The three-masted Reckoning sails north by northwest over the Sunrise Sea, the waters calm and smooth as glass.
The canvas above snaps and bellies with the morning breeze. Here, in the bright Yandar springtime, the wind warm, the sky flawless blue, with nothing but green ocean beneath, all seems right with the world.
The only clouds are on the distant horizon, far to the south, remnants of a squall weathered last night with no more than minor damage.
Three leagues to port stands a low-lying cay, named Islay on the charts, which runs north-south. Heavily forested, its north end boasts a rocky headland that holds the ruined buildings of a long-abandoned village. To starboard beckon the open waters of the Islay Channel.
Ships headed for the mainland far to the west often pass this way and these are fine waters to prowl for prey. A week out of Deadeagle after taking on fresh water, liquor and pigs, everyone is feeling fine but a bit restless. There's been no action since before the port and idle hands can't be up to any good.
Baj Mirko, the barrel-chested Urag boatswain of the Reckoning , has hands holystoning the deck and another group of men in the yards mending and oiling sails. He's right alongside them, forty feet above the main deck, leaning off the port topgallant and overseeing the work personally.
Ferlan, a big, black-haired Reith, holds a great needle in one hand and his twin Farlan holds him by the ankles, angling him out where he can reach a small tear in the edge of the sail. A small tern flaps busily from the crow's nest and around the heads of the workers, and then back to the Tobon lookout, Deeshon, in the crow's nest.
Baj says, "Mister Deeshon, if that bird craps on my head once more, I will let Vendig have it for the crew's supper."
Deeshon offers the tern a few crumbs from his breakfast as he smiles to himself. "Aye, Mister Mirko, I swear, he'll be good. And I'd be helping you with that work, there, but my back and all..."
Baj glares at Deeshon and turns back to the men mending the sails, "Mister Ferlan, make sure you get past that tear on both ends."
Ferlan asks, "You meant Farlan, didn't you, sir?"
Farlan says, "No, he didn't. He meant you."
Baj says, "I know who I meant, you two, the one holding
the needle is responsible for the sail."
Ferlan nods, upside down. He sets back to work, sewing expertly, if a bit slowly.
Dacien Nettleburr, a Tobon deckhand, goes scuttling up the rigging, hauling a length of line to the top of the mizzenmast.
Baj says, "Make sure that line is secured properly, Mister Nettleburr, I will not have another halyard come loose in heavy winds."
Farlan blinks as he watches Dacien scramble by. He nearly loses his hold on his brother's ankles as the ship catches a swell. Ferlan shouts, "Hey!", terrified.
Baj snaps, "Mister Farlan! I give you one job to do, can you not get that right?"
Below, on the main deck, the young, dark-haired Reith First Mate, Rhyll, emerges from his cabin belowdecks to get some air and have a turn around deck. He has a quick look up at the hands in the tops laboring on the sail under Baj's supervision. Baj seems to have enough on his hands at the moment, so Rhyll goes to check on the helmsman.
Exasperated by the twins and seeing Rhyll on deck, Baj grabs hold of the mizzen backstay and swings down to the deck.
Farlan calls to the descending Baj, "Sorry, sir. Won't happen again, sir." He's terrified by the huge Urag.
A few quick strides allow Baj to catch up to the First Mate, "Good morning, Mister Rhyll. The men are getting a bit anxious, if you catch my drift."
Rhyll says, "As I can see. I'm sure you're doing your best to keep them busy."
Baj smiles, "Even I run out of busywork eventually, sir. Is there any word of a target from the Captain?"
Rhyll says, "Not yet. These lads could use a nice plump trader for sure."
Deeshon looks down from his perch high overhead, a cloud of terns fluttering about him, and calls down to Rhyll and Baj. "Sir? A question, sir?"
Rhyll says, "Ah, Mister Deeshon, a fine morn to you. What news have you from up above?"
Deeshon calls, "How are you going to spend your loot,
sir?"
Rhyll shouts back his usual reply with a grin, "Whores and brandy, what else? Now find us a fat pigeon so there is something for us to divvy up before we reach Mazirin."
On the foredeck, the aged Vulkah cook, Vendig, lugs a foul-smelling pot and clangs a heavy iron ladle against the lid signalling the midday meal. The sour stink of mackerel stew wafts over the ship in the cool breeze.
Baj calls up into the sails, "Working party eats first and then back to the job. And do not break your necks getting down, either!"
Deeshon yells back to Rhyll, "Aye, sir! I meant the loot from that pretty ship out there!" He points to the horizon off the port bow.
Rhyll grabs a mizzenshroud and swings up into the rigging to get a better look. He smiles, "May the Warrior bless your ugly Tobon mug, Deeshon. You've answered all our prayers."
A speck of white sail is visible a half dozen leagues off. A small vessel, no more than two masts, its blue-painted hull is evident even from here.
Baj calls forward, "Mister Vendig, put a lid on that pot! Time for eating later, there is work to be done!"
Hands on their way to the meal rush to the rail, bowls in hand. They hesitate, unsure what to do--eat or sail.
Baj says, "Step to it, lads, put it back in the pot and make ready for a fight!"
Rhyll shouts to Deeshon, "Dees, can you make out her colors yet?"
The old cook irritably shooes the men away. He clamps the lid on the pot just as Revas is about to scoop fish stew into his bowl and glowers at the men, "Avaunt! You heard the bosun, you seadogs! Eat later! Work now!"
Deeshon calls, " I make it a Sarrie, sir, one of those bluecoat couriers! Headed west!" A small ship, but couriers are often rich and ripe for the taking.
Baj pauses a second, not entirely impressed with the crews' response, and then snaps out a single word, "Move!" The men spring to work clearing the decks and moving to their stations at the Urag's orders.
Candra, an Urag sporting many scars, draws her weapons and squints up at Rhyll, "Are we going after them, sir?"
Dacien slides down the halyard which he's finished securing high above, touching silently to the deck with an air of bravado, "O'course we are, Candra. Dincha hear 'im?" He joins the other hands clearing sail-mending supplies and spare lines from the deck, stowing them quickly in lockers as the ship is readied for a fight.
Candra sharpens her swords against each other at Dacien's words, eagerly looking forward to it.
Rhyll shouts to the crew, excited as a school boy, "Don't fret, lads! What d'ya want more, food for y'r bellies or that ship which is food for y'r black souls?"
Rhyll
turns to the bosun, "Baj, better go let the Cap'n know what's out there. He'll
want to take a look at that fish."
Baj nods and trots off to get the
Captain, "Aye, Mister Rhyll."
Rhyll turns back to Candra and says, "Cap'n's call, but I'd say fairly certain."
The Reckoning is headed north by northwest and off its port bow the Sarrik courier is running on a westerly track, a course which would take it to the mainland. Half a dozen leagues in the distance, only a good tailwind and a responsive crew will catch her.
Rhyll climbs down from the rigging and calls to the crew, "Haul up some more canvas, shipmates, let's put on a little speed."
Baj knocks loudly on the Captain's door, " Mister Rhyll sends his respects, Captain, there's a ship on the horizon to the north. A Sarrik courier, by the look of it."
Tyree's door is open before the second knock. He's buckling on his swordbelt and headed down the passage with the easy, rolling gait of a lifetime at sea. "A courier, did you say, Mister Mirko?", he calls over his shoulder, happily. "That's excellent news." A stocky Reith with a lined and dark-tanned face, he has the scarred, thick forearms of a veteran sailor.
Baj says, "Yes, sir, and not a moment too soon."
The Captain asks, as he climbs the short ladder to the deck, "Men getting restless, are they? Glad you have the matter in hand."
Baj follows the Captain, "They will be better if this ship is a good haul, sir."
Captain Tyree grins, "The Warrior grant that it be so, Mister Mirko."
Rhyll turns to the Captain as he emerges, "Good morn, Captain. Looks like we have a fat pigeon in our hands. I've had the men put on some sail, so we can get a closer look."
Tyree joins Rhyll at the helm, "Take the helm yourself, Mister Rhyll, step lively now."
Rhyll says, "Aye-aye Captain." The young man takes the wheel and makes a slight course change, the wheel spinning smoothly in his hands.
The riggers put on extra canvas and the Reckoning surges forward, almost like a bird taking flight.
Baj scans the decks and rigging, making sure that every hand is in their proper place. By his headcount, he notes that Koster and Garrin are missing, once again.
Revas, the hunched, white-haired Reith navigator, is right beside Rhyll, a chart of the Islay channel spread before him and weighted down with empty stew bowls. "And mind the headland, kid, or we'll scrape her bottom for sure. See?" His gnarled fingers trace a line on the map that shows shallows just off the island to port.
Rhyll chokes back a quick reply and nods to the old man before calling up to the masthead, "Dees, sing out if they take notice of us or change course!"
Deeshon calls back, "Aye, sir! They've seen us now, for sure!
And they're running! They're changing course but we've got speed on them!"
Tyree says, "Rhyll, son, my eyes aren't what they used to
be. What've we got out there?" He squints at the horizon.
Rhyll says, "It's a bluecoat courier for sure, sir. We'll catch her, never fear."
Dacien bounds up the stairs and stands at what could possibly
be inferred as an attempt at attention, "Cap'n, the men are all at stations
and ready, sir."
Captain Tyree nods, "Very good, Mister Nettleburr. Mind the channel, Rhyll, Revas is right, we'll scrape off more than our barnacles if you get too close to that headland. Dacien, ask Almira to join us on the quarterdeck, if you please."
Dacien nods, "Aye, cap'n!", and runs off below decks. Baj calls after the running Tobon, "And fetch Mister Benning as well!"
Rhyll looks to Tyree, "With your permission Captain, I'll lead the men over."
Tyree's manner is patient and calm, but he seems shocked at Rhyll's offer, "You're sure, son? Candra will be most disappointed."
Rhyll says, "Yes sir, I'm sure. Candra can be right behind me."
As Dacien scrambles down the passage that leads to the wizard's
cabin, he hears voices from a side passage, that hush up quickly.
Sliding to a stop, Dacien looks down the passageway, "Koster, is that you? Have you seen Almira? The Captain wants him."
Koster, a slim, dark Reith from Mazirin, and another man, the weasel-faced Garrin, rise from where they were hiding behind barrels. Koster slips a pair of dice into his pouch. "It's all right," Koster smirks. "It's just wee Dacien. Hello, Dacien."
Captain Tyree doesn't allow gambling on his ship. It leads to
quarrels and then brawling.
Dacien smiles back at Koster, no amusement in his eyes, "All
hands on deck means you two as well. Have ya seen the wizard? The Captain wants
him."
Koster says, "We were just on our way up...just having a little fun...you're not going to rat on us, are you?" He sets a hand on his belt, next to his long, sharp knife.
Dacien's smile fades, "I'm no rat, Koster, but if that knife clears leather, they'll be sewing your hide up with a sail needle."
Koster is all smiles. He raises his empty hands. "What? We're friends, Dacien! See, I told you, Dacien we can trust. Garrin here, he told me you can't trust Tobon, but I set him straight." He jerks a thumb at the dark haired Sarriki at his shoulder. "Anyone messes with Dacien, he has to mess with me!"
Dacien pointedly turns his back on Koster and moves off down the passageway, "Mister Almira, the Captain needs you topside, sir!"
Almira's cabin door is painted bright red. There's no sound from within. Dacien knocks loudly on the door, "Mister Almira, the Captain would like you to come up on deck, sir."
A deep voice calls from within. "I am in the midst of a delicate augury. It must needs wait till the procedure is complete."
Dacien says, "Sir, the Captain did express his wishes that you come most quickly."
While waiting for the wizard, Dacien steps a bit down the passageway
and knocks softly on another door, "Mister Benning, sir, it looks like we
may be needing you topside. Probably going to be a fight, sir."
The red door suddenly opens and the Dhaziri wizard, Almira, stands there, all ten stone and
seven feet of him, wrapped in exotic silks. His expression is inscrutable behind his neatly
trimmed beard as he regards the small Tobon before him, but he seems even more
irritated than usual. Behind him, his worktable is covered with parchments and
glassware. "In my land, such interruptions were punished by death",
the thin, cadaverous wizard says softly.
Dacien tries to play off
the wizard's words as he backs slowly away, "Well, then, sir, it's a good
thing for me that we're not in your lands, eh?"
Benning, a Reith priest of Ardis, emerges from his own cabin just as the ship shudders and jars. He keeps his balance and looks to Dacien. "Trouble, son?", he asks.
Dacien says, "Could be, sir, a bluebelly courier by all accounts. Might be some trouble."
Benning nods, sadly and wearily, "Let's pray none are killed."
Almira makes his way down the passage, dignified and mysterious, ignoring Dacien and Benning.
The ship shudders as her keel scrapes the shallow bottom and then glides on. She's not stuck, but she slows her progress.
Revas curses at Rhyll for steering them so close to the shore. "Mind your wheel, kid, damn your eyes! I told you steer wide of the lee shore, and did you listen? No!"
Baj sways with the jolt as he buckles on a swordbelt bearing twin rapiers.
Tyree holds up a hand. He's knows how difficult the job is that Rhyll is doing. "Easy, Mister Revas, he'll do fine. Mister Rhyll, eyes front, if you please. Look smartly now, and get us around these shoals so we can eat well tonight."
Rhyll turns to Tyree, "Sorry, Captain!" He shouts, "Tighten those sheets lads, we don't want her getting away now do we!"
Koster and Garrin make their surly way to their stations. Koster gives Baj a glance as he climbs the rigging, and looks away quickly, hoping the Urag doesn't see his stare.
Baj notes the two men as they emerge from belowdecks, muttering to himself, "Garrin and that damn Koster again..."
Emerging onto the deck between Almira and Benning, Dacien moves to his station quickly, not sparing a look for Baj or Koster.
Captain Tyree calls to the men, "I want every inch of canvas we have on those masts. We're gaining on her, boys!"
Deeshon calls down, "They're changing course, Mister Rhyll! Headed due nor'west now, trying to outrun us! But we're on 'em!"
Rhyll adjusts the Reckoning's course two points to starboard, angling to keep closing on the courier.
Almira arrives, in his desert robes, looking like a great bird landing on deck, "I am here, Captain. What is your wish?"
Tyree points at the ship that you now pursue, "We have need of your skills, Mister Almira."
Almira gazes off at the distant blue courier. "That vessel is far too distant for my magics," he says with clear disappointment, "You must abide until we get closer."
Tyree says, "Of course. Stand ready. Mister Benning, say a prayer for us."
Benning bows his head and many in the crew do likewise. "Let the Lady smile on our endeavor, and spill no more blood than is needful", he says, in his public voice.
The courier is growing in the distance. With the wind full in her sails, the Reckoning swings out of the channel and into pursuit behind it. Rhyll is hard-pressed to hold the wheel as the ship slides into the swift currents around the headland.
Revas barks, "That's it, kid! Now you've got her!" He gestures excitedly beside Rhyll.
As the distance closes, the stern of the courier becomes visible and her name can be seen, traced in gold-leaf against the brilliant blue of her hull: Swiftsure. A sleek two-master, the courier is smaller than the Reckoning and sports a correspondingly smaller complement. Even at this remove, shapes can be seen moving on the deck, blue-clad sailors and marines lining the rail.
Rhyll leans into the wind feeling the rhythm of the ship now. He skillfully pilots the Reckoning into position off the stern of the Swiftsure, taking much of the wind from her sails. She is losing speed now, her crew not as skilled as that of her pursuer.
Baj signals Candra to come to him.
Tyree tells Baj, "Sometimes they're small, these ships, Mister
Mirko. But jammed full of riches."
Baj nods, distracted, "Aye, Captain." He calls out to the masthead, "Mister Deeshon, ready your bow, we shall be needing your aim shortly, I think."
Candra tucks her swords into scabbards that crisscross on her
back, then scrambles over to Baj.
Baj leans close to Candra and speaks in a tone that brooks no disagreement, "The First Mate will be leading the boarding party, Miss Candra. I expect that you will give him your full support."
Candra wrinkles her nose. She looks toward the quarterdeck a moment, then back to Baj. Between Urag, this could turn into a battle of wills, but the female relents, "We will be right behind him, sir."
Showing his teeth in a broad grin, Baj nods and stands tall, "And I expect that he will return in good health, as well."
Candra looks horrified, "Of course, sir! I'll treat him like my own spawn."
Baj raises an eyebrow, "I knew that I could count on you, Miss Candra. Take your station."
The Reckoning mounts a score of scorpions, two pointing aft from the stern, the rest split evenly between port and starboard broadsides just below the maindeck. Ferlan and Farlan, Captaining the crews that man the weapons, rush about calling out orders. The great crossbows are swiveled into position and hands latch great bolts into place.
The courier attempts to turn hard over, tacking across the breeze. Rhyll closes the distance, expertly using the current to pick up speed and again stealing the very wind from her sails.
Dacien takes his place along the railing, draping a wicked-looking length of chain around his neck and picking up a coiled line attached to a grapple.
As the Reckoning closes, several scorpions on the Sarrik vessel fire. The bolts all fall short, splashing harmlessly into the sea.
A jeer goes up from the Reckoning and the hands make rude gestures of derision and calls of mockery.
Dacien cries out, "Buncha sandcrabs! Me old grandmaw can shoot better'n that!"
Vendig bellows, "You shoot like blind men!"
Erris, a pale-skinned Mazirene with red hair to his shoulders, roars with laughter.
Rhyll turns hard to starboard, maneuvering into position for boarding.
Tyree smiles, "That's it, son", he says warmly. He races to the rail to get a better view of the prey.
Almira, on the quarterdeck, sees his moment and raises his hand. Sparks cluster around his outstretched fingers and he extends his arm. A lightning bolt lances from his hand across the gap between the ships, striking the courier's foremast and shattering it with a thunderous explosion.
Almira folds his arms and announces, "My work is done." He tells Baj, "Have my shares delivered to my cabin."
Baj bows deeply to the mage, hiding a smile, "As you wish, Mister Almira."
Kell, a tall, Dornish warrior adorned with the intricate tattoos of his homeland, joins Rhyll on the deck, jagged war spear in hand, "Word is, you're leading the boarding party."
Rhyll turns to Kell, "Yes. Is that so surprising?"
Kell grins, "Got your back, Mister Rhyll. But won't you be needing this?" He holds out a swordbelt and cutlass, taking the wheel easily with one hand for the moment it takes Rhyll to quickly buckle the belt around his waist.
Tyree orders, "Run up the black flag, boys!"
Erris, at the mainmast, swings the black flag up into the breeze, where it unfurls with a fluttering snap. A cheer goes up from the Reckoning's crew.
Tyree tells Rhyll, "Get us in close, son. Close enough to smell 'em." He calls over the rail to the courier, "Strike your flag! You'll only have one chance to surrender!"
Rhyll spins the big wheel to port bringing the Reckoning alongside the Swiftsure .
The courier shows no sign of surrendering. The Sarrik Captain makes an obscene gesture at Tyree. "Pirate scum!", he calls back. The courier makes one last attempt to evade, her rudder hard over. But the Reckoning slips alongside her prey.
Baj steps to the forward railing of the quarterdeck and yells to the Reckoning's scorpion crews, "Port side, odd numbers, ready!"
The boarding crew, led by Candra and Kell, race to the rail with grapples and ropes at the ready. There are at least fifty pirates spoiling for a fight.
Baj says, "Captain?"
"Fire at will, Mister Mirko!", Tyree shouts.
Baj yells, "Fire!" The scorpions loose their deadly bolts, which spring across the gap, slashing the courier's mainsail, tangling her rigging, and slowing her almost to a stop.
As the scorpions fire, Dacien moves to the rail and readies his grapple alongside the rest of the boarding party.
Tyree takes the wheel from Rhyll. "You stand relieved, Mister. Make us proud, son."
Rhyll draws his cutlass and races to join Candra, Kell, and the rest of the men at the rail.
Candra says, "What's the plan, Mister Rhyll?"
Vendig fits a nasty-looking spiked flail onto the stump of his arm, chortling to himself in Vulkah manner.
Rhyll says, "Same as always, Candra, fight our way to the Captain and force him to surrender. Clear enough?"
Candra shows her spiked fangs. "As crystal..." she says, baring her teeth and raising her swords.
Dacien swings his grapple in a tight circle, gaining speed.
Baj moves to take a place at Tyree's shoulder, "He's a good man, sir. The men follow him almost as readily as they follow you."
Tyree nods, "He's come along way, Baj, from swabbing the bilge, eh?"
Baj laughs a soft chuckle, "Indeed he has, sir."
Tyree says, "Grapple with her, Mister Mirko."
The men on the rail with grappling hooks await orders. Baj raises his hand and swings it in a broad circle, "Let fly grapples!"
A squad of archers now line up on the courier's deck, ready to fire at the boarders. There are about eighty men on board the Reckoning, and some forty on board the courier.
Dacien lets out a howl as he hurls his grapple over to the courier.
The boarding crew's grapples are swung, loosed, land in the enemy deck, and ropes are pulled taut. The two ships are now locked together in a death struggle.
Rhyll, stepping up to the rail raises his cutlass and shouts, "Let's take'm lads!"
Dacien pulls his chain from around his neck and takes his place at the rail, preparing to make the leap to the deck of the courier.
Baj murmurs to Tyree, "He has indeed come a long way, sir."
With a roar, the boarding party swarms forward, over the rail.