Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (13 page)

The ship rolled in the heavy surf as the centurion howled for a turn. “Hard to lee, Fassur!” Harrow’s long tail cracked like a whip as he strode over the deck. The helmsman called his assent and spun the wheel at the rear of the quarterdeck. In a breath, the ship tilted dangerously away from the gale. The rudder beneath the
Havoc
’s stern shifted to the side, and wind leached out of the high sails.

Sykox spun on his heel and raced toward the stairs that led below. “The engine!” he declared. “I’ve got to keep her fired, or we’ll stall. We need to head against the wind, or they’ll catch . . .” The last words were lost beneath the increasing whistle of more incoming shot. The sheets and braces of the
Havoc
’s sails creaked against the mast as they tried to catch the wind once more. Macha and Cobiah grabbed the railing as the
Havoc
tilted, and were rewarded by huge guffs of water exploding from the sea below as the
Disenmaedel
’s cannonballs landed only a few feet short of the charr ship’s wooden side.

“One more like that, and they’ll cave us in!” the helmsman roared, his sharp teeth glinting.

“Ram them!” Cobiah screamed, stumbling to his feet. He lurched toward the centurion and grabbed the charr’s arm, not caring for his own safety. “Sir! Head toward them! Not away!”

“What in the mists are you rambling about, mouse?” bellowed the centurion. “Are you mad? Their guns—”

“I know how those carronades work, sir! We have just a few minutes while they water down the guns and reload. If we charge them now, we can board them!”

“Board them?” the helmsman choked. “Their crew’s three times the size of ours.”

“Yeah.” Cobiah gave him a thin smile. “But if I remember the stories right—and if your engineer’s bragging has any substance—a charr’s worth four humans in hand-to-hand combat. You don’t have guns,” Cobiah gasped. “But you do have claws.”

The centurion paused, whiskers twitching. “It’s a trick. You’re trying to get us closer to that ship so you can bolt and join your kind.”

“Grenth take me if I do!” Cobiah pointed at the other ship with his belaying pin. “One more man on their side wouldn’t make any difference either way. There’s no time, Captain. Point us at the
Disenmaedel
and argue with me after!”

The old charr rubbed his white-furred chin. “We could catch them,” he finally agreed reluctantly. “They’re with the wind, and we have the use of our engine—something they won’t expect. We can catch them.” Convinced, the centurion nodded sharply and turned to roar at his crew. “Turn the ship ’cross the wind, full-bore the engine, and run them down!”

A cheer went up from the sailors. “Aye, sir!” Grist, the gray-furred old charr, saluted. “I’ll set ’er bow for the rush!” With a groan of wood and creak of sail, the
Havoc
turned back toward its enemy. Cobiah watched the humans labor desperately aboard the
Disenmaedel
. Wadding, shot, and gunpowder were being tossed back and forth as the crew hurried to ready their guns once more.

“Prepare to board the enemy!” Centurion Harrow snarled. He turned on Cobiah with a fierce red glint in his eyes. “You’ll be at the fore, mouse. And if you waver, you’ll die by my claws before you can draw breath.”

He strode away, ordering the other charr into boarding positions. Cobiah leapt to the deck railing, trying to gauge whether they would draw alongside the
Disenmaedel
before her guns were ready to fire again. Every second was an agony.

“What’s your plan, human?” said a quiet voice at his elbow. “Are you really going to help the charr against your own people?”

Cobiah glanced down at Macha. “Not you, too.”

“Humans and charr have been at war for generations. They’ve done you a service saving your life, but it’s been forced labor since you set foot aboard the
Havoc
.”

He shook his head. “Even if I was the kind to do such a thing, that brigantine over there’s probably filled with valuables picked from the bones of the city I called home. It’s crewed by scavengers. It attacked us, unprovoked, because they saw that we were wounded and looking for aid.”

“So?” Macha’s wide mouth tilted into a skeptical smile.

“When the wave came, it took the
Indomitable
. It took Lion’s Arch. It took everything I had left, after—” His voice broke, thinking of blue eyes and bouncing yellow curls. Gritting his teeth, he reached down and put his hand around the rag doll at his belt. “I don’t have a home, or a job, or a family. All I have is a ship.
This
ship.” Cobiah set his feet against the motion of the
Havoc
tossing in the
waves. “This crew’s been good to me, whatever their reasons. That one’s picking clean the bones of everything I ever loved.”

“Hmmph.” The asura nodded curtly. She looked out to sea, the stiff wind tossing her multicolored braids about her shoulders. “So when we reach the
Disenmaedel
, your plan’s basically: ‘Gah! Getum!’ You expect to survive that?”

“Always worked for me before.” Cobiah leaned forward on the rail, trying not to focus on the past. “You have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Macha grinned, showing a smile made of sharp little teeth. “Head for the battery gun at the back of their ship. Whatever else happens, no matter what you have to do, get to that gun.” She gestured toward the brig’s quarterdeck with both hands as if she were unfurling a flag. “Get over there and ‘gah getum’ in
that
direction.”

“And then what?”

Macha stared at him as if his head were filled with feathers. “Fire the gun, idiot.”

“Fire the—?” Cobiah choked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Use your anemic human eyes and look at their ship, mouse.
They’ve bolted a bombard to their deck.
That thing’s not meant to be fixed to a hull, it’s meant to be attached to a massive hunk of stone, and there’s a reason for that! Even your simplistic human mind should be able to understand that it’s a matter of applied force.” Macha leaned closer and broke her sentence into small words. “They’ve never fired that gun. If they do, it’ll twist their keel, and the
Disenmaedel
will flounder in the water like a chicken off a cliff.”

Cobiah considered this. “They’ve probably reinforced the main deck. Or set a brace from the mast step.”

Macha snorted. “We’re talking about pirates, not mathematicians. Unless they have an asura aboard, I doubt they’ve thought beyond, ‘Ooh, cool, a really
big
cannon!’ ” She swatted at him chastisingly. “Just get on that ship and fire the bombard—preferably not at
us
—and then get back here before that mad cat Sykox runs out of coal and throws me into the furnace.” She snorted and then winked up at him. “Fire the gun, Cobiah.

“Physics will do the rest.”

T
he thunder of guns echoed from the cliffs surrounding the bay. The brigantine’s sails flushed with wind as she tried to cut away from the charr galleon, but Sykox had been right—even with the gale at their back, the
Disenmaedel
couldn’t escape the
Havoc
under full steam.

Cobiah stood among tense, crouched charr, their tails lashing with eagerness, bright swords or cocked pistols grasped in their clawed fists. Battle ready, tension thick in the air, they waited. Centurion Harrow had a grin on his furred face, fangs bared behind curled red lips. Some of the other charr spoke in low tones, voices muffled by the wind of the ship’s passage and the rumble of the sea against her hull. Cobiah couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what they were saying. Every eye was fixed on their enemy. Every muscle was tensed to leap the moment their ship struck hull.

“Hold our course!” Harrow snarled. The cry was taken up by the charr standing closer to the engine room, carrying the call throughout the ship.

The hull of the
Disenmaedel
surged closer with each swell of water. Cobiah could see the frantic hands on board, stuffing the carronades, aware that every second
brought them closer to impact with the oncoming charr vessel. One man stared at the
Havoc
as she closed, and Cobiah could read naked fear on the man’s features. The
Havoc
closed to pistol range—twenty yards. Half pistol range. Small-arms fire exploded from the human ship, and the charr crouched in preparedness.

Cobiah imagined what it must be like to see a ship full of ferocious charr bearing down on you, only a few feet of water separating you from claws and teeth. The
Havoc
grew closer, and closer still, and the humans desperately fired their pistols and tried to load their carronades. But they weren’t fast enough with the ship’s guns, and the
Disenmaedel
had run out of time.

The charr helmsman let out a mighty bellow as the
Havoc
plowed bow-first into the brigantine’s side. Although Cobiah was braced for impact, the collision knocked his feet out from under him, slamming him forward into the guardrail. He grunted, trying to right himself, and realized he was the only one lying down. Each of the charr had their claws sunk deep into the oak. As Cobiah scrabbled to rise, the sailors of the
Havoc
leapt over the rail in massive leonine pounces and landed on the deck of the
Disenmaedel.

The gun crew of the brigantine flung themselves at the charr in response, drawing swords and knives from their belts. Battle cries rose above the clash of steel on steel. Even old Grist, who was not as fast as the others, fought with a fury that Cobiah had never seen before in war. If this was what charr brought to the field of battle, it was little wonder that Ascalon had been lost. At their furious charge, the deck of the
Disenmaedel
erupted in confusion. Huge furred charr swept down upon their enemy, swords flashing viciously. Claws slashed here and there, cutting through the human ship’s ropes, tearing
down their sails. Pistols fired, puffs of smoke erupting into the air, and, once empty, were shoved back into their holsters—there was no time to pack and reload.

The
Havoc
struck her enemy relentlessly, driving the thick limb of her bow into the
Disenmaedel’s
hull. Both ships had suffered damage. The
Havoc
’s hull was cracked, the sturdy boards separated in small breaches. They could be tarred back together, the water in her berth eased out by bilge pumps. The
Disenmaedel
had not been so lucky. Her side was caved, her sleek curve wrenched apart, and water was pouring into her berth. She’d survive, but only if she could dislodge her unwanted suitor and plug the rent he’d made in her corseted hull.

Cobiah pulled himself to his feet and climbed over the rail. With a gulp, he steeled himself and stared across the divide between the
Havoc
and the enemy brigantine. Gripping the belaying pin tightly in his hand, he leapt. Three . . . two . . . one—then he slammed into the brigantine’s deck, rolling across the slippery surface with the force of his impact.

Within seconds of his feet striking the wood of the
Disenmaedel
’s deck, someone attacked him. A fist drove into his cheekbone, knocking him sideways over a carronade. A sword swept over his head, clipping his hair and drawing blood from the edge of his ear. Spinning in his crouch, he plowed the belaying pin into the side of the other man’s knee and saw him fall forward with a stiff crack of bone. The sailor swung again, but Cobiah parried his sword with the thick oak of the pin. He returned the blow and drove his belaying pin into the man’s gut. The
Disenmaedel
sailor dropped his sword, howling with pain as Cobiah cracked him across the face and kicked him over, watching as the sailor collapsed into unconsciousness. Just then one of the
charr stormed past, burying a heavy-bladed axe into the sailor’s back.

“Well done,” snarled the helmsman. “And here I’d bet three gold you weren’t really on our side.” He laughed, and the sound was bloodthirsty. “Perhaps you’re worthwhile after all, mouse.”

“You didn’t have to kill him, Fassur!” Cobiah choked. “He was out of the fight!”

Pulling his weapon free and sighting his next prey across the ship, Fassur shrugged. “Now he’s out of the world.” Without another word, the burly charr sprang across the ship toward another human sailor. Galled, Cobiah faltered and ventured to the rear of the ship, avoiding fights wherever he could. All around him, charr and humans were locked in vicious struggles, and the charr didn’t fight fair. They took no prisoners. They exploited weakness and ground it into dust. Although badly outnumbered, they were clearly the more seasoned warriors, fighting in small clusters of two or three against groups twice, even three times, their size. Cobiah had never seen such glee in the eyes of combatants. It sickened him. Even charr who had shown him common courtesy on board the
Havoc
now fought with joyous abandon, seemingly unaware—or uncaring—that their prey were terrified and overwhelmed. The sailors, convinced that the charr would never surrender, returned hate with fury, killing any charr they found alone. The longer the conflict progressed, the more people on both sides would die.