Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  “No,” she replied.

  Robert shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

  “That is a kind of alcohol,” she replied.

  He nodded. “They make it at the cane plantations, it's cheap as seawater in the western isles. Once I sell off this cargo I plan to return there. You should come.”

  Thira raised an eyebrow. “You're not planning to return to Arden?”

  “Bloody hell! Why would I want that? It's a sty for pigs that place. Damned nobles with their noses in the sky surrounded by a sea of scum who live like animals but are too afraid to do anything about it. I've had it. No... it's the colonies for me. You would be very useful.”

  She grimaced. “I'm sure.”

  A rush of wind from above signaled the opening of the aft hatch. A head popped down from above.

  “Captain! That brig's back! Spotted port side of aft.”

  Robert's eyes widened.

  “I believe you said it was impossible for them to catch up,” Thira said.

  Robert put up a finger at her like a sword. “That is not what I said. I said it was impossible to track us... any idiot can catch up with an overloaded ship. They must have known or guessed our destination.”

  “Well you didn't exactly make it hard did you?” said the head hanging from the hatch. “We were going straight west when we left off with them weren't we?”

  “You shut up!” Robert snapped, yanking a large brass spying glass from a chest as he pulled on his thick coat and hat.

  “You won't be needin' that,” said the man in the hatch as he disappeared.

  Thira nodded. “It's warmed since the storm passed.”

  “A captain always wears his jacket my dear, as well as his hat. Makes it hard to target you accurately from a distance. Where's the old man? Off frolicking with the peg leg?”

  Thira frowned. “He's on deck, sunning himself.”

  “Why do you stay with him? He treats himself to other women right in front of you. Why not move on?” Robert asked her as he closed and locked his quarters.

  She did not reply. Robert had no understanding of her people or her culture.

  He stared at her. “Fine, keep it to yourself then.”

  When they arrived on deck, all eyes were at the stern railing, except for Wilhelm, who was shirtless and lying prone at the opposite end of the ship. Thira shook her head. The man was acting like he'd boarded a pleasure cruise.

  Rosa sat nearby, still wearing everything she could get her hands on, including Wilhelm's coat. Pyrolians. Thira was from a place far warmer than Pyrolia, but you didn't hear her complaining about it.

  A thump from behind drew her attention. She turned to see Robert against the aft rail, his long glass to his eyes, twisting the end.

  “Miles away, nothing to worry about!”

  The splash only twenty feet from the starboard side immediately belied his statement. The crew grumbled all around.

  Robert spun around. “What? It's just a little two-pounder! Couldn't knock the buckle off my breeches!”

  “What'll we do sir?” Cemu asked.

  Robert shrugged. “Well, we can't run. Even if we toss all those damned witch hunters overboard it won't be enough. We'll give them a smart crack in the knees. Ready the guns!”

  The crew went running, with more than two-thirds of them slipping down through the hatches to the lower decks.

  “What can I help with?” Thira asked.

  Robert raised an eyebrow. “Have you experience loading cannon?”

  Thira shook her head.

  “Then stay with me, my dear. You can stand right where you are and look pretty.”

  Thira glared at him. “Don't make fun of me pirate. I'm not a pampered human princess.”

  Robert laughed heartily. “You think I don't know that? I've watched you murder men with your bare hands... er... claws. No... truly, I want you here to protect me. If things go awry and they try to board us they're likely to try to seize the wheel. I have a feeling you could prevent that.”

  “I'm not here to protect the wheel. I'm here to protect him,” she replied, pointing a claw at Wilhelm.

  “Really?” Robert's hands went to his hips. “I think he's getting along just fine.”

  Thira looked. Wilhelm now had his head propped up on Rosa's lap.

  “Fine,” she said, grumbling. “I'll stay here.”

  “Excellent and be ready, I'm going to get us right close,” he said, spinning the wheel hard to the left. The ship heaved underneath them, pitching the deck to the side as they spun around in a grand arc. The sails went slack for a bit but then filled in again as deckhands yelled and swung the booms, retying them to angle the sails in the opposite direction.

  To Thira, the crew appeared like termites on a broken hill, scurrying along the deck too quickly to be doing anything of use but Robert seemed pleased with them.

  “Excellent, now get down below and tell them to man the starboard side. We'll get one shot, make it good!”

  Thira frowned. “One? I thought you said you outgun this ship?”

  Robert smiled, bringing his glass up to his eye. The ship again rounded on the enemy vessel, squaring up with her center. “I do, but not by much.”

  “Then why not fight?”

  “Two things matter most in a battle at sea my dear. The guns and one's ability to maneuver,” Robert replied. “We are ahead in one aspect, but sorely lacking in the other. An exceptional pilot, which I am, can help a great deal. But we'd risk much. At best, if we engaged fully, we'd escape lightly damaged having lost around a quarter of our crew. Now it's true, that would increase my share of the bounty received from that thing in the hold, but I'm as likely as any to be in that quarter, and one in four chance of death is not exactly what I'd call a good bet. At worst, we could be crippled and that ship's four friends would eventually find us and hang us for attempting to run the blockade. They may already be on their way.”

  Thira squinted, trying to see more of the oncoming ship. As she did, there was a blue flash from the front of the deck and another cannonball came in.

  “Hit the deck!” Robert yelled, dropping to his knees.

  The shot tore a hole in one of the sails of the mizzenmast, passing just above their heads, before splashing in the ocean behind them.

  “Well he's definitely getting close to the mark,” Robert said, closing his long glass and slipping it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket.

  He took hold of the wheel again, swinging the ship just a mite to the right before correcting back to point at the other ship again.

  “You're opposite from last time,” Thira said.

  Robert nodded. “Aye, last time we were straight on and forced them to port. Now we're drifting to starboard.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Watch,” he replied. “READY!”

  “Aye, sir! Gun crews are set, Cemu yelled from the aft hatch.

  Thira watched Rosa as she crawled on all fours toward the fore hatch, carrying her wooden leg in one hand. She expected to see Wilhelm behind her but he wasn't. The former king of Faustland was still lounging on the foredeck, having flipped over on his chest again.

  “Wilhelm!” Thira yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth. “What are you doing?!”

  He smiled and waved at her.

  “Man has balls, I'll give him that,” Robert said.

  Thira sneered. “Idiot.”

  “The captain will expect I'm going to try to force him to turn again so I can run. He'll let us get close so he can cut his sails, turn slightly, and cut us to pieces with broadsides while we try to pull away. The wind is slower now that the storm's passed, so he'd get off at least two full volleys if not three.”

  Thira nodded. She had no idea how Robert knew that, but he'd correctly guessed the Queen was involved in Wilhelm's coup, so she was willing to go along.

  “So what do you plan to do?”

  “There are two choices, don't turn and speed by, accepting at least one solid broadside as we pa
ss, but give them one as well and...”

  The other ship was very close now, Thira expected the front deck gun to fire at any moment. She could see the gunner lining up his shot, preparing to touch the priming hole with the burning linstock in his right hand.

  “What? What's the other?” she asked.

  “We do this,” he said. “NOW!” Robert suddenly spun the wheel to the left as his own sails dropped in front of them. The ship turned much more quickly to port at the slower speed.

  “Wait, didn't you say that's what you thought he would do?” Thira asked. As she said it, she saw the other ship's sails dropping as well as she too turned hard to port. She'd started later though so her turn wasn't quite as quick.

  The gun on the other ship's foredeck fired at close range, but the small shot splashed into the waves to their aft having been yanked from a proper sighting by the sudden turning of both ships nearly simultaneously.

  “FIRE!” Robert screamed.

  Thira heard the command echoed down below. Her eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen and clapped both hands over her ears as hard as she could.

  The noise was incredible. Her ears hurt so much, she saw stars. Every single solitary hair on her body stood on end in protest as she bent over, losing her very grip on reality.

  Robert was there however, he caught her, guiding her to the deck. There she lay, pulled into a curled fetal position, listening to her ears ring with the thunderous shrieking sound of a hundred thousand church bells.

  Another volley, not as loud as the first, nor as close, but nearly as painful, tore at her ears. This one was followed by the sounds of metal smashing through wood as the iron balls crashed into Robert's ship in several places. She couldn't see where because her eyes were closed.

  Robert patted her shoulder softly, reassuring her it would soon be over, which by the grace of the gods, it was. No more cannons fired after the first two volleys. After a minute or two, when her ears were finally starting to calm their ringing, she looked up at Robert. He stood over her, still at the wheel, grinning from ear to ear.

  “How is it ended?” she asked. Her voice sounded so quiet, so far away.

  “We loaded chain shot and aimed only for her mainmast. She's crippled. Look,” Robert replied, pointing behind them.

  Thira sat up, peering through the empty space in the aft rail. The ship was there, her back to them. The main mast had been smashed and hung over the side in the water. The brig sat there in the ocean, dead, its crew scrambling to cut the rigging free and recover what they could of the canvas.

  “They'll be cut to one-eighth speed if that. On to Pyrolia!” Robert said, pointing ahead as the warm winds blew his long hair and coat to the side and the light from the rising sun glinted from his earrings and the copper fittings of his many pistols.

  Thira looked up at him and found her heart beginning to swell with new respect. He may be a pirate and an insufferable chattering nit, but he was also skilled and brave, that much was certain.

  Then he winked at her.

  She sighed. He'd ruined it.

  Chapter 16

  "Of all God's children perhaps the most detestable are those who aid Satan by arguing for the purity of his works."

  -Cavlinist Pastor Wendell Holmes speaking on the subject of the Luddites, 1615

  Dawn had come, peaking over the low hills that signaled their proximity to the Aeyrd mountains, yet still, they trundled along behind the horses. Wen was fine, walking normally without any hint of needing veil. Mia, on the other hand, had been flagging for hours. She refused to lose sight of the horses, however as they carried Giselle.

  Mia wasn't sure about the weaselman. He was unknown to her, but he'd been kind thus far. It was a simple way to judge a person, but most of the time it worked. If only she'd used it before, long ago, when she'd met Christine. Things might have been different.

  Wen was concerned about her.

  “I'll be fine,” she said. “If these stronzo ever rest their horses. If they don't stop soon, they'll kill the damned things.”

  Not that she particularly cared about what happened to the horses. They were stomping snorting lumps of smelly flesh, with legs. She'd never been a fan.

  Wen felt something else as well. He felt sorry.

  “About what?” she wondered.

  His fighting...

  Mia chuckled. “Not everyone is a hero paisan. I know I was... frustrated before, but it's alright. I don't hate you.” She patted the stone around her, feeling the lip of one of the spikes she'd trimmed away. It was one of the ones that had killed Wen's previous occupant. That reminded her of the sorcerer and that worm Buckley. Mia had a score to settle, with both of them, but first... Adem.

  She hadn't seen the poor boy in months. Mia truly hoped he was well. The dragon had seemed sincere and he'd been a friend of Veronica's... though it hadn't really been Veronica, had it? Mia sighed. Why was no one ever who they seemed?

  Ahead! ahead!

  It was Wen.

  She'd been drifting off again, almost asleep.

  “What?” she asked, then she saw it too. The horses had finally stopped in a short but well-hidden grotto to the right. Mia could already see why. There were five goliaths there, all were lying down or sitting, their eyes dark.

  A man approached her goliath. He had one other soldier flanking him. They waited.

  “Well, here we go,” she said, mentally asking Wen to drop to one knee so she could dismount.

  The light goliath was small enough that she didn't even need to use a ladder. Two footholds and she was down.

  Immediately she realized why the name Bartold had been familiar. The man staring at her was the same one from the Inn at Keln. It had been months since she'd been there with Adem and Henri and caused trouble for the cavalry. Her hand readied automatically, preparing to draw her blade.

  Bartold recognized her as well but instead of reaching for a pistol or a sword, he laughed.

  “I should have known it would be you,” he said.

  “You remember me then?” she asked.

  Bartold nodded. “Of course! Not many people can elude an entire troop of imperial cavalry.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “But you're not going to attack me?”

  He smiled. “Why? I'm told you just took apart two of the three goliaths they've had scouting this side of the formation.”

  A woman to Bartold's right pointed at Wen. “And you did it in that too! He's from a scout group. Most of them aren't even issued weapons.”

  Mia shrugged. “He's a good goliath. Three on one is a lot to ask any of them.”

  Bartold nodded. “It's true. Yet you accomplished it nonetheless.”

  The woman leaned forward. “Tell me... how did you get the veil spear to light? Was it oil?”

  “Uh... yes,” Mia replied.

  “I knew it!” she said. “Amazing.”

  “So...” Bartold said, raising his eyebrows. “Now that I've stated we're not enemies. Can you kindly tell me who you are and why you've joined our forces in retreat?”

  “My name is Mia Halett, I'm a stenridder of Faustland and the adopted daughter of Baron Marcus Halett.”

  Bartold's eyebrows raised.

  “Also... I was told to give you this,” she said, pulling the pin from a pouch at her waist and handing it to him.

  “Ah,” he said. “Well... I can see why you've joined up. I'm sure you're aware the so-called republic has declared the entire Halett family to be traitors.”

  Was she aware of that? Somewhere inside she must have, it felt familiar, but it had been pushed aside when she was with Christine, like so many things, like Adem.

  “I can see that you are,” Bartold said. “Your family has seen better days.”

  Mia sighed. “You're right about that,” Mia looked toward the woman. She was young and pretty with dark eyes and extremely light blonde hair, a living contradiction in the north, where fair hair and blue eyes were the rules rather than the exception.
“Thank you for saving my friends from the horrors.”

  “You're welcome,” she replied, holding out a hand. “I'm Lieutenant Meredith Schnyder. Battlefields are a dangerous place, especially for unarmed young women. Though we thought she might be a soldier of some kind given her garb.”

  Mia shook the hand. “Ah yes... I had to switch clothes with her...”

  “Why?” Meredith asked, pausing.

  Mia suddenly felt self-conscious, “It's... It's not important... Where are they?”

  Meredith's eyes lowered. “They rode with us, but the girl is not doing well. I believe she has a fever.”

  “A fever?”

  “Indeed,” Bartold replied. “I have our field surgeon with her now.”

  “Che palle!” Mia said, kicking a rock.

  Bartold stared at her, waiting.

  Mia shook her head. “It's my fault. I was a fool. I jumped with her into the moat.” If anything happened to Giselle or her child Mia would never forgive herself.

  “Georgio is an excellent doctor. I'm sure she'll be fine,” Meredith said.

  “What about the weaselman?” Mia asked.

  Bartold frowned immediately. “I was going to ask you about him.”

  “He stole everything from me while we rode over, even my mother's brooch that's been in my family for... I think a hundred years,” Meredith said.

  Mia shrugged. “Weaselmen,” she replied. “I don't know him but he's been a great help to us. Giselle seems to know him. They bicker enough to be close friends.”

  Bartold chuckled. “I see. Well, he gave the items back, yes?”

  Meredith looked hurt. “I think so... The little monster's such a good thief... I'm afraid to have him loose in the camp.”

  “You're both tired,” Bartold said. “Get some food from the cook fire. There's a huntsman's stew going. Turnips and kerits, and some fowl I believe,” he eyed Mia, holding up the golden dragon pin. “We can talk about this later.”

  “Come on Mia, I'll show you the camp,” Meredith said.

  Mia fell in behind her, yawning. “Those don't look like Ganex goliaths,” she said, indicating the group of crumpled forms leaning against the walls of the ridge.

  “That's because they aren't,” Meredith replied. “They were Halett goliaths, part of the light group that was harassing us for more than a month before they finally surrendered after the formation of the republic. We thought for sure they'd make a break for the south to join up with their former comrades, but instead, they joined us. I think most of them just wanted to go home.”