Once upon a dreadful time

And the sailors aboard each ship stood ready at the ballistas, fireballs loaded on the racks, others in crates at hand, strikers and torches at the ready to be ignited.

And, at a closing angle, the king’s fleet hove toward the foe in the darkness, guided by the enemy’s own lanterns.

“Steady as she goes, helmsman,” whispered Chevell.

“Oui, my lord,” came the murmured response.

Sssshhhssh. . Hulls sliced through the brine.

On they drew and on. .

But at last. .

Some ships reached their goal slightly before others, yet all corsairs were taken by surprise, as “Loose fire,” came the command, and strikers struck and torches ignited to light fireballs in turn. Thnn! sang ballistas, and flaming balls hurtled across the waves, the larboard ballistas to rake the foe to the fore, the starboard ones to hurl into the foe aft. Great lateen sails burst into furious flame, and clk-clk- clk-. .! clattered ratchets as ballista bows were drawn and new fireballs laded. Thnn! more blazing missiles hurtled through the air to splash on masts and decks and upon awakening enemy, burning, flaming, destroying. Amid screams of men ablaze, the foe cranked up their own fire weapons, yet, for the most part, they could not bring them to bear, for the ships of the king’s fleet were now directly astern each of their target ships and raking the corsair decks with their broadsides.

And then sailors haled the yards about and the attacking fleet swung ’round, bringing the king’s ships’ larboards to corsairs’ starboard beams. Grapnel hooks flew to chnk! into enemy wales, and marines and sailors hauled to bring the hulls together. Even so, Changelings shifted shape, and in the firelight, hideous were their forms-beastly animals, unnatural creatures, dire flying things, and other such monstrosities. Arrows flew ’gainst these dreadful beings, wounding some, missing others, while some Changelings took to flight and dropped fire down upon the king’s ships and men.

Sails burst into flame, as did marines and sailors alike, but still the king’s men continued raking the enemy decks with missiles and fire and death.

Thdd! grappled hulls banged together, and, with swords in hand, marines and sailors yelled and swarmed onto enemy ships, to be met by dreadful Changelings as well as corsairs wielding blades of their own.

Fierce was the fighting, and on some vessels the enemy prevailed and swarmed onto the king’s ships, and the decks ran red with blood and dark with slime and other colors of slaughter.

The Hawk went down in flames, burning even as she sank.

On the Eagle, Chevell and his men leapt over the wales to the dhow and engaged the corsairs and Changelings, for Delon’s marines could not do it alone.

And amidst battle cries and screams and fire and death, the war at sea raged on. .

And the sky lightened as day crept upon the brine, unheeding of the butchery below.

But finally, the crew and marines of the Eagle prevailed, the corsair ship nought but a wreck, her sails burnt, her crew dead, the Changelings now nought but dark puddles of sludge.

But even as Chevell reboarded his craft, “Captain!” shouted Lieutenant Jourdan, “On the starboard beam!” Chevell looked, and bearing down upon the Eagle came a dhow under full sail, and at her helm stood a monstrous Ogre, his features twisted in rage; and the crew of the oncoming corsair screamed in terror and some tried to intervene; they feared neither ship would survive such a collision; but the Ogre batted them aside, for he intended to ram.

“Loose fire!” commanded Chevell, and his men scrambled to obey. Yet the ballistas were slack, uncocked, for on that side of the ship their last raking fire had been loosed as they had clove between their own target ship and the one trailing after.

Clk-clk-clk-. .! rattled the ratchets, yet ere a single fireball was loaded and loosed, with a horrendous crash the prow of the corsair slammed into the Eagle, and the hulls of both ships splintered and shivered, and water began pouring in.

“Rraww!” roared the great Ogre, and he ran forward and leapt onto the Eagle’s deck. Eighteen feet tall he was, and massive, and with mighty blows he smashed down masts, and slaughtered men, and rent marines asunder. Arrows flew, and the Ogre snarled in pain at these barbs, yet they slew him not. Chevell ran behind the hideous monster, and he clove his sword into the creature’s heel and severed a tendon. The Ogre bellowed in agony, and swung ’round and smote Chevell, knocking him aside, and all went black for the vicomte.

And still the water poured in, and locked in a deadly embrace, the Eagle and the corsair went down into the brine, and the dhow yet tightly grappled to the Eagle sank with them both. The Ogre, unable to swim, shrieked in fear, and, in spite of flailing about in the waters, drowned, taking men under with him as he sank.

. .

When Chevell came to he found he was entangled in the rigging of a broken spar, the Eagle’s flag affixed thereon. Painfully, he worked himself loose, and when he was free and clinging to the shattered mast, he looked about, only to see a corsair ship bearing down upon him.

Flotsam

Orbane kicked Crapaud aside and snarled, “Where are the Changelings?”

“I do not know, my lord,” quavered Hradian, keeping her eyes downcast.

Orbane stalked to the edge of the flet and peered into the turgid waters. “Last night was the dark of the moon, Acolyte; they should have been here by now.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

Orbane frowned and looked dawnwise, toward the light of the just-risen sun. “I wonder. .?”

Hradian remained silent, afraid anything she might say would spur his wrath.

“Mayhap the corsairs have betrayed me,” hissed Orbane.

“-Acolyte, ride your besom along the intended line of march and see what delays them.”

“How far should I go, my lord?”

Orbane rounded upon Hradian and bellowed, “Till you find them, fool! To Port Mizon or across the sea and all the way to Port Cient, if necessary!”

Hradian scrambled hindward and snatched up her broom and moments later flew up above the swamp and away.

Still trembling, through one border and then another she arrowed. And in but three candlemarks she came to Port Mizon, and as of yet she had seen no army of Changelings making their way across land.

And so, out over the ocean she hurtled, now on a course for Port Cient, three points to dawn of sunwise.

. .

And farther out in the sea, Vicomte Chevell clung to the spar and watched as the corsair clove the water on a course directly for the flotsam of combat, directly on a course for him. And he gritted his teeth and looked about for a weapon he could use, should they take him aboard the dhow. But he saw nought but bits of wreckage that had floated up from the Eagle as she and two corsairs had gone to the bottom, along with her crew and those of the foe and the Changelings led by the Ogre.

Nothing. No weapon in sight. But I think it matters not, for they’ll merely spend an arrow or two and do me in.

And so Chevell waited and watched as his doom drew nigh.

And the ship, she wore around the wind, as if coming to tie up to a buoy. Her lateen sails fell slack as she nosed into the trades, and her headway dropped off until she moved no more.

And then someone peered over the rail and a voice called out, “My lord, might I give you a lift?”

’Twas Armond, captain of the Hawk, that ship, too, now resting on the