Dragonfire Sea

Captain Bennett was called from his slumber by a loud trumpet blast. Another sounded immediately thereafter. At the third, he hoisted his lanky frame from his cot and reached for his pants, scrambling to do up the ties.

One blast meant land lay ahead. Two signaled the approach of another ship. Three calls of the trumpet meant only one thing—"Pirates, Captain Bennett! Pirates!" His cabin boy shouted through the locked door, banging his fist upon it.

"Gods above!" he roared as he pulled on his boots and fastened his belt, which contained his sword and other personal items.

Beaky squawked sleepily from her perch, protesting against the interruption to her sleep. The damn bird slept too much. "Let's go, ya bleary-eyed bird." He tapped his shoulder and Beaky gave another protest before spreading her wings and flapping into position. She was getting old, as was he. Birds like her lived for several ten-score years. He was a young lad when he found her in the Southlands, on the islands of the Great Delta. She was only a hatchling then and had since become his companion. At times, she was a downright nuisance. It didn't help that she picked up far too many words. When she began mouthing off, the name Beaky stuck.

With Beaky on his shoulder, he rushed to the deck. His first mate met him immediately, ready with an update, "Two pirate ships, Captain. George spotted 'em from the nest. They came upon us quick. Lorchas they be, from the looks of it, and fast ones at that."

"Pirates! Pirates!" Beaky repeated in her high-pitched voice.

His first mate led him to the poop, talking all the while. "The wind be in our favor, Captain Bennett, but with sails let, we're maxed out at six knots. These pirates though, these are doing eight at least." His first mate handed over the spyglass.

Taking the scope, he held it to his eye and had a good, long look. There were indeed two lorchas, the pirate ship of choice in these parts. Lorchas were speedy by nature, depending on the cargo they carried. In this instance, his own cargo greatly weighed down his vessel. His ship, the Lady Faith, was one of the fastest in the merchant fleet. Unfortunately, Lady Faith's precious goods weren't doing them any favors. "Sink me! It's too soon for this!"

"Sink me! Sink me! Sink me!"

"Quiet, Beaky!" He gave Beaky's head a pat and returned the spyglass. "There is no escaping them, Jonah. If they get close enough to use their rams, our voyage will be at an end. That being said, if they are after us for our cargo, they would not dare sink us. No...they'll want to board us and kill every last man. Then they gain a ship and her cargo."

Jonah shook his head in disbelief. "Perhaps we can use the oars to outrun them? Perhaps we might make it to the nearest port?"

"No, that's doubtful. At their speed, they will run us down long before that."

They had been at sea a mere six days since departing Port Ice. Bennett knew there would be problems on the journey back to Kastali Dun, but he hadn't anticipated them this early. He swore under his breath. One of the damned Dwargs must have let it slip; that was concerning. Like it or not, disaster was upon them. Fortunately, he had a keen mind for this sort of thing.

"Jonah, we must prepare for the worst." His voice was solemn.

"Prepare for the worst. Prepare for the worst," Beaky began to chant. They both ignored her.

"I agree. What'll ya have me do?" Jonah rolled up the sleeves of his tunic.

"Send the row-men below deck to their stations—arm 'em first, mind you, for the worst."

"It'll be done."

"Right now, we need all the speed we can get. I'll steer the helm towards Stormy Bay, and in the meantime, I already have a plan brewing."

Jonah nodded and left him at once. Bennett moved away from the ship's rear. From his position, he had a good view of the crew. Already the rowers were passing around weapons and making their way to the oars below the deck.

He used this opportunity to get his crew's attention. "Ho! Men of the Lady Faith!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Pirates be upon us!"

"Pirates! Pirates!" came the bird's rejoinder.

"I chose you to accompany me on this voyage for a reason. Every one of you likes a good fight, and every one of you does it well. Not only that, you're the best damned seamen the Dragonfire sea has ever seen. Every one of ya's stood true before the mast."

Cries of "Aye" and "Too right you are," echoed through the attentive crew.

"These pirates will give us no quarter. They will try to board us with the intention to kill. We got mouths of our own to feed, so we will do the same. No hostages." His crew echoed their agreement. The lorchas were getting frighteningly close. Now was the moment. "I bid you all: arm yourselves! We cannot be taken. Dragonwall's existence depends on it. Today, Válkar rules in our favor, and Asjaa watches over our souls. Pray to Hafunger if you must. Perhaps our sea god will hear us." He paused to take a breath then added, "Bowmen, report to me immediately! The rest of you, step to!"

"Man your stations...Man your stations..."

The deck erupted into organized chaos as men jumped to action, rushing around to their positions as several others distributed weapons. The eight bowmen—guards he had brought for this very purpose—were making their way up the ladders to the poop. They assembled before him.

"I began this mission with the intention of keeping it secret. Not a single man of my crew knew the purpose of this journey when we set out. Well, damn it all to hell! The discretion I hoped to maintain did us little good. Thank the gods I brought you." He looked at each of them, sizing them up, looking for signs of fear—there was none. "I know there are few of you, but even the smallest numbers can count for many."

"Aye," they said in unison.

"Separate yourselves—longbows here, and you four, there." He pointed and coached, getting his longbow men into position, followed by his archers. The longbowmen had the most important job as they would act first. Once all of his archers were in position, he went to each group and relayed his intentions, detailing his plan.

While all of this happened, the Lady Faith's oars were extended from both sides of the vessel, paddling with heavy strokes. Little good the rowing did. The lorchas tailing them also utilized the same tactics, and they were gaining at a rapid rate.

"Remember my instructions," Bennett said, turning to the longbow men beside him. "We must wait until they are within range. If we fire too soon, our plan will be obvious."

"Understood, Captain Bennett."

He did not remove his gaze from the approaching vessels. The unease of his men radiated outwardly as they all watched in silence; it didn't matter that they were good fighters. For many, this wasn't their first time dealing with pirates, but it was their first time dealing with two boats' worth.

A deathly calm permeated the air, making each creak and groan from the Lady Faith's woodwork shriek. Even Beaky was as quiet as the dead. Waiting....

When the lorchas were close enough, they split, with the intention of putting the Lady Faith between them. "Strike the sails!" He called. They needed the speed of the sails, but the last thing he wanted was for his own plan used against him. His deckhands burst into motion, handling the ropes and pulleys with deft skill. As soon as the job was finished, their speed slowed a great deal, bringing the pirates right up behind them. The men on the enemy decks became visible—it was time.

"Light your arrows." Bennett's voice was quiet. With extreme caution, the longbowmen nocked arrows and lit them in the cast-iron fire pit. It was dangerous to bring fire on deck. Even now, if their ship rocked too violently the pit could overturn, lighting the entire deck aflame. Right now, it was worth the risk.

The longbowmen were quick to draw. "Fire!" he hissed. Several gasps from his own crew rent the silence as four flaming arrows shot through the air. None of his men expected this tactic. Two arrows hit the left lorcha's foremost sails, and the other two hit the right lorcha's foremost sails. To his great luck, the arrows each stuck in the cloth. Immediately a crackling sound met his ears as the flames took to the fabric and the fire spread. Once more, the longbowmen reloaded and took aim.

These lorchas had three sails each. With a few more flaming arrows, the task was done; they quickly tossed the fire pits into the sea. The tactic had been both unexpected and successful. The pirates began shouting orders to each other, running frantically around their decks, climbing the masts, and attempting to extinguish the flames. It was a great distraction, for the pirates knew that without them, their lorchas would lose speed.

His own men shared quiet smiles of relief as they waited silently. Unfortunately, the battle was not yet won. Already the pirate ships were nearly close enough for the grapples.

"Withdraw the oars," he said loud enough for Jonah to hear him below. The oars would splinter and break once the pirate ships were beside them. He needed the oars intact for his plan. Like all orders, this one was echoed among several loud voices that carried it throughout.

"Burn in flames. Burn in flames. Pull the oars. Pull the oars." Beaky was squawking with agitation.

"Arrows!" A stream of arrows caught his attention, whizzing through the air before they hit the deck. Several of his men called out in alarm. Three of his own collapsed. "They are readying the grapples," George shouted from the crow's nest. The lookout trumpet sounded in warning.

"Prepare to be boarded," he commanded, knowing that he had mere minutes to give any last necessary orders. "Thomas, Aaron, Peter!" he called, getting their attention. "Cut every damned grapple you see on the starboard side. I want them severed the moment they hold. Regan, James, you handle the port side."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Peter grabbed Aaron and Thomas, making for the right side, as Regan and James headed for the left, their swords at the ready.

Grapples flew over the railing from both sides. After that, pirates began pouring onto the Lady Faith's deck.

Bennett looked at his archers. "Do not hit any of our men," he said. "I want every damned pirate who touches the wood of my ship dead." With that, he bounded over the railing of the poop deck and descended the ladder to assist with cutting the grapples.

It was a mess of shouts and chaos: Clanging swords rang out and arrows continued to fly from his men and theirs. He made his way along the port side, cutting all the grapples he saw. They were far outnumbered. This was obvious, but he had true-hearted men who would never back down. Knowing that did a number on his pride.

By now, his oarsmen were pouring onto deck from below. Their assistance couldn't have come at a better time. They threw themselves into the foray, swords lifted, faces lit with determination.

"The grapples are cut on our side, Captain." Peter rushed to him a few minutes later, breathless. Shortly after, the ropes on the right were cut too.

"Set the sails," he shouted, his impatience growing.

"Set the sails!" His first mate cried the command even louder than he. Those men who could afford to dodge combat, jumped into their positions.

He aided where he could—bringing down pirate after pirate—darting this way and that with his own sword raised. Several of his prized ropes of hair were cut off during his scuffles. Each time he grew more furious, letting his anger out on every filthy pirate that got in his way. Beaky had already taken flight as she circled the ship, squawking and squeaking insults, "Nasty pirates. Burn them. Nasty pirates!"

The sails were unfurled into position to catch the wind. Bennett hoped that the pirates were occupied enough to forget his fire trick. As the sails fell into place, Asjaa must have answered his prayers for speed; there was no other explanation for it. A huge gust of wind, unnatural in its strength, struck the sails. He thanked Asjaa, he thanked Válkar, he thanked Hafunger, he thanked every damned god he could think of. Hopefully they were saved from this mess.

"More grappling hooks!" He heard an enemy pirate captain shout. The accent was rough—different. His ears perked up. "Hurry up you scoundrels!" The pirate captain speaking was definitely not from Dragonwall.

The Lady Faith was catching the wind. With most of the pirates otherwise engaged, there were few to follow the enemy captain's command. However, several new grapples flew over the railing. He sprinted to them, hacking at each rope as it took hold. They were nearly a full ship's length ahead of the two lorchas, whose flaming sails were all but shreds. In fact, the fire had spread to their masts, but the pirates were too distracted to notice.

"They are getting away, you sons of whores!" One of the pirate leaders shouted from the enemy ship.

Captain Bennett spotted a particularly large pirate who cut down two of his crew. He dodged and thrust his sword at the man, attempting to take him out. The brute of a pirate managed to slice his arm, but he hardly felt it. The rage of battle was coursing through his body.

Just in time, an arrow struck the brute right in his heart; he fell upon the ground. Bennett glanced up at the poop deck where his archers stood. One saluted him before nocking another arrow. He gave the man a quick nod of thanks and moved on to the next pirate. Still more pirates came. Did it ever end?

He looked around, surprised by what he saw. The Lady Faith was well away from the two lorchas, whose oars were extended as they rapidly paddled to catch up. That was never going to happen. Without their sails the pirate ships had no hope of gaining on the Lady Faith. Not now.

There was still the matter of the pirates on board his own vessel. Their numbers were dwindling, but his men were growing tired. They were growing sloppy. He moved through the mess, stabbing several pirates in the back.

"All available oarsmen below!" he called when he felt they could be spared. Only a handful of men rushed below. Moments later, they began picking up more speed.

It took nearly an hour to eliminate the remaining pirates onboard. When they did, his crew still had the strength to give up shouts of victory. "Hip-hip-hurray!" they repeated, aided by Beaky who joined her voice with theirs. She circled above the masts where she sought refuge.

"Well done!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Well done indeed! Tonight, we celebrate our victory! Rum for all!"

The pirate ships were shrinking in view. There would be more, he had no doubt of that. It was imperative he get his wounded men the treatment they needed. It would delay their arrival to Kastali Dun, but if he didn't, they might never arrive.

He had the pirates' dead bodies mercilessly thrown overboard. His own fallen men were wrapped in cloth and given a respectful burial—a traditional sea burial. Each was sent below with their most prized possessions and words of recognition. It was a sad time for his men. They lost too many friends.

"What now, Captain Bennett?" Jonah asked loud enough for the remainder of his crew to hear.

"We make for Stormy Bay, to the port of Squall's End." He saw several of his men nod in agreement. "I must get word to the Drengr—to Lord Davi—that our cargo is no longer safe."

The secret was out. They could no longer rely on stealth to get them where they needed to go. New tactics were necessary. Fortunately for him, he was already devising a new plan.

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