Mickey Reichert: Flight of the Renshai

If the captain noticed Arturo's unpreparedness, he gave no sign, continuing his speech without a hitch or interruption in the flow, "… I think you should go belowdecks. It's safer."

"No!" Arturo wished he sounded more like a warrior than a terrified adolescent. His maturing voice cracked at the most inopportune moments. "If that ship is manned by pirates, every sword arm is needed, including my own."

The captain frowned, clearly preferring to continue his speech rather than wasting time arguing, yet constrained by protocol. "Your Majesty, I must insist.You're too important to risk."

Haunted by his earlier lapse, Arturo refused the demand. "Captain, I will not hide belowdecks like a coward while men…" He added emphatically, "… my men are fighting." He finished clipping on his sword and gave the captain his full attention. "Go on." He made a formal gesture that bade Jhirban to take his thoughts in another direction. "Command the soldiers."

Captain Jhirban scowled. "Prince Arturo, you aren't welcome on deck during this exchange. If I brought you home dead, King Griff and Queen Matrinka would have my head, not to mention my title. You will stay below."

Arturo planted his feet firmly on the planking. "When they sent me on this mission, Captain Jhirban, my parents knew the risks. I'm trained in warfare, and I will fight." His words and tone left no room for argument. No one knew if he would inherit the throne of Bearn; a magical test created by the gods chose the king's successor after the ruler died or stepped down. Though Arturo studied decorum and protocol, watched his father's judgments, and trained in policy as well as warcraft, he secretly hoped one of his sisters or half siblings would fill the future role. He preferred the outdoors to the stifling inner chambers of the mountain palace, and even the courtyard walls seemed too constraining. If he could prove himself as a warrior, they might groom him for a command position in the army or guard force instead.

"Your Majesty!" the captain admonished, tone tinged with parental authority. "I cannot allow-"

Arturo interrupted, "You can, and you will. This discussion is over."

The captain's jaw clamped, and scarlet tinted the sunburned cheeks.

The lookout shouted, "Captain, they're heading to our broadside."

Captain Jhirban's nostrils flared. Several men ran to the gunwale to confirm the position and startling speed of the other ship. "How can it…?" he started, standing tall on his crated dais to look over his followers: soldier and sailor alike. His aura of command returned. "Come about, men! Quickly. Bring us bow to bow."

The sailors scurried to work, attempting to move the ship though there was barely a hint of wind.

"To the oars!" Jhirban shouted.

His men responded instantly, several pounding belowdecks to obey his command.

Captain Jhirban spared only a moment to scowl at Arturo before addressing the soldiers. "Bowmen, prepare your flights at the bow and port rail. Don't volley until I give the order." He dashed toward the prow and its massive carved bear. "The rest of you, stand ready for a boarding. Do whatever you must to keep yourselves safe, but take a prisoner if you can do so without too much risk. We need to know who these pirates are." He clambered onto the bear masthead while the warriors prepared. "I'm going to parley." He added, under his breath, "Mistaken us for a merchant vessel, the gluttonous fools."

Arturo wondered how such a thing could happen. Seven's sails clearly identified them, with Bearn's colors as well as her name. Even the most illiterate pirates must know the familiar blue and gold of the West's high kingdom.

The ship lurched sideways, sweeping Arturo's feet out from under him. He scrambled for balance, assisted by Trygg's steadying hand. The sailors remained upright, though some stumbled, and several of the fighting men went down.

"Arturo," Jhirban shouted, without looking in the prince's direction, his attention glued to the sea and approaching danger. "Go below!" He did not turn to see if his command had any effect this time.

Arturo remained in position, more from adolescent stubbornness than courage, the Renshai stepping in front of him. Though not yet fully grown, he was already taller and broader than his escort and had no trouble seeing over them. The sailors scrambled to bring the ship into better position. They could not risk a broadside hit. Their eight bowmen found positions at the rail, while the swordsmen shifted uneasily at the perimeter, waiting. Captain Jhirban stood firm upon the figurehead, despite the jerky movements of the ship, appearing composed and controlled. Though fully exposed to the other ship, he was in no current danger, so long as his balance did not fail him. Every country, no matter how hostile, obeyed the rules of parley, absolutely assuring the safety of any man who came forward to talk.

Arturo studied the other ship, surprised to find he could not identify its construction. His schooling had included the crests, crafts, and colors of every country in the world, the designs of their buildings and ships among them. This ship looked like nothing he had seen before, its hull oddly angled, its planking so tight he could not identify the seams between them. A plain iron spike served as its masthead, and it carried three taut brown sails to Seven's two.

As the ships settled into a skewed prow-to-prow position, Jhirban cupped his hands around his mouth so that his voice would carry forward. The bowmen tensed, arrows nocked but not drawn, equally constrained by the laws of the parley, unbroken for millennia.

"Hail the other ship!" The captain's voice emerged in a deep and carrying tenor. "Are you friend or foe?"

No answer came, though the unstruck ship continued forward at its tremendous speed. The captain tensed, prepared for a retreat. If the vessel rammed them, he would surely lose his perch and, possibly, the structural integrity of his own ship.

Arturo tensed, hand tightening around his sword hilt. Bits and pieces of previously dismissed conversations drew together in one moment of stark and ugly terror. He suddenly realized that his parents had allowed him aboard only because no one expected the Seven 's voyage to be anything more than a routine patrol. Upon spotting anything suspicious, the ship had orders to return to Bearn for a hasty report. The soldiers were merely a precaution.

Apparently, the shocking speed of this encounter had caught even Captain Jhirban, a thirty-five-year veteran of the sea, by surprise. Now Arturo understood why no one had directly seen the pirated trading ships go down, despite ever-increasing onboard security. No vessel had come through an encounter intact; no man had survived to tell the tale.

The urge to scuttle belowdecks struck Arturo hard and low in the gut. His legs felt rubbery, unable to obey the sudden compulsion, and that gave him time to screw up his courage and force himself to remain boldly in place. You can do this, Arturo.You can do this.

Then, an insectlike whine filled Arturo's ears. The captain staggered backward with a strangled noise. Something skittered across the deck, splashing scarlet droplets on the planking. Jhirban tumbled from the figurehead and collapsed, with breathtaking force, across the railing.

The prince stopped breathing.

Soldiers and sailors swore viciously, screaming their rage toward the approaching ship. Someone shouted, "Loose, gods damn it! Kill the dishonorable bastards!" A volley of arrows peppered the sea, falling short of their target. The bowmen hurriedly reloaded as the first mate screamed orders at the sailors and the second-in-command stepped in to bunch the soldiers as well.

Trained in healing by his mother, Arturo tried to run to the fallen captain, but his path was blocked by the Renshai who forced him backward with the precision of herding dogs.