He hadn’t had the time.
In his loss for words he could see the decision in Grigory as he turned his gaze upon Ervan.
The muscles along his forearm tightened.
“ Nyet!” Nikandr screamed.
The gun roared.
Grigory’s wrist recoiled.
A burst of red appeared at the center of Ervan’s chest and he fell backward over the gunwale, his eyes wide with shock.
The smell of gunpowder laced the air, and then was gone like so much dust upon the wind.
The following moments passed with the sounds of cawing and the wind whipping over the ship. Nikandr stared into Grigory’s eyes and found smugness there, as if to say Nikandr had been asking for this ever since Stasa Bolgravya had been murdered.
But then something caught Nikandr’s attention, and it drew him back from the urge to rush Grigory if only to strike him once before being shot. Above Grigory’s shoulders, slipping from one bright cloud to another, was a ship. It was far off, but it was using the clouds to hide its approach. He refused to look at it directly, not wanting to draw attention, but he dearly hoped it was a ship allied to his father’s cause. And so, in an instant, he made a decision. He had to delay. He had to give the ship time so that he and the rest of the crew might still be saved.
Grigory, perhaps nervous now that he had no weapon with which to defend himself, held out his hand and received from a nearby strelet a loaded pistol to replace the one he’d just fired. As soon as he had the weapon in hand he stared down at the deck. The old rook was no longer cawing, nor was it moving.
Grigory’s face went white as he stared at the bird.
“The same happened to Higald, my mother’s strongest and most prized rook,” Nikandr lied. “No doubt the bond was severed when the rook died.”
“You lie,” Grigory said, his red face examining Nikandr’s for any reason to raise the weapon and fire it on either him or Nasim.
Nikandr went on, “I would not lie about a thing such as this. The Matri are above all.” The sentiment for the Matri was generally the same all over the islands, but he chose the phrasing that ruled in the south, hoping the note of familiarity would draw Grigory down from his perch.
“How do you know she recovered?”
“She found me, on the way to Ghayavand, and we spoke for a short time.”
As if just remembering his own soulstone, Grigory pulled it out from his shirt and held it in his hand.
“I cannot feel her.”
“It was the same with me.” This was true, but it had been because the power in his soulstone had been all but extinguished at the time.
Incredibly, the bird raised its head and scratched at the deck. A moment later it pulled in its wings and lay there, its chest expanding and contracting slowly. It looked sickly, as though it could just as easily die as pull in another breath.
“You see,” Nikandr said, “if the bird lives, then your mother surely does too.”
“We will see. If I find you have lied to me-”
His next words were cut short by an explosion of wood at the bow. A moment later, the boom of a cannon rent the still air. Another volley of grape shot tore into the ship. Two more rang out in succession, cutting huge holes into the starward sails. One sailor screamed as he fell from a yardarm. He missed the deck and continued to plummet toward open sea.
Grigory spun and fell to the deck, grimacing in pain and holding his left arm tightly. In moments his shoulder was swathed in red.
A bell rang out over and over as the crew rushed to their stations. The streltsi manned the fore and aft gun positions, preparing the stout iron cannons to fire upon the two ships that were bearing down on them from above.
Nikandr’s heart sank as he took them in. They were not Khalakovan, nor Bolgravyan. They weren’t from any of the Grand Duchies.
They were Maharraht.
They were small, fast-moving ships with two small gun emplacements, fore and aft. With superior numbers they were a good match for the Kavda and her three guns, but with the Kavda now hampered by the damage, it was going to be a slaughter.
Though he didn’t know for certain why the Maharraht had come, it was too much of a coincidence to ignore the fact that they were attacking the very ship that held Nasim. They would probably want the boy alive, perhaps Ashan as well, but the rest would be put to death.
Seeing that he was all but forgotten, a rough plan formed in his mind. He grabbed Nasim and pulled him to the ladder leading belowdecks. The ship was already listing aftward. With so many holes already cut into the starward sails the seaward winds were pushing the ship off balance. If Grigory were not both very careful and very lucky, this was going to be a short battle indeed.
“Wait here,”he told Nasim and then he sprinted down the passageway beyond where his men were being kept. Common men such as they would not be harmed and there was little they could provide in the way of information that Grigory didn’t already know. In order to give the Kavda time to escape, it was crucial that the Maharraht see Nasim escaping, but they also needed to be highly mobile in order to move fast enough to evade pursuit.
He reached a door secured by an iron padlock. He kicked the door in and found Ashan kneeling on the floor next to Jahalan, who was unconscious but breathing evenly.
“Come,” Nikandr said, knowing that if Jahalan were not able to move on his own he would have to be left behind.
“Where is Nasim?”
Nikandr pointed up the passageway as another volley struck the deck above them. “He is close. Now come, unless you want to give him up to the Maharraht after all we’ve been through.”
Ashan frowned, but stood and followed Nikandr to the ladder. Nasim was cowering there, holding the ladder tightly. He left him to Ashan and climbed to the top of the ladder as another volley tore into the Kavda. One man’s screams were cut short as sporadic musket fire began falling on them from above.
Grigory, holding his bloody shoulder tightly, was standing below the helm as a fat sailor maneuvered the three stout steering levers.
“Descend!” Grigory yelled. “Descend!”
Nikandr ducked out of sight as Grigory turned and ran toward the fore of the ship.
Clearly he hoped to gain speed by dropping down near sea level, but if he wasn’t careful, they would end up in the sea, not riding the currents above it.
As the ship began its descent, another volley howled in from the attacking ships. A series of groans and cracks ren the air. The starward main mast was tilting to port. Some of the rigging snapped and the mast fell to the deck, shattering the wooden railing. Without the mast connected to the bulk of the ship, the windwood had lost its buoyancy quickly but was still acting as weight upon the ship.
Nasim, two rungs lower, began to whimper. Ashan held him close, shushing into his ear.
“Prepare yourself,” Nikandr said to Ashan. “On the next volley, we will move quickly and quietly to the kapitan’s cabin.”
The next volley crashed into ship moments later. Nikandr climbed out and ran aft to the ship’s rear cabin as another shot struck the yardarm and sails just above him.
Ashan followed with Nasim in tow. The door was not locked, and they ducked inside as quickly as they could. No alarms were raised, so it appeared they were safe for the moment.
Chopping sounds rang throughout the ship-the crew attempting to hack the rigging lines. It wouldn’t work, Nikandr thought to himself. They were going to fall into the sea and then he would die in this cabin. It was possible Grigory and some of his crew would be captured by the Maharraht and be held for ransom, but it was just as likely that once they had found Nasim-dead or alive-the rest would be left to the sea.
As Nikandr began searching the cabin for his soulstone and for Ashan’s gems, the ship’s descent began to slow-the workings of Grigory’s two havaqiram, no doubt, but it would be too late.
