Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Fourteen; The Attacks

Moutassim rushed to the side of the ship, just as Sahelia ran up next to him. His palms were sweating and his heart thudded like the hooves of a horse beating the turf. But it was adrenaline, rather than fear, that pushed him on.

"What is it?" Sahelia demanded, fixing her dagger's sheath as Tigrita and a swaying Tarik came up beside them.

"I have no idea. Soth! Hebron!" Moutassim shouted, looking around as he checked his leather arm bracers. The lanky navigator stepped out of the fog, his eyes wide with terror. Tigrita jumped and looked around as they heard another scream from somewhere to the starboard side, behind the wall of fog surrounding the ship. This time they also heard a splash.

"You need to steer us out of this fog! Now! For all we know, we could run..."

The rest of words died on Moutassim's lips, as there was an explosion of water and something slammed into the starboard side of the ship, rocking it and causing everyone except Sahelia to lose their balance. Moutassim staggered against the mast, releasing the blade in his bracer as he did so. The air was heavy with screams from all around, on his other ships.

"Did we run aground?" Tarik was on all fours, trying to rise shakily to his feet.

"No," Sahelia's eyes were closed. "We're under attack."

There was another explosion of water, this time from portside. Something heavy landed on the deck with a loud thud that vibrated the wood beneath their feet. The hairs on the back of his neck and forearm prickled, as he raised his left bracer and took aim at the swirling mass of fog. Something was watching them from behind the fog. He could feel it, along with his stomach tying itself into knots. Tigrita drew closer to him.

Behind them, Soth ran to the stern of the ship to steer the rudder. Moutassim looked at Sahelia and nodded. He didn't have to say anything. She knew what to do.

She closed her eyes and with her hand movements, the fog in front of them slowly began to shift. When it finally cleared they saw... nothing. Moutassim's brow was furrowed in confusion. Something was there. It's rank fishy smell permeated the air as thick as the fog. Then he heard running footsteps thudding on the hollow floorboards to their left and he swung around to face the threat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Moutassim saw Soth stop what he was doing and fumble for the sword at his belt. He spun around, his breath catching in his throat as he finally laid eyes on the thing that had leapt out of the water.

It was as tall as Moutassim, with a slim body dripping in slime and water. It had legs like a human, albeit longer, more powerfully built and disproportionate to its body than any human legs he had ever seen. That is where any faint resemblance to a human ended. On the back of its legs and arms were translucent fins. Huge translucent fins protruded from its broad back and ugly black claws curled menacingly from its webbed fingers.

But it was the thing's skin that made his own skin crawl as though maggots had awoken beneath it. Its skin was a dead, listless grey and coated in slime, but broken throughout its body like the sun-baked earth of Africa. Beneath the cracks, he saw what looked like pale flesh.

Tigrita's screams and Soth's shout erupted in unison, as the navigator swung his sword out of its scabbard and at the monster in one motion. But the thing easily evaded his blade, twisting its body as though it had no spine and slashing upwards with its claws. Soth's sword fell to the deck with a loud clatter as he gasped and clutched his side.

Moutassim fired a shuriken from his left bracer and watched in what felt like slow motion, as the thing grabbed Soth's shoulders and swung him around. The shuriken sank into the middle of Soth's back with a wet thump. The navigator groaned in pain. But Moutassim got a good look at the monster's face and it's black soulless eyes as it stared at him. It bared it's thin fishlike teeth and sank them into Soth's neck, spraying blood on the deck of his ship.

Moutassim pulled back his bracer lever to fire another shot, but when he looked up it was to see the monster hold Soth in its rank, fishy embrace and tip over the edge of the ship. He heard a splash, signalling that his navigator was lost forever.

"What... what the hell was that thing?" Tigrita's hands were trembling as she clutched her clothes around her more tightly. Moutassim felt how cold the night was too, made colder by the spray of the ocean surf every time the ship bobbed.

"It doesn't matter," Moutassim muttered. He turned to Hebron and pointed at the rudder, where Soth had stood only a minute ago. "This ship isn't going to steer itself. Someone has to take over navigation."

But Hebron backed away, his head swivelling all around and his sword trembling in his grip. They knew that at any moment, another monster could come leaping through the fog and disembowel them. From somewhere portside, one of his men on another ship emitted a long, agonizing scream.

"Fine!" Moutassim snapped. "I'll do it myself."

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Agdel brought his warhorse to a halt, with the columns of soldiers behind him also stopping and looked up at the night sky. It was clear and star-filled, with the occasional dust blowing across his view. In fact, the wind was howling fiercely, jealously reminding the imperial troops of its presence. Not that they needed reminding. Every few minutes Agdel had to stop his horse and clear irritating dust grains out of his eye.

As he picked at his eye corner now, he thought back to his conversation with the Empress and wondered, what the hell was wrong with him? Since when had serving the empire taken precedence over his children? He felt a pang of guilt. Aldreth and Adrian, he hardly knew them. He was missing the best moments of the lives of his children. Their mother dead. Their father missing in action. He had to do better.

General Rodrick, his second in command, sauntered up next to him on his horse. His long, single plaited dreadlocks proclaimed his Genda heritage. Rodrick had been Abdullah II's military commander until Moutassim took the throne and demoted him in favour of the younger Agdel. But there was no ill will between the two gentlemen and Agdel still greatly valued his advice.

"How much further do you reckon until we reach Bremon?" Agdel asked, rubbing his horse's neck to calm him.

"Not far," Rodrick said. His own horse was also getting skittish, neighing repeatedly and rolling his eyes. "We should reach before sunrise. I'd say in an hour's time."

"What's wrong with these horses?" Agdel frowned.

Rodrick did not reply. He was frowning, with his head cocked as though he was listening to something. Agdel strained to hear too. At first he heard only the howling wind, it's cold caress raising goosebumps on his flesh.

But old soldiers have an instinct about war. A sixth sense. And Agdel had been a soldier since he was thirteen. Even now, he felt as though a ball of lead had fallen into his stomach, filling him with dread.

"Formations! Formations!" He bellowed to his men, whipping around his horse. The men unhesitatingly obeyed their commander, though they saw no sign of danger yet. Agdel swung his horse around again, squinting in the darkness as he awaited whatever threat there was over the sand dunes.

And then he saw it. A black flag with a silver cross, as it rose above a dune. The flag was held up by a tall, broad soldier with a massive sword on his hip. Other soldiers also rose from their hiding spots, like wraiths rising from their earthly bodies after a massacre.

"Sieberon mercenaries," Rodrick said, his face grim. Agdel felt his own stomach continue to plummet. The imperial forces had always been lucky enough to never face Sieberon mercenaries in a battle. It seems their luck had run out.

Struggling to control his rising fear, Agdel quickly realized that the Imperial forces outnumbered their fearsome foe two to one. Would their numerical advantage be enough to fend of Sieberon?

A man stepped to the head of the Sieberon forces. He was only a shadowy silhouette. But Agdel could see he was taller than most of the other troops, broad-shouldered and that he exuded a cocky arrogance as he watched the Imperial forces. It could only be one person.

"We outnumber them, Rodrick," Agdel said, turning in his saddle. "We must use it to our advantage and quickly. A pincer movement."

Rodrick nodded.

"I'll lead the left flank. You take the right."

And with that, Rodrick rode off barking instructions to his men.