Hope and Red (45 page)

“It sounds incredible, sir.” Jillen's eyes were as wide and round as whirlpools.

“Think of the power of that kraken. Then imagine the power it must have taken to create such a thing. And
that
is the power of the biomancers.”

Jillen shivered.

“You'll find, young Mr. Jillen, that the world is full of wonders and terrors far beyond our humble expectations. Like as not, you'll see some before the end of this tour.”

Jillen looked frightened, but also thrilled. “I hope so, sir.”

Vaderton smiled. “It is ever the prerogative of youth to seek adventure. But most have their fill sooner than they expect.”

“Not me, sir,” Jillen said, his thin face confident. “I'll seek until the end of my days.”

Captain Vaderton nodded. “May it always be so for you, young Mr. Jillen.”

It was near twilight when shouts went up from the crow's nest. Captain Vaderton was back in his quarters, dining alone, as was his wont. A fist pounded frantically at his door. “We're under attack, Captain!”

Captain Vaderton grabbed his coat and hat, then threw open the door. “How many?” he demanded of the ashen-faced officer. “Is it pirates?”

The officer shook his head, his words stuttering as he tried to get them out. “Ghost ship!”

“What? Get ahold of yourself.” Vaderton shoved the officer aside, sending the young man sprawling. He strode across the quarter deck to where the helmsman, Hecker, stood, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel.

“Report,” snapped the captain.

“Coming up on the port stern, sir.”

“Give me your glass.”

Hecker handed it to him. “You won't need it, though, sir.”

The captain frowned as he made his way astern and climbed the ladder to the poop deck. From that height, he could see plainly what Hecker meant. A ship bore down on them, its two masts crammed with as much canvas as they could hold, plus the jibs and trysail. What made it unusual was that the entire vessel, from the hull to the royals, glowed an eerie phosphorescent green, like the kind he'd seen emanating from jellyfish beneath the surface of the ocean on a calm night. Even taking into account the amount of sail and the advantage of wind, it was coming at them impossibly fast. Evasion was out of the question. Not that he had any intention of running.

“All hands!” he bellowed. “Beat to quarters!”

The word went down the ship as the drums began to pound. Soon the mess hall was empty and the deck was crawling with men. The captain returned to Hecker at the helm. The cannon master, Mr. Frain, arrived moments later, disheveled, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Frain, tuck in your shirts. Hecker, bring us about port and give them a look at our broadside. Ghost or not, we'll make driftwood of them.”

Frain immediately began putting himself together, his expression calming. Hecker nodded and spun the wheel. “Aye, captain.” Often that was all it took. Show a bit of courage, and the men would find their own.

The
Guardian
turned slowly, its massive bulk driving against the prevailing current.

“Reporting for duty, sir.” Midshipman Kellert stood at attention, looking pale but steady, his uniform spotless and wrinkle-free.

Captain Vaderton had given him leave to rest after his lashing and was pleased to see the young officer had declined. He put his hand on Kellert's shoulder and nodded. “Very good, Mr. Kellert. We'll make a man of you yet. Tell Mr. Bitlow to ready the bow chasers in case they try to come about suddenly.”

“Aye, sir.” Kellert saluted again and hurried off.

The
Guardian
had completed its turn, the port side facing the oncoming ship.

“Mr. Frain, show them what they're in for,” Vaderton called to the cannon master.

“Port side cannons at the ready!” called Frain down to the gun deck below.

Vaderton heard the sound of twenty cannons slamming into position, their iron muzzles bristling from the port-side hull. He could almost feel the destructive potential of the ship vibrating in the deck beneath his feet.

“She don't seem intent on coming about, sir,” said Hecker.

The captain frowned. “A head-on charge at our broadside is suicide. Even at their speed, they'll most likely be torn to pieces before they get close enough to ram or grapple. Surely their captain must see that.” He trained his glass on them, but even then it was difficult to make out details of the hazy, green ship. He could see no men, no flags or markings. He felt in his bones there was some other trick at work here, but he had no idea what it could be. He couldn't show that to the men, of course.

“Maybe it's because they're already dead, sir,” said Hecker. “Could be our shot will pass right through them.”

“If that's true, they'll pass right through us as well. Either way, we'll find out soon enough,” Vaderton said grimly. “Mr. Frain, fire as soon as we're in range.”

“Aye, captain.”

A stillness fell on the crew as every man watched the approaching luminous ship.

“Fire!” called Frain.

The line of cannons roared like thunder, sending up a thick cloud of smoke. Their aim was true and the shot struck the approaching ship square in the bow. But instead of merely taking on damage, the entire ship exploded silently into tiny glowing pieces that sprayed up into the night sky, then fell into the sea.

“What in all hells…,” said Frain.

A roar of cannon fire came from the starboard, and the
Guardian
bucked furiously from the impact. Captain Vaderton spun around, struggling to keep his footing on the swaying deck. He stared in disbelief at the ship that had suddenly appeared on the other side. It looked exactly the same as the first one, except it wasn't hazy and glowing. This ship was all too real, and had just unloaded a volley of shot into their starboard hull.

“Captain,” said Frain, his voice pinched with fear. “Look at that flag.”

The flag that flew from this ship's mizzen was a white background. On it was painted a black oval with eight black lines trailing down from it. The sign of the biomancers, which Vaderton knew all too well. But cutting across that symbol was a thick, blood red X. That, he had never seen. But he'd heard of it in all the old stories.

“The flag of the
Kraken Hunter
,” whispered Hecker. “It's Dire Bane.”

“No,” said Captain Vaderton, his voice faltering for the first time. “It can't be. He was slain some forty years ago by Vinchen hand. Dire Bane is dead!”

A sailor ran up from the gun deck and said something quietly to Frain. Frain flinched at the news, then turned to the captain. “She's taken out most of our starboard cannons, sir.”

“Are we taking on water?” demanded Vaderton.

Frain shook his head.

“There's that, at least,” said Vaderton, his voice steadying. He watched as the
Kraken Hunter
cut across the stern and came around to their port side. “They caught us in a neat trick, but this fight is far from over, gentlemen. I don't know who is flying the flag of Dire Bane, but it's time to show them what an imperial warship can do. Mr. Frain, how long until the port cannons are reloaded?”

“Shouldn't be more than a minute or two,” said Frain. “We'll be ready well before they are.”

“Excellent. Have them fire when ready.”

The
Kraken Hunter
came about fast and closed rapidly. But before the
Guardian
could fire a single shot, the
Kraken Hunter
unloaded another volley, this time at their port side. The ship shook again, and Vaderton could hear the screams of the dead and dying cannoneers below.

“How could they reload that fast?” Frain shook his head in disbelief. “I swear, Captain. It's not possible.”

“Clearly, it is.” Vaderton watched as the
Kraken Hunter
hewed closer. The distance was still too great to throw a grapple, but they would likely cut across the bow and close for a grapple on the other side, now that they had no fear of cannon fire.

Then they fired again. This time, it was grapeshot that scattered across the main deck, tearing apart men and rigging with equal ferocity.

“How are they reloading so fast!” yelled Frain.

The
Kranken Hunter
continued on its trajectory across their bow.

“Where's my bow chasers!” roared Captain Vaderton. He trained his glass on the bow and saw that the third shot had been concentrated near the forecastle. It had claimed fewer lives than if it had gone across the waist, but now there was no one manning the guns. Among the dead and dying, Vaderton saw Kellert lying dead across one of the guns, as if shielding it with his body. A cluster of shot had taken off the side of his skull, his blood and brains spilled onto the iron bore.

Meanwhile, the
Kraken Hunter
was coming about on the starboard side. It was still too wide to board, and Vaderton thought it might unload a fourth volley. He bellowed, “Hit the decks!” and the entire crew threw themselves down, including the captain.

But instead of the roar of cannon fire, he heard two distinct pops, like the sound of a rifle shot. He jumped to his feet in time to see grappling hooks shoot out from the bow and stern of the ship at the speed of bullets. They latched on to the
Guardian
's port side. The line went taut and the
Kraken Hunter
reeled itself in close.

“All hands on starboard side to be boarded!”

The crew stumbled to their feet, grabbing swords, pikes, and pistols as they hurried to the starboard side.

Before they reached it, four figures rose up from the
Kraken Hunter
.

On the far left side was a tall, powerfully built man in a black vest. He had close-cropped hair and a beard. One leg was encased in a steel frame, and he held a heavy mace in his thick hand. His expression was calm. Almost disinterested.

On the far right side was a woman with curly dark hair. She wore a short wool coat and breeches tucked into tall leather boots. In her hands was a strange weapon. It looked like a length of fine chain, but there was a heavy weight on one end, and a knife blade on the other. Her dark eyes glittered more sharply than her chainblade.

Next to her was the tallest woman Vaderton had ever seen. She stood erect, almost regal, in a tight white gown that flared out into long, billowing sleeves. A deep white hood hid most of her face. It reminded Vaderton alarmingly of those worn by biomancers. All that could be seen framed between locks of straight black hair was a sardonic smile with lips painted bright red.

The final figure was a woman with the pale skin and blond hair of someone from the Southern Isles. She wore black leather Vinchen armor and had a sword in place of her right hand. She turned her blue eyes on the captain, and they were so cold and deep, they struck a chill in his heart.

“Surrender now, and there need not be any more bloodshed,” she said, her voice ringing across the ship.

“You have some surprises, I'll grant you,” said the captain. “But you're no Dire Bane, just a woman. And you're outnumbered besides. I'll see you dead before sunrise.” Then he drew his pistol and fired at her.

She flicked her sword arm. The blade gave an eerie hum as it swiveled around on a hinge at her wrist and slapped the bullet away. Then she turned to the woman in white and nodded. The woman lifted her arms, the long white sleeves swirling as she splayed her fingers. Then every loaded gun on the deck suddenly exploded. Men screamed as they clutched at powder-burned hands and faces.

That was when Vaderton truly understood what he was up against. He knew women were forbidden in both the Vinchen and biomancer orders. And yet, somehow, that was exactly what he faced.

The Vinchen woman pointed her sword at Captain Vaderton. Then she kept her eyes locked on his as she hacked her way slowly through the now disorderly chaos of wounded, frightened men. Mixed with the cries of pain was her sword's dark, mournful song.

Her companions jumped into the fray as well. The man laid about him with his mace, caving in skulls almost casually, or sweeping men off their feet with his steel leg. The woman on the other side darted in and out, snapping her chainblade into a sailor's throat, then another's eye, all the while using the weighted end to defend herself from incoming attacks. The biomancer woman stood back from the rest, her hands weaving in front of her constantly, as if dancing. Wherever she pointed, death sprang up. Some men caught fire; others crumbled to dust. Still others clawed at their own skin and shrieked as if their blood was boiling them alive.

All too soon, the Vinchen woman gained the quarter deck, leaving a wide lane of headless and limbless bodies in her wake. The air was thick with the smell of blood.

Captain Vaderton drew his sword, but his hand shook, despite his best efforts to still it.

The Vinchen woman's gaze was as ferocious and unfathomable as the sea. Her voice was quiet as she said, “Captain Vaderton, known servant of the biomancer council. Surrender, or die.”

“A captain never surrenders his ship,” said Vaderton, his voice shaking as badly as his hands. “I will do my duty or die trying.”

She nodded. “Perhaps there's still some honor left in you after all. I'll make it quick.” She brought her sword down.

“No!”

Captain Vaderton stared in disbelief as the boy Jillen threw his own slight body between Vaderton and the Vinchen sword.

The Vinchen woman twisted her arm and the blade swiveled to the side. She glared at the boy. “Move aside, or I will be forced to kill you, too.”

Vaderton could feel Jillen's entire body quivering in terror, but the boy shook his head and didn't move.

The woman nodded, her face sad. “I understand, and commend you for your bravery.” Then she raised her sword again.

“Hope, wait!”

The Vinchen paused and waited patiently as the woman with the chainblade ran over to them.