The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Go!” he shouted, and grabbing hold of the mizzen’s port side brace, cut it free, and swung out across the gulf, landing on the stern of the tartane.

The stunned Dacca helmsman reached for his short blade as Hadrian cut his throat. Two more Dacca rushed him. Hadrian dodged, using the move to hide the thrust. His broadsword drove deep into the first Dacca’s stomach. The second man, seeing his ce, attacked, but Hadrian’s bastard sword was in his left hand. With it he deflected a wild swing and drawing the broadsword from the first Dacca’s stomach brought it across, severing the remaining man’s head.

With three bodies on the aft deck, Hadrian looked up to see Poe and the rest already in possession of the ship and in the process of cutting the tethers free. With the last one cut, Poe used a pole and pushed away from the Storm.

“What about Royce and Wyatt?” Hadrian asked climbing down to the waist deck.

“They’ll swim for it and we’ll pick them up,” Poe explained, as he ran past him heading aft. “But we need to get into the shadows now!”

Poe climbed the short steps to the tartane’s tiny quarterdeck and took hold of the tiller. “Swing the boom!” he shouted in a whisper. “Trim the sails!”

“We know our jobs a lot better than you, boy!” Derning hissed at him. He and Grady were already hauling on the mainsail sheet, trying to tame the canvas that snapped above like a serpent, jangling the rigging rings against the mast. “Banner, Davis! Adjust the headsail for a starboard tack.”

Hadrian never learned the ropes and stood by uselessly while the others raced across the deck. Even if he had picked up anything about rigging, it would not have helped. The Dacca tartane was quite different in design. Besides being smaller, the hull was sloped like a fishing vessel, but with two decks. It had just two sails; a headsail supported on a forward tilting mast and the mainsail. Both were triangular and hung from long curved yards that crossed the masts at angles so that the vessel’s profile appeared like the heads of two axes cleaving through the air. The deck was dark wood and glancing around, Hadrian wondered if the Dacca stained it with the same blood as the sails. It was an easy conclusion to make after seeing the rigging ornamented with human skulls.

On the Storm, the battle was going badly. At least half the crew lay dead or dying. No canvas was visible as the boarding party made striking the sails a priority. The deck was awash in stocky, half-naked men who circled the forecastle with torches, dodging arrows as they struggled to breech the bulwark.

Poe pushed the tartane’s tiller over, pointing the bow away from the Storm. The wind caught the canvas and the little ship glided gently away. With the sails on the Emerald Storm struck, she was dead in the water and it was easy for them to circle her. Equally small crews remained to operate the other Dacca boarding ships, but that hardly mattered as all eyes were on the Storm. As far as Hadrian could tell, no one noticed them.

“I’m bringing her ’round,” Poe said. “Hadrian, stand by with that rope there and everyone watch the water for Wyatt and Royce.”

“Royce?” Derning questioned with distaste. “Why are we picking up the murderer? I can handle the rigging just fine.”

“Because Wyatt said so,” Poe replied.

“What if we can’t find them? What if they die before they can get off the ship?” Davis asked.

“I’ll decide that when it happens,” Poe replied.

“You? You’re barmy, boy. I’ll be buggered if I’ll take orders from a little sod like you! Bloody Davis here’s got more years at sea than you and he’s a git if there ever was one. If we don’t find Deminthal after the first pass, you’ll be taking orders from me.”

“Like I said,” Poe repeated, “I’ll decide that when it happens.”

Derning grinned menacingly, but Hadrian did not think Poe, being at the stern, could have seen it in the darkness.





***




Royce wasted no time hitting the deck at the signal.

“We haven’t got long,” Wyatt told him. “The captain’s quarters will be a priority.”

He kicked the door open, shattering the frame.

Fully carpeted, the whole rear of the ship was one luxurious suite. Silk patterns in hues of gold and brown covered the walls, with matching upholstered furniture and a silk bedcover. A painting hung on one wall, showing a man bathed in sunlight, his face filled with rapture as a single white feather floated into his upraised hands. Vast stern windows banked the far wall above which silver lanterns swayed. The bed was to one side while a large desk was across from it.

Wyatt scanned the room quickly then moved to the desk. He rifled the drawers. “He’ll have put the orders in a safe place.”

“Like a safe?” Royce asked, pulling a window drape aside revealing a small porthole size compartment with a lock. “They always put them behind the drapes.”

“Can you open it?”

Royce smirked. He pulled a tool from his belt and within seconds it was open. Wyatt reached inside, grabbing the entire stack of parchments and stuffing them into a bag.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, making for the door. “Jump off the starboard side. Poe will pick us up.”

They came out of the cabin into a world of chaos. Stocky men painted in red poured over the sides of the vessel. Each wielded short broad blades or axes, that cut down everything before them. Only a handful of men stood on the waist deck, the rest had fallen back to the perceived safety of the forecastle. Those that tried to hold their ground died. Royce stepped out on the deck just in time to see Dime, his topsail captain, nearly cut in half by a cleaving blow from a Dacca axe.

Mister Bishop and the other officers were slow in reaching the castle but now, as the Dacca flooded the deck, they were running full out to reach its walls. Stabbed in the back, Lieutenant Green collapsed. As he fell, he reached out, grabbing at anything. His hands found Midshipman Beryl running past and dragged him down as well. Beryl cursed and kicked Green off but got to his feet too late. The Dacca circled him.

“Help me!” he cried.

Royce watched as the crew ignored him and ran on—all but one. Midshipman Wesley ran back just in time to stab the nearest Dacca caught off guard by the sudden change in his fleeing prey. Wielding his sword with both hands, Wesley sliced horizontally across the chest of the next brute and kicked him aside.

“Beryl! This way, run!” he shouted.