“All hands to the windward rail, lads!” the Captain ordered, a wave washing over him. “We’ll be upon them soon.” The man was standing on the bulwark, holding onto a rope above his head while his body dangled outside the ship.
“You heard the captain!” an ensign barked. “Man the starboard rail!” A sailor ran past him, skidded on the slippery deck, and fell. “On your feet Holsen.” The ensign hoisted the sailor up by his collar. “Man your station.”
Fadan could barely see far enough to witness the crew obeying their orders, but he could hear their shouts over the raging gusts of wind. He was tightly gripping the bulwark right beside the standing Captain. “We should have caught them by now,” he yelled.
“The Prince is right,” Lucilla agreed, her arms around the upright keel. “We can’t keep sailing into the broken sea.”
Drusus’ head swung back as he burst out laughing. “This isn’t the broken sea yet, my girl,” he said. “We’ve barely reached its edges.”
Lucilla glared up at him.
“He’s right,” Fadan told her, wiping water from his face. “This storm is nothing. In the broken sea, waves can get as tall as towers, and the wind is strong enough to send ships flying into the air.”
“How would you know that?” Lucilla asked.
Fadan shrugged. “Technically, the broken sea is part of my Empire too.”
“This is insane!” Shayna cried. “We can’t keep going like this. We have to turn back.”
Just as she finished her sentence, the ship swung downwards, hit the base of a wave, and a massive wall of water crashed down onto the deck.
Fadan’s feet were swept from beneath him, and he felt himself slide across the deck until his head struck something. The world seemed to disappear for an instant, then, as everything returned to focus, Fadan coughed water, gasping for air.
“Are you alright?” Lucilla asked, helping the Prince up.
Fadan nodded and looked up at where the Captain had been standing, positively sure that the man had been swept away by the water. Drusus, however, was still there, laughing madly.
“Captain,” a crewmember called, stumbling near them. “Captain, the foremast is cracking. It can’t take this much longer. We have to slow down.”
“Nonsense, Calban. She can take it. Steady as she goes.”
“But Captain‒‒”
“Calban, man your station before I have you flogged!”
The crewman mumbled something beneath his breath but obeyed.
“Drusus, where is that prison ship?” Lucilla asked.
“Dead ahead,” the Captain replied. “If the Prince’s pendant is to be trusted.”
“Yes, I know they’re dead ahead, but how far?”
“We’ve been at this for an entire day, Captain,” Fadan chimed in. “They’ll be at the bottom of the sea if we don’t find them soon.”
“And we’ll be joining them pretty quick,” Lucilla added.
“Faith and patience,” the Captain said. “Faith and patience. They had a five-hour head start on us. We’ve been catching up on them ever since we left Capra. It won’t be long now.”
Fadan wasn’t so sure. He gritted his teeth and turned to Lucilla. “We should have brought a faster ship.”
“SHIP AHOY!”
They all simultaneously turned towards the voice. A sailor, perched atop the aft mast, lowered a spyglass and stretched an arm to the southwest.
“Three masted ship,” the watchman shouted. “Two points off larboard.”
“Ha! What did I tell ya?” the Captain cried, swinging and jumping onto the deck. “Faith and patience!” He turned to address his crew, his hands at his waist as if the ship was standing perfectly still. “We’ve got them in our sights now, boys and girls. Keep her going. Pasheen.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Rouse everyone below deck. Prepare boarding parties. Fast and springy.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Fadan searched the distance. The horizon was a shifting mess of waves, surging and plunging from the deep. From the fog to the curtain of rain, not to mention the overall darkness caused by the thick layer of clouds up above, everything seemed to conspire to keep the prison ship hidden. It took at least half an hour until their goal became clearly visible.
It was indeed, as Drusus had put it, a big, fat carrack. A ship designed to haul as much cargo as possible, much bigger than their own caravel.
Behind Fadan, a crowd filled the deck. About fifty men and women gathered, all armed to the teeth and salivating for battle.
“Grappling hooks at the ready!” an ensign shouted.
“Those Paladins are thanking the Goddess for the rain right now,” another one said. “This way no one will see them wet their pants.”
The men and women laughed obscenely, waving their blades in the air. Fadan had some trouble sharing their enthusiasm. Drusus must have noticed it, because he knelt beside him, spyglass to one eye, and said, “Don’t worry, young Prince. There probably won’t be any violence today.”
He handed Fadan the spyglass and the Prince looked through it. It took some getting used to. Every small twitch of his arm made him lose sight of the ship, and their own caravel wasn’t exactly standing still.
Fadan eventually managed to get a good glimpse of their target. The lenses of the spyglass made it seem like the carrack was right next to him. Its main deck was big enough to fit their caravel and was jammed between a tall fore castle and a wide aft castle. But it wasn’t the construction of the vessel that caught Fadan’s attention.
He lowered the spyglass.
“It’s empty. There’s no one on board.”
“I told you,” Drusus said. “The water was poisoned. The crew is dead.”
“What… What about the prisoners?”
Drusus shrugged. “Hopefully, they didn’t drink any of it. Paladins aren’t famous for their hospitality.”
Slowly but steadily, they approached the carrack until it was close enough that everyone could see its empty deck. The crew’s thirst for battle seemed to wilt away, and their brave cries became whispers and mutters. Fadan heard the words “ghost ship” twice.
“Wake up, you loafers. Time to earn your coin.”
“Hooks away!”
“Lively now, boarding planks out!”
At the spurs of their superiors, the sailors sprung up a little and rushed to their duties. Grappling hooks were hurled and the prison ship was harnessed to theirs.
Drusus jumped to the bulwark, holding onto a rope that dangled from above.
“Alright, sailors, let’s get our brothers back to safety. For Arrel! For the Rebellion!”
“For the Rebellion!” came a collective shout.
Fadan felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Alman gave him a nod. “Ready?” the old man asked.
“Ready,” the Prince replied, instinctively tapping his power.
Wave after wave, the crew crossed onto the main deck of the prison ship. On the other side, no one was there to meet them except for sailing paraphernalia, creaking and swinging in the storm.
Fadan swung himself on a rope and landed next to Alman, skidding on the wet boards. The boarding party formed a compact blob, their blades at the ready. One step at a time, they spread across the deck, the pouring rain making it hard to see more than a couple of feet ahead.
Lightning flashed, bringing the entire ship into view for a brief moment.
“I don’t get it,” Fadan yelled over the howling wind. “If the crew was poisoned, where are their bodies?”
Thunder roared, this one so loud most in the group jumped with fright. As if on cue, the doors to the aft and fore castles slammed open. A stream of Paladins flooded the deck, yelling a war cry.
The boarding party closed in on itself, forming a nearly perfect circle. The Paladins besieged them, their numbers growing as more and more kept coming, their swords and lances at the ready.
“Drop your weapons!” a Paladin Commander ordered.<
br />
“Fire take you all!” Lucilla cursed. “We’ll sink you lot with us.”
“Easy there,” Drusus said from the other side of their circle. “There’s no need for useless bloodshed.”
“Silence!” Lucilla ordered. “There will be no surrender.”
“We’re heavily outnumbered,” Drusus offered. “It’s done, we lost. Sailors, put your weapons down.”
Drusus’ crew didn’t need much encouragement to obey, and slowly began to lower their swords.
“Stand up and fight, Goddess damn you all!” Lucilla yelled. “Pick up your weapons or Ava be my witness I will kill you all myself!”
“Lucilla…” Fadan said, grabbing her arm. “He’s right. Stand down.”
She shook herself free, ignoring the Prince. “Did you hear me, you cowards? Grab your weapons!”
“LUCILLA!” Fadan yelled. That got her attention. “I said. Stand. Down.” The Prince turned to the rest of the group. “Everyone throw your weapons to the floor.”
Alman obeyed, followed by Drusus, his sailors, and then the Augustan soldiers. The swords and daggers hit the wooden deck in a clanking chorus.
“We can’t win this fight,” Fadan told Lucilla. Only she and Shayna still held their weapons in defiance. “There’s no point in wasting all this life here. Stand down.”
Lucilla’s mouth opened, but her arm finally went limp and her sword fell to the deck, followed by Shayna’s.
The bedroom door closed and its lock clicked, leaving Cassia and Venia staring at each other in silence.
“What in the name of Ava has just happened?” the Empress asked.
“The Emperor knows,” Venia replied.
“What? What does he know?”
Venia swallowed. “I think he knows everything.”
“What does that mean?” Cassia asked, her hands on her head. “Does he know about Fadan?”
The spy strode to a window. “For the moment, we should assume the worst,” she replied, scanning the gardens outside.
“Oh Goddess, if Tarsus has found out that Fadan possesses the Talent…” Cassia trailed off as if she didn’t have the courage to finish the sentence.
“I might be able to get us out through the window,” Venia said. She tried the window’s handle, but it was locked. She reached into her sleeve, removed a pin, and started working on the lock.
“In broad daylight?” Cassia asked.
Venia looked at the Empress. “Considering our circumstances, I think it’s our best shot, yes?”
Cassia pondered that for a moment, then nodded. Venia resumed her work.
“You should change into something less conspicuous,” the spy said. “Choose something dark that doesn’t restrict your movements.”
Without a word, Cassia darted to a wardrobe and swung its double door open, revealing a wall of colorful dresses. She began fiddling inside, searching for something suitable, but before she could, the bedroom’s door clicked and swung open.
Both women jumped away from where they were, looking far less innocent than they would have liked. Two Legionaries stepped inside, their armors clanking with their every move.
“Your majesty,” one of them said. “We have orders to escort you.”
“Orders to escort me where?”
“We’re not authorized to divulge that,” the soldier replied. Just as he did, the man grabbed Cassia’s arm and pushed her towards the door.
Venia’s eyes went wide.
“Venia, that will be all!” the Empress said.
The spy froze, one arm deep into the other’s sleeve.
“You are dismissed for the day,” Cassia added.
“No,” the second soldier said. “We have orders to take the maid as well.” He pounded across the room and pushed Venia after the Empress.
The Legionaries marched through the corridors, shoving both Cassia and Venia in front of them.
“What in the name of Ava do you think you’re doing?” Venia demanded. “You can’t touch the Empress like that.”
If either of the two soldiers heard her beneath their steel helms, neither gave any sign of it. They simply kept marching. But they were not using any familiar route. Instead of taking them through the great staircase that led down to the main hall, the soldiers forced them through one of the narrower side corridors. Cassia found herself going down barely lit hallways and darkened stairwells she didn’t even know existed.
“Where are you taking us?” the Empress asked, her heart pounding heavily.
They arrived at a corridor where no window was in sight. Only torches lit the way forward, their orange glow casting trembling shadows.
“Move,” one of the Legionaries said, pushing at Cassia’s back and shoving her forward.
The Empress felt the air momentarily leave her lungs. Something twisted in her stomach.
“What is this place?” she asked, obeying and stepping forward nonetheless. “You can’t just treat us like this.”
As the words left her mouth, the ridiculousness of them dawned on her.
Of course they could. She was powerless, as she had always been. Tarsus could do with her as he wished, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Having Venia at her side these last few years had numbed the sense of humiliation, but it had been a lie. A lie she had been telling herself. She was simply something the Emperor owned. There was nothing even Venia could do about it.
No, not anymore.
She stumbled and nearly fell. Her whole body was shaking.
“Enough!” she yelled, turning on her heels and grabbing the sword at the waist of the Legionary marching behind her.
The blade sang as she unsheathed the sword and aimed it at the soldier’s throat. Venia moved like a cat, jumping to cover Cassia’s side, a knife appearing in her hand as if out of thin air.
“Cassia!”
The Legionaries stood still, neither making a move to attack. The voice had come from the Empress’ back and echoed through the dark hall. She turned towards it.
“Intilla?”
“Will you please return my soldier’s sword?” the High Marshal asked. “You will not be needing it, I hope.” He was standing at a small door and moved aside, motioning for her to come in.
Hesitantly, Cassia lowered the sword but kept it. She exchanged a look with Venia, then followed Intilla through the tiny door.
The tang of manure flooded her nose and she quickly realized why. They were in some kind of underground stable. Horses and hay were everywhere. A carriage waited in the center, surrounded by what looked like an entire Maniple of Legionaries.
“This is an old, secret exit of the Palace,” Intilla explained. “Designed for emergency evacuations of the Imperial family.” He looked around as if inspecting the facility. “It’s been centuries since it was last considered necessary, so it has become… forgotten. At least by most.”
“What… what do you mean?” Cassia asked.
“This carriage will take you out of the city,” Intilla said. “These Legionaries will obey you, and only you. They will protect you against the Emperor himself if need be.”
Cassia looked at the soldiers, and her mouth dropped. She almost expected them to deny what the High Marshal had just said. Instead, they simply stood at attention like silver statues.
“Intilla… I don’t know what to say,” Cassia murmured. “How will you…? If Tarsus finds out…”
“He won’t.”
“Intilla, he knows about Fabian.”
“Yes.” The High Marshal’s head sunk slightly, but he quickly straightened back up. “That, unfortunately, could not be avoided. Vigild has infiltrated the Rebellion and the Scriptorium. We knew that, but when we were forced to look for the Prince among the prisoners… Well, Fabian exposed himself. There was no other way. He was aware of that.”
“Oh Goddess,” Cassia said, covering her mouth. “Can’t you do anything? Can’t you help him?”
Intilla shook his head. “That would only s
erve to incriminate me as well,” he replied. “The Emperor still needs me.”
“Needs you?” Cassia could not believe it. “After all this, you’re still remaining loyal? After helping me and Fadan?”
“Cassia, my loyalty to the throne is absolute,” Intilla said.
“No, it’s not. If it was, I would still be up in my room. Or Goddess knows where…”
“That’s different.”
“Different?” Cassia asked. “What about Fadan? You know where he is, what he’s doing.”
A smile grew at the corner of his mouth. “I said my loyalty is to the throne, not the Emperor.”
Cassia sighed, exasperated.
“I know you will never understand, but I’m the High Marshal of the Legions,” Intilla explained. “I will not abandon my oath. Now, enough talk. You must hurry before your absence is noted.” He turned to the soldiers around the carriage. “Empress’ own, you know your orders.”
There was a loud clank as every one of the soldiers smashed their fists against their breastplate.
“Empress’ own?” Cassia echoed.
“A long standing Imperial tradition,” Intilla replied. “One only Tarsus is known to have broken. These are your soldiers now. They will die for you if they have to.” He looked at the troops. “But they’re supposed to stay alive. Understood?”
“YES SIR!”
“Now, go,” Intilla insisted, taking the sword from Cassia’s hand.
“The High Marshal is right,” Venia said. “We should hurry.”
The Empress stood motionless for a moment, then lunged into Intilla’s arms.
“Thank you!” she said. “I owe you everything.”
Intilla waved dismissively as they stepped apart, but did not really say anything. Instead, he turned to the soldiers once again, and Cassia had the feeling he was hiding his eyes from her.
“Empress’ own, mount up!” Intilla said, his voice as firm as always.
The Dragon Hunter and the Mage Page 44
