The Emperor's Shadow War (Tales of Alus Book 2)

by Donald Wigboldy

  Leaving his bunk, the young man realized that he was the only one to still below the deck, except for the mate from the last steering shift of the night. When he arrived on board, Simon found the morning light stronger than he wished and was forced to shield his eyes against the bright sun's rays. The crew was moving around excitedly just as he had expected from the noise. Most were moving boxes to openings along the sides of the vessel, and, as his eyes adjusted to the sun's brightness, he found that they were quickly installing a dozen culverin.

  He also noticed his brother and Janus at the aft of the ship along with Captain Dernick. Simon strode over to join them immediately. The loud snapping flutter of the sails above his head distracted him long enough for him to notice that the Patar was at full sail. It was the quickest that the captain had let her run all trip.

  "So what's all the excitement about?" he questioned upon nearing the group at the stern of the ship.

  Gerid pointed towards the horizon. A small, black set of sails was just barely visible to his eyes. "Pirates," the younger man explained his face's worry to his brother.

  The captain nodded at Simon's questioning glance. "A little over a half an hour ago you could scarcely see them with the telescope. If they keep gaining on us like this, they'll catch us late in the afternoon."

  "We can't outrun them?"

  Dernick shook his head worriedly. "Not unless they decide to give up. The Patar is the quickest ship in the Harken fleet. I haven't seen many vessels in my travels that can outrun her, but we carry cargo and theirs doesn't. The pirate ship also has ten oars to drive her on either side. They're all in use and whoever's doing the pulling is incredibly strong. Unless they can't hold their pace for long, that ship will overtake us and they're a lot larger than us. I'd hazard a guess that the ship has at least seventy men."

  "Isn't there anything that we can do? Dump the cargo or something?"

  "It wouldn't be enough to pull away from them. No, we need to pray that they tire from chasing us. They are going to be hard pressed to catch us even so after all, and pirates avoid trying to attack in the dark. It's just too dangerous. We can only hope that we get lucky."

  Simon looked back at the black sails behind them and could have sworn that they were already larger to his eye and closer. He chided himself for allowing panic to color his thoughts and override his senses. The clatter of the sailors installing the cannon inspired a question. "If they're too fast and powerful, why are you setting up your weapons?"

  "We may still be able to use them to save ourselves, so we're getting the Patar prepared for battle just in case. If their hull is soft looking or worn, I might risk battle in the hopes of damaging her enough to slow her down. Besides, it gives the crew something else to think about and they know that I don't just plan on rolling over and playing dead for the bastards."

  Simon fully understood the need for hope, and moved away.

  The sun had passed its zenith above them a few hours later. The crew and passengers had already taken their lunch, while the opportunity was still there. Simon was rereading the same passage of his current book for the hundredth time in a vain attempt to remove his mind from the dark ship still closing on them, when a cry from the crow's nest above startled him totally alert.

  "Pirates to starboard!" the man cried out the alarm.

  Simon jumped up to look. He noticed Dernick moving to the starboard side of the ship with his telescope. "Where?" he shouted demandingly.

  "Three o'clock and one o'clock, sir!"

  The captain turned the telescope towards the direction mentioned, forward and slightly away from the bow. "Damn!" he cursed as he found two more ships of galleon size moving towards the Patar from the northeast.

  "How could they have gotten so far ahead of us, Captain Dernick?" Gerid voiced the question that his brother had been asking of himself.

  The captain lowered the spyglass wearily. Turning slowly back to face Gerid's question, with a look of dread in his eyes, Simon thought the man looked to have aged decades in that one instant. "Carnal gulls or maybe it was all just a trap?"

  "What are carnal gulls?"

  The man nodded to himself as if deciding, without seeming to hear Gerid's question. "It would almost have to be carnal gulls, I think," he mumbled to himself as much as to anyone listening. Captain Madron looked at Gerid then, "They are birds that have extremely good senses and for some reason they are able to find their mates up to about a twenty or thirty mile radius. Some shipping companies use them to send messages and they're also perfect for finding ships lost after a storm as well.

  "These pirates must use them to coordinate fleets to trap a fleeing ship. That's the only way that they could possibly be ahead of us and trying to line up to cut us off."

  "There's still a lot of water between us," Simon interjected. "Can't you try and dodge away from them?"

  "I doubt it. It's not as easy as a child's game of tag. If we lose our wind changing directions, then the ship behind us still has its oars to close in and close the gap. The ships ahead of us are tacking into the wind already and that distance that you mentioned makes it that much easier to cut off our angle in any of our best possible paths."

  "Captain, surely there is something that you can do?"

  "We'll do what we can, Aramathea, but, if I were you, I would prepare for the worst. I'm not giving up yet mind you, but you might as well look at the possibility."

  The ships continued their dangerous game of cat and mouse. Simon had little that he could do aside from waiting. He watched helplessly as the sailors of the Patar worked their magic as best they could. Captain Dernick would shout orders to take advantage of every wind and adjustment of their enemy while the crew immediately jumped to implement the orders. It resulted in several different course changes. It often took several minutes for the less maneuverable pirate ships to react and compensate. After a time, Simon and the others could tell that, despite the captain's best tricks, the Patar would be unable to escape from this trap.

  Their pursuer from behind had men in the sails and their boarding parties were ready now that there was only a few more boat lengths between them and their quarry. The two others were closing quickly on them from ahead as well. Simon could tell that short of driving through them, the Patar had lost her options of escape.

  He glanced at his brother fingering the hilt of his sword. Simon strode over to the young men and shook his head. "Gerid, don't do anything foolish. There is no way that we can defeat so many. Even if you were strong enough to do so, the rest of us would most assuredly be dead. Besides, the captain believes that they are only interested in what we carry. None of it is worth fighting over, let alone dying for, boy."

  Gerid nodded, "I know, but I just hate to see them get away with this so easily. Maybe if I challenged their best to a duel?"

  Laying a hand on his shoulder, Simon looked up into his brother's eyes. "Unlike Merrick's soldiers, these men don't play at this game. I sincerely doubt they would be willing to give up their prey, especially when they know that we can't possibly resist them. They've won. Besides, I doubt that they would even keep their word. They are thieving pirates after all."

  "Yeah, but still...."

  "No, you follow the captain's lead and keep quiet. If we stay out of the way, maybe they'll just steal the cargo and leave us alone."

  Then they heard the cry from their pursuer to furl their sails and prepare for boarding. Using hooks and rope, the pirates swiftly drew the two craft side by side. They were sending their men across to the Patar well before the other two warships even arrived.

  A sharply dressed pirate crossed over shortly. With glossy, black hair and a curled mustache slick with wax beneath a dashing, red, feathered hat and clothes of similar quality, Simon watched the man strut confidently onto the Patar's deck. "I am Pirate Captain Seymon. You are all my prisoners. This ship and all upon it are now mine to do with as I see fit."

  "You can't take this ship! It isn't mine to lose," Captain Madron de
clared. "Take the cargo, but, please, allow us to finish our voyage and return home. Others await our arrival."

  Captain Seymon sneered. As he strode over to Dernick, the pirate drew his sword and pointed it at the man's heart. "I don't believe that I gave you a choice in the matter. What is your name?"

  "Captain Dernick Madron."

  "Well, Captain Madron, I don't believe that I gave you permission to speak. Did I?"

  Dernick shook his head slowly saying nothing this time.

  "Now that I have your attention, let me tell you a secret about what it is that I do. I, sir, am a pirate. A good one, too, I assure you. The reason that I am a captain is because my men respect me and they learned to respect me because I demand a job to be carried out fully when I give it. Failure to do so results in penalties.

  "Now you, captain, are unable to decide the fate of anything or anyone. Why? Because I have removed you from your power. In fact, you can now consider yourself property for I always sell the men that we capture as slaves to the markets in the Taltan kingdoms. So don't presume that I will now change my mind for you, Dernick Madron."

  "But these men don't deserve that!" Dernick protested uselessly.

  The sword in Seymon's hand flashed upward in an arc. A spray of red mist flew from a gash in Dernick's throat. The man reached for his neck to try and staunch the rapid loss of blood from the wound. Dernick fell to his knees gagging on his own blood as it bled into his throat and lungs. "I warned you not to speak or try to change my mind, Dernick. I am afraid a second warning wasn't in your future. Now I give you permission to die. Don't disappoint me by not obeying my order this time." The pirate laughed mirthlessly at his morbid joke.

  Simon laid a restraining hand on Gerid's wrist as he felt his brother stiffen in anger. He hated to give in to slavery, but better to be a slave with the hope of someday escaping, than to be left dead in a pool of one's own blood.

  Captain Seymon cleaned his sword on Dernick's back and returned it to its sheath. "Crew of the Patar, you are hereby relieved of your duties. All right, men, shackle the sheep and put them in the hold."

  As Simon felt the cold metal of the shackles and heard the click as they locked into place, his head fell forward in despair. Gerid was shackled in front of him next. When they were led across to the pirate ship, he noticed his brother almost doubled over with the realization of what his earlier actions had now brought them all to and that was slavery.

  Battle Mage: A Tale of Alus

  Chapter 1- The Difference

  The sun shone down upon the courtyard through a thin haze of fog still stubbornly sticking to the mid­morning air. Finches and sparrows chirped and sang from the nearby gardens or as they soared over the ten foot walls separating the Court of War from the neighboring gardens. White Hall and its accompanying towers loomed to the south of the long courtyard throwing shadows over much of the grounds below. The Tower of War was dark against the morning light and its shadow nearly touched the base of forty foot protective walls.

  Above the sounds of the birds, multiple clangings could be heard as sword met shield or sword on sword. In the Court of War more than a dozen men worked at perfecting their art. Four pairs of grey shirted men exercised their skills against one another as four older men in black coached or quietly watched their students at play. A thirteenth young man, also of the grey, performed a dance with his blade.

  Wind flowing up Hill moved to the Bear stands Alone. Iron Jacket met Thrush from the Thicket. Maneuver after maneuver followed as he pictured his invisible opponent moving to counter his own. Back and forth he fended and struck. Press an advantage then retreat as the momentum shifts. Protect and attack. Force and defend.

  Dark blond hair began to drip with sweat. The grey shirt darkened. Tanned arms glistened and his palms tried to moisten and make his grip tenuous. A shift of the leather coated handle scraped away most of the moisture and stiffened the grip as he shifted back to the better hold once again. Tirelessly the young man fought his invincible foe. His breathing came through parted lips as lungs called for more air.

  Two of the pairs picked up towels to dab at damp brows as the men in black gave comment on their performance. Chuckling heralded some comments. Frowns followed others. The men walked back in White Hall through the small door at the base of the Tower of War. The other men continued work as a new trio, one black and two grey followed much the same as those before.

  The other pairs tired. One of the teachers called a halt as a sword caught a shirt slicing the material cleanly. The young man with the torn shirt hugged his opponent briefly knowing he owed his life to the other who had barely pulled his swing enough to avoid killing his friend. The students and teacher spoke as they walked towards the little door and commented on what had gone wrong. The sound of blades clanging continued and a new pair came into the courtyard followed by their watcher before the last of the early morning groups retreated inside to contemplate their performances.

  The thirteenth man shook his head free of sweat as it threatened to drip into his eyes. The invisible opponent smiled and backed the young man off with an invisible thrust that only the two could see. The dance went on.

  A door opened in the eastern wall. The sun had risen nearer to noon. The grey dripped and danced without seeing three men looking in from the doorway. Quiet laughter and talking wafted in with the singing of finches and chirps of sparrows. One dressed in a white robe trimmed with red points spoke and the others laughed again. The grey saw only his opponent and the dance goes on.

  The three are joined by a fourth. His trim is also red like his freckled cheeks. He comments on the grey and is again greeted with laughter. Stepping further through the doorway. The freckled blond chants a short phrase and conjures with his hands briefly before thrusting his palms at the ground. Dust rolls quickly in a small ball straight for the young man in grey.

  An explosion of dust jumped up nearly at the feet of the swordsman. The grey stumbled and spit dust. A hand wiped at the dirt stinging both eyes as laughter carried to a now attentive young man.

  "Ha ha, Sebastian," the young wizard called jeeringly to the half blinded young man. "You call yourself a battle mage? What good is all this training if you can't see, boy?"

  "Magnus, you jerk!," the boy in grey snapped and sheathed his weapon into a plain, leather scabbard. "You just ruined my exercise. I hope that you're proud of yourself."

  The man in white glanced to his friends with a smile and replied, "As a matter of fact, I am. You know something though, I just don't get why you so-called battle mages need such a nice courtyard to play in. I mean really, the real soldiers don't have these kinds of courts. They go outside or behind the kitchens or something, but here we real mages have to hear all your banging back here day after day and for what I ask you? This could be a pretty nice garden if we let some of our nature and earth mages in here. Sounds good actually." He turned to one of the others with a blue stripe instead of red. "Make a note, Linus. I think maybe Arrimus or Mishael might enjoy the challenge, don't you?"

  "Like the founders would allow you to do such a thing, Magnus," Sebastian replied with a frown of annoyance. Both students knew that the young wizard was just making idle threats, but the comment still rankled.

  The wizard shrugged, "Maybe not now, but one day they'll see that your kind aren't worth all this effort. After all, it's not like you're truly in a wizard's class. A real mage could shatter those little swords of yours and any wimpy magic that you can barely force up. By the gods, I just don't understand why we have to put up with you all.

  "I say let's put you where you'll do some good. The infantry or maybe just the cooks. What do you have to say about that, Sebastian?"

  With a look of calm that nearly dripped with ice, the man in grey answered firmly, "The history of the last eighty years would prove you wrong. It was the battle mages and soldiers protecting you wizards that even let you survive long enough to use your fancy magic. We have our own. Its quick, effective, and has killed
a lot of the Dark One's creatures over the years."

  "Bah, that's only partially true and besides any real soldier can say that much. Bring on a horde of kiriaks or armored viles and its the wizards that you'll be crying to save you all."

  The other student battle mages and instructors had stopped and taken note of the conversation. Frowns ringed the group as they slowly formed up only a few paces behind Sebastian. The grey shook his head. "You regular wizards need us lowly battle mages and the soldiers as much as we need you. That's the whole point of White Hall, isn't it? This school isn't just filled with wizards or soldiers. We have a little of each type of soldier and wizard here so we can learn to appreciate each type and learn to work together."

  "Oh, peace and love for everyone," Magnus clasped his hands, tilted his head and fluttered his eyes in a girlish manner as he sang out in falsetto. "Bah!," his voice dripped with scorn as he continued, "Save it for someone who can't see the truth. I would wager my

  magic can defeat anything you can ever muster, Sebastian. Shoot we don't even need soldiers to fight for us when we can create our own from thin air." The mage's hands came together like he was holding a two-handed sword and suddenly a flaming blade shimmered into being. "Come on, Sebastian. You've been practicing all morning. If you're any good, you'll prove me wrong."

  "This is stupid, Magnus," the battle mage began, but was quickly interrupted as the wizard leapt towards him swinging the fire blade. His own weapon came up instinctively to catch the attack. The smell of burnt hairs on his arm and forehead made the young man's nose itch almost instantly.

  A second strike and Sebastian nearly dropped his sword as it threatened to burn his hands. The leather smoked from between his fingers. "Sword!," the word triggered thought and flame leapt up the blade even as the third stroke caught his blade with the force of a hammer.