The Path of the Storm (24 page)

The cases were fascinating, but Ella forced herself to concentrate on the details, scanning each set of notes swiftly before moving onto the next.

Yet she stopped at one thick file in particular, unable to stop reading. This case was from the time the Rebellion broke out, a time within the span of years Ella was interested in. Over twenty years ago, the Western Rebellion was the war that saw Miro and Ella's father, the Alturan High Lord Serosa Torresante, executed by the Emperor. It was the war that made them orphans.

The story of the war's inciting event was familiar. The Halrana High Lord at the time had married his only daughter to Emperor Xenovere. A man of uncertain temper, Xenovere had beaten his new wife in a sudden rage, killing her.

The Emperor had tried to cover up what he'd done, but Lord Aidan Alderon, a man married to Xenovere's sister, secretly passed the true story to the Halrana High Lord.

The Halrana called on their steadfast allies, the Alturans. The result was the Western Rebellion.

The case Ella now held in her hands was the set of notes from Lord Aidan's trial.

Inevitably, Lord Aidan was found guilty of treason. Lady Alise, the Emperor's sister, pleaded with her brother to save her husband's life. Her desperate words were recorded, and Ella felt her throat catch.

Xenovere was unrelenting, and Lord Aidan was killed by hanging, the penalty for treason. He then intended to hang Lord Aidan's body from the Wall for three days. But after further begging from Lady Alise, Xenovere relented, and allowed his sister to intern her husband's body in the nobles' cemetery in Westcliff.

The case summary ended there, but directed the reader to another file, the trial of Lady Alise.

Ella hunted through the records until she found it. This case continued the sad story of Lord Aidan's family. Unable to look away, Ella read on.

The Rebellion became a full-fledged war. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her brother the Emperor, Lady Alise had been pregnant with Lord Aidan's child. During his trial, Lord Aidan must have known his wife carried his child, Ella realised. Poor man!

As the war raged, Lady Alise gave birth to a traitor's child. Fearing for her life and that of her son, Alise tried to flee Tingara and her mad brother. The Emperor's men caught them trying to find passage to Altura, and after a summary trial, Xenovere's sister was also convicted of treason.

Whatever feelings the Emperor had left caused him to exile his sister to the Isle of Ana, a small rock off Tingara's eastern coast. The child was taken from Lady Alise and never seen again.

Ella put down the papers and looked up, absorbed in the tale. She suddenly had an idea, and found the custodian as quickly as she could.

"Please," she said, "I need to see a register of nobles."

It was a simple request, and soon Ella was turning the heavy pages. It didn't take her long to find them

"Lady Alise," she spoke aloud. "Hair colour: brown, eye colour: brown." She flipped through the pages some more, finally finding it. "Lord Aidan. Hair colour: red, eye colour: blue."

Ella needed one final confirmation. She again found the custodian, a hawk-eyed man with patrician features, "I need your help."

"What is it?"

Ella couldn't hide what she was looking for and still seek the custodian's help. She showed him the trial of Lady Alise. "The child that was taken from her. How would I find out his name?"

The custodian looked at Ella with grave eyes. "I don't need to search the records to tell you," he said. "It was no small thing."

Ella held her breath.

"I remember it clearly. The child's name," the custodian said, "was Killian."

Ella's heart pounded in her chest.

She had been looking for Killian's parents, but she'd never expected to find this.

Ella needed to know one last thing.

She scanned the register of nobles until it became clear.

"Lord of the Sky," she breathed.

Killian, orphan from Salvation, as the nephew of the last Emperor, was Xenovere's closest living relative.

Killian was the heir to the Empire.

22

M
IRO
woke to a fierce headache, the blood throbbing inside his head, pounding into his temples with hammer-like blows.

The sun was bright and the sea was calm. He tried to sit up, but felt arms pushing him gently back down.

"Please," it was Amber's voice, "don't get up. I'm sorry you're still on deck but I haven't had a chance to move you to the cabin."

"What happened?"

"The mizzen mast fell and something cracked you on the head. The ship came about and almost capsized. You nearly went over the side."

"How did you…?"

Miro could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "Luck, and a very long night."

"You need to rest," Miro groaned.

"I do, but you need it more than I do. You've got a lump the size of my fist on your head. There was blood. Lord of the Sky, I can't tell you how scared I was. But you weren't cut deeply. Now rest."

"How's the ship?"

"We've lost both masts and the two big sails. There was a small headsail in the forward stowage area, which I've rigged using a line and what was left of the mizzen mast. We have some steerage, which is better than nothing. At least the storm has passed. Get some rest. I'm going to try to catch some fish using some of the bloody rag I mopped your head with."

~

T
HE NEXT
time Miro woke he felt much better, albeit unbelievably thirsty. He stood up and looked around the deck.

Amber had been busy, and rather than the chaos he'd expected he instead noticed the emptiness where the main mast had been. The smaller mizzen mast — what remained of it — had been lashed to the main mast's stump. At the top of the mizzen mast a stiff line ran to the bowsprit, and a small triangle of sail had been unfurled from the line.

Miro found Amber up on the stern castle; she'd lashed the tiller in place but was keeping an eye on it while she filleted two small fish.

"What would I do without you?" Miro said.

"Drown," Amber said, looking up and smiling slightly. There were blue marks under her eyes; it must have been days since she'd slept. "Here," she handed Miro a chunk of raw fish.

Miro gulped it down, his stomach gnawing as he did, craving more. He then gulped down the water Amber offered him.

He waited until Amber finished with the fish, keeping the head, guts and tail for bait, and then spoke. "I'll be all right now. Go to the cabin and get some rest."

Amber stood, wobbling as she did, before clambering to the stern cabin without another word.

Miro sat down beside the tiller and checked their course. Still bearing west, he noted. He couldn't believe their luck. The storm had come unexpectedly and faster than he could have imagined, but the
Intrepid
had made it through.

He heard splashing sounds and looked down at the side of the caravel with alarm. He relaxed when he saw playful creatures, porpoises, he knew they were called, frolicking and rolling onto their backs. They paced the ship for a time, grinning toothily at Miro and spraying water out of their blowholes, and then they were gone.

The setting sun told Miro he still headed west. The sky was clear but he frowned when he saw a low line of dark clouds on the horizon.

"Please," he whispered, "not another storm."

A sudden boom split the air, but this wasn't the crash of thunder. A whining sound split the air and a tall splash of water fountained up in front of the
Intrepid's
bow. At the same time Miro turned and saw the source of the explosion, he realised he hadn't been looking at clouds.

It was land.

Amber came running out onto the deck. "What was that?"

She turned and gasped when she saw the ship.

It was painted in garish colours, just like the facades of the abandoned buildings on Valetta, and as big as the great vessel Miro had seen in the dry dock. It was much larger than the
Delphin
, the free cities galleon they'd travelled in with Captain Meredith, and while it had a similar construction, with three masts and raised decks fore and aft, it was different in more than just its colouring.

Shuttered windows were lined in a row along the ship's side, shutters now pulled open by chains. Bronze tubes, akin to those Miro had seen back on the island, had been run out of the openings, their mouths pointing out the ship's port side.

There was a puff of smoke, and Miro again heard the explosive sound. It reminded him painfully of the device from the wedding. Water shot up, close to the caravel's bow this time.

"I think they want us to stop," Miro said. "We don't have a chance against those weapons."

Amber scurried to the bow where she furled in the sail while Miro turned the caravel into the wind. They instantly lost all speed.

Miro looked at the looming ship as it steadily grew larger and closer. He could now see men with swords, stocky men with bronzed skin and uniforms coloured blue and brown.

"Amber," Miro said, "you'd better go below decks."

The foreign ship hit the caravel with a crash. Looking for the cutlass, Miro found it looped to the makeshift mast by a length of rope. He drew it and faced this new enemy.

He wasn't sure if they wanted to fight, or to parlay, but if they wanted to fight, he would oblige them.

A clipped voice called out. The accent was foreign, but the words were clear. "Take the ship. Check the hold," the voice ordered. "Kill the crew. They're in our waters. They should know better."

"Stay below decks!" Miro called back to Amber.

A sailor with a curved sword jumped down to the deck, while another followed. Miro moved back to give himself space. It didn't matter now what strange weapons the ship possessed. The captain wouldn't fire on his own men.

The cutlass wasn't as sharp as it had once been, but the handle was ribbed, providing Miro a firm grip, and the hilt encompassed his hand in a protective guard. The blade was curved and heavy at the front, made for slashing combat in confined quarters. The last time Miro had fought on board a ship, he'd been taken unawares, his sword too long to wield. This time he was ready.

Miro's first opponent hacked down from overhead. Miro came in close and slammed the solid metal of the cutlass into the sailor's jaw. He kicked his opponent away as the man went down, keeping the deck clear and the sailor where he could see him.

The next swordsman slashed from left to right, coming in fast. Miro shifted to the side as his attacker came forward, spinning around the sailor's back and thrusting into his chest, withdrawing the cutlass tipped with blood. Like the first man, Miro kicked this one to the side, clearing space for his next attacker and making it difficult for his enemies to surround him.

Miro's training at the Pens under Blademaster Rogan had prepared him for this day. The boys Rogan had taught didn't use enchanted blades, they used normal swords, but the practice swords were sharp, and a mistake could be deadly. Miro thanked Rogan that he wasn't dependant on the magic of his zenblade and the protection of his armoursilk. Miro was a bladesinger, but he didn't need Altura's lore to be deadly.

A third swordsman feinted and thrust. Miro blocked the thrust, turning the sword to the side, before punching the sailor's lantern jaw with his left fist. Miro's opponent dropped his guard, and a slash across the throat finished him.

Miro shoved the dying man into the next attacker, and as the sailor stumbled Miro chopped at his neck. Crying out, the sailor fell over the side of the caravel with a cry.

Miro's breathing came strong and regular, though sweat poured down his face as he fought in the late afternoon sun. The lump on his head was forgotten, the weakness caused by the travails of his journey now gone. He took down two more men, yet still more attackers took their places, jumping down to the deck of the caravel and roaring as they attacked.

Miro thrust and slashed, leaping up to the rail and dodging behind the mast. All the while, he guarded the companionway that led below decks. He would never let his enemies past to where Amber waited in terror.

He despatched a swordsman with a feint and thrust, and another with a cut across the abdomen. More men kept coming, and Miro kept taking them down.

Suddenly Miro heard a crack, and felt a bite on his arm. The sound caused his attackers to halt.

"Stop!" a voice called out. It was the same voice Miro had heard order the attack.

Miro looked up at the rail of the foreign ship. He could see a tall man standing where he'd been watching the fight, a cadre of officers around him. The tall man wore a dark blue hat with a feather, and Miro knew this must be the captain.

Beside the captain two men held long stick-like devices pointed in Miro's direction. A trail of smoke rose from one of the sticks.

Miro looked at his arm and saw a small line of blood where something had cut through his sleeve. He had no idea what manner of weapon the sticks were but he wished for his rail-bow.

He thought about the explosion at the wedding. At least he'd made it to the right place.

"Draw back," the captain ordered, and the swordsmen fell back, leaving Miro exposed to the marksmen. His eyes met Miro's. "Do you surrender?"

"Do you guarantee the safety of my wife and myself?"

"Your wife," the captain said, an amused expression on his face. "Yes, I guarantee it. While on my ship neither of you will be harmed."

"Amber, come out," Miro said. He threw the cutlass to the floor.

The sailors came forward and marched Miro and Amber to the side of the strange ship. At sword point they climbed a ladder and were soon under guard on the ship's deck.

A sailor searched the hold of the
Intrepid
, then climbed up the ladder and reported to the captain. "There's nothing worth taking, Commodore," the sailor said.

"Sink the ship," the captain said. "Let's give our gunners some practice."

Sails were set, and Miro and Amber watched stoically as the bronze barrels sent shot after shot at the
Intrepid
.