Captain Drebbin and the Thousand Nets – Part 2

It was Captain Drebbin.

Yerdan aimed the ballista at the war galleon. He pulled on a lever and, with a snap, the locking mechanism released the string that connected the ballista’s arms, and it flung a large bolt across the water towards its target. But Yerdan had no time to see where it landed. He was already preparing the next shot. At his side, Ornea supplied him with new bolts.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the bolt. Aim. Fire.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the bolt. Aim. Fire.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the–

The ballista disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and debris as the ship’s secondary mast smashed into it. The mass of wood, rope, and sail then tumbled into the seawater below. But the damage was already done. Cracks ran through the boards beneath his boots. They would give way at any moment.

Yerdan scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Ornea and dashed away from the bow, which crumbled into the deck below.

“Are you alright?” he asked as they inspected the damage. The ship’s bow was mostly gone, but the devastation was contained above the waterline, which itself was a miracle.

“I’m fine.” Ornea nodded, but her relief quickly turned to alarm as she pulled Yerdan down onto the deck. “Watch out!”

“Loose,” commanded Captain Drebbin from behind them, and arrows whistled as they flew towards the war galleon.

On both their flanks, the other ships in their fleet had started similar attacks. But one of the ships lagged behind, its stern raised higher than it should be. They were likely taking on water.

Ornea’s eyes beamed with fury. Her hands clutched her scorched staff, and Yerdan knew what that meant. She was collecting as much of the fire element as she could. All they had to do was to get her close enough for her to unleash it upon their enemy. But not the war galleon. They could not risk the gold it carried.

From atop one of the galleon’s two escorts, a light ignited. Intense and bright. It was almost as if the sun was rising. Then, as if propelled by a mystical force, the light was launched into the air, trailing towards the fleet.

“Incoming!”

The light descended upon the ship on Yerdan’s left, blanketing it with fire. Men jumped overboard, their backs aflame, screaming.

This was supposed to be easy. They should not have been this well defended.

“Should we lower the–”

“Leave them,” ordered Captain Drebbin. “We’ll circle back for them after we’ve killed these Mahearean swines.”

Another bright light incinerated another of their ships. Only four were still in fighting shape.

Drebbin pointed at Ornea. “Your turn. Go, now.”

She rose to her feet and unleashed her wrath upon the escorting ship that had assaulted their fleet. A beam of scorching heat ejected from the tip of her staff, carving across the hull of the escort, ravaging the wood and setting it ablaze. She then turned it towards the deck and drove it into the fleeing sailors. Those that did not abandon ship burned.

They were close to the war galleon now, and arrows were flying in both directions. Yerdan grabbed his axe from the rack and took shelter from the incoming missiles behind the fortified railing. On his left, a sailor hurled a grappling hook at their target. Yerdan’s heart pounded in his throat. It was almost time to board the galleon.

“Go. Go now!”

Yerdan jumped. The seawater below him sloshed against the hulls of the two ships. His cheek smashed against the coarse wood as he dropped his axe upon the deck. He flung his arms around the railing and climbed up. On his left was Ornea, on his right was Ulf, one of Captain Drebbin’s best fighters.

A Mahearean man charged at him with a spear.

Yerdan scrambled to pick up his axe but could not make it. The spear impacted his shoulder. A sting of metal and wood. Warm blood welled and soaked his tunic.

Then, a swathe of fire engulfed the man, his screams were drowned out by the chaos of battle.

“No fire,” Ulf yelled at Ornea.

Ornea picked up Yerdan’s axe and pressed it into his uninjured hand. “Come on.”

Seven Mahearean sailors came at them. Three of them were headed for Yerdan: two armed with clubs and one with a spear, but Yerdan knew how to handle this, even with an injured arm. He had done it a thousand times before.

The taller spearman ran in long strides and came first. He thrust his weapon, but Yerdan sidestepped the attack and then hooked his axe behind the incoming spear and pulled at it, destabilising the wielder’s stance.

By then, the other two had arrived. Dodging the blow of an incoming club, he diverted his manoeuvre towards the third sailor and bent into a crouch. Then, he bashed his shoulder up into the sailor’s stomach and launched him over the railing into the water.

In one smooth motion, Yerdan swung his axe into the back of the club swinger’s head and took the club from her hands to smash the spearman in the torso. The spearman collapsed to the ground and was quickly ended by driving the axe into his breastbone.

Yerdan allowed himself a brief smile while Ulf and Ornea handled their attackers, his skill proven once more despite the pain in his arm.

A bright light hurtled overhead towards one of the fleet’s few remaining ships.

“There,” yelled Ornea, who pointed her deformed hand towards the helm of the war galleon. “We must kill that mage.”

Leaving the rest of their crew to fight the Mahearean sailors, the Yerdan, Ulf, and Ornea pressed forward. Together, they carved a path to the stairs that led to the helm. At the top were three men, bearing shields and spears, blocking the way.

Ornea unleashed another swathe of fire, which ignited the shield wall. In the spearman’s panic, the flaming shields fell, opening the way for Yerdan’s axe and Ulf’s spear to strike. The slashing and stabbing steel quickly shattered any remaining resistance.

Another light coalesced around the mage’s staff – a thin metal rod tipped with a light-green gem – and, with a swinging motion, was launched over the water.

Ulf charged and Ornea and Yerdan followed.

The mage jabbed his staff towards Ornea and Ulf. A thunderous boom echoed between the ships as a shockwave converged upon the pair, knocking them over.

Yerdan advanced on the mage’s left flank, but the mage was swift and used the momentum of his shockwave to rotate the back of his staff, swinging it against Yerdan’s wounded shoulder.

Yerdan plummeted to the floor, screaming. Pain seared through his body.

The mage turned towards Ulf and Ornea again. Another shockwave converged on them. Ornea jumped out of the way, casting herself down the staircase. Yet, Ulf could not dodge the blast and was flung overboard.

“Ulf, no,” muttered Yerdan. His fingers clasped a knife that he always kept in his pocket. The pressure forced the grip into his skin, but he did not care. He tried to get up on his feet but stumbled back down when he tried to lean on his injured arm.

The mage conjured another light and launched it onto the ship from which Yerdan had boarded the war galleon: Captain Drebbin’s ship.

With the last strength that he had, Yerdan heaved himself up to face the mage. His axe lay on the floor, and all he had was his small knife. If he was to die, he would die standing. The mage raised his staff and pointed it at him.

He closed his eyes.

This was it.

A woman screamed, followed by the screams of a man.

He opened his eyes. Ornea, her eyes wide with fury, stood over the mage in a colossal blaze of fire that quickly spread across the helm.

Then, her face shifted, and they shared a look. Both knew what this meant. The ship was lost and so was the gold it held.

Together, they jumped overboard.