Rise Of Empire (77 page)

Hadrian and the tiny crew of the stolen Dacca ship had only just reached the starboard side of the
Storm
when the area grew bright. The
Emerald Storm
was ablaze. Within little more than a minute, the fire had enveloped the deck. Men in the rigging had no choice but to jump. From that height, their bodies hit the water with a cracking sound. The rigging ignited, ropes snapped, and yards broke free, falling like flaming tree trunks. The darkness of the starless sea fell away as the
Emerald Storm
became a floating bonfire. Those near the rail leapt into the sea. Screams, cries, and the crackle and hiss of fire filled the night.

Looking over the black water, whose surface was alive with wild reflections, Hadrian spied a bit of sandy hair and a dark uniform. “Mr. Wesley, grab on!” Hadrian called, throwing a rope.

Hearing his name, Wesley turned, his face showing the same dazed expression as a man waking from a dream until he spotted Hadrian reaching out. He took the rope thrown and was reeled in like a fish and hoisted on deck.

“Nice to have you aboard, sir,” Hadrian told him.

Wesley gasped for air and rolled over, vomiting seawater.

“From that, I assume you’re happy to be here.”

“Wyatt!”Poe shouted.

“Royce!” Hadrian called.

“Over there!” Derning said, pointing.

Poe turned the tiller and they sailed toward the sound of splashing.

“It’s Bernie and Staul,” Grady announced from where he stood on the bow.

The two wasted no time scrambling up the ship’s ropes.

“More splashing over there!” Davis pointed.

Poe did not have to alter course, as the swimmers made good progress to them. Davis was the first to lend a hand. He reached out to help and a blade stabbed him in the chest before he was pulled overboard.

Hadrian saw them now—swarthy, painted brutes with long daggers, their wet, glistening skin shimmering with the light of the flames. They grabbed at the netting and scrambled like rats up the side of the tartane.

Hadrian drew his sword and lashed out at the nearest one, who dodged and stubbornly continued to climb. The Tenkin warrior, Staul, stabbed another in the face and the Dacca dropped backward with a cry and a splash. Bernie and Wesley joined in, thrashing wildly until the Dacca gave up and fell away into the darkness.

“Watch the other side!” Wesley shouted.

Staul and Bernie took positions on the starboard rail, but nothing moved.

“Any sign of Davis?” Hadrian asked.

“The man be dead now,” Staul said. “Be more careful who you sail to, eh?”

“Bulard!” Bernie said, pointing ahead to more swimmers.

“And three more over there,” Wesley announced, picking out faces in the tumultuous water. “One is Greig, the carpenter, and that’s Dr. Levy, and there is …”

Hadrian did not need Royce’s eyes to identify the other man. The infernal light coming off the burning ship suited the face. Sentinel Thranic swam toward them, his hood thrown back and his pale face gleaming. Derning, Bernie, and Staul were bad enough. Now they had Dovin Thranic, of all people.

Thranic needed no help as he climbed nimbly up the side of the little ship, his cloak soaked, his face angry. If he were a dog, Hadrian knew he would be growling, and for that he was pleased. Bulard, the man who had come aboard in the middle of the night, looked even paler than before. The reason became obvious the moment he hit the deck and blood mingled with seawater. Levy went to him and applied pressure to the wound.

“Hadrian … Poe!” Wyatt’s voice carried from the sea below.

Poe steered toward the sound as the rest stood on their guard. This time there was no need. Wyatt and Royce were alone swimming for the boat.

“Where were you?” Wyatt asked, climbing aboard.

“Sorry, boss, but it’s a big ocean.”

“Not big enough,” Derning said, looking over at what remained of the
Storm
, his face bright with the glow. “The Dacca are finally taking notice of us.”

The mainmast of the
Emerald Storm
, burning like a tree-sized torch, finally cracked and fell. The forecastle walls blazed. Seward, Bishop, and the rest had either been lost to blades or burned alive. The
Storm
had blackened and cracked, allowing the ship to take on water. The hull listed to one side, sinking from the bow. As it did, the fire was still bright enough to see several of the Dacca on the nearest vessel pointing in their direction and shouting.

“Wheel hard over!” Wyatt shouted, running for the tiller. “Derning, Royce, get aloft! Hadrian, Banner—the mainsail braces. Grady to the headsail braces! Who else do we have here? Bernie, join Derning and Royce. Staul, help with the mainsail. Mr. Wesley, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, perhaps you could assist Grady on the forward braces. Bring her round east-nor’east!”

“That will put us into the wind again!” Grady said even as Wyatt brought the ship round.

“Aye, starboard tack. With fewer crew, and the same ship, we’ll be lighter and faster.”

They got the ship around and caught what wind they could.

“Here, Banner, take the tiller,” Wyatt said as he scanned the deck. “We can dump some gear and lighten the load further. Who’s that next to you?”

Wyatt stopped abruptly when he saw Thranic look up.

“What’s he doing on board?” Wyatt asked.

“Is there a problem, helmsman?” Thranic addressed him.

“You fired the ship!” Wyatt accused. “Royce told me he saw you throw a torch in the hold. How many oil kegs did you break to get it to go up like that?”

“Five, I think. Maybe six.”

“There were elves—they were locked in the hold—trapped down there.”

“Precisely,” Thranic replied.

“You bastard!” Wyatt rushed the sentinel, drawing his cutlass. Thranic moved with surprising speed and dodged Wyatt’s attack, throwing his cloak around Wyatt’s head and shoving the helmsman to the deck as he drew a long dagger.

Hadrian pulled his swords and Staul immediately moved to intercept him. Poe drew his cutlass, as did Grady, followed quickly by Defoe and Derning.

From the rigging above, Royce dropped abruptly into the
midst of the conflict, landing squarely between Thranic and Wyatt. The sentinel’s eyes locked on him and smoldered.

“Mr. Wesley!” Royce shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on Thranic. “What are your orders, sir?”

At this everyone stopped. The ship continued to sail with the wind, but the crew paused. Several glanced at Wesley. The midshipman stood frozen on the deck, watching the events unfold around him.

“His
orders?” Thranic mocked.

“Captain Seward, Lieutenants Bishop and Green, and the other midshipmen are dead,” Royce explained. “Mr. Wesley is senior officer. He is, by rights, in command of this vessel.”

Thranic laughed.

Wesley began to nod. “He is right.”

“Shut up, boy!” Staul snapped. “It’s time we took care of this business here.”

Staul’s words brought Wesley around. “I am no boy!” Turning to Thranic, he added, “What I am,
sir
, is the acting captain of this ship, and as such, you, and everyone else”—he glanced at Staul—
“will
obey my orders!”

Staul laughed.

“I assure you this is no joke, seaman. I also assure you that I will not hesitate to see you cut down where you stand, and anyone else who fails to obey me.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Staul asked. “This is not the
Emerald Storm.
You command no one here.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Hadrian flashed his familiar smile at Staul.

“Neither would I,” Royce added.

“Me neither,” Derning joined in, his words quickly echoed by Grady.

Wyatt got to his feet slowly. He glared at Thranic but said, “Aye, Mr. Wesley is captain now.”

Poe, Banner, and Greig acknowledged with a communal “Aye.”

What followed was a tense silence. Staul and Bernie looked at Thranic, who never took his gaze off Royce. “Very well,
Captain,”
the sentinel said at length. “What are your orders?”

“I hereby promote Mr. Deminthal to acting lieutenant. Everyone will follow his instructions to the letter. Mr. Deminthal, you will confine your orders to saving this vessel from the Dacca and maintaining order and discipline. There are to be no executions and no disciplinary actions of any kind without my authorization. Is that clear?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Petty Officer Blackwater, you are hereby appointed master-at-arms. Collect the weapons, but keep them at the ready. See to it Mr. Deminthal’s and my orders are carried out. Understood?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Mr. Grady, you are now boatswain. Dr. Levy, please take Mr. Bulard below so that he can be properly cared for. Let me know if there is anything you need. Mr. Derning will be top captain. Seamen Defoe and Melborn, report to him for duties. Mr. Deminthal, carry on.”

“Your sword.” Hadrian addressed Staul. The Tenkin hesitated but, after a nod from Thranic, handed the blade over. As he did, he laughed and cursed in the Tenkin language.

“You’d have found that a bit harder than you think,” Hadrian replied to Staul, and he was rewarded with the Tenkin’s shocked expression.

Wyatt had everything nonessential and not attached to the ship thrown overboard. Then he ordered silence and whispered the order to change tack. The boom swung over, catching the wind and angling the little ship out to sea. Well behind them, the last light of the
Emerald Storm
disappeared, swallowed by the waves. Not quite so far away, they could see lanterns
bobbing on the following ships. From the shouts, it was clear they were displeased at losing their prize. All eyes faced astern, watching the progression of lanterns as the Dacca continued following their previous tack. After a while, two ships altered course but guessed incorrectly and turned westward. Eventually all the lanterns disappeared.

“Are they gone?” Hadrian heard Wesley whisper to Wyatt.

He shook his head. “They just put out the lanterns, but with luck they will think we’re running for ground. The nearest friendly port is Wesbaden back west.”

“For a helmsman, you’re an excellent commander,” the young man observed.

“I was a captain once,” Wyatt admitted. “I lost my ship.”

“Really? In whose service, the empire or a royal fleet?”

“No service. It was
my
ship.”

Wesley looked astonished. “You were … a pirate?”

“Opportunist, sir. Opportunist.”

Hadrian awoke to a misty dawn. A steady breeze pushed the tartane through undulating waves. All around them lay a vast and empty sea.

“They are gone,” Wesley said, answering the unasked question. “We have lost them.”

“Any idea where we are?”

“About three days’ sail from Dagastan,” Wyatt answered.

“Dagastan?” Grady muttered, looking up. “We’re not headed there, are we?”

“That was my intention,” Wyatt replied.

“But Wesbaden is closer.”

“Unfortunately, I confess no knowledge of these coasts,” Wesley said. “Do you know them well, Mr. Deminthal?”

“Intimately.”

“Good. Then tell us, is Mr. Grady correct?”

Wyatt nodded. “Wesbaden is closer, but the Dacca know this and will be waiting in that direction. However, since it’s impossible for them to be ahead of us, our present course is the safest.”

“Despite our earlier differences, I agree with Mr. Deminthal,” Thranic offered. “As it turns out, Dagastan was the
Storm’s
original destination, so we must continue toward it.”

“But Dagastan is much farther away from Avryn,” Wesley said. “The
Storm’s
mission was lost with her sinking. I have no way of knowing her original destination, and even if I did, I have no cargo to deliver. Going farther east only increases our difficulties. I need to be mindful of provisions.”

“But you do have cargo,” Thranic announced. “The
Storm’s
orders were to deliver myself, Mr. Bulard, Dr. Levy, Bernie, and Staul to Dagastan. The main cargo is gone, but as an officer of the realm, it’s your duty to fulfill what portion you can of Captain Seward’s mission.”