The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“What flag are they flying?”


“Can’t say sir, the wind has them flying straight at us.”

Hadrian watched the ships approach, amazed at their speed. Already he could see them clearly.

“This could be trouble,” Poe said.

Hadrian had been so intent on the ships he failed to notice his assistant appear beside him. The thin rail of a boy was busy tying the black ribbon in his ponytail as he stared out at the vessels.

“How’s that?”

“Those red sails.”

Hadrian showed he didn’t understand the significance.

“Only the Dacca use them.”

“Beat to quarters, Mister Bishop,” the captain ordered.

“All hands on station!” the lieutenant shouted. “Beat to quarters!”

Immediately, Hadrian heard a drum roll across the ship. The boatswain and his mates took action, clearing the deck of the scrubbers. The midshipmen dispersed to their stations shouted orders to their crews.

“Come on!” Poe told him.

There was a pile of briquettes at the protected center of the forecastle, which Hadrian ignited with hot coals from the galley stove as soon as the surrounding deck had been soaked. Around it, archers prepped their arrows with oil. Seamen brought dozens of buckets of seawater, along with buckets of sand, and positioned them around the ship. It took only minutes to secure for battle and then they waited.

The ships were closer and larger now, but still the flags they flew were invisible. The Storm remained deathly silent, the only sound coming from the wind, waves, and the creaking hull. A random gust fluttered the lugger’s flag.

“They’re flying the Gribbon of Calis, sir!” the lookout shouted.

“Mister Wesley,” the captain addressed the midshipman stationed on the quarterdeck. “You’ve studied signals?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Take a glass and get aloft. Mister Temple, run up our name and request theirs.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Still no one moved or spoke. All eyes were on the approaching vessels.

“Lead vessel is the Bright Star, aft vessel is…” Wesley hesitated. “Aft vessel isn’t responding, sir.”

“Two points ’a port!” the captain shouted abruptly, and Wyatt spun the wheel, weathering the ship as close to the wind as possible, heading them directly toward the lugger. The topmen went into action like a hundred spiders crawling along the shrouds, working to grab every bit of wind possible.

“New signal from the Bright Star,” Wesley shouted. “Hostile ship astern!”

Small streaks of smoke flew through the otherwise clear sky. The tartane was firing arrows at the Bright Star, but the shots fell short falling into the sea a good two hundred yards astern.

“Ready the forward ballista!” the captain ordered, and a squad of men on the forecastle began to crank a small capstan, which ratcheted the massive bowstring into firing position. They lighted another brazier in advance of the stanchion, as an incendiary bolt was loaded. Then they waited, once more watching the ships sail closer.

Everything about the Dacca ship was exotic. Made of dark wood, the vessel glittered with gold swirls artfully painted along the hull. She bore long decorative pendants of garish, bright colors. A stylized image of a black dragon in flight adorned the scarlet mainsail and on the bowsprit was the head of a ghoulish beast with bright emerald eyes. The sailors appeared as foreign as the ship. They were dark-skinned, powerful brutes wearing only bits of red cloth wrapped around their waists.

Poorly handled, the Bright Star lost the wind and her momentum. Behind her, the tartane descended. Another volley of arrows from the Dacca smoked through the air. This time several struck the Bright Star in the stern, but one lucky shot made it to the mainsail setting it aflame.

Although victorious over the lugger, the tartane chose to flee before the approaching Emerald Storm. It came about and Hadrian watched Captain Seward ticking off the distance as the Storm inched toward it. Even after the time lost during the turn, the Dacca ship was still out of ballista range.

“Helm-a-lee. Bring her over!” the captain shouted. “Tacks and sheets!”

The Emerald Storm swung round to the same tack as the tartane, but the Storm did not have the momentum under her, nor the nimbleness of the smaller ship. The tartane was the faster vessel, and all that the crew of the Emerald Storm could do was watch as the Dacca sailed out of reach.

Seeing the opportunity lost, Captain Seward ordered the Storm heaved-to and the long boats launched. The Bright Star’s mainsail and mast burned like a giant torch. Stays and braces snapped and the screams of men announced the fall of the flaming canvas to the deck. Still, the ship’s momentum carried it astern of them. As it passed, they could see the terrified sailors struggling hopelessly to put out the flames that enveloped the deck. Before the long boats were in the water, the Bright Star was an inferno with most of the crew already in the sea.

The boats returned laden with frantic men. Nearly all were tawny-skinned, dark-eyed sailors dressed in whites and grays. They lay across the deck coughing and spitting water, thanking Maribor and each member of the crew who came near.





***




The Bright Star was an independent Wesbaden trader from Dagastan heading home to western Calis with a load of coffee, cane, and indigo. Despite the Storm’s timely intervention, more than a third of the small crew perished. Some passed out in the smoke while fighting the flames, while others remained trapped below deck. The captain of the Bright Star perished, struck by one of the fiery arrows the Dacca had rained on his vessel. This left only twelve men, five of whom lay in Doctor Levy’s care with burns.

Mister Temple sized up the able-bodied survivors and added them to the ship’s complement. Royce was back at work aloft as Hadrian finished serving dinner to the crew. Hadrian’s friendly attitude and generosity with the galley grease had won several friends. There had been no more attempts on Royce’s life, but they still did not know why his friend had been targeted, or by whom. For the moment, it was enough that Defoe, Derning, and Staul remained at a safe distance.

“Aye, this is Calis not Avryn.” Hadrian heard one of the new seamen saying in a harsh gravelly voice, as he brought down the last messkid. “The light of civilization grows weak like a candle in a high easterly wind and the farther east you go the stronger the wind blows till out she goes and in the darkness ye stand!”

A large number of the off watch clustered around an aft table, where three of the new sailors sat.