“I don’t think there’s any rush, sir.”
“What?”
“I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger.”
The captain boggled at him.
“Ghassan, what are you blathering about?”
“If that fleet was gathering to come against us, firstly they would have removed the watchtower guards so they couldn’t warn anyone; secondly, they wouldn’t have ships in our water just in case this very thing happened; thirdly, they would be gathering the fleet in Pelasian territory, out of sight of our scouts. By the time they got here, they’d be at full speed and it would be too late to warn anyone.”
He frowned and a slow but uncertain smile spread across his face.
“I think we’re looking at a symptom of civil war, captain. There are no ships there flying the Pelasian flag or the God-King’s banner. Just three satraps, and I think they’re all unpopular border lords. They’re gathering in unclaimed water so that no Pelasian sees them in advance. Those bastards are being gathered to go against their own, captain. It’s the only answer.”
The captain narrowed his eyes.
“I hope you’re right, Ghassan.”
The young first officer nodded.
“They’re not bothering with us. They’ve seen us, but they’re not even sending a scout out toward us. They just don’t care; it’s simply not about us any more.”
The captain smiled.
“We may just have caught a break here, Ghassan. A civil war in Pelasia would keep them occupied and off our back for a while; give us a breather.”
“I’m not too sure about that, sir. The authority of the God-King is the only thing that’s keeping the worst of the satraps under control right now. I dread to think what these three lords would be up to if they didn’t have to answer to the throne.”
The captain blinked.
“You really think they’d have a chance against the crown?”
“Satrap Ma’ahd doesn’t do things unless he is fairly sure of success, sir.”
“It may be, then, that the man we’ve been watching anxiously for the last decade is our main hope. Gods I hate it when politics gets too involved in the military.”
Ghassan shrugged. An image of Asima being dragged from a burning palace rose unbidden in his mind.
“It’s in the hands of the Gods, sir, not us.”
In which Samir has to move fast
The Dark Empress rushed across the sea, bouncing from crest to wave crest and throwing spray up in a wall that burst over the prow and washed across the deck. Samir grinned a feral grin as he set his gaze on the black sail ahead.
It had taken a great deal of wheedling and arguing to persuade captain Khmun to come this far into Pelasian waters. Khmun had now been confirmed as the successor to Surafana on the council of twelve and was uneasy straying too far from Lassos at this juncture. The captain had been dubious about Samir’s unwavering desire to take the Empress against any black sail to be found at sea and the very idea of heading deep into Pelasian waters was just asking for trouble.
Still, Samir had persisted and had finally won the day. He had wanted to see M’Dahz, even if only from a distance; the port must now be churning out Pelasian ships and a hive of activity, given the number of relatively new vessels they had spotted bearing the insignia of the satrap Ma’ahd. Finally, Samir had sold the idea to Khmun as a scouting mission, highlighting the need to know more about what the satrap was up to with these new ships he was building.
In truth, there was some validity to that mission goal, but what Samir really wanted to achieve was twofold: to see M’Dahz once again after a decade gone, and to insult the satrap as much as possible by sinking his ships, preferably within sight of the town.
And two leagues from shore they had spotted a Pelasian scout ship. At such a distance, Samir couldn’t quite make out the pennant, and the vessel could belong to any satrap, but it was clearly Pelasian. At that point they had been a little to the west of M’Dahz, not far from the old Imperial border and their quarry had taken flight as fast as the small, nimble scout could manage, heading directly south toward land.
Samir, wary of getting too close to land so far west, had requested a decision of the captain, though Khmun had deliberated surprisingly little. The vessel had seen them and it was a matter of pride to chastise them for that. The Empress had a reputation to maintain, after all.
It was also a matter of pride to the officers and men of the Dark Empress that no vessel in the Sea of Storms could match her for speed. Khmun had set his considerable naval expertise to streamlining the hull, re-working the sails and masts and organising the placement of his oarsmen to maximise their strength. Every time the Empress chased down a fast ship or escaped one due to an extra turn of speed on the oars, those men were put down for an extra ration of liquor or share in the booty. The incentives had impressive results.
So, despite the impressive pace of the lightweight Pelasian scout, the pirate vessel continued to gain on them, closing the distance as the miles rolled past. The ships had quickly come into full sight of the coast, previously visible only as a thin line of hazy brown on the horizon. In what appeared to be a pathetic attempt at evasion, the scout tacked to port and began to run along the coast, some distance from shore. At this point, the hills and dips of the coastline had become distinguishable and a dark smudge rising from the horizon some distance to the east had to be M’Dahz. Samir smiled. If they timed this right they could sink the scout within plain sight of the port watchtowers.
The dark smudge that…
Samir shook his head. His eyes must be playing tricks on him.
The smudge had moved.
If only he had Ghassan’s sharp eyes.
No. The smudge was definitely moving. And that meant that it wasn’t M’Dahz at all.
He frowned and his eyes widened.
They were ships. There were definite sail shapes that could be made out if you looked carefully enough.
“Shiiiiiit!”
Samir turned and ran along the deck, shouting to the captain, but Khmun was already busy. Samir realised with horror that the lookout aloft on the main mast was shouting warnings, but pointing astern.
“Oh no.”
His heart sinking, Samir ran to the rail, casting his eyes to the wake behind them and then, with growing dismay, in a wide arc out to sea on the port side of the Empress.
The shapes of black Pelasian vessels were dotted on the horizon in every direction. What had to be a sizeable fleet was moving up from the east, the smudge on the shore, while a wide cordon of Pelasian warships tightened a net around the pirate ship. They were coming from almost every angle.
He ran to the shelter at the rear where Khmun was slamming his fist on the balustrade in anger.
“Should have stayed away from the shore, Samir. What was I thinking?”
Samir shook his head.
“My fault sir. I dragged us into this. Question is: how do we get out?”
The captain shrugged
“There’s no simple solution there, Samir. Whichever way we turn there’s trouble. Best hope is to pick a target and try and break through where the cordon’s weakest.”
“That’s not going to work, captain, and you know it. By the time we meet them, even the thinnest area will mean three to one odds. There has to be another way. Come on sir, you can do this.”
Samir tried to keep the note of desperate hope from his voice, but had clearly failed by the look on his captain’s face.
