The Ghost
An immense relief shuddered through Captain Guthram Friemann as he set foot on board the upper deck of the Kraken warship, Stormbringer. The constant rocking motion which had sickened him on land mercifully abated. This remarkable vessel was one of a kind. It was built unlike any other three-masted warship in the King’s Krakens or any other fleet sailing the Shimmering Seas. It was designed and built for Guthram by a war engineer of renown, Galen of Reicht, in repayment for the captain’s outstanding bravery during Galen’s crossing to Drottenheim, over six years ago.
Although it had taken the Reichtian over two years to refine the design and construct the ship, the result was unique. The prow was long and narrow to cut through the waves and give it greater speed. The beam at the uppermost deck was less than the maximum beam of the vessel, making it more difficult to board the ship by force. Toward the rear were short catamaran style hulls on either side, providing stability in rough seas and bearing a smaller rudder connected to the main wheel to allow the ship to turn in tight circles. On the main deck, Galen had installed two ballista firing turrets, fore and aft, covered by domes of ironwood, a wood laborious to harvest which was sturdier than others and averse to fire. The turrets could be rotated into firing position while protecting the operators.
The wheelhouse, as with most of the ship, had been constructed of ironwood and could be covered during attack. Galen dismissed the sentiment of placing a figurehead at the front of the ship, believing one made one’s own luck. Instead, he had built a large triple-spiked prow ram into the frame of the ship, so the force of any impact would be distributed throughout the vessel. The entire ship had been painted with black resin to assist in concealment during night travel; but it also prevented the timbers catching fire.
The first time Guthram had seen the black sails billowing on the ship as it came into port at Aksson a heavy rain was falling. One of the old fishermen had been watching the ship with him and said it had an ill look about it and it must have brought the bad weather.
“If you don’t mind,” Guthram had responded, “when I retell of the first time I saw my new ship, I am going to say it brought a storm with it.” The fisherman had laughed, knowing how tall tales began.
“Captain Guthram and the ‘Stormbringer’. I like the sound of that,” the fisherman had agreed, clapping the captain on the shoulder.
Now Guthram was considered an outlaw, pirate, and murderer. He had been stripped of his captaincy, was aboard a stolen vessel and hunted by the authorities. He wondered how his fortunes had dissipated so quickly, but it was not the time for his own troubles after the events he had witnessed at the docks. The captain looked along the length of his vessel and at the faces of the men and women who had chosen to remain with him. To be branded traitors to the city was preferable to betraying their ship and captain. He owed this crew as much loyalty as they had shown him, but if the violence could not be contained by the City Guard, it would put everyone in the city in danger – including his wife and newborn son.
Some of the officers had gathered to welcome him back aboard the ship while the remainder of the hands were readying the ship.
“Heading, Cap’n?” asked Drengr.
The image of his wife and child came to Guthram’s mind. He could almost feel Torvald’s tiny hand grip his finger.
“Cap’n?”
Guthram looked at the hands setting the rigging and preparing to hoist the sails. “Stay anchor, we hold,” he ordered.
Drengr’s mouth opened as if he were about to question the command.
“We just watched a baying mob who were screaming for the baron’s head kill his personal guards. The retaliation will be brutal and swift. What do you think will happen to anyone caught in the middle of it?” asked Guthram.
“The City Guard will be able to put an end to any trouble in Aksson,” said Drengr. “We should catch the wind while the tide is in our favour.”
Guthram placed his hands on his first mate’s shoulders. “The fear and hatred have never been worse. Look at what has happened to us and the other captains. The fleet is in disarray since Ilmarinen was executed for treason and the city has been split between those who want us all to hang and those who do not believe the lies about us. I need to know if she will be safe. We hold, at least for a little while.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Drengr.
An occasional spark flew from the iron shoes of the pony as they struck the cobblestoned streets, its masked and hooded rider forcing a headlong gallop through the not yet crowded streets.
White froth flung from the bit as the pony’s hot breath steamed in the cool morning air. The rider dared a glance behind to see one dogged pursuer. With a strong tug of the reins, he steered his mount to the left and up a narrow-stepped alleyway. The pony’s rear legs slipped on the steps but after a few rapid attempts, it propelled itself forward to the top tread.
He forced the pony back into a gallop after a quick check of his bearings. Speeding along the cobbles, he held low to avoid the eaves lining the narrow street. Entering Salt Square, the rider spotted the overweight bruiser of a man from a group who had chased him since their encounter on the small island of Ilak Disa two days ago. The thug was sitting on a roan horse, watching the street opposite.
The sound of the hoofbeats drew the large man’s attention, but too late to defend himself. The masked rider charged the small horse at him, drawing his hand-axe from his belt. The weapon, with an etched blade resembling a bird’s outstretched wing bit deep into the man’s chest, knocking him from the roan. He held the reins as he fell, and the animal reacted violently as its head was dragged downwards. The awkward twist of his body and the hefty impact with the ground finished the man off.
The rider reined in the pony as he contemplated the retrieval of his weapon. There was no time – two more of his pursuers had rounded the end of the street and were gaining fast.
Cursing, he drove the pony from the square while trying to avoid the people on the streets. He was being chased towards the southern dockland, which was not where he needed to go. Before long he caught glimpses of a large crowd between the rows of buildings. Spotting a rope hanging from a pulley at the top of one of the narrow houses, the rider rose to stand on the saddle, made a quick glance behind him, then leapt for it.
He climbed the rope, even as it swung in a wild arc. Reaching the roof, he hoisted the rope and watched as the pony dashed on, indifferent to its abandonment. Moments after, the two pursuers followed.
He was relieved as the men disappeared at the end of the street, but he was not yet safe and still needed to warn the baron of the imminent attack. Amid the noise at the docks, he could hear screams mixed with breaking glass and could smell the acrid smoke as it dissipated beyond the Dock Wall. He moved across the roof to see a large group of dock workers attacking one of the ships at anchor. There was a ferocious cheer as black smoke belched from cabin windows and parts of the hold and deck which had been set alight. He recognised the ship as one from the King’s Krakens fleet. Other ships, away from the growing mob, were making for open water, fearing the same fate. The desperation of some sailors was clear – some were in the water, attempting to make it to boats which had left without them.
I’m too late. It’s starting. I thought I’d have more time!
He had seen enough. Taking a run, he vaulted at the edge of the roof, clearing the alleyway with practiced ease. When he came to the end of the row of houses, and checking the open square below, he saw merchants hurriedly packing their wares and mothers clasping their children tight, rushing through the square away from the growing mêlée at the docks. There were others heading in the direction of the mob, most armed with tools but an occasional person with a sword or axe.
The shutters were open on a window on the other side of the street from where he was perched. The room was empty, and rather than risk being caught out in the open by his pursuers, he decided to avail of the hospitality of one of Aksson’s good citizens. The floor was clear of impediments, and gauging the jump, he secured the satchel hung across his chest and dived from the roof ledge through the open window. He landed into a forward tumble, the noise minimal.
The rider, a Commander of the Night Watchmen known by the alias ‘Geist’, listened carefully at the doorway of the room in which he found himself. The house was empty. Weariness and muscle ache tried to pull him to the floor.
Sleep when you’re dead, he thought. Mission first, always.
He shook out his limbs and opened a clothes chest by the bed. He appropriated what he needed to change his appearance and left, easing himself down the wooden stairs and out the rear door of the house.