Wyndric Ocean
“FOG ON THE OCEAN. A bad omen.”
Cova, empress of Roden, had known Garen Strongst was a superstitious man when she’d made him admiral. She hated to see it surface now.
He was right about the fog. From the Crown Conquest, the flagship of the Rodenese Navy, vision was limited. They were somewhere just south of the Roden–Khale border, about forty radials from the coast. The fog had come in with the sunset, and deepened through the night. Now, when the sun should be rising, Cova could see nothing but gray mist in all directions. Standing on the bow of the Crown and looking back, she could not even see the stern of her own ship, let alone the fleet following them. The scene was made eerier still by the awful silence that accompanied the fog. Other than the lapping of water against the ship, and the occasional order carried across the waves from her crew, there was no sound whatsoever.
The signal-officer, his flags useless in the mist, shouted instructions and coordinates to the ship next in the line.
Cova frowned. “Is that necessary? Should we not lie-to and wait for the fog to clear?”
“If you’ll forgive me, Your Grace—” The admiral’s condescending answer was interrupted by the arrival of a tall young man, who arrived with a salute. “What is it, Brakston?”
“The eyes in the nest above think they’ve seen masts,” the sailor reported. “Not our own. Both to port and starboard.”
“They think they’ve seen masts?” Strongst asked. “Have they or haven’t they?”
“It’s difficult to tell in the fog, sir, but—”
“Of course it’s difficult to tell in the fog. Until they’ve confirmed that these sightings of theirs are real, we do not deviate. We stay the course, Brakston.”
The signal-officer shouted again, and a distant shout from the ship behind them came in response.
Cova swore. “Shut that officer up! Caution is the order, Admiral. I’d prefer not to have my fleet ambushed.”
“Your Grace, I assure you—”
“If you’re not going to respect my office, you can stop calling me ‘Your Grace,’ Admiral.”
“I…”
Cova turned to Brakston. “Find the captain,” she said. “If Admiral Strongst will not do as I command, I’ll relieve him of his office and give it to someone else.”
Brakston saluted her, then rushed down the ladder to the main deck.
The admiral laughed nervously. “I assure you, Your Grace, that will not be necessary. I am happy to—”
“I don’t have time to argue with you, Strongst.” No more “Admiral.” She’d already made the decision. “We must be more careful—”
The ship shuddered beneath them, and a crash of splintering wood split the fog’s silence. The Crown Conquest swayed, leaning to starboard, and Cova gripped the rail to keep from losing her balance.
A smaller ship Cova did not recognize had rammed them. All she could make out in the fog were its crimson sails, and while Cova couldn’t see the ship figurehead, she could guess it was carved in the shape of a human skull.
Pirates.
Cova swore. It would be foolish to attack Cova’s entire fleet—she did not think all of the pirates in the Wyndric Ocean would amount to enough ships to take on her navy—but the fog provided them cover enough, and the Rodenese Navy enough confusion, that they could cause some damage.
“Tensen,” Cova shouted to her Reaper captain, “don’t let them board!”
A series of smaller shudders made the deck beneath her tremble once more. Grappling hooks.
Tensen, a tall, sinewy man nearby, began to relay orders to his Reapers—Roden’s elite fighters.
“First and second squad,” he shouted, “cut the grappling ropes! Don’t let them swarm us! Third squad, form an archery line, keep them down!”
But the ropes were not cut in time. A roar erupted from the side of the ship where the grapples had fallen; the sound of running feet and combat told her that, somewhere in the fog, a horde of wild, bloodthirsty men had streamed from the pirate ship onto the deck of the Crown Conquest. Her Reapers were there to meet them, and the two forces collided with the sounds of crashing metal, shuffling feet on wood, guttural grunts and shouts, and the screams of the dying.
Goddess, how can anyone be dying yet? Cova wondered, feeling cold. The soldiers had only just joined in battle, and already she heard screams that could mean nothing else.
A form barreled up to her out of the mist, and every muscle in Cova’s body tensed. She took a step back, hand moving to the sword at her hip. She was proficient with the weapon, but no expert. And she had never been in a real battle before.
“Your Grace.” As the shape became clearer, she recognized the ship’s captain, Rakkar. “The ram hit us above the waterline. If we can pull away, we can salvage the ship.”
At least someone is competent on this vessel. “Thank you, Captain,” Cova said.
Rakkar saluted, and turned back to the deck, shouting orders at his sailors.
The mist had started to clear, and now Cova saw her initial fear at Rakkar’s approach had been unfounded. Her two Reaper guards, Flok and Grost, stood on either side of her still. They and a pair of two other guards took shifts following her everywhere she went on the ship, and stood guard outside her chambers at night. She had been annoyed by the practice at first, wondering why on earth she needed protection on her own ship full of her own soldiers, but now she was grateful for their presence.
Both men had weapons drawn, their dark blue tunics damp from the fog. Beneath that, their gray plate armor reflected a soft orange glow.
Cova turned immediately to see more pirates boarding the Crown Conquest, torches and weapons in hand.
“Third squad!” Tensen screamed over the battle sounds. “Focus on the torch-bearers!”
By now General Horas had joined her on the upper deck at the bow of the ship. Tensen commanded her Reapers, but Horas commanded her entire army. “Your Grace,” Horas said, breathless. “I’ve mobilized the forces belowdecks. Our numbers will soon overwhelm them, if nothing else.”
Cova nodded, still wary of the battle. She trusted her generals—more so than she trusted her ex-admiral, at least— but a thrill of simultaneous excitement and terror reverberated in her bones, unwilling to fade.
Another squad of Rodenese soldiers, in light blue tunics and bright mail, had already formed up and were firing on the pirates, but now turned their attention to the men carrying torches. They fired a volley, and half a dozen torch-bearers fell, many of them into the water.
The Crown Conquest lurched to starboard, trying to get away from the attacking ship, but the ram and harpoons held it too tightly.
Over her shoulder, Cova sensed a shadow moving. She turned to see another ship, much larger than the one that had rammed the Crown, pulling up alongside them.
“Tensen—”
“I see it, Your Grace.” Tensen shouted at his Reapers to split, and half of the elite force moved to starboard. Fortunately, the Reapers were not called elite for nothing; with the cover fire from the archer squad, they were holding off the pirates from the first ramming ship well enough.
To starboard, three huge planks crashed through the fog and onto the Crown Conquest’s decks, one of them smashing into the upper deck where Cova stood with her guards and captains. Two massive steel claws on the end clamped into the deck boards. It would not be easily moved.
Immediately, more pirates wielding torches and weapons rushed across the ramp, eyes alight with fire and violence.
Cova drew her sword. Her guards and the soldiers nearby fanned out in formation to protect her, but she could not afford to stand by when they were so outnumbered. With any luck, some of the Reapers on the main deck would make their way up to where she stood to reinforce her position, but Cova could not rely on it.
They would have to make a stand on their own.
The ship that had lowered the gangplanks was a dark shadow in the fog, barely discernible, but the shadow seemed almost as large as the Crown Conquest itself.
This could not be happenstance. Her luck could not possibly be this bad. Khalic intelligence must have been tracking their movements, and Khale had hired these pirates to attack when her fleet was at its most vulnerable, blinded by the fog.
The pirates could not defeat her entire fleet, and the Khalic government likely knew that. But it would slow her navy down— and in attacking the flagship, with her on it, could cut off the head of the Rodenese Empire before the war even started.
Cova was not about to let that happen.
Pirates rushed across the plank that connected the two ships, screaming as they ran. Faces wild, eyes afire. She braced herself, planted her feet as she’d been taught, sword at the ready.
The pirates crashed into her small group with battle cries and the slick sound of blades cutting flesh. Her Reapers held strong, easily dispatching the pirates at the head of the charge, and behind them the other soldiers, Horas, and the disgraced Admiral Strongst waited for any who might break through. Cova stood last, tall in her gilded and blue-painted armor, sword ready.
Wave after wave of fighters crashed into the force before her, more and more slipping through the front line of her Reapers. One managed to break through, and Cova struck him down, her sword threading through his wild swings to pierce through his unarmored chest.
Not for the first time, Cova wondered whether she shouldn’t have heeded the counsel of her advisors and stayed in Izet. It was traditional for the head of the empire to accompany Roden’s armies on any large-scale campaign, but her presence was needed at home, too. Izet needed rebuilding, and the political structure was fragile at best. She had left the mother of her dead husband, Hama Mandiat, to rebuild and rule in her absence. She’d brought Andia Luce with her, who was part of the Ruling Council of Roden, and, as the once-betrothed of the dead Emperor Grysole, was as close a thing to an heir as she had nowadays, but protocol insisted they travel in different ships, should the unthinkable happen to one of them. Many criticized her for the decision to bring Andia along; Andia Luce was the daughter of her father’s most prominent political rival, and those closest to her suspected Andia might have ulterior motives. And that might be true; but Andia was a valuable ally, and had become Cova’s friend.
Wherever Andia’s ship was, Cova hoped it was not under attack as well.
Another wave of pirates crashed into her guard force, and a man broke through unscathed. She caught a glimpse of glittering piercings in his scarred face, and then he was bringing his broadsword down on her. She blocked the attack with her blade, her muscles straining and hand aching even from the single blow.
She could not last long against this man.
She leaned out of the way of another slash from her attacker. He was not particularly fast, but he was strong. Another strike, and Cova parried, deflecting his sword with a magnificent ring that pierced the air. Pain shot through her arms and hands.
“Protect the empress!” came a shout from the lower deck. But the glance she sent that way cost her a precious fraction of concentration, and when she turned fully back to her opponent, his sword was already coming down on her. She brought her own up to parry again, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, and then an arrow shaft sprouted from the pirate’s neck. His eyes bulged beneath pierced eyebrows, and his strike faltered just enough for Cova to knock it sideways and plunge her blade into his chest, piercing through leather and flesh.
The pirate slumped to the deck just as a loud, bellowing horn echoed through the fog.
Cova froze in fear as the blast echoed again, thinking the two blasts surely meant another ship would soon engage with them, but then the men in front of her turned and retreated across the plank that had buried itself in the upper deck, running back to the large ship, still shadowy in the fog alongside the Crown Conquest. Admiral Strongst made to follow them across—Goddess, he was the foolhardy sort of brave, and Cova wondered how in Oblivion the Council had ever suggested this man to lead her armada—but Cova shouted his name. Strongst turned to look at her, bloodlust in his eyes. Cova only shook her head. They may have won the battle on the Crown Conquest, barely, but there was no telling what awaited them if they followed the pirates onto their own ships.
Turning to the lower deck, she saw the pirates there had retreated, too.
A faint mechanical click echoed across the water, and then the large, shadowy pirate ship to starboard began to glide away into the fog, leaving behind the three wide, barbed planks embedded in the Crown Conquest’s decks. The pirates must have triggered some release mechanism at the hinges; the barbed ends of the planks would take time and great effort to remove.
The smaller ship that had rammed them to port disengaged, and the Crown Conquest shuddered again. Soon the Crown Conquest was alone in the clearing mist, crippled and listing to starboard. A ragged cheer went up from the Crown’s three decks.
Cova did not share the sense of triumph. “Why are they retreating?” she asked. “If they’d pressed the attack a bit longer, they might’ve taken the Crown.” They might’ve taken me, she thought.
“Look around you, Your Grace,” Tensen said quietly. “The pirates suffered heavy losses.”
Dozens of bodies littered the deck. Most of the wounded up here were pirates, left behind by their comrades. The ship’s boys swarmed up the ladders to report, and Cova waited impatiently while they spoke to the captains.
“Give me your reports,” she said, when they were finished.
General Horas was a broad man and, while not quite the tallest on the upper deck (that honor belonged to Flok and Grost), he was the oldest by a few years, nearly as old as Cova’s father before he’d died. His usually smooth-shaven face was rough with stubble.
“Your Grace, our casualties are minimal,” Horas said, his face and voice grim despite the news. “Less than ten dead, and roughly the same injured. Considering our odds, these are good numbers.”
“And our attackers? What of their losses?”
“Significantly greater. Almost three dozen dead or wounded left behind on the Crown. No telling how many more fell into the sea, or back onto their own ships. We defeated them handily, Your Grace.”
“I would not be so quick to label this a victory,” the ship’s captain said, overhearing the last of Horas’s report as he arrived on the upper deck.
“Captain Rakkar,” Cova said, “what is your assessment?”
“First of all, there is no telling what damage might have been done to the other ships in our fleet. Until the fog clears, I do not believe it prudent to attempt any audible communication. We risk the pirates’ return, perhaps in greater numbers, to finish what they started.”
Strongst stepped forward with a frown. “Even if every pirate in the nine seas banded together, they could not stand a chance against our armada. We—”
Cova’s sword, still drawn and bloody, moved to Strongst’s neck.
“Garen Strongst,” she hissed, “perhaps you have forgotten the words we had when this battle began—when you ignored my commands, and brought about this bloodbath through the shouts of the signal-officer. You have been demoted and have no say in these matters.”
She glanced at her other commanders. “Gentlemen, Admiral Rakkar is now in charge of the fleet.” She heard Rakkar’s sharp intake of breath, but she was watching Strongst as she lowered her sword. He hung his head. “See to it that Strongst finds his way to the brig until I decide his fate.” Strongst’s neck was smeared with the blood from Cova’s sword.
“Unless you would like to force me to decide now, Strongst?”
“No, Your Grace,” he said meekly. If he had deigned to show such humility earlier, he might not have found himself in this position.
Rakkar gave the nod to two of his sailors, who escorted Strongst down the ladder to the brig. But, try as she might, Cova could not place the blame of this defeat into Strongst’s hands. The Council may have suggested him, but she chose him. If there was any failing here, it was her own.
“Continue with your report, Rakkar.”
“Beyond the potential damage to our fleet, beyond the fact that we cannot risk another attack, we must assess our own situation on the Crown Conquest. We are crippled, Your Grace. We are not at immediate risk of sinking, that much is in our favor. The planks causing us to lean to starboard are keeping the battering ram’s puncture above the waterline. We can gently steer her inland, Your Grace, but there is not much more we can do than that.”
“Can we salvage her?”
“Your Grace,” Rakkar said slowly, “The time it would take to bring the Crown ashore, get it repaired, and get back on course would delay us immeasurably.”
“Khale ordered this attack,” Cova said. “Would you all agree?”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Rakkar said.
Tensen nodded. “They knew they would not stop us, Your Grace, but they must have hoped to slow us down. They hired these pirates to attack us, to attack you, Your Grace. A personal affront to the Azure Crown. They targeted your ship specifically. The best-case scenario for them would have been for the pirates to take this ship, take you, and end the war before it began.”
Cova tried not to think about what the pirates would have done to her, had they taken her. She had never seen pirates with her own eyes before this day, but she had heard stories of their brutality, the atrocious acts they committed against the women and children they captured. Empress or not, Cova could not imagine she would have been exempt from their violent lust.
“Very well, we will send the Crown back to Roden for repair, with a skeleton crew.” As much as she hated to lose her flagship, there was no other way. “These Khalic-hired pirates did not take me, and I’ll be damned if they will slow us down.
“When the fog clears, we will assess our fleet’s situation, repair the damage we can, take the resources from any ships we may need to send home or scuttle, and continue onward.”
Her captains nodded, and she hoped to the Goddess that the looks they gave one another were positive. She was through with making mistakes.
The sick feeling in her stomach was just beginning to fade, and along with it, the fog. In the east, the outline of the sun could just be seen through the thinning mist.
“We will make it to Triah,” Cova said, “and repay this attack a thousand fold.”