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.
