Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)

“Good god! You’re right, put out those—”

“No, wait, sir!” Wyatt stopped him. “We want them to see the lanterns. Lower the longboat, rig it with a pole fore and aft, and hang two lanterns on the ends. Put ours out as you light those, then cast off. The Dacca will focus on it all night. We’ll be able to bring the Storm about, catch the wind, and reach the safety of Wesbaden Bay.”

“But that’s not our destination.”

“Damn our orders, sir! If we don’t catch the wind, the Dacca will be on us by tomorrow night.”

“I’m the captain of this ship!” Seward roared. “Another outburst and I’ll not hold Mr. Temple’s hand.”

The captain looked at the waiting crew. Every eye was on him. He returned to pacing with his head down.

“Sir?” Bishop inquired. “Orders?”

“Can’t you see I’m thinking, man?”

“Yes, sir.”

The wind fluttered the sails overhead as the ship began to lose the angle on the wind.

“Lower the longboat,” Seward ordered at last. “Rig it with poles and lanterns.”

“And our heading?”

Seward tapped his lips.

“I shouldn’t need to remind you, Captain Seward,” Thranic said as he joined them on the quarterdeck, “that it’s imperative we reach the port of Dagastan without delay.”

Seward tapped his lips once more. “Send the longboat aft with a crew of four, and have them stroke for their lives toward Wesbaden. The Dacca will think we’ve seen them and will expect us to head that way, but the Storm will maintain its present course. There is to be no light on this ship without my order, and I want absolute silence. Do you hear me? Not a sound.”

“Aye, sir.”

Seward glanced at Wyatt, who shook his head with a look of disgust. The captain ignored him and turned to his lieutenant. “See to it, Mr. Bishop.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”





“You should have tried for the longboat’s crew,” Wyatt whispered to Hadrian. “We all should have.”

It was still dark, and the crescent moon had long since fallen into the sea. As per the captain’s orders, the ship was quiet. Even the wind had died, and the ship rocked, motionless and silent, in the darkness.

“You don’t have a lot of faith in Seward’s decision?” Hadrian whispered back.

“The Dacca are smarter than he is.”

“You’ve got to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. They might think we turned and ran.”

Wyatt muffled a laugh. “If you were captain and decided to make a run for it against faster ships in the dead of night, would you have left the lanterns burning? The lantern ruse only works if they think we haven’t seen them.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hadrian admitted. “We’ll know soon enough if they took the bait. It’s getting lighter.”

“Where’s Royce and his eagle eyes?” Wyatt asked.

“He went to sleep after his shift. We’ve learned over the years to sleep and eat when you can, so you don’t regret not doing so later.”

They peered out across the water as the light increased. “Maybe the captain was right,” Hadrian said.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t see them.”

Wyatt laughed. “You don’t see them because you can’t see anything, not even a horizon. There’s fog on the water. It happens this time of year.”

It grew lighter, and Hadrian could see Wyatt was right. A thick gray blanket of clouds surrounded them.

Lieutenant Bishop climbed to the quarterdeck and rapped softly on the captain’s door. “You asked to be awakened at first light, sir,” he whispered.

The captain came out, fully dressed this time, and proudly strode to the bridge.

“Fog, sir.”

The captain scowled at him. “I can see that, Mr. Bishop. I’m not blind.”

“No, sir.”

“Send a lad with a glass up the mainmast.”

“Mr. Wesley,” Bishop called softly. The midshipman came running. “Take this glass to the masthead and report.”

“Aye, sir.”

Captain Seward, rocking on his heels and staring out at the fog, stood with his hand fidgeting behind his back. “It looks promising so far, doesn’t it, Mr. Bishop?”

“It does indeed, sir. The fog will help hide us all the more.”

“What do you think now, helmsman?” the captain asked Wyatt.

“I think I’ll wait for Mr. Wesley’s report. If you don’t mind, sir.”

Seward folded his arms in irritation and began to pace, his short legs and plump belly doing little to impart the vision of a commanding figure.

Wesley reached the masthead and extended the glass.

“Well?” Seward called aloud, his impatience getting the better of him.

“I can’t tell, sir. The fog is too thick.”

“They say the Dacca can use magic to raise a fog when they want,” Poe whispered to Hadrian as they watched. “They’re likely using it to sneak up on us.”

“Or maybe it’s just because the air is cooler this morning,” Hadrian replied.

Poe shrugged.

The crew stood around, silent and idle, for an hour before Mr. Temple ordered Hadrian to serve the morning meal. The men ate, then wandered the deck in silence, like ghosts in a misty world of white. The midday meal came and went as well, with no break in the mist that continued to envelop them.

Hadrian had just finished cleaning up when he heard Wesley’s voice from the masthead shout, “Sail!”

Emerging from the hold, Hadrian felt a cool breeze as a wind moved the fog, parting the hazy white curtains veil after veil.

The single word left everyone on edge.

“Good Maribor, man!” Seward shouted up. “What kind of sail?”

“Red lateen sails, sir!”

“Damn!” Seward cursed. “How many?”

“Five!”

“Five? Five! How could there be five?”

“No, wait!” Wesley shouted. “Six to windward! And three more coming off the port bow.”

The captain’s face drained of color. “Good Maribor!”

Even as he spoke, Hadrian spotted the sails clustered on the water.

“Orders, Captain?” Wyatt asked.

Seward glanced around him desperately. “Mr. Bishop, lay the ship on the port tack.”

Wyatt shook his head defiantly. “We need to grab the wind.”

“Damn you!” Seward hesitated only a moment, then shouted, “So be it! Hard aport, helmsman. Bring her around, hard over!”