Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (17 page)

“Did you hear that?” His hands froze on the mast lines. “That sounded like music.”

Macha pushed another sandbag over the side. “Sykox bellows like a foghorn. I’d hardly call it music.”

“No, not that. Listen.” Wind rippled the
Capricorn
’s sails. In the quiet, Cobiah could hear water lapping against the hull, echoing as it rolled onto the sandy shore. Laughter trickled across the water from Port Stalwart’s bars and inns, lights drifting over the water as late-night patrons
and sailors moved about on the dock. The sound of violins and drums pulsed in some distant tavern, and farther along the city streets, Cobiah could hear faint shouts, as if from some mild argument or fight.

None of that had caught his attention. There was something beneath the noise of Port Stalwart and the sea. He could hear a soft chiming, like a string of silver bells twisting about a slender ankle. “There it is again. Did you hear it?”

“You don’t have to repeat yourself, Coby. Asura have far better hearing than humans, you know.” Macha’s oversized ears rose slightly. “You’re right. I do hear something. But who would be playing an asuran xaphoon in Kryta?”

“A what?”

Before she could answer, something splashed against the side of the ship. Cobiah spun, fingers leaping to the hilt of his sword. To his relief, the hand that clambered over the gunwale was covered in orangey fur, the claws neatly trimmed and shortened. In a moment, Sykox’s bushy head poked up between the railings. “Help,” he whimpered, water dripping in rivulets down his shoulders. “Had to . . . swim . . . from the docks.” Sykox shuddered. “I almost drowned.”

Macha and Cobiah grabbed the big charr’s arms and pulled him aboard.

“Did the watch see you?” Macha whispered. “Do they know we’re here?”

“Nope. The watch commander and her guard were up on Docker’s Row, handling some kind of disturbance there. It looked like someone set fire to a row of black-powder bangers inside a rain barrel. The whole pub was in an uproar.” Sykox pulled himself into a crouch on the deck. Instinctively and without warning, the charr
shuddered, twisting from side to side in animalistic joy before Cobiah and Macha could react. Water flew everywhere, his leopard-marked fur fluffed out, and Sykox let out a long, low moan of joy. “By the Claw of the Khan-Ur, I
hate
water.”

“You crazy . . . shortsighted . . . half-witted . . .” Macha spluttered. She and Cobiah stood in shock on either side of Sykox, drenched from head to toe in the cast-off water from the sodden charr.

“It’s not my fault!” the burly charr whispered sheepishly. “I can’t help it. When a charr gets wet, we
have
to shake it off. It’s an involuntary reflex. Like human sneezing.”

“I’ll involuntary you, you ridiculous hairball!”

While they laughed, a shadow swept up behind Cobiah, taking advantage of their distraction. A hand grabbed his neck as a warm body pressed against him from behind. In an instant, a bright blade flashed to his throat. A voice cut through their amusement with icy command. “Freeze. All of you. One move, and I swear by Balthazar’s twin hounds, I’ll leave you dead.”

They had been surrounded, albeit by a small group. A second black-garbed figure stood warily behind Macha, the point of a short spear blade crowded against her ribs. A third readied himself a few feet away, pistol aloft, pointed at Sykox’s furry head.

“I thought you said you ditched the watch!” Macha protested fiercely.

“I
did
! I swear I did!” Quick as lightning, the charr shifted out of his crouch and launched onto Macha’s opponent. Their attackers thought the threat of a fight would deter them; they’d clearly never fought charr. The gunman missed his shot by a mile.

Cobiah saw his opponent’s hand loosen a fraction of an
inch on the hilt of the dagger. Seizing the opportunity, Cobiah drove his elbow into the ribs behind him with all of his might and felt the body behind him buckle. As the knife blade fell away from his throat, Cobiah spun eagerly and drove his fist into the belly of his foe. He turned to crack his fist against his foe’s skull—

It was a woman. Cobiah froze.

He’d punched women before; there were as many female pirates as there were males, and plenty of the roughest sailors in his crew were women. But this one . . . this one was glorious. Almost as tall as he, and willowy, her hair was a dark mahogany and pulled into a thick ponytail that poured over her shoulder like a banner. She wore leather pants, a gray blouse, and a vest that buckled tightly beneath her breasts. Dark boots, soft and flexible, gripped the deck of the
Capricorn
with a sailor’s easy grace. Her face was strong featured, with wide lips and a long aquiline nose, and her full lips were curled into a snarl of pain and fury.

Nevertheless, she was definitely not a member of the watch.

“I’m sor—” Cobiah started to say, reaching instinctively to help her up. She repaid his kindness with an uppercut that sent Cobiah spinning.

On the far side of the ship, the man with the spear tried to impale Macha, but she caught his weapon in a fold of her thick blue robe. Eyes flashing with anger, the asura turned and whispered a few words of magic through gritted teeth. Purple sparks erupted across his face and eyes. Before he could regain his sight, Sykox was upon him, and the man found himself flung over the side of the vessel and into the sea.

“Isaye! Are you all right?” Dropping his pistol, the gunman drew two long blades from his belt and strode
toward them. He was a rough-looking sort, with greasy black hair and old scars crisscrossing his forearms and shoulders. Claw scars.

“I’m fine, Henst,” the woman declared. “Throw them overboard and cut the last of the stays. These goons were trying to do our work for us—but we’ll finish the job.”

“You—you’re not watchmen!” Cobiah stammered. “You’re trying to steal the
Capricorn
!”

“What we’re doing is none of your business.” Henst’s eyes moved to Sykox with a twisted delight as he readied his swords. “How exciting. A charr. Hey, mongrel! My grandfather was a member of the Ascalonian nobility. He taught me how to deal with flea-bitten strays like you.”

The woman—Isaye—made a quick gesture toward the shadows of the ship’s quarterdeck, and more figures stepped out of them, all tough-looking sailors carrying knives, bosun’s pins, and other short weapons. Cobiah counted seven in all, including the one swimming for his life in the tide. The man with two swords faced off against Sykox, but with a flick of his tail, the charr leapt up to the spar over the deck, cutting the stays with his claws. Unbound, the sail fell from the yardarm and poured down over the black-haired man in a massive tangle of canvas. “Anyone who says they know how to fight charr,” Sykox said scathingly, “doesn’t deserve the chance to prove it.”

Cobiah and the woman spun in circles, striking back and forth to test each other’s resolve. “Just the three of you?” the woman laughed. She flicked back her dark ponytail and tossed the dagger back and forth between her hands. “By the king’s shaggy red beard, how were you expecting to get the ship away?”

“The same way you were. We’re going to use the tide.” Cobiah grabbed a yardarm and swung on it, kicking as
hard as he could. The bottom of his boots collided with the woman’s shoulders, knocking her back—but only half a step, and she was swinging her dagger at him even before Cobiah landed on the deck once more.

By Grenth, was this woman a stone golem?

“Fool.
We
bet on more than the tide.” Isaye’s blade swished close to Cobiah’s chest, rending his shirt and leaving a shallow, bloody slash on his skin. Cobiah ducked her second stroke and leapt back from the third, trying to lead her away from the others. Unfortunately, it seemed she was ready for that ploy. Nearby, Sykox and Macha were holding their own against the other sailors, but even with the charr’s ferocity and the asura’s magic, they would soon be overcome by the numbers.

“Verahd!” She raised her voice and issued a command. “Take care of these trespassers.”

“As you please, my lady,” said an unexpected voice close by. Cobiah glanced around, trying to figure out who had spoken.

An elementalist stood on the surface of the water at the ship’s side, staff in hand, his eyes alight with glee. The man was thin to the point of fragility, tall, with long fingers that resembled a bird’s talons, and wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Red-streaked brown hair hung in thin strands around his head and shoulders, half-covering the man’s narrow face. He did not wear a bright robe, but instead wrapped himself from head to toe in strange, bandage-like strips of black and green fabric, each strip embroidered with magical sigils of power. As Cobiah watched, the elementalist lifted his hands and whispered, and a strong breeze swept through the chaos, filling the half-furled sails. In its wake, the ship’s mast made a soft creak of protest, and once again, Cobiah thought he heard the sound of silver bells.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light exploded nearby and Cobiah smelled the acrid scent of burning ozone. Before he could move, a white-hot bolt of chain lightning ripped from the elementalist’s hand and seared the air, arcing into the main group of combatants. It crashed through them indiscriminately, burning flesh and fur alike. As it crackled and faded, two of the humans had fallen unconscious and a third staggered in shock. Sykox withstood the blow better than the rest, merely sagging to his knees with a dazed, pained expression.

“Verahd!” Isaye admonished. “Those are
our
sailors!”

“Theirs, too,” the elementalist said breezily. He gave her a lopsided, lunatic grin and walked across the water toward the
Capricorn
. “Magic isn’t always predictable, Captain.” The man’s voice was a soft, breathy whisper. “We must accept the thunder along with the rain.”

“Brilliant.” Isaye shook her head in resignation. Before she could say more, a piercing whistle split the air. On the beach, men and women dressed in the blue tabards of Port Stalwart’s guard raced down the narrow streets. Among them was a stocky older woman with honey-colored hair tucked beneath a blue-studded chaplet. Cobiah saw her lift the whistle to her lips again for another earsplitting note, summoning the rest of the militia to her side.

“Watch Commander Pierandra.” Cobiah blanched. “She’ll have us dancing on the gallows if she catches us.”

“That’s a problem,” Isaye agreed, narrowing her eyes.

“Truce?” Cobiah offered tensely.

Mercurial as the sea, Isaye quirked her lips in a wry smile. “Done!” She tossed back her dark ponytail and lowered her dagger, impulsively reaching out to shake his hand. Cobiah wondered if she regretted that gesture afterward; he found it difficult to let go. Isaye spun on her heel and jammed her dagger into a belt sheath. “Cut
the stays!” she called out, no longer caring if her voice carried. “We’ll finish this fight later. Set sail toward the open sea!”

“Aye, Captain!” Sailors put away their weapons, scrambling to obey her command.

Eager to do his part, Cobiah looked toward his friends. “Sykox! Sykox, get off him!” Cobiah rushed to pull Sykox away from a man he’d been choking. The charr, still disoriented from the lightning, tried to focus his eyes on his friend’s face.

“I’ll get off ’im when ’e stops wriggling!” Sykox panted, smacking his dazed captive on the face with one sloppy paw. The blow was enough to knock the man senseless, and he slumped in the charr’s grasp.

Cobiah shook him roughly. “Sykox! I need you to man the poles. Push the ship off the sand. The guard’s coming!”

“Guard?” Sykox’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Commander Pierandra? Here?” Dropping the unconscious sailor, the tawny charr roared to his feet in terror. Around them, sailors rushed to unfurl the sails—but as they reached for the stays, the sound of bells grew stronger, changing from tinkling amusement to a throatier chime of warning.

“Pierandra will be here any minute, you lunk. We—have—to—move!” Punctuating his words with shoves, Cobiah half pushed, half guided the charr toward the stern of the ship. “Macha, hide the
Capricorn
! Do it now!”

“Um, Cobiah . . .” The asura’s voice came from the forecastle. “I don’t think our plan’s going to work. There’s a problem—”

“Macha, stop arguing with me!”

The watch commander and her guard raced up the shore, anger radiating from her with every step she took
toward them. The soldiers rushed into the water, eager to reach their quarry even as the
Capricorn
’s sails swelled and snapped the last ropes of her mooring.

Desperate to help the ship leave shore, Cobiah snatched up a ten-foot length of pole lying by the ship’s railing. He dropped one end into the water, feeling it thump solidly against the sand below the waves. “Sykox! Help me push.”

The charr and the human leaned into their task, shoving the pole hard into the sand. Isaye grasped the pole as well, her hands above Cobiah’s, and added her slender weight. The warmth of her body pressed against his made the task seem less arduous, and even in their dire straits, Cobiah couldn’t stifle his grin.

“I’d advise you to stop doing that, Captain.” Macha’s voice was sharp, almost brittle.

“What? We’ve almost—”

“I said
stop
,” Macha keened, her voice breaking with panic on the high pitch. Again, Cobiah heard the ringing sound of bells, but they were no longer soft or delicate. Instead, they intensified, erupting into angry peals.

“Cobiah?” Macha yelled, and his eyes were drawn to the front of the ship. Hovering over the
Capricorn
’s forecastle was a wraithlike image whose regal demeanor spoke of ancient days. It was human from the waist up, though blue-skinned and transparent, as if made of wind and smoke. The creature’s legs were entirely mist, rising from the ship’s prow as smoke and fog cascaded over the water. “Remember that story about the Istani djinn? Turns out it’s . . . kinda . . . true.”

The mist crept over the
Capricorn
, rolling like morning fog from the djinn’s ethereal body. It stretched a hand toward Macha with a stern glower. Before the fingers touched her, the asura scampered back and summoned
magic of her own. Chains of light wove from her scepter and struck out toward the djinn, trying to capture it in their embrace. With a faint, wry smile, the creature shifted in the air. Macha’s chains passed through its transparent form like a net through water.