Reaper's Gale

The Undying Gratitude heeled hard to starboard, the gale bitter with the cold reek of ice. Pulling and half climbing his way across the aft deck as the crew struggled against the sudden onslaught, First Mate Skorgen Kaban reached the pilot station where Shurq Elalle, held in place by a leather harness, stood with legs planted wide.

She seemed impervious to the plunging temperature, with not even a hint of colour slapped to her cheeks by the buffeting wind. An uncanny woman indeed. Uncanny, insatiable, unearthly, she was like a sea goddess of old, a glamoured succubus luring them all to their doom-but no, that was not a good thought, not now, not ever. Or at least for as long as he sailed with her.

‘Captain! It’s going to be close-them mountains of ice are closin’ on the cut, maybe faster than we are! Where in the Errant’s name did they come from?’

‘We’ll make it,’ Shurq Elalle asserted. ‘Come round into the lee of the island-it’s the northwest shore that’s going to get hammered. I’d be amazed if the citadel’s walls on that side survive what’s coming. Look at the Reach, Pretty, it’s nothing but fangs of ice-wherever all this has come from, it’s devouring the entire coast.’

‘Damned cold, is what it is,’ Skorgen said in a growl. ‘Maybe we should turn round, Captain. That fleet never came after us anyway-we could head for Lether Mouth-’

‘And starve before we’re halfway there. No, Pretty, Second Maiden Fort’s an independent state now, and I’m finding that rather appealing. Besides, I’m curious. Aren’t you?’

‘Not enough to risk getting crushed by them white jaws, Captain.’

‘We’ll make it.’

The foment that was the crest of the heaving bergs was the colour of old leather, shredded by the churning fragments of ice, tree roots, shattered trunks and huge broken rocks that seemed to defy the pull to the deep-at least for long enough to appear atop the water, like the leading edge of a slide, rolling on across the surface of the tumult before reluctantly vanishing into the depths.

Tumbling out from this surge like rotted curtains was fog, plucked and torn by the ferocious winds, and Shurq Elalle, facing astern, watched as the maelstrom heaved in their wake. It was gaining, but not fast enough; they were moments from rounding the isle’s rocky headland, which looked to be formidable enough to shunt the ice aside, down its length.

At least, she hoped so. If not, then Second Maiden’s harbour was doomed. Ami so is my ship and crew. As for herself, well, if she managed to avoid being crushed or frozen in place, she could probably work her way clear, maybe even clamber aboard for the long ride to the mainland’s coast.

It won’t come to that. Islands don’t get pushed around. Buried, possibly, but then Vent Reach is where it’s all piling up

– what’s chasing us here is just an outer arm, and before long it’ll be fighting the tide. Errant fend, imagine what happened to the Edur homeland-that entire coast must have been chewed to pieces-or swallowed up entire. So what broke up the dam, that’s what I want to know:

Groaning, the Undying Gratitude rounded the point, the wind quickly dropping off as the ship settled and began its crawl into the high-walled harbour. A prison island indeed

– all the evidence remained: the massive fortifications, the towers with lines of sight and fire arcs facing both to sea and inland. Huge ballistae, mangonels and scorpions mounted on every available space, and in the harbour itself rock-pile islands held miniature forts festooned with signal flags, fast ten-man pursuit galleys moored alongside.

A dozen ships rode at anchor in the choppy waters. Along the docks, she saw, tiny figures were racing in every direction, like ants on a kicked nest. ‘Pretty, have us drop anchor other side of that odd-looking dromon. Seems like nobody’s going to pay us much attention-hear that roar? That’s the northwest shore getting hit.’

‘The whole damned island could go under, Captain.’

‘That’s why we’re staying aboard-to see what happens. If we have to run east, I want us ready to do so.’

‘Look, there’s a harbour scow comin’ our way.’

Damn. ‘Typical. World’s falling in but that don’t stop the fee-takers. All right, prepare to receive them.’

The anchor had rattled down by the time the scow fought its way alongside. Two officious-looking women climbed aboard, one tall, the other short. The latter spoke first. ‘Who’s the captain here and where d’you hail from?’

‘I am Captain Shurq Elalle. We’ve come up from Letheras. Twenty months at sea with a hold full of goods.’

The tall woman, thin, pale, with stringy blonde hair, smiled. ‘Very accommodating of you, dear. Now, if you’ll be so kind, Brevity here will head down into the hold to inspect the cargo.’

The short dark-haired woman, Brevity, then said, ‘And Pithy here will collect the anchoring fee.’

‘Fifteen docks a day.’

‘That’s a little steep!’

‘Well,’ Pithy said with a lopsided shrug, ‘it’s looking like the harbour’s days are numbered. We’d best get what we can.’