What do we do now Brother?
We die, Brother Galan, Seth said coldly, simply, but not until we fight honorably and die honorably.
All eyes keyed to the hulking masses of multi-sailed vessels that hungrily approached.
Cagan? Seth directed the thought to the mind of the ship’s captain. We must get through. We cannot fight them all at once. Can we make it to open water?
“Perhaps, if we use the escort ships as decoys while we break through—a hard strike to the right side of the blockade should do it. We can try to circle them and make for open seas. Once there, with the wind in our sails, this ship can outrun anything they can throw at us.” Cagan spoke aloud as was his chosen fashion.
Running is pointless, Br’yan said. It would only show that we are cowards. We should strike the enemy head on, with our eyes wide open.
I agree, Galan said.
After a tug at his grizzled beard and a scratch at his large rounded head, Sailmaster Cagan said, “We are not running, but surviving.”
You are wrong, Br’yan said.
Cagan’s open thoughts streamed to Seth who stood beside him. Seth had passed more than a few nights sailing the canals of Kapital with the kind sailmaster. They knew each other well, he knew no one whose love and respect for the sea was greater. It was Cagan’s life. He also knew the venerable captain would not let them down, would not let him down, would not let Queen Mother down. No, Seth said, Sailmaster Cagan is not wrong. Go ahead with your plan. I trust your judgment.
Sailmaster Cagan passed instructions to the ship’s broadcaster who in turn relayed them to the escort ships. A maneuver was dealt out to their small, honest fleet—one that would cost them greatly. The escort ships turned sail from their current position, and headed directly into the enemy blockade. They struck hard and to the right side as instructed and in a few terrible, fate-filled minutes, they were overswept. A heavy toll would be brought for their fall, Seth knew this.
Sailors from both sides were washed over the decks. Tiny specks leaping from tiny ships, images that floated farther and farther away. Seth looked down to the deck of the Lady L. Those of the Red were lost in silent meditation, a thing Seth did not presently allow for himself. He knew well why they closed their minds to the screams they perceived—screams of pain, anguish and demise. He knew they were preparing for battle, a battle they must win.
Dark pillars of smoke and flames rose into the air far behind them. Seth saw tiny white sails engulfed in those deadly, dark flames and dark shapes, the broken hulls of fallen ships, sinking into the waiting, black waters. They found open seas, but at what cost?
Of the many enemy ships that had formed the blockade, only two were able to raise full sails and remain in proximity to them. The chase was on.
A master at the helm, Cagan turned sails to catch maximum benefit from the winds. He guided the ship into the head of the gull, a maneuver that would eventually steal the draft from the sails of the pursuers as they closed in, and force them to scramble to catch a fresh breeze.
Clever, Sailmaster Cagan, very clever, said Seth.
Cagan’s retort was swift and his eyes never broke away from the sails or the wheel. “I had some help did I not?”
The forces of the Mother are at the call of all who know how— A peculiar sight caught Seth’s eye and for an instant his thoughts broke off. —who know how to use them.
The wind ebbed on the fore-and-aft rigged vessel, which forced them to lose some much-needed speed. Meanwhile, the enemy cutters had finally found their sails and were gaining.
“They will not catch us, they cannot catch us,” said Cagan as much to himself as to Seth, “not a chance, not a chance.”
“Bo’s’n!” he yelled, “Tighten that riggin’, attend to that rope, check the trim.”
The boatswain’s response was loud and shrill. In brief, precise thoughts, he spit out the orders and, in short order, the swift craft lurched forward under proper sails.
Cagan, to the east, look!
A single ship grew from a speck along the horizon in front of them to a dot on the water. They could not afford an engagement now. The pursuers were too close behind.
“It is over, my friend,” Cagan said, “one way or another, we must move to engage, either to the rear or front…” The wily sea captain paused. “Yet, perhaps—Yes, if we tack directly toward them we will surely catch them off guard.”
Yes, maybe we can gain the upper hand before the others join the match, said Seth with twisted hope.
Cagan ordered the vessel turned against the wind, their nimble sloop could cut well in the tack. The cutters behind them, on the other hand, were much slower in the turns.
Cross-winded the Lady L rapidly approached the ship that a short time ago had been but a mere, distant speck. All on board readied for the inevitable. Silent prayers were sent to Father and Mother to protect and watch over them and to keep them.