Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (25 page)

“I don’t know if I can do it this time, Sykox,” Cobiah said softly.

“But you said . . .” The charr’s smile waned. “Ah. I get it. You’re slipperier than a greased grawl, Coby. Must be how you did so well at Ackle-Denth.” He nodded, placing one big paw on Cobiah’s shoulder. “C’mon, Coby. Who raided the Xunlai warehouses near Lake Bounty? Who bluffed our way out of the Splintered Coast with three broken bottles and a handful of flash powder?” Sykox crossed his arms and flicked his ears back. “Whose idea was it to sail right into the middle of a krait deeps just to rescue a cook?”

“In my defense, his chicken pie was
amazing
.”

“You,” the engineer said. “You’ve turned crazy, reckless courage into a career. You’ve got a gift, Cobiah. A gift for bringing people together even against their better judgment. If anyone can defeat a Dead Ship, it’s you. Even if we die, I’m proud to have had you as my captain . . . and as my friend.” Sykox shrugged nonchalantly, making the leopard spots ripple in his tawny fur.

“Same here, fuzz face.” Touched, Cobiah thumped Sykox’s shoulder. “Keep the bilges going,” he said. “If we sink before they blow us to the heavens, I’m blaming you.”

“Aye, sir.” Sykox winked. “Off I go to see what’s beneath
Salma’s
skirts!” With that, he ambled toward the hatch, sliding rapidly down the ladder toward the galleon’s lower decks.

From a distance, the boom of cannon fire thundered in the air. Cobiah’s skin crawled, and he looked instinctively toward the
Pride
. Smoke rose from the pinnace’s guns as she fired on the Orrian vessel with reckless abandon. Isaye and the others were fighting for their lives—and he was stuck here, without any way to help them.

Magical fire swelled from the Orrian vessel like a twisting serpent of flame. As cannonballs passed through it, they melted into liquid, falling harmlessly into the sea. The shimmering inferno flickered and swayed, flowing in protective circles around the Orrian ship. Cobiah thought he heard a chanting aboard the
Pride.
The wind rose, swirling through white foam and whipping the waves into a frenzy. The rush of air approached the
Harbinger
, tamping down the flame, pressing the Orrian fire closer and closer to the ocean in an attempt to quench it with the waves.

“Fine work, your elementalist.” Moran had recovered
his mace from below, holding it tightly in one hand. “You might have noticed, we’ve no offensive magic aboard the
Grace
. All we’ve got here is me.”

“It’ll be enough,” Cobiah assured him. Moran gave orders to the crew in gruff tones, and slowly, the
Salma’s Grace
began to turn. Cobiah leaned on the ship’s gunwale, staring at the combat unfolding on the sea.

“Cap’n Marriner!” Startled, Cobiah looked over the gunwale and saw Fassur’s dark head peering out from a hole between the boards of the ship. “Her hull’s compromised, but it’s all above water. As long as she doesn’t hit roughs, the ribs’ll hold. But . . . that’s not the problem.”

“What, then?”

“Some jackass got a lucky shot during the
Pride
’s volley. Landed straight in the main hold. The twice-blasted thing set fire to the dry stores and nearly lit up the ammunition. Sykox turned the bilges on the armory so it wouldn’t blow us all to the Mists . . . but now the gunpowder’s swimming in brine.”

Sighing, Cobiah rubbed his temples, trying to think clearly. “Can we fire the guns?”

“Aye . . . some. Whatever’s out there already is the last of the powder. Two, maybe three shots each? The rest won’t be dry for hours.”

“Great,” Cobiah groused. “So what
can
we do?”

Fassur grinned up at him hopefully. “Board them and fight one-on-one?”

“See?”
Grist wheezed enthusiastically somewhere inside the lower hold. “That’s what I told him!”

Cobiah slapped his hands to the sides of his head. “Who
taught
you guys this stuff?”

As one, the charr answered, “You did!”

Cobiah groaned and raised his palms to his forehead.

Another voice rang out across the deck. “You’re going
aboard that Dead Ship?” Raising his head from his hands, Cobiah saw the two norn standing behind him, listening to the argument between him and the charr. Their wide grins were a matched pair. “I like your gumption, pirate,” Bronn said, leaning on his broadsword.

Behind his brother, Grymm tugged his hard-leather sap gloves tighter around his knuckles. “Looks like we’ve got some real fighting to do, eh, brother?” Grymm beamed.

“About time,” Bronn agreed. “I was starting to get bored with the warm-up.”

“Goddess Dwayna, forgive whatever I did to deserve this.” Cobiah gazed up at the heavens in exasperation. With a sigh, he lowered his eyes and surveyed the sea before them. The
Salma’s Grace
was barely moving, sailors shifting her sails to try to catch the wind once more. Over the waves, he could hear Isaye giving orders, the
Pride
working valiantly to obey as it engaged the red-sailed
Harbinger
. Longing struck him, and fear. That was
his
ship fighting out there.

Without him.

“Just keep her alive,” Cobiah whispered, looking down once more.

Fassur, whose ears were far better than any human’s, peeped out through the hole below. “You mean the
Pride
?”

“Yeah,” Cobiah replied, turning away from the rail. “The
Pride
.”

—

The
Salma’s Grace
rode low in the water, a wallowing dolyak when compared to the nimble
Pride.
The rocky lumps of island surrounding them proved a blessing, for the
Salma’s Grace
would never have caught the other two
ships had they been on the open sea. Even with the rocks hemming them in, she had a hard time keeping up with the lighter, more mobile crafts.

The Orrian xebec was nimbler than the
Pride
, easier to turn, but the pinnace’s engine made her faster in the straightaway. Each time the
Harbinger
tried to close in for an attack, the smaller ship warded her away with volleys of booming cannon fire. Over and over, the two vessels swooped and passed one another like bristling fighting fish. Guns roared, and wind and flame struggled over the water, a testament to the magic at work on either side. At one point, the
Harbinger
expended a full broadside, only to have it blown into empty waters a few yards from the
Pride
’s bow, and Cobiah saw Verahd’s willowy form hovering above the pinnace’s deck with a pleased little smile.

Despite Verahd’s efforts, the
Harbinger
’s fiery shield maintained a near-constant protection around the xebec. Verahd tried to use the wind to dispel it in pieces, pushing it aside so volleys from the
Pride
or the
Salma’s Grace
could make it through to their enemy on the far side of the flame. Cannonballs tore through the Orrian ship’s red sails and impacted the xebec’s deck with explosive force, but in return the
Harbinger
’s guns did significant damage of their own, roaring easily out of their fire shield and impacting on the smaller ship with massive concussions. The booming of cannon fire from both ships shook the tall stones throughout the narrow island straits.

“Captain!” the female first mate, Nicola, shouted as she reloaded one of the deck guns. “We’re reaching the last of our powder!”

Moran yelled back, “Ready the guns and hold your fire!” The old captain grimly set his jaw and clenched a hand around his heavy mace. To Cobiah, he said, “Our guns are twice as powerful as those on the
Pride;
that’s
why you pirates chose to board us. If we can just get one solid hit on that red-sailed blighter’s hull . . .”

Watching avidly, Captain Moran waited for the
Pride
to swoop past, cutting off the
Harbinger
’s wind so the Orrian ship would be an easy target. Instead, the faster
Harbinger
turned her scarlet sails to port, staying between the
Salma’s Grace
and her companion. Moran cursed. “Clever bastards. They’ve seen what your elementalist can do, and they don’t like it. We need Verahd’s gale to get through that flame shield, but so long as we’re on the opposite side of the
Harbinger
, the wind’s always pushing us away!”

“And stopping our shot from getting anywhere near that Dead Ship,” Fassur added, helping Nicola load a heavy cannonball into the muzzle of the gun.

Verahd’s wind flared again, pushing down the flames on the far side of the
Harbinger
. Waving his arms broadly above his head, Cobiah managed to catch the elementalist’s attention. Frowning and pushing his reddish hair behind his ears, Verahd released the spell, and the Orrian flames roared back to life again. Cobiah could see him speaking to Isaye, pointing curiously across the waves at the
Salma’s Grace
. “All right. The
Pride
can’t bring that shield down for us, so we’ll have to do it ourselves.” No longer pushed away by the gale, the
Salma’s Grace
’s punctured sail swelled and the galleon began to gain speed. Cobiah leaned over the side once more, shouting belowdecks. “Engineer Sykox!”

“Aye, sir?”

“I need you to turn on every bilge pump we have. Work them as hard as you can down there; I want ’em pumping full bore.”

“But, Cap’n, the deck’s near dry down here,” Sykox said.

“Then put the ends into the sea!” Before the charr could ask any other questions, Cobiah yelled, “Just do it!”

Sykox relayed the order to the crew in the ship’s hold. Long rubber hoses slid out the holes in the deck, sinking into the ocean at the ship’s side. Within minutes, the sound of chugging water redoubled itself as more sailors grabbed the pumps and labored to move the levers that worked the bilge. Seawater flowed up from the ocean, through the hoses, and out the other end—back into the sea. “Water’s flowing, sir,” the tawny charr assured him confusedly. “I don’t know what your plan is, but I don’t think we’re going to drain the sea out from under them.”

“We won’t have to.” Cobiah waved to Nicola and Fassur and pointed toward the
Harbinger
. “Ready the cannons, and send a team of sailors down to hold the bilge hoses. We’re going to need them.” They quickly did as they were told, and soon the crew on the guns were awaiting the order to fire. Leaning on the gunwale, Cobiah waited with bated breath until the
Salma’s Grace
was within forty yards of her enemy. Thirty . . . twenty . . . He could feel the heat of the
Harbinger
’s flame shield scorching the galleon’s hull. “Now, Sykox! Point the bilges to our starboard side and spray for your lives!”

Up went the hoses, and the pounding bilge pumps shot massive arcs of water toward the
Harbinger
. The shower struck the fire shield, hissing and steaming as the flame was doused.

“Give ’em hell!”
Cobiah commanded.

The galleon’s cannons thundered a full broadside, pounding out their ammo so violently that the great ship shuddered with animosity. Cobiah saw more than half of their shot make it through the superheated steam, crashing heavily into the
Harbinger
. At this close range, and
without a magical shield to protect them, the Orrian vessel was brutally damaged.

The crew of the
Salma’s Grace
let out a great cheer as they saw the red-sailed clipper twist and shudder. The
Harbinger
’s protective flame shriveled away, and on the far side of the Orrian ship, the
Pride
unleashed another blast of cannon intended to seal their enemy’s fate. Their assault crashed through the xebec’s hull, magnifying the damage done by the
Salma’s Grace
, and a great flood of water rushed into the
Harbinger
’s shattering hulk. The volley had gone through the ship’s boards and destroyed the mast step. The foremast tipped forward with a mighty crack of timber. As it fell, the keel of the xebec splintered beneath the twisting weight, and the ship’s deck split open like rotten fruit.

“We did it!” Captain Moran said disbelievingly. “We sank them! It’s over!”

Cheers rose from the sailors aboard both living vessels. Cobiah stared grimly, saying nothing as the
Harbinger
’s red sails stained the water like pools of blood. While the others celebrated, he watched a shadow spread beneath the Dead Ship’s decayed and shattered husk, moving toward the other vessels with malicious purpose.

“We may have sunk them,” Cobiah said, staring intently at the waves, “but it’s not over.” Raising his voice, he yelled loudly enough to be heard even aboard the
Pride.
“The undead are moving under the waves. Make sail before they board us!”

A
bitter wind swept fiercely over the open sea, driving the waves beneath it. The gale chased them through the broken shards of islands, over washed-thin beaches and high coral reefs, giving the tide no quarter. Between the rocky fragments, two ships hove into view. One was small, a lightweight pinnace with rippling, strangely rigged sails. The other was larger, damaged, lumbering like an old and weary man.