Chapter 17

 

After carrying Perdita safely to his cabin and calling Haddeus to tend to her wounds, Savion marched across the main deck and focused his attention on the ship that loomed large against dawn’s glow on the horizon. As if her black sails weren’t enough proof, focusing his telescope on the flag bearing a dragon’s skull with red glowing eyes and pierced by six swords convinced him it was a Malum ship.

“Malum,” Petrok confirmed from beside him.

“Yes, but why attack us?” Savion lowered his scope. “They’ve always set traps or attacked by sabotage, never head-on.”

“Indeed. Most curious.” Petrok rubbed his hands together. “But we can take them, can’t we, Captain?”

Savion gave a confident huff. “Of course.”

Nuto approached. “Orders, Captain?”

“Prime and load the guns, Nuto, and run them out. Fire upon my order.”

With a nod, the man ran off.

Turning, Savion leapt onto the quarterdeck ladder, grabbed a line to steady himself, then turned and drew his crew’s attention. “These Malum intend to take our ship, gentlemen. Most likely to kill us since we have nothing of value on board. But we will not let them, will we?”

“No!” Fists went into the air.

“For King Abbas!” Savion shouted.

“King Abbas!”

“Then, let’s to it, men! Clew up the mainsail! Let’s give our new friends a proper greeting, shall we? Twenty degrees to starboard, Hona!”

“Twenty degrees, Captain!”

The Scepter tacked to starboard, the deck tilting until sea foam bubbled over the railing.

Clinging to a line, Petrok shouted above. “Slack off the headsail sheets!”

The top men went to work while Savion marched to the quarterdeck and stood brazenly by the helm. After giving Hona a reassuring nod, he raised his scope for another look at their enemy. The Malum ship rose and plunged through the seas like a drunken black hornet. Carronades lined her railing while bow-chasers were expertly aimed right at the Scepter, ready to sting.

“Brace around forward; set the main!” Savion shouted to Petrok. “Haul to the wind and bring us on her weather quarter!”

Petrok repeated the orders, and the crew scrambled to task. Tension stalked the deck, pricking nerves and silencing the men. Savion’s crew were good sailors and better warriors, but most of their battles had been on land with sword and pistol, not at sea with sail and cannon.

The Scepter veered once again, creaking and groaning in complaint. Sea spray showered over Savion as he gripped the railing and studied his enemy. Just a few more minutes and they’d be within firing range. But that would bring his ship right in the line of the Malum guns.

A jet of orange smoke spat from the enemy ship.

“Hit the deck!” Savion ordered as an explosion racked the sky.

 

♥♥♥

 

Perdita could not shake the vision of Savion as he’d charged into the room to rescue her from Verrad—the horror and anger on his face. Nor could she forget the way he’d shoved the scoundrel against the wall in his righteous rage, nor the strength of his arms as he’d swept her off her feet and carried her to his cabin. ’Twas the stuff of fairy tales … of dreams. And not the way of cursed mermaids. Still, she would savor such moments. They would keep her company during the next decade of lonely years.

After the doctor bandaged up her feet, patched the slash on her arm, and examined her swollen lip, he scurried away, no doubt to join the battle above. Remarkably, in the past three hundred years, Perdita had never found herself in the midst of a ship battle. She’d watched them from afar and from beneath the waves, but never from on board one of the majestic ships. Excited to experience something new, she forsook the safety of the cabin, limped down the companionway and up the ladder, ignoring—or trying to—the pain in her feet. Fear made her halt on deck at the sight of the crew rushing here and there with nervous looks on their faces and weapons in their hands. What if one of them should get hurt or killed? What if something happened to Savion?

The sound of his voice turned her to see him on the quarterdeck, armed with cutlass and a brace of pistols, directing his men to task with courage and confidence. His determined gaze shifted toward the pursuing ship. “Bear off, haul your braces, ease sheets, starboard guns stand by! Fire as you bear!”

A volcano belched from several cannons in rapid succession, filling the air with thunder and smoke and sending a quiver through the ship. Perdita’s ears rung like an ancient gong. The sting of gunpowder burned her nose. Grabbing her skirts, she stumbled around rushing men and nearly fell against the starboard railing. A ship with black sails heaved through the sea toward them, a foamy mustache at her bow and a dragon’s skull on her ensign. A dark mist hovered around her. Only one of Savion’s shots had met its mark—unfortunately above the waterline.

“Hard a port!” Savion shouted, marching back to the helm.

“She’s preparing to fire!” Petrok yelled.

Yellow flames jetted from the Malum ship. A muffled shout ordered all hands to the deck. Perdita didn’t have to be told twice. Oak and tar filled her nose as she pressed her cheek to the wood. Boom! Boom! Boom! The sky trembled. The eerie sound of wood cracking and a wail of pain sliced through the air.

Perdita dared to lift her head. A cannonball had crashed through the bulwarks and struck the mainmast, firing splintered wood at a nearby sailor. He lay on the deck moaning, blood spilling from his leg. Savion’s quick commands brought the doctor and more men to his aid. They carried him below within seconds while Savion shouted more orders for the ship to veer and her guns reloaded.

Struggling to rise on the bucking ship, Perdita watched as Savion marched across the deck, issuing orders and checking on his men. He spoke with authority, calm and confident, devoid of fear or even anger. His crew respected and trusted him, obeying his orders without question, even though the Malum ship had the advantage of wind and weapons. Her own admiration for this man increased—if that were possible. He’d already proven that he was good, kind, honorable, and a great warrior, but now she could see he was also a skillful leader of men.

He spotted her then. A look of frustration, then concern, crossed his features before Petrok pointed out their enemy tacking in position for another broadside. Fear like Perdita had never known sent her heart racing. Though Malum had never paid her much mind, she’d seen them fight at sea on more than one occasion. She’d seen them sink many a ship into the deep—but not before they tortured the seamen aboard and set them all aflame. They were highly skilled, barbarously brutal. And she couldn’t stand the thought of Savion or any of his crew being at their mercy.

The mad rush of water and thunder of sails pounded the air. The deck tilted, and Perdita clung to the railing as Savion brought the Scepter into position nigh twenty yards off the Malum ship’s quarter.

“Fire!”

Beneath Perdita, a broadside roared and gun smoke filled her lungs. The ship shook so violently she thought it would break apart at the seams. Coughing, she peered toward their enemy, desperately hoping they’d be damaged enough to leave. White smoke curled from a charred hole in the ship’s bow between wind and water, and her fore topsail was rent. Yet still she charged onward, finally sweeping alongside the Scepter just yards off their starboard side. The black muzzles of ten guns thrust through their ports like rotten teeth in the Devil’s mouth.

This was it. They were all going to die. Everyone but Perdita, of course. Which made it only worse.

The sky exploded with such force, the sea quivered. Perdita dropped to the deck and covered her head as the shrill screech of shot zipped past her ears. Wood snapped, canvas ripped, men screamed, the timbers shook, smoke gorged the air. The crackle of a fire met her ears, and she rose to her feet to see their mainmast ablaze.

Savion’s calm voice ordered the men to task, forming a line to haul seawater up over the side. But that wasn’t the worst of the damage. One shot ripped the main course in two, another damaged their two stern chasers along with the mizzen mast, and two more struck the hull beneath the waterline.

Savion sent men below to patch the holes as best they could and man the pumps. A hail from the Malum ship rang hollow through the smoke—a demand to surrender. With guns reloaded, the enemy ship veered to come about and rake them from behind.

Thankfully, the fire was doused as Savion leapt down on the main deck, Petrok and Hona on his heels.

“Should we raise the white flag?” Hona asked.

“Never.” Savion glared at their enemy.

“Our stern chasers are destroyed, Captain. We can’t fire at them from behind.”

Savion gripped the railing not a yard from where Perdita stood. His eyes met hers—intense, focused, fierce—but then he lowered his gaze to the sea churning against the hull. Hair hung in his face, but she could spot his lips moving as if he were speaking to someone.

Another shout to “surrender or die” came from the Malum ship.

Savion shoved off the railing and turned about. “Arrows. We use flaming arrows, Petrok. Archers to the stern.”

Petrok nodded with a smile.

Archers? Perdita approached Savion. “I can help. I’m quite good at archery.”

“Get below, woman. I’ve no time for this now. Hona.” He found his quartermaster at the wheel. “Get your musket and join them.”

Hona nodded and sped away.

“They are nearly within firing range, Captain,” one man shouted.

A chest full of bows and arrows, along with several linstocks, were brought on deck, and the men grabbed them and hurried to the stern. When most had gotten theirs, Perdita grabbed one for herself and followed them, ignoring the pain in her feet and Savion’s shout for her to get below at once.

 

♥♥♥

 

The woman was destined to drive him completely and utterly mad. Perhaps she was a plant by the Malum, after all, to make Savion surrender just to be rid of her. Now, she dared to ignore him—the only one on board who could get away with that—and hobbled across the deck, bow, arrows, and linstock in hand.

He spun to face the oncoming Malum ship, her carronades taunting him from her larboard railing, her warriors shouting at him from on deck, armed, ready to board and slaughter. But Savion would not let them.

He fought in the name of King Abbas and would not be defeated.

Planting his feet firmly on the heaving deck, he kept a confident stance as the seconds dragged like hours until the ship was in range. Would his archers be able to fire their arrows before the Malum cannons pulverized the Scepter? Savion’s heart crashed against his ribs. Guardians of Erden, be with me. The Malum ship eased closer and closer, her crew thrusting defiant fists in the air, roaring in celebration over their conquest. Another second …

He glanced at the twenty archers crouched behind the stern railing, arrows strung tight in their bows, other men holding lit linstocks, awaiting his order. To his dismay, Perdita had positioned herself on the far right, her bow drawn and ready.