Chương 34: 33 Storm in Rafael’s Cove

"Get back, Uncle," I snapped, shrinking further behind Ingred. I was under no illusions. Had I been a genuine threat, I'd be bleeding out on the docks with both arms ripped off before I could blink.

"Step closer, and the boy gets it!" the convict with a grey ponytail snapped. His shiv pressed into the boy's neck. My hand tightened on the back of Ingred's lapel, and I felt her tense through the fabric. My eyepatch itched as sweat pooled beneath it. I glanced back. The cabin boy had gone white as chalk, both hands on the convict's wrist in a death grip. Not even out of the city, and innocent people were paying for our deception.

More feet pounded on the dock, and another group of five prisoners skidded to a halt. Their eyes darted from the gangplank to the shadow that barred our way.

"Back, Uncle," I hissed.

"Or she dies." The woman in the Naga-kin's grasp trembled, tears sliding down her face. Kerelev's jaw worked, dark eyes moving from one hostage to the next. The muscles in his ropy forearms rippled. Sunlight glinted off his short swords. A cool breeze hit me from behind, and a darkened mass rumbled in the sky just outside the cove. A storm was coming fast, conjured by Granduncle himself as a smokescreen to ensure my escape. Kerelev's voice slid out like a knife cutting dry leather.

"If you hurt any one of them, I'll see that your names become a warning whispered across the ocean." He tensed, as if making to step forward, and I pressed the barrel sharply into Ingred's head. I winced inwardly at the motion. She inhaled sharply, and he stopped. He wasn't done.

"You'll be my standard, my example. Every scum from one end of Jorg to the other will know what happened to you and understand that Paradise is off limits." I swallowed, but my throat was dry.

"Back!" I tried to shout. It escaped barely more than a whimper. He watched me. His chest rose and fell once, then twice. Finally, he stepped away.

"Hey!" I snapped at those holding hostages. I stopped. How would I look if I asked them to let their hostages go? I couldn't. The mission came first. The cobra-headed Naga-kin's fangs indented the flesh on the woman's neck, but didn't draw blood. More convicts crowded around us, stopping short of Kerelev as if a psionic force bubble kept them back. The boy whimpered, and my teeth locked tight. Mission first.

"Get the hostages on board." I pushed Ingred forward, stepping up the gangplank using her as a buffer between my escapees and the Uncle.

"If he even blinks—" my voice caught, then I centered myself. It wasn't enough to play pretend. I had to be.

"If he even blinks, kill them." Something cracked inside as I said the words. It was the only thing a slaver would say in my shoes. The Naga-kin plucked the woman by the waist, jerking her toward the gangplank, and she shrieked, hands reaching for Kerelev.

"Don't let them—help!" It hurt him—the same way it wounded me. I saw it plainly in the way his jaw worked, the twitch in his eye. He could save her, probably easily, but then the mission was over. Blood flowed into my face as he just stood there. I—I wanted him to blow our cover, to stop me. We'd try again. What mission could be worth two innocents?

"Do as they say!" Ingred shouted, hands up at her sides.

"They won't hurt us if we obey." Clever Ingred. I wasn't sure if she was planting conditions in the captor's minds or quelling resistance, but either way, hysteria was what would get them killed. The one with the cabin boy stomped up into the Ash Zephyr next, then they flowed up the gangplank, shying as far away from Kerelev as possible, as if he were a furnace and mere proximity would blister flesh. The slowest of my escapees arrived at last, panting and red in the face.

A Gnome and a Kobold with the shortest legs sucked air as if they'd just been drowning. Mordisco, Drogo, and Needles brought up the rear, along with Jaser, the Halfling slaver.

"Cast off stern lines!" I barked.

"Bow stays firm." Wind nudged me forward, a sharp whistle growing, and the sky darkened.

"You think you're going to sail away?" Kerelev snorted.

"In that?" He jerked his head at the Ash Zephyr, her armored black plating dragging her low in the water. He grinned, and I shivered.

"It's the slowest ship in the bay."

"Doesn't matter. If you follow, they die!" I said.

"That trick'll work on me," he said, voice without intonation.

"Not him." His gaze shot past my shoulder, and I twisted. Rage wrapped in steel slammed Justice against his shield, and orange light flashed around the Dwarf in a thunderclap. I just about wet myself.

"Headsail up, now!" I bellowed.

"Don't luff—trim to the wind!" Some genius on board cast off the bowline, and the ship started drifting away from the dock. The gangplank groaned as it shifted. I blinked dumbly. The idiots were leaving without me. On second thought, maybe that made them the smart ones. A growl escaped me as I dropped, plucking Ingred up around the waist. Dwarves aren't like gnomes or Halflings. We called them stouts for a reason. They're indisputably more solidly built than even humans.

I stumbled, half carrying, half dragging her.

"Grab my hair!" she hissed. I set her down, caught her thick white braid, and pulled. She moved with me, hands clasped to her head as a slew of curses barraged me. Bruk stomped forward from one end of the pier. Kerelev glided forward from the other. I jerked Ingred up the gangplank by the hair, and the board shifted underfoot. My free hand flailed. I was almost slipping off the ramp, but I regained balance.

"Go!" I hissed. I hoped no one was watching because she most definitely ran without resistance. We both sprinted the final steps, leaping onto the deck as the gangplank slid away, crashing into the water.

"Cut the gaskets!" I screamed.

"Away now!" Needles flowed up the mast, one of his long daggers flashing in his hand. Thunder cracked—close, as icy droplets began pattering on the planks. The Goblin scurried across the horizontal yard, knife flashing as he sheared the lashings free. The bellowing sail dropped free, air catching and filling the ragged sheet.

"Keep those hostages visible and alive!" I shouted as I scrambled to my feet and rushed up the quarterdeck. A man in a grey jumpsuit with a ragged beard stood at the helm, jerking it one way then the next, clearly showing that his feet had never left solid ground.

"Move!" I snarled. He met my gaze with wild eyes. Not in a negotiating mood, I leveled my pistol, loaded with powder, but no shot. He didn't know that. Eyes on the weapon, he stepped away from my wheel. I jammed the pistol into its holster and caught hold of the helm.

"Trim those sheets!" I roared, watching the grey jumpsuits move with all the coordination of toddlers chasing a chicken. My Goblins, fortunately, knew what they were doing and corralled a few of the prisoners into grabbing the sheet lines and hauling them. The Ash Zephyr moved, tugging away from the dock.

"Coast guard, incoming!" the tattooed Dwarf called, pointing. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. My head snapped around to find two sloops pulling into the cove. Trajectory cones lit up in my vision as their gun ports hinged open.

"Who knows cannons?" I called.

"Aye!" the Dwarf called.

"I can run a gun!" a Ratkin called.

"Stick to the swivel guns on the deck!" I called.

"We just need cover to pull away, not sink them." My gaze shifted to Ingred, now pressed up against the bulwark by a Lizard-kin, claws tight on her throat. Kerelev and Bruk shrank slowly, standing on the edge of the dock. Rifles popped, and I flinched. Guardsmen rushed from dockside buildings, lining up and taking potshots in our direction. A trajectory cone highlighted me, and I ducked low. The bullet zipped over where I'd been standing a moment later.

Grey Ponytail pulled the cabin boy to the stern of the ship, shiv to the hostage's throat. He screamed at the guards, face red with rage. That boy flinched, grabbing his wrist tighter, as the edge drew a thin red line. I almost dropped the helm. The boy was about to die under the blade of a sociopath.

"Mordisco!" I barked. The Hobgoblin's eyes snapped to me as he adjusted the sheets. I jerked my head towards Grey Ponytail. Mordisco nodded once and moved. Grey Ponytail pulled the shank tighter, and the cabin boy sobbed as a line of red trickled down his neck. Mordisco wasn't going to make it. My hands loosened on the wheel, my nerves firing, driving me to spring at the madman, to smash his face into the bulwark, then dump him over the side. Mordisco saw the look in my eye, then rushed to beat me to it.

The Hobgoblin seized the man's wrist, peeling the knife away. Grey Ponytail whirled on him, snarling.

"We don't damage merchandise!" Mordisco snapped back, meeting his ferocity. Grey Ponytail's eyes darted with madness, taking in the mercenary. Whatever sanity the convict possessed bled through the rage. Rain spattered down on them, splashing off the Hobgoblin's stiff shoulders and lean face. Swinging on Mordisco would have been decidedly unhealthy.

"If you can't sail, find someone who knows what they're doing and help!" I snapped in their direction. Grey Ponytail nodded and stepped back. The boy sank to the deck, sobbing. Mordisco met my eye, frowning in disappointment. I'd nearly jeopardized the mission just to save a prisoner. I returned his stare without apology. Maybe I wasn't the best person for the job. I was okay with that. Water crashed, a pillar pluming in the air as a cannonball struck down. Moments later, the distant boom followed.

I tugged the helm, angling away. The Dwarf swiveled a deck-mounted light cannon towards the coastguard sloops. The Trajectory cone wavered as wind whipped back and forth. I shivered as the rain started sleeting down and the waves picked us up and dropped us with more wrath.

"How do these fire?" the Dwarf called.

"No linstock."

"Ignition cap!" I hollered back.

"On top!" He nodded, studying the mechanism for only a moment before manipulating it as if he were born to it. One of the sloop's bow chasers' trajectory cones started drifting closer, the arc slicing through the air. I gave the ship a twenty-degree adjustment, and the cone passed us. Between the waves, rain, and wind, it was a miracle if anyone could hit anything. A hollow ping rang out, like a high sanctum bell, and the ship lurched. I shifted as the crew cried out in panic.

Hidden on my eyepatch side, a new vessel approached—a monster. I flipped my eyepatch up, brows rising. A floating fortress barreled towards us with a speed that spoke to the influence of an arcane deck. I recognized it. The Civil Lad. A Hobgoblin ship-of-the-line and pride of the Dreadmaw Flotilla. Two gun decks protruded from each side, stacked on top of each other, each one sprouting at least ten cannons.

On board, a crew of at least two hundred Goblin mercenaries clambered as they made the leviathan of a ship ready. When raiding, you sent corsairs. When you wanted to erase entire ships from existence, you sent a ship-of-the-line. Mordisco cursed.

"Brine. We got Dreadmaw, incoming!" Radiant gold trajectory cones, visible only to my eyes, winked to life from the cannon barrels as gun ports opened. They didn't cast straight paths, but arched, rising high then falling. Over twenty overlapping fields of fire on either side, painting entire swaths of water as threat zones. I opened my messages and dropped a line straight to Kerelev. <<Tony: Hey! Is the Civil Lad supposed to be in port today?

>> Trajectory paths from deck swivel guns and four bow chasers washed towards us. <<Uncle Kerelev: Oh, tex. Yeah. >> I gritted my teeth. Yeah? This oversight could use more than a "yeah." <<Tony: Send them a message. Tell them not to turn my ship into matchsticks. >> Trajectory spotlights drifted closer to the Ash Zephyr. Naomi would kill me if I sank her ship in under twenty minutes. <<Kerelev: I can't. Hobgoblin fleets don't have linkstones. Lose them the old-fashioned way. >> I cursed.

"Brace!" I cried, voice contesting with the wind as I hauled the wheel. Spokes and handles spun, shifting my ship's short trajectory cone away from the path of one of the bow chasers. Smoke bellowed through the rain. Water plumes jetted around us, and the rumble of cannon fire hit like delayed thunder. The turn set the wind gusting across the sails.

"Ease the sheets!" I hollered, tracking the trajectory reads from the sloop chasers on the port side. Only four of my improvised crew understood the command and rushed to action. I nudged the helm, steering the Ash Zephyr from intersecting with a cone of light. The cannonball impacted the water rather than the hull. I stared, dumbfounded. That was a dodge. I'd just steered out of the path of a cannonball. Ordinarily, evasion wasn't something one did on a ship that size.

You fled and hoped you wouldn't be hit, but as I watched the vectors of the artillery and my vessel, I had enough warning to make meaningful adjustments at long range. Cannonballs struck down, spraying water. A laugh tore from my lips. I wasn't flying, but the wind was still my weapon, and motion my shield. The Dwarf snarled as he pivoted the light swivel gun toward the Civil Lad.

"That's a hard miss in this wind!" I called, reading the trajectory. He glared at me.

"Tilt it up," I said, shifting my gaze from the bow to the light cannon on the deck.

"All the way." The cone arched. The light faded into obscurity the further it went.

"Down just a hair," I called. The Dwarf watched me, scowling, but he eased the swivel.

"Left!" I called as I angled us away from another probable impact.

"Twelve degrees. A hair more." At this distance, the radius of the cone was massive, and it shifted and swayed with the crash of the waves, but it centered on the Civil Lad, which wasn't exactly a minnow.

"Let'r have it!" The Dwarf slammed a fist on the ignition cap, and the cannon thundered. I followed its path, the cone shortening behind the ball as it sped away. The cannonball struck the ship-of-the-line's hull, but glanced off a rippling blue arcane shield. A surprised cry escaped the gunner, and he turned back to me with a grin. At this range, in this weather, with the light artillery, that should have been impossible. Maybe it was time to hang up the sword and focus my feats on sailing.

The helm just felt so right in my hand. A trajectory cone spotlit the main deck, washing over it and bathing at least four of the crew, including Drogo. I tensed.

"Brace!" I roared as I spun the wheel hard over. My heavy brig was slow to answer, but still she pivoted. Convicts screamed as the deck jumped, several of them losing their footing. The planks tilted under me, wood and steel groaning as the rudder strained. The trajectory spotlight slid across the deck as we turned away—not fast enough. Smoke billowed from one of the Civil Lad's bow-chaser guns. A cannonball snapped forward, riding down its cone.

The back end of the trajectory read vanished as the ordnance zipped down the luminous cone.

"Drogo!" I hollered. The Hobgoblin's gaze snapped to mine.

"Down!" I screamed. He stood dead center in the light. His eyes widened, and he dropped. I leaned into the wheel with a cry, body straining as the Ash Zephyr answered just enough. The track of light winked out as the ball completed its arc. Steel screamed past, snapping Drogo's top hat away and tossing his black hair before it carried on to shatter a bulwark. I let off the wheel, and it spun on its own, correcting the sharp turn. The leading edge of the sail flapped violently, canvas snapping like pistol fire.

"Trim sails for new course!" Men surged, seizing and hauling the sheet lines. The sail filled again, and we lurched forward, rising and dropping with the waves.

"That capital ship's gaining!" the Dwarf called.

"Think they have a mage!"

"Then we'll have to go where they can't follow!" I shouted back. I hauled the wheel starboard twenty degrees, heading not for open water but toward the bar of shoals that stretched out away from Rafael's Cove.

"Wilson's Port?" the Dwarf called over the rain, reading the motion.

"You won't see the shallows."

"Don't need to!" I called back.

"Grew up here, I've been sailing these waters as long as I could swim!" The Dwarven convict went silent, turning his attention back toward our pursuers. I adjusted for an incoming shot, allowing it to whistle past. Down on the main deck, Ingred covered the vendor woman, both soaked to the skin. She met my eyes and nodded once. A massive trajectory shaft ignited across the sky, and then a bolt of lightning flashed immediately after. Its white glare illuminated my mad grin. Ingred wasn't the only one watching me.

While most of the crew clung to lines and handholds for dear life, others managed to look past the storm. The cobra-headed Naga-kin crouched low, eyes narrowed at me. Grey Ponytail clung to a rail, face twisted into a sneer. These were the ones who noticed details. They were the ones who would be dangerous. I pulled up my maps, interposing a top-down projection of the coast over my actual vision. I appeared as a blip on the system charts. I shifted the wheel, running parallel to a sandbar.

Thunder rumbled, or was it cannons? Didn't matter. Neither would strike my ship.

"How did you do it?" the tattooed Dwarf called over the gale.

"Do what?" I asked.

"You weave around cannon fire, and you aim cannons like a sharpshooter. It's almost as if you can see the future." My gaze snapped over to him, panic that I had exposed too much tightening my hands on the helm. Behind us, the Civil Lad started turning away, not willing to risk running aground in the storm.

"No," I shouted back.

"I can't see the future."

"Then how'd you do it? Are you a mage?"

"A mage? No." I stared into the storm, watching my map as I navigated the darkness.

"I'm just the best brine pilot in the entire World Archipelago." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 01: 02: 20: 11: 43>>