Chapter 5: Countdown

"When something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Doesn't mean you can't give it a shot."

-The Golden Son, date unknown.

Kurko waited. Foot tapping, teeth grinding, breaths huffing, he waited.

This thing was bound to go sideways. Too many bloodthirsty fuckers in one room. That much friction had to cause something to ignite. And his captain would be caught up in the middle of it all.

He’d warned her, of course. Not that she ever listened to him. In that respect, Taira was very much like her sister.

He gazed up towards the fort’s main structure, trying to imagine what might be going on within. Sometimes, he saw shapes in the narrow windows, but nothing useful.

If something happens, I won’t be able to save her, Kurko thought. She’s fragile right now. She needs me. It’s all that fucking cook’s fault.

Then he let out a sharp breath, deflated. What does it matter anyway? She’s made her decision. It’s not my lot to question, but to follow. For now, all I can do is wait.

As Kurko sat on his little rock, he realized that he was always doing this. Going from one fire to another, doing his utmost to keep his superiors from making bad decisions, knowing he was doomed to fail. And in return for his service, his loyalty, he was utterly ignored.

When was the last time I thought about what I want? When was the last time I did something just for myself?

Thinking about it now, he came to a horrifying realization. Even if he wanted to make a decision for himself, what would he do? What was his life, if not defined by the presence of a captain, or a master, or an elder?

Kurko didn’t know. He had never known. It had always been more comfortable not to think about it.

What do I like? he thought. If I wanted to do something just for me, just for enjoyment’s sake, where would I go?

He gave that a lot of thought as he leaned back on his rock, looking up at the cloud-free blue sky. He set down his shotgun next to him.

I’ve never once had sex. Why don’t I start there? It shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish in this city, after all. Even for someone looking the way I do. I think Quintilla would have approved of that.

Part of him—a large part—still wanted things to go back to how they were. Wanted to believe that Quintilla Wenezian would simply walk out of the ocean one day and resume command of her ship. Wished that he could finally hear the words he had always longed for.

But Quintilla was dead, and she had never loved him. That was the real truth, and he had to learn to swallow it if he wanted to become his own man.

Kurko was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice something important. The home guards’ ranks had thinned. There were eight before; four on the walls, two in the towers, two at the gates. Now, he spotted only four. The ones in the tower were gone, and so were two that had been up on the wall.

Maybe they just left to bolster the security near the venue, he thought, trying to put himself at ease. He wasn’t successful. No. The governor wouldn’t relieve the guards in the towers, he’d take the ones from the walls. You have a better vantage point from up there. Doesn’t make sense to abandon them.

When the two remaining guards met upon the wall, one threw his hands up, speaking urgently, looking around. He had noticed the discrepancy too, it seemed. The second flashed a hidden blade from his sleeve, slit the guard’s throat, and lowered his spasming body to the ground.

“Fucking great,” Kurko muttered. “Here we go again.”

The Knocker wasn’t effective at this kind of range, and he wanted the offending guard alive, so he opted for the slug thrower strapped to his chest, drawing it in one motion.

The guard, noticing he had been made, began running up the wall. He was about thirty meters from the nearest guard tower, where he’d be able to turtle up.

Kurko aimed, taking his time. He wasn’t an excellent shot, too clumsy by far, but he’d had enough practice that he could hit a moving target. Most of the time.

He fired. The guard fell with a scream, a hole through one leg. The last two watchmen were alerted, and it took some convincing for them to believe that it wasn’t Kurko who had started it all. Once they did, he sent them up to retrieve their traitor brother. They hauled him down and laid him out on the ground, but stated that they had never seen him before.

Not a traitor, then. An infiltrator.

“Who sent you?” Kurko asked, standing over the injured man. The two guards had cleared him of weapons, placed into a neat little pile some distance off. There was a fair number of them.

The infiltrator said nothing. His screams had dropped to low whimpers, face pale and beading with sweat, but the set of his jaw told Kurko he had determination to spare. Maybe enough to take whatever information he had to his grave.

“Very well. If you won’t give me what I want…” Kurko got on one knee and placed a hand over the infiltrator’s ruined leg. “...I’m afraid I will have to get unpleasant.”

Tapping into his ancestral power, frost spread across the impostor’s leg, drawing screams and frantic writhing. The guards held him down, and Kurko poured in more power, flash freezing the limb down to the bone. He stood once more.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I will give you one more chance to tell me everything I wish to know,” Kurko said. “Who sent you?”

The infiltrator wept, shaking his head weakly, but said nothing.

“I see.”

Kurko brought his foot down on the leg, causing it to shatter into a thousand pieces of frozen pulp and splintered bone. The infiltrator passed out from the pain.

“Is he dead?” one of the guards asked.

“Give him a moment,” Kurko said.

As predicted, it took the infiltrator less than a minute to regain consciousness. When he caught sight of the ragged stump that was left of his leg, clotted with iced-over blood, he wept once more.

“Who sent you?” Kurko asked. Softly, this time. So softly. He lowered himself towards the man. “Otherwise, you could answer me this. Which limb would you prefer next?”

“Concord!” the man cried, confirming Kurko’s suspicions.

“Merini?” Kurko asked.

He nodded.

“What was your goal?”

“Kill everyone… in the meeting.”

“Are there more of you?”

“Please let me go. Please let me… Please.”

“I think I’ll take an arm next.”

“Yes! Yes, there were more!”

“Infiltrating as guards, like you?”

“Three more. Three more guards. And…” The man trailed off, eyelids nearly falling shut as his consciousness faded again.

Kurko slapped him awake. “And?”

“ATU. Representative. We intercepted his ship. Took his clothes. Please, just let me live…”

“Fuck…” Kurko muttered. “That bastard is in there with them now.” He put a slug through the infiltrator’s head, ending his pleas. “You two, with me. We’re going in there?”

The guards looked at each other, unsure. “Listen, man. We don’t get paid enough for this,” one said.

“If you help save every rich bastard in the Free Cities, you will be,” Kurko assured them. He strode off, walking towards the doors that led to the interior of the fort.

After only a few moments, he heard footsteps behind him.

*****

Everyone was seated. Orelius Chaesim sat at one end of the table, flanked on either side by the governors of Carthas and Meliore. Taira sat on the other end, flanked by Stephan and Jahwa, Kazzul standing behind his mistress. On the north side of the table sat the leaders of the three Tumbani gangs, Io Moricus, and the ATU representative. On the south side were a number of venerated pirate captains, with a notable gap where the Golden Son had dragged his chair away. The legendary pirate was still sound asleep in a corner, a trail of drool extending from his chin.

Stephan could not help but feel a little pride. He had pulled this together nicely.

“Now we are ready to begin,” Chaesim said. “I’m sure you are all eager to hear what Captain Wenezian has to say.”

“Some nonsense about an alliance,” said Etin Sakaarn, leader of the Masks. His words dripped with contempt. “It’ll never happen.”

“And yet, here you all are,” Taira called. She stood, splayed hands resting on the heavy tabletop, her dark eyes glinting like the gold and silver in her tightly woven hair. “Bluster all you like, but you know that if nothing is done, the Concord will have conquered all the Free Cities in a month. Ario Merini, the rat bastard, will burn down every trace of the pirate era that flourished here. He will instate Concord law and ban any shred of freedom. I, for one, will not have it. I will stand and fight.” She looked around the room, fixing each attendant of the council in turn with her hard gaze. “What about you? Will you go meekly to your deaths? Will you get on your knees and obediently open your mouths so that Merini can shit down your throats?”

“Enough!” called Ini Essus, governor of Meliore—a dark-skinned woman with intricate tattoos all over her face and shaven scalp. “We all fight the Concordians. Do not insult us by saying we have done nothing. Unlike you, Quintilla Wenezian. When the Concordians came, you vanished. Some hero.” She slammed the flat of her hand on the table. “You have no right to come here and make demands and accusations.”

“I was in mourning. My sister, Taira, died at the hands of Merini himself. But I am ready to take my revenge.”

Didn’t miss a beat, Stephan thought with a satisfied nod. She’s getting good at this.

“Oh, please,” Essus said. “Save us your sob story.”

“Let her speak, governor,” said Zaman of the Outlaw Clan. “What do you have in mind?”

“An alliance, like Sakaarn alluded to. But more than that. I want us to pool our resources and construct a grand fleet powerful enough to stand against Merini’s warships.”

“Led by who?” Sakaarn asked.

“Led by me.”

That drew laughter. Sakaarn laughed until only a breathless wheeze escaped him, his grey face turned a sickly shade of pink. He slowly composed himself, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Of course it would be. That’s just a tad convenient for you, isn’t it? For us to foot the bill, provide our own men, so you can go and play general. I don’t suppose you have a lot to contribute, do you?”

“She has my support,” said Stephan.

“And mine,” said Chaesim.

“And mine,” said Dryden with a hearty chuckle. “Whatever that crazy bitch is up to, I want a piece.” Two other captains voiced their assent.

“Regardless, that represents only a small fraction of what would be required to pull off something like this,” Essus retorted. “And even if it were to happen, what would make you a good candidate to serve as battlefield commander? Why not the Golden Son, for instance?”

All eyes turned to the sleeping hero. He had somehow kicked off his boots without waking up, scratching one foot with the other.

“With all due respect, it doesn’t appear as though he is in any state to lead anyone,” Taira said. “I am the best candidate because I’ve already proven myself in combat. I’ve fought Merini before, and I’ve reason to see this through to the end. Oh, and I happen to possess the fastest ship on this hemisphere, of Ancestor design.”

“It’s real?” gasped Candon Lane, governor of Carthas. A regally dressed reedling, he had to sit on several pillows to reach the table.

“Very much so,” Taira said confidently. “And over the last few months, I’ve learned all its inner workings. It’s more valuable than any warship, and it will be the tip of the spear to break the Concordian invasion.”

Looking around the room to gauge the general reaction, Stephan noticed something odd. The ATU representative seemed utterly unresponsive, staring into the table. Based on his lip movements, he was muttering something under his breath.

“Well, hold on, now,” said Captain Albright, a veteran of many years. “The Solar Fox is the fastest ship, that’s all I know. I don’t care if your ship was built by the Ancestors or the fucking gods themselves, no one knows anything about it. Don’t make claims you can’t support.”

Stephan frowned. He held the representative with his gaze, only half paying attention to what was being said. What could be more important than this meeting? With a tap of his glasses and a whispered command word, he activated the enchantments in the lenses, allowing him to view the auras around him.

The representative’s aura flared bright and hot, growing by the second. Slowly being channeled into his arms. He was casting a spell.

That was bad. Really bad.

“Everyone, get the fuck down!” Stephan cried, cutting Taira off in the middle of a sentence.