by Mel Odom
Captain Rinnah fought the wheel, his voice belaboring his men in hoarse shouts. They moved the sails, making the most of the wind.
Skyreach moved toward the knot of her warriors. Naked steel gleamed in their hands, desperation lighting dark fires in their hollowed faces.
“Milady,” Scaif greeted. “The archers want to launch a few shafts at the enemy.”
“Wait,” Skyreach said. “The waves and the wind will only make their shafts too uncertain. Exposure to this rain will loosen the strings in short order, then they’ll be worthless. We’ll have need of them later.”
Scaif nodded. “As you wish.”
Abruptly, the pirate vessel dropped back as Chalice of the Crowns jerked forward with renewed speed. A ragged cheer started up among the ship’s crew. Skyreach’s men took up the cry, banging the flats of their swords against the railing. The elven warrior didn’t give in to the emotion of the moment. Even if they managed to escape the pirates, the storm remained to threaten them.
She glanced forward, seeing Chalice of the Crowns’s own spinnaker suddenly exploding forward as it continued the seize the wind. The cloth hollowed and filled, becoming an alabaster full moon against the dark sky.
Rinnah squalled orders to his men amid curses at them and promises to his god. In that moment, seeing the man at the wheel, Skyreach knew he was right about her. She had led them to their doom.
She hardened her heart and her thinking. There had been no other choice, no other way. And the cargo the ship carried was much too precious to let fall into the hands of humans. So much of Faimcir Glitterwing’s life’s work was wrapped up in that cargo. Yet so little of it had they been able to carry. The other journeys that would be required to claim the rest of her great-grandfather’s legacy would require even more cunning to complete. Only certain knowledge that his legacy would be well guarded until her return had given her the strength to leave it.
The humans deserved whatever hells they wrought for themselves. And if there was a way, Skyreach would send Coronal Eltargrim there among them.
“Verys,” she called.
“Aye, milady.”
“Signal the warriors to assemble properly. I want them in diamond formation if we have to close with the other ship.” Skyreach scanned the other ship through the darkness, her eyes burning with the effort and the blowing brine picked up in the gale.
Verys gave his signal.
Chalice of the Crowns bucked through the waves again, twisting before it came down into the water again. The ship tilted sickeningly hard to port, and Skyreach was suddenly facing a wall of writhing water that seemed about to suck her into it. Then the ship straightened itself again, cresting another wave.
A ragged cheer started along the ship’s crew and Skyreach’s own men. It was quickly extinguished when they spotted the pirate vessel cutting through the brine less than ten paces off the starboard. Lined up along the port side of Chalice of the Crowns, Skyreach’s men were out of place to defend the ship.
“Order them to the other side,” Skyreach snapped.
Verys hurriedly did as she bade, his flags snapping code in short arcs.
Skyreach released her hold on the rigging and plunged across the deck. The wooden deck raged across the wallows of the cruel sea, making footing treacherous. The slick scum left by the lapping brine contributed to the danger.
Even as trained as they were, Skyreach saw a handful of her men go down in twisting heaps as they lost their footing across the deck. The careful formations they’d arranged themselves into were suddenly confused and broken.
The elven warrior stumbled across more than ran across the deck. She fell, caught herself on her hands, and forced herself back to her feet. A curling wave caught her, rising almost to her knees, and the spitting spume splashed across her, drenching her even more. She felt clothed in liquid, only the harsh bite of the leather breaking that illusion. Verys struggled at her side. She reached out and helped the man to his feet.
“Thank you, milady.”
Reaching the other side of the deck, Skyreach saw the grappling hooks launched from the pirate vessel claw for Chalice of the Crowns.
“Cut the ropes!” she yelled. Lifting the long sword, she brought the keen edge down against a grappling hook’s trailing rope. The hemp was tightly wound, and it took two more blows to completely sever it. The grappling hook, a trident of curved metal, dropped at Skyreach’s feet. She kicked it away, then it vanished in a new coil of waves that slapped across the deck.
A long, feathered shaft embedded in the railing before her. The barbed head sank through the decorative gingerbread of the railing, stopping only inches from Skyreach’s abdomen. More arrows from the pirate ship suddenly thudded into Chalice of the Crowns.
A jagged lightning bolt seared through the dark sky. The illumination temporarily washed away the shadows clinging to the pirate ship. Humans were there, but among their ranks Skyreach also noted dwarves and kobolds. She did not doubt that the crew knew exactly what they were after. Faimcir Glitterwing’s legacy would draw many hunters.
“Signal the archers,” Skyreach ordered Verys.
The man flagged rapidly.
Skyreach moved along the railing as her men regrouped themselves. The archers drew their bows and strung them with difficulty.
A number of grappling hooks had found the side of the elven ship. Axemen from among Skyreach’s warriors brought their weapons thudding down against the ropes. But they were left open to counter-attack. Arrows from the pirate ship cut down the number of axemen, as well as the other elven warriors.
The sea floor dropped away unexpectedly. Skyreach grabbed for the railing, maintaining her precarious balance. Water rushed in over and through the railing, drenching her. Salt stung her eyes and she blinked them clear.
The pirates gathered along the railing. Knots of men hauled on the grappling ropes, securing them around spars. Sections of the railing splintered and pulled free, but others held. The pirate ship created a staggering amount of drag on Chalice of the Crowns, but the other ship suffered as well. Much as it tried, it couldn’t hold against the elven cargo vessel’s heavier weight. Skyreach had seen to it that the holds were a full as they could be.
Chalice of the Crowns jerked like a fish at the end of a line as it fought with the water and tugged at the grappling lines. Chunks of railing floated on the sea, riding out rolling waves. Those loose timbers became dangerous weapons as well when the ocean shoved them back aboard the ship.
The elven warriors struggled to hold their formation, but the combined elements of the storm, sea, and pirates kept them off balance. At home in the woods around Cormanthyr, their foes would never have stood a chance.
“Signal the archers,” Skyreach ordered, “to fire at will.”
Verys complied.
Even over the rolling thunder of the storm and the protests of the lines and masts aboard Chalice of the Crowns Skyreach heard the thrum of the elven longbows. The shafts pierced the flesh of their enemies at once, breaking the spine of the first attack as men fell back and cursed their shield mates to stand forward.
Skyreach couldn’t count the dozens of foes spread across the other ship’s railing, but their sheer numbers told her that she had been betrayed. Someone with in her great-grandfather’s courts had told the raiders what the prize aboard Chalice of the Crowns was. Or someone had paid dearly for the ship’s capture.
She didn’t try to fathom who the traitor might have been. There were many in Faimcir Glitterwing’s House who felt she should not have received custodial responsibility for the wealth he had amassed. She had even agreed. But it had been her great-grandfather’s bequest, announced by the law-reader after his death.
The problem was, there was no one she trusted more then herself.
The archers fired freely, and the shafts vied with the falling rain to fill the air. Human, dwarf, and kobold fell backward or over the side of the pitching railing as the arrows took them. But more men stepped forward. In
the next few heartbeats, more and more of the elven arrows shattered against the leather and iron shields held up in defense.
Chalice of the Crowns squirmed at the end of the lines binding her to the pirate ship. Then the pirates began to take up slack, hauling irresolutely on the ropes, gaining speed and strength in their endeavors with each handhold of success.
“They’re going to close with us, milady,” Verys announced. His flags dripped water, but their bold colors stood out in the storm’s lightning bursts.
Skyreach knew it was true. She swung her long sword and hacked at another grappling line. “Signal the mages.”
Verys popped his flags at his team.
Almost immediately, Skyreach could feel the mystic forces that sparked around her. She was very sensitive to any actions conducted through the Arts, even had some of the talent herself and had a modest list of spells she could perform. Besides the sword, she’d been schooled in spellcraft as well, learning of it even if not possessing the means.
She swung her sword once more and saw the reinforced rope’s last remaining strands part. The grappling hook spilled into the churning sea.
“Verys, signal the axemen to follow me,” she said as she started forward toward the prow of the ship. Nearly a dozen axemen trailed after her before she’d gone ten paces. They looked questioningly at her as she turned to face them.
“Free the prow,” she ordered, pointing at the grappling hooks holding fast the ship’s nose. “Free the prow and maybe we can yank away from the pirates.”
The axemen fell to at once, hacking with enthusiasm inspired by desperation.
Skyreach looked back at the cargo ship’s bow. Captain Rinnah stood at the great wheel, his shoulders hunkered against it to show the strain he was physically under while manhandling his vessel. “Verys, send a runner back to the captain. Let him know we’re trying to free the prow.”
Verys signaled quickly.
Skyreach didn’t check to see the effect. Gazing across the harsh spume of the sea trapped between the two ships, she saw a group of pirates reacting to her own attempt to hack the forward grappling lines free. Archers fell into position, covered by shield carriers. Arrows descended like carrion birds, ripping into the unprotected flesh of the axemen.
One of the axemen went down at Skyreach’s side, a cloth yard shaft through his neck. The elven warrior didn’t hesitate, sheathing her sword and taking up the double-headed axe from the man drowning in his own blood. She stepped forward, dropping the weapon over her shoulder, then swinging it over her head and down. The blade cleaved cleanly through the grappling line, thunking solidly into the wooden railing. She ripped the axe free and moved toward the next grappling line. When she’d sheared it as well, only two remained. They were both cut before she freed the axe again.
“Milady!”
Skyreach started to turn, but Verys collided into her, knocking her to the side. She reached for the man, believing he had only lost his balance. Then she heard the meaty smack of flesh being struck. The barbed point of an arrow sliced into the elven warrior’s shoulder.
But it came through her signalman to reach her. He’d sacrificed himself to save her.
“Verys!” Skyreach held the old man to her, knowing the arrow’s barb offered her no real threat and only a small discomfort. At the same time, it was taking Verys’s life.
“Milady,” the old man gasped, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, “it was the least I could do. Your great-grandfather was my fr—” His eyes rolled up into his head as his body relaxed.
Two other arrows sank deep into the old man’s corpse before Skyreach could take them to safety. Reluctantly, she laid Verys beside the railing. Water sluiced around him. She forced herself to her feet and looked back into the bow. “Rinnah!” she screamed, though she knew it was futile. The captain would never hear her over the thunder of the storm, the yelling of the men, and the sound of the dying.
Still, across the distance, the captain’s eyes met hers, his gaze dark and seething despite the frenzy of cold rain between them. Rinnah bawled orders to his crew. The lines of sail changed. The big man hauled hard on the wheel, controlling the tiller.
Chalice of the Crowns came about slowly, fighting time and tide and ties to the pirate ship, thrashing amid the crashing waves. With the grappling hooks on her prow cut asunder, though, she began to turn away from her tormentor.
Skyreach fisted her sword, letting go the axe. It was too late to cut any more. The pirates were closing even more quickly than before. Their only hope lay in the other grappling hooks not being strong enough to hold the elven cargo freighter.
Chalice of the Crowns’s spinnaker had emptied when she found herself crossways in the wind. Under Rinnah’s skillful hand, the ship came about to port. In the next gale, the spinnaker filled once more, cracking loud enough to be heard over the storm.
A renewed cheer came from the throats of her men and the cargo ship’s crew.
Glancing back, Skyreach saw sections of the railing come loose and drop into the sea. Scaif tossed her a salute, his proud face creased in a smile despite the blood streaming down from his forehead. His axemen had been busy as well, chopping away the supports that held the railing.
For a moment, Skyreach made herself believe they would make it if the storm did not take them.
Then her sensitivity to magic spells tingled again, becoming an almost painful itch. The smell of ozone pervaded the air. A sudden crash dimmed the noise of the thunder. Fire clouds suddenly wreathed the elven ship’s sails. Timbers split from the horrendous impacts of the spell that reduced the ship’s rigging to char. The impact knocked Skyreach from her feet.
The elven warrior scrambled at once, her hands struggling to find a grip anywhere on the slick timbers of the deck. She forced herself up, staying crouched to keep her balance as the ship reared again. Harsh light from the burning sailcloth above her limned Chalice of the Crowns, turning her decks into target areas. Arrows from the pirate archers took their toll, dropping men in their tracks for the sea to claim with the next wave.
The swarm of fireballs cast by a mage or collection of mages aboard the pirate vessel took away all of the cargo ship’s drive. Instantly, Chalice of the Crowns was reduced to a prisoner of the sea, a plaything that would be discarded and swallowed whole once she turned wrong.
The pirates hauled on the grappling lines again. The distance between the ships lessened. Any of Scaif’s warriors who dared attempt to cut the ropes died before they got close enough to sever a single strand of the hemp. The archers among the pirates evidenced their skill without flaw.
Only one man made it to the remaining railing. He raised his axe. Then a curling flare of lightning spanned the distance between the ships and caught him full in the chest. His blackened husk hit the deck. The corpse rolled for only a moment as the deck rose and fell, then a swell of water washed it away, leaving nothing behind.
Skyreach had failed. She gathered herself, one hand grasping the long sword as the pirate ship came alongside. Swiftly laid planks bridged the gap between the ships and pirates flooded onto the deck of the elven ship Scaif rallied his men, urging them into the fray. But Skyreach knew it would only delay the inevitable. They would be taken, and the cargo would be stolen.
A grim smile twisted her lips as she staggered toward the cabins in the bow. She stumbled down the steps, finally giving up and letting herself fall from halfway down. Pain wracked her body, but she channeled it as she’d been taught, turning it into further energy to keep her moving. Hate and hurt, her great-grandfather had instructed her, were two things that could be attained through force of will, nourished, and used to get more from one’s self than any other emotion save love. And love was far too costly and too narrow to be of use.
Rising at the bottom of the drenched steps, trapped water in this section of the ship already coiling around her ankles, Skyreach staggered down the line of cabins. The uncontrolled rocking of the ship threw her back and forth across t
he passageway. It wouldn’t be long before the sea broke her, scattering all the treasures in the hold across the bottom of the Trackless Sea.
She stopped at the fifth door and rapped on it with the long sword’s pommel. “Cylthik!” she called.
“Milady?” The voice on the other side of the wooden barrier sounded old, quavering and almost lost amid the plaintive creaks and groans of the battered ship.
“Open the door,” Skyreach commanded, leaning heavily against the wood. Her elf vision helped her see through the natural dark. The water rolling through the passageway look black. A drowned rat slithered loosely across her boots, animated by the motion racking the ship. She turned away from the tiny corpse as the door beside her opened.
Cylthik stood before her, huddled in robes. His ever-present mage’s cap rested askew on his head. Blood spotted the iron-gray cloak he wore. He was back-lit by a lantern hanging from the ceiling and sending twisted shadows spiraling across the walls.
“It’s time,” Skyreach said.
The old mage’s eyes looked rheumy and unfocused. The gnarled staff in his hands possessed a clawed foot that it hadn’t had before, and the talons were sunk deep into the hardwood deck. The old mage held onto it with both hands. “You are sure, milady?”
Skyreach was surprised when she found she had to release a tight breath before she could answer. “Yes.”
“Would it not have come to this,” the mage said, shaking his head.
“You have the strength?”
A new light flared within the old mage’s eyes. “Milady, my magicks were something your great-grandfather counted on. I never let him down.”
“Then don’t let me down either.”
His eyes locked with hers and held. “I will not.”
