Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset (11 page)

“Wait a minute…” said an officer as Fulo, Gor’m, Dez and Aroda pushed them into the hall. He pointed at Mentrat’s pistol. “That gun’s not even cocked!”

“Nor is it loaded,” said Mentrat. “Take these, would you?” and he handed the empty pistols to Jaes.

“Nicely done!” cheered Semith, the new navigator.

Cavada set his eyes out the window and said, “Let’s get to that galleon before she sinks.”

Gilderam
veered around in a tight circle, pointing itself at the crippled galleon. Four sloops were still circling it, offering strafing fire to the fleeing sailors. Slowing down overtop the
Silus
, a handful of pirates rappelled down onto the deck and engaged the airmen in hand-to-hand combat. They were armed to the teeth with pistols, swords and grenades. Terrified bluejacks fled into the ship, locking the doors behind them.

Two sloops diverted, heading toward
Gilderam
on an intercept path. When they could see no one on deck they just flew by, wondering what the pilot was thinking by heading into a war zone with no one manning the guns.

Neither side fired a shot.

But the sloops circled back, and dropped their rappelling ropes.

“This is First Officer Jaes,” echoed a voice from intercom tubes all throughout
Gilderam
. “All hands, listen up. We’re about to be boarded. Batten down all hatches and hole yourself up in a secure, defensible position. They’re not going to take prisoners, and neither will we.”

Levwit Balkenthron, watching the battle through a porthole in his cabin, perked up at the announcement.

“A boarding party?” he said to himself giddily. “
Really?!
”

The Marquis hopped to the floor and dragged a case out from under his bed. Opening it, he lifted out a magnificent firearm: a long, thin arquebus – expertly crafted of darkwood and bluesteel, ornamented with a fine silver mesh.

“It’s time to go hunting,
pucith
…” he said, caressing the weapon, and marched out of his room. 

Owein tore down a hall inside the
Silus
, the big chains from his manacles clamoring as he went. So far, with only one exception, he had managed to avoid the sailors because the majority of them were at their battle stations, manning weaponry or operating essential ship systems. The rest were dead or hiding.

Distant explosions rocked the ship, tilting it suddenly to one side or the other. Every so often one would throw Owein off balance and into a bulkhead.

Another detonation, from the stern, sent a creaking shudder along the entire keel. Owein had to grab a handrail to keep from falling over. When it subsided he took off running again.

He found a circular set of stairs and bounded down them. After descending several decks, he was brought to a halt by the shouting of nearby sailors. Listening carefully, he determined the sound was coming from above, and so hurried the rest of the way down to the bottommost deck: the hold.

The winding, narrow halls of the upper levels were gone, replaced with broader, longer ones. There were no portholes here, only the flickering light of a few oil lamps positioned sparingly along the bulkheads. The chaos above was muted from this distance, with several decks separating it from the battle raging outside.

It was cooler here, and damp, and the sound of Owein’s chains rang easily in the hard, open space. Creeping through meager splotches of light, Owein listened intently to the mysterious noises of the hold.

He was not alone.

He heard footfalls, and some indistinct commotion. Then a voice cried out – a woman.

Owein broke into a controlled run, careful to make as little noise as possible as he followed the sounds. He only had to round a few corners and follow one last, long stretch of corridor before he found the brig. It was a short hall, ended by the hull itself, with a few barred doors on either side.

One of them was hanging open.

“Come on now, deary,” oozed a familiar voice from within the cell. “No need to be
difficult
…” the final word was inflected with a groan of effort, and punctuated with the sharp, iron clang of an engaging lock.

Owein slipped stealthily to the cell door, mindful of his chains, and peeked inside. He arrived just in time to see Captain Azendun slide his trousers to his ankles. His regulation coat had been tossed aside, leaving Owein in full view of his ample rear end. The captain had his back to the door, and Owein could only see one arm of the person he was facing – lithe and thin – chained to the wall.

“There, there,” said Azendun, leaning forward to pick up the other shackle. “Now just be still….”

As the captain knelt down, the distressed visage of Shazahd appeared over his shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears. Seeing Owein at the door dropped her jaw.

“There’s a good girl.”

An explosion from overhead caused the whole ship to rumble again. A little dust fell from the ceiling.

“Don’t worry about that,” Captain Azendun said, coming upright again. “We kill pirates for target practice. Won’t be long before we have them under control. Ah, forget it.” Azendun dropped the second manacle and buried his bushy face into Shazahd’s neck. “Ooh! Aren’t we a sweet one….” He chuckled juicily.

Owein covered the span of the cell in a single stride and threw his chains around the captain’s head. With a powerful heave, he yanked the fat man straight up by his neck and hurled him face-first into the wall.

Pulling the chain tight around his throat, Owein bashed his head repeatedly against the bulkhead with all his might. The captain was unconscious after only a few solid knocks. His arms fell slack by his sides and blood poured from his broken nose. But Owein stopped only for a second, and it was to apply more force to the chain, crushing the captain’s trachea. Shazahd flinched at the snapping sound. Then Owein regained his grip on Azendun’s head and gave it several more rams into the wall.

At last, he unraveled the chain and let the captain’s enormous carcass fall to the floor. There was a bloody splotch on the wall where his face had been smashed. Shazahd was wholly stunned, paralyzed, with one hand still chained above her head.

Owein was panting.

“Well…” he said, at a loss for words. “Let’s uh… let’s get you out of here.”

Owein seized her chained wrist to inspect the lock.

“We need a key,” he said. Shazahd was silent, staring at him. Owein looted the captain’s clothes for it.

Pirate boots hit the deck of
Gilderam
.

The first pair belonged to a woman named Vrei. She was tall and strong, with a red band tied around the crown of her head and mess of dark hair streaming down her back. She had chiseled features and dark eyes, and in place of a woman’s dress she wore breeches like a man. Her bodice was leather armor, heavily scarred from battle, and her tattooed arms were bare, tanned and muscled.

“So…” she said, surveying the ship. “This is her.
The Voice of the Earth
.”

The others were marauders, dressed purposefully to frighten in ragged, beaten clothing, with their faces smudged and hair blackened. They were bedecked with an almost impractical array of weaponry.

Once they were all on deck one of them said to her, “Lead the way, Captain.”

“Boys…” she said. “Would someone be a gent and open the door for a lady?”

They didn’t bother trying the door by the handle – they simply blew it open with a grenade. Following the explosion, they ran in screaming with weapons bared. But the halls were empty. There was no one there.

“All right, men,” said Captain Vrei. “Proceed with caution….”

On the deck of the
Silus
pirates were amassing topside, their arms laden with weapons and booty. While ladders fell from their sloops overhead, a few stopped to loot the burnt bodies at their feet. They had taken all they dared to, and now they fled before the bluejacks below deck re-organized and chased them off. Or before the
Silus
sank.

Owein, still in the belly of the galleon, knew that while pirates often spared the lives of the civilians they raided, they rarely afforded such mercy to naval ships. Being usually at odds with one another, they tended to harbor a great deal of resentment. If he couldn’t find a way off the ship soon, he knew he’d be going down with it.

Owein pulled on Shazahd’s chain, using a foot to push off the wall. Teeth bared and red-faced, all his effort was useless. After a few intense moments of exertion, he gave up. He stopped to think, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you sure there’s no key outside?” asked Shazahd.

“There’s nothing there!” Owein shouted. “
Nothing!
”

He kicked Azendun’s corpse in frustration and gnawed on his lip.

“You could try a gun. Shoot the lock off.”

“It might take me a while to find one.” He looked at her. “It might take too long.”

“It’s either that or chop my hand off. What do you think?”

“Well…” he said, giving the suggestion some consideration. Shazahd reprimanded him with a glare.

“I’ll be right back.”

Owein peeled out of the cell and sprinted down the hall. He was only a few paces away when a bolt ripped right through the hold, blasting the bulkheads behind him to pieces. The piercing weapon, a monstrous iron rocket, penetrated halfway through the ship. It tore cleanly through the brig along its way. Owein was floored by the impact, and when he regained himself he saw that the wreckage from the weapon spilled through the open cell door.

“
Cizeeth
…” he cursed, and ran back.

The cell he had just left was now an open window – a gaping hole in the side of the
Silus
. Where the floor and bulkheads ended in jagged splinters, the verdant green countryside and striking blue sky shone beyond. Blinding daylight spilled into the brig, and a vacuum of air pressure differential threatened to suck him outside.

The dead captain was still there, on what was left of the floor, and splayed unconsciously over his legs was Shazahd, covered with debris. The chain around her wrist now tethered her to a mere shard of wood. The bolt had pulverized the bulkhead.

Owein picked her up bodily and headed for the stairs.

“We’re almost on top of them,” Weiden reported.

“Good,” said Cavada. “Slow us down.”

“What do you propose we do now?” asked Mentrat.

“Well,” Pawl offered, “shouldn’t someone go and get them?”

“Go
get
them?” Mentrat echoed.

Pawl nodded. He looked around the bridge for volunteers.

“Okay…” Cavada swallowed with difficulty. “I’ll go. Lord Ranaloc, you’ll have to take the wheel.”

“We’ll bring you in easy over the foredeck,” said Mentrat. And Cavada ran off into the hall.

“Good luck!” Semith offered, but he was already gone.

Gunfire popped to life behind them, echoing from inside the ship. It was not far away.

“We’d better be quick about this,” said Jaes as he loaded a shell into one of his guns. “We don’t have a lot of time now.”

A volley of bullets spat down the corridor, blowing holes into the wood-paneled walls inside
Gilderam
. Fulo and Gor’m bent around their cover to return fire, replying with a volley of their own.

Dez and the bluejack officers were dead on the floor. The first grenade had killed them all. Aroda had caught a bullet in the shoulder soon after that, and now lay against a wall clutching his bloody wound, passing in and out of consciousness. Fulo, Gor’m and the pirates took turns shooting blindly through a haze of gun smoke at each other.

Fulo pressed his back against the wall, breathing rapidly. His thumb deftly loosed the catch on his pistol, and he was careful not to burn his hand on the barrel as he shook out a used cartridge. It clattered to the floor with a little
ping
and rolled around amongst a mess of spent shells.

He and Gor’m struggled to keep the bullets flying. Each time they paused to reload, the pirates took a step closer – one cabin at a time. Eventually they would be close enough to lunge at them with swords, and that would be a quick battle.

Fulo threw his barrel closed, cocked back the hammer, and carefully sidled around the corner once again. In a lull, one pirate attempted to cross the corridor into another cabin.

Fulo fired, and through the cloud of smoke that burst from his gun, he watched his target crash backwards into a wall. He withdrew himself from the line of fire as the other pirates shot back. Flecks of wood flew all around in the barrage.

Reaching into his ammunition satchel, he procured his last two shells. He considered them in his hand and swore to himself.

“Hey,” he called to Gor’m on the other side of the hall. “I’m almost out. You got any more?” The brute started to dig in his own satchel, but then opted to pull Aroda’s from his dead body. He tossed it to Fulo across the line of fire as the sound of footfalls told them the pirates were advancing.

“Thanks.”

“Ah ha!” said a voice from around a corner as Fulo reloaded. “So
this
is where the action is!” The lanky Levwit appeared carrying a rifle better suited for a museum than a gunfight.

“Levwit Balkenthron, Marquis of Pwij,” he said with a little bow, “at your service, sirs. Now, do tell me, is there a band of blood-thirsty pirates just around that corner?”

Fulo only nodded, too shocked for words. Gor’m didn’t move.

“Excellent!” he said, and stepped past to look down the hall. He pulled his head back just in time to evade a couple bullets.

“Oh my!” he said. “You’ve got them all riled up, haven’t you?”

Levwit cocked his rifle and swung it out into the hallway. He held it steadily for a perilously long moment, taking his time to aim. The pirates took shots at him meanwhile, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Fulo and Gor’m watched as bullets tore gashes into the walls around him, but the Marquis held his rifle level, as though he were alone at a shooting range on some lazy afternoon, carefully arranging his shot at a stationary target.

Then he fired.

And the blast was tremendous. It would ring in their ears for hours to come. Levwit casually strode back behind the wall and began to reload with a giant smile across his face.

“I got one!” he said. “Oh, and did either of you notice the woman pirate?” They nodded. “Awfully pretty, eh? For a pirate, I mean.”

Fulo cocked the hammer of his gun and curled carefully around his cover to fire off another shot. He leapt backwards to safety just as a salvo of bullets came flying for him. They ripped apart the opposite wall instead, and pelted him and the Marquis with smithereens.