The Fifth Empire of Man

The Fifth Empire of Man

(Book 2 of Best Laid Plans)

by

Rob J. Hayes

Copyright ©2017 by Rob J. Hayes

(http://www.robjhayes.co.uk)

Cover image ©2016 by Alex Raspad

Cover design by Shawn King

Edited by Toby Selwyn

All rights reserved.

For everyone who waited.

And for rum!

Part 1 – Batten Down the Hatches

They will come at you again and again said the Oracle

We'll be ready said Drake

You will lose people said the Oracle

Chapter 1 - Starry Dawn

“What about the decorations?” Elaina said, thumbing towards the stocks.

Three men and one woman were locked into the wood-and-metal contraptions, where they faced both the heat of the day and the cold of the night without food or water, nor clothing on their backs. All four of them looked to be in a truly sorry state, and it seemed one of the men was already long past dead. There’s a certain smell that only corpses can produce, and it was strong in the air.

The little woman in the big cavalier hat snorted, and Elaina caught a glimpse of a sneer underneath the broad brim. “Ambassadors from the blooded, those of the bastards that still breathe anyway. They said something ’bout Thorn’s direct manner an’ Rose took exception to it. Don’t reckon we’ll be gettin’ no more ambassadors any time soon.”

Elaina grimaced. She was no stranger to pain or brutality and had caused more than her fair share of death, but a slow one was very different to a quick one.

“Say.” The little woman tilted her head so that her eyes were visible underneath her hat, and Elaina found a pair of shit-coloured browns twinkling at her. “You’re pretty much an ambassador, ain’t ya?”

Elaina fixed the smaller woman with a hard stare, but her tormentor simply cackled and started up the steps to the yellow-stone building.

Feeling at the mercy of others was something Elaina hated. Back home in Fango she was one of those in charge, respected and feared in equal measure for her skill and savagery as a pirate as much as for being the daughter of Tanner Black. Everywhere and anywhere you could sail in the Pirate Isles, Elaina Black was a name known and known well. Here in Chade she was just another person, a captain of her own ship but no one important. A large part of her wanted to run back to Starry Dawn and sail away, but her father had given her a job to do and it would be a long time before it brought her back to the Pirate Isles.

She wandered behind the little woman in a sort of daze, staring at the pillars to either side of the steps leading up to the doorway. The pillars held up an awning a good ten feet above them that provided welcome shade from the sun. Two guards stood either side of the waiting doorway, and both looked at Elaina with cold eyes behind metal helmets.

“Henry,” one of the guards said, with a nod to the little woman. “This the pirate?”

The cavalier hat bobbed. “She even came alone.”

Elaina had the feeling she was being mocked. She swallowed her pride and followed the woman past the two guards and through the door into the mansion.

“You’re Henry the Red, ain’t you?” she said.

“Aye.”

“Heard lots about the Black Thorn,” Elaina continued, hoping to get a rise out of her. “Heard you were with him for much of it. That’s about all they say of you.”

Henry the Red laughed, a harsh sound that echoed around the largely empty hallway. “Sounds like most of what ya heard is shit, girl.” She stopped in front of a door and turned to face Elaina. “They’re in there. See yaself in.”

Elaina started towards the door, but stopped when she realised her sword was still buckled to her belt. “Should I be leaving this with you?”

Again Henry the Red laughed. “Keep it. You’re walkin’ into a room with the Black Thorn an’ his Rose. Ya’d have ta be some special kind of dumb cunt ta draw steel in there.” With that last laugh, she turned and walked away, leaving Elaina standing alone inside the Lord and Lady of Chade’s home.

Elaina realised she had no idea whether she should knock or not. She imagined how she would feel if someone entered her cabin without knocking, and knew it would put her in very much a murderous state of mind. Of course, she also had to admit it would make for a much stronger and more confident entrance. Elaina shook her head with a growl and stopped procrastinating. She put her hand to the door and threw it open, stepping into the room beyond without pausing to take it in.

Perhaps it was the size of the room, or the grandeur of the furnishings – the rugs, bookshelves, and tapestries. Maybe it was the smell, clean but lived-in with just a hint of something flowery. Whatever it was, something made Elaina falter, and she stopped short of a loud announcement of her presence, instead standing motionless as her eyes swept across the room.

“Oh, the manners of pirates,” said a woman standing at the window. She was stunning, with perfect white skin, hair even darker than Elaina’s, and a sleek black dress that hugged her curves – including the fairly obvious bump of pregnancy. The woman turned fiercely intelligent eyes on Elaina. “It’s polite to introduce yourself upon entry, Captain Black.”

Elaina glanced around the room; it appeared they were alone. “Ya already know who I am. Seems a bit pointless to introduce myself.”

“We’re trying to civilise the Wilds,” the woman countered. “Manners are important.”

“You’re Rose?” Elaina said, taking a couple of steps forward.

The door slammed behind her and Elaina startled, hating herself for it. Looking back, she saw a big man, one of the ugliest she’d ever seen, lying on a padded sofa next to the door. A big-booted foot dangled off the edge of the sofa and a large axe lay on the floor nearby.

“Must you kick the door, Betrim?” Rose said.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and yawned through his patchy beard. The horrific scars on the left side of his face tugged his visage into a ghastly picture that made Elaina want to look away.

“Door gets closed no matter which way I close it,” he complained.

“Scuff marks.” Rose let the accusation hang.

The man leaned closer and looked at the door with his one eye. “Gives it a lived-in feel, I reckon.”

“You’re the Black Thorn?” Elaina said, trying to pull the attention back to herself before the two of them got into an argument over the décor.

“Aye,” Thorn said, standing and picking up his big axe. He walked past Elaina towards the desk at the far end of the room. He glanced at Rose. “She’s definitely a Black. Got her da’s eyes.”

“You’ve met my father?” Elaina said.

The Black Thorn nodded as he reached the far side of the room and leaned against the wall. “Unfortunately. Never liked the bastard though. Always had this… feel about him. Big man who thought he was bigger. Met another like him once, Never Never Jago. Dumb shit used to say ‘never’ all the time. Never killed a goat, never eaten horse, never fucked a woman at the same time as her sister.

“One day old Never Never decided to break one of his nevers and attack me. Came at me with a spear.” The Black Thorn paused and Elaina glanced towards Rose, but the woman was staring out of the window again. “Wanted to make a bigger name fer himself, I reckon. Fuckin’ fool. Sure knew how to bleed though.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that one, dear,” Rose said sweetly.

“Aye,” the Black Thorn said with a laugh. “Well, the list of folk tried or tryin’ ta kill me seems ta be growin’ daily. If I told ya every single one we’d never never get the bloody Wilds under control.” He turned his one-eyed gaze back to Elaina. “So, why are you here?”

Elaina took a step forward and glanced once more at Rose before addressing the Black Thorn. “My da wants an alliance with Chade.”

The Black Thorn let out a groan, rolled his eye, and scratched at the burnt side of his face all at the same time.

“You’ll have to forgive my husband,” Rose said. She made her way from the window to the desk, cradling the bulge in her midsection. “I’m afraid he detests peace talks. Much more suited to putting axes in things, really.”

Elaina eyed the man’s axe and wagered it had been put into a great many things. “Which one of you’s in charge?”

“I am.”

“She is.”

Elaina focused on Rose as the woman perched on the desk, and darkened the room with a radiant smile. “Tanner’s willing to let your ships pass through the isles untouched. Any of them bearing your endorsement. It’s the same deal as the Guild gets.”

“So it is, and an excellent deal at that. There’s a reason those Acanthian merchants are so fat, and at least part of it is their permission to sail through the isles unmolested.” Rose fell silent, looking Elaina up and down.

Elaina was starting to feel impatient. She wasn’t built for negotiations and treating with folk. She was built for action, for piracy. She hated to admit it, but her father would have been better off sending Blu.

“Do you want to know the terms?” she said.

“His terms?” Rose said.

“Aye.”

“Not particularly.” There was something in the woman’s eyes that gave Elaina the impression Chade had been a safer place when it was ruled by thieves and corrupt politicians. “But I’ll take a guess at ships, crew, and weapons. The same things Drake Morrass recently asked from us.”

The Black Thorn snorted. “That man is a fucking demon, and I should know. I fought a bloody army of them.”

“A very handsome demon.” Rose grinned at her husband.

“Don’t matter what Morrass offered,” Elaina spat. “Bastard is dead.”

That made both Rose and her Thorn pause, and Elaina felt the weight of all three of their eyes pressing down on her. It seemed both of them could give a glare when they wanted to. Elaina shifted her footing, but under such scrutiny she couldn’t find a comfortable spot.

“Did ya see his body?” the Black Thorn said.

“No,” Elaina's voice broke a little. She realised her mouth was as dry as a desert.

The Black Thorn snorted. “Then he ain’t dead. Fucker is harder ta kill than… uh, me.”

Rose picked up a bottle from a silver drinks tray and poured dark red liquid into a cup before sliding off the desk – gracefully, given her swollen belly – and approaching Elaina.

“We’ve been horribly rude, haven’t we?” Rose handed the cup to Elaina. “Come, sit down.” She took Elaina’s spare hand and guided her to one of the sofas lining the walls. She sat without a hint of effort and pulled Elaina down next to her.

“It’s ice wine, Captain Black,” she said. “You sounded thirsty.”

Elaina sniffed the cup and wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell, but she supposed that if they wanted her dead then poison would be the last method they would use. With that thought in mind, she raised the cup to her lips and took a deep swallow. It was a pleasant taste, some sort of fruit she couldn’t name, cool and refreshing on her tongue and throat.

“Thank you,” she said. It dawned on her that she was more than a little out of her depth. “Morrass is dead. I set it up myself.”

Rose’s dark eyes bored into her own blues. “Do explain.”

“I set up a meet between Morrass and my da,” Elaina continued, ignoring the worry in her gut over the fate of Keelin Stillwater, whom she’d also sent to the meeting. “My da ain't about to let Morrass walk out of that one. He’s been wanting the bastard dead for somewhere close to forever.”

“A very bold statement, given you have no idea of our affiliation with Captain Morrass.” Rose's voice was so sweet it was almost a purr. “Are you aware my husband has worked for him in the past?”

“Hey,” the Black Thorn said, wearing a look that might have been affront. It was hard to tell underneath all the scarring. “I didn’t know I was workin’ fer him. You knew it was him when you were fuckin’ him.”

Boldness had always been one of Elaina’s strengths, and she decided to stick to it. “Doesn’t matter a drop what happened in the past. Right now Tanner Black is offering an alliance, and that’s all that matters.”

“I will not ally Chade, nor the Wilds, to Tanner Black,” Rose said.

Elaina snorted out a laugh. “Siding with Drake then? Seems a poor choice to ally with a dead man.”

“Let her finish,” the Black Thorn said. “She gets this look in her eyes when she’s got more to say.”

Elaina looked back at Rose to find her smiling. “I will not ally ourselves with Tanner Black or with Drake Morrass. I will, however, form an alliance with Elaina Black.”

“What?” Elaina said, more than a little shocked.

The Black Thorn let out a rasping laugh.

“I have no intention of allying myself with Tanner or with Drake,” Rose continued. “One is evil and the other… well, we all know what sort of a man Drake Morrass truly is, alive or dead. The Pirate Isles will have what ships and soldiers I can spare them as long as you are part of it, Captain Black. They will sail for you and fight for you, but not for your father. Do you understand?”

Elaina barked out a laugh. “No.”

Rose sighed. “Men have no idea how to rule, dear.”

Elaina glanced at the Black Thorn to find him nodding.

“Whoever moulds your Pirate Isles into a throne will need either a queen or an heir, and you can be both.”

Elaina had a vision of being Drake Morrass’ queen, and it was not a pleasant one. “Morrass is dead and Blu is Tanner’s heir, not me.”

Rose shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

“I…” Elaina started, but realised she had no idea what she was going to say. “Uh…”

Again Rose laughed, and the sound echoed around the large room. “You need some time to come to terms with the idea. I understand. It will take time for me to assemble the ships and crew.” Rose stood and pulled Elaina to her feet, guiding her towards the door.

“Take a few days to think about it, and when you come to terms with the offer and realise how much you truly want it, return and we will make it official.”

Rose opened the door. The little woman in the cavalier hat was standing outside again, a sneer plastered to her face.

Elaina turned to find Rose smiling at her. “I do hope ours will be a long and fruitful relationship, Captain Black.” The woman stepped close and kissed Elaina before ushering her out through the door and shutting it behind her.

Elaina stood in the corridor like a mute fool, wondering at the offer that had just been laid before her.

“She has that effect on most folk,” said Henry the Red. “Ya should see her negotiate with men.” An ugly laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “Come on. Fancy a drink?”

Elaina followed her down the corridor, paying no attention to where she was being led. Her mind was awhirl with the possibilities.

“She offer you the world?” said Henry.

Elaina shook her head. “Just a part of it.”

Chapter 2 - North Gale

T’ruck marched along the corridor with two soldiers in front of him and three behind. He towered over all five men, but he was under no illusions; should he so much as step out of line he would be skewered, and there was only so much even he could take.

His wounds had been patched up by a competent priest of the Five Kingdoms. Priests were good for tending wounds and making folk feel guilty, and little else. T’ruck had killed a few of them in his time; they infested the Five Kingdoms like ticks on a mange-ridden dog. Eight gods the Five Kingdomers worshipped, and each one needed more priests than the last.

For two days now he’d languished in a cell, alone. The brig on board Storm Herald was large, and T’ruck had heard other voices, other members of his crew, but they were kept away from him, and any attempt to raise his voice was met with the threat of beatings. T’ruck wasn’t afraid of beatings, but if he was to escape – and he intended to – he would need to be as whole as possible.

His escorts stopped and opened a heavy wooden door, standing aside and motioning him in. T’ruck ducked under the frame and walked into the room. The door shut behind him. He’d been wondering how long it would take for the cowards to start the torture.

It was a large cabin, spacious enough for a good number of folk, with two chairs and a single table. T’ruck eyed it and decided it was likely to be where the torturer would put his devices, lay them out for all to see. The anticipation of torture was said to be even worse than the ordeal itself. T’ruck plucked the table from the floor, unhindered by his manacled hands, and turned it to kindling against the far wall, grinning at the petty destruction. Whoever came for him would have to put their precious knives and clamps on the floor. He paced the room, searching for a way out. There was nothing. The cabin had no windows, and while shattering the small storm lantern would allow him to start a fire, he would no doubt be the first to die from it. It did seem strange that they would leave a lantern unguarded with him. At the very least he could use it as a weapon and bludgeon the first man through the door when they came for him.

When the door did finally open, a chill ran down T’ruck’s spine and all thoughts of assault by lantern fled. The man who entered was tall and muscular, with long brown hair and cold grey eyes. He wore bleached-bone trousers, a shirt to match, and a yellow tabard over the top, cinched at the waist with a red sash. The man wore no armour, and his only visible weapon was a longsword buckled to a belt underneath the tabard. T’ruck swallowed and backed up further into the cabin.

The Sword of the North smiled as he stepped into the room, briefly glancing around before slowly walking past T’ruck to the far corner. T’ruck was watching him so warily he didn’t notice a second man enter until he spoke.

“You appear to know Sir Derran,” said Admiral Verit, the man who had beaten T’ruck, scuttled his ship, and captured or killed his entire crew.

T’ruck glanced at the admiral before turning his attention back to the Sword of the North. “He killed my brother.”

The swordsman squatted down and stared at T’ruck with eyes like cold steel. “I’ve killed a lot of brothers and a lot of clansmen.”

“My brother was at Snake Pass,” T’ruck spat.

“Oh. Then he died well. They all died well at the pass.”

“What does it matter how some long-dead barbarian died?” the admiral said with a sigh.

“It matters,” the Sword of the North hissed.

T’ruck nodded to him, acknowledging his respect. It was the first time he’d ever met the Blademaster, but every man, woman, and child of the northern clans had heard of the knight and knew how many of their kin he’d killed. They called him a warrior without equal and, standing in front of him now, T’ruck could believe it. Here was a man who could give T’ruck a glorious end, and if he was to have one, he wanted it to be glorious.

“I would challenge you,” T’ruck rumbled, standing to his full height and rolling back his shoulders to show off his size.

The Sword of the North smiled; it was the smile of the Reaper, not one of friendship. “And I would accept, but the admiral has your death claimed already, so it cannot belong to me. Besides, I didn’t come to this shit hole to fight you. I came for someone else.”

“Enough,” said the admiral. “I didn’t bring you here to exchange pleasantries, Sir Derran.”

“Careful, Admiral. Unless you’ve inherited a golden crown recently, I don’t answer to you. I’ll keep you safe from the giant, but if you insult me again I’ll kill you myself.”

The admiral held Sir Derran's stare for a few seconds longer before turning to T’ruck. “You are T’ruck Khan from the Herasow clan of the World’s Edge mountains?”

“No,” T’ruck rumbled. “That clan is long dead. I am Captain T’ruck Khan of the North Gale.”

“Your ship is wreckage, and your crew – those who didn’t drown – are my prisoners. You are captain of nothing, Khan.” The admiral pulled a chair over and sat down. “I was going to order some refreshments brought, but I see you took offence to the table.”

“Five Kingdoms trash,” T’ruck spat, pacing behind the second chair. “It broke as easily as your men aboard the ship we took.”

Admiral Verit sighed. “I am offering you the chance at a civilised conversation, barbarian. I suggest you take it. It is the only chance you have of saving your neck.”

T’ruck stopped pacing and fixed the admiral with a stare, leaning over the back of the chair. “And my crew?”

“Will be hanged for their crimes.”

T’ruck said nothing.

“We already have the location of New Sev’relain,” the admiral continued. “Sir Derran will be leading a force to take the island soon enough. What we would like to know from you is its current defences, how many troops are stationed there, and the best method of attacking the settlement.”

T’ruck said nothing.

“In return we can offer you special consideration. Cooperate and your case will be brought to the attention of His Majesty King Jackt himself. He will personally officiate over your hearing – and the king has been known to be merciful, even to barbarians like you.”

T’ruck said nothing.

“I would advise you not to squander this opportunity. It will not be offered again. Once I leave this room, if you have provided no useful information you will be transported to Land’s End with the rest of your crew, where you will be hanged and your body displayed to warn others from the course of piracy.”

T’ruck looked over towards the Sword of the North. The Blademaster was still squatting in the corner of the cabin, watching T’ruck’s every move. No doubt the man could spring to life and gut T’ruck before he could even strike the admiral.

“You follow orders,” T’ruck said. “Go where you’re told to go. Kill who you’re told to kill. Men like him” – T’ruck pointed at the admiral – “give orders. Tell others to kill for them.”

T’ruck glared at Verit. “Men like you killed my wives, killed my children. I would see you all opened.” He pointed at his crotch and drew the finger up to his neck. “I would dance on your guts and feed your heart to my dogs.”

The admiral sighed. “Men like me will see you hanged.”

T’ruck reached into his trousers, pulled out his cock, and pissed on the deck, aiming for the admiral’s shiny boots. The man launched himself backwards, knocking over his chair and stumbling towards the doorway, all to the laughter of the Sword of the North.

“Savage!” Verit shouted as he pulled open the door. “I will watch you stretch for this.”

The Blademaster, still laughing, stood up and walked after the admiral, making sure to avoid the expanding puddle of piss. He nodded once to T’ruck and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

T’ruck put his cock away and waited. They would come for him before long and put him back in his cell, and the admiral would no doubt make good on his threat. The Five Kingdoms was a long way away, though, and there was plenty of time for him to either escape or force the crew of the behemoth to kill him in battle.

Chapter 3 - Starry Dawn

Three days Elaina whiled away in Chade. She toured the city and witnessed the things Rose and the Black Thorn had done with it. Chade had once been a dark, grimy city full of thieves, murderers, and those corrupt and rich enough to call themselves politicians. Elaina remembered the city as dangerous even for a pirate to travel alone, and more than one had ended up in a slave’s iron collar for no crime other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then Chade had become a war zone, and that had been Drake Morrass’ doing. For months upon months folk had fled the city, many of them taking to ships and crossing the Pirate Isles. Elaina remembered seizing more than one boat only to find it brimming with passengers instead of loot. Some folk called it a shadow war, but there was nothing shadowy about it. Gangs, guards, and pirates had walked the streets, slaughtering each other and causing chaos. As always, the good folk of Chade had been the ones to suffer most. The city had burned day and night until the Black Thorn murdered the man opposing Drake.

Out of the conflict and the war and the mindless death, Rose had appeared, taking the city in hand and restoring order. Elaina wasn’t clear how Rose had taken control, but once she did, peace quickly followed. Now the free city of Chade was larger, safer, and more prosperous than it had ever been. Everyone agreed the change was Rose’s doing, not her more famous husband’s. But the Black Thorn commanded Chade’s army, and considering they now had almost half the Wilds under their rule, he was apparently doing a fairly good job of it.

“What would you do?” Elaina asked the little woman in the cavalier hat. She’d met with Henry twice now, and both encounters had ended in a tavern with plenty of booze and plenty of stories. It was a friendship, of sorts, but now she was once again being escorted to Rose's mansion, to make her decision.

“Me?” Henry said, tilting her head so Elaina could just see the sneer on her lips. “I’d fuckin’ run. Jump back on that little boat of yours an’ see what the other side of the world looks like. Take it from someone who accidentally started a rebellion once. Power ain’t what ya reckon it’ll be. Don’t mean ya get ta do what ya want all the time; means ya gotta do what every other fucker wants. Much better bein’ the knife in the darkness than waitin’ fer it ta come for you.” Henry finished with a cackling laugh.

“Did Rose mean it?” Elaina said. It was the question she’d been wanting to ask Henry for the past three days. “Is her offer legitimate?”

Henry sniffed and spat into the street. “Aye, she’ll make you a queen if she can. She’ll hold it over you fer as long as she can too. Bitch is smart.”

Elaina glanced down at her. “Doesn’t sound like you like her much.”

Henry laughed. “I don’t. I reckon she’s a treacherous little whore.”

“Then…”

“’Cos he does,” Henry interrupted. “Thorn’s earned more than his share of trust. Reckon ya know the way from here.”

They were standing outside Rose’s mansion. The guards at the stop of the steps watched them, but at a nod from Henry they stepped aside to allow entry.

“You’re not coming?” Elaina said.

Henry’s cavalier hat shook. “Got my own place ta be. Part of her plan too, I reckon. Don’t let her haggle ya down. Anything she’s offerin’ is because she needs somethin’ from it. You’re the one with the shit ta offer, not her.” Henry spat once more into the dusty street and turned away, leaving Elaina alone.

Trepidation seemed as good a word as any. Elaina was nervous, and that was because she was inclined to accept Rose’s proposal. The terms seemed good, but before she committed herself she needed to know just what the woman wanted from her in return.

Raising her chin and putting purpose in her stride, Elaina climbed the steps and proceeded into the refreshing shade of Rose’s home. She hammered on the same door as before and waited for a response.

The door opened, revealing a tall man in long white robes. He had short brown hair and bright yellow eyes that set Elaina’s skin crawling. He stared at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Reckon ya wanna be staring elsewhere, before I make you,” Elaina snarled.

“I apologise, Captain Black,” the man said in a Sarth accent. He slipped out of the room. “Good day.”

Elaina watched him walk away and felt a shiver travel up her spine.

“Are you coming in, Elaina?” Rose called from inside the room, and Elaina turned and walked through the doorway, still feeling uneasy from the encounter with the robed man.

“Have you come to a decision yet, my dear?”

Rose was sitting behind her desk, fanning herself with a large paper triangle and looking very uncomfortable. Despite the obvious discomfort, she was still beautiful in a composed, powdered sort of way.

“Not yet. Reckon we need to talk over a few points first.”

Rose smiled and beckoned Elaina to the chair opposite the desk. “Do sit down, dear. We have water or wine if you would like. I always find negotiations go so much better with refreshments. I take it these are negotiations.”

Elaina approached the chair and nodded. “Aye.”

“Excellent. Then we’re already all but agreed.”

“Where’s the Black Thorn?” Elaina said as she sat.

“He has some business a bit further north. Besides, he hates negotiations like this. Not nearly enough stabbing for his tastes.”

“Mine either,” Elaina said with a crooked grin.

“I’m sure.” Rose shifted in her seat. She looked distinctly uncomfortable in her own skin. “I’m very sorry if I seem unsettled. It appears my daughter has her father’s restless spirit.”

“This alliance,” Elaina prompted.

“Yes,” Rose said. “With you. Not your father, and not with Drake Morrass. Just you.”

“In the hope that I’ll be queen of the isles one day. What do you get out of it?”

“A powerful ally,” Rose said with a genuine smile.

Elaina laughed. None of the Blacks would claim to be the smartest folk on the ocean, but Elaina was as wily as her father and she recognised a bum deal when she saw one. She doubted the future queen of the Wilds would make an alliance without some immediate gain.

“It could be years before my da shuffles off…”

“Plenty of time to see your brother fall foul of a bad storm or an angry serpent.”

“Or me.”

“We wouldn’t want that. I’m sure you’ll survive us all, Elaina.”

Elaina shook her head. “Life on the water is dangerous for even the most timid, and I ain’t that. No guarantee I’ll outlast Tanner, and your alliance with me means you get nothing ’til I’m the one on the throne. So what else is there? What else do you want?”

Rose shifted in her seat, taking her glass and sipping rosy-coloured liquid from it. “An advance upon our alliance.”

“Eh?”

“My empire is in a dangerous period, Captain Black. I am fighting wars on more fronts than most people realise exist. Do you believe you pirates are the only ones experiencing pressure from Sarth or the Five Kingdoms?”

Rose’s smile slipped, and for just a moment Elaina saw past the perfumed composure. In that moment Rose looked tired, worn thin by the rigours of building a kingdom, fighting for that kingdom, and pregnancy. But with just one deep breath Rose’s smile was back, and its viciousness was matched by the flashing danger in her eyes.

“We have them feeling threatened, Captain,” Rose continued. “Their two empires have stood on top for too long. They believe themselves to be the peacekeepers of our world, controlling those weaker than themselves. For years they have hunted you pirates, keeping you small and scared of them with their purges. Hanging those they catch.”

“Aye, well, we are outlaws,” Elaina conceded. “We do steal from them.”

“Steal from them?” Rose said. “Is that what they would call confiscating a neighbouring empire’s wares for travelling through their lands without paying for the privilege?”

“Huh?”

“They sail your waters and give you nothing for the use. You don’t rob from them – you just take what you’re owed.”

Elaina wasn’t sure that was the right of it, but it certainly painted the pirates in a much less damning light.

“They have done us a similar injustice, Captain Black,” Rose continued. “For generations they have fuelled the hatred between the blooded families, supplying each of them with weapons, horses, even soldiers.”

“Why?”

“To keep them fighting. To keep the Wilds in turmoil and to stop us uniting under one banner. They are scared, Captain. Scared of us becoming another power in the world and realising we don’t need them. Just like Acanthia doesn’t need them. Just like the Dragon Empire doesn’t need them. There are four great empires of man in the world, and the last thing either Sarth or the Five Kingdoms wants is another.”

“You want us to keep fighting,” Elaina said, sure of herself now. “We’re taking the heat away from you.”

“Yes. You pirates are, on the surface, a much greater threat than I am. Every ship they throw at you makes it all the less likely they’ll sail up here and put another army on my field. Or even worse, give their support to that blooded arse, Niles Brekovich.

“At the same time, every ship I do not lose to you pirates makes me that bit stronger.” Rose leaned forwards and fixed Elaina with a dark stare. “I need you to stop pirating my ships, and I need you to fight the bastards who are trying to kill you. If possible, I would like you to win.”

“So why me? Why not my da, or Morrass?”

“Because you are a woman, and because you are young, and because I can see ambition in you. I make no apologies for opinions. Drake may well be better suited to rule, but I do not trust what he might do with such power. All he has ever wanted was the crown and for others to call him king. All your father wants is to stop Drake from having whatever he wants. In you, I see someone unburdened by such pettiness.”

Elaina licked her lips. She was certain she now knew the truth of it. “We needs ships, fighters, and food.”

“Done,” Rose said without hesitation. “Ten ships, fully crewed and carrying stores of food. All sailing for you and no one else. I will need sixty days to prepare them. I presume you can hold out that long?”

“Aye, though best make it ninety. I got another stop before home. My da wants a similar alliance from the guilds of Larkos.”

Rose laughed. “Good luck. The guilds give nothing without payment up front.”

“Aye, well I’m better off trying than not, with my da.”

A long silence blanketed the room. Rose narrowed her eyes and gave Elaina a queer stare. Eventually the Lady of Chade poured herself another glass of rosy liquid, and then a second for Elaina.

“To our new alliance, Captain Black, and to both our empires.”

Elaina took the glass and drank deeply. It was hard to believe, but she’d just secured herself a fleet of ships along with the crews to sail them and she’d offered so very little in return. There was no way her father could be disappointed in her now.

“He won’t hang,” Elaina said. “My da. Come what may, he won’t hang.”

Rose smiled, fanning herself again. “We’ll see.”

Chapter 4 - North Gale

Days passed without any sort of indication as to what was happening above decks. The brig was secured tighter than a virgin’s arse, and the only light came from the lanterns the guards carried when they fed and mocked the prisoners. For much of each day T’ruck was in near complete darkness, with only the scurrying of mice and the distant sounds of his own crew, to keep him company.

He talked to his crew and learned that only twenty-two of them had survived the sinking of their ship. Three-quarters of them either died on the end of Five Kingdoms steel or drowned in the waters of the isles when Storm Herald ploughed through North Gale, splitting it right down the midsection.

The door to the brig opened and light spilled in. A moment later a storm lantern poked through the opening, followed by the squat-faced guard whose uniform was slightly too short for him. T’ruck didn’t know the man’s name. He didn’t need to know the names of all the men he would kill. The guard sniffed the air and sighed.

“Buckets need emptying again.”

“It’s your turn,” someone else growled.

“I say we just let them stew in it for a few days.” The squat-faced one laughed.

T’ruck approached the bars, grabbing hold of them and flexing his muscles, once again testing his own strength against that of the tempered metal. For the hundredth time the bars proved to be the stronger of the two. The squat-faced guard watched him with a sneer on his squat face.

“Big bastard is trying to break free again.”

“Starve him again,” said the other voice. “Fuck it, starve all of them. More food for us. Get precious bloody little as it is without feeding criminals.”

The guard laughed and closed the door, once again bathing T’ruck and his surviving crew in darkness.

The next time the door to the brig opened it was the squat-faced guard and his storm lantern once again, but this time he looked far from comfortable. His back was straighter, and his uniform, though still slightly too small, looked as though he’d recently fussed about smoothing it down.

T’ruck was lounging against the bars to his cell, but rose when the door opened. No matter what was sent into the brig, he would meet it on his feet.

“The admiral said to put her in with the others,” said a new voice, one with an air of command. “And I’m to make sure it’s done personally.”

There was some grumbling, and T’ruck thought he heard mention of the admiral’s mother, but there seemed to be an agreement to follow the orders and the guard started into the brig, followed leisurely by a beautiful woman with raven hair and an iron collar. A tall man in an officer’s coat followed her in and shut the door behind them. He stayed there at rigid attention, standing guard.

As the guard walked past T’ruck’s cell, the woman tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face her, his eyes going wide as they met hers.

T’ruck leaned into the bars and caught a glimpse of the woman’s eyes. They were a swirling mass, almost like a bag of snakes writhing against each other. T’ruck found himself being drawn in, unable to look away.

“Please control yourself, Captain Khan,” the witch said in a voice like an ice bath. “It is hard enough to keep these two under my sway without your attempt to subjugate yourself.”

T’ruck shook himself free of her spell and dragged his eyes away from hers.

“Open the door to this cell,” the witch said sweetly, and the squat-faced guard began fumbling for his keys.

T’ruck noticed the officer standing at the door to the brig stumble and shake his head. The witch snapped her head around and locked her evil eyes onto the officer’s. “I would be very grateful, my dear, if you would just wait there for now.”

T’ruck looked at the witch again. He’d transported Lady Tsokei halfway across the world in the bowels of his ship, and not once had he seen her look so dishevelled. Her black hair was dull and greasy. Her skin was dirty, coated with a sheen of grime. Her black dress was heavily ripped and stained, hanging loose and tattered upon her small body. Sweat dripped down from the witch’s forehead, running down her cheek and chin and disappearing beneath the iron collar.

“Quickly, please,” Lady Tsokei hissed at the guard. She was shaking a little, as if cold despite the warmth and closeness of the brig.

The guard slid a key into the lock and the door to T’ruck’s little cell squealed open. T’ruck had to duck as he wasted no time in exiting his prison, the doorway clearly designed for smaller men – but then, most men were smaller than him. Squat-face stood by with a curiously expressionless face as T’ruck pushed past him.

“Please kill one of these men,” Lady Tsokei said, steadying herself against the bars to T’ruck’s former cell. “I cannot keep them both bound to me much longer.”

T’ruck wasted no time in choosing. The officer would likely be more useful, and the guard had already proven himself to be unworthy of life. He wrapped his giant hands around the smaller man’s throat and began to squeeze. At first there was no resistance, but soon the man’s eyes lit up as the witch released her control – T’ruck saw her collapse against the bars at the same time that the guard began to struggle – but he was no match for an angry giant. T’ruck watched the life fade from the guard’s eyes before he let the corpse drop to the decking. The officer didn’t so much as blink at the death of his crewmate.

“I will be glad when that one is dead too,” Lady Tsokei hissed, nodding towards the officer. “The fool tried to claim me as any man might an errant slave. I will teach him the error of his ways. I will make him watch as I burn his ship and force him to kill his own friends. I will drag the knowledge of his family from his mind and release him just long enough to realise he has condemned them all to death.”

T’ruck ignored the vengeful witch and scooped the squat-faced guard’s keys from where they’d fallen. He decided right then it would probably be a bad idea to ever look into her eyes again. The iron collar she wore was supposed to stop her using her magic.

“Release me, Captain Khan,” Lady Tsokei said, “and I shall send this monstrosity of metal and wood to Rin’s court.”

T’ruck stopped, the keys in his hand and vengeance within his grasp. “I told you before, Lady Tsokei,” he said, not looking into her eyes out of both fear and pride, “I do not want this ship sunk. I want it taken. I want to sail it against my enemies. Against the Five Kingdoms. Against the bastards who murdered my family. I would use this monstrosity to break them and help carve out the new home Drake Morrass dreams of.” He laughed. “T’ruck Khan, once mightiest leader of the clans, displaced and driven from his home, again sitting in a position of power. I believe that would taste bitter to even…”

“Spare me your speech, Captain,” the witch said with a sigh as she pushed away from the bars. “I do not care one bit about your new home. I wish only to stay one step in front of the Inquisition’s dogs.”

T’ruck grinned and risked a look at her, hoping she wouldn’t have the strength left to take control of him. “And what makes you think the Pirate Isles and Drake aren’t also your best chance?”

“What?”

“The free cities stand up to the Inquisition. They grant the witch hunters no power within their walls. We are carving out a new kingdom here, and we can set the same restriction. You would be safe, protected.”

“If you believe my kind are safe from the Inquisition while in the free cities, you are very much mistaken, Captain Khan. The Inquisition hunt us no matter.”

T’ruck raged inside at the witch’s stubbornness. He spat on the deck in frustration. “Then you would sink this ship and die along with your captors, taking us all down to Rin with you. You may not feel it, but we have been sailing for days. Like as not, we are far from friendly lands, and if we do not take this ship then we sink with it.”

That seemed to bring her up short. No matter how powerful she might be – and T’ruck was fairly certain she was powerful – she would die here with the rest of them if she couldn’t find land to live off.

“Help me take this ship,” T’ruck continued, “and I will drown that collar. Never again will you be leashed.”

Lady Tsokei smiled, and when she spoke her voice was like silk. “You will offer me a permanent position aboard the ship for as long as I wish to remain on board. My identity will remain secret and you will guarantee your crew’s silence. And I will not take on any of the ship’s duties.”

“No bewitching any of my crew.”

“I’ll need a bigger cabin.”

“You can take your pick of any but the biggest.”

For a moment T’ruck and the witch stared at each other.

“Good?” T’ruck said eventually.

“Good,” Lady Tsokei said.

“Rest of the crew are just down here,” T’ruck said. “I’ll get ’em freed while you figure out how you’re gonna help us take this ship.” He turned towards his crew’s cells, keys in hand.

“Captain Khan,” the witch said, a hint of humour in her voice. “The collar.”

T’ruck looked back, ambition warring in his head with what he assumed was probably better judgement. He towered over the small woman and yet she showed no fear, even with her powers limited. A memory flashed through his mind of Lady Tsokei before she’d willingly donned the collar and bound it to T’ruck. She was terror given flesh, fear pulsing off her in waves that had terrified men and women alike, even though they didn’t know why.

With a greedy smile, T’ruck reached out towards the witch’s neck and placed his thumb on a flat panel on one side of the iron band. There was a click, and the collar opened up and fell away. T’ruck winced, expecting to feel the same fear he’d experienced when he first met the woman, but it didn’t come.

Lady Tsokei rolled her head around and stretched out her shoulders as though a great weight had been lifted. She glanced at T’ruck and laughed.

“Do not look so surprised, Captain Khan. I would not have eluded the Inquisition for so long had I not been able to control my aura. Before, it served my purpose to keep you and your crew scared. Now, I believe it to be otherwise. Release your crew and let us lay waste to our enemies.”

With the lantern in one hand and the keys in the other, it didn’t take T’ruck long to find his imprisoned crew. They were crowded together, twenty-one living bodies and one dead, in just four cells. Some of them were in fine shape, with only a few scratches and bruises from the fight, whereas others had obviously been the victims of beatings and bore more serious wounds. Yu’truda had survived, though she now walked with a painful-looking limp, but her husband, Zole, had drowned when North Gale went down. The grief was plain in Yu’truda’s eyes, but she was a clansman the same as T’ruck, and they were well used to the death of loved ones.

After a few words of caution to his surviving crew members, and some assurances that freeing the witch was in all of their best interests, T’ruck gathered them near Lady Tsokei and they prepared to leave the brig. There were just twenty-three of them in total, and T’ruck wagered they faced nearly a thousand.

Chapter 5 - North Gale

With wooden cosh in hand, T’ruck burst through the doorway and out of the brig. He’d been escorted through the guard room twice and knew the layout well. There were three men inside, two sitting around a table playing dice while the third was bent over a desk, writing something on a sheet of parchment. T’ruck leapt towards the table and the first soldier went down with a cracked skull before he could even gain his feet. T’ruck swung at the second just as the man launched out of his chair. The doomed guard managed to get his hands up, but they only delayed his fate, and T’ruck rained down blow after blow until the man collapsed into a quivering, bloody heap.

Turning to the third guard, T’ruck found four members of his crew had rushed in behind him and pulled the man down. They were busy giving him the last beating of his life as more of North Gale’s crew squeezed into the room and finished off the two guards T’ruck had left unconscious.

The witch pushed past a few of T’ruck’s pirates with her enslaved officer in tow. She glanced at the three bodies only momentarily, taking more interest in the parchment the guard had been writing on.

“A poem,” she said with a wry smile. “To his wife. A shame it will never reach her – the man appeared to have some skill with words.” She stepped over the corpse of the soldier she’d just praised and approached the door that led to the rest of the ship.

“We will need weapons. Where are we likely to find the armoury?” the witch asked her minion.

“There is a store of weapons two decks down, my lady,” the officer said in a voice as blank as his face.

“Are we likely to encounter any of your crewmates?” T’ruck squeezed past a couple of his crew, wondering why they seemed so determined to fill the small room.

“Yes,” the officer said. “Just below us are the quarters assigned to the knights.”

T’ruck felt his blood go cold. “Is the Sword of the North down there?” He heard Yu’truda gasp.

“No,” said the officer. “Sir Derran left a few days ago aboard Gold Glitter.”

“Thank fuck,” Yu’truda muttered. She’d witnessed the man’s ability to deal death first-hand, and was lucky to have escaped herself.

T’ruck inched open the door and glanced through. The hallway beyond was empty for now, but there was no telling where the other soldiers might be. “We need those weapons,” he said.

“Stealth is our strongest ally.” Lady Tsokei lingered nearby. “I can weave illusions to keep us hidden for a short time, but we must move quickly and be ready to kill anyone who spots us. Some are curiously resistant to such magic.”

They exited the guardroom quickly, with the enslaved officer leading the way and Lady Tsokei just behind him. T’ruck followed, leaving his crew to jostle for spots in the procession. They set a brisk pace, only briefly checking interconnecting hallways before moving on. They encountered no soldiers or sailors until they came to the ladder leading to the lower decks.

Just as the officer reached the ladder, a head poked up from below – a sailor by the looks of him, with crooked teeth and a sunburnt complexion. He nodded to the officer before noticing the line of pirates behind.

“The prisoners…” the man said, looking utterly confused, before T’ruck barged past the witch and her minion, grabbed him under the arm and hauled him up, clamping a meaty hand over his mouth.

Pain blossomed in T’ruck’s side, and he looked down to see a small knife sticking out of his flesh very close to a barely healed wound he’d received during the battle aboard North Gale. With a grunt, T’ruck tossed the man to his crew, who proceeded to quietly beat the poor fool to death. He pulled the knife from his side and handed it to Yu’truda.

“How bad is it?” said Lady Tsokei.

“A scratch,” T’ruck bragged, wincing at the pain. It didn’t appear to have hit any vital spots, but the wound was bleeding and hurt like fire on his skin.

Lady Tsokei narrowed her eyes at him, and T’ruck did his best not to let the pain show.

“We should keep moving,” he said.

The witch spoke in a language T’ruck didn’t recognise and tapped a finger on his new wound. Pain erupted in T’ruck’s side and he stumbled, collapsing against the wall, his vision swimming. He bit down, squeezing his teeth together as hard as he could to stop himself screaming as the pain in his side grew and grew until he was certain someone was cutting him open from the inside.

The pain started to lessen, dwindling down until it was no more than a dull ache, and T’ruck realised his eyes were squeezed shut. He opened them and saw Yu’truda standing over him with an expression caught between terror and anger.

“What did she do?” Yu’truda said.

T’ruck looked down at the wound. It had closed, and was now little more than a small, angry red line on his bronzed skin.

“She healed you?”

T’ruck looked over towards the ladder, where the witch was waiting patiently. He wasn’t sure whether to dash her head against the decking or thank her.

“I did not heal you,” Lady Tsokei said. “That ability is far rarer than you might imagine. I simply sped up your natural healing at great cost to yourself. You may find yourself weaker than normal for a few days, but it is better than having you collapse from loss of blood before this night’s work is finished. Are we ready to continue?”

T’ruck pushed himself back to his feet and ignored the slight wobble in his legs. “Aye. We’ve not even started yet.”

The enslaved officer set his feet on the ladder and started down, followed closely by Lady Tsokei, who chanted as she went. T’ruck waited a few seconds, then set his own feet to the ladder and started to descend. Before long he found himself passing through a large, open area of the ship with bunks lining either side, each complete with a bulky chest and an armour stand. Of particular concern was the number of men in the room, most of whom had a distinct warrior feel about them, both in the way they moved and the way they smelled.

T’ruck froze, unsure whether to continue down or head back up before any of the men saw him. It was a wonder they hadn’t already, given his size and how conspicuous the ladder was. He spotted the witch standing just at the foot of the ladder, waving frantically at T’ruck in a downwards motion. She was holding one hand out towards the knights and appeared to be chanting. Whatever magic she was using, it was hiding him from sight, and with one last glance at the knights as they joked and drank and gambled, he resumed his descent at a faster pace.

At the bottom of the ladder was another hallway, where the enslaved officer was waiting silently. T’ruck felt more than a little uneasy with the witch above him maintaining her illusion; if any soldiers discovered him and his crew while they waited, he might have a hard time stopping them before they raised the alarm.

His crew climbed down quickly, one at a time and full of hushed panic. When Yu’truda hit the deck she pulled T’ruck aside and whispered in his ear.

“What are we gonna do, Cap’n? There must be fifty knights up there, and a fuck load more soldiers throughout the ship. We’re twenty. We can’t…”

“Trust in the witch,” T’ruck grumbled, silencing his quartermaster. “She’s as much stake in this as the rest of us, and she can get us through it.”

T’ruck didn’t wait for her reply. The last of his crew hit the deck and stood aside as the witch followed them down. Her face was coated in sweat and her hands were shaking.

“That’s some useful magic,” T’ruck whispered.

Lady Tsokei froze him with a stare. “If only you knew the cost,” she said in a haunted voice before turning to her enslaved officer. “Lead the way to the armoury.”

There were two soldiers guarding the door to the armoury, and both were carrying sharpened steel. They would be no match for twenty-two angry pirates, but T’ruck doubted they would fall without a fight, and he couldn’t afford to lose even one of his surviving crew. Lady Tsokei had a different plan in mind.

Dropping any attempt at stealth, the witch marched towards the two guards with T’ruck and his crew following along behind her. T’ruck felt the hairs stand up on his skin, and a sudden, unnatural fear fell upon him. It took every drop of willpower he had not to run from the woman and find the nearest dark corner to hide in. The soldiers didn’t fare so well.

As Lady Tsokei closed on them, both men dropped the steel in their hands and their shouts died in their throats. One of the guards collapsed onto the deck, curling into a ball and sobbing quietly, while the other began to claw at the wall, trying to escape the horror bearing down upon him.

The enslaved officer barged past T’ruck, running past the witch and picking up one of the dropped swords. The man first stabbed the soldier on the deck before cleaving the other guard’s head in two. As swiftly as it had begun, the oppressive fear emanating from the witch disappeared. T’ruck realised he was frozen in place, his entire crew similarly caught.

“I suggest you arm yourselves,” Lady Tsokei said without turning to look at the pirates. “Not all will die as easily as these two.”

“Fetch me a sword and shield,” T’ruck ordered Brendin, one of the youngest surviving members of his crew. He stepped closer to the witch. “That magic affects us too.”

“It is difficult to control,” the witch said, turning her dark gaze on T’ruck. “Those in front of me are most affected, but everyone around me will experience a similar fear.”

“We can’t fight like that,” T’ruck snapped. “I could barely bring myself to move.”

The witch nodded. “I will try something different. But Captain Khan, those above and below me will also have experienced that fear.”

T’ruck glanced upwards. “The knights?”

Another nod.

“Then we deal with them first,” T’ruck growled, taking a sword and shield from Brendin. He turned and stormed back towards the ladder, a grin spreading across his face. It had been years since he’d last had a chance to kill a knight of the Five Kingdoms. Not since he’d been driven from his home, leaving his murdered family behind. He was going to enjoy the night’s activities.

Nerine Tsokei was angry. It was the type of anger that boils over and quickly turns from a hot, burning rage into a cold, calculated fury. She knew the limits of her magic, and she knew the limits of her ability to channel power from the Void, but she would push past those limits to strip away everything these Five Kingdoms pigs held dear. The despair of her enslaved officer was a balm to her soul. He could do nothing but serve her now, his will no longer his own, hers until she released him. And she had no intention of doing that until the man witnessed just what his fervour had cost him.

The fools had plucked her out of the water, soaked through and shivering, on the verge of drowning as she struggled to hold on to the wreckage that had been North Gale. They saw her iron collar and assumed she was a slave serving the pirates, and they put her to use accordingly, giving her to the chef to work her way back to the Five Kingdoms. For days and days she’d scrubbed floors, stirred broth, and cleaned pots until her fingers bled.

Her anger built daily. Nobody had ever treated Nerine Tsokei, lady of the red ice, Keeper of Shadows, that way. She endured the disgrace, willing to put up with a little indignity if it allowed her survival. She’d eluded the Inquisition for decades – she would survive this too. Nerine had already set her mind upon sinking the ship and escaping as soon as it made port somewhere with a civilised population. Preferably somewhere not allied to Sarth. One witch hunter she could deal with, but the six that chased her included an Inquisitor, and she needed to evade them at all costs.

Her plan, and all resolve to suffer the undignified treatment the crew showed her, disappeared the moment the fool of an officer decided he wanted what was beneath her dress. Nerine had let him take her back to his quarters before she took control of him and turned him into her slave using nothing but her will and the barest hint of magic. She’d long ago learned that lusting men were the easiest to dominate.

Once Nerine had enslaved the man, she no longer had a choice. She couldn’t continue to control him while she slept, and she would need to sleep eventually. It was at that point that she decided to release Captain Khan, so he could in turn release her from the infernal collar that kept her powers constrained.

Setting a foot to the ladder, Nerine began to climb, Captain Khan’s call to wait falling on deaf ears. Before long she reached the level where the knights they’d passed earlier were quartered. But this time she didn’t bother to hide her presence.

The casual atmosphere on the deck had disappeared. Some of the knights were busy encasing themselves in armour while others stood guard with drawn steel. Three men approached Nerine as she finished her climb. The first was tall and muscular with a perfectly groomed moustache in the shape of a horseshoe; he held out a hand to Nerine.

“You’re the cook’s slave. Away from there, wench, and tell us what you’ve seen,” he said in a voice as pompous as his facial hair.

Nerine opened herself up to the icy call of the Void, sending out a request for power. She didn’t bother to ask the name of the being who answered her – she didn’t care. Nerine never cared; she just hoped whichever creature answered opposed Volmar and his Inquisition.

With power flowing through her and the spell whispering out from between her lips like an invisible serpent, Nerine knelt down and tore at her shadow. It ripped in two, and one half shattered into thirty shards that slithered away along the deck, seeking out living targets.

The three knights in front of Nerine stumbled backwards, attempting to jump out of the way of her snake-like shadows, but the spell wasn’t targeting them; she had very little control over whom they would attack.

The first man to die did so with barely a sound as a shard latched onto his own shadow, distorting and growing until it reached up from the deck behind him and tore open his throat. The knights around him didn’t die so quietly. Before long there were plenty of screams.

“Witch!” the man with the moustache shouted. A shadow in the shape of a monstrous dog leapt out from a dark corner and pounced on one of his comrades, bearing him to the ground and savaging him.

The knight charged at Nerine, followed closely by his surviving companion. As the moustached knight swung his sword, Nerine stepped sideways into the attack, the blade skimming past her stomach, and quickly slammed her shoulder into the man’s chest. Despite weighing twice what she did, he flew away from her, and she plucked the sword from his hand as he went. The second knight attempted to catch her off guard, but Nerine was never off guard. She parried the strike as smoothly as water flows and stepped past him, leaving the moustached knight’s sword in his companion’s chest.

As his comrade dropped to the deck, the first knight regained his feet and leapt at Nerine, this time without the protection of a weapon. Waiting until the last moment, Nerine sidestepped the knight’s bullish charge, catching his flailing arm and dragging him about with his own momentum. Then she wrenched, dislocating the arm and sending the man to the floor once more. All the while, Nerine’s shadow creatures continued their gruesome work, each one finding a single victim and slaughtering them before vanishing like mist.

Captain Khan gained the deck from the ladder and wasted no time in stabbing the downed knight through the neck. He took in the sight in front of him with a curl of his lip and then looked at Nerine.

“You know how to fight,” the captain said as more of his crew scrambled up the ladder.

“Better, I would imagine, than you,” Nerine said. “I have sown the seeds of death and chaos, Captain Khan. I suggest your crew capitalise on that distraction.”

The giant pirate grinned and charged off to join the battle. There were precious few of Nerine’s shadow creatures left, and the pirates still had plenty of killing to do. She could have killed them all, but she needed to preserve her strength.

It didn’t take long for T’ruck and his crew to finish off the knights, distracted as they were by the shadows. Not a single one of the fools escaped, but the battle had made more than enough noise and Nerine was certain the alarm had been raised. The rest of the night wouldn’t go nearly so easily.

Chapter 6 - North Gale

T’ruck slumped against the wall, looking up at the ladder that led to the main deck of the ship. He could hear the creak of rope and canvas, the shuffling feet of nervous men, and the occasional shout from those in charge to keep steady. He looked back at his own crew, all as weary as him and all spattered with blood both fresh and long since dried.

One of his pirates, Pocket, a younger lad with a crooked nose and heavy jaw, had collapsed onto the deck and was leaning against a wall, sobbing quietly into his hands. T’ruck would have loved to leave the man to his sorrow. They all needed time to come to terms with the things they’d done, but there were precious few of his crew left now. Of the twenty-two pirates who had escaped the brig, only twelve remained in any sort of fighting condition, and they were lucky that many of them had survived.

“On your feet, lad,” T’ruck said, walking over to his grieving pirate and trying to hide how much effort just that small feat took.

Pocket didn’t respond.

T’ruck glanced around at the rest of his crew, who were all watching the exchange. He knew that if he let just one of his crew break now, they would all follow suit – and there was still plenty of slaughter left to do. Even Yu’truda looked on the verge of giving up.

“Get up, Pocket,” he said again, in a voice that sounded weary even to his own ears.

Still the lad just wept into his hands.

T’ruck leaned his blood-soaked sword against the wall and reached down, grabbing hold of Pocket’s shirt and wrenching the man to his feet. He pinned him against the wall and gave him the full force of his captain’s stare.

“I’m a monster,” Pocket said with a sob, his eyes crazed and red with tears. “We’re all monsters. So much blood. So much… I… I lost count.”

T’ruck cuffed the lad on the side of the head. “Aye, you’re a monster. Tonight we all are. We’re monsters ’cos monsters is what we need to be.”

T’ruck dropped the lad back to his feet. Pocket stayed standing, his eyes blank. T’ruck had seen it before, warriors on the battlefield coming out of the bloodlust and realising just what atrocities they’d committed. Every one of his crew had killed during the night, and every one had killed again and again. With the help of the demons Lady Tsokei had been summoning, they’d murdered hundreds of men. What they’d accomplished so far was nothing short of a miracle, a bloody miracle that would likely see them all damned in the eyes of whichever god they believed in. Unfortunately, what they’d accomplished so far wasn’t the end of it.

T’ruck and his crew had moved from deck to deck, room to room, ambushing soldiers with steel and monsters formed of shadow. Hundreds upon hundreds of men had fallen, and blood washed every deck of the ship except one. The last of Storm Herald’s resistance were gathered above decks under the command of Admiral Peter Verit, and there they waited, no doubt with bows ready to ambush the surviving members of T’ruck’s crew. T’ruck himself could barely lift his sword, his arm aching like fire in his veins, but unless they stormed the deck and finished off the admiral and his soldiers, they would surely die just as if they’d stayed in their cells.

“We need to be monsters for just a little bit longer,” T’ruck said. “Up there are the last bastards standing between us and freedom. We kill them, and we’ve done the impossible, so I need you to be strong. We either finish them off now or we all die when they come for us, so I… we need you all to be strong for just a while longer.”

Pocket looked up at his captain and nodded slowly.

“Pick up your sword, lad,” T’ruck said.

The witch was standing apart from his crew. Her back was straight, but she was swaying on her feet and her eyes looked distant. Her skin was pale and her hair was plastered to her head with sweat. They all looked terrible, exhausted and speckled with blood, but Lady Tsokei looked like she had nothing left to give. She’d joined each battle with the rest of the crew and had tipped the scales of each encounter in their favour with her magic. T’ruck worried she wouldn’t have the strength to complete the taking of the ship, and he knew they would fail without her.

“Are you…” he started.

“I am fine, Captain Khan,” Lady Tsokei said. Her voice lacked its usual iron and ice. “This much contact with the Void… I feel raw, used up.”

“I have a plan,” T’ruck said. “Can you summon any more of those… um… shadow monsters?”

The witch nodded, and a sigh escaped her lips. “I believe I can do that once more, Captain Khan. But that will be all the magic I can…” She trailed off, tears in her eyes.

“Aye, it’ll be enough. Stay here with Yu’truda and Connel. They’re gonna make some noise, make it sound like we got an army down here. I’ll take the rest of us to the aft deck ladder. Give us a few minutes, then release your monsters. We’ll wait until the chaos is good and started and then we’ll charge up the ladder, take the bastards from the rear.”

Lady Tsokei nodded, saying nothing, her eyes fixed on the ladder. Without another word, T’ruck turned to his crew.

“Make plenty of noise, Yu’truda,” he said with a forced grin. “The more of those fuckers looking this way, the less likely any will be pointing bows at us. Once the fight is on, you pop up the ladder yourselves. We’ll need you.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Yu’truda said without a hint of emotion. Between the loss of her husband and the death she’d seen over the last few hours, T’ruck wondered if the last surviving member of his clan would ever be the same.

T’ruck and nine of his crew jogged quickly to the aft of the ship, not even bothering to check the rooms they passed. They’d been this way earlier and cleared it of soldiers and sailors alike, and there were plenty of bodies both in the corridors and in the otherwise empty rooms. T’ruck ignored the dead, concentrating instead on not slipping on the pooling blood left behind.

The ship was sitting still in the water, no doubt stopped while the crew dealt with the escaped prisoners, but there was still a slight sway as her massive frame moved with the waves. T’ruck prayed a storm would rise up out of somewhere; it would provide them with an extra distraction and some protection from the archers. Aiming with a bow was next to impossible when standing on a deck that couldn’t decide which way was up.

They slowed their pace as they came close to their destination, attempting to keep as quiet as possible so the men up on the aft deck wouldn’t know they were there. T’ruck waved for everyone to stay silent and approached the ladder at a crouch. He could hear a dull, rhythmic banging, and guessed it was the noise he’d asked for. He crept closer to the ladder and waited for the witch to do her final part.

It didn’t take long for the shouting and screaming to start.

T’ruck held up a hand to his crew, making them wait a bit longer. He wanted as many of the folk up on deck distracted as possible, and a few extra seconds of staring into the face of a rampaging shadow monster was fairly distracting.

After a tortuously long count of ten, T’ruck grabbed hold of the ladder and started to climb as quickly as he could with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The hatch to the deck was open and T’ruck rushed up through it. Something struck his shield with a solid thud, and pain erupted in his chest, near his right shoulder. T’ruck ignored it – he needed to get up out of the hatch and out of the way so the rest of his crew could follow him.

The sky was a dirty orange dotted with clouds, obscured by giant masts stretching up to greet them. There was a small group of soldiers watching the hatch, two busy reloading crossbows while another two were armed with swords. They charged at T’ruck even as he got a knee onto the deck.

With a roar of fury T’ruck swung his shield, swatting away the first soldier’s attack while he blocked the other with his sword, swallowing down the agony in his shoulder. He pushed off from the foot he had on the deck and launched himself at the two men, barrelling into both of them at once and bearing them down with his weight. The world twisted beneath him and the pain from his shoulder reduced his vision to a tunnel. T’ruck had no idea where he was, let alone where the soldiers were. He surged back onto his knees and began to lay about himself with his sword, the pain in his shoulder fuelling his rage.

“Cap’n! Cap’n!” one of his sailors shouted, and T’ruck stopped his wild flailing and opened his eyes. His own crew were gathered in front of him. The two soldiers with the crossbows and their guards were down, dead or dying. The two men he’d dragged to the deck with him had died where they fell, plenty of bloody gashes in each from T’ruck’s wild sword-swinging.

“We need to get into the fight, Cap’n,” said Pocket, a numb sorrow in his eyes.

T’ruck glanced down and saw a bolt sticking out of his flesh. Only a finger’s width still showed. He knew it would need removing and that his body would need time to heal, but time was something he didn’t have. He would have to ignore the wooden intruder for now and hope one of his surviving crew would know how to patch him up later.

Struggling to his feet, T’ruck limped forwards and stared down at the main deck, where the majority of the fighting was taking place. Soldiers were everywhere, struggling with the witch’s shadow monsters. T’ruck saw a giant, four-legged shadow lumber out from the darkness cast by the main mast. The creature scooped up the first soldier it came across and dashed the man into the deck, before turning to face a knot of men who had started hacking at it with swords. Whether or not the steel had any effect, T’ruck couldn’t tell, but it certainly seemed to enrage the beast, and soon it was slamming two more soldiers into the deck with its massive paws.

More and more shadows were pouring from one of the hatches on the main deck, each one like a snake slithering across the wood to find a larger patch of darkness to feed it. Everywhere T’ruck looked, soldiers were dying to the witch’s magic, and he could only wonder how she had the strength to manage it in her state of exhaustion.

“You!” someone shouted, and T’ruck looked sideways to see Admiral Peter Verit climbing the stairs to the aft deck, guards swarming around him. “You did this!”

T’ruck plastered a weary grin to his face and turned towards Verit, noticing for the first time how close they were to Storm Herald’s dinghies. The admiral was attempting to abandon his ship, giving it up for lost. T’ruck’s own depleted crew moved to his side, each of them as weary as he was, but each one just as determined to survive and to pay back the admiral for destroying their ship and murdering their friends.

One of the witch’s creatures slithered its way up onto the aft deck and angled towards T’ruck, disappearing into the large shadows cast by his crew. A moment later T’ruck felt a chill as a small monkey-like shape brushed past him. The monster seemed to have no head and no eyes, just a body and legs that looked like black smoke. He shuffled out of its way, but it didn’t seem interested in either him or his crew. It broke their ranks and charged at the admiral and his guards.

T’ruck bellowed out a laugh that set all his wounds to aching, and rushed in after the shadow monster. The admiral’s guards moved to meet him even as his own crew followed him in, and a moment later the battle was joined and the world became wood and steel and sweat and blood.

Blocking the first strike with his shield, T’ruck struck back with his own sword only to have it deflected. As the remainder of his crew joined him, forming a loose shield wall, the first of the admiral’s soldiers went down. The little shadow monster was attached to his chest, tearing into it with bloody talons.

Two of the downed soldier’s comrades turned on the shadow and hacked at it. The little beast ceased its attack and started to fade, soon leaving no evidence that it had ever existed except for the ruined mess of a man dying on the deck. T’ruck and another of his crew, Owan, locked shields and started to push as one, driving a wedge into the loose enemy line, protecting each other and forcing the soldiers to turn so that the rest of his men could attack their flanks.

T’ruck felt a cut open up on his left side and roared in pain. Rage filled every part of him, and new strength flowed into his limbs as he broke free of the two-man wall, swinging his stolen sword about him in wild, powerful strokes that shattered defences and sent men crashing to the deck with horrific injuries. His crew surged in his wake, taking advantage of the distraction to murder their enemies. They were all veterans of T’ruck’s crew, and every one was used to his berserker strength. They knew just how much it terrified their foes and how to make the most of it.

Admiral Verit came out of nowhere, leaping at T’ruck with well-timed, perfectly aimed blows that T’ruck struggled to turn aside despite his greater strength. The man was obviously well trained, but if he could just hold the bastard up for long enough the odds would turn in the pirate’s favour.

Strike after strike after strike and the admiral kept his composure, not a hair out of place on either his head or his chin. His eyes were cold steel. T’ruck decided he didn’t want his crew’s help to defeat the man – he wanted the royal bastard’s death all to himself.

T’ruck waited for his moment, blocking blow after blow, then catching the admiral’s sword on his shield and pushing forwards to catch him off balance. The admiral sidestepped at the last moment, dancing to the side.

New pain blossomed in T’ruck’s right leg and he stumbled to the ground, flailing with his sword and catching the admiral with a glancing blow of the flat of his blade.

T’ruck tried to stand, but his injured leg collapsed underneath him and a glance down told him the admiral had cut a deep gash in his ankle, probably severing a tendon. The pain was intense, but not as bad as the bolt still in his chest. He struggled to his knees and looked up just in time to see the admiral dance in and impale him.

T’ruck had experienced more wounds than he cared to count, and he had the scars to prove each one, but this was the first time he’d ever been run through. In truth he would have expected it to hurt more. He felt cold and detached, watching the battle being fought around him. His own crew were slaughtering the admiral’s guards, and soon they would turn and deal with the bastard himself. By then it would be too late. It was already too late.

The sun was rising over the admiral’s shoulder, and it was a brilliant orange-gold that lit the ocean and the sky like fire.

“Barbarian filth,” Verit hissed, leaning into his sword to drive it deeper into T’ruck’s chest. The pain rushed in and shattered the calm cold that had settled over him. He gasped, tasting blood.

“I may die here,” the admiral continued, “but I will see you dead first.”

T’ruck lifted an arm to stop him. But he had no strength left, and the man easily batted it away and changed his grip on his sword to pull it free of T’ruck’s chest.

Something large and angry crashed into the admiral from the side, sending him to the deck. T’ruck toppled sideways, too weak to stop himself falling. He saw the admiral struggling with Pocket, only for the young pirate to smash his head again and again with the edge of a wooden shield.

As the world started to go dark, the last thing T’ruck saw was Admiral Peter Verit’s head battered to a pulp, his perfectly groomed facial hair finally ruined.

Chapter 7 - North Gale

Nerine climbed up onto a deck awash with blood. The sun was rising low in the east, giving everything a warm feel and casting deep shadows across the pools of red spreading over the planks. As she stood still, taking in the carnage, one of the puddles spread to her feet and seeped in around her bare soles.

Yu’truda had come up on deck first, and she stood still as stone, her mouth hanging open at the sight before her. All of Nerine’s shadows were gone, but the massacre they’d left was nothing short of sickening even to the witch, and she’d witnessed more than one massacre in her years. Some of the soldiers were still alive, clinging to what little strength they had left and calling for help, but most were as dead as they could be. Some were little more than parts sitting in their own congealing blood.

Nerine heard retching and glanced sideways to see Yu’truda emptying her stomach. It was the smell that offended Nerine more than the blood. She’d seen rivers of red before, but death had a peculiar smell about it that couldn’t be denied, almost as though human flesh rotted the moment it ceased to live. It was acrid and foul, and Nerine felt her lip curl.

Her skin felt raw and exposed, and her legs shook from the effort of keeping her upright. It was a side effect of extensive contact with the Void. So much power and magic had been channelled through her, it had left her feeling stripped away. Her own reserves of strength were almost depleted, and only her iron will was keeping her going. She would need to rest soon, and rest long. Any more attempts to channel magic could leave her with permanent damage.

Not bothering to step around the pools of gore, Nerine headed aft towards where she believed the captain’s cabin might be. Captain Khan may have claimed it for himself, but Nerine needed to rest before her strength gave out completely, and she doubted she would find a more comfortable sanctuary than the cabin the admiral had been sleeping in. She went to step over a body and recognised the face. It was the officer she’d enslaved.

Kneeling down in the man’s blood, Nerine turned his head towards her. To her surprise, she found him clinging to life, stubbornly refusing to admit that he was dead. She’d expected him to die when she sent him up the ladder with her shadows, and it now appeared that his own crewmates had cut him down and left him for dead.

“Do you recognise me?” Nerine said softly.

The officer didn’t say anything, but Nerine thought she saw recognition in his eyes.

“All this is your fault,” she continued, holding the man’s chin in her hand so his head couldn’t flop away. “I would have let you all return to your backwards kingdom and hang the pirates if not for your fervour. You thought me a slave, and thought to use me for your desire. I am a terror beyond your understanding, and I would never consent to be touched by your filthy hands.”

There was no comprehension in the man’s eyes. Nerine wagered he was long past anything but the barest slip of consciousness. He would die soon, of that there was no mistake, and she would let him.

“Yu,” someone shouted from the deck above. “Yu, Cap’n’s in a bad way.”

Yu’truda broke into a run, ignoring the treacherous footing and rushing past Nerine, taking the steps up to the next deck two at a time. Nerine stood slowly, marvelling at how much blood had soaked into her tattered dress, and followed at a more leisurely pace.

At the top of the steps she saw more bodies – mostly soldiers, but a couple of Captain Khan’s crew also lay there. Those pirates who remained – Nerine counted only eight of them – were gathered around a giant body that could only belong to Captain Khan himself.

Nerine approached slowly, her feet leaving bloody prints on the deck behind her. As she moved closer, she saw that the captain had a number of shallow wounds and one that wasn’t so shallow. A sword was buried deep in his gut, almost up to the hilt, and blood leaked slowly from his mouth. He wasn’t showing any signs of life that Nerine could see. She would have to strike a deal with Yu’truda now, and hope the woman was as amiable as her deceased captain. Now was not the time though. Nerine turned away from the funeral.

“Can you help him?” Yu’truda said in a voice that barely carried over the lapping of the waves and the creaking of the hull.

Nerine glanced back at the hulk of a corpse and felt a twinge of sadness. “I cannot bring back the dead. And even if I could, you would not like what came back.”

“He’s not dead,” Yu’truda said urgently. “Not yet.”

Nerine approached the circle of pirates slowly, and they parted to let her through. She knelt down by the giant body of T’ruck Khan and placed two fingers on his neck. It was very faint, but there was the barest beat of a pulse. With the wounds that he’d suffered, she doubted he would last for long.

“Can you heal him? Like you did before?” Yu’truda said.

Nerine sighed. “As I have said, I cannot heal, only speed the natural process. There is no natural process that can heal him now.”

“Isn’t there something you can do, anything to save his life?” Huge tears were rolling down Yu’truda’s cheeks.

Nerine shook her head slowly. “I cannot save his life. But I can give him yours.”

Chapter 8 - The Phoenix

Keelin watched the ship’s boy as she dangled precariously over the side of The Phoenix, attempting to reach the jelly that had attached itself to the hull. Aimi had a rope tied around her waist, and Feather was attached to the other end. Feather wasn’t exactly the largest or strongest of lads, but Aimi wasn’t exactly the largest or heaviest of women, and the boy was just about managing to keep hold of her. Aimi had walked down the side of the hull and was reaching for the jelly with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the rope.

The Phoenix cut through another wave and the force of the spray knocked Aimi to her knees. Feather grunted, but held on tight all the same. Keelin smiled at the scene, enjoying the sight of Aimi soaked through.

“Don’t you have captain things to do, Cap’n?” Smithe said, having sneaked up behind Keelin.

Fighting the urge to turn on his treacherous quartermaster and thanking the sea goddess Rin that the man hadn’t taken the opportunity to throw his captain overboard, Keelin waited just long enough before replying for Smithe to bristle.

“The safety and well-being of the crew are captain things, Smithe.” Keelin pushed away from the railing and turned on his quartermaster, cursing that he had to look up at the man. “But that’s something you’ll never need to know.”

Smithe’s jaw clenched and veins popped out on the man’s neck. He was just over six feet of bronzed muscle with close-cropped hair, muddy eyes, and a burning desire to see The Phoenix in his own hands. He was a dangerous man, and even more dangerous since being voted into the position of quartermaster, but no matter how much Keelin would like to rid himself of the surly bastard, he couldn’t. Smithe had many allies among the crew, and they wouldn’t be pleased should the man disappear. For now the two were stuck in a dangerous dance, but Keelin was under no illusions that, should the opportunity present itself, he would find a knife in his back and Smithe attached to the handle.

“Crew want paying, Cap’n,” Smithe said, the sun lending extra menace to his eyes. Which, Keelin had to admit, were normally more than menacing enough.

“Right now?” Keelin said. “What are they intending to spend it on, Smithe? Rat racing? Or are you bending over and taking payment these days?” It was a petty insult not really worthy of a captain, but Smithe had a way of making Keelin want to hurt him.

Smithe’s eyes boggled, practically popping out of his skull. “We ain’t pirated nothing in a long while, Cap’n. Crew need paying once we get back to Sev’relain, and the ship’s coffers ain’t exactly bursting.”

“With you in charge, I’m surprised they’re not dwindling.”

“You calling me a thief?” Smithe took a step forward, looking down at his captain. Keelin stood his ground.

“We’re all thieves, Smithe. Stealing shit is our trade, and there ain’t been a quartermaster who didn’t take a little extra for themselves.” It was a blatant lie, but if Smithe could be caught stealing from the ship and crew it would be all the excuse Keelin needed.

“We need to take a ship,” Smithe said.

Keelin sighed. “Were you unconscious during our escape from Ash? There are Five Kingdoms navy ships behind us, Smithe. Do you see our escort? There” – Keelin pointed over the port side of the ship – “The Black Death, and there” – he pointed over the starboard side – “the Fortune. Even if we did spot something to take, both those ships are faster and would get there first.”

“Then we should leave,” Smithe protested.

“No.” Keelin stared down his quartermaster. “Right now we should run for home and regroup, and that’s exactly what we are doing. We no longer have the liberty of operating out on our own. We all stick together or we all die alone. Is that clear?”

An ugly grin spread across Smithe’s face. “Aye, Cap’n. No pay it is. Again.” He turned and walked away, and Keelin realised that more than a few members of the crew were close by and had been listening in.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning back to face the sea just as a jelly leapt over the railing and landed with a splat at his feet, thin tendrils flopping about on the deck.

Keelin put his hands on the railing and stared out across the sparkling blue waters of the Pirate Isles. If he concentrated really hard he could even pretend The Black Death wasn’t sailing alongside him, obscuring his view and reminding him that Tanner Black was now working with them rather than trying to kill them.

“You heard all that?” Keelin said.

“Every word, more or less.”

Keelin looked down to see Aimi holding onto the railing with both hands, a sympathetic look on her face. She still had a rope tied to her waist, and Feather was still nearby, holding on to the other end, trying desperately not to garner his captain’s attention.

“Well, you’re not the only one. Everyone on the ship will have heard by tonight, and I’m sure Smithe will make it sound like I don’t want to pay the crew.”

“Actually, you did a pretty good job of that yourself, Cap’n.”

“Please call me Keelin.”

“Not on duty, Cap’n,” Aimi said with a grin. “Those are the rules. Your rules, if ya remember.”

Keelin nodded, and silently wished he’d never imposed rules upon their relationship, but somehow he didn’t think Aimi would be comfortable without them.

Reaching down, Keelin grabbed hold of Aimi’s hand and helped her up and over the railing. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“I could take you off duty,” he said with a smile.

“No doubt we’d have a lot of fun,” Aimi said. “But that would be along the lines of preferential treatment, which we also covered in your rules.”

Keelin released her hand and stepped aside, motioning to the jelly lying on the deck. “Back to work then, boy.” He finished the order with a slap on her arse and turned away before she could turn her glare on him.

Kebble Salt was standing at the bow, staring out into the blue. It was rare to see the man down from the nest, and even rarer to see him without the rifle that he was known to be so deadly with. Keelin approached quietly, leaning on the railing and waiting for the man to speak. He found himself waiting for some time.

“Do you see the mist on the horizon?” Kebble said eventually.

Keelin squinted, but saw nothing resembling a mist. In fact, it was a gloriously sunny day with plenty of wind and barely a cloud in the sky. Still, Kebble had proven his sight to be greater than that of most men. Of course, the sharpshooter also believed himself to be immortal, so Keelin had cause to question his sanity.

“I see nothing but clear skies and clearer waters,” Keelin said with false cheer.

“Perhaps it is just me,” Kebble said. “The mists herald the coming of Cold Fire, the wraith ship. It would not be the first time they have come for me.”

Keelin glanced sideways at him. “So, this immortality of yours…” It was a subject he’d always tried to stay away from, and Kebble seemed disinclined to share. “How did you come about it?”

Kebble let out a bitter laugh. “I am cursed, Captain Stillwater. A god whose powers deal with life as much as your goddess’ deals with water. A demon’s power is the power to change fate. The Dread Lords hold death in their sway. It seems any of those powers could make a man immortal.”

It was a vague answer at best. “What about Reowyn?” Keelin decided that if they were simply naming creatures of vast, unimaginable power, he might as well throw the bogeyman into the list.

Kebble’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You believe Reowyn to be a myth. A tale of a monster told to scare children. You should be glad you do not know the things I know.”

Keelin let out a ragged sigh. He was more than happy believing Reowyn to be nothing but a myth. “So what did you do to earn the curse?”

“I murdered an entire civilisation.”

Keelin opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it and shook his head. He was more certain than ever that Kebble was indeed a madman, but sane or no, he was also a very useful man to have around.

“And you still think I may be able to find some god to take pity on you and kill you?” he said.

“I hope so,” Kebble replied, still staring out at the ocean.

“Well, if you see any gods or ghost ships, let me know.” Keelin turned and started away.

“I see land,” Kebble said.

“Aye, that’ll be Cinto Cena. Looks like we’re home.” Keelin squinted, but he couldn’t make out the telltale line on the horizon that would indicate an island. “This is where the fun starts.”

Keelin knew that before long they would be standing back on the dry land of New Sev’relain, and not long after that Tanner Black and Drake would be arguing. Given Keelin’s history with both captains, he was more than sure he would be arguing too.

Chapter 9 - Fortune

Beck waited, watching Drake out of the corner of her eye while trying to seem uninterested. He was a mystery to her despite the amount of time they spent together, and every time she thought she’d unravelled a part of that mystery, two more questions sprang up to take its place. It was beyond maddening.

Drake’s resistance to her compulsion, her magic that forced the truth from people, was as enticing as it was irritating. Of course, it helped that the pirate captain was handsome, and even more so that he knew his stuff between the sheets. Beck had been with a number of men in her time – some Arbiters, some not – but rarely had they left her feeling satisfied afterwards. Drake was different, and the fact that he knew it was insufferable.

For months they’d been stuck together. An order from Inquisitor Vance had driven Beck to the Pirate Isles, an order to protect Captain Drake Morrass, for reasons unknown to her. Since then she’d learned that there was a Drurr matriarch after Drake, and she could only conclude that that was the reason for her orders.

The Drurr were malevolent and evil on a scale that the Inquisition could not allow. There were some few exceptions who were allowed to live in a peaceful community in the northern reaches of Acanthia, and then there was the Queen of Blades in the free city of Larkos. But most of the Drurr haunted the places where humanity, even the agents of the Inquisition, feared to tread.

Beck had been able to glean some information about Drake and the Drurr from her time with him. He’d been a prisoner, a slave if the tattoos he wore were any indication, and for years he’d been held deep underground, tortured and likely worse at the hands of the Drurr – a matriarch no less. Beck had never heard of anyone escaping from the Drurr before, and that was yet another mystery she desperately wanted to solve.

New Sev’relain had grown again in the time they’d been away. New buildings, new ships, and new faces. Already the fledgling town had become a true settlement in its own right, and if it continued to expand it would soon match some of the smaller towns in Sarth for size. The Five Kingdoms’ attempt to purge the isles had failed to wipe out the pirates, but it had funnelled them into one place and united them under one flag. Drake’s flag.

Already Beck could see the evidence of industry. Smoke rose from the town, maybe from a bakery, maybe from a blacksmith – she didn’t know, but its mere existence was sign that New Sev’relain was on its way to becoming a living city.

Folk crowded the docks, waiting for the Fortune to secure its berth and its captain to depart. Beck spotted many of the people who had been elected as representatives for the townsfolk, those who weren’t pirates but were now living under Drake’s rule all the same. She saw Riverlanders too, dirty and dishevelled with their tattooed faces. She’d never seen so many of the vagrants before.

The Riverlanders tended to be secretive and violent towards outsiders. They mostly travelled the riverways in the densely packed jungles south of Sarth, living off the land and whatever they could trade with those they didn’t attack and eat.

Beck counted eight ships floating in the bay, and that was more than she’d ever seen in one place in the Pirate Isles. Judging by the whispered talk of the crew, it was as rare as Beck thought it to be. With the Fortune, The Phoenix, and The Black Death, that took the count up to eleven, and the docks looked crowded. As they approached, one of the ships at berth was towed away by dinghies, and the Fortune made for the free spot right away, leaving the other ships to wait in the bay.

“You coming?” Drake said as the Fortune came to a stop and its crew started to secure the lines.

Beck waited for a few moments, gazing out into New Sev’relain. “No,” she said eventually.

Drake stared at Beck for a while longer before snorting out a laugh and turning away. “Suit yourself, Arbiter.”

The pirate captain mounted the gangplank and swaggered down it, greeting those waiting for him at the bottom with open arms, a warm smile, and plenty of reassuring words. He glanced back towards Beck once, but she made certain she was looking elsewhere. Once Drake was off the docks and heading towards the town, Beck turned and walked towards his cabin.

“Can I help you, Arbiter?” Princess, Drake’s first mate, said just as she reached the door. He was loyal as a dog where his captain was concerned, and Beck was in no doubt that Drake would hear of her attempt to enter his cabin.

“Actually, yes, Princess, you can,” she said with a predatory smile. “I need to clean my pistols and I’ve run out of metal oil. You can fetch me some.”

“To the captain’s cabin?” Princess persisted.

“My cabin used to be yours,” Beck said. “Do you believe there’s enough room in there to perform the proper maintenance?”

Beck’s compulsion locked onto Princess’ will and forced the truth out of him. “No,” Princess said, and let out a shiver. It was unlikely he would have lied, but Beck found using her compulsion to dominate folk from time to time reminded them of their place. “I bloody wish you wouldn’t do that, Arbiter. I’ll fetch ya oil, just… don’t go magicking me any more, eh.”

As Princess hurried away, Beck put her hand to the door handle and twisted. The door didn’t budge. Drake rarely bothered locking it when he was aboard ship, but at times like this it didn’t surprise Beck that he had. She was starting to understand bits of Drake, and it was obvious his circle of trust was small.

Beck whispered two words into her hand and then placed that hand against the lock. There was an immediate click as the bolt slid back, and she tried the handle again. The door opened and she stepped inside. Of the three schools of magic employed by the Inquisition, she was most proficient with sorcery, using her potential to directly affect the world and, when need be, drawing upon the vast power of Volmar. Opening locked doors was little more than a trick, but she was capable of real magic when the need called.

The school of sorcery was the most diverse, with further sub-divisions in elemental magic, conjuration, and alteration. Beck had found an affinity for alteration very early on in her training and had specialised in it. It was the most literal form of sorcery, the ability to change the world around her, and its uses were near endless. Of course, there were the darker sub-divisions of sorcery such as necromancy, but the Inquisition did not teach, nor condone, practitioners of those evil arts, and the eradication of those that did was one of the organisation’s chief mandates.

Beck had encountered necromancers before, and their ability to breathe life into the dead was both horrifying and unforgivable. Necromancers’ powers were never stronger than when they were near the Land of the Dead, and Beck had seen first-hand what such heretics were capable of when they could draw upon the power of that cursed place. She shuddered at the memory and pushed it away. That they’d recently witnessed a Drurr ship carrying a necromancer worried Beck greatly. The Drurr had always abhorred the practice as much as the Inquisition did; it was, after all, responsible for the downfall of their once great civilisation.

It occurred to Beck that Princess might not be so easily fooled by her ruse. She took a pistol from her jerkin and laid it on a nearby cabinet before approaching the window and waiting. The first mate would appear with the oil and she would instruct him to place it next to the gun to secure her alibi. As soon as he was gone, she would contact the Inquisition.

Arbiter Darkheart may have recently freed the demons of the Void from their indenture, making long-distance communication harder, but there were still ways. They were limited and draining and required absolute concentration, but the Inquisition had come up with an alternative and Beck needed to talk to Inquisitor Vance. He needed to know everything that had happened so far, and she needed new orders.

“Reparations will be made,” Drake assured the skinny woman. “Store what’s left in the cellar for now and come by the Fortune tomorrow with a number. If it’s reasonable, I’ll see you’re paid for the inconvenience.”

Tanner laughed from the other side of the table, and Drake suppressed a shudder at the noise. His recent nemesis and now ally had been a second shadow from the moment he made land, following him around and participating in his discussions with the inhabitants of New Sev’relain. It was an annoyance, but one Drake could abide, as not only did it seem to be cementing their new-found alliance, but the people of New Sev’relain could see just what kind of man Tanner was and they were quickly learning how different life would be under the blackguard’s rule rather than his own.

“Still want to be king, mate?” Tanner said with a dark grin.

They were sitting either side of a table in the Righteous Indignation while a veritable celebration went on around them. Pirates from all the crews socialised together, and though there was a strained atmosphere in the air, the folk of New Sev’relain appeared to be accepting of those from Fango. Tanner was nursing a mug of ale like it was the last in the world, and Drake was already on his second and wishing it was his fourth.

“Still want to take it from me?” Drake replied with a golden-toothed grin of his own.

Tanner laughed and slapped the table hard. A couple of nearby pirates, men from Drake’s crew, turned and looked, but they soon realised violence wasn’t on the cards.

“Why be king though, Drake?” Tanner said. “Word as I hear it says ya got all the money of a king with none of the shit that comes with it. So why? Unless it’s just to prove ya in charge.”

Drake narrowed his eyes. He didn’t credit Tanner with an abundance of subtlety, but neither did he trust the man, and that seemed like a decent policy given it wasn’t thirty days ago that Tanner had been about to cut out Drake’s tongue with a rusty knife. Drake rubbed the scab on his nose and winced.

“Legitimacy,” he said, and it was almost half the truth. “I might have money, but if I sail into Sarth I’ll still get my neck stretched just the same as any common criminal. If I can legitimise the Pirate Isles, make peace with Sarth, and the Five Kingdoms and Acanthia and the Dragon Empire, then I can go anywhere. We can go anywhere.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Think, Tanner. No more hiding, skulking into shit hole ports to sell things at a tenth of what they’re worth.”

“No more piracy,” Tanner rumbled, his smiles and laughter long gone.

“Nothing ever works out quite the way it’s planned, Tanner. There’ll still be fights to be had and ships to be robbed, but we make it so everyone wants to pass through our waters pays a tax, and we use that money to build real towns here in the isles. We won’t just be pirates any more – we’ll be the greatest damned navy the world has ever seen. That’s real power. The power to influence the world.”

“And that’s why.” Tanner stared at Drake, and there was real evil in his eyes. “Ya want the type of power even money can’t buy, only loyalty, and those that are loyal willing to lay down their lives for ya.”

Drake had to give Tanner something for being more perceptive than he would have guessed. “Aye,” he said, and waited for the pirate’s response.

“Ya got bigger stones than I guessed, Drake. Just remember who’s helping ya get there, and know I can take away my support at a moment’s notice.”

Drake was about to respond to the veiled threat when the door to the tavern opened and three Riverlanders swaggered in, followed by Deun Burn himself, all of them with tattooed faces. Captain Burn snarled at the gathered crowd of drunken, celebrating pirates, before his gaze settled on Drake’s table and he made his way over, his kin behind him.

“You order a Riverlander?” Drake asked Tanner.

Tanner spat. “No one ever wants to see one of those vagrant bastards.”

Deun stopped at the table and made a show of standing over Drake, looking down at him. Drake took the opportunity to ignore the man and sup on his ale, which, unfortunately, was on the verge of running dry.

“Morrass,” Deun hissed eventually, after it became clear to everyone that Drake wasn’t willing to pay the man any attention.

“Captain Burn,” Drake said with false cheer. “I didn’t notice you standing there. Pull up a chair, why don’t you? You know Tanner Black?”

The captain of Rheel Toa eyed Tanner suspiciously before looking around for a chair and finding none spare. “So it’s true? Even Captain Black works for you now.”

Drake smiled at Deun. “More of an alliance, really. What happened to Captain Khan? I’ve heard reports that he sailed away just after meeting with you, and he hasn’t come back yet. I ordered him to guard New Sev’relain. I’m a little curious as to what would have made him sail off like that.”

“He was betrayed,” Deun said with a grim set to his skull-tattooed face. “We were all betrayed.”

Drake glanced across the table to find Tanner looking right back. “Betrayed by who?”

“One of my brothers. Captain of Berris Dey. He tricked the big fool into sailing after a ship in our waters. It was a trap. Set by the Five Kingdoms and baited by my hitschkk of a brother.”

Drake had no idea what the Riverlander had just said, only that the word made his ears hurt. “I’d quite like to meet this captain of Berris Dey,” he said. He’d seen the ship floating out in the bay.

“He has been dealt with,” Deun Burn said with a nod.

“How can I be sure of that?”

Deun looked at Drake. The man might have looked confused, but the skull tattoo that covered his face hid the subtleties of his expression. He quickly fiddled at his belt and retrieved a pouch, opening it and dumping a patch of leather on the table between Drake and Tanner. It was a crude thing, a circle of leather with a few holes and a pattern like scales.

“We removed his honour,” Deun said, straightening up and standing to his full height.

Drake looked down at the circle of leather again, and then up to find Tanner Black grinning madly in the lantern light.

“That’s his face, isn’t it?” Drake said.

Deun Burn nodded.

“You people do some weird shit,” Drake said, glancing at the patch of skin and trying to keep his stomach from turning. “What happened to the rest of him?”

Deun picked up the flap of skin and tucked it back into its pouch. “Dealt with.”

“You ate him, didn’t you?” Drake said.

Tanner Black laughed, a deep noise that somehow drowned out the din around them.

“Did you at least find out how much the owner of that face told the Five Kingdoms bastards before you filled ya bellies?”

Captain Burn’s skull face frowned. “No.”

“Because I reckon there’s a good chance he told them where this place is. If he knew where New Sev’relain is, then now so do they.” Drake slammed his fist against the table, launched to his feet, and stormed past the Riverlander, not caring if either of the other two captains followed him.

Outside the tavern, Drake stopped and stared up towards the treeline and then down towards the docks. Deun Burn burst outside after him, followed lethargically by Tanner Black, who still seemed more amused by the situation than anything else.

“We’re gonna need folk in the forest, watching,” Drake said, holding up his hand against the bright sunlight. “I was at Old Sev’relain, and they landed on the far side of the island, came out of the trees before any of us knew what was happening. Surprise being their best weapon, I guess.”

“They would never survive the forests of the Isle of Goats,” Tanner said with pride in his voice. “Fango is a safer town.”

“Aye,” Drake conceded. “Maybe. But this little island ain’t called many deaths for nothing, Tanner. They might make it over the beaches and through the forest, but they’ll pay a heavy toll. Still best to have folk out there watching though.”

Looking towards the docks again, Drake saw Keelin Stillwater slogging his way up the sandy stretch. The man had that little wench of his with him and they seemed deep in conversation.

“We’re gonna need weapons,” Drake said. “I want every pirate armed and every spare weapon – sword, axe, or sharp stick – in the hands of the townsfolk. Prioritise those who know how to use them. We arm as many folk as possible.”

He turned back to Deun and Tanner to find the two men not jumping to his commands. Tanner had stopped grinning and was regarding Drake curiously. Deun seemed caught between the two of them, waiting for Tanner to fall in line before he would himself. Drake took a step forward and stared up at Tanner. The big pirate did not look cowed.

“Ya really wanna make ya stand here, Morrass?” Tanner said slowly. “Fango is better for it. With a few bows and those who can use them we could hold Fango against an army.”

Drake shook his head. “We do it here, Tanner.”

“Do what here?” Stillwater said, sounding a little out of breath from the walk up the beach. The little woman beside him was staring with wide eyes at the assembled captains, and she wasn’t the only one. Folk were stopping nearby and edging closer, attempting to listen in.

“Five Kingdoms are coming,” Tanner said. “Drake wants to make his stand here instead of Fango.”

“When are they coming?” Stillwater said.

“Don’t know,” Tanner replied. “Fucking Riverlanders gave us away though.”

More and more folk were stopping now that some had heard Tanner speak. One man even ducked into the tavern, no doubt to spread the rumour. There was nothing for it now; soon the whole town would know.

“We dealt with the traitor,” Captain Burn insisted.

“Aye, mate,” Tanner said, stepping closer and towering over the Riverlander. “So ya say, and ya got a pretty little flap of skin by way of proof, but how are we to know the rest of ya ain’t just as treacherous?”

“This isn’t helping, Tanner,” Stillwater said.

“Speaking of the treacherous, you should probably just keep that mouth of yours shut, mate,” Tanner said, turning on Stillwater.

“Are they really coming for us again?” asked one of the townsfolk nearby, a woman of middling years with stained clothing and a young boy holding onto her leg.

“I didn’t betray you, Tanner,” Stillwater said, squaring up to the bigger pirate. “I escaped you.”

“Aye,” Drake roared over all of them – the pirates, the captains, and the townsfolk – then waited for them to quiet down before he continued. “They’re coming for us again.”

“Where do we run to now?” said one of the townsfolk.

“Fango,” Tanner shouted quickly before turning his dark eyes on Drake. There was a challenge there that couldn’t be ignored.

“We’re not going to Fango,” Drake yelled before he lost he crowd. “We’re not going anywhere.”

He looked around, meeting as many eyes as possible. “Aye, they’re coming for us again, and they’re coming hard.” Drake had no idea how many ships they’d attack them with this time, but they’d escaped five during the parley at Ash. “And we’ll do to them what we did to that monster.” He pointed at the skeleton of the Man of War still keeled over down the beach. It was little more than the bones of a ship these days – every useful plank of wood had been salvaged to help build the town – but they kept it there as a reminder of where they came from.

“We’re gonna reinforce the town. All work on homes and the like stops; anyone left homeless gets taken in somewhere.” Drake pointed towards the forest. “We need to clear the trees back and build a wall. Watch towers, we’ll need watch towers.”

“That’s a lot of work, Captain Morrass,” said one of the townsfolk, a large man with more lines in his face than there were waves in the sea. “How long do we have?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said truthfully. “Could be weeks, could be hours.”

“Hours?” one of the townsfolk cried. The crowd broke into chaos. Some folk shouted at each other, some at Drake, and others just pleaded or prayed for their lives.

Drake let out a ragged sigh and looked to his fellow captains for help. He received none.

“Fango,” Tanner said, just loudly enough for Drake to hear.

“Yes, it’s a lot of work,” Drake roared. “And no, we don’t have long to do it. But one thing is for fucking certain. They are coming. So the sooner you all stop pissing and moaning to me and get started, the better state we’ll be in when they arrive, because nobody fucking leaves. Here is where we’re making our stand, so anyone with a job, get to it. Anyone without a job, find one.”

There was some mumbling from the crowd and some of the townsfolk wandered away, but more stayed behind, looking expectantly from Drake to Tanner to Stillwater.

“Now! Unless you all want to die when the bastards get here,” Drake shouted.

Stillwater nodded. “Drake’s made the choice, and here is where we fight them. Get to it, people.”

The crowd began to disperse, pirates and townsfolk alike slipping away to find jobs. Drake was raging inside. The fools hadn’t listened to him. They’d heard his orders and they hadn’t moved until Stillwater agreed with them. He blamed Tanner – the man’s claim that Fango was safer had scared the folk of New Sev’relain, and they believed him.

“Reckon they just needed someone to agree with you,” Stillwater said once most of the crowd had gone. “You really think this is the best idea, Drake?”

“You questioning my orders, Stillwater?” Drake turned on the man, wondering when everyone had started doubting him.

“Good orders should always be questioned,” Stillwater said. “Bad orders should always be ignored.”

Tanner laughed. “So ya still remember something from aboard me ship, boy.”

Stillwater shook his head at Tanner. “Oh, aye. I remember you saying it. Also remember you beating me with a bucket for questioning one of your orders.”

“Never said there wasn’t a price for questioning good orders.” Tanner grinned and turned his attention back to Drake. “We’ll stay and help ya fight, Your Majesty. I do hope we all get through it.” The big pirate laughed and turned away, striding towards the beach and his ship.

“Bastard is going to undermine me every chance he gets,” Drake said, staring after Tanner.

“He’s not wrong about Fango being more defensive,” Stillwater said.

“It’s not about which is more defensive. It’s about territory, and Fango is his. New Sev’relain has to be the seat of my power, the capital of the Pirate Isles, otherwise he has too much influence.”

“What about the people?” Stillwater said. “They’ve a better chance of surviving at Fango.”

Drake looked at him and shook his head. “They’ve a better chance of surviving under my boot, not his.”

Chapter 10 - The Phoenix

Keelin dug his feet into the dirt and pulled hard on the rope. The woman in front and two men behind him did the same, and slowly the wooden pillar began to rise. Those attached to the other rope, opposite Keelin’s team, let it out hand after hand as Keelin and his three companions pulled it in. The same thing was happening all across the treeline, the bones of a wall being erected to provide New Sev’relain better protection from the forest and anything that might come out of it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another pillar going up; this one only had one person pulling on the rope – Beck. Keelin had long known the woman was an Arbiter, ever since she’d used her magic on him and forced him to tell the truth, and now others were starting to suspect. No one person was strong enough to do the work of four, not without the help of magic. The problem, at least as far as Keelin saw it, was that nobody else cared.

He doubted he was the only one to have cause for grievance with the Inquisition and its murderous ways, but the other pirates and townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. Beck was helping New Sev’relain, getting her hands dirty and pouring as much blood and sweat into the strengthening of its defences as the next person. Much more than some.

With every pillar the Arbiter helped to erect, with every tree felled and pit dug, with every section of wall built and every watch tower raised, the witch hunter was gaining the respect and admiration of folk who should be running her out of town. She was a murderer as sure as any other Arbiter, and Keelin couldn’t forgive any of them. At least, not until he caught the Arbiter who had murdered his little sister. Not until he showed Arbiter Prin as much mercy as the bastard had shown a scared little girl whose only crime had been recurring sickness and her own intuition.

“Ease off a bit, Cap’n Stillwater,” said the man behind him. “Ya pullin’ too hard. This ain’t no race. Slow an’ steady is safest, eh?”

Keelin let out the ragged breath he’d been holding in and matched his pace to the rest of his team’s, aware that his anger towards the witch hunters had got the better of him. He’d just spent so long trying to find his revenge that it often clouded his mind.

The pillar dropped the last few feet into the post-hole dug for it and they pulled it upright. A girl and her father rushed forwards with a cart full of dirt and quickly shovelled it into the hole around the pillar, and after a few minutes they were instructed to let go of the ropes. The pillar held upright, and someone patted Keelin on the back.

“Ten minutes’ break, then on to the next one.”

Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate coordinating the work and sank gratefully down onto the dirt. He pulled a water skin from his belt, sucking down gloriously wet sips and letting the sweat run down his face and drip from his chin. His eyes found Beck again. The Arbiter didn’t bother to rest – she moved straight on to the next wooden pillar and took up the rope on her own again, working tirelessly. Keelin remembered the screams that tore from his sister’s throat as the fires lit by Arbiter Prin ate her alive. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he could no longer tell if they stemmed from pain or rage.

Not two years ago Keelin had thought he was close. He’d traded with another witch hunter – passage from Larkos to Fortune’s Rest in return for Arbiter Prin’s location. It turned out the witch hunter had lied; the little town he directed Keelin to had never heard of an Arbiter by the name of Prin.

A few months later Keelin learned of the Observatory in the ruins of HwoyonDo, the capital city of the Forgotten Empire. There, he was assured, he would be able to find Prin and his vengeance. He paid a high price for the information, and the seller gave no reassurances.

Keelin told his crew, and they were more than happy to follow him – not for his dream of vengeance, but for the riches hidden within the lost city. Unfortunately, the waters around the Forgotten Empire were as dangerous as the jungle that covered the land, and more than a few ships had been lost sailing blind. They needed the charts of someone who had sailed through those waters before, and only one captain, and one ship, was known to have gone there and come back. Keelin looked around for Drake Morrass, but he couldn’t see the infamous pirate anywhere. He’d started following Drake in the hopes of swiping the charts from him, but somewhere along the course Keelin had found himself believing in Drake’s vision of a unified Pirate Isles. The Five Kingdoms and Sarth were coming, and they were trying to wipe out the pirates. Keelin couldn’t allow that. The isles, and the folk who lived there, had taken him in after he escaped his father. Tanner Black may have made Keelin a pirate and given him a job, but it was the people of Fango and Sev’relain and Black Sands who gave him a home. Drake wanted to protect those same people because he wanted to wear a crown and be in charge of them; Keelin just wanted to help them. He’d seen too many people and cities burn in his short lifetime.

“You ready, Captain Stillwater?”

Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate and followed him to the next pillar. He noticed Beck had finished raising another and was holding it steady as dirt was poured into the post-hole. Keelin still didn’t trust the woman, but he had to give her some grudging respect. She was damned useful to have around.

Aimi raised her left hand and pointed at the target, drawing back her right hand. She took a deep breath and let it out smoothly. Throwing her right hand forwards, she let go of the knife. The little blade spun end over end over end before clattering against the outside wall of Keelin’s cabin and dropping to the deck. She’d missed the target by a good two feet.

Harsh laughter sounded behind her and she cringed as she recognised Smithe’s voice. The big quartermaster was a special kind of creepy, and Aimi knew his type . She’d spent long enough working in a tavern in Old Sev’relain to be able to tell which pirates were to be avoided at all costs, and Smithe was definitely one. He was the kind of man who enjoyed the violence of the way of life over the freedom. He lived to hurt folk and he would take his enjoyment anywhere he could get it. She tried to avoid Smithe as much as possible, but The Phoenix wasn’t the largest of ships and her relationship with its captain, along with her breasts, only served to draw the quartermaster’s attention.

“Useless bitch,” he said with a sneer as Aimi collected her knife. She clenched her jaw tight; there was no point in bristling at the man’s comments. Smithe outranked her and could make her life unbearably hellish with the assignment of duties and shore leave, and that would only tempt Keelin to intervene on her behalf, which, she suspected, was exactly what the quartermaster wanted.

As Aimi bent down to collect her knife something thudded into the wall just inches from her head. She fell backwards, scrambling away on her arse, her heart pounding in her ears and her mouth suddenly as dry as a desert, all to Smithe’s braying laughter.

The knife that had come so close to ending her life was still wobbling in the wall. It was a long blade with a single edge and a handle that incorporated individual finger guards all made of shiny steel. Aimi could well imagine how a punch from a man like Smithe with that knife in hand could easily do as much damage as a stab.

“You’re trying to spin the blade,” Smithe said as he walked over, sparing only a glance at Aimi. She sat on the deck, staring at him wild-eyed. He pulled the knife from the wall and kicked Aimi’s little piece of metal towards her. “It wants to fly straight from your hand.”

Smithe walked a good distance away, then turned back towards the cabin. He held his knife by the blade and pointed it at the wall, then drew back his hand until it was beside his head. In one quick motion he extended his arm and released the little knife, which flew with alarming speed towards the target Aimi had hung on the wall. It embedded itself with a solid thunk.

“Throw the blade straight and true,” Smithe said, approaching the cabin and pulling his knife from the target. “Let the weight of the handle even out its flight.”

Aimi gathered her legs beneath her and stood, picking up her knife as she did. Smithe sat down on a barrel, watching her with his too-intense eyes. Aimi hated how nervous the quartermaster made her feel. She walked to the spot from which Smithe had thrown and focused. First she pointed her knife at the target, then drew it back just as Smithe had, then extended her arm and released.

Her little knife hit the wall of the cabin just a foot from the target and stuck there for a moment before the weight of it dragged its point loose and it clattered to the deck. Smithe laughed again.

“I was closer,” Aimi said indignantly.

“Closer don’t mean shit,” Smithe spat. “Ya gonna fight with the rest of the crew, then ya need to know how to stick the enemy an’ not us. Not that ya throw would’ve done much more than piss a real man off. Throw harder or don’t fucking bother.”

Aimi felt her cheeks go hot. “I’ll try.”

Smithe leapt off his barrel and stormed over to her. She held her ground, but with the big quartermaster bearing down on her it wasn’t easy. She wanted nothing so much as to run and hide in Keelin’s cabin.

“Might be my life depends on your fucking trying, one day. Or maybe even the captain’s.” Smithe stank of stale sweat with a hint of sweet perfume, telling Aimi much about his shore leave activities. While the rest of the town was helping build defences and prepare for an attack, Smithe was visiting the brothel.

For a while Aimi just stared at the deck beneath her, desperately willing her legs not to shake. Eventually Smithe snorted and turned away.

“Either learn to throw that thing or go hide under the captain’s bed,” he snarled as he stalked off.

Aimi waited until Smithe had disappeared below decks, then released the breath she’d been holding. She sank down onto her arse. A laugh from above made her glance up. Looking down from just a few feet above her on the main mast was the deeply lined face of Jojo Hyrene. Aimi had spent many an hour in Jojo’s company, listening to his never-ending stories, and she counted the man as a true friend.

“He works pretty damned hard to be that scary,” Jojo said with a wide smile.

“It’s not just me then?” Aimi said. “He scares you too?”

Jojo nodded. “Scares everyone a bit, I think, even the Cap’n, though he’d never show it. Smithe served with Tanner back when this ship belonged to his daughter. He revelled in the cruelty.”

“Wait,” Aimi said. “The Phoenix belonged to that harpy, Elaina Black?”

Jojo laughed and his head bobbed up and down again. “Mhm, before Cap’n Stillwater stole it out from under her. The Phoenix was to be her first ship. Anyone else and I reckon she’d have chased them to Rin’s court and back, but not the Cap’n.”

Aimi looked away from Jojo, sucking on her teeth and trying not to feel the strange jealousy that bubbled up from deep down. Keelin was hers; he’d chosen Aimi over his old flame. They spent their free time together and talked about everything and nothing, often drinking cheap rum late into the night, and she spent more nights than not in his bunk these days. Still, that he had so much history with Elaina Black worried her. She only knew of the woman by reputation, but what she’d heard made her sound even scarier than Smithe.

With a noise approaching a growl, Aimi stood and collected her fallen knife. She returned to the practice spot and launched the little blade at the target again, this time imagining it was Elaina Black’s smirking face.

“Another one comin’ in,” someone shouted from somewhere high above her.

Aimi looked upwards to see Jojo climb up the mast a few feet and look towards the bay for a moment before breaking into laughter.

“What is it?” Aimi said as she retrieved her knife from the wall.

“The name of the ship is My Salty Wife,” Jojo said, still chuckling.

Aimi snorted out a laugh, but it was all she could manage in her dark mood. Her father used to refer to the sea as his salty wife, and used to say he often cheated on her with Aimi’s mother, but the sea was a jealous bitch and if the waves ever got wind of his adultery, his salty wife would sink him with barely a thought.

The thought of her parents brought with it a pang of regret. Aimi had never told them she was leaving, nor her sister. She’d just packed her bag and gone. She wondered how they were doing now, and if they still thought of her.

A laugh bubbled up and erupted from Aimi’s belly. She was halfway across the world, embroiled in a war to build a new empire, and she was fucking the man who was going to stand on the right-hand side of the throne – and she was missing her fisherman father and his wife. If she did one day return to her parents, Aimi could only wonder if they’d even believe her adventure.

Chapter 11 - Fortune

Beck stumbled over to one of the tables set out in the sand and collapsed onto the bench. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last hour as the sun sank down. A brilliant golden sunset was waning to the west.

Someone gave Beck a hearty slap on the back. Rather than bristle and threaten the offender, she accepted it as the comradery that it was. She was beyond exhausted from the labour, and there was still so much to be done. In just a few days they’d erected all of the support pillars and had started with the even lengthier process of actually building the wall plank by plank. It would never be the sturdiest of defences, but it didn’t have to be. The pirates didn’t intend to sit behind their wall for a lengthy siege, but rather use it to slow down any enemy who somehow made it past the flaming cliffs, sand monsters, and enchanted forest.

“Drink this,” Drake said as he sat down opposite Beck, placing a tankard in front of her. “It’s water.”

Beck took the tankard gratefully and started sipping at it, only then realising just how thirsty she was. She’d been working for most of the day, chanting blessings of strength to do the work of four or five people at once, or blessings of stamina to keep her muscles feeling fresh and energetic. It had taken its toll, and dehydration was only one of the issues she now faced.

“You need to slow down,” Drake said.

Looking up, she saw real concern on the captain’s face. He was ruddy-cheeked and sticky with sweat, his hair a tousled mess, and his face seemed to have sprouted some new lines. Beck sighed and took another sip of water, her head drooping.

“I don’t know what it is you think you need to prove, but folk here are impressed. You’ve already done more than your share of work, but I need you to slow down. I need you ready for a fight, not collapsed in a heap like Tatters.”

Beck glanced sideways at Admiral Tatters. The man was an unconscious drunken mess. He’d helped a little with the defences, erecting a pole or two, but the lure of booze had quickly taken hold and before long he was more liability than asset. To think he’d once been a loyal, respectable admiral in the Sarth navy, and now he was the town drunk of a pirate colony at war with Sarth.

“I’ll be fine,” Beck insisted, not looking up from her tankard. She didn’t want to look at Drake lest he see the guilt she was feeling. Inquisitor Vance had given her very specific orders, but for now she was to help the pirates against Sarth and the Five Kingdoms and protect Drake against any and all threats.

For a while Drake said nothing, and Beck was content to pretend he’d gone, but she knew he was still sitting there, watching her.

“Here,” he said eventually, and Beck heard him drop something heavy onto the table. “We might all be working together, but you really shouldn’t leave valuable things like this just lying around.”

Beck looked up to see her leather jerkin on the table. She’d taken it off early in the day when the sun was high and hot and labouring in such heavy clothing became unbearable. She was more than hot enough in just a blouse and trousers.

“Looks like someone made off with one of your pistols. Might be I can ask around and find it.”

Beck looked closer and saw that one of the guns usually strapped to the front of the jerkin was indeed missing. She shook her head, still refusing to meet Drake’s eyes. “I think I left it in your cabin when I was cleaning it the other day.”

“Maybe we should go and retrieve it then, eh?”

There was no mistaking the suggestion in Drake’s voice. They’d fucked on the way back from Ash, and Beck wouldn’t deny she’d both wanted and needed it, but she also couldn’t deny she was getting too close to Drake. The pirate was her mission, not her friend or lover, and she didn’t need the distraction. She looked up at him then.

“Sure,” she said, and cursed herself for giving in so easily.

Drake grinned and disentangled himself from the bench. Beck stood slowly, finishing her tankard of water and scooping up her jerkin as she followed the pirate towards his ship. She knew she should have said no – she’d meant to say it. She’d meant to find some food and crawl into her bunk to spend the rest of the night asleep in preparation for another hard day of labour, but she wanted Drake. She wanted to taste his lips and feel him inside her. Inquisitor Vance had given her specific orders, but he hadn’t forbidden her from having sex with Drake, so she was breaking no rules other than her own.

They made it all the way to the beach in silence before an interruption both saved and disappointed Beck. Captain Sienen Zhou shouted to them as he hurried over. The captain of Freedom was short and wiry with long hair and an even longer moustache that dropped down past his chin and towards his chest.

“What is it, Sienen?” Drake said tersely. “I’ve got plans.” He glanced back at Beck. “Good plans.”

“Some of my boys are missing,” Captain Zhou said. “Light’s all but gone and they should’ve been back long ago.”

“Missing from where?” Drake said.

“Water collection out in the trees.”

“They may have stumbled into one of the magic traps,” Beck said with a sigh. “I can take a team to look for them.” She wasn’t sure if she was glad or not for a reason to be away from Drake.

“They’ve made the run… must be twenty times,” Captain Zhou said indignantly. “They know the route.”

Beck saw Drake glance towards his ship and then back up towards the town. He was obviously torn between the desire to get Beck back to his cabin and the need to take the missing pirates seriously.

“Raise the alarm, Sienen,” he said. “Every man, woman, and drunk who can hold a sharp object gets one.”

Beck swung her jerkin off her shoulder and pulled it on. “Drake, if you wouldn’t mind doing me up,” she said quietly.

“Aye, probably for the best.” Drake started pulling on the laces to tightly secure the jerkin as Captain Zhou ran off towards the town, shouting for people to raise the alarm. Within a minute small bells were ringing all around New Sev’relain, the signal to warn of a possible attack.

Beck counted eight camp fires on the beach between them and the ships. They ranged from cook fires to small blazes, each one lighting only a small area in the encroaching darkness. Each ship in the bay was also lit with a number of lanterns, and Beck counted twelve vessels, all floating on water that looked almost ethereal as the light from a waning sun gave way to that of a new moon.

“There’s a new ship in the bay,” Beck said as Drake finished tightening up the laces and tied them off.

Moving to stand beside her, Drake stared down the beach. “That one,” he said, pointing at a ship sitting at the docks between The Phoenix and the Fortune. “I don’t recognise her.”

An ear-splitting whistle sounded from the town and both Beck and Drake turned to see a bright light rocket upwards, leaving a trail of red behind it until it finally exploded into shards of crimson high above New Sev’relain.

“What in Volmar’s name was that?” Beck said.

“Sky fire,” Drake said. “The Dragon Empire use them for celebrations and for signalling armies from a distance.”

Another whistle behind them turned them both back towards the bay, and the sky was lit by another small explosion a moment later, this one green. In the dim light Beck saw men dressed in armour rush down the gangplank of the new ship before forming up and spreading out along the docks while more men climbed down behind them.

“Bastards are in among us,” Drake said, and started down the beach just as the unmistakeable sound of steel on steel floated down from the town.

Beck took a deep breath and banished all thoughts of sleep or sex or anything but blood and death. “Go to the town,” she said coldly. “They’ll need you.”

“But my ship,” Drake protested, caught between the docks and the town even as the pirates around the camp fires started to react to the small army gathering on their beach.

“I’ll deal with them.” Beck pointed towards the ship and the soldiers pouring off it. “I can fight better without you getting in my way.” She didn’t wait for Drake’s reply. She set off down the beach and towards the ship, hoping he would survive the battle without her protection.

Chapter 12 - The Phoenix

The walls were next to useless in most places, little more than ankle-high fences. Soldiers from the forest swarmed over them in units of five or six, forgoing the usual formations for a more skirmish style of combat. Keelin had to admit it was a wise decision, given the distance between buildings in New Sev’relain and the sheer number of alleyways and cut-throughs.

The pirates and townsfolk had one thing going for them, at least – the soldiers looked weary and out of sorts. No doubt they’d landed their ships on the north-east side of the island, where the sand monsters would have caused heavy casualties to the unwary, and there was a good chance the magical traps in the forest had caused their fair share of chaos among the ranks.

Keelin leapt into the nearest fight, both cutlasses already drawn and swinging. His swords clanged off the soldier’s cuirass, leaving only a scrape in the bright metal by way of damage, but the soldier retreated from the attack and Keelin pressed forwards. A second man stepped forward with a round shield, batting away Keelin’s follow-up just as a spear came over the top and nearly skewered him. Ever light on his feet, Keelin danced backwards out of the way.

The pirates and townsfolk had all been armed with an assortment of swords, axes, knives, and the odd bow, but very few had been given shields. Even fewer were used to fighting well-armed, trained soldiers on a battlefield that was more stable than not. A group of ten men and women pressed the soldiers Keelin was fighting from the other side, but they were scared to get close with a spear swinging about and shields protecting the men they were trying to kill. It was the same everywhere Keelin looked; the people of New Sev’relain simply weren’t ready for this type of battle. They were well and truly outmatched.

One burly pirate with a cleft chin and tattoos showing underneath his shirt and all the way down his arms ran at the group of soldiers with a howl of rage and a big wood axe swinging above his head. The pirate leapt and, with a scream, brought down his axe on the shield of one of the soldiers. The shield split and half of it fell away. A spear was thrust at the pirate, but he caught it with his right hand and launched himself backwards, away from the group of soldiers, pulling the man on the other end of the spear with him. His fellow pirates wasted no time in stabbing the unfortunate soldier before the rest of his group could rescue him.

Most of the soldiers switched their attention and moved to face the larger, more threatening group. Keelin made his move. He ran at the last man facing him, swatting aside his sword, then leapt to his left, careening into one of the soldiers watching the group of pirates. After knocking the man to the ground, Keelin found himself in among the soldiers before any of them realised what had happened. His swords moved in a blur of low and high slashes, aiming for exposed arms and legs. The soldiers went down in a flurry of blood and screams.

A shield hit Keelin in the face and he stumbled away, tripped over something, and felt the ground hit him hard. He tasted mud and blood and struggled to breathe air back into his lungs as he tried to get his hands beneath him.

Rolling onto his back and blinking away the dark spots, Keelin saw the face of the tattooed pirate staring down at him, offering him a hand. He accepted it and was quickly pulled to his feet. The rest of the pirates had surged forwards and were busy finishing off the soldiers with brutal stabs to their faces or any other unprotected areas they could get to.

“No time fer rest, Cap’n,” said the tattooed pirate, thumbing towards the forest.

Keelin saw more and more troops emerging from the treeline, many looking as though they were being chased out. They were quickly forming into small groups. The pirates and townsfolk were banding together as best they could, trying to outnumber the soldiers and drive them apart, but they were fighting a losing battle and already there were more dead pirates than soldiers.

“With me,” Keelin shouted over the clash of battle, hoping that the group he’d just aided would follow his orders. He charged towards a cluster of soldiers who had just cut down three men and a woman and were heading for the town.

As he sprinted closer, one of the shield-bearers detached from the tight formation and stepped into Keelin’s path. It was all Keelin could do to throw himself to his left to avoid crashing into the man, but it put him directly in front of the soldiers and they stopped to confront him even as the pirates caught up and crashed into the little shield wall like sharp, pointy waves on a rock.

The first shield-bearer went down as one of the pirates got a dagger above his guard and into his neck. Before the rest of the soldiers could react, the tattooed pirate took down another with a swing of his axe that split a shield and damned near severed the arm that held it. One of the pirates took a spear to the chest and Keelin rushed forwards. Chopping the spear shaft in half with one of his cutlasses, he kept another shield-bearing soldier at bay with the other sword as the injured pirate was dragged away from the battle. Again the tattooed pirate leapt into the fray, his big axe whipping about his head and coming down hard on a shield, the force of the blow driving the soldier to his knees.

A second spear, this one still with a head, thrust out between two shields towards the tattooed pirate. Keelin could do nothing to stop it, caught up as he was with two men pressing him with shields. The big pirate screamed in pain but grabbed hold of the spear and ripped it from the soldier’s grasp.

The soldiers weren’t advancing; they hid behind their shields and slashed at anyone who came near. They were most likely waiting to be reinforced, but Keelin wasn’t about to give them the opportunity. A roar went up from the forest, the geyser choosing a good moment to go off. Everyone from New Sev’relain was used to the noise by now, but the soldiers weren’t and it caused just the distraction Keelin needed.

Advancing, he brushed away attacks then kicked hard into the shield of the soldier to his right, forcing the man back a step. Keelin stabbed at the soldier to his left, feeling his cutlass dig deep into the flesh of the man’s shoulder.

With a scream of pain, the soldier to Keelin’s left fell back just as the man on the right pushed forwards to protect his injured comrade. A moment later the soldier on the right fell down dead with a spear lodged firmly in his neck. Keelin glanced to his group to see the tattooed pirate grinning madly beneath his patchy beard.

With their group broken, the remaining two soldiers bolted back towards the treeline to reinforce another squad. There were battles all over the place, and the soldiers were starting to outnumber the pirates as more and more poured from the trees and more and more of the pirates fell.

“Take weapons and shields from the fallen soldiers,” Keelin called to his group.

“Don’t know how to use a shield,” one of the men said.

“Hold it in front of you and stab around it,” Keelin said. “You’re better off having one than not. What’s your name?” he asked the tattooed pirate.

“Ferl,” the man said as he looked down at the fallen soldiers’ weapons and decided to keep his axe instead.

“You’re a useful man to have around, Ferl. Who’s your captain?”

“Don’t got one,” the big man said through his beard.

Keelin grinned. “Then stick with me. All of you, with me,” he shouted as he charged towards a hard-pushed knot of pirates.

Kebble knelt in the dirt, raised his rifle, and sighted down the barrel. He picked his target and held his breath. The soldier was jabbing a spear over the top of his shield-bearing comrades and he kept dancing behind those shields to stay out of harm’s way, but Kebble was watching the man from the side, hidden far away from the combat.

He squeezed the trigger and braced against the recoil. The bullet impacted into the soldier’s shoulder and he went careening to the ground. Kebble had been aiming for the man’s chest. He hadn’t taken the crosswind into full account.

With a frown, Kebble stood, shouldered his bag, and turned away from the battle, already reloading his rifle. The pirates and people of New Sev’relain were losing the fight, and if it continued the way it was going they would soon all be dead or forced to flee again, and Kebble doubted their morale would recover after another massacre. Luckily for the people of New Sev’relain, they had him. Kebble had changed the tide of battle before, and he would do it again. Perhaps if he fought for enough lost causes he might even find a way to lift his curse.

He walked through deserted dark alleyways lit only by the light of the rising moon, setting a brisk pace but refusing to rush. People who rushed forgot things, missed things, made mistakes. Kebble had lived long enough to realise that calm hurry was far more useful than a mad dash.

A building loomed up ahead, though it wasn’t his destination. The warehouse would be far too obvious a hiding place. He turned left and walked past a few more dilapidated shacks until he came to a half-collapsed building that looked on the verge of total dereliction. It was, however, purposefully designed to look that way.

Kebble slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled the door open. Inside there was barely enough room to move, and a part of the roof had fallen in, covering much of the floor with brittle palm leaves. A rolled-up shirt in the corner of the open area suggested someone had recently been camping out in the building, but they no doubt had no idea of the fortune they’d been sleeping on top of.

Kneeling down, Kebble shifted a pile of the leaves that had fallen in, scattering a variety of insects including one large, sluggish, grumpy-looking spider. Kebble had seen the pain that a spider bite could cause and he had no wish to experience it first-hand, so he calmly shooed the little beast away with one of the fallen leaves, inwardly cursing at the delay. After the spider had departed, he finished clearing away the debris and felt around for a loose floorboard, finding it in no time and quickly tearing it from its neighbours. After three more floorboards Kebble reached in and lifted out a single barrel from its hiding place.

He drew a knife from his belt and levered the lid from the barrel, revealing the black powder inside. They’d found ten kegs of the dangerous explosive after taking the Man of War. Kebble reached into his bag and pulled out a coconut, one of the few natural food supplies on the island – but this particular coconut was just a shell split in half and held together with a thin strip of cloth. Kebble unwrapped the fabric and filled the husk with black powder before placing the two halves back together and retying the cloth. He worked at a steady pace, hurrying but not rushing, all the while aware that every moment was another in which more of New Sev’relain’s people were dying. He had eight more coconuts to fill, and then he needed to find a fuse.

Chapter 13 - Fortune

Drake pointed at another group of soldiers emerging from the treeline. Clearly the Five Kingdoms bastards hadn’t expected much resistance. Now they’d realised their tactic of small groups of soldiers was going to cost them greatly, and they were starting to form a more cohesive mass, no doubt under the leadership of a seasoned commander.

“Tanner,” Drake shouted. “Over there. They need help.”

Tanner Black looked up from the soldier he’d trapped beneath his boot and followed Drake’s finger. “Aye, we’re on it,” the big captain growled, putting his full weight on the man beneath his foot and crushing his windpipe. Tanner stormed off to rejoin the battle, leaving the soldier flailing and clawing at his own neck, trying to suck in some air. Some battles were a hopeless cause, and the man was destined to die in the mud of New Sev’relain.

The crew of The Black Death were efficient killers – Drake had to give them that – though they also seemed to enjoy it a bit more than he was comfortable with. Tanner’s pirates were heavily armed, and even a couple of pistols. They were putting them all to good use, and many a Five Kingdoms soldier had died to their savagery. In fact, Drake was fairly certain the crew of The Black Death had done more for the people of New Sev’relain than the townsfolk had done for themselves.

With a joyous cry and a crash, Tanner’s crew collided with a large group of soldiers and several men from both sides went down. Fresh screams filled the air, punctuated by the twang of bowstrings.

Drake stood back from the battle, sword in hand, watching the massacre unfold. His people weren’t ready for this sort of fight, and because of that they were dying. The soldiers were better trained and better armed, and although the numbers seemed almost even, most of the fallen were his subjects. If he didn’t do something to change the course of the battle soon, Drake knew he would be the king of bones and little else.

Something caught Drake’s eye at the treeline – a new wave of soldiers marching out from the jungle in a loose formation. His heart lurched and missed a couple of beats as he realised they were no normal soldiers, but knights dressed head to toe in metal plating – helms, breastplates, vambraces, and greaves – and wielding an assortment of sharp weaponry.

Before Drake could formulate a plan to deal with the new threat, a screaming soldier came hurtling towards him. Some of the pirates had fallen and soldiers were moving through the gap, trying to give their comrades space to spread out while they attacked the remaining pirates from behind. Over the shoulder of the man rushing him, Drake saw his pirates beginning to break, some turning and running while others valiantly died standing their ground.

With a surge of strength fuelled by rage, Drake stepped into the oncoming attack, brushing the soldier’s sword aside with his own and sending a thunderous fist to the side of the man’s face. Drake leapt backwards, waving his left hand in the air and wondering what had possessed him to punch the man with a closed fist. The pain was intense, but thankfully short-lived. The soldier was face down on the ground and not moving, and Drake congratulated himself on a knockout punch even as another two men came at him.

The first of the new soldiers held a round shield and an axe, and the man behind him wielded a long spear with a metal tip stained red. They took no risks as they came at Drake, the spear-wielder doing all the work while the shield-bearer protected him. Drake found himself batting away the polearm with his sword and giving ground, falling back again and again and wondering where in all the Hells Stillwater had got to.

Drake stepped backwards out of the spearman’s range once again and found his back against the wall of a house. Before the spear could skewer him, a man dressed in the long, faded rags of what had once been a uniform leapt onto the spearman’s back and stabbed him in the neck with a knife that looked like it belonged on a dinner table. The shield-bearer turned to help his comrade, and Drake seized the opportunity and charged. He slashed first at the man’s ankles before half separating the fool’s head from his body with a meaty swing that ended with his sword stuck in the soldier’s neck. The body collapsed into the dust, wrenching Drake’s sword from his grasp.

“Good work, Tatters,” Drake said as he put his boot on the soldier’s corpse and pulled his blade free.

Admiral Tatters giggled to himself and collapsed onto his knees. His eyes were wild and the smell of booze coming from him overpowered the odour of death. The admiral had once claimed Drake could never make him less than a gentleman. Drake had proven that claim wrong, and Tatters was well and truly one of them now – though judging by the yellow in his eyes he wouldn’t be one of them for much longer. There was only so much alcohol a body could take before it gave up for good, and Tatters had been pickling himself ever since the townsfolk had set him free.

Turning his attention back to the battle at the edge of town, Drake saw the knights cutting a swathe through his people. Tanner’s black-hearted crew, always up for a fight, had moved to engage the metal-coated bastards, but even they were falling back. The knights cared little for the impotent attacks of their enemies, and though they were slow, they were backed up by soldiers carrying spears, and those did a good job of keeping the pirates at a distance to stop them aiming for the less-protected parts of the knights’ armour.

Drake watched Tanner pull a pistol from his belt and fire it into the mass of flesh and metal. One of the knights stopped and wobbled a moment before collapsing to a cheer from Tanner’s crew, but they had precious few pistols and no time to reload. In reply to the murder of one their steel-clad heroes, the Five Kingdoms troops pushed forwards and the crew of The Black Death found themselves beating a quick retreat.

Stillwater’s sharpshooter, Kebble Salt, appeared from an alleyway between Drake and the battle. The man was carrying a sack in one hand and his rifle in the other, and he looked sleek with sweat in the light of the lantern hanging outside a nearby building. Drake rushed over to the man.

“Can you do something about those knights?” Drake shouted as he approached.

Kebble Salt turned towards Drake with a start. The sharpshooter was bleeding from a wound in his side. It was hard to tell how serious the injury was, but going by the amount of blood and the man’s pale complexion, Drake was leaning towards serious.

“Captain Morrass,” Kebble said, his voice quivering. “I will try.”

Kebble carefully placed the sack on the ground and shouldered his rifle, aiming it towards the battle. The barrel swayed and wobbled, and Kebble winced in pain. Long moments passed without the sharpshooter taking a shot.

“Is there anyone around here who ain’t currently useless?” Drake growled, and was greeted by a sullen giggling from Admiral Tatters, who was busy peering into the sack Kebble had been carrying.

“Away from there, fool,” Kebble hissed, lowering his rifle and shooing Tatters away. “I may not be able to aim a rifle, Captain, but I do have these.”

Kebble reached into the bag and pulled out a coconut.

“Wonderful, we’re saved,” Drake said, and started towards the battle. He had no idea how he was going to turn the tide of the slaughter.

“They are full of black powder, Captain Morrass,” Kebble shouted after him. “And I have set each one with a fuse that should last no more than five counts of one.”

Drake stopped mid-stride and turned back to Kebble. The man was using his rifle as a crutch and holding one of the coconuts in his hand. “They’ll explode?” he said, walking back to the sharpshooter.

“Quite violently, I believe,” Kebble said with a nod. “Just light the fuse at the top and throw them at your target.”

Drake stormed over and looked into the sack. He counted a good number of the weapons, at least half a dozen. A grin lit his face. He picked up the sack, leaving Kebble with the one coconut still in his hand.

“Go find Stillwater,” Drake said. If the tide of battle was to turn on the use of these new weapons, then Drake wanted the glory well and truly on his shoulders and no one else's.

Kebble nodded. “Where?”

“I reckon he went down to the beach. These bastards landed a ship on us and are trying to kill us from both sides.”

Again Kebble nodded, then started limping towards the beach, still using his rifle as a crutch.

The sounds of battle were deafening. Steel clashing against wood and metal, punctuated by the screams of the dying. The smell was even worse, almost enough to make Drake gag.

By the time Drake reached Tanner, the crew of The Black Death were on the verge of quitting the fight altogether. They could do nothing against the knights and their spear-wielding lackeys, and had resorted to retreating while spitting insults.

“Time ta run back to Fango, I reckon, Ya Majesty,” Tanner said with a dark sneer and a look in his eyes that convinced Drake the man was once again considering killing him.

“Not yet,” Drake said with a manic grin. “Hold the damned line.”

Tanner looked like he was about to argue.

“Hand me a torch.”

Tanner growled, but turned and pulled a torch from the hands of one of his crew.

Drake placed the sack of coconuts behind him and pulled out one of the little weapons, grinning at the confused look on Tanner’s face. With a wink, Drake held up the fuse to the torch and the little bit of rope started fizzing.

“What the fuck is that?” Tanner said, recoiling back from the coconut.

“History,” Drake said. He waited another second and then rolled the coconut quickly along the ground towards the approaching knights. It bounced once, but held together and disappeared amidst the men’s steel-plated legs. Drake grinned even wider. Two more seconds passed.

Boom!

The explosion was loud and violent and threw knights and soldiers alike to the ground, stunning everyone in the area. A mist of blood shot up into the air before raining down along with the odd limb. Then the screaming started.

Tanner was the quickest to recover, and he shouted at his men to push the advantage. His crew surged forwards, and as the stunned knights and soldiers struggled to recover from the blast, the pirates fell upon them, stabbing and slashing and revelling in the bloody massacre.

Drake reached into the sack for another coconut.

The soldiers fanned out, attempting to surround Beck. She let them. The two dead men at her feet and the three arrayed around her had proven how deadly an opponent she was, and no doubt the soldiers would now attempt to rush her all at once from all directions. Beck took the opportunity to reload one of her pistols and slotted it back into her jerkin. At most she had ten shots left, including those already loaded, and given that more soldiers were arriving to skew the numbers even further in their favour, it wouldn’t be enough to win the fight for her.

There was fighting all along the beach as soldiers attempted to quickly best the pirates they’d found in the sand and join the fight in the town, no doubt hoping to crush the townsfolk from behind as they dealt with the force coming from the jungle. The pirates on the beach weren’t inclined to let the Five Kingdoms soldiers act on their plan, however, and there were dozens of small skirmishes taking place even as Beck now held up the largest force.

Twenty men faced her, closing in slowly.

She was tired. Days of hard labour and heavy use of strength-augmenting blessings had taken their toll, but she was an Arbiter, trained by the Inquisition and made into a weapon against the heresy of the world. The men facing her might not be heretics, but nor were they righteous, and that made her worth a hundred of them. She would prove it on the beach of New Sev’relain.

Volmar’s power coursed through Beck’s body, and she began to chant the words of a sorcery. She knelt down and whispered the magic into the sand. It rippled around her like a pebble dropped into a still pool. The ripples spread quickly outwards until they reached the circle of soldiers, and the sand erupted upwards, engulfing some of the men while others stumbled backwards.

Beck was already moving even as the first grains shot into the air. She set off at a sprint, straight ahead towards her first target, her speed enhanced by the blessing she chanted. The first soldier, a small man with a crooked nose and hairy palms, had been one of the smarter ones, stepping backwards away from the wall of sand. Beck leapt as she neared the wall and crashed through it as the grains of sand reached their zenith and began to fall. The man recoiled, but it was too late for him. Beck whispered a blessing of strength and his helmet and skull both crumpled under the force of her pistol as she brought the butt down on his forehead. Men were already shouting, and Beck caught at least one of them screaming something about a witch. It only served to enrage her further that the fools might consider she was the heretic.

Wrenching her pistol free from the swaying corpse, Beck flipped it over, aimed at another soldier, and pulled the trigger. The noise rang loud in her ears, and before she could witness the result she was already racing towards another fight.

Drawing a second pistol, Beck batted away a soldier’s attempt to skewer her with his sword. She thrust her first pistol into his throat and watched his eyes bulge as his windpipe collapsed. As the last of the sand fell to the ground around her, Beck launched a kick into the dying soldier’s gut and he flew away from her, rolling in the sand and thrashing like a beached fish.

Two of the soldiers were fleeing from the fight while four more were down, choking on sand. The others looked panicked. One man shouted out to the others, getting them into order. Beck wasn’t about to let them get organised. She slid one of her pistols back into its holster on her jerkin and pulled the much larger pistol gun from her belt holster, aimed at the soldier shouting orders, and pulled the trigger. His chest erupted in pink mist and his body crashed into the sand.

In a mixed display of cowardice and valour, some of the soldiers broke and ran while most of them charged her. Beck holstered both her pistols and whispered Volmar’s power into a sorcery, and fire burst into life in her right hand. She threw the little flame up into the air above the soldiers, already knowing it would drop down on top of her target and quickly engulf the man as he attempted to flee. Into her other hand she whispered another sorcery, and thrust it into the sand.

Mimics of Beck’s hand shot out of the sand in front of her, clutching and grabbing hold of anything they could find. Some soldiers tripped and others crashed to the ground. Four soldiers still came at her unimpeded, and Beck just managed to draw two of her pistols before the first man was on her.

Ducking his sword swing, Beck thrust a pistol butt into the man’s gut then whipped it up, cracking his jaw and sending him stumbling backwards with a howl of pain. She trained another pistol on the second of the oncoming soldiers and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through the man’s shield and he fell away, screaming.

Holstering the empty pistol, Beck stepped into the third soldier’s attack so that it went wide, whispering a sorcery to her empty left hand while blocking the fourth soldier’s attack with the pistol in her right hand. She pressed her left hand against the chest of the third soldier and he crumpled, screaming in pain as his stomach started convulsing.

The first soldier had recovered and was charging at her. Out of the corner of her eye, Beck saw yet more soldiers hacking at the sandy hands that held them. She disengaged from the fourth soldier and met the first in a blind run, and they both crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Beck was up first, already whispering to her hand again. As the first soldier gained his feet, she tapped her hand against his head. His expression went blank as his consciousness fled. She drew her last loaded pistol from her jerkin, pressed it against the soldier’s neck, and fired. The bullet ripped through his flesh and buried itself in the fourth soldier as he came towards them. Both men dropped to the sand, dead.

Beck looked about for the pistol she’d dropped when she collided with the soldier, but wherever it had fallen, she couldn’t see it. Some of the men delayed by her sandy hands were now free and were busy extricating the others. Beck took the opportunity to reload her large pistol as well as four of the smaller ones. It was all she had left.

Her head swam with exhaustion and the effort of channelling Volmar’s power, and her legs were wobbling. But there were still seven soldiers left, three of them already free from the sand. Two of them held shields, crouching behind them as the third worked to free his comrades. Beck wished she had some runes or charms, but most of those, and everything else that would be useful, were in her Arbiter coat stashed safely in her cabin aboard the Fortune.

Four more soldiers rushed up, having finished cutting down a group of pirates, making Beck’s tally of enemies up to eleven. She quickly gave up on the idea of using her pistols – she simply didn’t have enough shots. Her sigh of pain and exhaustion turned into a manic laugh.

With all the grace of a drunken dancer, Beck dragged her left foot around in the sand, drawing a pattern in the grains and feeling the last of her strength fail her. It took all she had to turn and stagger away from the eleven soldiers as they marched towards her in a defensive formation.

Her legs decided they could walk no further, and Beck collapsed onto her knees, just managing to turn her body to watch the oncoming men. They came towards her with shields up and steel bristling. The first soldier stepped over the formation she’d drawn in the sand without disturbing it, either by sheer luck or wise decision. Beck growled out her frustration and fumbled at one of the pistols in her jerkin, determined to take as many with her as she could. She raised the pistol just as one of the soldiers stepped onto the rune she’d drawn in the sand, breaking its lines.

Chapter 14 - The Phoenix

Smithe watched the battle on the beach unfold from the safety of the shadows. If anyone looked closely at the pier they’d see him, but he doubted anyone would. And if they did, he’d just deal with them the same way he’d dealt with the gangly soldier who was floating face down in the big drink. A smile lit Smithe’s face as he watched his target.

That fancy fuck, Stillwater, thought Smithe was simple, thought he was stupid. Smithe knew the truth though – he was smarter than all of them. He’d heard them talking behind their closed doors, and he knew the real reason the captain had yet to lead them to this treasure he’d promised them. A city full of gold and gems and wonders the likes of which would make them all rich and famous, that’s what Keelin Stillwater had promised the crew of The Phoenix. And by all accounts, the man wasn’t lying.

Smithe knew the city was located somewhere in the Forgotten Empire, a land south of the Dragon Empire and well known to be dangerous. Even the waters around the Forgotten Empire were legendary; all manner of ships had wrecked themselves upon the rocks and other hidden dangers. They needed charts of the waters and Stillwater knew just where to get them, but the gutless cur didn’t have the stones to take them. Well, Smithe sure as all the Hells had the stones, and the Five Kingdoms bastards had just provided him with the perfect opportunity.

The last of the soldiers from their ship ran off towards Drake’s little bitch. The woman was some kind of witch, Smithe reckoned, judging by the things she was doing. He’d never seen anyone throw fire before, but there she was. Smithe decided he wanted little and less to do with her or her captain. No matter how big her tits – and Smithe could tell they were on the large side – he hoped she died there on the beach.

Detaching himself from the safety of his shadowy hiding place, Smithe set off at a jog across the docks, staying just clear of the wooden pier to hide his footsteps. This wasn’t his first time sneaking around.

An explosion rocked the beach, the ground shaking with the force of it, and Smithe’s legs went out from under him. The sand hit him hard and forced the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he looked towards the noise and saw flames licking at the sand. Where before the big-titted member of Drake’s crew had fought with a bunch of soldiers, there was now nothing but fire and bodies, and none of them looked to be moving.

Boots thundering on wood warned Smithe of someone coming, and he turned to see a soldier running towards him, shield in one hand and bared steel in the other.

Smithe got his legs beneath him and launched to his feet. The soldier was small and looked terrified. Flames danced in the boy’s eyes, reflected from the fire behind Smithe. Still the lad came on.

Smithe stepped towards the soldier to meet his rush, blocking his sword with the metal knuckles on his knife and grabbing hold of the bottom edge of the round shield. It took no effort at all to turn the shield like a wheel, and the boy’s arm went with it with an audible crack. Smithe grinned wide and feral.

The lad didn’t scream, and Smithe almost respected him for that. With his sword hand still free, the boy tried to stab at Smithe, but he was doomed to failure – outclassed in every way, smaller, slighter, weaker, and far less experienced. Smithe grabbed hold of the boy’s sword arm and punched him in the face with his metal knuckles. The lad went down hard with a spray of blood and lost teeth.

Smithe knelt down next to the soldier and punched him in the face again and again until his fist came away dripping red. The boy’s arms flailed uselessly, his breath coming out of a broken face in gurgles and wheezes. Smithe reversed the grip on his knife and stabbed the blade down into the boy’s skull then pulled it free, wiped it on the lad’s uniform, and continued his walk to the Fortune.

Sounds of fighting reached him from the deck of the ship, and as Smithe got closer he saw a man thrown over the edge to land half on the pier and half in the water. His feet were nice and dry, but his back was bent painfully and his head was dangling in the bay. He was either unconscious or dead; Smithe didn’t care which. Pirate the man may be, but Smithe held no loyalty to anyone but himself, and especially not anyone from a different ship.

He walked quickly up the pier and mounted the gangplank, dipping into a crouch as he reached the deck of Drake Morrass’ ship. It was clear the Fortune was floating with a much reduced crew, most of them no doubt up in the town where they’d expected the fight to come from, or on the beach fighting with the soldiers there. There were a few men left, but they were outnumbered by soldiers. Smithe ignored them all as he made straight for the captain’s cabin.

A stocky soldier stumbled backwards into Smithe’s way, a sweaty grimace on his face as he regained his balance. Smithe kicked him in the back of the knee then slashed at his neck. The soldier clutched at the wound, but there was no way he would stop the flow of blood – the knife had cut far too deep. Smithe didn’t even break his stride. He reached the cabin and tried the handle. Curiously, the door was unlocked. If there was anyone inside he’d have to kill them to ensure their silence. He was more than willing to do it, and he might even find some coin on the corpse. He glanced back towards the deck. Pirates and soldiers were engaged in all manner of combat – one pirate was even fighting upside down from the rigging – but none were paying any attention to a lone figure stealing onto the ship. He pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

It was mostly dark, lit only by the moonlight bouncing off the water and shining in through the large window at the back of the cabin. Smithe took a moment to let his eyes adjust, then carefully began his search. He’d heard plenty of stories about Drake’s pets, and some said he’d rid himself of the spider and now favoured a huge, armoured snake with lots of little legs. Smithe had never heard of such a thing before, but whether or not it existed, he had no wish to meet it.

One side of the cabin was filled with a lavish bed, a wardrobe, and a chest. Luxurious living quarters for a captain while his crew no doubt lived in bunks barely large enough to lie down in. Smithe hated the captains for the luxury they lived in. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take The Phoenix out of Stillwater’s hands at the first opportunity. He’d never slept in a bed the size of the one he was looking at now, nor worn clothes as fancy as those no doubt kept in Drake’s wardrobe. They all thought they were better than him. Smithe would prove just how wrong they all were.

The other side of Drake’s cabin was even larger, housing a desk and a number of cabinets and chests of drawers. Smithe spied numerous bottles of booze in one of the cabinets, and had to stop himself breaking the glass to take one of the more expensive looking bottles. He wondered how that fancy rum tasted, having never tried anything but the swill most taverns sold, but that could wait. Smithe was playing the long game. His goal was the riches, the ship, the power, and the reputation. He would have them all before he was done.

He went to the first set of drawers and rifled through them quickly. All he found was blank parchments and the ink to write on them, a number of letters each signed by someone called Rei, a child’s game set on a board with a number of squares and some little toy figures to go with it, and a yellow gemstone the size of the palm of his hand. The gemstone looked valuable, and Smithe pocketed it without another thought.

The next cabinet had a desk atop it, bare except for a small pistol. Smithe had never used one of the little weapons, but he’d seen them put to devastating effect. He knew how easy they were to make work, and he decided he would have one of his own some day. Smithe wrenched at the door to the cabinet, but it was stuck fast. A small gilded lock sat front and centre, mocking him.

He had no experience with picking locks, and he very much doubted the key would have been left lying around. If this cabinet contained Drake Morrass’ charts then it was likely the most valuable key on the entire bloody ship, and Drake would no doubt carry it on his person at all times. Smithe pulled on the door with all the strength he could muster. It didn’t give. With increasing certainty, he knew that this cabinet was his target and the charts were right in front of him.

With a growl of rage, Smithe punched the door. It hurt, but the metal knuckles on his knife did some damage to the wood. He punched it again, and again, and again. Smithe kept punching, heedless of the noise he was making, until the door splintered and split. He wrenched the lock free, throwing it into the middle of the cabin. Inside were rolls of leather-backed parchment, and plenty of them.

Smithe pulled the first roll out and opened it up, glancing over the words and pictures and calculations as he tried to find anything that indicated which area the chart depicted. He saw New Sev’relain written boldly on a blob that looked like an island, and tossed the chart behind him. Smithe glanced at the door to the cabin. He could still hear the sounds of battle outside, so he went back to rifling through the cabinet.

He threw away five more charts before he came to the one he was searching for. It depicted a coastline with hazards marked all over it and the words Forgotten but not lost written on the landmass. Smithe grinned. He’d achieved what that ponce Stillwater could not, and the crew would rally behind him for it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” someone said slowly.

Smithe turned his head to see a man standing just inside the doorway. He was tall and broad and thick with muscle, but his head was small, too small for the mass of his body. Smithe was tall and strong himself, but in a straight contest of strength the giant would crush him.

Without a word, Smithe grabbed the pistol from the top of the cabinet, pointed it at the big pirate, and pulled the trigger.

The giant stumbled back against the cabin door, his body slamming it closed as he fell. Thick red blood leaked from a hole in his chest, and he looked at Smithe with confusion in his eyes.

“Why does it hurt?” the pirate said, tears welling up and rolling down his face. “Make it stop.”

Smithe dropped the pistol onto the cabin floor and sauntered over to the simpleton. “Hurts because I just killed you. Still need to make sure though, eh? Can’t have you telling nobody what you saw.”

The big pirate let out a mewling whine as Smithe closed on him.

Kebble walked onto the beach, wincing. Every step was agony lancing through his side where the soldier had cut a slice. The man had died from a point-blank rifle shot to the face, but not before he’d given Kebble what should probably have been a fatal wound.

Having given Drake the weapons he needed to fend off the soldiers in the town, Kebble had followed the man’s orders and come looking for Keelin. The captain of The Phoenix was nowhere to be seen. Even down on the beach, where the fighting was as good as over, there was no sign of him.

Amidst the fires, the blackened sand, and the dark objects that could only be bodies spilling out their life blood, pirates were celebrating. Some looked wounded and others drunk, and there was likely still fighting taking place in the town, but the pirates were congratulating themselves on a hard-won victory – and it did look hard won.

Kebble spotted blond hair amidst burning sand and instantly recognised the crumpled body of Drake’s Arbiter. Not ten feet away he saw the site of an explosion, but not one caused by black powder, the scorch marks were all wrong. Bodies lay on the sand everywhere he looked, and many of them were missing parts, or were scorched beyond recognition. All were certainly dead.

The coconut fell from Kebble’s grasp, and he used his free hand to peel away the shirt stuck to his wound, gritting his teeth against the pain. He looked down; it had stopped bleeding, and was little more than a gooey red line across the left side of his abdomen. Kebble sighed. His immortality was still keeping him alive long past his time. He’d received worse wounds than a sword slash in his long years, but he’d hoped for a moment that this one might be his last.

Still using his rifle as a crutch, Kebble started towards the Arbiter’s body. He could only hope Captain Stillwater wasn’t one of the corpses in the sand. Kebble attempted to avoid attachments to those more short-lived than himself wherever possible, but he’d come to respect Keelin Stillwater and almost considered him a friend. It had been a long time since he’d named anyone a friend.

As Kebble drew nearer the Arbiter, he heard a scream from behind. His legs gave out as he turned, and the pain in his side was enough to blur his vision and cause a cry to escape his lips.

By the time Kebble’s vision cleared it was almost too late. A crazed soldier was almost upon him, eyes wide and filled with the kind of fear that drives a man to irrational action. Kebble managed to raise his rifle to block the sword meant for his head, but the soldier didn’t stop his mad charge and both men went down in a tangle of limbs, Kebble screaming in pain.

Rolling free of the soldier and clutching at his side, Kebble opened his eyes to see the man rise to his knees, his sword raised high above his head and about to remove Kebble’s.

The sand around them erupted, and something shot up and crashed into the soldier, bearing him to the ground in a combination of blood-curdling screams and cracking bones. Kebble crawled away, his heart thundering in his chest.

Three pirates leapt past Kebble and began to stab their weapons down into the sand.

Ignoring the searing pain streaking through his body, Kebble got his feet beneath him and struggled upright. He looked around for his rifle. It was nowhere to be seen. The three pirates had slowed their stabbing and slicing and were busy panting and congratulating each other. As Kebble approached the men, he saw the giant form of a sand monster lying on top of the dead soldier. The creature didn’t appear to be alive; its body and wings were covered in deep red cuts, and the smell that drifted up from it was almost unbearable.

“Damn, Salt,” said one of the pirates, a small woman with fiery red hair and a criss-cross of scars marring her face. “If you ain’t the luckiest bastard I ever seen. Must’ve been the last bloody sand demon on the beach. Only one we missed, just waitin’ for months, an’ it picks right then to have a snack.”

Kebble forced a smile onto his face. “Yes,” he said. “Lucky. Thank you for killing it.”

The pirate grinned at Kebble and clapped him on the arm. With a nod of thanks to the rest of them, Kebble limped off towards the Arbiter.

Immortality came in many forms. He was almost completely certain a fatal wound would end his curse, and yet he’d never received one. Even at times when it seemed certain he would, something always interfered. The pirates might believe the sand monster’s appearance to have been luck, but Kebble knew better.

The Arbiter looked lifeless. Her right arm was twisted beneath her body at an awkward angle and blood leaked from her nose. Her blond hair was a tangled mess, singed in places and covered in sand. Even with his eyesight, Kebble could see no rise and fall of her chest. She wasn’t the first dead Arbiter he’d seen, but with their longer lives it always felt sad to see one pass, especially one so young.

Kneeling down, Kebble let out a painful sigh and placed two fingers on the woman’s neck. It was somewhere beyond faint, but he felt the pulse of her heart still beating. The Arbiter survived, barely.

Kebble scooped his hands underneath her body and summoned the very last of his strength. Standing while carrying the Arbiter was a new sort of pain, and it took Kebble three attempts to get to his feet. He managed it. He wasn’t sure which destination was the best. The woman needed to be tended to immediately by someone with more medical knowledge than his own, but the ship’s doctors were little better than butchers and they no doubt had more than enough folk to deal with already. Setting his feet towards the town, Kebble started up the beach.

Chapter 15 - The Phoenix

Soldiers were slipping past the pirate lines and making for the town, and Keelin feared they intended to set fire to everything the folk of New Sev’relain had been building for the last year. Taking the big, axe-wielding Ferl with him, Keelin left the front lines in search of them. He was far more useful skirmishing with individual opponents than in a wall.

Keelin spotted a few men dashing through the doorway of the Righteous Indignation and set off after them. The people of New Sev’relain could probably recover from almost any tragedy, but the burning of their favourite tavern might be too much. The drinking hole had been built out of the bones of the Man of War that had destroyed Old Sev’relain, and had even been named after the ship. It was a testament to the hardiness and determination of the folk that had made their lives on the island.

An explosion echoed up from the beach; earlier, there had been a few towards the jungle end of town as well. Keelin had no idea what was happening around him, though he was fairly certain it involved plenty of death. He only hoped most of it was being served to the Five Kingdoms. It was a strange thought, given that if not for the sake of an abusive father, Keelin might have been one of the men attacking rather than the attacked.

With a worried glance at Ferl, which the big man shot right back, Keelin pushed through the doorway to the tavern and readied himself for a fight, his cutlasses already drawn and dripping blood. The tavern was dim, lit only by a single lantern behind the bar, and almost deserted. Every pirate and townsman who called New Sev’relain their home or safe harbour was outside, fighting for their lives. Keelin had never seen the tavern so empty. Even Tatters and the other drunks had left for the battle.

Three soldiers turned to face him. They’d been on their way to the stairs that led to the first floor, and now they walked nonchalantly back to the middle of the room, clearing tables and chairs out of the way with rough shoves. Two of the men wore the familiar armour of the soldiers that Keelin felt he’d been fighting forever. One of them wore no armour, only a plain yellow tabard cinched at the waist with a strip of red cloth. The man looked oddly familiar, and it took Keelin a moment to realise why.

“Derran?”

The man wearing the tabard laughed.

“You know him?” Ferl said. The man was pacing behind Keelin like a caged animal just waiting to be let free.

Keelin winced. He couldn’t reveal how he knew Derran without revealing his own past. Instead, he gave a non-committal grunt, wondering how he could extricate himself from the situation. As long as his brother recognised him there was no way it would end in a fight.

“Now it makes sense, brother,” Derran Fowl said, grinning. “You’re Captain Stillwater, the best swordsman in the Pirate Isles. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Brother?” said Ferl.

Keelin sighed. His secret was out now. Whatever happened from here, Keelin would just have to weather the storm somehow.

“Admiral’s orders were clear, Sir Derran,” said one of the soldiers next to Keelin’s brother. “Morrass and Stillwater are wanted alive for punishment.”

“I don’t care what your admiral’s orders are,” said Derran. “I can’t exactly test my little brother’s skill if it isn’t to the death.”

“Little brother?” said the soldier.

Derran’s sword whipped clear of its scabbard, sweeping first right and then left and then back into the scabbard all in the blink of an eye. The two soldiers flanking him swayed for a moment before dropping, blood leaking from their necks. Keelin took an involuntary step backwards and found Ferl standing next to him, looking equally as worried.

“He’s fast,” Ferl said with a slight tremble in his voice.

“Ever heard of the Sword of the North?” Keelin said. “Blademaster working for the Five Kingdoms who has killed more…” The sound of the door shutting behind him and the sudden lack of Fer at his side convinced him that the big pirate had indeed heard of the Sword of the North.

“What happened to you, little brother?” Derran said. “You always wanted to help the good folk, and now you’re killing them to steal from their masters.”

Keelin sighed and took a step towards him. “You ran away from home when I was just ten years old, Derran. I learned some hard lessons growing up. I learned the way the world really works.”

“It didn’t take you long to run away as well,” Derran shot back. “Burned down the family home on your way out.”

“You think Father was bad before you left? I was lucky to escape a day without a beating. And those were the good days, before Mother killed herself.”

Derran said nothing for a moment. “I’m sorry about Mother. But if you think the odd beating or two is a hard life, then maybe you are still the little boy I left dreaming of heroic deeds.”

Keelin barked out a laugh. “The odd beating or two? What Dad did to me was nothing compared to my time on The Black Death.”

Derran just smiled, and Keelin couldn’t help but return it. They’d been apart for longer than they’d ever known each other, but they were still brothers despite it all, and a fight seemed puerile and pointless now they were reunited.

“I almost had him a couple of years back, the bastard who killed Leesa,” Keelin said.

“Arbiter Prin,” Derran growled. The murder of their little sister had shaped so much of their lives. It had caused Derran to run away, and it had set Keelin on a path of revenge that had driven him for over half his life. “You really think you’re a match for an Arbiter, little brother?”

“For Prin I will be,” Keelin said venomously. “He needs to die for Leesa.”

“Then show me,” Derran said with a toothy grin. “I came here to fight the best swordsman in the Pirate Isles, and I’m not leaving until I test myself against him.”

“You want to spar?” Keelin said. “There’s a battle going on, Derran. My people are fighting and dying out there.”

“And if you want to go help them, you best beat me,” Derran growled.

Keelin realised he was still holding his cutlasses, and he remembered Derran’s words from earlier – “to the death”. Before he could argue any further, his brother was striding forwards, his sword flicking clear of its scabbard, and all smiles were long gone. Keelin had seen the look in his brother’s eyes hundreds of times before, in men he’d fought on land and sea. Derran Fowl meant to kill him.

The first stab was slow and lazy and Keelin turned it aside easily. Instead of returning the effort, he threw himself sideways, rolling over a table and putting the slab of wood between them. Derran had always had the reach advantage, being the taller of the two, and even now that they were both adults he was still taller.