Enter Stage Right
Sebastian Laventis stood patiently at the fore deck of his vessel, Oln’s Majesty. The mighty ship was larger by half than most sailing the Shimmering Seas. It could hold over three hundred marines and crew and was currently full. Beside Laventis stood his captain, Joran Ulftonne, behind a movable lectern which held a black leatherbound ledger. Both men were in their twenty-second year but there was no mistaking them from one another. Sebastian stood over six feet tall, wearing a long black leather coat which fell to his feet. A mop of wavy black hair framed his handsome pale face. Joran was shorter and broader than his admiral, with a dark tan and a squat face.
Selected officers from other ships in the fleet of eighty-five warships and thirty-seven smaller craft were delivering their reports to the admiral in turn. One reported how four supply ships had been lost to an uncontrollable swell and the deadly coral walls surrounding the island during the night-time approach. Ten crewmen from various ships were also shunted overboard, ripped apart when the swirling water propelled them against the spiked coral. Joran took note of the ships and the numbers of dead.
A burly sealskin-covered man with dozens of shark teeth necklaces reported on the assault of Ilak Banba over a week before. He gave his account of how the Zadesti with him overran the island before anyone could escape, and how the men and women of the small community fought and died for almost two days before being forced to surrender. Joran took notes of the numbers of prisoners, weaponry and seagoing vessels captured. As the man recounted the events of capturing the island, Sebastian could not help but feel a modicum of sympathy for the weather-beaten and wrinkle-ridden man. The words he used were those of a great conquest, an essential conflict on the road to ultimate victory. Sebastian had chosen the Zadesti because they were expendable and had a reputation for being notorious pirates. In the event the attack failed, it might have been mistaken for an unusually determined Zadesti raid rather than part of something larger. He had not bestowed upon them the honour of drawing first blood as the man regaled. Sebastian considered how the Zadesti had fallen far from the glorious days of Enirax Windruler, the conqueror of the oceans and far-seeing prophet. In the years since Enirax died, the clans had ripped themselves and their empire apart until there was nothing left. Nothing other than a loose association of scavengers, cutthroats, mercenaries, thieves and pirates all scattered to the winds. Sebastian was growing irritated by the man and was certain his stench had been seeping from him.
“What of the crew of the War Hog, Chieftain Ulok?” he asked, interrupting the man in mid-sentence.
“Deh crew been hauled, deh of’cers had their ’eds loped and spiked aft, as you wished,” said Ulok, a hard edge to his tone.
“The captain?” pressed Sebastian.
The Zadesti chieftain reached back and picked up a basket. He tipped it in the admiral’s direction, revealing the head of the War Hog’s former captain.
“Meh son Edrick is captain now, put ’im in charge of gathering new crew,” said Ulok.
Jornan dipped his pen in the small vial of black ink and drew a line through the letters of a name next to the ship’s name. In their place he wrote the name ‘Edrick, son of Chieftain Ulok’.
“I want you to know, Ulok, there was little choice for me in this matter,” said the admiral, his hair blowing in the rising winds, as was his ankle-length black leather coat. “I ordered no harm to come to the female prisoners from Ilak Banba. The men of the War Hog either participated in the rape and beatings or sat idle and allowed them to happen. All are punished. If I did not need the ship, I would have had it burned. My orders will not be disobeyed. With your son in charge of the War Hog, I have no doubt this incident will be the last time the ship will come to my attention in a negative manner. We cannot afford indiscipline at this time, can we? Carry on, Chieftain.”
Over six feet in height, the thin framed admiral stood taller than those gathered around him. The Zadesti continued his report as Sebastian turned his gaze across the water. He was waiting to see a large fire lit on the beach of Ilak Únden, the next island. It was to signal the attack on Aksson. He imagined it was near the time the Radsvinn family had either been captured or killed, along with most of the advising council. Violence should also be consuming the Southern Docks.
Sebastian peered with steely eyes across the shimmering sea, blue, green and pinkish red in the mid-morning sun. He was certain there were wisps of smoke by the tree line. The shimmer was making it difficult to see the shore of the island clearly. Passing the gathered officers, he moved to the mid deck and called to the barrelman. There was no response. After a second call, he climbed the rigging to the nest. When he reached the top, he could see the sailor asleep on the floor of the nest. Without a word he quietly climbed in and scanned the shore of the next island.
From this vantage point and with the use of the barrelman’s lenses, he could see a fire had been set some hours earlier and burned low. Sebastian gripped the lenses as the anger welled inside him. His focus was on the sleeping sailor. He was holding the lenses so tight they smashed in his hands, causing a piece of glass to slit his left palm.
The noise of the glass breaking woke the sailor who, when he realised his company, panicked. Still holding part of the lenses, Sebastian grabbed the back of the sailor’s head and drove the pieces of broken glass and splintered wood into the barrelman’s left eye. The man howled in agony. He clawed and kicked like a feral animal, all the while screaming in terror and agony. Sebastian drew back and repeatedly stabbed the man with the remainder of the instrument, even though it was no longer sharp or long enough to cause much damage. He pulled the sailor to his feet and against the side of the nest, pushing him slowly backwards over the edge.
Facing no further resistance, Sebastian paused as if suddenly aware of the power of life and death he held over the battered crewman. He watched the blood stream from the man’s destroyed eye for a moment before throwing the man to the floor of the nest. Without a word to the barrelman, Sebastian climbed back down the rigging, where he was met by his bosun, Tregard, and Joran Ulftonne.
Sebastian ran his hands over his face and through his hair to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Instead, it caused blood from his lacerated hand to streak across his face and into his hair. The assembled officers stood in silence.
“Admiral…?” was all Joran could say, having heard the commotion in the nest and seeing his commander’s face flushed and covered in fresh blood.
Sebastian smoothed out the wrinkles in his black tunic and turned to face the bosun of his ship. “Replace the barrelman. Ensure the ship’s doctor tends to him and then to the brig with him,” Sebastian ordered and turned to face Joran, cutting short his interjection: “Captain. Full sail. Full attack. Captains, you are dismissed to return to your ships. Small craft to the head. Joran, hold us to the rear with the towers.”
There was no further discussion. The admiral grabbed the rail at the side of the ship and recalculated. Even as an adolescent, Sebastian had been fascinated by the constantly colliding and violent histories of the Lattican, Gaelgaran, Brytonic, and Zadestian peoples. He studied what accounts he could find of old campaigns, tactics, and weapons. The Cougari Crusades and the more recent Wraith Wars also formed part of his academic work. For most who read the histories, it was still difficult to determine how the Wraiths were defeated by a vastly understrength army, and many had argued as to what had caused their downfall. Sebastian had poured over the records and personal accounts and determined that the significant difference had been the King’s Krakens, which is why they had been his first target.
Having seen the fire, he knew things had happened in the city of Aksson much earlier than anticipated in the strategy. The tide was past full rise, which would slow the fleet’s progress even further, although not so much as to render the attack futile. The most devastating weapons at his disposal, five floating towers based on huge flat-decked ships holding giant ballistae on three floors and an enormous trebuchet at their top, were all being towed by four galleys filled with ammunition. They were slow in the water.
No, the time is right, thought Sebastian. He guessed the delay may allow for stronger resistance at Aksson, which would mean a deployment of more soldiers than originally planned. It also meant whatever ships of the King’s Krakens were in the area would have a chance to organise themselves. More of his own ships and crews would meet their fate because of this.
Acceptable, concluded the admiral.