William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

“Where the hell is he?”

There was no reply.

Richard spared a quick glance back over his shoulder and was stunned by the sight of Sean hanging half out of the plane, arms locked around the breech of his gun.

Richard leveled out, and Sean swore wildly, swinging his legs back into the plane.

“Damn it, why aren’t you strapped in?” Richard screamed.

In the starlight, he could see Sean’s terrified grimace.

“Where is he?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sean gasped.

Completely disoriented, Richard looked around. There was a flash directly below him, a mushrooming cloud of fire spreading out across the sea, the explosion soaring up, the shock of it rocking his plane. He felt a shuddering shriek, the nearby passage of a shell sounding like an out-of-control train rushing past.

He nosed his plane over, banking sharply, putting the fire of the city directly behind him.

“We’re getting the hell out of here.”

He continued to dive, the wind shrieking, pushing the plane. He looked aft, caught a glimpse of the Triangle.

Looking forward, he saw Gavala, the star that was the point of the Hunter’s Spear, low on the horizon, and two points off to port.

He raced back out for the open sea, pulling up to clear a ship that suddenly appeared out of the darkness and in seconds disappeared astern. It was a ship without masts, he realized, turrets mounted fore and aft.

The ocean seemed to spread out to either side, and with a start he realized that he was only feet above the water.

“Five more degrees to port,” Sean cried.

“What?”

“You’re about five degrees off.”

Sean had always scored highest in their navigation classes, so Richard followed his order without comment.

But after a few minutes something else caught his attention.

A fire glowed on the horizon, not as big as the one he had been approaching less than half an hour ago. It was simply a pinpoint, flashes of light that popped, flared, and disappeared.

A thought crossed his mind. From the position of the Great Wheel, which showed intermittently through the scattering of clouds, he judged it was little more than halfway through the first watch. Less than three hours ago he had come awake and wandered to the galley for a cup of tea and biscuits before going on watch. Three hours ago he would have had no idea of what it was he was now seeing, or how to judge it.

Ahead there was another fight, ship to ship, and someone was burning. Was it his ship dying? Were they now alone a thousand miles from home?

“My lord.”

Hazin stirred, momentarily disoriented. He had always hated ships, the constant movement, the stenches coming up from below.

“My lord, there’s a.ship.”

Hazin sat up, nodding, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. The captain’s bunk was far too small for his towering frame. At nine feet he was tall even for one of his race.

He stretched, nearly losing his balance as the deck beneath his feet dropped and rolled. He looked over at the messenger, a’ novitiate of his order, but one obviously accustomed to the sea; he balanced easily, shifting comfortably.

Though the sea was the theater upon which the game of physical power was played out, it was an environment he secretly feared. It was an environment one could not control, the way one could so easily control the minds of others.

Once aboard a ship, one’s fate was in the hands of too many unknown variables. In spite of all the elaborate plans, the games within games, there was always the possibility that an hour hence a storm could send one to the bottom. Or a raider of the Orange Banner, who acknowledged no power, could take and hold them for ransom. Or a rival with a fleet of a hundred vessels might suddenly appear where he was not supposed to appear.

He fumbled to brush the wrinkles out of his bloodstained robes. Hanaga’s blood-dried flecks of it dropped off. He felt nothing, though it was the blood of an emperor he had supposedly served since early youth.

Poor fool, he should have seen it coming. Everything was but part of “The Plan,” the concealed reality. For all in this world was but a shadow of a deeper reality. Hanaga should have sensed that. His brother Yasim, knew it. That is why he was now the emperor, at least for the moment, and Hanaga was dead.

The novitiate-the red stripe on his left sleeve marking him as a summa of the second order-waited patiently, but Hazin could sense the young one’s agitation.

“The ship, our captain does not know what it is,” Hazin guessed.

“Yes, my lord, he asks your presence on the deck.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Hazin followed him out of the stateroom and up onto the deck.

The total darkness at sea was always a bit unnerving, and it took him a moment to adjust, half feeling his way along as he weaved through the maze of ladders that took him up to the bridge. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could pick out the glow of fire astern, flashes of light, a star shell hovering on the horizon; sinking, disappearing. Beyond the naval battle glowed the human city’s consumption by flame.

“My lord, Hazin.”

The captain bowed at his approach. Though nominally a ship of the Blue Banner of Hanaga, in fact it was crewed by his order, or at least those of his order loyal to him, yet another wheel within wheels. It had been his safety net, something the Grand Master of the Order had not anticipated. Yes, he had been ordered to kill Hanaga because the Order had decided to switch sides, but Hazin’s own survival would not be expected.

“Lookouts reported sighting a ship,” the captain announced. “It’s off our starboard bow, range less than a league.”

“The emperor’s?”

The captain shook his head, and Hazin remembered that the term no longer applied to the individual associated with that title.

“Hanaga’s or Yasim’s?”

“Neither, I suspect.” The captain motioned to the night glasses mounted on the bridge railing.

Hazin bent over, seeing nothing for a moment. Finally he caught a glimpse of something, a darker shadow on the dark horizon. A strange silhouette, masts…the ship had masts.

“Human?”

“I think so.”

“Not like anything we’ve seen before, is it?” Hazin whispered.

“Not one of the island traders or their renegades. Too big for that, and you’ll see sparks trailing. It has engines as well.”

Hazin slowly moved the glasses back, trying to compensate for the roll of the ship, acquiring the shadow again. The ship looked foreshortened, angling on almost a direct intercept.

“I don’t think it’s seen us,” the captain said. “It hasn’t changed course since we’ve sighted it. It’s already in range.”

What is it? Hazin wondered. It was definitely not the emperor’s or any other ship of the fleets of the Banners. No sailing merchant’ship, human or of the Kazan, would be within a hundred leagues this day. Only an idiot would wander anywhere near this confrontation between claimants of the throne.

So, either it was a blind idiot…or it was the humans known to reside on the north shore. The Yankees, who had so easily been frightened off with a treaty while the Empire settled its internal differences.

They would have to be contended with, in due course, especially now that they had reached the sea and ventured upon it. But here, now?

He weighed the possibilities. Behind him a plan had been completed…and ruined. Hanaga, the fool, was dead. The new emperor had paid the Order well for the betrayal, but he would never know that it was, in fact, but part of a power struggle within the Order itself, an attempt by the Grand Master to eliminate not just Hanaga, but his own lieutenant as well.