PULP
EMPIRE
Presents
Pirates
and
Swashbucklers
Edited by
Nicholas Ahlhelm
Metahuman Press
Cedar Rapids, IA
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used in a fictional manner. Other names, characters, places, and events portrayed are of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, and people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.
Pulp Empire volume 6: Pirates & Swashbucklers (Smashwords Edition) copyright 2011 Nicholas J. Ahlhelm. Individual story information below.
Find other Metahuman Press titles at Smashwords.com.
All rights reserved, including the reproduction rights in whole or in part in any form. New Pulp logo designed by Sean Ali.
Relvan’s Rescue copyright 2011 Kameron M. Franklin.
Seachild copyright 2009 Cynthia Ward. Originally appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress XXIV, edited by Elisabeth Waters.
The Mark of the Brotherhood copyright 2011 Pam Bitner.
Bravo copyright 2011 Ken Lizzi.
Voyage of the Hangman copyright 2011 Jason Kahn.
Fang of the Serpent copyright 2011 Charles Kyffhausen.
Gods of the Sea copyright 2011 D.A. Lascelles.
Stephen the Swift copyright 2011 Alva Roberts.
The Garden of Pain copyright Teel James Glenn.
The Silent Mistress copyright 2011 Garrett Calcaterra.
With Cannon and Cutlass to the Gulf of Darien copyright 2011 Vincent Morgan.
Ronald copyright 2011 Jeremy Bush.
The Treasure of the Lost Race copyright 2011 Viktor Kowalski.
D’Vil Island copyright 2011 Travis Hiltz.
Blooding of the Black Shark copyright 2011 Dixon Hill.
Mister Experience copyright 2011 Ross Baxter.
Pirate Trouble copyright 2011 David Perlmutter.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-solrd or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book & did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com & purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
CONTENTS
Relvan’s Rescue by Kameron M. Franklin
Seachild by Cynthia Ward
The Mark of the Brotherhood by Pam Bitner
Bravo by Ken Lizzi
Voyage of the Hangman by Jason Kahn
Fang of the Serpent by Charles Kyffhausen
Gods of the Sea by D.A. Lascelles
Stephen the Swift by Alva J. Roberts
The Garden of Pain by Teel James Glenn
The Silent Mistress by Garrett Calcaterra
With Cannon and Cutlass to the Gulf of Darien by
Vincent Morgan
Ronald by Jeremy Bush
The Treasure of the Lost Race by Viktor Kowalski
D’Vil Island by Travis Hiltz
Blooding of the Black Shark by Dixon Hill
Mister Experience by Ross Baxter
Pirate Trouble by David Perlmutter
Relvan’s Rescue
Janner Kohl clasped his gloved hands behind his back, rolled his shoulders and rocked on the heels of his boots. He gazed across the crowded pier, but saw no sign of their client.
“Either those new cap’n’s bars are heavier than they look, or somethin’ ‘bout this job’s got you on pins ‘n’ needles.” Mig Daro’s smirk left no doubt as to his opinion.
“How about you go make sure the men have their things stowed. We’ll leave as soon as Lady Temmere and her son arrive.”
Mig came to attention, but his wink belied the salute. “Yes, sir.”
Janner shook his head at the man’s back. He and Mig had joined the Brigade at the same time, been assigned to the same squad, and went on their first mission together. They’d worked side by side ever since, which bred a certain familiarity that held little regard for rank.
That didn’t change the fact that Janner did feel a little anxious about this mission. The Brigade needed every fighting man it could muster in the war against Lord Tyrran and his Crimson Feathers. Janner disagreed with Commander Aminoss’ decision to allocate valuable resources for a private commission during the crisis, even if it was escorting the wife and son of one of Lhapp’s ruling council.
A parasol of pale yellow silk bobbing through traffic at the far end of the pier caught Janner’s eye. He felt the nervous flutter in his belly that always preceded battle, so he drew a deep breath and traced the trimmed line of dark hair that ran along his jaw and around his mouth. The old habit always helped calm him. Fourteen winters as a mercenary in the Brigade had hardened Janner to many things, but apparently not to the sight of a love lost.
That was the other reason he wasn’t looking forward to this mission.
Lady Touvree Temmere appeared out of the throng of dock workers and sailors like the sun emerging from behind parting clouds. Her parasol matched her full-length dress, and its shade failed to dull the shine of her honeyed curls or pale green eyes. Time had rounded her features some, but Janner found her maturity as attractive as his memories of her younger self. He ran his fingers over his beard once more then relaxed into a parade rest stance and waited.
He did not wait long. A wave from Lady Temmere signaled she had spotted Janner where he stood at the foot of the ship’s gangplank. She motioned to someone behind her then made directly for him.
“Hello, Captain Kohl.”
Janner bowed his greeting. “I hope you had no difficulty in finding the ship, my lady.”
“Oh, this trip will be a long one if you insist on being so stiff and formal, Captain.”
“My apologies. I tend to fall back on standard protocols when I find myself on uncertain footing.”
“And what might you be uncertain about, Captain?”
Janner scrambled for an answer that would avoid any awkward and personal confessions. “To be honest, this trip. Pirates are most active in the Archipelago during this season, and a noble lady and her son fetch quite a ransom.”
“Nonsense. Relvan is leaving me to go off to seminary across the sea for the year, and you think I should sit at home alone and knit.”
“You’re hardly alone. Your husband—”
“Is too busy running a city in the middle of a war. I could argue that I’m in as much danger here as I might be sailing to Byzantum. I’m not sure what the point of all these questions are, Captain. You’re being paid to make sure Relvan reaches Byzantum safely. What I do, or do not, is none of your concern.”
Janner grimaced at his own lack of diplomacy. “I’m sorry, Lady Temmere. I did not mean to—”
Lady Temmere sighed. “I think we will both enjoy this voyage much more if we don’t start things off on the wrong foot. Shall we begin again?” She stepped aside and put her arms around a gangly youth with a soft face. “This is my son, Relvan,” she said, drawing the boy up next to her. Janner could see the resemblance in the color of the boy’s hair, the straight and narrow nose, the way his lips curved in a timid smile.
“Hello, Relvan. I’m Janner Kohl,” he said, extending his hand in greeting.
“Hello, sir,” the boy replied, taking Janner’s hand in a tentative grip and giving it a quick, weak shake.
“That’s better,” Lady Temmere said, her smile beaming. “Now, shall we board? I’m anxious to get this little adventure underway.”
“Of course.” Janner gestured for Lady Temmere and her son to precede and fell in step behind her. He glanced over his shoulder to see a porter burdened with several trunks and bags. The look on the servant’s face filled Janner with sympathy. “I’ll send some men down to help with your things.”
*****
Janner swatted Vedert’s thrust away then brought his own blade down and back. He slashed upward and caught the young mercenary in the ribs.
“Ow.” Vedert danced away, bringing his elbow in to protect his side. Sweat dripped from the short, brown hair matted to Vedert’s brow, and a harried look filled his hazel eyes. Janner watched his opponent’s smaller frame heave with the effort of drawing breath.
“If these swords weren’t padded,” Janner chided, shaking his practice blade at Vedert, “you’d be dead.” He gave the raw recruit a chance to nod before springing back into action, testing Vedert’s defense and finding plenty of holes. Janner wove the blade back and forth, left to right. Each poke elicited a grunt from the young man. Janner could see Vedert held his sword only by strength of will. He admired the kid for having heart, but it would take more than that to survive in this line of work. Janner decided to end the sparring match and disarmed Vedert with a flick of his sword.
“We have three days before we reach the Garrikean Archipelago. Captain Rictor’s course will take us around the islands instead of through them, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be targeted by pirates. I need you to be ready, soldier.”
Vedert nodded as he reached down for his sword where it had skittered to a stop against a coil of line at the base of the mainmast. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I expect. We’ll spar again after lunch. Try to remember what we covered in drills this morning. Now go fetch Saldon.” Janner returned the young mercenary’s salute, but his accompanying smile collapsed into a frown of concern once Vedert disappeared below deck. Both of the men assigned to him for this mission needed more than three days of training. Commander Aminoss had been sympathetic to Janner’s protests, but the war against Lord Tyrran left the Brigade shorthanded and no alternatives.
“Work with what you’ve got and stop wishing for what you don’t have,” Janner muttered as he gripped the starboard railing with both hands and stared out across the waves. He drew a deep breath of briny air and exhaled slowly then looked up toward the bow of the ship. Lady Temmere’s son, Relvan, stood further up the deck watching over the rail at something down in the water. Janner followed the boy’s gaze and spotted several sleek, gray shapes that raced just under the surface of the ship’s bow waves.
‘Those are sharfins,” Janner said as he walked over to stand next to the youth. He leaned on the railing with one forearm and pointed to the dorsal ridges that ran the length of the fishes’ bodies. “The kings of the sea. Their razor-sharp teeth can cut bone, and there have been sightings of monsters over thirty feet long.”
“I knew what they were, Captain Kohl. I mean, I’ve read about them.”
Janner nodded his understanding. The two watched the pod in silence, hypnotized by the rush of water and the wind in the rigging.
“Are they going to attack the ship?” Relvan’s voice cracked, and the youth cleared his throat in an attempt to keep it steady. “They’re known to do that sometimes, you know. They’re really strong and can ram into a ship’s hull hard enough to make a hole.”
“If they’re hungry enough, they might.” Janner held his chin in his hand and scrunched his brow in mock concentration to hide the smile creeping over his face as Relvan’s eyes widened. Reading about something in a book rarely prepared someone for actually experiencing it. “These ones look a little small, though, to be taking on a ship this size. I think they’re just hitching a ride. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried. Just curious.”
“Of course.” Janner winked. He turned his back to the water, leaned against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. “You excited about going to Byzantum?”
“Yes, sir.”
Janner acknowledged Relvan’s response with a reflexive nod as he let his eyes roam over the deck before coming to rest on the main hatch. Where was Saldon? The man presented Janner with a different set of problems than Vedert. Just the thought of wasting time and energy to track down Saldon yet again sent Janner’s frustration level rising. He forced himself to unclench his jaw.
“So how long will you be in seminary?” Janner asked, returning to the conversation.
“Four years.”
“That’s a long time to be away from home.”
“We get holidays at summer and winter solstice, so I can come back for a visit. I’ll be fine, and it’s not like I’ll be in seclusion in some monastery. I imagine my studies will keep me busy enough I won’t even think about it.”
The corner of Janner’s mouth lifted in a knowing smile. He’d thought the same thing when he left home to join the Brigade, and had lost count of the times he’d felt homesick those first months. “Well, sounds like you’ll do just fine. I’m not so sure about your mother, however.”
Relvan chuckled. “Yeah, she’s been a little smothering since Father booked the passage to Byzantum.”
“There he is!” Janner stood as Saldon emerged from the below deck. “It was nice talking, Relvan, but now it’s back to work. Go easy on your mother. It’s just her way of telling you she loves you and is going to miss you.” He caught the skeptical look on Relvan’s face, but left the boy to figure it out on his own and focused on Saldon. Janner wanted to run the man down, but he stopped at half the distance and waited for the other to come to him.
“You’re late, soldier.”
“Sir.” Saldon greeted Janner with a half-hearted salute. Janner frowned at the man’s disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing. A recruit like Saldon would have been escorted out of the Brigade’s compound after the first day under normal circumstances. Janner wondered—not for the first time—if the company’s current recruitment policy hurt more than it helped. A soldier’s life demanded discipline and dedication. Dregs like Saldon rarely proved worth the effort.
“On guard,” Janner warned without preamble, bringing his sword up. Saldon held his practice blade loosely, its tip pointed down. Janner shook his head and lunged. A muffled thump sounded as Saldon whipped his blade up and slapped aside Janner’s attack. His riposte forced Janner back a step to avoid the strike. The mercenary captain frowned at the unexpected maneuver, but brought his sword back to ready without a comment. Saldon maintained his slouch; Janner thought he saw contempt flash in the man’s eyes.
“Are we keeping you from something more important, grub?” Janner did not wait for a response, though, and feinted at Saldon’s head. The man didn’t take the bait, but swiveled away then parried Janner’s attempt to slash his knee. Janner brought his sword up and the two clashed blades at chest level. They traded several more blows, none of them hitting. Janner could see beads of sweat forming on Saldon’s forehead and smiled at the sign of exertion. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him, however. Saldon could fight, but the man’s lack of respect demanded a clear lesson.
The two combatants circled each other, looking for an opening. Janner noticed a crowd of spectators forming. Lady Temmere appeared on deck and made her way over to her son, casting a quick glance toward Janner as she passed. Saldon pressed an attack at that moment, and Janner gave ground. He stumbled on a coil of rope, his ankle rolling. Saldon charged with a sneer, but Janner sidestepped away and hooked Saldon’s ankle with the foot he pretended to trip on. Saldon sprawled on the ground face first. When he rolled to his back, Janner pressed his blade to the man’s neck.
“Your fighting skills need as much work as your punctuality,” Janner growled. “Dismissed.” He turned and walked to where Lady Temmere stood without a glance back.
“Very impressive, Captain,” she greeted him. “It appears my confidence in you is well-placed, and I’m grateful that Commander Aminoss could spare you.”
“You asked for me, personally?” Janner failed to keep the surprise from his voice. It had not occurred to him that she might have requested him specifically when she contracted with the Brigade.
“Of course I did.” Lady Temmere’s tone and expression rebuked any suggestion that she should have done otherwise. “There is no one I’d trust more with my son’s life, and my own. Do you think I’d settle for less than the best, for someone who was simply in it for the coin?”
Janner, aided by a vision of Saldon’s insolent smirk, fought the urge to retort that the Brigade staked its reputation on the professionalism of its members. A part of him wondered if there were other reasons why his presence on the mission mattered to her, but the path to that answer twisted, turned and forked too many times. He could not afford the distraction.
*****
A red sun greeted the ship on the second morning of the voyage. The bad omen hung heavy over the crew like an oppressive bosun’s mate. Sailors moved with hunched shoulders and cast wary glances at the sky. A strong wind gusted in from the northwest, and Janner caught Captain Rictor’s concerned glances in that direction. He approached the captain after the squad finished their drills.
“Storm’s comin’,” the captain replied to Janner’s inquiry. “We should reach the outer islands of the Archipelago before it hits. Gonna be close, though.”
To Janner’s untrained eye, the skies looked harmless, but he did not doubt the concern he heard in Rictor’s voice. “My men are at your disposal. Just tell us what to do.”
“I appreciate the offer, Captain. All we can do for now is pray Nature holds her wrath long enough for the Glory to make it to land.”
Janner bit back his response. He saw no benefit to sharing his lack of faith in religion. “If you’ll excuse me then, I should inform Lady Temmere of the situation.” Janner waited for the captain’s nod before heading below deck.
He found both Lady Temmere and Relvan in their quarters, the former occupied with some embroidery while the latter studied from a thick, leather-bound book. Janner stood in the open doorway and rapped his knuckles against the jamb to get their attention. “Captain says a storm is coming. I’d recommend securing any loose possessions and staying below deck until we’re clear of the weather.”
“That sounds like good advice, Captain Kohl. Thank you. Relvan, would you be a dear and make sure everything is put away.”
“Yes, mother.” Relvan sighed, but got up from his seat and set about packing their things into the sea chest secured in the corner of the room.
“Was there something else, Captain?” Lady Temmere asked without taking her eyes off her needle and hoop.
“Uh, no,” Janner stammered, wondering himself why he still stood in the doorway. Had he been staring? “I’ve put myself and my men at Captain Rictor’s disposal, but I’ll send someone by to check in on you regularly.”
“Your concern is appreciated.” Lady Temmere looked up at Janner and smiled. “I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to, so we won’t keep you any longer.”
“Uh, yes. Thank you.” Janner made a stiff bow to hide his flustered expression and ducked away to the room he shared with Mig.
*****
Dark clouds roiled just off the Glory’s stern by midday, racing closer with each breath. The ship rolled down white-capped waves taller than a man, propelled by a howling wind that rattled the rigging toward the shoreline of some small isle less than a mile away. Janner wondered how much the taut sailcloth could take before it tore, but he trusted Rictor knew his ship and left such worries to him.
“Let’s get below deck and out of the way,” he shouted to Mig over the wind. The grizzled mercenary nodded and trotted across the deck to where Vedert was helping stow away loose tackle. Janner saw Mig point back in his direction and Vedert nod. The pair met up with him as the clouds reached the ship and rain started to fall. Light sprinkles quickly turned to hard, heavy drops that pounded the deck. Janner ushered everyone down the ladder as Rictor shouted for the sails to be furled. Janner glanced over the bow and saw that land was still several hundred yards off.
A huge gust of wind hit the Glory as she crested a swell and Janner teetered at the edge of the open hatch. A loud crack echoed across the deck; everyone looked around with panic.
“What was that?” cried Vedert.
“Just get inside,” Janner ordered. They scrambled below and Janner closed the hatch behind them. The three mercenaries gathered in the bunkroom that Janner and Mig shared. Saldon arrived a few moments later.
“Lady Temmere and her son are managing,” he reported. “These quarters are a little tight for us all. Do you mind if I pop my head out, see what is going on?” Saldon turned to go.
“Yes, I do.” Janner’s stern response brought Saldon’s head around and the two locked gazes. Saldon looked away first. “You and Vedert can wait in the crew’s quarters until Captain Rictor needs us.”
“Yes, sir.” Vedert stood and gave Saldon a furtive glance as he walked by. Saldon made to follow, but Mig brought him up short.
“You forgettin’ sumthin’, grub?”
Saldon glowered at Mig then Janner. “Yes. Sir. May I go now?”
Mig opened his mouth, but Janner waved him off. “You’re dismissed.”
“That one’s trouble,” Mig grumbled as Saldon stalked down the passageway.
“You’ll get no argument from me. Question is, how much?”
*****
The violent rolling of the ship began to subside, and Janner guessed the Glory had reached land. The wind still howled, the percussion of the rain against the hull keeping time with its haunting melody. A sickly shade of pale green colored Vedert’s face when Janner checked in on his men, so he excused the young mercenary to go topside and report back with an update on the situation. He ignored the venomous glare from Saldon.
Vedert returned a few minutes later, the bloom of health returning to his cheeks. The Glory had indeed anchored in the shallow bay of an outlying island and was waiting out the storm before continuing on. The ship had not escaped unscathed, however. A jagged, diagonal crack over a hand’s length long stretched around the mainmast.
“The captain says they can repair it, but he’d rather stop in Aurtoga and have it replaced, sir,” Vedert relayed.
“How soon before we’re docked?”
“The worst of the storm appears to be over, sir. Captain Rictor said we should be on our way again within the hour. We’ll be in Aurtoga before dark.”
*****
Repairs began on the Glory as soon as she made Aurtoga. The port town surprised Janner with its orderliness and size as he stepped off the gangplank onto the pier. He turned and offered a hand to assist Lady Temmere.
“I hope their ale is still as good as the stories say,” Saldon said as he debarked.
“This isn’t shore leave, grub,” Mig grunted as he fell into place behind Saldon. “We’re escortin’ the client.”
“Was it really necessary for all three of you to accompany me, Captain Kohl?” Lady Temmere asked as she strolled alongside Janner.
“Don’t let the clean façade fool you, Lady Temmere. Aurtoga is a free port, and that means pirates. We’d be a lot safer staying onboard the Glory.”
“Is that why you left your man behind with my son?”
“Just taking the necessary precautions, my lady.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lady Temmere smiled, a knowing look on her face. The four of them made their way into town, past warehouses and other establishments that supported the sea trade, both ships and their crew. Janner kept a watchful eye on the flow of people coming and going, but saw nothing that raised his suspicions.
“Oh, this looks like a nice place,” Lady Temmere exclaimed.
They stood before a two-story building of white-washed wood planks and thatched roofing. The shingle hanging over the door displayed a leg of meat and a mug overflowing with foam. A muted symphony of conversation and music drifted out onto the street, along with the smoky aromas of spiced meat and warm bread.
“Absolutely not,” Janner said with an emphatic gesture. “This was just supposed to be a walk to stretch your legs.”
“And now I’m hungry.”
“There is food back at the ship.”
“I appreciate the efforts of Captain Rictor and his cook, but the ship’s fare hardly qualifies as ‘food.’ I am not going to pass up the opportunity to eat something more palatable.”
“I’m not sure what they serve here will be much better,” Saldon snickered. Janner shot the mercenary a glaring reprimand, but inwardly agreed with him.
“We won’t know unless we go inside,” Lady Temmere said. She stepped forward, opened the door, and walked in. Janner ground his teeth, but followed.
The interior of the establishment swarmed with activity. Patrons filled the tables scattered about the common room, eating, drinking, listening to the minstrels playing on the hearth, carrying on conversations with their neighbors, or participating in any combination of the four. Serving girls twirled in their midst, taking orders, passing out froth-capped mugs and steaming plates, or scooping up empty dishes. Janner spied an open table in the near corner and ushered Lady Temmere toward it.
“Looks like there’s barely room for two,” Mig observed when they reached the table. “I’m more thirsty than hungry. What say you ‘n’ me grab a seat at the bar, Saldon? I’ll buy you one of those ales you were wantin’.”
“Keep an eye out for trouble, Mig,” Janner said as he seated Lady Temmere. Mig nodded and the two men made their way across the room. Janner sat down and signaled one of the serving girls.
“Evenin’, milord. Milady. Wat kin ah gitcha?”
“Good evening,” Lady Temmere said, smiling up at the serving girl. “We’ll take two mugs of ale, a loaf of bread… Do you have butter? Excellent. And two plates of whatever that is I smell coming from the kitchen.”
“Very good, milady. Thet’ll be fer silvers.” The serving girl looked between the two and Lady Temmere nodded encouragement at Janner. He sighed, removed the coins from his purse and laid them in the serving girl’s outstretched palm.
“I really wish you would try to enjoy yourself, Janner.”
“You’re paying me—you’re paying me to make sure you and your son arrive in Byzantum safe, not to enjoy myself, remember.” The use of his given name caught Janner by surprise, and old memories of a time when the two of them were more familiar stirred. He watched Touvree as she buttered a slice of bread from the loaf just delivered. A smile lit up her face, but he couldn’t tell if it was one of amusement or contentment. He felt like a mouse between the cat’s paws.
“It wasn’t always just business between us, Janner.” She pierced him with her green eyes as she took a bite of the bread. Janner’s stomach fluttered.
“I try to keep the past behind me, Touvree. We can’t change what’s happened.” They weren’t the words he longed to say, but the last thing Janner wanted to do was make this mission any more complicated than it was. Calling her by her given name was a small concession, but Janner knew where to draw the line.
“It’s nice to hear you speak my name again,” Touvree said. Her smile faltered, and Janner thought he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m not trying to change the past. I want to change the present.” She took a deep breath, but rushed on before Janner could interrupt. “I asked for you to be assigned to this trip for reasons other than just protection. I was hoping to rescue an old friendship, our friendship, Janner.” Touvree reached across the table and slid her hand under his. The plea on her face cracked Janner’s resolve; he felt himself falling into the green sea of her gaze. Time froze and his thoughts scattered like the deserting soldiers of a defeated army.
“Cap’n, Saldon’s disappeared.”
“Hmm.”
“Cap’n.”
“Huh? What?” Janner jerked around, his hand flying from the table to his lap. Mig stood next to him, his face pinched with annoyance.
“Sorry for the interruption, Cap’n, but I think Saldon’s deserted. He stepped out to relieve himself when I ordered the drinks. That was a bit ago. Stuck my head out for a look and didn’t see nobody.”
Janner cleared his throat and glanced at Touvree. She watched him, a hint of concern crinkling the corners of her eyes. He drew a deep, centering breath and stood up. “The man was more trouble than he was worth” he said. “If he wants to desert, good riddance. I don’t have the time or resources to hunt him down. Let’s go back to the ship.”
*****
Janner stood at the starboard rail and watched the crew use the ship’s launches to pull her away from the dock. Water dripped from the hood of the oiled hide slicker he wore, and he ran a hand over his forehead, eyes and nose to wipe them clear once more. A sheet of mist, the remnants of the previous night’s rain, plagued the ship as it made its way back to the open channels that ran through the Archipelago. Cut off from the world by the drizzle and the folds of his slicker, Janner sifted through his thoughts, seeking order and sense.
Desertion was not uncommon, but it rankled Janner when it happened on his squad. Saldon’s desertion failed to surprise him—the man chafed under authority. The timing of his departure bothered Janner, though. Aurtoga’s respectable appearance served as a disguise for the illicit business it thrived on, and Janner pondered a possible connection. The idea of Saldon as a brigand held some plausibility, but Janner dismissed his flight as a combination of convenience, cowardice, and the impulse of a disgruntled mercenary.
That matter settled, Janner found himself dwelling on Touvree’s admission in the tavern. Did he want to be friends with her? Did he want more? She was married, and had a family. She could not offer more, and he had no right to wreck that to satisfy his desires. It would be best to avoid the issue all together by keeping things as they were.
Movement from behind one of the nearby islands drew Janner’s attention. A dark shape detached itself and floated out into the channel. He held his breath, the creak of the Glory’s rigging suddenly loud to his ears, and watched as the shadowy apparition loomed large through the mist. Janner took a step back from the railing and tore his gaze away to shout out a warning.
“Helmsman!” Janner pointed to the fast-approaching prow of the revealed ship as it cut through the water toward the Glory.
“All hands, brace for impact,” the helmsman bellowed as he spun the wheel. The clang of the warning bell rang out across the deck. The Glory’s bow began to turn, but the ponderous pace gave the ship no chance of avoiding a collision. Janner dove for the deck as the enemy ship’s steel-plated bow rammed into the Glory’s side. She shuddered and groaned as shards of wood showered the crew. Janner pushed himself up to his feet and started toward the hatch, but a chorus of battle cries jerked him back and he turned to see a rush of menacing faces and flashing steel flow onto the deck of the wounded Glory.
“To arms!” Captain Rictor’s voice rose above the clamor, spurring his crew into action. Janner made a quick decision, shed his slicker, and drew his own sword, ready to face the first wave of boarders. Janner blocked a thrust from a cutlass and kicked the pirate in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards into his comrades. Janner ducked a falchion swung at his head and stabbed with his own blade, catching his assailant between the ribs.
Two more pirates stepped up. Janner met both their blades high. He punched the pirate to his left in the face then slashed at the pirate on his right. The pirate parried the strike, but Janner riposted, disemboweling the man. The first pirate recovered, though blood flowed from his broken nose. Janner swatted the pirate’s blade away and thrust through the opening in his defenses, plunging his sword deep into the pirate’s chest.
A loud creaking drew Janner’s attention to the deck of the pirate ship. Three men wheeled forward a ballista and swung it around to point at the Glory. Janner watched with horror as the weapon launched a steel ball the size of a human head, his eyes following the trajectory as the missile flew toward the Glory’s mainmast. The ball punched through timber with a crunch.
“Look out,” Janner shouted. Shattered wood and tangled rigging rained down upon the deck. Janner spotted the still form of a crewman lying in the path of the falling yard. He dashed across the ship, grabbed the man by the arm, and dragged him out of the way as the debris crashed down on where he had just been.
Janner crouched by the wounded sailor’s side and surveyed the fight. The crew of the Glory was outnumbered and losing. Janner decided his only option was to get Touvree and Relvan off the ship, though the thought of abandoning Captain Rictor left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Movement at the Glory’s hatch caught Janner’s attention. Touvree appeared, followed by her son. Janner stood, swore when Saldon come on deck next, and charged with a shout of fury. Saldon turned at the sound and pointed to Janner. He barked orders at the man behind him then dragged Touvree and Relvan toward his ship. The lackey sprang into Janner’s path, his blade set to take Janner’s rush on its point. Janner knocked the weapon aside with his own sword and bowled into the man. The two tumbled to the deck in a heap. Janner roared with frustration, knowing every second wasted wrestling free allowed Saldon to reach the safety of his ship. He struck out at the lackey, smashing his sword’s guard into the man’s face. Blood sprayed and the man went limp. Janner grunted as he heaved the weight off him. He got to his feet and oriented himself.
Saldon stood by the shattered railing of the Glory as the crew of the pirate ship hoisted a struggling Relvan onto their deck. One of the raiders clung to the pirate ship’s bowsprit, hacking it free from the tangle of lines and sail that ensnared it.
“I’d love to stay and have the satisfaction of killing you myself, Captain, but I’m afraid there are more pressing business matters I must attend to.” Saldon gave Janner a mock salute, clinging to a rope as his men hauled him up. Janner started toward the ship, but several pirates raised crossbows and leveled them at him. He heard Saldon shout, “Back the sails,” and watched as the pirate ship’s yards swiveled around. Wind filled the sails and pushed the ship away from the Glory. More pirates with crossbows appeared at the rails, flames dancing on the ends of their bolts. A hail of fire arced toward the Glory and pierced her decks.
Captain Rictor’s crew stood in a daze. Janner sheathed his sword as he maneuvered around the debris and small fires toward the starboard rail. Rictor met him there.
“She’s taking on water.” Captain Rictor pointed to the breach in the hull where the pirate ship had rammed them. “There’ll be no saving her this time.” He turned to face the ruined deck. “All hands, abandon ship.” The ship lurched, listing hard to starboard as though the captain’s order had taken its will to stay afloat. Janner slammed against the rail and heard Captain Rictor cry out beside him. The man teetered against the rail for a brief moment then tipped over. Janner grabbed for the captain’s outstretched hand, but missed, and Rictor plummeted head first into the water. He surfaced and Janner scrambled for a line to throw him. He anchored one end, coiled the other and tossed it out to the Glory’s captain. Rictor reached for the line then let out a chilling scream and began thrashing about. Janner stared in horror as the water around the man churned a frothy white before turning deep red. The screaming stopped when Rictor disappeared beneath the waves with a violent jerk.
Janner clamped down on his shock, left the rail, and ran toward the hatch. Chaos ruled the deck as fires spread over the Glory. Some of the crew lowered themselves down in one of the ship’s launches, but many dove overboard, the panic obvious in their faces. Smoke filled the passageway below deck and billowed out the hatch. Janner held the collar of his tunic over his mouth and nose as he made his way to the Temmeres’ quarters. He found Vedert holding a wounded Mig in his lap, a bloody cloth wrapped around the sergeant’s left shoulder. The young mercenary looked up at Janner’s entrance.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said between coughs. “There were too many of them. I-I—”
“It’s all right, son. Help me get Mig up. We need to leave.”
“I can get myself up. I’m not dead, just cut a little.”
Janner smiled as he held his hand out to Mig. The other man grabbed it and pulled, but a lurch from the ship as it listed further sent all three of the mercenaries crashing into the wall.
“Time to go. Now,” Janner ordered. He tugged Mig’s arm around his shoulders and hustled back to the hatch. Janner leaned Mig against the wall and climbed the short ladder to assess the situation.
“Wait here,” Janner called down then made his way forward on hands and feet to the mast. He untied the knot in the line he used in his attempt to save Rictor and gathered it in. Then he crawled to the port railing and levered himself up. He looked out across the water where crewmen bobbed and floated, their cries for help drowning in the roar of flames that consumed the Glory. Janner shook his head. He could do nothing for them. His responsibility lay with his men, and the two people he swore to protect.
Janner pulled himself along the railing until he was above the deck hatch. He lashed the rope to the rail and let it fall toward the opening. “All right,” he shouted. “Climb up and grab the rope.” Mig’s head appeared out of the hatch. “Use it to pull yourself to the railing.” Mig nodded and grabbed the rope. Janner saw him wince and grit his teeth as he put his weight on his left shoulder, but Mig persevered until he reached Janner’s side. Vedert followed a few lengths behind. The three made their way to the stern of the ship, where another launch waited. As they worked the block-and-tackle to lower the small craft into the water, Janner noticed a body floating past, the nearby water saturated in a cloud of red. The launch splashed down, and the mercenaries swung over the rail, each grabbing a line and lowering themselves hand-over-hand.
A roar snapped Janner’s head around in time to see a sleek, grey form easily three times the length of the launch breach the surface and swallow the drifting body whole before crashing back to the water. The resulting wake rocked the small craft and jostled the Glory, slamming the men against the hull of the larger vessel. Vedert and Mig both lost their grips and splashed into the sea.
Janner waited for the pair to surface and spotted them a few yards away. He slid down the line into the boat, untied it, grabbed the oars, and started rowing toward where the two men treaded water, all the while watching the waves for the tell-tale dorsal ridge that indicated more sharfins. The mercenary sergeant grasped the edge of the launch, but could not pull himself up. Janner grabbed him under the arms and lifted him into the boat. Mig rolled out of the way and sat up. Fresh blood trickled from his shoulder wound.
“Cap’n, hurry.”
Janner followed Mig’s look and saw a long, gray ridge slicing through the water towards them. “Quickly,” Janner urged Vedert. The young mercenary hooked his arms over the launch’s side and struggled to haul himself in. “Pull him up,” Janner told Mig and drew his sword. He hoped the taste of steel would sate the sharfin’s hunger. Or at least buy them more time. The ridge that marked the monster’s progress toward them vanished under the water. Janner shaded his eyes with one hand and peered beneath the surface. A dark shape slid up to the launch, and Janner plunged his sword into the depths. He felt contact, but the sharfin’s scaly hide kept the blade from penetrating too deeply.
Vedert screamed.
The boat lurched, and Janner swiveled to see Vedert half out of the water, Mig clutching his torso with his one good arm while bloody seawater seethed around the young man’s submerged legs.
“I can’t hold him,” Mig shouted. The side of the launch dipped below the surface, and water began to swamp the boat. Janner knew it was too late, that they risked their only chance to go after the pirates, but he couldn’t bring himself to order his friend to let go. The sharfin decided for him, ripping Vedert free of Mig’s grip and dragging the young man down into the depths.
*****
Janner rowed until his shoulders burned and his arms drooped at his sides, drained of all their strength. He left the oars to rest in their locks and glanced around. Mig slept fitfully in the launch’s bow, exhausted from blood loss and the attack on the Glory. The mist had cleared as the sun set and Janner could see the dark coastlines of several islands, but he had no idea if the pirates were hiding on one of them. Tired and discouraged, Janner leaned back and closed his eyes.
He found no rest or comfort. Images of Touvree in the pirates’ custody flashed through his mind. Janner watched them harass and abuse her as she cried out for him.
“He can’t hear you, my lady. He can’t help you. He’s failed you once again.” Saldon advanced toward her, a leer on his face as he undid the laces that held the front of his breeches together. Several of the pirates grabbed Touvree’s arms and legs, and held her down. She struggled in vain to free herself, to escape. Tears streamed down her face and despair dimmed her eyes.
As Saldon lowered himself onto Touvree, a billow of smoke obscured the scene until it faded from Janner’s perception.
When the smoke dissipated, Janner saw a dark figure crouching before a small fire, its back to him. Before Janner could open his mouth to ask what happened to Touvree, the figure turned its head to look over its shoulder at him. The strange, slit irises transfixed Janner like a mouse under the paw of a cat. So hooked, Janner found himself drawn in by the figure’s gaze, closer and closer….
Janner jolted awake, the force of his reaction rocking the boat. Mig shifted at his end of the launch, but did not wake. Janner shook his head, trying to dislodge the unsettling vision, but it held firm. He reached for the oars, determined to distract himself with physical labor, and noticed the launch had drifted within a couple hundred yards of an island. Janner stared at the forested beach, searching for a sign of Touvree, Relvan, or the pirates, but the pale light of the moon and stars failed to pierce the deep shadows. A breeze stirred the palm branches and Janner saw a puff of smoke emerge from the treetops. He blinked, and it was gone. The dream of the dark figure by the fire came back to him, and he made up his mind. He woke Mig and they rowed the launch to the beach then hauled it up to the tree line.
“What’s the plan, Cap’n?”
“We wait.”
Mig gave Janner a puzzled look, but nodded and moved off a few paces to sit against the trunk of a tree. Janner listened to the whisper of the surf on the beach and the wind through the trees while drifting clouds took turns obscuring the night sky before continuing on. He glanced over at Mig and wondered if his friend was reliving the battle against the pirates. The attack lurked at the edges of his own consciousness, held back only by a determined focus on rescuing Touvree and Relvan. Janner had lost men in battle, yet he found himself shaken by the sinking of the Glory. Vedert’s face flashed in Janner’s mind, but he banished it immediately. He could not afford to be distracted now.
A branch snapped to Janner’s right. The mercenary captain froze in surprise then turned slowly to peer in that direction. The clouds parted, and the moon lit the night, scattering the shadows among the dense foliage of the island forest. Janner spied a small, dark-skinned man not thirty feet away, staring right at him.
The mercenary rose into a crouch and slowly drew his sword. The little man hardly looked threatening in his cloak and loincloth of black fur; he carried no weapons that Janner could see. The man grinned and waved before turning around and walking off into the forest. Janner signaled Mig and the pair raced after him. He couldn’t risk the man alerting the pirates.
The thought tickled Janner’s memory of the earlier vision. Did he really think this man was the dark figure in the dream? Did that mean he believed the pirates were holding Touvree and Relvan somewhere on this island? The fact that he entertained such notions disturbed Janner. It revealed his desperation, and desperate men took unnecessary risks.
He knew he would risk everything to save Touvree and her son.
It took Janner longer to catch the man than he expected. In fact, the man’s relaxed stance made the mercenary captain think he had been waiting for some time. Janner still held his sword, the moonlight glinting off the blade, and the little man grinned again. He pointed through the trees, but Janner studied his wrinkled, pierced, and tattooed face before looking.
When Janner did look, he saw the trees ended a few yards ahead. A palisade circled the edge of the clearing, with torches set at regular intervals. Armed men patrolled the perimeter, casting wary glances into the night.
“Those are professional soldiers,” Mig whispered by Janner’s side. The men were dressed like pirates, but Janner could see the discipline and training in the way they carried themselves.
Janner shimmied up a tree for a better look. Beyond the palisade were several structures, including something that looked like a large cage. Janner thought he saw several figures moving within its confines. His suspicions satisfied, Janner dropped back to the ground.
A light touch on Janner’s arm caused him to start. He turned to see the old man remove his leathery hand from where it had rested on Janner’s forearm, grin, and motion for him to follow. The trio moved back into the trees, the little man loping along ahead of Janner.
They stopped at a lean-to as clouds hid the moon once more. Janner stood warily, letting his eyes adjust as he listened to the little man rustling around. The clack of stones striking one another preceded a shower of sparks and the flare of fire. Shadows danced across the old man’s face as he opened a sack and sprinkled powder over the flames while chanting words Janner did not understand. The flames turned blue, and an odorless smoke that did not sting Janner’s eyes or throat billowed forth. The breeze picked up, carrying the smoke toward the pirate outpost in a thickening cloak that obscured everything within its embrace.
Janner wondered what property the powder possessed to make the fire act the way it did. The old man danced around the flames, cajoling the smoke with his arms, calling Janner’s dream to his mind once again. He let it come, and admitted to himself the similarities. A smoking fire hardly qualified as the supernatural, however. Janner laughed at himself. A debate over the existence of magic versus coincidence was better left to Church clergy. He’d take whatever aid he could get.
“What’s goin’ on here?” Mig asked.
“I’m wondering that, myself.” Janner felt the old man’s stare, ending his speculation. He returned the expectant gaze, eliciting another grin.
“Go.”
The word startled Janner, but before he could respond, the old man disappeared into the smoky dark, darting off toward the pirate camp. Janner swore to himself and followed.
*****
Thick fog concealed the pirates’ compound, turning sentries into shadowy blobs and torches into fuzzy, orange will o’ the wisps. Janner gestured to Mig, and the two mercenaries crept from their post at the forest’s edge toward a spot along the palisade between two points of torchlight. They crouched, their breath held, as the amorphous darkness of a sentry strolled by. When the guard passed, the pair climbed over the sharpened timbers and slipped into the camp.
Janner made his way toward the center of the compound where he remembered seeing the cage. It materialized out of the fog, its occupants packed together.
“Touvree? Relvan?”
Bodies shifted, and the gangly youth came forward, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark flesh of the other prisoners. Janner glanced about for Touvree, but she failed to appear.
“We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Not unless you’ve got the key to this monster.” Mig tugged on a large padlock fastened to the cage door. Janner swore under his breath.
“Saldon’s got the key, sir,” Relvan said. “He keeps it locked up in his quarters. He’s keeping Mother there as well.” He pointed off into the fog. Janner consulted his mental map of the compound from the earlier reconnaissance and identified the most likely building.
“We’ll be right back.” The two mercenaries sneaked further into the camp, aided by the fog. It swirled around them like the damp breath of some sleeping giant. Shapes coalesced then dissipated, phantoms threatening to discover them and sound the alarm.
The dark mass of a building loomed ahead. Janner quickened his pace, the tension caused by the fog wearing on him.
He ran right into a pirate.
Janner reacted first, disentangling himself then running the man through the gut with his sword. He clamped his hand over the startled pirate’s mouth to stifle a shout, but more forms approached in the fog. A black shadow hurtled past Janner and bowled over the closest pirate. Powerful jaws clamped around the man’s neck; the mercenary captain heard the snap of bones. Luminous eyes stared up at Janner and he heard a growl that sounded like “run.” Janner shook his head in disbelief as the panther bounded off. Mig picked up the dead pirate’s blade, grabbed Janner’s arm, and pulled him along.
Cries of alarm and savage roars sounded from the far side of the camp as Janner and Mig reached the door to the building. They put their shoulders to it and entered with a crash. Saldon stood in a doorway to their left, strapping on his sword. Janner caught a glimpse of Touvree shackled to a bed beyond the doorway.
“So, you did survive. All the better. Now I will get the chance to kill you myself.”
“This isn’t one of our sparring matches, grub,” Janner said. “I won’t be going easy on you this time.”
Saldon smirked. “I’m afraid I was the one going easy on you, Captain. I needed you and your precious Brigade to think I was nothing more than what I claimed to be.”
He reached for his saber, but Janner warned him off with a wave of his blade.
“Uh-uh. Undo the belt and drop it to the floor.”
“You won’t get out of here alive. My men have orders to kill you on sight.” Saldon sneered as he obeyed Janner’s command.
“That’s assumin’ they see us,” Mig snorted. Saldon frowned at the sergeant. Janner allowed himself a smirk.
“Watch him,” Janner said as he moved to help Touvree.
“Aye, Cap’n.” Mig maneuvered Saldon against the wall with the point of his sword, pressing hard enough to draw blood. “That’s for the Glory,” he said.
“Oh, Janner, I didn’t think you’d find us,” Touvree sobbed as Janner knelt beside her.
“I’m sorry I failed you, Touvree. It won’t happen again. I’m getting you and Relvan out of here, now.” Janner examined the shackles that held Touvree then glanced around the room for a way to free her.
“He has the key, Janner.” Touvree’s nod indicated Saldon.
“Captain, we’re under attack!” A pirate barreled through the open front door as Janner stood up. The man spotted Mig and lunged at the mercenary with his sword. Mig turned to meet the strike and Saldon swung his fist at the sergeant’s head. Mig tumbled away from both attacks and rolled to his feet just in time to meet the pirate’s thrust. Saldon leaned down and yanked his saber free from its scabbard. Janner tried to slash at him, but the pirate captain parried the stroke in the same motion. A dagger appeared in Saldon’s left hand from somewhere up his sleeve.
“Neat trick,” Janner said. Saldon snarled and pressed an attack. Their blades met high, and Saldon thrust at Janner’s chest with his dagger. Janner anticipated the move and brought his sword down. Saldon jerked his hand back to avoid the chop then stabbed at Janner’s face with his saber. Janner dodged to the left. The maneuver brought him back-to-back with Mig.
“This goes on much longer and the whole camp will be mobilized against us,” Mig panted.
“Then quit playing around and finish your man off,” Janner quipped. Mig snorted, and Janner heard the clang of metal intensify. He launched his own attack, swinging several strokes meant to force Saldon back rather than actually penetrate his defenses. Saldon retreated a step, but before Janner could press his advantage, the pirate captain caught Janner’s sword between his two blades and twisted it out of the mercenary captain’s grasp. A wicked grin split Saldon’s face, but Janner kicked him in the stomach. The blow knocked Saldon back and Janner dived for his blade. He stood and swiveled around, sword in hand, and noticed Mig backing his opponent into a corner. Then Saldon charged him.
Janner retreated through the doorway into the adjacent room. As the two combatants continued to trade blows, Janner’s ankle rolled.
“Ha,” Saldon laughed and lunged. “Now you die.”
“You really should have paid more attention in training,” Janner said with a smile. He stepped to the side, hooked Saldon’s ankle with his foot, and sent him crashing to the floor. Janner stood, kicked the pirate’s sword out of reach, and pressed his blade to the man’s neck.
“Do it,” Saldon spat.
“All right.” Janner raised his blade and thrust it through Saldon’s heart. The man’s eyes widened then glazed over. Janner drew his steel back, noticed a thin leather cord around Saldon’s neck, and used the tip of his sword to slice it off. He bent to retrieve the cord and discovered a key hanging from one end.
“That the key?”
Janner looked up to see Mig standing in the doorway, blood dripping from his sword.
“It’s a key,” he said and used it to release Touvree. She rubbed her wrists then accepted Janner’s hand up. “Do you know where they kept the key to the slave pen?” He asked her. She shook her head. “Mig, check the desk.”
Janner patted down Saldon, but found nothing. A footlocker shoved in the near corner of the bedroom was locked. Mig entered with another key in hand.
“Found this in one of the drawers.”
“Doesn’t look big enough for that padlock.”
“Maybe it goes to that.” Mig pointed to the chest. Janner nodded in agreement. He tried the key, which turned until he heard the tumblers click. Janner lifted the lid and looked inside. Stacks of folded clothes greeted him. He tossed them aside until he came to a white tabard with a familiar red feather emblazoned on the front.
“Crimson Feathers. Looks like this wasn’t just a kidnapping schemed up by pirates after all.”
“Well, let’s hurry up and get off this rock so we can tell somebody.”
Janner reached the bottom of the chest and found a leather pouch through which the shape of a large key was discernible. He snatched the pouch and rose to his feet. “Let’s go.”
The two mercenaries led the way back to the slave pen. Janner felt Touvree’s hand slip under his, but he kept his attention focused on the thinning fog. They reached the cage without encountering any pirates—Crimson Feathers, Janner corrected himself—and used the key. Janner threw the lock to the ground and swung the door open. Relvan ran into the waiting arms of his mother while the other occupants stared, stunned by their change of fate. Then a cheer rose up and they dispersed at a run, some stopping to pick up weapons from the hands of their dead captors before disappearing into the night.
Crimson Feathers converged on the slave pen, alerted by the cries of freedom. Janner and Mig fought through the line of soldiers between them and the palisade they needed to climb to escape the camp. More Feathers closed in from behind and Janner shouted for everyone to run.
“Wait,” Touvree called out with only a few feet left between them and the palisade. Janner turned to see Relvan lying face first on the ground, tripped by some unseen object. A Crimson Feather charged out of the fog toward the boy, his sword raised.
“No!” Touvree screamed. Janner ran to intercept, but Touvree beat him there and threw herself over her son. The Crimson Feather’s sword hacked deep into her back and blood spurted everywhere. Janner surged forward, and with a roar of anguish, thrust his sword though the soldier’s chest, the momentum carrying the blade out the back. He shoved the body off his blade and scooped up Touvree. Blood soaked his arm, and he could hear a wet gurgle in her shallow breathes.