Epilogue #2
nearly a head taller than Zaria herself, and Isaac felt every inch of this
height whenever she was displeased. “You’re on surgeon’s duty.”
Isaac cleared his throat. “Sorry, captain. I’ve prepared a
number of salves and liniments during our last shore. They’ll heal.”
“They better,” Vance said. “My naturalist best not let his
specimens run loose again, or else they’ll be paddin’ our larder.” She turned
to the gathered crowd of hands. “Capture the rest and put them back in the
cages! Alive, if you can!”
“Aye, capt!” said the crew, and scattered.
Isaac watched the blood leak from the manticore’s head. The
skin around the entry wound had burned black, scored from the burst of shot.
Taxidermy would not fix such an obvious imperfection. In all likelihood, he
would have to settle for the bones and lion’s pelt, once the butchering was
done.
Then again, perhaps the man-eating chimera did not need to
be studied, after all.
“Isaac,” Vance said, following his gaze. “Let me be clear
again. The Royal Claw may be payin’ our wages, and you might be doin’ good for
the sciences, but this is my ship, and my crew, and I’ll not see them harmed.
We don’t need to test that sentiment, do we?”
“No, captain. Sorry.”
“Giovanna is an ocean away. I’m the only law you need
concern yourself with.”
“Of course, captain.”
“From now on,” the otter said, “I’m holding supreme veto on
any beast you decide to bring aboard. Anything I don’t like is only gracing my
deck as skin and skeleton. Are we clear on this?”
“Yes, captain.”
Vance’s whiskers dripped with sea spray as she looked down
at him. After a moment, she adjusted her tricorn hat. “Right. Good. Enough of
that. Back to pressing matters.”
“What?”
“Our pursuers, sir mage.”
Isaac looked over the sea again. The privateer vessel had
grown from a distant speck on the waves to a leering tangle of rope and wood,
the glowing sigils burning like cattle brands across the sails. Even without
his spyglass, he could see crews climbing through the rigging, tossing entire
bushels of fire onto the canvas, bringing the ship so quickly to acceleration
that her prow was impaling the waves.
At the front, the flag of the feline queen had been lowered.
In the place of cat’s eyes and griffins, a black flag rose above the foremast,
bearing the deathly gaze of an ursine skull.
“Isaac,” Vance said. “Stop us from being robbed and put to
sword, and it might be I like you again. Agreed?”
He saluted.
“Don’t fuckin’ do that!”
Isaac approached the starboard edge of the Arms of Horn.
As he began the mnemonics, Zaria leaped onto the gunwale, grabbed a section of
rigging, and shouted: “Clear the deck! Wizard firin’
off a starboard!”
Through the ventilation grills below, Welton the horse
shouted: “Wizard firing!”
“Wizard firing!” shouted the leopards above. “Clear the
deck!”
Isaac went through the casting motions carefully, making
sure the draw of power was smooth and efficient. A
ball of flame appeared in each of his palms. He pressed his hands together,
and, when he drew them back, there was one large conflagration, twisting and
hissing with the spray of the sea. He put more energy into the cast, and the
flames grew larger, growing from the size of a melon to a cannonball, surging
past the point of a trebuchet missile. When it was large enough to constitute a
boulder, Isaac had to lean over the gunwale, trying to protect the surrounding
ropes.
Ahead, the privateer vessel was beginning to turn, its crew
rattling sabers in the air. Their hull was worn, rotting, and studded with the
holes of cannons. A distant battle cry erupted from the vessel.
“Fire at will,” Vance said.
Isaac loosed the fireball.
It arced across the waves like a second sun blazing through
the sky. Isaac wobbled on his feet, nearly collapsing from the transfer of
energy, but Zaria was already rushing to his side, catching him as he fell.
They watched the fireball complete its downward trajectory. In a great burst of
power, it crashed into the sea, quivering the waves, instantly boiling the
water, sending a massive plume of steam exploding up through the air. The
geyser was so white and strong and lurching that, for a moment, it burped the
privateer ship up from the water itself, like the rise of a bucking horse.
The reaction was immediate. Screams carried over the waves.
Privateers fell from the rigging and flailed along the deck, their skin cooked
and peeling. Instead of a slow turn, the privateers quickly changed course,
pulling hard to starboard, almost cracking their hull with the sudden twist.
Through a fog of boiled water, Isaac could see the vessel rushing back into the
waves, fleeing like a scolded dog.
All together, the crew of the Arms
of Horn began to cheer, laughing and taunting the pirates. Zaria kept a
firm hold on Isaac, giving him enough support that he
could concentrate on breathing.
“Well,” Vance said, deadpan. “I guess wizards are the new
standard, for all good navies. Back before, we made do with spit and iron.” She
watched the privateers sail away, her whiskers flicking. “I just wish it
weren’t a warning. Traitors deserve worse.”
“They’re pirates, capt,” Zaria said. “Only loyalty they’ve
got is to coin.”
“Exactly! Feline queen pardoned them. We’re flying her
bloody colors. That should’ve earned some pause, at the very least.” The otter
removed her hat and slapped it against her thigh, shaking off the water.
“Craven bastards are just using the Royal Claw as a means to pillage. The least
they could do is declare themselves.”
Zaria cleared her throat. Isaac could hear the hesitation in
her voice. Neither of them had explained who they were upon signing the
contract—Zaria had claimed to sail cargo for a merchant company on the edge of
the Charnel, while Isaac said he had attended university in the outer kingdom
of Urshan. They had not been questioned too severely, and they had taken
careful measures to keep their identities consistent while underway. In many
ways, Vance was a permissive captain, but she was still an old salt, which made
her a veteran of the Scorch, as well as the coastal wars of Giovanna’s
expansion. It was clear her service had imbued certain opinions. Walton, her
lieutenant, had hated Isaac from the moment he noticed a spell, and a good
portion of the crew still refused to supp with him at meals.
Zaria took a moment to speak.
“Think I see some heads, down in the wakes.”
There were, indeed, a few privateers who had fallen into the
open sea, either bucked from the deck when the geyser lifted the ship, or
reeling over the gunwale as they burned from the steam itself. Some of them
were clearly struggling to swim.
“Aye,” Vance said, watching. “Seems the geyser knocked ‘em
overboard.”
“You wanna pull for rescue?”
“No. Let ‘em sink.” The otter turned. “Presly! Back to
course!”
At the helm, the old coyote nodded,
spinning the wheel sharply to port, the escaped cockatrice already making an effort to sleep in his lap. The Arms of Horn
groaned as it turned back to the westerly direction. Isaac watched several
heads disappear beneath the waves as the ship gained distance.
For a moment, the only sound was the flapping of a canvas
sail.
“Aye there, capt,” Zaria said, quietly. “Fair enough.” After
a moment of watching the otter, she helped Isaac back to his feet. “Good?”
“Yes,” he said, panting. “Thank you.”
“Sure. My squire’s rather cute when he’s breathless.”
“I believe the word is dashing.”
“Oh, that’s one of them, surely.”
She tousled his hair. He slapped her hand away. She began to
grin, but a cleared throat made her stop. Vance was watching the two of them.
Zaria adjusted her boatswain coat and stood at attention.
“Isaac,” the otter said. “Come to my cabin for dinner
tonight. We need to talk.”
“Captain, I’m sorry about the manticore—”
“Not that. Got a missive from the Royal Claw this morning.” She
shivered. “Right in the soul. Odd feeling, that. Anyway, they’re wantin’ me to
give a full report on your findings. You done all your sketches and whatnot?”
“Um, yes. Mostly. I’ll finish them by tonight.”
“After you’re through patching my deckhands.”
“Obviously, captain.”
Vance made a noise in her throat. “Boatswain, you’re comin’
as well.”
Zaria blinked. “Me? I just keep the rabble in line.”
“Nonsense. Boatswain’s a hard post, and you’ve taken well to
it. I’ve got nothin’ but praise for your efforts.”
Zaria tried not to look pleased.
“Seems also,” Vance added, “that you’ve been helping my
naturalist quite a lot, as it happens.”
“I aid him on his journeys landside, aye. You gave me leave
to do so.”
“Well, forgive my noticing, but it must be you two are
working close. On return, he’s always got your scent.”
“Couldn’t be mine,” Zaria replied, casually. “Must be all them funny creatures he’s rubbing against.”
“Oh, it’s yours. You are quite distinct, in that regard.”
Isaac cleared his throat.
“Well,” Zaria said again, “we bundle a tent, now and again.
It’s just prudence. Gotta pack light and such.”
The otter nodded. “He always seems sore, as well.”
“It’s rough out there, capt.”
“Sore in the groin, I mean.”
“He’s just sore from all the hiking.”
“Ah,” Vance said, deadpan. “Well, I’m sure my boatswain
knows I keep a strict ban on fraternizing between officers.”
“That only applies while underway, as I understand.”
“Aye. That’s so. Whatever happens off my ship is not my
concern, especially when your labor remains impeccable.”
Zaria slid an arm over Isaac’s shoulder, pulling him to her
side. “Just so, captain.”
“Right,” Vance said, as if they were discussing the weather.
“Then, in that case, let’s all pretend I’m inviting you as my officer, instead
of the better half of our mage.”
“Honored to accept, then. What’re we supping on?”
“Fried manticore.”
“Lovely,” Zaria said. “If that’s all, capt, I think we’ve
got our tasks to attend.”