Scimitar Sun (52 page)

Cynthia opened her mouth to respond, but Feldrin’s hand on her arm held her back.

“Cyn, please, let me.” His calm tone surprised her. “You were scared, lad, and you reacted just about like I expected you would, but ya gotta understand that you started a
war
here. They attacked us because that crazy girl fired our catapult, which was my fault fer loadin’ the thing in the first place. The
Pride
coulda taken another salvo without sinkin’, and sailed right outta range. It mighta cost a few lives, but we wouldn’t be in our current pickle. What ya don’t understand is that Horace didn’t flatten you and chain you down here because you burned the
Clairissa
, but because you were cacklin’ like some kind of lunatic when you’d just killed twelve hundred men!”

“I didn’t laugh because of
that
!” he snapped, jumping to his feet. Cynthia took an involuntary step back, the heat of his rising power hitting her like a wall. “I just…I don’t know. The fire was so…it just took hold of me. It felt so…so good!”

“That I can understand,” Cynthia empathized, “to a certain degree. And I’m prepared to unlock those chains if you agree to one thing.”

“What?” His tone was instantly wary — understandably, Cynthia thought. He had been trapped by their agreements before.

“The mer took our son, Edan. He’s alive, and they’ve taken him, though exactly why, we’re still trying to figure out.” Her voice was shaking now; the emotions she’d held tightly under control for days were hammering against her nerves. “We’re going after them. We’re going to get our son back, and I’m going to use every resource, every weapon and every advantage I have to do that.”

“And you want me to help.” His lips pressed together in a hard line of anger and suspicion.

“That’s right. I want you to help. I don’t know how, yet, but I know the mer fear you. They fear you even more than they fear me, which in my opinion is stupid, but I’ve given up trying to figure them out. We’re going to find our son, and we’re going to take him back, and you’re going to help us.”

“And if I refuse?”

Cynthia felt Feldrin tense, his temper flaring, but she put a hand on his arm. “Then you’ll be restrained in the keep until we return, and then you’ll be handed over to the emperor when he comes asking who destroyed their flagship.”

“Nice,” he said, glaring at them both. “Do you always do this to people you promise to help, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you, Edan,” she said. She refused to feel the slightest hint of guilt. The thought of his power, his fire, and his anger, made her shudder, but the mer feared him as well. She would use that fear. She would use any weapon she could find to get her son back. “You’re too unpredictable, and too powerful for us to simply let you go. I don’t really care what you think of us. You either agree to help us, or you don’t. It’s your choice.”

“Not much of a choice,” he said sullenly, his glare unabated.

“None of us has had much of a choice in this,” she countered, one hand unconsciously resting over her flat stomach. “I’ve given you more choice than I had.”

Edan glared at them both for a few uneasy breaths, then nodded. “Fine, I’ll help you. Now get these things off my ankles, will you?”

“First thing tomorrow morning, Edan,” she promised, a thin smile on her lips. “Once we’re well out to sea.”

≈

“You’re sure this is what you want, Timothy?” Emil Norris asked as they stood on the beach of Plume Isle, facing the crystal-clear waters of the lagoon.

“Yes, Father. I think it’s better this way.” He loosened the jesses from Samantha’s legs and removed her hood. She screeched at the sudden brightness, then settled down, so accustomed to standing on his arm that even with her legs free, she did not fret. Tim reached up and caressed one of her wings with the back of his hand, then flung up his arm, launching the osprey into the air.

The bird cried out and soared over the lagoon, unfettered for perhaps the first time in her life. Tim and Emil watched for a long time while the majestic bird flew circles over the lagoon. Finally, she swooped low over the reef. Her clawed feet plunged into the calm water and she came up with a colorful fish, yellow and blue, that flapped vainly to escape. Samantha flew low toward them, well-trained, returning to her master, but Tim did not raise his hand to receive her and she turned away, landing on a nearby stump. For a moment the raptor looked at him, then at the fish in her claws, then back several times. Finally she bent her head to feed, tearing off small bits of flesh one at a time, turning her head almost completely around to wrestle each morsel free. Tim and Emil watched her eat.

“Well, it’s done,” Tim said, dropping the jesses and hood into the sand. “She’s free.” He looked up at his father with tears in his eyes, but the strong trade winds dried them before they could spill over.

“Yes, it’s done,” Emil Norris agreed, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. He looked up at the bird once more before they turned away and began to climb the trail back over the ridge to Scimitar Bay. “I wonder if she’ll ever come back to us?”

“I don’t think so, Father,” Tim said. He looked over his shoulder one more time, but his gaze was focused far out to sea, not on the osprey. “Once they learn to feed themselves, they never come back.”

≈

The black of a moonless night hung like a shroud over the myriad cuts and passes through the Shattered Isles, dangerous waters for the unexperienced to navigate in the dark — but the galleon
First Venture
was captained by an experienced man. They sailed downwind just north of Fire Isle, its burning peak a perfect beacon.
First Venture
was a big ship, three masts and nearly seven hundred tons fully loaded, and between the winds filling her canvas and the following seas, she was making ten knots.

All eyes were forward, captain and mate side by side on the quarterdeck, gauging the angle of the wind, the sightings of the island to the south, and the distant roar of the surf to the north. They were in deep water and running well, but they were vigilant nonetheless.

But no one was watching behind the ship, and in the darkness, the black-on-black of the tarred hulls and canvas of
Manta
were virtually invisible. The two-hulled craft swooped out of the night like a great bird of prey, coming right up to the galleon’s transom and veering off at the last moment, her starboard bow missing the larger ship’s quarter by less than the height of a man.

Grapples of fire-hardened wood that trailed lines of braided and tarred bark were thrown from the covert ship, then pulled taut the moment they found purchase along
First Venture’s
bulwarks. The thunk of the grapples, along with the flap of black sails as
Manta
slowed, snapped the attention of the captain and crew from their course to the bizarre sight of the two-hulled black ship right next to them. Then dark shapes swarmed up over the side, obsidian knives and clubs lashing out to tear sinew, break bones, and shatter skulls. There were a few cries of alarm from the crew, but not a word from the deadly efficient attackers. They swarmed down hatches, climbed the rig, delved into every cabin and quietly cut down everyone aboard.

Finally, when silence reigned, the
Manta’s
captain came aboard and gave the order to cut the grapple lines. The two ships parted, the galleon continuing west until she could turn to the north,
Manta
following in her wake under reduced sail.

Sam surveyed the carnage, twitching a little at the sight of her new family entertaining themselves with one of the crew who wasn’t quite dead. The deck was slick with blood, but she didn’t notice. Her bare feet left a trail of prints as she entered the sterncastle and trundled down the steps.

She ignored the few signs of struggle below decks and the scent of cooking from the galley as she worked her way aft to the captain’s cabin. She opened the door carefully, squinting in the bright lamplight. The cabin was huge and well-appointed with upholstered seats, an expansive table, and a bed — not a bunk, but a real bed. Its four teak posts were built into the deck and the overhead both — an unbelievable extravagance, even for a ship’s captain.

She searched quickly, finding the ship’s strongbox without difficulty even though it was cunningly secreted in the captain’s chart table. She pulled it out and eyed the lock. Likely the captain had the key on his person, but she didn’t want to take the time to search all the bodies. She drew her cutlass and smashed the hasp of the lock with the pommel. Just as she thought, the screws holding the bronze hasp were not deeply set into the wood of the chest. Two more blows broke the hasp off, and the lock and hasp clattered over the lid as she flung it open. Neat bags arranged in rows made her smile. They jingled when she lifted them.

She stood to call for help hauling the gold up onto the deck, then stopped as she heard a sound, a soft sniff, from under the bed. She made a face and lifted the coverlet with the tip of her sword. A girl about Sam’s own age cowered there, wedged into a dark corner, her skirts drawn up around her knees.

“Hey there!” Sam called softly, sheathing her sword and smiling at the girl’s frightened features. “Hey, come on out of there. I won’t hurt you.” She showed the girl her empty hands, but wasn’t surprised when she didn’t come out immediately. “Come on, come on out. Are you the captain’s lady, then? Come on out. He’s up on deck.”

“He’s…he’s on deck?” The girl’s voice was a trembling squeak, barely audible. “He’s alive?”

“He’s fine,” Sam lied, extending a hand, coaxing the girl out. “Come on, you can see for yourself. I won’t hurt you. I know I must look a frightful sight, but I’ve been shipwrecked for months. Come on.”

The girl edged forward and took Sam’s hand, coming out from under the bed in a flurry of skirts and petticoats.

“There now, see?” she said, examining the girl for a moment. “So, you must be the captain’s lady, with fine clothes like that.”

“His…mistress,” she admitted, cringing at her own use of the word. “He keeps me aboard.”

“Oh? He doesn’t let you go ashore at all?” Sam wrinkled her brow.

“Only with him. He knows I’ll run away if…if he lets me go alone.”

“Well, I’ll set you free then! How’s that?” Sam said, gripping the girl by the shoulder. “Would you like to be free?”

“Would you?” the girl’s face lit up, her eyes widening. “C…could you?”

“Why sure! It’s easy! Here, let me show you.”

Bright blood sprayed from the girl’s throat behind the razor-sharp obsidian blade, painting Sam’s face in droplets of crimson. The girl’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, two, then faded as she collapsed to the deck.

“See?” Sam said, her tongue flicking out to taste the warm droplets on her face. “You’re free! I told you it was easy.” She licked the broad obsidian blade and sheathed it, bending to relieve the girl of the large ruby ring on her finger.

“Dying’s easy,” she said, her lips pulling back from her sharp, pointed teeth in a shark-like grin. “It’s living that hurts.”