Vengeance (Pt. 7)

Vengeance (Pt. 7)

The city sprawled across an archipelago that lay fifty miles off the coast of Doranath. The way they rose in height as you moved towards the heart of the maze of islands hinted at the shattered mountain that they once were. Slender spires of stone, glass, and metal rose from a dense green canopy, like fingers reaching for the stars that illuminated the night sky. Smaller buildings were tucked away under the tree tops, with soft yellow lights illuminating the myriad streets that criss-crossed the islands. High, arched bridges spanned the gaps between the islands, rising high enough to allow the passage of vessels beneath them. Each island featured a port of some sort or another, some with space for a single skiff, others small enough only to accommodate only a rowboat, and yet more that were the berths of multiple cogs. All of these, however, were dwarfed by the main harbour of Illeth Moran.

Two long stone piers swept out into the blue ocean in long curves that slowly swung back together to create an immense circular quay. At three points, flanked by soaring towers, there were large gaps to allow the passage of ships. At the heart of the quay, built around a large rocky outcrop, were huge boatsheds that held the finest vessels in the Elven navy. Atop the rock stood Heofonhéah Earendel, a lighthouse of immense proportions, whose brilliant lights could be seen on the mainland. Rumour had it that these same lights could be wielded as weapons against enemy fleets, blinding their crews and even setting fire to the ships themselves.

From the quay, a long, broad path of dressed stone cut a clean line up the island to a bridge of matching stone. The path continued over six more islands in a straight line before reaching the highest island in the archipelago. Here, it turned, and created a long spiral that wound up to the peak of the island, atop which sat a large building that was crowned by a golden dome. In the night, the pale stone of this long path made it shine in the moonlight. A few people lingered on the path, despite the late hour, watching the small procession that made its way up from the quay.

The procession was made up of tall Elven men and women, all dressed in uniform robes, cut short at the knees for freedom of movement. The material was deep blue, and stiffened with starch. Beneath it, pale green silks fluttered, adding a slightly ethereal grace to their movements. Each elf had their hair braided and tied back in a long ponytail, and each had a small sigil tattooed under their left eye; it was a complex shape, with many delicate swirls surrounding a crescent moon. They walked in two columns, perfectly in step. The four elves who made up the rear of the column carried long, thin wooden chests of a pale timber, ornately decorated by black and gold perfling that created images of ships at sea. The leader of the column wore his hair differently, with three braids separated from the ponytail, and these hung to one side of his face. These three braids were adorned with small gems that were twisted into the length of the braid, causing the hair to sparkle in the light. At his side, like all his companions, he wore a sword sheathed in black leather. The pommel of his, unlike the plain ones of his companions, was shaped like the talons of some great bird of prey, and grasped a large pearly, the surface of which was iridescent. He stepped forth with a purpose, leading his party up the path towards the heart of Illeth Moran.

Over a mile away, with its sails furled and all lights out, a small ship rode at anchor. Two men stood on its deck, watching the procession making its way along the pale path through telescopes. Every time the lighthouse’s great beam swung towards the ship, they lowered their glasses and stooped behind the ship’s railing.

Lowering his ‘scope, Doran sighed, “Do you recognise the one leading the party?”

“No sir,” said Mr Dask.

“That is Ildrin, captain of the Brimclifer, the flagship of the Elven navy. While perhaps not as skilled as his brother Aldrid, he is no mean sailor. There is a reason he commands the greatest ship in all of the Elven Navy.”

“And if he is here, sir?”

“It means that something important is happening. He is known to not be fond of coming ashore, so whatever is on those boxes must be very important.”

“And why are we here, sir?”

Doran grinned, his teeth shining in the moonlight, “To persuade the elves to use the biggest ship they have against the monster that is following us.”

“You think it is stilling behind us?”

Doran nodded slowly, “I am certain of it. The Purity barely scratched her.”

Mr Dask felt his stomach drop, “So you want to ask the Elves for..”

“…The Brimclifer, yes,” Doran finished for him.

Mr Dask groaned and covered his eyes with his hand.

Doran smacked him cheerfully on the shoulder and said, “Cheer up man, it is hardly the stupidest thing I have ever done.”

“Aye,” agreed the first mate, “But it comes close, sir, damn close.”

Vengeance (Pt. 6)

Vengeance (Pt. 6)

The mountain peaks passed below them like a sea of white-tipped waves, the wind roaring in Renee’s ears. Vengeance had not spoken since they had retrieved Octavius’ fury. She had swum to the surface of the sea, and rather than then heading towards land, had continued her upward trajectory, carrying them into the night sky. Once she had pierced the clouds, she had changed course, sailing over them in the bright moonlight.

Suddenly, Vengeance’s voice entered Renee’s mind.

See that away to our right?

She moved Renee’s hand, pointing at a mountain with split peaks.

“I do,” said Renee.

That is Drake’Shar. They say that is where the Elven Empire fell, and where the gods gave rise to their greatest servants.

“Is it true?”

Does it matter? Stories have more power than you would believe. Even should those things have not happened truly, it is that people believe the stories that makes them real. They also say that it is on Drake’Shar that the walls between the worlds of the living and the dead are weakest.

“Is that also just a story?”

Vengeance was silent for quite a while. Renee gazed down through the clouds, watching the mountains shrink into foothills, then into plains that stretched out like a great green and brown blanket across the world. Finally, Vengeance spoke again.

How do you think I came into the world?

Renee felt a chill. It made sense that Vengeance had crossed to here from somewhere else. She had heard plenty of stories of demons and spirits as a child, and they had always been said to have come from some other world. Perhaps Vengeance was like them. Perhaps she was a…

I am no demon. Demons are foul creatures that take hold of your soul, corrupting it and turning you in to something as vile as them. I have not changed you, nor touched your soul. Your soul called out to me, touched me, and brought me to you in my hour of need.

Renee hissed, “But I do not want you here.”

Your soul called to me, and your heart sealed the bargain. I gave you your greatest desire, and now I may use you as a vessel to attain what I desire most.

“Which is?”

Drake’Shar was vanishing over the horizon, shrinking away into the faint glow of the rising sun. With that light, Renee was able to get her bearings, and realised that they were travelling north, making the mountains below the Shadowspines, and the gap in them Manoran’s Pass.

Renee could feel that Vengeance would not answer her question, so she changed tack.

“Where are we going?”

To one of the oldest places in the world. A place of magic, of jealousy, and of treachery.

“I do not know of this place.”

You wouldn’t, small-minded creature that you are. You were content in your little world by the sea, trapped in the monotony of life. You might have wondered about distant horizons as a child, but soon you suffocated that dream by living as others wished you to. You were told that girls grew into wives and mothers, not women, and you believed what you were told. I gave you your heart’s desire, but now you realise that what you desired was a cage, a promise of monotony, labour, and pain.

Renee’s stomach twisted. Something in Vengeance’s words rang true at a deep level. A forgotten memory stirred; dreams of travelling, of seeing all the wonders of the world.

I am right, and you cannot deny can you, child? You know that you once dreamed, and that you let that dream die. It is why you fell in love with a sailor, a man who was away, travelling the world as often as he was home. Your dream could at least have a ghost through him, while you sat in your tiny room, thinking of him; where he was, what he was doing, what he was seeing.

Renee’s heart sank as a new realisation dawned. Vengeance seemed to sense that, and latched on to it.

You do not love him, Renee. You love what he represents: a dream you have lost, and a life you cannot have. His life is what you love, not him. Tell me, what about him do you love?

“He is kind.”

You can find a kind man anywhere.

“He is gentle.”

Hardly a rarity.

“He loves me.”

Many men would love a woman like you, or at the least profess to. You are gifted with everything a man will desire.

“Doran loves me for more than that. If you think so little of love, then clearly you have never felt it.”

Oh, but I have child, I know how love feels, and how it burns and crushes you. I know how all love ends.

For a moment Renee was taken aback, and she almost felt sympathetic towards Vengeance. Then she hissed, “So the love you felt wasn’t true, wasn’t pure, and so you hate all love because you did not have the truest love.”

You know nothing of me.

“You have said enough for me to know that you are jaded, and have been jilted before. Is that why you now are fuelled only by hate, and rage?”

Vengeance was silent. Renee’s mind drifted, thinking about all that Vengeance had said. Her stomach churned, and she felt lost. Part of her felt that Vengeance spoke true, but much of her still longed to be in Doran’s arms again, to hear his deep voice again, even to see him sail into port again.

Something sparkled on the horizon, like a star resting upon the world. As they approached it resolved itself into a cluster of shining lights, reflected by the dark waters around them.

“What is that?” asked Renee.

Illeth Moran.

Vengeance (Pt. 5)

Vengeance (Pt. 5)

The small cutter sped out of the Old Town harbour. Doran grinned as the port alarm bells rang out. He knew by now that marines would be hurrying aboard the Hammer and the Purity. While good ships, they would never catch this cutter. He had eschewed his naval uniform for a plain white tunic, black trousers, and an oil skin greatcoat. He had kept his naval boots, though. Twenty men crewed the ship with him, all loyal to the last. When he had told them of being court-martialled for the loss of the Tempest, they had not batted an eye.

He was furious. How dare they court-martial him? How dare they strip him of his captaincy? Yes, the Tempest was lost, but he had still destroyed the most deadly Elven vessel in the Western Waters.

He glanced back and saw the sails of the Hammer unfurling, glinting white in the evening light. He grinned, the adrenaline pumping through him. As his new ship, the Blade, passed the harbour breakwater he spun the wheel, turning the cutter north and sending it racing towards the horizon.

“Sir!” cried a lookout, “The Hammer is firing!”

Doran knew the captain of the Hammer so well that he didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know what he would do. He spun the wheel, sending the Blade a little to port, and the ballista bolt from the pursuing ship splashed harmlessly into the water where the Blade would have been if Doran had not done anything.

The Hammer surged out of the harbour, the Purity trailing behind. By the time the Hammer rounded the breakwater the Blade was already out into open water, and still putting on speed. Doran turned and waved cheerily at his pursuers, then turned back to the wheel, and grinned into the blustering wind.

*

The promontory rose from the stormy seas like some ancient behemoth awakening from its slumber. The dark waters crashed against it, causing loose rocks to tumble from its sides. Doran could see no sign of the wrecked ships that had been there when he had been saved by Renee. They must have been pulled under the waves by the storm.

“Cap’n,” whispered a voice.

A chill that had nothing to do with the freezing rain ran down Doran’s spine. He turned slowly to see who addressed him. Mr James stood on the deck behind him. He seemed faded, the colour of his clothes washed out. Faintly, Doran could make out the railings directly behind Mr James. The man’s eyes were blank, his skin pale and tinged blue.

“You’re dead,” hissed Doran.

Mr James tilted his head to the side and pointed an accusing finger, “So were you.”

Doran backed away from the apparition, “I didn’t choose to be brought back. I don’t know what happened.”

“You abandoned your men! You left us to the mercy of the sea.”

“I came back for you. Why do you think I am here?”

Mr James drew his spectral blade and snarled, “You came back for your woman. Not for us.”

“Put that blade away, officer. Attacking would be mutiny,” said Doran, fondling the hilt of his own weapon.

Mr James stopped and then shrugged and said, “I shan’t murder you here, alone. Cap’n. Plenty of others want their chance too.”

With that, Mr James faded from view. Trembling with fear, Doran returned to the wheel, guiding the Blade out into the open water off the promontory.

There was an explosion of water ahead of the Blade and a dark mass rose from the water.  It was easily thrice the size of the Blade, and bigger even than the Tempest. Its figurehead was a goddess, her fist raised to the sky. Gilding spread along the prow like wings from her back. Four towering masts rose from the ship’s deck, adorned with white sails like the Tempest and blue and gold ones like those that had graced the Acdrenc Stefna. A ghostly crew of men and elves stalked the deck, and even at this distance, Doran was sure he could see Mr James at the helm of the enormous ship.

Doran’s new first mate, an old sailor called Dask, hurried to the helm and said, “Sir, what do we do?”

Doran’s jaw was set and he growled, “We run. Have someone man the mangonel though. If we get a clean shot, we take it.”

Dask, ignoring his fear, began shrieking orders at the Blade’s small crew. They set to, years of work on ships overriding their terror, their muscles doing what they knew to do. Doran heaved on the wheel, spinning the Blade about in front of the ghost ship. There was the smack of the Blade’s sails pulling taut in the gale, and Doran felt the cutter surge forward.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw the figure-head of the ghost ship gleaming in the storm light. He also saw the elf above it raising a bow and nocking an arrow. He dove to the side, and the arrow thudded into the deck where he had been standing.

“Mr Dask!” he yelled, “If you would care to provide some form of covering fire for me that would be greatly appreciated.”

The first mate hurried aft, carrying a large crossbow. He nodded to his captain and then hefted the weapon and screamed, “Eat this, you mother-loving son of a tree!”

The old man nodded with satisfaction as the elf screamed in agony. He looked to Doran and said, “At least they feel pain. The mangonel is ready when you are, captain.”

“Prodenese Fire?”

Dask grinned, “Of course, captain.”

“Good, then get to it, and tell the men to hold on.”

Dask hurried away. When Doran saw he was in position he heaved once more on the ship’s wheel, sending the cutter veering to the right. There was a loud smack from the mangonel, and Doran spun the wheel again, setting the Blade once more on a southerly course.

Doran looked back at the ghost ship as there was a flash of blazing light and a loud boom. Dask had been on target, and deep orange and red flames now licked at the deck and masts of the ghost ship. The figures on board hurried about silently, some trying to douse the flames. Soon though, the flames had reached the sails, and were licking hungrily at them despite the rain.

He turned back to his task at the wheel, peering into the gloom ahead. Dask returned to his side and said breathlessly, “She isn’t slowing, captain.”

“I didn’t think she would. I get the distinct feeling they want me dead.”

“You know them, sir?”

Doran nodded, wiping water from his face, “They are the crews of the Tempest and the Acdrenc Stefna. Apparently they object to me surviving them.”

“You cannot be blamed for that!”

“Really?” laughed Doran, “They seem to disagree.”

“Sails ho!” cried the lookout.

“Good,” muttered Doran.

Dask looked puzzled, “Good, sir?”

“They will be the Hammer and the Purity. With any luck, we will be able to get past them and then they can deal with the ghosts.”

Dask didn’t say anything, only looking grim.

Doran looked back at the ghost ship and nearly yelped in shock. It loomed large out of the mists of the storm, its decks, masts, and sails ablaze. Framed by the firelight, Mr James still stood at the helm, roaring orders at his mixed crew. They did not fight the flames, but simply went about their work, striding through pillars of flame. The sails, although wreathed in flame, seemed unharmed.

Dask whispered, “They say the damned fear no fire or flame.”

“Then let us hope that they are least fear Kormouthian steel.” Doran pointed at the oncoming ships, their sails straining as the sped towards the Blade.

“Sir…” said Dask.

“Yes?”

“I don’t wish to trouble you, but have you noticed we are going south under full sail, and those ships are coming north under full sail too?”

Doran was silent for a while, watching the Kormouthian ships approach. Then he said quietly, “Reef the sails, if you would be so kind, Mr Dask.”

The first mate ran forward and starting giving orders. The sails were reefed just in time; Doran felt the wind change, and heard a loud creak from behind him as the ghost ship’s sails billowed back on themselves, causing the huge ship to grind to a halt. The Blade however, continued to glide forward on its speed.

Doran grinned as he watched the Hammer and Purity begin to change tack to try to intercept him. They were too late, however, and the Blade shot between them, missing their bowsprits by mere feet on either side. He could hear the captains yelling curses at them and waved to both of them in turn. He watched them frantically changing tack once more so their bowsprits did no become entangled, and then saw their faces fall when they sight the flaming ghost ship.

The Hammer fired first, sending heavy steel bolts crashing into the deck of the evil ship. The ghosts screamed in fury at this new foe, and the elves aboard began firing shadowy arrows down at the Kormouthian soldiers. The Purity changed course, swinging west and picking up speed before turning back in to face the new foe. Her catapults showered the ghosts with stone and flame, but Doran saw the real plan of the Purity’s captain. Nearly twelve feet ahead of the bow wave made by the ship, something was disrupting the water, sending up a fine spray which grew as the Purity built up momentum.

Doran had seen Purity’s ram once while she was in drydock. It was a long flanged steel affair, plated in copper. Menacing spurs protruded from its length, and its crown was shaped like a giant’s fist. He had never seen it in action, but had heard stories of it cutting smaller vessels in half. He saw the crew of the Purity brace and he winced as the ram smashed through the hull of the ghost ship. The struck ship, despite its size, rolled slightly, shuddering from the blow, its crew knocked from their feet.

Long sweeps slid out from the Purity and the crew began to furiously back water. More grinding and shuddering ensued as the ship dragged its ram back out from the bowels of the ghost ship, and Doran was sure that the Purity would get clear. At the last minute though, dozens of ropes snaked out from the ghost ship, and the thud of grapnels catching on wood rang out.

The Purity’s crew swarmed forward, and began hacking at the ropes. Even as they did, ghost sailors began to shimmy over, and leapt upon them, cutting them down.

Dask looked to his captain, “What do we do, sir.”

“Fire her.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me,” snapped Doran, “It will be a mercy for those aboard, and better to burn her to the waterline than let those fiends take another ship.”

Dask sighed, “Very well, sir.”

In less than a minute, the mangonel fired once more, setting the Purity ablaze. Sailor’s screamed in agony as ghostly weapons or flames stole their lives. Doran saluted the captain of the Purity sadly as he saw the man valiantly try to fight off half a dozen ghosts. He didn’t scream as he fell.

“Full sail, Mr Dask,” called out Doran, “I don’t want us here when that mess gets untangled.”

As the Blade began to make way, Doran looked over at the Hammer. Her captain had clearly made the same call as Doran, and the ship was turning about while launching more barrels of Prodenese Fire into the entangled ships. Doran and the Hammer’s captain saluted briefly, before turning back to their respective courses.

Just as the Purity began to be swallowed up by the mists and smoke, there was a blinding flash followed by an ear-splitting blast as her own payload of Prodenese Fire ignited. Doran shook his head sadly, and set a course to the north, to Illeth Moran.