Chapter 23: Blow the Man Down

Morgan was adorned with her best and subsequently thickest leather armour. Pirates aren’t generally the biggest fans of any sort of armour; it gets in the way when ambling up and down the rigging. Weather by choice, or not, she had encountered her fair share of battle, the underlying butterflies sending her stomach on an unpleasant ride. Experience had long since taught her to channel any nerves into the task at hand, and so gripping the wheel tightly she went through a list in her mind, checking and double checking every item. The movement of the ship beneath her was unearthly, gone was the need to steer into, or out of waves, in its place fire, heat, and gas. Sails were now located on the fore and mizzenmasts, but they were just tools to further direct or slow, prevailing winds had considerably less impact on their journey, a fact that made her uneasy. Although, it helped to imagine that an invisible force was pushing, rather than the uncertainty of harnessed fire.

“Ho, Bastien sighted, port bow,” Bella had no idea the effect her call had upon Morgan’s heart, the sudden sounds of clinking steel and stretching leather could be heard as the crew moved in response, so intent was her gaze in the indicated direction, that Castain’s hand upon her shoulder took her by surprise. Decked out in borrowed blackened leather, he looked every bit the assassin. The deadpan expression that he levelled in her direction was becoming familiar, the man had a way of compartmentalising whenever he so desired. Her world was relatively upright, until Castain’s words sent her on a tailspin, “I know that I have only been on your ship for a short time but in case anything happens, I need to say something.” He cleared his throat, “You are a natural born leader.” Morgan coughed to hide her discomfort and gripped the wheel to expel a lump from her throat, Castain continued, using the opening of guaranteed silence, “Your sound judgement ensures that your crew follows you without hesitation. You would make any father proud—”

She interrupted before the conversation got out of hand, “I know where this is going and I’m not ready to have this conversation, we will not die today, do you understand me!” Two words chimed in her mind, “Why now!”

Castain nodded, his reply laced with sadness, “So be it, I am aware that one of your strengths is to see things others cannot. I will leave you be, for now.”

A feeling of guilt gripped her, unsettled, she offered hope in the form of a simple request, “Can you do me a favour and find a use for Kurja’s swords. They could do with a second chance, someone who will look after them and use them wisely.” Castain watched her for a moment, his disappointment morphing into thoughtfulness, then after a nod, he was gone.

Feeling rattled, Morgan focused on breathing, her eyes fixed on the horizon, Aquilla squawked above, the bird had been at it all morning and it was an effort to ignore his pleas.

Marlo walked up to take the wheel claiming her attention, she gripped his arm reassuringly, “I leave her in your hands, look after her for me. She has got us through some tough times,”

“Don’t worry, you will be strutting around in your undergarments, before you know it,” Marlo affirmed, the massive grin on his face moving yet comforting at the same time. “The whole ship has heard of your promise.”

Morgan opened her mouth to reply, but she was once again interrupted by another squawk. Strangely, her inner voice was mirrored by a loud reprimanded from above, “We can’t free him Aquila, Aiden can’t be trusted!”

Taken aback, she called out in Bella’s direction, “Are you telling me, that you understand that bird as well?” Bella looked embarrassed, clearly uncomfortable that she had at lost her calm, as opposed to the fact that she had been caught talking to an animal, “I thought I was going crazy,” Morgan grumbled under her breath.

She allowed only a moment’s thought, mainly because Aiden’s plight had been on her mind all day, “Bella GO AND free Aiden, we need all hands after all.” Bella did as she was bid, expertly ambling down the ropes.

Still feeling uplifted by the fact that her sanity was no longer in question, Morgan walked towards the main deck and her waiting crew, possible outcomes of their impending arrival caused uncertainty and the butterflies pushed her onwards.

 

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Bob stared into the distance, guard duty at the balcony in the Royal Apartments was boring, and the furthest from any sort of excitement that one could be. Boredom was prevalent in his mind right before he saw it. Bob blinked at first, unsure what his eyes were seeing, “Gary, that pigeon in the distance, is it much too large? I had better head to the apothecary. My eyes are playing tricks on me!” He exclaimed. Feeling his stomach rumble from a sudden need for pigeon stew, the act of lifting a hand to shade his eyes afforded a much better view, “Shit, that’s a ship, I don’t need an apothecary. I’m going crazy!” He cried.

“I think you have given your craziness to me! I can see it to, what do we do?” Gary countered.

Although Gary’s reply was disheartening, Bob knew the obvious answer, “That’s easy. We prey to the goddess for it to rain single woman of course!”

“Do you think people can fly as well?” Gary asked.

“That’s silly, Gary,” he scoffed, “Why would people be able to fly?”

Gary continued as if his line of questioning was entirely logical, “Well, it just makes sense, the ship can, so why can’t the people?” Much to Bob’s annoyance, the silly conversation continued. He didn’t know what was worse—the fact they were debating whether people could fly, or that Gary was, for once, making a logical argument. As the ship swung in the air in a broadside movement, his panic was waylaid when he saw its name, “Gary, the ship. It’s our friends from the Tempest!” He exclaimed excitedly.

Gary looked at him for a second, “It’s your turn. I got the last one,” he affirmed with a smug stare.

“No, that’s not true. I helped in the dungeons and just last week you asked me to put in a good word with that chambermaid.” Gary looked ready to disagree, but they were interrupted when the ship bumped into the balcony, the resulting impact sending part of the balustrade plummeting below. It was then that Morgan Jones swung over, her auburn hair shining in the sunlight. The captain of the Tempest stood there exuding confidence as she waited for her crew to disembark. Before long Bob and Gary were surrounded by the tempest’s crew, they were armed to the teeth and looked rather proficient in the use of their various array of weapons. A grin escaped him; this could be the kind of trouble he had been craving since they had come back from the Sirillian campaign. Not to mention that the task of standing on a balcony in the hot sun dodging seagull poop wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. While Bob was still perusing some of the stunning creatures before his eyes, Morgan squared herself before him, the tone of command in her voice forced him to attention, “Bob, why are you on guard at this end of the castle?”

In awe of her beauty and put on the spot, he managed to stutter a reply, “Ah, we—we feel we—we have been put—out of the way, Yoou—oour Grace.”

Morgan looked at him intently for a few seconds, her intensity bringing unease, then she spoke in dulcet tones that soothed his inner turmoil, “Firstly, it’s not ‘Your Grace’; second, why do you feel that you have been put out of the way?”

Bob replied, stumbling only a little when the intensity of Morgan’s stare tripped him, “We were told by the master at arms that this was our post for the evening, but we are the only men in the army not assigned near, or in the throne room.”

Although he jumped at first, the fact that Morgan started barking orders as well as swear words made him feel like the universe had righted itself, when she turned back to him, she asked a pointed question, “Bob, what’s the fastest way to the commons from here?”

His reply was swift, “There is no quick way, all doors leading to the throne room are now locked, the duke changed the procedure, citing the need for security after the Black Cloak’s attack.” His words intensified Morgan’s stare, he squirmed, resolve melting into uncertainty.

 “I know a way, there is a passage that only the Royal Family knows, follow me,” the prince announced, his words generating a flurry of activity.

Although the sight of armed assailants moving through the Royal Apartments should have worried him, Bob trusted Asharn Dallinger and knew him to be a good sort. “What are you waiting for, an invitation, ’bout time we got some action,” he announced, slapping Gary on the shoulder.

Surprisingly, Gary must have understood the double meaning in his comment, as he happily led the way after a grin and a wink.

After stepping into the parlour, the prince walked up to a boring looking stone statue that was affixed to the wall and pressed on a hidden latch, the sound of grinding stone could be heard as wall gave way to reveal a dark foreboding tunnel. Bob swallowed and stepped backwards, he was not a fan of dark enclosed spaces for reasons that he would rather forget, strongly reconsidering his decision to join Morgan’s band of well-armed defenders, panic set in. “Oh dear, Bob’s never going to go in there,” Gary’s comment reached him as if he was already in a tunnel.

Someone placed a hand upon his shoulder, when he glanced upwards, he found a solidly built, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, “How about you come with me, friend?” The man asked, “I’m going to show Bella here, a good vantage point to protect the King from, and it doesn’t involve a dark tunnel.” The kindly comment pulled him back from panic and as if the man could sense that he was still a little unsure he offered greetings, “My name is Castain by the way. You don’t have to take up the offer, but I would appreciate if someone could watch my back.”

The man known as Castain, didn’t smile but there was something about him that Bob could trust, “Lead the way,” he affirmed, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but he did know that it would be far from boring.

 

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Fife Lord Dallinger the duke of Rollston stood at the King’s shoulder, it was his preferred vantage, a position that enabled him to survey the room. The title of Knight of the Realm afforded him many things, chief among them command of Tornbaer’s Armies and in most cases, it gave him the right to order the King’s Guard around, annoyance flared at the sight of his red mailed soldiers mingling with the golden plate of the guard. He had requested that most of the guard be left outside of the throne room, the crown prince however, had overruled his orders. Although his nephew’s actions were vexing, he had planned for such an eventuality. When the time was right, he turned to one of his lieutenants and opened his mouth, readying himself to execute a command that would draw the gold troops from the room. Fife was interrupted by a young boy in castle livery, who looked like he had run down most of the long hallway. He bent down to listen to the boy’s utterings, although it was hard to hear amongst the din, he immediately heard enough for fire to catch in his belly. His brain worked, the lines quick to connect, he needed to act, or years of planning would be for naught, it was time to let chaos reign. “PROTECT THE KING, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK,” He bellowed. They imagined that he was an uncle, a brother, a father, or a well-respected duke. Yet, he was none of those things, not anymore, all light had long been extinguished, in its place an empty shell filled with a singular desire, to serve the master. For he was of the lost, found only in serving and soon all would follow.

If his men were surprised by the early call, they did not show it, the room owned by the sounds of swords leaving sheaths and noblewoman screaming in terror followed by the odd thud of a faint. His longsword was in his hand before most. The kings guard were too late, A line of his own men already formed, perfectly covering his actions, it was all going to plan. Fife Dallinger the Hero of Tornbaer brought his sword downwards, it met no resistance, the end of the strike was to find a home deep within his brother’s chest. A crunch and the standard gurgling noise followed, both sounds confirmation of a kill. There was no feeling of guilt, fear, or uncertainty, only a mere hint of remorse when Herne uttered faint words, “Fife, why?” As the light left his brothers eyes, remorse was drowned out by the keen burn of a black dot, searing into his chest. Fife twisted his sword for good measure, then freed it for another task. Viciously fluid in his actions, his next move was to turn towards his nephew, taking his longsword up to the top of a deadly arc. Leo hadn’t even armed himself, his nephew’s anguished scream coming to an end as was his life. His sword agonisingly close to an unprotected body then his feet gave way, and he found himself resting upon his rear. Confusion reigned, until the sight of Morgan Jones’ child scampering away, gifted him with the realisation that the insolent whelp had run at his legs. Worse still, the child’s action had allowed enough time for a pocket of the King’s Guard to reach the crown prince. Fife leapt to his feet desperate to execute a swift ending, then he was pushed backward along with his men, away from their prey. His blood boiled as he took in the happing’s around him, it was good, the pockets of gold that were left alive were scattered around the room, broken and useless. He held a clear tactical advantage, soon, it would be finished. He watched as the Queen broke away from the protection of her guards, she held the pesky child’s hand, the act confusing him until she disappeared behind a tapestry. He sent a contingent of men towards the area, yet as they moved, a sudden flurry of colour spilled fourth from the very same tapestry, at its head, Morgan Jones. A guttural howl escaped him, the very sight stoking hatred within, in a wild rage he ordered that his men concentrate all their efforts on the small party, their deaths imminent. Fuelled by his hatred Fife channelled his fury onto any that dared come before him.