Storm Raiders: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Storms Of Magic Book 1)

by PT Hylton

  Abbey was working with a family on the east side of the village. She was covered in soot, and she was bone tired.

  She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Dustin, a bright smile on his face.

  He nodded toward the center of town. “Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Abbey looked at the man she’d been working alongside. She suddenly realized she didn’t even know his name.

  “Go,” the man said. “This house will be just as burned down later as it is now. Besides, you look like you could use some rest.”

  Abbey followed Dustin to the center of the village where a group of townspeople were tending to the wounded. Dustin led her to a boy on a bedroll. His lower leg was wrapped and elevated.

  Dustin grinned at this boy. “This is Vern. He’s the one who saved us.”

  Abbey blinked hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Up on the tower. He killed a Barskall Warrior to protect me.”

  The boy nodded excitedly. “Yeah. Then one threw me off the tower. It was pretty sweet!”

  Abbey raised an eyebrow. “You were thrown off the tower?”

  Vern nodded again. “Dustin cushioned my fall with a gust of wind. I still broke my leg, but at least I didn’t break my head.”

  Abbey laughed. “I guess that’s the better of the two options. Thank you for saving us.”

  Vern laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re the one who saved us. How many Barskall Warriors did you take out, anyway?”

  In truth, Abbey had no idea. She remembered the fighting, the moment to moment struggle to stay alive, to stop these invaders attacking these innocent people. But everything had happened so fast. She was barely sure how she’d managed to stay alive, and she certainly hadn’t counted her fallen opponents. “A few, I guess.”

  Vern gazed up at her with admiration. “Way more than that. You were amazing. I used to want to be a Storm Caller when I grew up. Now, I want to be a…” He paused. “What are you, anyway?”

  “She’s an Arcadian.” The voice belonged to Syd, who looked as dirty as Abbey felt. “She’s also a stormship sailor, a blacksmith’s apprentice, and a fugitive.”

  “Whoa,” Vern said. It was clear he was even more impressed with Abbey now. He turned to Syd. “Why don’t you have any hair? Sorry, is that a rude question?”

  “Not at all.” Syd paused for a moment, then sat down on the ground next to Vern’s bedroll. “It’s not a story I tell most people, but seeing as we fought in a battle together, I suppose I could make an exception for you.”

  Abbey crossed her arms. She wanted to hear this.

  “When I was a little girl, I had a big brother,” Syd began. “His name was Elliot, and he was my favorite person. There was a kindness within him, a desire to help people. That is very rare, especially in Holdgate. I did everything I could to be like him. I trained with him, played with him, and followed him and his friends around, probably driving them crazy.”

  Vern laughed. “Sounds like my little sister.”

  “When I was about your age, my brother went to work on a stormship. The ship was called Thunderclap. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course.” There was awe in Vern’s voice now.

  “At the time, Thunderclap’s captain wasn’t as famous as he is now. Tor was just a promising young sailor who’d somehow managed to land the job as captain of the best ship in the fleet. My brother was thrilled to work for him. I was sad to see Elliot go, but I was excited, too. I couldn’t wait for him to come back and tell me about all his adventures fighting Barskall.”

  Syd looked off into the distance for a moment before continuing. “It was a year before Thunderclap returned to Holdgate. I was waiting at the docks, and I watched every sailor step off the ship. But my brother never came. It turned out he’d died on the voyage.”

  Vern’s eyes were wide now. “What happened?”

  “That’s what I wanted to find out. No one told my parents or me. They simply said he’d died. We got some money from Captain Tor, but no answers. So, I went to see the captain myself. I demanded he tell me what had happened. Captain Tor refused. He told me what happens at sea is only for sailors, not for the families back on land. He wouldn’t give me any information. I don’t even know if Elliot died in a battle or if he fell off the ship.”

  Syd turned back to the boy and looked him in the eye. “I made two promises to myself that day. First, I vowed to become a sailor on a stormship. I figured it was the best way to honor my brother’s memory. Second, I shaved my head in mourning, and I vowed it would remain shaved until I learned what happened to my brother.”

  “Have you asked Captain Tor?” Vern said. “Since you became a storm sailor, I mean.”

  Syd nodded. “He remains unwavering in his refusal.”

  Vern shook his head in disbelief. “What a dick.”

  After they’d chatted with the boy, Abbey, Dustin, and Syd gathered near the storm tower.

  Abbey was the first to speak. “As much as I want to help these people, we need to get moving. Tor could decide to head back to Holdgate any time.”

  “Agreed.” Syd gestured toward the north side of town. “The mayor told me they would be glad to give us a ride to the city after what we did to help them. We just have to say when.”

  Abbey smiled. “Excellent. Then what are we waiting for? We have a blacksmith/sailor/fugitive, a bald first mate, and the only Storm Caller who can cast on land. What else do we need?”

  “Um, a plan maybe?” Dustin offered.

  Abbey chuckled. “Oh, we have that, too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Benjamin spent the morning waiting back at their hideout while Jarvi searched for more information on what had happened to Bronson the night of his death.

  Benjamin thought back to the night of the festival. He and Abbey had seen Bronson. The man had been playing a drinking game involving throwing axes, and there had been other people around. Trouble was, Benjamin didn’t remember any of them. And even if he had, that wasn’t the same as being able to prove them guilty of murder. He tried to call up the scene in his mind, but every face but Bronson’s was nothing more than a dark shadow in his memory.

  Benjamin slammed his hand on the table in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to be out there with Jarvi, asking questions and gathering information. Instead, he was stuck in this poorly lit, barely furnished hideout, relying on an antisocial old man to find the answers. He had to admit, Jarvi was clever, though. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d want on his side more, except Abbey.

  With nothing else to do, Benjamin went over the facts again in his mind.

  By all accounts, Bronson had been very drunk and hadn’t left the festival until the wee hours of the morning. The guards had hauled Benjamin from his home around four. That left only a few hours for Bronson’s travel home, his murder, the discovery of the body, and the identification of Benjamin’s sword at the crime scene. It was a tight timeframe.

  The murderer or an accomplice must have also broken into the blacksmith shop, either while Benjamin and Abbey were at the festival or while they were sleeping.

  Benjamin tensed as he heard footsteps at the doorway. He gripped the knife hanging from his belt.

  The door opened, and Jarvi slipped inside.

  Benjamin was on his feet the moment he saw his friend. “What happened? What did you find?”

  Jarvi smiled grimly. “I have information.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jarvi sank into the nearest chair and gestured to the one across from him. Benjamin reluctantly sat. He wanted to hear the news as quickly as possible, and sitting down could mean a long tale.

  Finally, Jarvi began. “I tracked down a woman who saw Bronson multiple times at the festival. Apparently, she was in a booth near his. She’s a storyteller.”

  Benjamin nodded in excitement. “I saw her. Abbey and I listened to a tale she was telling some children. About the stormships and the Barskall.”

  �
��As the night wore on, her crowd changed. The children were replaced with adults who’d spent the day drinking mead. She adjusted her tales to fit the audience and began spinning yarns of the bawdy variety.”

  “And she saw Bronson?” Benjamin couldn’t help it; he wanted his friend to get to the punchline of his story.

  Jarvi nodded. “Over the course of the night, Bronson and his friends became more and more rowdy, disrupting her tales with their merrymaking. Eventually, most of Bronson’s friends drifted off. All but one. Bronson and that last friend were apparently laughing uproariously over the friend’s new sword.”

  Benjamin tilted his head at that. Could it have been his sword?

  Jarvi continued. “Eventually, Bronson and his friend left the festival together. Bronson was exceedingly drunk, and the friend obviously less so.”

  Benjamin leaned forward in his seat. “Did she recognize this friend?”

  Jarvi nodded. “It was Randall. First mate of Thunderclap.”

  Benjamin put a hand over his mouth. The first mate of Thunderclap? In a way, it made sense. Thunderclap was constantly on the frontline. If the traitor were aboard that ship, he would have plenty of opportunity for contact with the Barskall.

  Yet, if Jarvi’s theory that at least one Storm Captain was involved was correct…

  That would be mean Tor was a traitor.

  Tor. The hero of Holdgate.

  Convincing the Magistrate someone working with the Barskall had killed his son would have been a difficult enough task already. Convincing him the captain of his flagship was working with the enemy? That would be nearly impossible.

  “Why hasn’t the storyteller come forward before now?” Benjamin asked.

  “She’s like me. Lives outside the city and has no love for the Magistrate or his city guard. If she hadn’t known I was a bit of a hermit myself, I don’t think she would have told me the truth.”

  “And I don’t suppose she’s running to the Magistrate to tell him what she saw?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Benjamin sat back in his chair and sighed. It was one thing to know the truth, but another to have to prove it. He thought again of Abbey. Did she know she was surrounded by traitors?

  He shook his head. “To think, I almost gave Dahlia magitech.”

  About ten years before, Jarvi had found him an especially large amphorald. Benjamin had made a gift he had intended to present to the Storm Caller of Thunderclap as a way to better ingratiate himself to the city. In the end, he’d backed out, deciding that it would call too much attention to him, and the Magistrate might demand that he make magitech for the other ships, too.

  “One thing’s for certain,” Jarvi said. “We’re going to have to find some rock-solid proof if we want to convince the Magistrate that Captain Tor is working with the Barskall.”

  ****

  Captain Tor carefully inched the fork to the right, checking to make sure it was perfectly aligned with the knife. When the utensils were arranged to his satisfaction, he let out a satisfied sigh. Everything was in place.

  There was a knock at the door, and Tor stood up and straightened his leather armor. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and two of his sailors stepped in, dragging a dirty man with a fat lip between them.

  Tor did his best to conceal his surprise and instead forced his face into a mask of concern. “Captain Roy! Are you not well?”

  Roy smiled up at him. “Honestly, I’ve been better.”

  The sailors both wore looks of fear. The taller one said, “Sorry, captain. He didn’t want to come. We had to get a little rough.”

  Tor grimaced. This wasn’t off to a wonderful start. “You two help Captain Roy into his seat. Then see Randall and tell him to throw you over the side. If you’re still treading water after an hour, he can pull you back up.”

  The two men went pale. They placed Captain Roy in the chair and hurried out, closing the door behind them.

  Tor sat down across the table from the captain of The Foggy Day. It was an odd sight, this dirty and battered man sitting at this carefully appointed table.

  A roast chicken sat between them. Tor carved as he spoke. “That’s the sign of a well-run ship. I can order those men to tell the first mate to throw them over the side, and I know they’ll do as I ask. I don’t even have to check with Randall to make sure they followed through. I know. Tell me, Captain Roy, would your sailors do the same if you ordered it of them?”

  Roy smiled through his busted lip. “My sailors wouldn’t have to. If I want someone thrown overboard, I do it my own damn self.”

  Tor paused, but only for a moment. Then he resumed carving. “I hope they didn’t rough you up too much. I’ve taken pains to be kind to you and your crew.”

  “I can take a punch from the likes of them.”

  Tor put a healthy amount of chicken on both their plates. “Good. Then let’s eat.”

  They did so in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Captain Roy said, “As much as I appreciate the meal, I’d like to know what I’m doing here.”

  Tor carefully chewed his food before answering. “I thought it was time to have a chat, captain to captain.”

  “Or captor to prisoner.”

  Tor ignored the comment. “I know we’ve had our differences. Even before you hid a fugitive and helped her escape. But I believe we can move past that.”

  Roy shoved another piece of poultry into his mouth, not taking his eyes off Tor.

  “Do you know how many Storm Captains would love to be sitting where you are, receiving the offer I’m about to make you?” Tor asked. “All of them. Every last one.”

  Again, Roy didn’t respond.

  Tor kept his voice even, though this man was beginning to annoy him. “By now, you know the truth about what Thunderclap, Summer Wind, and High Tide do here in the north.”

  “You kill. You steal. Along with a few other ships in the fleet, I’ll bet.”

  Tor wasn’t about to tell this man who else was aligned with him. Not yet. “We Storm Raid. And yes, we kill and steal at times, both here on the Kaldfell Peninsula and on the Lost Isles. And we align ourselves with enemies like the Barskall when need be. But we’re not accumulating wealth out of greed. We’re doing it to expand our way of life. Once we’ve built up our treasure chests, we will be able to conquer. To rule nations. And I’m offering The Foggy Day a place in that fleet. Come. Storm Raid with us.”

  Roy let out a chuckle. “Seriously? That’s your pitch? Help you grow your coffers so you can conquer nations? I expected better, Captain Tor.”

  Tor set down his fork and looked into the other man’s eyes. “Roy, I suggest you seriously consider this. I remember when you became a captain—before you started settling for the easy voyages. You had just as much potential as I did. More, maybe.”

  “You call it settling. I call it protecting traders and fishermen. In other words, I’m doing what I swore to do.”

  “You’re a good captain, Roy. I know you are. I can bring you wealth. A ship worthy of your skills. The respect of Holdgate. Or, choose the other option and bring death to yourself and your crew. It should be an easy decision.”

  “It is.” Now, it was Roy’s turn to set down his fork. “We have a sacred duty to protect the people of Kaldfell, and you are selling their lives for a cheap alliance with the enemy. You want to kill me? Kill my crew? Fine. I can’t stop you. But I’m not signing up to be a Storm Raider.”

  Tor sighed. “We’ll go with the more painful option then. Tomorrow morning, we’ll sail The Foggy Day out a bit, and we’ll sink it. You and your crew can drown as my Storm Raiders and I watch.”

  Roy smiled thinly. “I suppose that’s the best death any sailor can hope for. Now, if your two boys are done treading water, I think I’d like to go back to my ship.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Abbey climbed the rope up the hull of Thunderclap, then pulled herself over the railing and onto the deck. She then dropped to a crouch and looked around
. As far as she could tell, no one had spotted her. She removed the hook she’d used to secure the climbing rope to the rail and let it fall into the water below.

  Dustin had called down a little fog—not heavy enough to call attention to itself, but still useful. However, the moon was bright tonight, too bright for Abbey’s liking.

  The trip from the small village in the mountains to Bode had been quick thanks to the man who’d driven them in his wagon. The village had been sad to see them go, especially Vern who’d given Abbey a tight hug before becoming embarrassed and slipping away. Abbey understood. She’d been sad to leave them, too. It had been her first real battle, and she’d fought together with those people. Now, she was leaving them to their fate. For all she knew, the Barskall could attack the village again tonight.

  But Abbey didn’t think so. She knew the real reason the Barskall had attacked the village. They’d been looking for Abbey and her friends. Staying in the village would have been foolish. She’d just be putting them in more danger.

  Abbey had slept in the back of the wagon through most of the journey down from the mountains. It had been much needed, and she woke refreshed, but with a serious crick in her neck. After sleeping with her head on a rock in the cave, and then in the jostling bed of a wagon traveling down a mountain road, the bunk on The Foggy Day was going to seem mighty comfortable by comparison.

  Assuming their plan went off without a hitch, and she lived long enough to sleep aboard the ship again.

  Syd and Dustin had both initially been hesitant about Abbey’s plan. They’d agreed that they needed to take back The Foggy Day; they’d just had an issue with Abbey boarding Tor’s ship alone. Syd had insisted she should be the one to board Thunderclap. Once she’d heard the whole plan, however, she’d reluctantly agreed Abbey was the only one who made sense for the job.

  Abbey carefully made her way through the ship, the sketch Syd had drawn to show her the layout fixed in her mind. She made her way through the hatch and down the ladder to the area below deck where the sleeping quarters were located.