Chapter Four: The Scourge

Once aboard the flagship, Hammer of the King’s Justice, a royal guardsman waited to greet the Captain and Vargas. The young knight was decked out in full ornate gilded mail, with the Emperor’s sigil, a sun encircled with swords, emblazoned across his chest. “If you’ll follow me, the meeting will begin soon.”

    “Half the captains aren’t here yet,” remarked Vargas. “Why aren’t we waiting for the rest?” 

    The guard saluted and pursed his lips. “Admiral’s orders, sir. He’ll explain if you’ll come this way.”

A crowd of rugged-looking men in leather vests, trench coats, and boiled leather gathered on the deck. Many were bearded and scarred, missing an eye, a leg or a hand. Amidst the crowd rested a podium, where three men of obvious importance stood patiently, waiting to address the crowd.

    “I know those men,” Vargas whispered. “That one in the green armor, he’s Darius North, Captain of the Royal Guard. The one in the brown robe, his name’s Peruvius. He’s a Master Steward. The last one in the suede doublet"”

    “"Admiral Goodson,” the Captain said with a hoarse growl. “We know each other quite well.”

    The old steward was the first to speak. An old man by old men’s standards, he dressed in a brown linen robe. His beard was short, white, and well-groomed, giving him a wizard-like stature. “On behalf of the royal family, we give thanks to each of you for answering the call of your Emperor in this hour of need. These are dark days, and your bravery will be remembered.” The steward’s hands shook as he spoke. “During our voyage, surgeons and doctors will be moving from ship to ship to tend to the sick and needy. Our voyage will be long, but we will ensure the safety of every man, woman, and child as we venture forth.”

    “And where the hell is that?” questioned a voice from the crowd.

The steward pointed a shaky hand east. “There are lands, far east beyond the Vertanian Ocean, untouched by men and those we will not speak of. It is there, in this unnamed land, that we will seek refuge from the scourge.” 

    “My ship only has enough food for a month. How long will this voyage take?” another voice asked.

    “Only the gods know. But alas, the sea shall provide for us what we need.”

A wave of grumbling echoed in response through the crowd.

    The old man moved away as the next speaker approached, introducing himself. “I am Darius North, Captain of the Royal Guard and Commander of the Royal Legion. The hour is late and the reason for our haste is our dire circumstances.” The crowd settled, and anxiety descended over everyone aboard the deck. “As some of you know, Deep Pass has fallen, and with it our beloved Emperor, his majesty, Alexander Pelenoire the Second.”

    “He was a bastard,” Vargas muttered under his breath.

    The Captain of the Royal Guard pointed westward. “The scourge has spread, and as we speak, the capital city of Ellisar is in ruin. Two other evacuations were organized, one in the northern city of Astermark, and another at Cape Fontana, south of the Wings. Messages arrived from Astermark this morning, informing us of fire and smoke on the horizon. We can only assume the city has fallen by now.”

    The crowd erupted in a fury of yelling and shouting. A fearful Vargas looked to the Captain. “If those things reached Astermark and Ellissar already"” 

    “"I know!” the Captain snapped.

    “Quiet! All of you!” the man in the suede uniform stammered. “I am Admiral Reagon Goodson, Commander of the Imperial Navy and master of this flotilla.” 

    “We need to leave now! I’ll not die for the likes of you!” a voice from the crowd wailed.

    “We will decide when it’s time to leave!” replied Darius North as his hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

    “If the Emperor’s dead, you have no authority over us!” announced another faceless voice.

    “Listen! Everyone!” exclaimed Reagon Goodson. “What you see before you is all that remains of the Elytian Empire! The burden rests upon us to build a new home and a new life. But we must do it together! We will set sail as soon as the last of the refugees are safely aboard the other ships. I shall spread the capital ships amongst the fleet to guide each of you into formation. From there we will sail far away from the coast where they cannot reach us. Once we rendezvous with the fleet from Cape Fontana, we will sail due east to safety.”

    “What if the scourge gets here before then?” the Captain shouted. “What’s your backup plan?”

    Darius North stood and looked in the direction of the question. “The horn shall sound three times to announce departure.”

    “So Astermark burns. Do you think she got out?” asked Vargas in a solemn tone.

    “We haven’t spoken in three years, Grace and I,” the Captain replied. “All I can do is hope.”

    “Your daughter always was a strong one.”

    “Aye. She was.”

*    *    *

    Back aboard the Emerald Turtle, the remaining crew gathered as the Captain, Vargas and Lil’ Keefer climbed back aboard.

    “What’s the word, Captain?” asked Goshin.

    “Nothing good. Trouble is coming.” The Captain glanced to see the expressions on the crew’s faces as he uttered the words. The reactions varied from grit to terror. “I want the entire crew at attention. Where’s Merrick?”

    “Right here, Captain,” answered a booming voice, pushing through the crewmen. Merrick, the oarmaster, was an ox of a man with arms as thick as tree trunks. Never was there a man so physically suited for his task aboard the ship.

    “Pull every able bodied man from the hold who can row. I want an extra man on every oar.”

    The only clean-shaven master on the ship bit his lip and gave a terse nod. “Aye Captain.”

    “Goshin, I want two men on anchor at all times. Keep the nest manned with two on the fore and two on the mizzen, with four on the mains, ready to raise sail if all hell breaks loose. It’ll be every ship for themselves.”

    Lil’ Keefer made for the main mast, climbing the first rung before turning back. “What’s the signal, Captain?”

    “You’ll know it when you hear it. A horn. Three times.”

    The sun retreated under the western horizon of White Town as a blanket of clouds descended over the harbor. The sound of carpentry traveled over the calm waters as the wind died, leaving a smooth sheen like black glass between the ships. Hammers nailed and saws cut while men shouted from ship to ship, exchanging nails, resin, tar, rope and sailcloth.

    A nearby ship, the Flower Star, took on water. An old cargo galley, the ship was improperly loaded to its port side, giving way to a noticeable listing. Before the crew could shift the cargo, the vessel capsized with a thunderous crash. No less than fifty men drowned, along with the horses and several tons of grain. The sounds of screams and men and horses drowning carried far over the water in every direction as the other ships' crews looked on helplessly.

One by one, survivors were pulled out of the water, shaken and freezing. One man managed to swim all the way to the Emerald Turtle , and they dropped the hemp rope ladder. Once aboard, he was in severe shock, unable to recall his own name.

    “I hope no one planned on exploring the new world on horseback,” said Goshin.

    “Those horses were for meat, not for riding. That ship carried the food stores for those galleys which didn’t have enough space,” replied the Captain.

    “Galleys like us,” remarked Vargas.

    “Aye. We best get used to hardtack and rotten seagull,” Goshin said with a frown and a spit.

    “Can’t we just eat fish?” asked Lil’ Keefer.

    Vargas shook his head. “Good luck trying to catch anything while the ship’s at full sail. We’ll stop if we have to.”

    “And get left behind? Bugger that,” declared Goshin. 

    A sudden flash of light ripped across the horizon, grabbing everyone’s attention. The burst of bright light shown far, illuminating the clouds for a brief instant.

“My eyesight’s no good. What is it?” The Captain frantically reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his spyglass and extending it.

    “Lightning, I think,” replied a leery Vargas. “There’s a storm moving in.”

    The Captain wiped the lens with Goshin’s tunic before pointing it west over the city. All he saw was torchlights and darkness.

    “There’s no wind. No waves. It’s dead calm out here,” said Lil’ Keefer just when another blast of light illuminated the clouds. 

“There it was again!” shouted a crewman, as more men gathered on the deck.

    “Lightning, but no thunder,” muttered Vargas. “A storm with no wind?”

    The Captain’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

Sweat dripped from Goshin’s forehead. “Say the word, sir,” he whispered, while more and more people climbed above deck.

    The Captain carefully collapsed his spyglass and tucked it back in his coat pocket, taking a deep breath. “Anchor up! Raise the sails!” he barked in a loud thunderous voice.

Goshin stomped the deck hard three times with his boot heel, signaling the oarsmen to attention.

    The crew sprang into action. Lil’ Keefer and Goshin helped raise the mainsail, while Vargas and his assistant Marston scrambled to the anchor. Within minutes, the anchor was raised, the oars were dropped, and the mainsail, foresail and mizzen were all lifted and catching wind.  

    “What do you see, boy?” the Captain barked. 

    “Nothing yet, sir,” the boy shouted back.

The booming echo of a horn rang out, carrying over the water. Three times.

A stiff wind from the south appeared, and the crewmen pulled the ropes to adjust the sail’s position. Yet a rope slipped, sending the yard twisting in the opposite direction, knocking a crewman in the head. The Captain rushed to grab the unconscious boy as blood poured from his head.

    “Fucking idiot,” mumbled the Captain as two crewmen appeared, dragging the boy away. 

    “What’s your orders, sir?” shouted Goshin, standing by the entrance to the hold. “The oar-men are ready there.”

    “Get us turned around.” the Captain ordered.

    Goshin leaned his head, shouting into the stepwell, “Port forward! Starboard reverse!”

    The oars extended and stirred, making loud creaking sounds, as oak struck against oak and the ship slowly pivoted. 

    “Oh my god,” Goshin muttered looking up.

    What happened next did not require a spyglass to see, nor ears to hear. The clouds above the city blossomed in an explosion of white and yellow. The sky itself seemed to part as a looming shadow, blacker than night descended from above. Merrick appeared from below deck, just in time to see the first wave of death sweep over the city. The creature opened its mouth, and a swirling jet of flame, hotter than a smelting furnace, blanketed the city below, engulfing shops, inns, apartments, and anyone standing in the way. Wooden structures evaporated while bricks exploded and crumbled under the mighty force. The noise of a thousand screams echoed over the water like a wave breaking against rocks.

“So graceful,” Vargas whispered to himself, “like pyromancers of the gods.”

The crew of the Emerald Turtle stood terrified and mesmerized, realizing only then the foolishness of man’s arrogance to think such creatures could ever be tamed.

“How did we get away with it for so long?” asked Vargas’ assistant, Marston.

“Get away with what?”

“Controlling them?”

Vargas was without an answer, only shaking his head when he looked to the harbor as no less than twelve of the winged demons descended over the docks. “There’s still ships in the harbor!”

In pairs, they swooped over the city, raining death upon everything in their paths. Clouds of smoke and flame whirled upward, as every building was laid to waste in mere minutes.

    The largest of the monsters crashed into the bell tower of the city square. Wrapping its massive winged talons around the belfry, the beast scaled the tower and ripped the crown spire from its perch. The resulting crash ejected a plume of dust and debris in every direction, blanketing the city. Yet such destruction was not enough to satiate the beast’s appetite, and it reached inside the tower and ripped the cast iron bell from its hook, sending it careening downward, two hundred feet below. 

    With outstretched wings, it roared a booming wail of terror and flame. The ground shook, the surrounding water rippled, and night became day. Every man on every ship felt the icy grip of fear wrap around their hearts. Though he did not show it, the always-stoic Captain of the Emerald Turtle looked on afraid and terrified, feeling his very soul rattled by what his eyes bore witness to.

The beast’s roar created a shockwave, rattling the masts and sails on every ship in the bay. Looking away for an instant, the Captain felt his trench coat flutter as the warm breeze passed over them.

    “He’s claiming his territory,” declared the Captain with a tone of feigned bravery. “This city is his now.”

    The winged demons appeared oblivious to the ships waiting in the bay, but the ships in the dock attracted much of their attention. Nearly one thousand refugees still waited to board when the scourge descended. The remaining men, women and children scattered for shelter while the flames rained down.

When the moment came, every ship in the harbor undocked at once, leading several vessels to collide. Chaos ensued as men and cargo spilled into the water. Of the fifty ships in the harbor, only twelve managed to escape at the last moment, with the rest either burning or crashing into one another.     

    One particular warship, the Reckless Abandon, fired several shots from its ballistae, striking