~ The Emperor's Mistress ~

by

Michael Staton

A falcon dived toward the wherry. Wave after wave of geese and other birds had been flying south with the onset of colder weather. Perhaps the oddity of seeing just one bird was the reason he noticed its flight.

The falcon eased out of its dive and soared over the Intrepidus a handbreadth above the mast. “Magnificent!” Derrius said.

Wings flapping, the falcon climbed and flew southward toward the minarets and domes of Aquila.

“Sweet Larenia! What are those things?” Stealth’s words screeched by his ear.

Turning, Derrius glanced to where her outstretched hand pointed, but he never got a chance to answer.

Five birds—no, they were something else—came caterwauling out of the sun’s glare. Thunder rumbled along the Dolor valley. The air keened as the brutes plummeted toward the Intrepidus. They banked and swooped in from the south. They were as big as warhorses and black as ebony heartwood, except for their white bellies. Their wingtips and beaks glistened like blades reflecting sunlight. They roared; the sail fluttered.

Scabbards rattled as weapons were drawn all over the ship. At the bow, Arlienn nocked an arrow. Crag and Brother Estrander stood at her side, their swords at the ready. Nearby, Tylo held his sword in his uninjured left hand. He took several test swings, all expertly done. Two-handed, Tylo? You’re full of secrets.

Wielding a loaded crossbow, Dorin dashed up the wheelhouse stairs. “Sir, I’ll handle the wheel,” he said, breathing heavily. “Take the crossbow and quiver. Knock one of them buggers down.”

Sheathing Faith, Derrius took the crossbow and moved away from the wheel. He eyed Stealth as he donned the quiver. “Guard Dorin. He’s more important than me. Can’t let the ship go aground.”

She gave him a don’t-tell-me-the-obvious look, and took up a defensive position near the sailor. “I’ll not sit by and see you get hurt, Princeling.”

“This be yur candlemark, lad!” Terrae shouted from the deck. “Marcus’s spirit and me... we’re lockstep with ya.”

Derrius raised the crossbow’s butt to his shoulder and curled his finger around the trigger. A nagging worry settled into a specific thought. Was he using the right weapon? Did he have enough time to cast a spell? No! The beasts were too close.

Arlienn’s bow twanged. An arrow streaked toward the lead creature. The arrowhead clanged against its shoulder and tumbled away.

Derrius took a bead on another beast’s head. Its magma-red eyes looked inviting. They’d be vulnerable, wouldn’t they? He squeezed the trigger. The bolt smacked the hide between the eyes, bounced off, and splashed into the Dolor.

A third arrow bore through the lead creature’s left wing and corkscrewed away. The beast appeared unfazed, winging toward the ship’s bow as if the arrow hadn’t penetrated. Its whistling approach roiled Derrius’s stomach, which rumbled so loudly both Stealth and Dorin glanced at him.

Derrius put the crossbow on the deck and cranked the bowstring back. Arlienn would be able to fire off six or seven arrows before he got this damned thing loaded. Something nagged at him. A wisp of a thought, congealing into an image from his childhood. A painting in a book of fairytales. A flying monster stitched together by magic. These brutes looked like amphipteres, like little dragons.

Arlienn never got off another arrow. Crag and Brother Estrander stepped in front of her to act as shields, and the lead beast slammed into them. As Derrius went rigid with worry, the amphiptere’s momentum flung all three against the hold. They vanished, hidden by the wall.

The amphiptere, wings whipping the air, shot up into view, Arlienn gripped in its claws. Her feet kicked feebly. Blood spilled from her shoulders. Her right hand gripped a dagger, which she jabbed repeatedly against the beast’s belly. The blade rebounded as if deflected by armor.

Keep stabbing, Arlienn. Got to be a weakness somewhere. Derrius cranked harder, but the reloading wouldn’t go any faster. The damned beast was so close; he could imagine his bolt slicing through an eye into its brain. He cursed Arant, the god of ill-luck.

Stealth jumped on the railing fronting the wheel and leaped onto the hold’s roof. Dashing toward the bow, she discarded her short sword, and a dagger appeared in her hand.

As the amphiptere flew above the ship’s port side, Stealth flung herself off the roof, reached out, and clutched its neck. Her boots dangled near Arlienn’s head. The elf avoided the right one, but the left nailed her in the forehead. As the demon flyer turned its head to slash at Stealth, she plunged her dagger into a ruby-red eye. Amber blood fountained, showering Stealth and Arlienn.

The creature shrieked. Wings fluttering, it dropped Arlienn, who plopped onto the deck near Terrae.

Stealth relaxed her grip and fell on Terrae. Both collapsed in a tangle of arms, legs and curses. Flailing, the amphiptere careened into the railing and splashed into the water. It convulsed and vanished. Below a wisp of fog, the river bubbled and foamed where the creature had last been seen.