

  “Sir?”

  “The lamp oil Hag dropped should be concentrated there and with only a green robe, that mage won’t be able to extend his barrier of protection more than a few feet while still mounting an attack.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She’s coming back round, Commander!” Sylik shouted from behind. “You ready to meet her?”

  “Aye.”

  Back at the stern, Jonrell looked through the captain’s spyglass once again. The men on Sea Beast scrambled to remove their heavy armor before they reengaged.

  Sea Beast’s second pass seemed about as unsteady as her first as she mauled her way through the choppy water. Her oarsmen looked all but useless, and the ship seemed to be relying instead on her sails.

  Lightening illuminated the scene as rain began to fall.

  The ships edged closer and the green mage glowered out front, sending several fireballs across the water and onto the main deck. This time, many more hit their mark and water crews struggled to keep the deck from going up.

  A massive bolt flew past Jonrell from behind. The mage threw his hands out in a warding gesture, and a wave of force knocked the missile aside where it bit deeply into the decking at his feet.

  Great.

  The mage countered with a shadowy figure that oozed from his sleeve and then skirted across the water, heading straight for the ship’s stern.

  The commander yelled out “Archers now! I want that ship burning.” Fire arrows filled the space between the two ships, battering the war galley. Sea Beast erupted in flames, and with that, the galley lurched off course.

  The shadow crossed the span and reached their position. One of the old timers drew a sword from his belt and slashed at the blackness, but his blade passed through with no effect. The shape seized the man by wrapping its form around his, pinning his limbs at the side. The old timer let out a cry as the shape constricted, and Jonrell heard the man’s bones snapping from the pressure. The body let out a shudder and fell limp to the deck. The creature uncoiled itself and then feinted toward another of the old men before changing course and coming right for Jonrell.

  “One Above,” he muttered under his breath.

  He slashed out with his sword and edged away from the shadow. The commander twisted and dodged but could not avoid its grasp. His chest compressed as it coiled around him. Jonrell caught the look of panic in Raker’s eyes and the mercenary made an effort to help him.

  “Stay back,” Jonrell managed through gasping breaths.

  He felt the air leave his lungs, his arms lose strength. He wanted to fight the creature, but he hadn’t the power to do so.

  This is it. Dead before I reach Cadonia.

  But then the pressure dissipated.

  What?

  His relief swirled around him in a nauseating tangle of dizziness that dropped him to hands and knees. Someone’s hands wrapped around his arms and pulled him up. From the smell he knew right away it was Raker.

  “How did you stop it?” asked Jonrell.

  “I ain’t did nothing. Someone finally woke up from their nap and joined the fun,” said Raker, inclining his head behind him.

  Krytien held the shadow with some invisible grip. The mage’s lips moved, void of sound, and the creature vanished. Sweat covered Krytien’s face, his thin hair drenched from the ordeal. “Are you ok?”

  “I should be asking you the same,” said Jonrell.

  “I’m fine. Still weak from my fall. I’ve never seen a green mage able to conjure up such a creature before.”

  “Can you take care of him before he sends another?”

  “I don’t need to.” He inclined his head toward the galley. Flames danced across its decks and up its masts, playing in the sails and burning men alive. The green mage staggered with a dagger in his gut, twisting about from arrows fired by Ocean Spirit’s crew. Now that the battle seemed lost, the captain had rallied his men to turn on Melchizan’s soldiers. Jonrell started to chuckle but caught himself. “Where’s Kroke?”

  Krytien looked confused.

  “He’s on Sea Beast. You were out and there were two mages to deal with. Where do you think the knife came from?” Jonrell spotted the thin man clinging once again to the side of the galley. Alarmed, he realized that the two ships were drifting apart. “Captain! What are you doing?”

  “Getting my ship to safety.”

  “Turn her back round. We’ve got a man back there.”

  “Not my problem. I ain’t turning back so the whole ship can catch fire and die to save one man. He knew what he was getting into.”

  Raker slipped a blade under the captain’s throat, raising his chin.

  “If you don’t turn this ship around now, Raker will open your throat right at the wheel.”

  “You’ll die,” said the captain. His eyes drifted off into the distance. “That storm will tear us apart without me at the wheel. We need to get the old girl ready.”

  “Then we die. Turn this ship around.”

  Sylik let out a curse and spun the wheel around. Raker moved the blade away from the captain’s throat as Sylik shouted out orders.

  Sea Beast was adrift, its crew fighting against Melchizan’s men.

  “Bring her in captain,” said Jonrell.

  “I can’t.”

  Raker pushed the blade back into his throat. “I don’t recall Jonrell asking you a question.”

  “Slice my throat open then, but if I get too close to that ship, we’ll all die for sure. The waves are too rough now and she’s moving in such a way that it’s impossible to reach her unscathed. If I get too cl
ose we won’t have to worry about the storm because we’ll all drown.”

  Jonrell looked at the haphazard sway of the ship. One Above, he’s right. “Raker, load up the ballista one last time and tie some rope up to her shaft. Secure the other end to the main deck.”

  “What about him?” he said, nodding to the captain.

  “Forget him. Do it.” He turned to Sylik. “How close can you bring her in and how long can you keep her in line?”

  “I know what you’re doing. You’re crazy.”

  “Answer my question captain. We are not leaving him to die,” said Jonrell.

  “A couple hundred feet at best. I can’t hold her long though.”

  “You heard that Raker?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Well get it done then,” said Jonrell.

  Raker finished setting the ballista in record time. Sylik called down to his rowmaster and the oarsmen stopped as the captain glided her in toward the burning pyre, using the current itself to propel the merchant ship.

  One Above, he’s good. Jonrell stared at the war galley as it burned. Many of the ship’s crew not busy fighting against Melchizan’s soldiers sought desperately to put out the spreading fire.

  How is that thing staying afloat?

  “You never told me what I’m aiming for. Both mages are down,” said Raker.

  “You’re going to aim for a spot about two feet to the side of Kroke. Preferably to his left since that is his strong hand.”

  “And what if I hit him?” asked Raker.

  “Then I’ll know Kroke was right,” said Jonrell.

  “Right about what?”

  “That your aim turns to mud when you’re under pressure.”

  “He said what?”

  The mechanism went off and Jonrell barely had a moment to whip his head around to see the spear slam into the hull, mere inches from Kroke’s head.

  “Ha. How’s that for aim?” said Raker.

  Without hesitating, Kroke reached out and grabbed the rope, moving arm over arm across the taught line. An arrow protruded from his shoulder and yet the mercenary’s pace remained steady.

  Several of Melchizan’s soldiers hung crossbows over Sea Beast’s side, firing at the thin man swinging above the crashing blue waves. His legs swung up and he grabbed the rope with his ankles as well, wrapping both arms and legs around it. “Give him some cover,” Jonrell yelled to his bowmen. A blade appeared in Kroke’s hands and he began cutting the rope under his feet. A bolt struck him in the side just as the last thread snapped. He and the rope fell into the waves.

  Jonrell and several others raced to the other end of the rope, heaving and pulling with all their might. “Get us out of here, captain,” Jonrell called out as he watched the mercenary bob along in the rough waves, attempting to stay above water.

  The oarsmen put their shoulders into it just as they lifted Kroke from the water, scraping against the side of the ship. Jonrell pushed others aside to pull Kroke onto the deck himself.

  The mercenary struggled to breathe, coughing up water and blood. One Above, that last arrow hit something major.

  “That’s one less mage in the world,” Kroke said with a grin before passing out.

  Jonrell looked up to Krytien. “Do something.”

  “I can only do so much. Wiqua would be….”

  “He isn’t a horse. I want someone I can trust.”

  “Then trust me. Wiqua can save him, I’m not skilled enough.”

  “Get him, now.”

  Krytien hurried off, pushing through the crowd that had gathered.

  “Everyone get back to work. Follow Sylik’s command to get the ship repaired before we all die in the storm ahead,” Jonrell snapped.

  A moment later Krytien returned with the healer. “Can you help him? You look as though you lack the strength.”

  “I was helping the others from their wounds. I can help him but only if we hurry, he is fading fast. I need you to do as I say,” said Wiqua.

  Jonrell and Krytien did as instructed, pushing here, holding there, as the healer removed each arrow. His hands glowed and moved with a skillful grace. When he finished, his head hung low and he breathed heavy. “He will recover, though he will be sore. I’ll have someone help me take him below deck to recover.” He looked at Jonrell. “I’m sorry that I won’t have the strength to help you with your bruises as well. It was poor planning on my part not to tend to you earlier.”

  Jonrell sat in awe of Wiqua. Kroke’s skin had sealed under the healer’s touch, stitching itself back together. “I owe you an apology.” He turned to Krytien. “And you as well.”

  “Commander?” asked Wiqua.

  “Krytien had been going on about how great of a healer you were and I dismissed it. But I have never seen such talent with the human body in all my life, not even in my years studying on Estul Island.” He paused. “Thank you for your help.”

  Wiqua smiled. “You’re welcome but this is what my people do. It is nothing,” he said looking weary.

  “Nothing? You’ll have to tell me how....”

  Krytien touched his arm. “How about we give him a chance to rest first?”

  Jonrell nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “Commander!” Jonrell looked up at the shout coming from the wheel, recognizing Sylik’s voice over the gusting wind. “If you’re done down there, I could use all the hands I can get.” The captain pointed.

  A flash of lightning burst across the blackened sky, illuminating the turbulent dark waters ahead.

  The rain came down harder, battering the bright flames on Sea Beast’s deck. A smile crawled across Jonrell’s face as he saw a lone lifeboat lowered into the tumbling waves. They’ll never make it.

  “Are you smiling?” Krytien asked. He looked closer. “You are smiling. What is wrong with you?”

  Jonrell turned to the mage, grinning ear to ear. He knew he should be worried, he should be stressed, concerned even, and he was to an extent. But this was different. His worries didn’t control him. Ocean Spirit had faced impossible odds and came out with minimal losses, none from his crew.

  I forgot what it felt to live in the moment, to trust my instincts.

  “Nothing is wrong. Now let’s have some fun.” He moved away to help the crew, leaving Krytien to reason things out himself.

  Chapter 7

  The streets of the Blue Island Clan capital puddled with water from a passing storm, cooling the hot cobblestones under busy feet. Splitting the city down its center, Juanoq’s main road stretched in a straight line from its entrance to the docks. Paved in gray, its width allowed for more than a dozen wagons to travel side by side without any hindrance. Only dirt covered the narrower side streets and alleys.

  “Eventually the roads will all be the same, but as of late, priority has shifted,” said Tobin.

  He and Nachun veered onto a side street to the left.

  As usual for this time of year, men and women donned light clothing, all of which seemed to contain at least some accent of blue. Many of the men chose to clothe themselves as Tobin, wearing trousers, moccasins, and a vest to cover their torso in place of a shirt. The women wore long dresses to their ankles. The streets teamed with people as the two men maneuvered their way through the press. Nachun nearly ran into the back of someone as he craned his neck to take in all of the sights.

  Lasting weeks, the return trip to the Blue Islands had given the two men a chance to bond. As an advisor to Tobin’s father, Nachun spent a great deal of time in Bazraki’s company, busy with increasingly important tasks. The shaman turned out to be so efficient in those duties that within a week after taking Nubinya, Bazraki had felt comfortable enough to leave the city in the hands of its new government.

  Kaz recognized the growing favor in which Bazraki held Nachun. Rather than punish Nachun for the resentment Kaz felt toward the shaman, he took it out on Tobin. Despite such abuse, Tobin was not bitter about the extra work. Many a night, Nachun would stand watch at his sid
e, keeping silent company with him on an otherwise lonely night as Tobin pulled a double watch. And regardless of what the shaman worked on for his father, he had always found a way to join Tobin for meals so they could pass the time in conversation.

  Tobin realized early on that he dominated those discussions. Nachun never seemed to care, always listening and asking more questions about the history of Tobin’s clan. Tobin didn’t mind Nachun’s reluctance to open up further. Given the recent upheaval in his life, it only seemed natural for the shaman to avoid his past. Tobin also didn’t want to push him away.

  Having come to enjoy Nachun’s company, the thought of reporting their discussions back to Bazraki almost felt like betrayal.

  But one day Father will ask me what I’ve learned. He shook his head, determined not to allow such thoughts to ruin his day.

  The men rounded another corner and found themselves at the entrance to Juanoq’s bustling market district. Tall buildings encircled the large open area located to the west of the city’s center. Merchants sold an assortment of goods, both common and exotic. The smell of various delicacies overpowered the senses as the two men moved about the organized chaos.

  The occasional moneylender stood between the rows of merchant stands, always wearing a warm smile. And daggers up their sleeves.

  “Juanoq is so new. Much newer than Nubinya or any of the other cities in Hesh I’ve visited. It’s as if you cut the brick and stone yesterday and laid them overnight,” said Nachun, wonder in his voice.

  “In some cases that may very well be true.” Tobin pointed to the construction of several tall buildings, the most complex of which he singled out. “That one began just before I ventured off along the Burnt Sands coast. Now, look at it. After a couple of months, it is higher than those that surround it.” He sighed. “I remember a time when this city lacked even a wall for protection. Once my father came into power, it was the first thing he demanded, a wall stronger than any other in all of Hesh.”

  “Did your father visit the homes of other clans? There are pieces here that are reminiscent of those other cities.” He gestured toward a pattern of blue azurite stones adorning a gray brick wall.