by Unknown
Our ship would make its best time on the open waters, where our course would plot straight. No channels, shallow or narrow, would impede us. We faced a somewhat unfavorable wind-south-southwest where south-southeast would have served us best-but with able tacking we had a chance of catching up to them. Like infantry on land, a party of swimming fish-people would be limited to the speed of the slowest among them: here, Queen Kless and her retinue.
The ship’s priests struck up a prayer to the god of sea and storms. They did not seek his intercession; to beg Gozreh’s aid is to risk his caprice. Instead they proclaimed merely their respect, and their hope that he would intercede neither for us nor for the fish-people, instead leaving air and water-breathers alike to their own devices. I added my own silent entreaty, to Shelyn the muse.
As if in response, the wind shifted a few degrees in our favor. The sky stayed clear and winds strong. The sun dipped below the horizon, replaced by a lantern moon. His spyglass on the stars, Seagrave kept us on course.
The Aspidochelone reached Raptor Island in the late afternoon. Dead Slave Cove jutted into its south shore. In the hope of surprising whoever we found there, we swung wide and came in from the west side. We dropped anchor alongside a spit of land that concealed us from the cove. I was about to order a scouting party to row out there when the hissing of thunder lizards alerted us to the presence of Kered Firsk’s crew.
Atop a grassy ridge, a trio ofbipedal, human-sized beasts, part lizard, part bird, stared down a motley foraging party. The animals, which lent Raptor Island its name, swiveled their long necks at the intruders, baring rows of razor teeth. One balanced on a single leg, leaving the other free to brandish its scythe-shaped claws. The pirate group consisted of a hyena-headed humanoid, an olive-skinned bruiser with obvious ore ancestry, and a pale green goggle-eyed humanoid of uncertain provenance, clad in a long coat and tricorne hat. The hyena-man fired a crossbow. The bolt flew between the thunder lizards, which leapt at the pirates, who in turn pivoted and fled. The raptors landed on the humanoid and set to tearing him apart. His comrades left him without looking back, tumbling down the slope toward the cove.
There was no question to whose ship they belonged. Kered Firsk was named the Monster Captain because he crewed the Slicer with humanoids ofexotic extraction, from kobolds to tengus . Half of his sailors fit this description;
the other fifty percent were humans, or members of the common races. Their monstrousness lay in their deeds.
We gave the survivors of the raptor encounter time to return to their ship. Then Rira took to a boat, with the sailors Jumlet and Shoutt along for the rowing. This was our stealth boat, painted blue and chased with white, to blend in with the waves. I’d learned the trick from Seagrave, who used it against me when I first hunted him. It worked because watchers in a crow’s nest tended to scan the horizon, paying only glancing heed to objects nearer their ships.
Lying low in the boat, the three headed out to a position past the spit, where they could see the Slicer.
Little more than an hour later, Seagrave, his spyglass trained on Rira’s position, cried out. A shower of magical energy blossomed in the sky. She’d loosed her signal: the sea devils had come. By the time we’d unfurled our sails,
the boat was back.
“They’re handing over Twill?” I asked Rira, as she clambered over the rail.
“I detected a snag in the negotiations.”
Either the sea devils had decided to hold out for more, or Firsk had insulted their arrogant sensibilities. Whichever explanation held, it bought us the time we needed. I ordered the crew to battle stations. The portside fire
throwers rattled in their heavy brass casings as the crew wheeled them to starboard.
Seagrave executed our planned maneuver: We would sail by fast and close, concentrating fire on their masts. Along with the wand-blasts, we would send ordinary fire in the form ofblazing ballista bolts. These we would train on the
Slicer’s hull, most particularly the stern, where we hoped to damage the rudder. A successful fusillade would cripple the Slicer’s ability to maneuver before it even raised anchor. We would then control the pace and angle of subsequent sallies.
With the Treasure of Thallai aboard Firsk’s ship, the use of fire gave me some pause. As he hadn’t taken custody of Twill, I could safely assume that the treasure remained safely in its protective cask. In this hid an advantage I prayed the Monster Captain would not suss out: He would try to sink the Aspidochelone. To protect the treasure, I could not let the same happen to the Slicer.
Firsk’s ship came into view: a low-slung sloop of purest darkwood. A sculpted wooden spider affixed itself to the prow. In its spearing legs, it held the figure of its prey, a gutted mermaid. With every curve, its design declared a speed superior to ours. Its slim masts wouldn’t withstand direct hits, but at the same time made small targets.
The fish-people, gathered in the water between ships, were the first to spot us. A sea devil sentry blew alarums from a conch horn. Shouts arose from the Slicer as its crew scurried into position. On the aft deck, I beheld a tall figure of skeletal frame. As I did, he held a spyglass. This was Kered Firsk, spotting me as I spotted him.
Beside him cowered Twill Ninefingers . Whatever the nature of the initial delay, the sea devils had evidently completed the handover. Perhaps the fish-people would declare their interest in the matter done, and let the ships fight it out.
As soon as we were within thrower range, Rira shouted the command to fire. Overlapping bursts of flame appeared above the Slicer’s deck. As we raced closer, the ballista crew loosed their missiles. Some fell short; others lodged in the enemy hull. A black-garbed sailor fell from the Slicer’s rigging, his clothing aflame. But when the fire dissipated, the enemy ship stood largely unharmed. The wrappings on our ballista heads burned out. Neither masts nor rigging nor sails had been touched by the flame, arcane or natural.
“He’s warded his ship against fire!” Rira called.
This I hadn’t bargained for. The Aspidochelone enjoyed no such defense. Our throwers were useless; his could puncture our hull and send us to the deep.
As we completed our ineffectual pass, the Slicer crew hauled anchor and loosed their sails.
I ordered Seagrave to execute a turn, positioning the ship for a second pass.
Rira bounded up for revised instructions.
“Aim throwers at the crew,” I told her. “If we can’t burn his ship, we can certainly singe his crew. As for the ballistae, leave off the flaming rags and aim for the rigging. A lucky shot might bring something down.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The Slicer made good on its name, cutting through the water at a startling rate. Protection against fire was not the only enchantment on Firsk’s ship. Despite Seagrave’s best attempt to angle away at the last moment, their helmsman
outmaneuvered us. We passed the other side to side, with the advantage going to the fireproof Slicer. Motes of flame appeared above our heads. They spread out, consuming sail and mast. Flaming shards rained down.
Ballista bolts shot from our deck and at it. One such missile struck Young Hallegg a blow. Though glancing, it carried sufficient force to send him sprawling into the opposite rail.
The pass completed, our water-crews grabbed at bucket lines. These, fixed by pulley mechanisms, upended containers arranged atop the masts . Seawater rained
down, dousing the consuming flames.
I surveyed the damage: the best that could be said was that it was not as devastating as I first imagined.
The sea between the two ships frothed: the sea devils were coming for us.
Rira ordered the fire-throwers trained on the advancing wave.
I ran to her side. “Don’t shoot until some have already boarded.”
“Have you gone mad?”
“You’ll see,” I said.
She nodded, as if realizing what a boarding by the fish-people portended.
The crew girded themselves
for a shipboard fight. Within moments, the first of the monsters were up over the railing. Cutlass met trident as the mass melee
was joined.
Otondo dove from the rigging into a mas s of sea devils. The first few he killed merely by landing on them. The next rank he hacked through with rhythmic cleaves of his great cutlass. Aspodell kept a quartet offish-men at bay on the railing, until each in turn fell away from the hull, clutching slashed throats.
The black bulk of the Slicer barreled at us.
“He’s coming alongside for boarding!” Seagrave yelled.
“That’s the plan!” I responded. The sea devils were our shields against further fire from the Slicer’s throwers. Even Kered Firsk didn’t dare antagonize them by opening up with Queen Kless’s soldiers on board.
For the first time I found myself
grateful for the legendary spite of the sea devils, which had
tempted them to this mistake.
The Slicer swung alongside, ready to board. Our fire thrower crews got off a last fusillade. Flames enveloped the line of men along the enemy rail. Ballista bolts thudded into the Slicer’s hull and masts, filling the air with wooden shrapnel. A new row of monster sailors sprung up to replace those the fire-throwers had burned. They dropped planks to bridge the two ships, or swung across on ropes. Seagrave barreled in, bashing at them as they tried to cross. A hunched goblin pirate came up from behind him to jab at his kidneys. He pivoted, smashed the creature with his gut, then grabbed him and snapped his neck.
A booming voice called my name. Kered Firsk ran the length of my deck, scattering his and my crews before him. A red headband wrapped around his temples, just above his flaring ears, leaving exposed a nearly hairless scalp dotted with black, cancerous moles. In its center appeared an embroidered
mouth supported by spider’s legs-the emblem of the mad god Rovagug. Only a hide vest adorned his torso. Below the waist, black silk pantaloons puffed over a pair of high black boots. He carried a bulbous black cudgel, had slung a crossbow over his back, and kept an array of butcher’s knives in the various pockets of his vest. These last were more implements oftorture than of combat.
Lines of catgut stitching traversed his exposed skin, from the cheeks of his face to the chiseled muscles of his lower abdomen. In keeping with certain rites of Rovagug, he had sliced open his own flesh and allowed it to be sewn hideously back together. A few irregular patches of skin either had died and been permitted to remain as cured sections of human hide, or had been transplanted from some other being entirely. On his arm bristled a hairy patch that might have originated on a giant caterpillar or tarantula. From his shoulder sprouted a patch of canine fur. The Monster Captain should long ago have fallen prey to fatal infections-that he had not was surely a reward from
his god for his nihilistic exertions.
Around him a smoky aura radiated, shooting out writhing protrusions recalling the hair of a spider’s leg. He clawed his way through my crew, breaking limbs and smashing in skulls. Wherever they tried to strike at him, the aura gathered, turning away blows and blunting blades.
He bellowed my name and swung at me with his club. I parried, the power ofhis strike vibrating through the steel of Siren Call and into my bones.
Firsk’s spidery aura flared. “I had no quarrel with you, woman, until you made one with me! “
His club grazed my elbow, shooting needles of pain up my arm. “You’ve been on my list for a while,” I said, through gritted teeth. “When I heard you had the Treasure of Thallai-“
“So what they say about you is wrong.” He pushed into me, keeping me on the defensive.
“How so?” I labored to defuse his strikes.
“It’s greed that drives you, too.”
“True, but not the kind you’d understand.”
An enemy crewman swung by on a charred rope. I kicked him into Firsk, then grabbed the rope myself. It carried me toward the foredeck. I dropped onto a bugbear, slashing his forearm open to the bone. Kered Firsk pursued, once more tearing through his crew and mine.
Rira leaned over the rail, attention fixed on the sea devils remaining in the water below. A ball of flame appeared, then plunged into the water they swam in. For yards around this central point, the ocean boiled. Fish-people shrieked and vanished beneath the bubbling surface. Sharks went belly-up. Rira had carefully placed her fireball, so that it touched down mere feet from Kless, the sea devil queen. The heat rendered her ostentatious face spines translucent. They drooped and slipped offher head entirely, taking with them great chunks of overcooked fish flesh. Half-poached fish-people swam clear of the boiling circle, only to expire in horror as their muscles came away from the bone in white flakes. Steam rose from this swirl of death, wafting over the ship as the tantalizing smell of a seafood feast.
Then Kered Firsk was upon me, striking a blow to my shoulder that sent me bumbling into Shoutt. Firsk aimed a blow at me and hit the crewman instead, audibly cracking his skull.
I tried to catch Firsk while he was off balance, but he recovered too quickly and retaliated with a surprise blow. The force of it threw me against the foremast.
Firsk barked like a hyena. “You’re no match for me, woman.”
“I only need to hit you once.”
“Ridiculous ! No one can down me in a single blow. Not the mightiest warrior alive-and certainly not you!”
“The others said the same.” I ducked a n overhead swipe.
His club smashed through a length of sturdy rail.
“Give me a free hit,” I said, “and prove me wrong.” His gaze traveled to the hilt of Siren Call. I feinted; he shrank back.
Sensing movement behind me, I pivoted to avoid the dagger of a backstabbing dark elf. He j erked and fell into me, one of Aspodell’s throwing knives buried between his shoulder blades. His leg tangled between mine. As I stepped free, Firsk smashed my sword-hand.
Siren Call arced from my grasp.
Smiling, Firsk clutched my throat. “That was the weapon that would fell me? That would enslave me, as it did the others?”
As one, my adjutants stiffened and stopped fighting. Firsk’s men stepped back from them, either instinctively aware of what had happened, or simply grateful for the respite. Rira laughed. Seagrave straightened his hat. Otondo
licked his lips.
Their pause in the fighting rippled outward, until all the blades on the ship were stilled. The remaining sea devils took the opportunity to slip over the rails and vanish beneath the waves.
Firsk addressed them. ” She can’t control you when her sword’s over there, can she?”
“No,” answered Rira. ” She cannot.”
“What do you bid, then, for the right to slay your captor?”
I thought about the knife in my boot, and how little chance I had with it.
“I can lead you to a buried cache of fifty thousand gold sails,” said Rira.
“My best cache is twice that,” Seagrave bid.
“I’ll serve you for a year and a day,” said Otondo, “and from my cutlass you’ll earn more than either ofthem can give.”
“Attractive offers all,” Firsk said. “But I’m still inclined to do her myself.”
Young Hallegg leaped at him from the rigging. Firsk downed him with his off-elbow, jabbed into his larynx. He released me in order to casually kick at him, smiling at the sound of a cracking rib.
“There’s one offer you haven’t heard.” Aspodell had eased his way through the halted serum, and now stood a few feet behind us. At his side, he held Siren Call. Crew from both ships stepped out of his way. Through his fingers, I could see that the light in the crystals had gone dead-the sign that its geases were suspended.
“You’ll give me the sword?” Firsk asked.
“Yes and no.”
Aspodell winked and threw it to me. Before Firsk raised his club, Siren Call was back in my hand. Before he could lower it, I’d buried my weapon in his breastbone. Pale blue energy surrounded it as I pushed it d
eeper. Firsk went limp. His falling weight freed him from the blade.
As I wiped Firsk’s blood from it, the enthrallment crystals in the hilt blazed back to life. The four grimaced in discomfort as their geases took hold again.
Deprived of their captain, the crew of the Slicer surrendered. I let them leave in its boats. The ship itself we would sail to Port Peril, where we would sell it, dividing the proceeds in accordance with our charter.
Twill Ninefingers was borne on a stretcher from the Slicer to the deck of the Aspidochelone. On the right side of his face, patches of bone showed through a mess of black, burned flesh. A shard ofwood, most likely a piece ofrailing shrapnel, protruded from his chest cavity. Remarkably, he clung to consciousness still. His hand reached out in a futile attempt to clasp my wrist.
“Captain Argent,” he wheezed.
“Don’t try to talk.”
I directed a searching gaze to the healers, who replied with empty-handed gestures. There was no need to ask further: they’d used up all our healing draughts, and exhausted for the moment their entreaties to the gods.
“I told you my doom was coming,” Twill coughed. “Sensed it for months now.”
“Let’s have none of that.”
“I won’t last the hour. I won’t be able to open Firsk’s treasure after all.”
“Never mind that.”
“You don’t owe me nothing, but I ask a favor anyways.” He paused to choke on blood. “Throw me in the ocean.”
“Of course we’ll bury you at sea.”
“No, throw me in the water now. That way I’ll not die from bleeding.”
I began to ask, but then understood.
“I’ll drown instead … “
“… and go to meet your brother, on the island of ghosts. Twill, hear me out. Is Drowningtide truly where you wish to spend eternity?”
