The Path of the Storm (10 page)

"All right," Beck said, "tomorrow night. When?"

"About four hours before dawn, you'll hear the watchman strike the third bell of the middle watch. That's when we strike. With Ros and his seamen there'll be seven of us. Ros, you and your two mates go straight for the bladesinger. He'll be the most dangerous."

Ros held up a huge fist, the fingers calloused by work. "I'm dangerous too."

"Me and the second mate here, we'll take the woman. The Alturan won't fight long when she's in our hands. Ulrich, you and the helmsman take the cap'n."

Fat Ulrich looked at Werner and nodded.

"Last time Merry drunk himself comatose I searched his cabin and found the key to the arms locker. Here."

Carver reached behind to a roll of canvas Werner hadn't noticed before. He unrolled the sailcloth, and Werner saw the flash of steel as a bunch of sharp swords jangled.

"Good sharp cutlasses," Carver said. He handed them out, giving three to broken-nosed Ros. "Take them back to your berths, making sure you're not seen. I've cleared the decks until the next change of watch so you should be right. I shouldn't need to tell you. If you're caught with these, you're dead."

There was a noise in the bilge, a splash that sounded like a footstep, and in a flash Carver closed the shutter on his lantern so that Werner's vision went black.

The five conspirators waited in silence, each breathing as quietly as possible, knowing that if caught, the secret of their mutiny would be out.

Then Werner heard a squeal, followed by a screech of triumph and another splash. He heard Carver sigh, and then the first mate slowly opened the shutter a crack.

Cugel, the ship's cat, shone triumphant eyes on them as he held a dead mouse in his maw. He was often left to hunt mice in the hold, and he must have somehow made his way into the bilge.

First Ulrich, and then Beck started to chuckle. Werner shook his head side to side, while Carver smiled ruefully before hushing them.

"Here's a thought to keep you warm tonight," Carver finished. "Merry has gold in his cabin. It's the pay from the Alturans. He doesn't trust moneylenders, and prefers to keep it in his cabin, the fool. It's enough for us all to have a tidy bonus, when this is done. Remember, tomorrow night, at the third bell of the middle watch. You'll do fine."

Helmsman Werner looked at the cutlass he held in his hand.

There was no turning back now.

8

C
APTAIN
Roslen Meredith added a mark to the chart spread over his desk before making an entry in the ship's log and signing it with a wavering hand. He absently tilted his heavy-bottomed glass, waiting for the warm rush of alcohol to slide past the back of his throat, but frowned, seeing it was dry.

Tomorrow's course would be much the same as today's, just as yesterday had been the same as the day before. His agreement said that on the day rationing commenced, the
Delphin
would head back to Castlemere. In two weeks, perhaps three, low stores would force him to turn back with an unhappy Lord Marshal and a crew surly from reduced provisions. He must have been drinking when he negotiated that deal.

Meredith hadn't always been a drinker, not until the trip when he returned to find his wife in bed with his cousin, an underwriter whose work allowed him to stay in port while Meredith was gone for weeks or months at a time.

The underwriter was better connected than the ship's captain, and Meredith's wife divorced him, marrying his cousin and taking a large portion of Meredith's wealth. Captain Meredith now had debts he couldn't manage and premature grey hair. To keep up with his repayments to the moneylenders he'd had to take on this foolish quest, a voyage no sane captain would have agreed to. But the interest on his debts was crippling, and here he was. Meredith hated moneylenders, nearly as much as he despised underwriters.

Meredith sighed and looked at the chart as he refilled his glass. By the stars, they'd travelled an incredible distance. Once, this journey would have ignited excitement within his breast — an infinite horizon and an epic voyage to uncharted lands. Who knew what lay out there? But now, Meredith just wanted to drink.

Captain Meredith's eyes started to droop, and he heard the watchman strike the first bell of the middle watch.

~

T
HINKING
of Tomas, Amber again couldn't sleep. She hadn't told Miro about her difficulties sleeping, not wanting to add to his worries, but it had gone on for too long now and she wondered if she should speak with the ship's surgeon. She'd stopped by the infirmary once before, which doubled as the surgeon's sleeping quarters, and the surgeon seemed like a man who could keep confidence.

The ship creaked and groaned, lifted up on one wave before smashing into the next, always in the same up and down, rolling motion. Amber couldn't get the image of a cork being tossed around in a bathtub out of her mind. What made it worse was that she knew her model was all out of proportion. If the cork stayed the same size, the bathtub needed to be scaled up by several orders of magnitude. The thought made Amber giddy.

Amber rolled again and turned onto her side. Would it be better if she tried sleeping on her back? She tried it, but wasn't sure if it was an improvement. Her cabin was stuffy, but the seas were too strong for her to be able to open the tiny glass porthole.

Her thoughts turned to a time soon after the war, when she and Miro had returned home to Sarostar. Amber hadn't been home since she'd led the Dunfolk to the great battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta. So much had happened since.

Her long-awaited homecoming could have been tinged with sadness, but Amber had been surprised to find she was so excited about the future that the past held no power over her, it was simply the past.

Miro had taken her straight to the Crystal Palace as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd carried Tomas, still a tiny babe, in his arms, and whispered to the child. If Amber hadn't stepped closer she wouldn't have heard.

"Welcome home," Miro had whispered in the babe's little ear.

He'd then shuffled Tomas to the crook of his arm and taken Amber by the hand, before leading her up the wide marble steps to her incredible new home.

Amber had been speechless, and Miro hadn't even noticed.

She ran the events of her wedding day through her mind. Lord of the Sky, it had been a perfect day to end with such horror. She'd never had a chance to find out what words Ella had written, or have her first dance with her new husband. She never heard her father make a kind speech, or her mother make a well-intentioned yet scathing comment about one of the guests. There was going to be music, and dancing, and incredible food. Tomas would eat too many sweets and then fall asleep. For once, Amber would have all the people she loved in one place, and it wouldn't be because of some great danger.

A tear formed at the corner of Amber's eye, spilling out to run down her cheek. What was she doing here? Shouldn't she be with her son? Had she made the right decision?

A vivid image came to her of Rorelan's back, burned red and raw by the explosion. As always, the next image was the mottled pink and purple of Tomas's legs, perfect from the front, yet touched by evil on their backs.

Who would send a device of such malevolence to a wedding? What dark and warped mind would do such a thing?

Amber's heart began to race as her pain turned to rage, and breathing evenly, she tried to calm herself and slow the beating down. She realised her fists were clenched and her legs tensed, and gradually she let herself relax.

But the release of sleep still wouldn't come.

Amber heard the watchman strike the second bell of the middle watch.

~

M
IRO
was woken by a sound as the watchman struck the third bell of the middle watch. What time did that make it? About four hours before dawn.

Surely the bells didn't wake him? They were such a constant presence that they were simply part of the background noise of the ship. He heard a crash, followed by the sound of a man cursing under his breath.

Miro looked to where his armoursilk hung on a peg behind the door. He felt down to where his zenblade lay on the floor, stretched along the length of his bed. Miro gripped the handle and raised himself up, feeling the weight of the sword comforting in his hands, yet realising it would be difficult if not impossible to use the long weapon in the cramped confines of the ship.

What was happening outside? Was he overreacting to one of the officers stumbling around after too much drink?

Miro heard a scream.

"Amber!" he shouted, leaping off the bed.

The door to Miro's cabin crashed open and two strangers rushed into the compartment, cutlasses in their hands. Both were bare-chested sailors, big, brawny men with deep chests and arms like ropes.

What was happening?

The first man had a pock-marked face and greying hair. He snarled and thrust out with the short cutlass, while the second man, a tattooed sailor Miro recognised, came around behind his friend and raised his weapon, poised to strike.

Miro dodged to the side, coming up against the cabin wall while the cutlass cut the air where his abdomen had been. Cursing the limited space around him, he swore and dropped his zenblade.

What in the Skylord's name was going on? These men weren't trying to subdue him. They were trying to kill him.

The pock-marked sailor attacked again, cutting sideways with his sword, once, twice. Miro was too tall to duck, and the ceiling was too low for him to jump. As his attacker came in Miro grabbed the thick copy of Toro Marossa's
Explorations
from the ledge beside his bed. He blocked the sailor's sweeping cut, feeling the blade bite into the book. The sailor came closer, obstructing his tattooed ally, and the next time he attacked Miro again blocked with the book and then smashed his fist into the man's pock-marked face.

He put everything he could into the blow, and with a wide-eyed expression of surprise, the pock-marked sailor went down.

The tattooed swordsman now came forward, and Miro could see from his stance that he was the more formidable opponent. Grunting, the tattooed sailor feinted and then hacked at Miro's torso. Miro saw the feint, but this time when he blocked, the cutlass cut through the book and opened up the skin below Miro's armpit. Miro felt wetness on his side, and the tattered halves of the book fell out of his hands.

With a look of triumph on his face, Miro's attacker came in for the kill.

The door to the cabin crashed back against the wall as yet another sailor, a huge man with a broken nose, came in, his expression murderous.

The cabin door swung on its hinges, and Miro again saw his armoursilk, hanging on a peg.

The tattooed man raised his cutlass to strike.

Miro shouted a series of activation sequences, turning his head so he wouldn't be blinded.

The armoursilk flared up, as bright as the sun. A sudden burst of heat washed from it, and the huge broken-nosed sailor screamed in pain.

Miro's assailant shied at the commotion, and in that instant Miro attacked.

He turned from a side-on position, using the twisting of his body to generate as much force as possible. His fist crashed into the side of the tattooed man's head. Miro followed it with a series of blows at the sailor's chest.

The tattooed sailor attempted to swing his cutlass, but Miro came in close, butting his head against his opponent's nose, feeling the crunch as he crushed it against the man's skull. Miro hit the same spot again, and the tattooed man's eyes rolled back in his head as he went down. Miro quickly squatted and took the cutlass.

He was now armed, with a weapon more suited to his environment.

The broken-nosed sailor's hair was singed, but Miro hadn't been able to call forth the full power of the armoursilk; it was too dangerous on a wooden ship. The huge man's face was distorted with rage and his mouth twisted as he growled.

Yet Miro was armed, and his enemy didn't stand a chance.

A woman screamed.

"Amber!" Miro cried in anguish.

"We have your woman, Alturan," a voice called from outside the cabin. "Throw down any weapons and come out with your hands empty."

"I don't believe you," Miro called.

"I have a dagger at her throat."

Miro recognised the voice of the first mate, Julian Carver. Miro cursed and threw the cutlass to the floor. Looking warily at the broken-nosed sailor, he stepped towards the door, moving past the huge man.

As Miro opened the cabin door wide, the broken-nosed sailor punched Miro's kidney.

The pain was indescribable, and Miro crumpled to the floor. Stars burst in his vision and for a moment he didn't know where he was.

When awareness returned, Miro rose slowly back to his feet, still gasping with pain. There were several men in the passageway, and behind him Miro sensed the huge broken-nosed sailor, eager for any opportunity to avenge his fallen comrades.

Carver stood behind Amber with one arm holding her close and the other holding a shining knife at her neck. Beside him Miro recognised Beck, the wiry second mate, also standing with cutlass bared.

"I'm sorry, Miro," Miro heard, and there was Captain Meredith, a dagger also at his throat. The plump quartermaster, Ulrich, held the knife, its point pressed up against Meredith's jugular.

"Shut it," Ulrich said, pressing the knife harder against Meredith's throat. A thin trickle of red ran down the captain's pasty skin.

Standing beside Ulrich, the helmsman, Werner, also held a cutlass. All the officers were here, excepting the ship's surgeon. Miro wondered if the entire crew was in on the mutiny.

Miro turned back to Carver. "Don't hurt her." His eyes met his wife's. "Don't worry, Amber, we'll get through this."

"Ros, here," Beck said. The wiry man tossed the broken-nosed sailor behind Miro some twine, and Miro's wrists were pulled behind his back. He felt the huge sailor expertly tie them together, the cord painfully biting into the skin.