by Paul Dale
“He may kill you. Morden, that is. Dark Lords do that to their opponents, and Morden will have little love for you.”
“He could, but I doubt it. Young Morden showed some ability in business when he started out. He doesn’t strike me as the capricious type. I’ll assume we’re talking hypothetically here, but if he won, and we were all subject to his will, then I am certain he would welcome my help in managing the transition to his rule from an economic viewpoint.”
“Then why confront him?”
“It’s not me doing the confronting. Some wars cannot be stopped. If there is going to be one, it’s best I ensure it’s prosecuted most profitably so, whatever the result, the aftermath can be dealt with efficiently.”
To Penbury, it felt as though Nuriel’s eyes were drilling into his skull, such was the intensity of his gaze. He had no idea what was going on behind those eyes. He felt like he was being tested. Nuriel could be weighing up his commitment to the cause. All this talk of losing could well be an attempt to draw him out. He had been careless in getting as drunk as he had. It wasn’t like him to let his guard down. On the other hand, now he understood Nuriel more than he had.
“I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk, Chancellor,” said Nuriel, getting to his feet. “I had better take my leave. I have a long way to go. I wish you every luck in the coming months. Morden’s full force will doubtless be felt. Dark days are ahead. There will be much loss and grief. Maybe not for you, but for many it will be a grim time. Armies will fight, cities and nations will fall, and all will seem to be lost. Try to hold Griselda back for when it is darkest. She will want to rush out and confront him immediately, but that is not a good idea. Let him spend some of his strength first and spread himself thin. It may or may not work. It largely doesn’t matter. When all seems lost, and there is no hope left, that’s when we’ll turn up. Don’t ask why, even I don’t know. Maybe we need to be in desperate straits to be at our best. Regardless, look for us to come from the north, or the west, one of the two. With any luck, it’ll all turn out for the best in the end. Good luck, Chancellor.”
And so saying, Nuriel skipped up the stair, in a manner that belied his great age, to leave Penbury wondering why so many thought luck was a better thing to rely on than good planning. With his questions regarding Huffenhoff largely answered, the one thing that was now a curiosity was the staff. It looked plain enough and, but for the fact that it held a gem at one end which radiated light, was unremarkable. Gnarly was a word that sprang to mind. The wood it was made from was another mystery. It was light-coloured, which perhaps suggested a pliant wood, and yet it was also as hard as any dark hardwood. Though he considered himself an expert on the matter of plants, bushes, and trees, it remained a conundrum. And now he knew how old it was, it was of even greater interest. Nuriel had almost carelessly said it had been used to fight Dark Lords in times past. Thinking on it, the remark may not have been so careless. The archives may hold the answer. Surely the chancellor who had first taken custody of the staff would have written something about it. Now was as good a time as any to find out.
Chapter 41 Fleets Clash
One-sided battles are the best kind.
The Dark Lord’s Handbook
Any hope Zara had they would be able to slip away from Deathcropolis and make their escape were dashed when Morden arrived. The lagoon was locked down. No ships were allowed out without express permission. Instead, the captains had been summoned, Farouk amongst them, and been told to make ready to sail on short notice. Rather than stay cooped up below decks, Zara felt well enough to linger on deck as the sailors went about their final preparations, with their captain bellowing orders left and right. He was clearly not in a good mood.
“Did he say anything?” she asked Ferg, who was leaning against a rail, picking his teeth.
“Not much. Only that we were leaving soon and we would be playing host to a special guest.”
“Special guest?”
“That’s all I know.”
Zara’s natural instinct for trouble immediately kicked in. She didn’t like the sound of this special guest. She looked over at the captain, who was pacing the deck. She caught his eye and before she could look away he was striding toward them.
“You two better look lively. There’s no passengers on this ship. If you don’t want to stand out, you’d better start earning your place. Coil that line and try to look like you know what you’re doing, for all our sakes.”
Farouk spun in place and strode off toward a group of sailors who were manhandling a sail, barking orders. For a man who struck Zara as confident and in complete control, his final remark made her even more nervous. For all our sakes.
“What do you think he meant by that?” she asked.
“I think he wants us to coil this rope,” said Ferg, reaching down to grab one end of the rope splayed in a heap across one side of the deck.
“He said ‘for all our sakes’.”
“Perhaps this is an important bit of rope. Who cares? We should do as he asks. He’s not in the best of moods and we don’t want to be thrown ashore. Feed me the rope and I’ll do the coiling.”
Still wondering what was bothering Farouk, Zara did as she was asked. She didn’t like hanging around doing nothing anyway. It had always annoyed her fellow guards, as hanging around doing nothing was precisely what many of them thought being a town guard was all about. Some took the business of being idle to whole new levels of indolence. But not her. In her mind, there was always someone, somewhere, doing something wrong and she would catch them and put a stop to it. There was no point in town laws if they were not upheld.
The rope was thick and heavy, having been soaked in the storm, but it was good to be doing something physical. She still felt weak and was keen to get her strength back. At least the powders had dealt with her sickness.
Between them, they made short work of their task and were casting around for something else to do when a disturbance on the quay caught their, and everyone else’s, attention. A line of black-armoured orcs led a group of gangly youths along the quay. As they came alongside each ship, a couple of orcs and one of the youths detached themselves and went aboard. It seemed their ‘special’ guest was about to arrive.
Farouk had also seen what was coming and came to the head of the gangplank as two orcs came up it, a young man dressed in black leathers in tow. Zara reckoned him to be a teenager, maybe seventeen. She had developed a sense for age in her duties when deciding whether the drunk in the gutter was old enough to spend a night in the cells, or if he was too young, in which case she would drag him home by the ear for his parents to deal with. This youth had that confident swagger teenage boys developed when they thought themselves men, and before they had been brought back down to size by the real man they pushed too far when trying to impress their friends and the ladies. Cropped black hair, piercing black eyes, and a sullen demeanour, this lad would break hearts. Zara was not impressed.
“My Lord Deathwing,” said Farouk in his booming voice, and making a flourish. “Welcome aboard.”
Lord Deathwing? This could not be. He was far too young. Zara looked down the quay where each boat was taking their own guest on board. Then Zara remembered Morden’s arrival and the flight of dragons that had accompanied him, and it all fell into place. These boys were dragon lords and they were being seeded onto their own ships. Morden must have a plan, but what it was eluded Zara.
“Captain,” replied the young lord. “I’m sure it will be a pleasure.”
With the pleasantries out of the way, Farouk took his guest below decks.
“Don’t even consider it,” said Ferg from her side in a low whisper.
“Consider what?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. It’s suicide. We need to keep our heads down, play at being sailors, and hope we come out the other side alive. And stay out of his way. Some dragons can read minds and I’m sure you don’t want him reading yours.”
Ferg was right. As muc
h as she imagined sneaking into his cabin once they were at sea and beating his skull in with an oak peg, it probably wasn’t the smartest plan. If it was just her, she may do it, but she had another life to worry about. She put a hand to her belly. She half imagined she could feel a spark of life. Revenge would have to wait. For now, she would bide her time.
*****
The ocean crossing introduced Zara to the real meaning of suffering. A combination of pregnancy, heavy seas, and spiced food she was not used to conspired to keep her stomach empty and her feeling weak. Ferg suffered less and looked after her when he could. She was lucky she was not a member of the crew, and expected to pull a full shift, as she would have been deemed useless and thrown overboard. Farouk turned a blind eye to her, more concerned with having a sick dragon aboard, as his guest was suffering equally. During the breaks in weather, the dragonling was far happier and able to join his siblings in their manoeuvres above the small fleet.
The majority of the fleet, comprising largely of the troop ships, had stayed behind, to follow this smaller fleet. From this fleet, the fastest ships sailed ahead, often beyond the horizon, presumably scouting the way. On occasion, when the winds had died to manageable levels, and the ships were not pitching like corks, Zara watched dragons shift from their human form and leap from the sterns of their vessels. They gathered in pairs and flew high above the fleet until they were black dots before heading west.
Three weeks after they had left Deathcropolis, they received first word of land and the enemy fleet. Zara had to remind herself they were not her enemy as the crew talked about the coming battle. She could not know how the crews on the other ships reacted to the thought of fighting but Farouk’s crew were less than enthused. Pirating seemed more their thing, and only the lure of a good payday had seduced them into joining the Dark Lord’s fleet. For the time being, they readied themselves and the ship for the coming engagement as best they could. Zara was not the only one who had no idea how this battle was going to work out. They were not a fleet fighting ship but better suited to chasing down merchants and boarding them for plunder. They had no deck troops, archers, or rams. There was no way they could go against a war galley and hope to come out ahead. In fact, the entire fleet was much the same: fast ships that were not designed to fight. The key had to lie in the dragons.
Then one morning, as the sun rose behind them and sent its light over a mercifully calm sea, the horizon was filled with square sails that grew as the easterly wind pushed them towards the enemy fleet. Even though Zara knew nothing about sailing and battles, even she recognised the benefit of the wind behind them. If they were to be closed on, and generally ships preferred to keep land in sight, then it would be under muscle power.
It was with some surprise then that Farouk ordered the sails furled. Looking out across their fleet, the same was being done on every ship. Rather than rush to meet the enemy, every effort was being made to keep their distance. With the exception of the dragons. With harsh cries, they gathered as a single group this time, one large dragon circling above them as they ordered themselves into pairings. Then as one, they headed west towards the enemy. Soon, they looked more like migrating birds than black dragons.
Around the fleet, crews gathered on deck and looked west where the sun now lit the white sails of ships filling the horizon. Zara tried to count them but could not. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And inevitably, they were getting closer as currents drifted the fleets towards each other. They were still miles away but getting closer and clearer to see. The dragons had become black dots and only in sight for those with the best eyes. Farouk had produced a telescope and was scanning both sea and sky.
Then came the call: “They’re attacking.”
It was a matter-of-fact statement with no hint of excitement. The crew around Zara were strangely subdued. Not so the orc crews on the other ships. They bellowed and called as news of the dragons’ attack spread.
At first, it was not clear what was happening but then ships started to catch fire and smoke rose, spreading left and right from the point of attack. Then came a flash, and another. Deep reports of sound reached them, like the bigger fireworks that had been set off in Deathcropolis when the orcs saw the fleet off. Plumes of smoke shot above the clouds that swept across the fleet.
“What’s happening, Captain?”
“They’re burning and exploding. They don’t have a chance.”
In an hour, night had come to the western sky as it was filled with smoke from the recently proud western fleet. The dragons returned, gathering on the flagship, where it was clear there was much celebrating to be done.
“Break out the rum,” ordered Farouk. “If they’re getting drunk then we may as well join them.”
The enemy fleet burned all day. Word came that the dragons had created a ring of fire, burning the ships on the extremities of the fleet, giving those in the middle nowhere to go. Some of the bigger ships had some kind of new weapon, and one careless dragon, who had got carried away and pulled a low pass against one such ship, had been hit and wounded, but otherwise the weapon had been ineffective. It was those ships with the weapons that had exploded. Black powder, thought to be the sole provision of eastern orcs, was given the blame.
Farouk let his men drink for a while before getting them back to duty. Their dragon was off celebrating the slaughter with his siblings. He may even have been the one that had been wounded. Whatever, he was not here. Dusk came and the crew busied themselves. Ferg went to talk to his friend, returning shortly after.
“We’re going to slip away tonight,” Ferg told Zara.
“Won’t the dragons come after us?”
“Not at night. They have good eyes, but we have a few tricks as well. Besides, we’re one small ship. Why would they bother? After today, they think themselves invincible. They’ll be more interested in chasing down the survivors. We’re not far from land. We can hide in a cove by day.”
It made sense enough. The crew were pulling down the white sails and rigging black ones to replace them. Night fell and the sails were hoisted. Around them, they could see night lights from the other ships; they kept none themselves. With sail and current, they were soon clear and heading southwesterly as fast as the wind would take them. Thirty minutes or so later, an ever-increasing smell of burning wood gave way to smoking hulls, low in the water, and all manner of debris that bumped against the ship’s hull. Crewmen with bill hooks were posted at the bow to push away any larger bits that might damage them. Here and there, larger boats burned. Then came the cries of men, suffering in the water, hanging onto whatever they could. Some saw them pass and called for help. They were ignored. Periodically Zara heard screams and wild thrashing. Where the flames lit the sea in an eerie glow, she saw shark fins break the surface. The smell of blood and death in the water mixed with the smell of burning ships. It went on for an hour. Sombre enough the day before, the crew’s mood deepened at what they were witnessing. Some blocked their ears so they could not hear the screams.
*****
The following dawn they were sailing southwest along a rocky coastline, the horror of the night behind them. It was hard for Zara to reconcile the beautiful morning, the gentle breeze, and the sound of the ship clipping its way through the sea with what she had seen. And it was only the beginning. There was nothing to stop Morden and his army making the ocean crossing. His conquest thereafter was inevitable. Nothing could stand in the face of dragons. The west couldn’t know what was coming. Soon enough they would, when the Black Dragon Flight dove out of the sky and incinerated ranks of men where they stood.
Ferg was standing on the bow rail next to her, gazing pensively at the white tops. He was the only orc who had seen what they had and not rejoiced. He had lost the one he loved to a dragon. Now, many more had lost loved ones and didn’t know it yet. When word of the great disaster at sea made it home, there would be many more families to join him in his loss.
“Are you all right?” asked Zara. There had been a time w
hen all she had wanted to do was hit this orc in the face, but now she felt bound to him. Ferg was one of the few who had known Hal. Known him as a man. The three of them had been through so much. Having felt and witnessed the power dragons had, and having lost the man she loved, she understood his loss. They were bound in that loss.
“I’m fine. Couldn’t be better. I’m alive. Not like some poor bastards.” Ferg dragged his eyes from the sea to look at her. “What now?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Zara. “The world’s about to change and I’m not sure it’s one I want to bring a son into.”
“A son?”
“I have a feeling. Call it intuition. Hal may have died, but he gave me a son first. I want him to grow up safe and knowing what his father was like.”
“You mean a complete idiot?”
A month ago, Zara’s fist would have shot out and caught the orc on the nose for that remark. Now she knew him better. She knew his remarks weren’t intended to harm. It was a sign he liked you and he was hiding behind insults.
“The bigger fools us for encouraging him.”
“At least he followed his dream. He was a good man. What would you say to going south, across the ocean again? Farouk says he’s lost the taste for these waters. He’s seen what’s coming.”
“Haven’t we all?”
“We should go with him. He promises he won’t sell you into slavery.”
“He’d do that?”
“Oh, yes. A pretty woman like you would fetch a good price where he comes from. Of course, if you were under his protection …”
“And by protection, you mean …”
“He wants to rumble you, yes.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I told him that. He laughed. Said you were too skinny anyway. But the offer stands.”
