Chapter 5
“That’s them, Captain.” Quintus Hollander, pilot of the Maelstrom, pointed to a blip on the radar. “That’s the Bitterwind.”
William Lexington stood behind the pilot in a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a garnet red coat with gold buttons over a loose white shirt. But unlike most captains, no feathered hat covered his messy, dark blond hair. He didn’t need one to command a room.
“Close in,” he instructed. “Lockwood, are the cannons loaded?”
“Yes, Captain. Bringing them down will be easy.” Markus Lockwood stood in Will’s shadow, wearing a military jacket with the patches torn off. Lockwood, a former Royal Investigator from Sorrento, was fanatically organized and the best weapons master to be found on land, sea, or sky.
“We don’t need to bring them down. We just need the crew to surrender. Retrieve Mouse and commandeer the ship. Kill all who resist, though; I don’t want to be here all day.”
“Aye.” Lockwood departed the pilothouse to relay the orders to the rest of the crew.
Sebastian, the first mate, stepped up from the corner he’d been lurking in and peered at the radar.
He mirrored Will with arms folded across his broad chest and wore a gray linen shirt ripped open in the front to reveal warm brown skin and rows of muscles.
He swore the shirt had been torn in a fight, but Will knew it was intentional.
Sebastian’s favorite relic, a whip sword with a detachable, segmented blade, wrapped around his hips in place of a belt.
“What’re you gonna do when we get Mouse back?” he asked Will, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “Reckon he’s suffered enough?”
“Not a chance.” Will stepped away from the console. His stomach coiled at the image of Mouse suffering at the hands of Graven’s men, but he kept the feeling locked behind a mask of neutrality. “The only reason we’re saving him is so I can kill him myself. Hold the course, Quin.”
Quintus nodded as Sebastian laughed, following Will onto the main deck.
The crew was preparing for a skirmish. The cannons were engaged, the shields equipped, and the mechanical gangway ready to launch so they could swarm the Bitterwind.
The Maelstrom was a flagship—a magnificent vessel worthy of a Sky Lord. The Bitterwind, on the other hand, was an aggressively average ship with a below-average crew. Will would know.
Still, he enjoyed the chance to deal any blow to Graven, regardless how small. This wouldn’t take long.
The Maelstrom overtook the Bitterwind in minutes.
Will was smug as Ridge’s crew darted around, trying to prepare their cannons to fire back. The Maelstrom’s shields were fully engaged, fully charged, and if anything hit, the damage would be minimal.
Lockwood announced the next volley while Will returned to the enclosed pilothouse, leaning on the doorframe.
“Get close enough to board,” he said to Quintus.
“Roger that.” Quintus rotated the wheel, aggressively closing the distance between the two airships until only a few yards separated them. Will ducked back out onto the deck and flagged Sebastian down.
“Launch the gangway!” he called.
Sebastian pulled the lever, and the narrow bridge unfurled, launching past the Maelstrom’s wings and crashing on the Bitterwind’s starboard side with enough force to crush the railing.
Retractable teeth extended from the bottom of the steel bridge, sinking into the Bitterwind to keep the ship tethered.
The Maelstrom crew raided the ship while Will stood back. His fingers itched at his side, the shadows of Hellsgate forming at his fingertips.
If this were the Baroness, Will would be the first one across. He’d tear Graven’s men limb from limb without restraint or remorse until he found the Baron himself and plunged his sword into his heart.
One day, he’d do just that. But this wasn’t the Baroness, Graven wasn’t on board, and most of these men had probably never even met the Sky Lord. So Will lingered, trusting his own men to do what needed to be done while he monitored the Bitterwind for unexpected threats.
It was hardly a fair fight. While Will’s crew was stacked with relics, every member assigned one that complemented their skills, the Bitterwind didn’t appear to have anything that posed a significant challenge.
Will watched as Ford and Crowe, twin brothers built like giants, took turns activating their Class Two medallions.
A silver sheen covered Ford, creating a shield that blocked bullets, but they had to take turns using the protection.
When Crowe was about to take a hit, Ford’s silver sheen transferred to his brother.
They fought side-by-side, their rhythm down to a science.
Lockwood wielded Deadeye, a shotgun that almost never missed, from the Maelstrom deck. Deadeye was lethal, provided its wielder was halfway competent—which Lockwood was.
Sebastian swung his sword, Whiplash, like a madman, the blade flinging around as a razor-edged whip. When activated by a button on the hilt, its gravitational pull drew enemies within range. Every now and then, Sebastian used Barricade, a lighter that threw up a shield when ignited.
Where’s Danny Ridge?
Green eyes narrowed, Will held up his spyglass and surveyed the ship for its captain.
He finally spotted his target, racing around the deck like a lunatic.
The old captain flung open a door beneath the upper deck, where Will expected him to take cover.
Instead, Ridge emerged with a most unexpected companion.
Will looked through his spyglass once more and focused on the new arrival. He scarcely believed his eyes, but he would know Vesper Corsair anywhere.
What was Graven’s spymaster doing aboard the Bitterwind?
It was an interesting development, but more importantly, it didn’t bode well for Will’s crew. Corsair possessed a deadly set of relics that made him a particular pain in the ass.
This was Will’s cue.
A curved onyx blade sprang into Will’s hand as he ran toward the fray, bolting across the gangway. The sword, Hellsgate, glinted red in the sunlight and cut through the air with a whoosh as he ran.
His heart thundered in anticipation of bloodshed, adrenaline coursing through him like an old friend. It heightened his senses, hastened his steps.
Once he had a clear view of Corsair, Will hurled the blade toward his opponent and promptly disappeared in a puff of smoke. He reappeared at Hellsgate’s location half a second later in front of Corsair, the sword in his hand once again.
“I had a feeling you might show up,” Corsair said, his upper lip curling. He drew his own sword, but Will was focused on the clawed glove and black boots. Together, they transformed Corsair into a master of stealth.
“Tends to happen when you break the codex.” Will swung Hellsgate, but Corsair met the blow with his blade and snapped his clawed fingers.
The glove, known as Ghost, made him invisible. His boots were a Class Two called Silence, allowing him to walk without making a sound. The combination was frustrating as hell.
Will wasn’t helpless, though; he had Sixth Sense to combat Corsair’s element of surprise. The little gold ring on Will’s right ring finger sent an impulse to his brain, alerting him of incoming danger.
Behind. On the left.
Will dodged to the right, narrowly escaping Corsair’s strike as he burst into view.
“I didn’t break the codex,” Corsair sniveled. “That’s all Ridge.”
Will didn’t care; he’d take any opportunity to cut down a man who willingly stood by Alastor Graven. And Corsair had always idolized his captain to a nauseating degree.
“Why are you here?” Will managed a nick on Corsair’s side, but Ghost kept him from doing more than that.
He gritted his teeth in irritation, thinking perhaps he should change his strategy to chopping off Corsair’s hand so he couldn’t use the damn thing.
Sixth Sense alerted Will of imminent danger, but Corsair’s annoying habit of turning invisible at just the right moment resulted in a stagnating duel.
“Running an errand for my captain. If you stand down, perhaps we can discuss it. It might interest you,” said Corsair.
“As tempting as that is, I’d rather send Graven your head.” Will turned to his favorite strategy, circling his opponent and rapidly jumping in and out of smoky clouds.
He had to throw Hellsgate for precise or long-distance jumps, but in close quarters? Transporting a few feet at a time was more than enough to give his enemies a headache.
Black smoke circled Corsair in a dizzying whirl. “You’re even more annoying with that thing,” he spat.
Corsair held out his sword and swung it in a wide circle. He might have hit Will, if not for Sixth Sense tugging his body out of the way just in time. Instead, Will reappeared behind Corsair, giving the man a start.
“Ready to surrender?”
“Not a chance, Lexington.”
Corsair snapped his claws and vanished again, but Will was already swinging Hellsgate. Blood splattered into view when Corsair’s flesh tore, a groan of pain emanating as the sword sliced through what Will thought was his abdomen. It was a deep cut, judging by the drag of the blade.
Will expected Corsair to flicker back into sight, but he saw nothing. Heard nothing. Felt nothing.
Hellsgate absorbed Corsair’s blood and flashed red as Will spun around in search of his enemy. When Ghost deactivated next, Corsair was several yards away, clutching his belly and stumbling toward a windskiff.
Now he was giving up.
“Coward!” Will roared. “Get back here and fight!”
He broke into a run and launched Hellsgate, shredding the short distance in a blink, but he was milliseconds too late. Corsair leapt onto the skiff and jetted out of reach without looking back.
“That’s right, asshole,” Will grumbled. “Fly on back to Graven.”