The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 20
Western Sea of Kings
For four days, they had chased Tomas’s ship. It was a simple Sidorian merchantman, sturdy but not built for combat or speed, and his own vessel should have been able to overtake it with ease, but the repairs on his ship had been far from complete and it was dragging hard against the current.
They were closing ground, but it was by inches each hour and not yards. It wasn’t clear to William if they would catch them before they even reached the shores of Sidor.
“Can we not go faster?” William asked for the twelfth time.
“It’s dangerous traveling as fast as we are, my prince,” the captain said. “Not with these patches. We hit rougher water, and she could open up like a gutted fish.”
“How long? How long until we catch them? You said two days four days ago.”
“The wind and the water are never a sure thing, my prince. Still, it’s possible we will be within striking distance by nightfall if the wind holds fair and they don’t find more speed. But the weather looks foul. Truly foul.”
It took less than ten minutes for the captain’s worries to be proven true as the wind shifted abruptly, hitting the sails hard, making the mast creak alarmingly. The ship heeled sharply, throwing spray high over the bow. Rain began to fall, not droplets, but thick, slanting sheets that instantly soaked everything and reduced visibility to a few ship lengths.
Eskild, his blond hair plastered to his skull by the rain, made his way forward, moving with the practiced ease of a man who spent a large portion of his life on the sea.
He stopped beside William, his expression grim. “The men are spooked, Prince.”
“It’s a storm, Eskild. Sailors face storms.”
“Not just the storm. It’s Darktide. The Maw has opened. Some of them were with us on the first crossing. They know the things that live in these waters and are rightfully scared of them.”
William knew they were right to be scared, of course, but he also wasn’t willing to let this ship get away from him.
“My prince,” the captain called, pulling himself across the deck to join them. “We must reduce sail! This squall is growing too fast! We risk losing the mast, or worse!”
William pointed stubbornly through the driving rain, where, in a brief gap, he could still see the faint silhouette of Tomas’s ship laboring against the waves.
“Look! They’re still there! If we slow down, we lose them! Keep the sails up! Drive on!”
“But, Your Highness, the risk...”
“The risk of letting that artifact reach my father is greater!” William snapped, the rain streaming down his face. “Press on!”
The captain frowned. William knew he was being unfair to the man. He had been pushed to extremes already and was probably right, but William couldn’t let Tomas get away. Whatever the item was, if his father wanted it, it could doom the kingdom for good. He couldn’t let that happen.
The man gave a curt nod in response.
A massive wave of black water, seemingly impossibly high, rose out of the ocean and came crashing down on the far side of the boat. Water surged across the deck waist-deep, tearing at footing, ripping gear loose. William saw two sailors swept away like twigs. Another man near the railing lost his grip and slid towards the churning sea. William lunged, grabbing the man’s arm while the captain seized his belt. Together, they hauled the sputtering sailor back from the brink.
A fork of lightning split the sky. He could see the other ship, impossibly close now, barely a quarter league off their starboard bow. It wallowed heavily in the troughs, clearly struggling as much as they were.
“Captain!” William said, pointing at the ship. “They’re right there! We’ll be alongside soon!”
“Half an hour, maybe less, if we both hold this course! The storm’s driving us together!”
“Good! Prepare boarding parties! Axes, grappling hooks!” William ordered Eskild.
Eskild nodded, already turning to relay the orders, shouting for the men to arm themselves. The men did their best to prepare themselves in the rough waters.
As they inched closer, close enough it felt like he could jump across the gap and pull himself aboard the other vessel, his own ship gave a sudden, violent lurch.
This wasn’t from a wave crashing into it, but from something much worse. The ship pitched sharply to starboard, throwing men off balance. A deep, grinding sound echoed from beneath the waterline, felt more than heard through the soles of their boots.
“What was that?”
Sailors near the starboard rail pointed, shouting incoherently. William followed their gaze. Down in the storm-tossed sea, a pattern of disturbed water moved alongside them, unnaturally straight, a wake where no ship should be. It paced them, smooth and purposeful, terrifyingly alien in the turbulent water.
“Below!” came a scream from the lookout, followed by other words lost in the storm.
William turned to follow the man’s gestures in time to see the sea beside the ship erupt. A pillar of slick, grey-green flesh surged upwards, thicker than the main mast. It seemed to hang there for a heartbeat, glistening in the rain before crashing down onto the deck.
The impact was devastating. Wood splintered like kindling. The railing vanished. A sailor standing too close simply ceased to exist, crushed into pulp beneath the immense weight.
For a frozen moment, there was only shock, then everyone began to move. William pulled his blade. As the tentacle began to retract, sliding back towards the water, William lunged forward and slashed.
The blade bit deep, slicing through the tough, rubbery hide. Dark, oily ichor sprayed across the deck, smelling foully of brine and decay. The tentacle spasmed, withdrawing faster.
More tentacles erupted from the depths surrounding the beleaguered ship. Two wrapped around the hull itself, squeezing with immense pressure, making the timbers groan in protest. Others snaked onto the deck, questing, probing, seeking purchase, seeking prey. Men screamed, some in terror, some in agony as the suckers latched onto flesh.
“Arm yourselves!” The captain yelled. “Axes! Spears! Cut them! Protect the masts!”
William moved along the starboard rail, hacking at a tentacle probing near the forecastle steps, severing its tip. He ducked under another that swept across the deck, aiming for the helm. His sword was a blur, slicing, chopping.
The ship shuddered violently as the tentacles encircling the hull tightened their grip. The sound of splintering wood was terrifyingly loud. William heard Foskett shouting somewhere, yelling for patches to be put in place.
Across the churning waves, illuminated by another flash of lightning, William saw Tomas’s ship. It had somehow avoided the creature’s initial attack and was now hoisting more sail, pulling away, fleeing into the storm while they fought for their lives. A surge of impotent fury washed over William. To be so close...
His momentary distraction nearly cost him his life as an appendage whipped around his right leg. The grip was like iron bands tightening, yanking him off his feet. His head slammed hard against the deck, and Marrow’s Bane flew from his grasp, skittering across the wet planks. He scrabbled desperately, trying to stop his slide towards the railing and the black, monstrous sea beyond.
His flailing hand closed on a piece of broken spar, thick and jagged. With a desperate heave, he jammed the splintered end into a gap between the deck planks. It held. His slide stopped inches from the broken railing, the tentacle still crushing his leg, pulling him taut, anchored by the spar. Pain shot up his thigh, hot and fierce.
Thankfully, Eskild was not far away and saw him. He was there in an instant, a boarding axe in his hands. He swung it wildly, hacking at the thick flesh wrapped around William’s leg. Chips of the grey-green hide flew, but the axe lacked the bite of William’s sword. It wasn’t cutting deep enough.
“The sword!” William gasped, reaching, straining.
Marrow’s Bane lay just out of reach. The tentacle tightened again, a brutal, crushing pressure. He felt bone grind, felt a sickening weakness spread through his leg. He stretched, fingertips brushing the hilt ... then closing around it.
With a final surge of strength fueled by pain and desperation, William swung the sword in an arc, severing the tentacle just below his knee. The pressure vanished instantly. The severed portion writhed on the deck like a monstrous snake before slithering overboard. William collapsed back, gasping, clutching his sword, his leg screaming in agony.
A terrible groaning sound drew his attention upwards. Several tentacles had wrapped around the main mast, high above the deck. The massive timber shuddered and splintered, threatening to snap.
“Brace the mast!” the captain yelled. “Ropes! Secure it!”
Men scrambled to obey, looping heavy lines around the mast and securing them to cleats, trying to counter the creature’s crushing force.
Another lightning flash illuminated the sea, wider this time. Beneath the waves, William saw it. A vast, elongated shadow, stretching further than the ship itself. This wasn’t just tentacles; it was a body, a behemoth from the deepest parts of the Maw.
It seemed as if things were at a precipice, as more of the creature’s appendages wrapped around the ship.
“Oil!” William shouted, remembering tales of fishermen warding off smaller squid. “Get the lamp oil! Whale oil! Anything! Bring it!”
Sailors rushed to the stores, returning with casks and jugs. Despite the driving rain, William directed them to pour the slick liquid over the tentacles gripping the rails and the mast.
“Torches! Light them!”
It seemed madness to bring fire onto the storm-swept, wooden deck, but they were desperate. Men shielded torches with their bodies, managing to get flames lit. They touched the flames to the oil-soaked tentacles.
The effect was immediate and violent. The creature recoiled as if struck by lightning itself. Flames roared up, black smoke mixing with the rain, the smell of burning flesh added to the foul stench of ichor. Tentacles flailed wildly, releasing their grip in spasms of agony. The pressure on the hull lessened. The ship lurched free, momentarily uncontrolled.
“Hard to starboard!” The captain screamed at the helmsman. “Turn us away from it!”
The helmsman fought the wheel, trying to bring the wounded ship about, away from the unseen bulk of the creature’s body. The stern remained heavily entangled. William limped towards the aftcastle. He hacked at the remaining tentacles, severing them one by one, while sailors used spears and burning torches to drive the others back.
Finally, with a last, convulsive shudder that rocked the entire vessel, the creature released them. The remaining tentacles slid back into the churning, black water. The unnatural wake disappeared. They were free.
Silence fell, broken only by the wind, the rain, and the groans of the damaged ship. Men slumped against the rails, exhausted, wounded, staring numbly at the empty sea where the monster had been. The deck was a wreck, littered with debris, severed tentacle fragments, and the dark stains of ichor and blood.
“Captain,” William said. “Bring us about. Follow that ship.”
“I can’t.”
“Captain, we must catch that ship. I am ordering you to catch it.”
“I wish I could, my prince, but I can’t. Look, she’s cracked clean through in three places. If we put full sail on her again, or hit another bad wave, she’ll go over on her side and take the rest of the rigging with her. We’re lucky to be afloat. The hull is strained, leaking badly. We barely fought off that ... thing. We can’t pursue anyone.”
William stared at the damaged mast, then back at the empty horizon. The frustration was a physical ache. Tomas was gone, the artifact was gone, speeding towards Edmund. All this ... for nothing. He slammed his fist into the wet railing.
“We need a port, Your Highness,” the captain pressed. “The nearest safe harbor. We need proper repairs, time to refit. We push on like this, we’ll founder before dawn.”
William took a deep, ragged breath and looked around at the exhausted men around him. The captain was right, pursuit was impossible. They wouldn’t catch the ship the way they were, and would only get closer to Sidor, which, after a certain point, would be suicide. There was only one choice left, bitter as it was.
He turned away from the direction Tomas had fled and toward Lynese.
“Set course for Rendalia.”
Chansol River, Rendalia
Commander Haverhill watched the Lynesians mass for their fourth assault of the day. His people were exhausted but still standing strong in spite of the continual fighting. The only saving grace was that it had been dark and overcast since well before noon, keeping the sun from adding to their troubles.