The three galleys of the Royal Sonderholme Fleet were riding the tide into the harbor when the sun’s rays first touched the white crests of the waves,
Pilot Jules Reidl grinned as the rowing master drummed a slow beat. The sleepy fort, warehouses and docks of the port town of Yaar lay spread before them. The ten tubby merchantmen of the Borges treasure fleet were at anchor in the bay, or tied up at the dock. Their pennants flapped desultorily in the light breeze.
The galleys would ensure that those ten merchantmen that would be at the bottom of the harbor before the sun set on this day.
Jules noted sudden activity on the docks and the decks of the merchantmen. Borges sailors were running back and forth, pointing and shouting; more tars were running up lines and hauling canvas. “Captain,” Jules shouted. “They’ve spotted us!”
Jules could see the captain nod from his perch atop the forecastle. “Very good, Mr. Reidl,” he replied. “Master Wizard, give us your spell, if you please,” he bellowed.
Magus Haver Toll, Master Wizard, pulled himself up from his seat on the middle of the deck and drew around himself a circle of fine, powdery ash. The crewmen in his vicinity drew back, muttering uneasily. While Toll was short, pudgy, and had the mien of a jolly town burgher, the crew had seen firsthand his arcane power.
The captain rang a gong while Toll cast his spell. Immediately, the rowing master picked up the pace, and the oarsman began drawing their oars faster. The other two galleys quickly matched the leader’s tempo.
The Borges ships cast off lines and drew up anchors, desperate to catch the wind and try and outmaneuver the Sonderholme galleys. Jules grinned, teeth showing. They were already moving fast, riding in the rising tide. The next surprise should really shock the Borges.
There was a whoosh in the air and a great splash next to one of the galleys. The fort was finally firing its giant catapults and great gear-winched crossbow, but the range was too great for any accuracy.
“Master Wizard!” the Captain shouted, urging the sorcerer on. The Borges merchant men were running up their sails, men scurrying up lines.
Magus Toll took no note of the Captain’s concern, still muttering and gesturing within his ring of ash. Reidl noticed, however, that the powdery ash did not stir, even in the stiff morning wind. None of the marines, crowded on the deck waiting to get in range of the Borges, would come close to it, either.
Toll’s mutterings got louder and faster, and then ended with a shout. The magus slumped to his seat, visibly exhausted.
The whole crew held its breath for a moment, and Reidl could hear the seagulls caw and the waves thump against the hull. Then, as if some Titan exhaled his last breath, the wind stopped.
Stillness seized the harbor. The sails on the merchantmen, some of which had been run up, slumped against their masts. The sailing ships, which could run well with a strong wind, were becalmed.
And the galleys were closing in.
“Fire the catapults!” The Captain bellowed, and the deck catapults began tossing flaming buckets of pitch at the horrified merchantmen. The marines could only board so many of the loaded merchantmen; the galleys could only haul away so much plunder, Jules thought. The rest of the fleet would be sent to the bottom of the harbor, beyond the reach of the Borges.
The Captain gestured to Jules, and pointed to a merchantman riding at anchor out in the harbor. The pilot nodded, then hauled on the rudder oar and split the galley off from its companions, each of whom also picked a target and bore down on it.
The marines pointed and laughed evilly as they watched Borges seaman, unwilling to face them, dive off the side of the merchantman and try to swim to the docks. Jules kept an eye out for the signs of hidden bars and rocks, but he had studied stolen charts of Yaar’s natural harbor, and knew it was deep and clear.
Some of the marines started pointing back toward the mouth of the harbor. Jules turned to look, and his eyes widened.
Rounding the point where the fort stood at the mouth of the harbor was a ship – at least Jules thought it was a ship. Sunlight gleamed off of metal from end to end, and the thing moved without oars quickly and smoothly, even in the still air. It was low in the water, and its prow ended in a wicked metal point which pushed the waves aside with ease.
“’Swounds,” the Captain said. “By the devils...”
“Don’t know, and don’t like it,” Jules muttered. “Orders, Captain?”
The older man stared hard at the smoking enigma slicing towards them. He nodded suddenly, coming to a decision. “Pilot, steer us into that…thing.”
Jules leaned hard on the rudder oar, and the rowing master directed his benches to assist in the turn. Brackish foam sprayed up on deck as the galley turned broadside to the tide, waves slapping against the timbered hull.
The captain went hand-over-hand along a guide rope to where the wizard sat on his stool. The two bent their heads together for a moment, and then the Captain gestured towards Jules. “Master Pilot! A word, please.”
Jules handed the rudder oar over to his own apprentice and carefully made his way across the deck to the Captain and the Magus. He acknowledged the wizard with a nod, and turned his attention to the Captain. “Yes, sir?”
“What do you make of that?” The Captain asked, pointing with his chin at the smoking black shape now closing with them.
Jules thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “I cannot even guess, Captain. No sails, no oars – it must be magic.”
“I do sense a vague aura, Captain, but it’s very faint.” Toll drummed his fingers on the railing. He concentrated for a moment longer, and then slumped on his stool. “I am sorry – I cannot recognize anything more.”
“I can, sirs,” Toll’s apprentice volunteered. The older men all turned toward the youth, who struggled not to cringe at the sudden attention.
“What do you mean, son?” Toll asked.
“It’s a binding spell, sirs.” The apprentice drew up his courage in the face of the older men, and continued. “Like what Master Fren used to keep the great alchemy vats together, regardless of how hot the fires got. Well, kind of like that.”
Toll nodded approval. “Very good, my young apprentice.”
The Captain snorted. “Nothing against your apprentice, Master Magus, but I don’t see how that helps us.”
“Get us close enough, Captain, and we can disrupt that spell – although it takes the two of us and one more for this spell.”
“How close?” the Captain demanded.
Toll and his apprentice exchanged looks. The master wizard shrugged. “An archer’s range? It depends.”
“It depends,” the Captain repeated with distaste. The men turned, almost in unison, to stare at the closing enemy ship.
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“Look lively, men,” the sergeant bellowed to his marines. “Crossbows at ready!”
Each marine carried a crossbow, a spear topped with a grappling hook, and a short sword. The men hefted their bows, put bolts into place, and readied themselves.
Jules steadied the rudder oar, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare on the waves. The black ship drew closer.
The Captain nodded to the sergeant, who shouted a command. Crossbows shot bolts across the narrowing gap between the galley and the black enigma.
The bolts clattered against the black ship’s armor, the iron tips ringing with the sound of metal, and then fell into the water. The marines all bent to winch their crossbows, and the Captain shouted at the catapult crew.
Flaming pitch launched from the catapult, and fell in a fiery rain on the black shape slicing closer. Fire sizzled against its black metal armor, but had no effect.
“Master Magus!” the Captain implored.
The wizard and his apprentice were chanting and drawing shapes on the deck. The wizard spared a quick glance up. “Trying, captain!”
The marines had reloaded, and there was time for another volley. The sergeant looked at the Captain, who shook his head. “No point, sergeant. It’s in the wizards’ hands now.”
The deck was as quiet as a galley ever got, with the beat of rowing slowed down, and little but murmurs between the crew. Jules watched Toll and his apprentice with one eye, also keeping an eye on the black ship. While the smoke from the ship still drifted straight up in the dead, still air, Jules could smell the sulphurous stench.
The muttering of the wizards built to a fever pitch. They were racing to complete their incantation when the black ship came abreast.
“Hold tight,” the Captain bellowed. Jules tightened his grip on the rudder oar.
The galley and the black ship collided with a crash, wood splinters and sea spray thrown into the air. The black ship was low, smooth and sharp, and its prow stabbed into the galley’s hull. The collision threw the men to the deck, and tossed rowers and marines overboard.
The force of the blow threw Jules to his knees. His eyes blurred from the shock. He tried to climb to his feet, pulling on the rudder oar for leverage, when the main deck timbers groaned like the dead come to life and then snapped, deck beams tilting up. Men were sent screaming into the air, and the whole galley shuddered as water started to pull the ship down.
The low black ship swam backwards, pulling out of the broken galley like an ebony knife. The deck began to angle forward as the bow of the galley started slipping beneath the waves. Burning black smoke from the enemy ship spread thick over the galley.
“She’s done for!” Jules heard a marine shout. He looked around wildly for the Captain, but there was no sign of him.
His own apprentice ran past him in a panic. “We have to jump off, Pilot!” the youth shouted, and then jumped into the water. Jules looked around again for the Captain or Magus Toll, and only saw panicked seaman, marines and rowers throwing themselves over the sides, terrified of being sucked down when the galley went under.
The galley shuddered again and the waterline kept advancing up the tilted deck. Jules took in the confusion and made a quick decision. He shrugged off his jacket, shed his leather shoes and ran toward the railing of the galley. Amongst a crowd of others, he jumped over the side and into the churning water.
Jules grabbed a barrel to keep himself afloat, ignoring the body of a marine that floated by, a spar of wood stuck through its neck. He tried to grapple himself around, and saw the sunlight glinting off metal to his left. Churning waves grabbed him, and he looked over.
The black hull of the enemy ship was passing within grabbing distance. At this range, the hull was not smooth, but was covered with projections and handholds. The top of the hull had serrated vents, from which black smoke poured. Jules dipped himself lower in the water, hoping to avoid any notice, when he heard a shout.
Toll’s apprentice had clambered aboard the hull and was atop the black monstrosity, behind one of the smoking vents. He waved to Jules. “Pilot, help me! I need help to finish the spell!”
Jules froze with fear for a moment. Then, summoning his courage, he swam quickly and grabbed a handhold. With help from the apprentice, who reached down, he pulled himself onto the black ship.
With a rasp, a metal panel slid aside and arms with a crossbow stuck out, searching for them. The apprentice kicked at the arms, knocking the crossbow into the waves, and then started climbing up the hull. “Come on! They know we’re here!”
Jules followed him. “Now what?”
“The binding spell! I figured out what they use it for, Pilot.” Huffing, they reached the serrated top of the hull. Jules heard clanging within the black hull. “Master Fren showed us. Boil water, capture the steam, use it to turn a paddle – there must be a paddle or screw somewhere pushing this thing.”
Jules flopped out under the harsh light of day, not caring about sunstroke. “And this helps us how?”
“The canisters or boilers! The pressure must be immense; that’s what the binding spell is for. If we release it – ”
“Boom,” Jules said softly, sitting up. “Well, then…what do we do?”
“Blood,” the apprentice said, pulling out a knife.
“Uh,” Jules started, nervous.
“No, not a lot. Just from three different people.” The apprentice turned the knife to show it under the sun. Scarlet wet blood coated it. “I already have Master Toll’s. I just need ours.”
Jules closed his eyes and thrust out his arm, hand open. He felt a sudden pain on his palm, and opened his eyes. There was a scarlet line on his palm, dripping blood on the black iron hull.
The apprentice sliced his own palm, muttering an incantation. With a shout, he thrust the knife skyward, blood running down it. With that, he collapsed.
The black hulled ship gave a great shudder, as if trying to shake off the human fleas on its back. The thick smoke coming from the vents suddenly became blacker, and a loud blast echoed from inside the hull. There were wails and screams, and the smoke suddenly carried the nauseous smell of burning flesh.
“Did we do it?” Jules asked.
The apprentice shook off his sudden stupor, and pointed with his knife down to the waves. “Look.”
The waterline was climbing up the side of the hull. The black ship was sinking.
Jules was alarmed. “Come on,” he said, getting ready to jump back in. He could see one of the other galleys of their squadron nearby, maneuvering to pick up survivors from the water.
The apprentice shook him off. “I can’t,” he said. “Too tired.” The youth slumped down and lay on the black iron surface.
“You’ll die here!” Jules said.
“Can’t swim anymore,” the apprentice said. “Go, save yourself.” He closed his eyes.
Frustrated, Jules dithered for a moment, but he was not a strong enough swimmer to keep both of them afloat. Cursing his own cowardice, he dove into the water and started paddling toward the other galley.
Behind him, as the black ship slipped under the waves, the apprentice roused himself one last time. “Pilot! If you make it back to Sonderholme, tell them I did this!”
Jules floated for a moment, looking at the man. “What is your name, apprentice?”
“I am Yakut, son of Torres! Today I am a Magus!” With that last hoarse defiant shout, the black ship vanished and took the apprentice with it.
Jules started swimming back to the other galley.