Severed Empire: Wizard's War (34 page)

The end might be close.

The surge continued, pushing the boat forward as if they’d actually had the sail raised in this storm.

“How are you doing that?” Eadric said.

Mykal shook his head. “It’s not me.”

Eadric looked at his wife. Her eyes were open, but vacant.

The ship fell from the swell.

The bow missed the boat.

Quill let out a cheer, which was cut short.

Mykal saw it, too. The flash of lightning revealed the king’s men battling monster fish on their deck. The frozen image showed swords cutting through air, and sea serpents with mouths wide open about to devour. It could have been Mykal’s imagination, but he thought he saw blood. Lots of blood spraying, spilling, washing over the side of the ship.

“Sit down,” Mykal said. He reached around the mast. His hands were holding onto the rope and the wood for support. He worried his brain had been jarred loose, and was sloshing around inside his skull.

Lightning cracked.

“I can see the islands,” Refler said. “We’re headed for port!”

More lightning filled the sky.

“That ship has gone right past us. With no one at the wheel, they’re likely to sink themselves at the Crimson Falls.” Basin did not try hiding his smile. “That was a close call!”

Mykal heard the chatter around him. He couldn’t focus on the words that were said.

Worried about his mother, Mykal also wanted to lie down beside her and fall asleep.

“How did you get the sea serpents to help?” Quill said. “I mean, it was you right? So how did you do it? How did you get them to help?”

“I asked,” Mykal said. He’d sent his request into the sea, and hoped they’d respond. He had no idea if it would work. He was thankful that it had.

When they reached the port, Mykal unfastened the rope tied about him. “Quill, give me a hand,” he said. They walked cautiously to the stern of the boat. The waves were still unrelenting, but mostly toward the middle of the sea. It was only slightly less calm in port. Mykal peered over the stern, and into the sea.

He saw many faces looking up at him. They all had flat noses, which seemed more like a fish’s gills. Their skin seemed pale, grey. It was the large almond shaped eyes that were their most distinct feature. They didn’t blink. Mykal wasn’t sure if they had eyelids or not.

Thankful for their help, he wasn’t sure how to convey his appreciation. He nodded his head, and waved. He held the amethyst over the sea and let it go. It plopped into the water, and slowly sank toward them.

Not one returned his gestures. Instead they turned away from him, one by one dove deeper into the sea. Their tales burst through the surface, and then splashed as they reentered the water.

“You called the mermaids for help?” Quill said. “You can do that? You know, I always thought they were just some legend, told to little girls at bedtime. That kind of thing. I never, in a million years would have guessed the stories were true. Never.”

Before Mykal moved away from the stern, he saw one mermaid return. She rose out of the water, and lifted her arm in the air.

Mykal was hesitant, but extended his arm toward her.

Quill grabbed onto Mykal’s legs to keep him from dropping into the sea.

In her hand was the amethyst.

She did not say a word, but blinked.

No. Winked.

It was just the one eye. The lid closed from the left and right, instead of top and bottom.

“Thank you,” Mykal said, closing his fingers around the pendant.

The mermaid launched herself away from port. With her arms at her side, she propelled forward; and finally down below the surface with her swaying tailfin.

Refler stood silent beside Quill, with his mouth and eyes wide open. He looked like he might speak, but as if no words would come out.

He wasn’t sure it would work, but risked his head exploding from using magic to call on both the sea serpents and the mermaids for help. “I did,” Mykal said, and replaced the amethyst pendant—now a gift to him—into his vest pocket. He whispered, “Thank you, Galatia.”

“Come on,” Basin said. “The governor’s going to want an update.”

“Uncle,” Mykal said. “I can’t walk.”

Mykal’s legs gave out. He crumpled toward the deck.

Quill and Refler caught him under the arms.

Blodwyn was on the dock. He reminded Mykal of a cat that jumped out of a washtub, all skinny and scrawny under all of its fur. If he didn’t think he would pass out at any moment, he might have laughed and shared his thought.

“I think he’s delirious,” Quill said.

Blodwyn’s jaw set and his eyebrows met above his nose. “We need to get him and his mother inside, into dry clothing, and someplace warm. I have the feeling the victors in the war are going to be decided on the battles between the wizards, and little else.”

Chapter 32

It wasn’t the worst storm Sebastian had ever seen. He’d sailed over swells twenty, thirty feet tall. With the swirling clouds, the amount of lightning and thunder, this front had the potential to grow in ferocity, exponentially. The swells they faced now were a good size, and moved the
Derecho
in odd, smooth, but highly dangerous motions, as if a hand picked her up and set her down. She rose, bow first, and dropped bow first. They faced the waves, taking them head on.

If the waves got too much bigger, and they didn’t take them head on, they risked getting rolled, sunk, and buried at the bottom of the Isthmian.

From the bow, Mr. Reed spotted several Osiris ships approaching. Sebastian hated to admit he was starting to like the lad; he just wasn’t impressed with the boy’s skills. It was not going to be easy for such a young quartermaster winning over the love and support of the crew. There was nothing intimidating about him. Not his size, not his mannerisms, not anything. If a quartermaster couldn’t instill some fear into his men, he had better earn their respect. It was as simple as that, only not as simple to actually achieve.

Once back on deck, Reed jumped in where needed, without being asked, and without protest, or grumbling under his breath. However, he needed some work on his knots. Sebastian observed Helix more than once calling the quartermaster over and retying the rope in front of the boy.

That didn’t detour Reed. He saw where extra hands were needed, and filled whatever opening, side-by-side with fellow tars.

Making his way across the deck, Sebastian took the stairs below. There wasn’t much time. The closest Osiris ship quickly neared their position, riding each wave and swell with the wind at her back.

Richard barked commands at the men working under him. The cannons were locked in place at the gun deck, ready at the gun-ports on both sides of the ship. The cannons were on wheels. After firing a cannonball, the kick from the blast rocked them back. Ropes were rigged to pull them back into place and aiming out of the gun-port window. The cannonballs, transferred into barrels next to each weapon, were safer than when loosely stacked in pyramids. Lit lanterns hung from the rafters, and squeaked as they swung to and fro.

Sebastian was not interested in interfering. The barrels were always in danger of tipping, and the cannons could break free and roll. Anyone caught in the path could get seriously injured. Death wasn’t out of the question. Richard’s men kept the items from moving.

“How are we down here?” Sebastian said. Opposite the gun-deck were the tars’ quarters. Rows of cloth hammocks hung post to post. They on calm nights, they swayed as gentle as if the men were babes in their mother’s arms. On a night like tonight, no man would sleep.

“Good, Captain. We’re ready,” Richard said, saluting. On the walls between gun-ports was a crisscross of battle axes. The tars wore swords and daggers on their belts.

“An Osiris ship is close. It will try to pass between us and Berserker. Commands will be coming down hot and fast,” Sebastian said.

“Aye, Captain,” Richard said.

“You need anything, let me know. Men, stay strong.” It was his way of telling them he was proud of serving with them. They didn’t get into many sea battles. Their reputation prevented a lot of unnecessary confrontations in the past. When there was a fight two things were certain, lost lives and sunken ships. Many crewmen were little more than boys, who just started shaving away facial hair. Too many let it grow in odd patches, thinking it must make them look more mature. The thin mustaches made it hard for the Captain to sometimes take them serious. He had been the same when he first started his life as a tar.

Sebastian saluted his men and went upstairs. His mind was filled with so many thoughts. There had been so many years of peace… maybe that was a bad thing. It softened people. Soft, or not, he couldn’t change how he felt. No one wanted more wars, but training just didn’t compare to the real thing. In drill, the tars knew there were no consequences to mistakes, to their actions, or lack thereof. It was drill. Simple as that.

Hopefully the things his young men learned would come back to them like second nature. How someone reacted when faced with war, with killing someone else, with the imminent threat of getting killed, wouldn’t be revealed until the situation was face-to-face with each and every one of them.

He sighed heavily at the top of the stairs.

One life lost would be one life too many. There was no way around death. It approached from the east. His experience, his skills, that was what would be the difference between them losing the fight, or finishing it with minimal damage.

And hopefully, with minimal death.

“Captain!” Lieutenant Cearl waved his arm in the air, vying for Sebastian’s attention. He was at the wheel steering the
Derecho
.

Sebastian worked his way forward. He clapped his men on the back as he passed them. He saw the same look in their eager faces. They were excited, and scared. They were ready to fight, but maybe thought about fleeing. He bet their stomachs flipped and flopped, and it had nothing to do with the storm.

He knew his own gut felt off balance.

It didn’t matter how sick he felt. He knew if his men saw their Captain blow chunks, they were all as good as dead.

Cearl pointed. “It’s time.”

Sebastian ordered Helix to lower sails on the main mast.

Helix and his men were ready for the call. The knots were untied, ropes yanked on. Pulleys squeaked like mice in a delirium about to abandon a sinking ship. The sails unrolled. They clapped like thunder as strong winds filled them all at once.

“Take us around,” the Captain ordered Lieutenant Cearl.

Cearl spun the wheel, cranking it around with both hands.

The ship responded. The waves crashed into the side of the ship. The sea felt far more violent when paralleled with the surge. The main deck was two inches deep with seawater and rain. Seasoned men lost their footing as the ship rocked, as if threatening to tip, or capsize.

The ship’s boards creaked in constant protest to the storm, and the sea. The moans echoed. Sebastian put faith in his vessel that she wouldn’t surrender to the pressure and break apart. The constant creaking made having faith very challenging.

“Ready the cannons!” Sebastian’s command was relayed, repeated over and over. “Reed, I want you to report on damage delivered!”

“Aye, Captain,” Reed said. He wobbled on legs not yet accustomed to life on the sea.

“Stay steady at the wheel, Cearl.” Sebastian didn’t trust many people at the helm of his ship. The Lieutenant was one of the rare few.

“Aye, aye,” Cearl said, a firm grip on the knobs of the wheel. The waves fought to turn the ship. Cearl worked the rudder with expert control, some give, some take. Steering a ship as large as the Derecho in a storm like this was anything but easy. Every inch gained was hard fought for by the man at the wheel.

Richard’s men would load cannonballs, and stand ready to light the fuse.

Captain Sebastian did have a plan. It was thin at best, but regardless of the outcome, worked to the Voyagers’ advantage. They didn’t want the Osiris ship crossing the imaginary border dividing west from east. More importantly, they didn’t want the ship getting past them. They did not want to have to chase after it. It was a pride thing, he supposed. The strategic goal was cutting off access to the west completely. Sebastian had no intention of losing ground, or sea, during the fight. The Isthmian was the Voyagers’ land, as awkward as that may sound.

The way the waves rocked their ship had to be taken into consideration. If he fired the cannons too soon, the cannonball would shoot directly into the sea; too late and it would head toward the sky sacrificing distance. It needed perfect timing. This was where Sebastian counted on his experience for guidance.

“Center gun-port… fire!” Sebastian shouted his command, which bounced across the deck like an echo inside a cave.

Within ten seconds, the cannon fired. The floorboards beneath the Captain’s feet shook. He knew the
Derecho
wouldn’t crumble. Not from firing one, or all of his cannons at once. She was built as tough as if made from iron and steel.

“Quartermaster?”

“It’s a miss,” Reed said. His face was pale. His skin looked ashen. Sebastian knew this must be his first fight. It was going to be a heck of a baptism for the quartermaster.

More cannons erupted.

It took Sebastian a moment. He realized they were not being fired on. The fight was to the north. He imagined
Berserker
was engaged. He hoped they fared well. These men were all his friends, all his family. And while each ship had its own captain, he couldn’t shake an overall sense of responsibility. “Ready the center cannon,” he shouted.

“Osiris is turning to face south,” Reed said.

That was exactly what Sebastian wanted. He took that small bit of luck as a good omen.

He didn’t need Reed’s warning of, “Incoming!”

Sebastian saw the flash of fire from Osiris gun-ports, mixed with a cracked sky filled with a fast scattering of lightning.

The cannonball fell short, splashed into the sea yards from the
Derecho
. Soon, neither ship would miss.