The Queen's Dirk, Part 5
A Novella by Diane Morrison ~ WorldAnvil Exclusive!
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This is the final part of this story. Missed the beginning? Part 1 is here.
Part 5
There was a great deal of shouting and commotion aboard the ship for several more hours. In stories and ballads, everything was always well after the battle was done, but real life was a lot messier. Shaundar focused his awareness on the forward section of the upper hold, which had been converted to an infirmary. There were many wounded in there, bleeding all over the floor. Naliatha, their Chiurgeon, worked with a grim fierceness as her assistants spread scratchy sand on the floor to soak up the blood. Without commands and responses being shouted through speaking-tubes, Shaundar was able to pick up snippets of muffled conversation through vibrations on the infirmary walls. Most of the wounds seemed to come from splinters and shattered glass, though one of the catapult crew had taken a nasty bump on the head. There were a couple of crossbow bolts that had to be removed from shoulders and bellies. Someone else had taken a laceration to the face which, Naliatha explained to the patient, might have meant a lost eye if the shard that had caused it were just a fingernail’s breadth to the right. Then Shaundar, still through Queenie’s senses, noticed Tyelatae. They brought her in on a stretcher, moaning and cursing in her particularly blue way. “Ma’am!” cried a tremulous voice Shaundar couldn’t quite identify. “Middie Vesper’s leg… it’s flat between her knee and her foot.” Naliatha grunted. “That will have to come off. Get me the amputation knives and the nectar. Opium too, if we have it.” “Ah, balls,” swore Tyelatae. “The war just started and now I have to go home?” “I’m sorry,” Naliatha said. “I can’t heal that. You’ll either have to wait for someone who can to be available, or you’ll have to get fitted for a prosthetic.” Her tone was sympathetic. “Well,” Tyelatae said weakly, “at least we won the day! Shaundar can really fly, huh?” Guilt washed over Shaundar in a wave. He had not been good enough, or Tyelatae would not be so injured. At about that time, Garan stuck his head into the helm room, mercifully distracting him. He tipped his hat to Shaundar, exposing sweaty brown hair. “That was amazing, lad!” he said with a grin. “I came to see what you or Queenie might need.” “Tyelatae’s really hurt,” Shaundar told him through tight lips. “She’s going to lose her leg.” Garan scowled and let out a long sigh. “That’s a rotten spot of luck!” “It’s my fault,” Shaundar groaned. “I chose to take the ballista bolts instead of the catapult stones. I deliberately put her in harm’s way.” Garan blinked. His silver-specked blue eyes flashed. “I imagine you did,” he said, seething incredulity, “and thus, we still have a ship and we’re all still alive!” Shaundar started as if slapped. “Ten man-o-war class ships versus us; we’re lucky to not be smashed to flinders,” Garan sputtered. “Except that luck had nothing to do with it. The Captain’s command and your skill at the helm, and everybody working together as a team—that’s what saved us.” Shaundar nodded slowly, not sure of what to say. “So then—damage report, Mr. Sunfall.” He cleared his throat. “Damage report, aye, sir. The larboards aft door has a hole in it, and so do the starboard aft window and the upper cargo hold. We’ve taken some hits on the top aft ballista mount, the catapult turret and the fo’c’sle. The Shrike you already know about, of course, and I think we lost the lantern on our foremast. Oh yes, and there’s a big bruise on our larboards wing, which hurts something fierce, I don’t mind telling you. But I don’t think it cracked at all.” “I think you’ve confirmed everything I saw or suspected,” Garan agreed. “Okay, don’t forget to enter all of this in the Pilot’s log.” “I won’t.” Yathar appeared at the door, looking ragged and with blood splattered all over his face. He was panting with exertion. “Hey, just making sure that you’re okay.” Shaundar’s emotions washed in seconds through relief to a jolt of fear. “I’m fine,” he said, “but you’re bleeding.” “Where?” Shaundar indicated his side, where a patch of blood was spreading over Yathar’s silver and red uniform. “Oh,” he said in a strangely-mild tone. He put his hand on the wound and blood came away on his fingers, “I guess I’d better get that looked at.” He smiled at Shaundar. “Turns out we boarded the flagship! One of those ‘Balorian’ orc leaders the Mithril have been talking about was commanding the flotilla. He’s dead but the Old Man thought we should bring him aboard and all have a look at him, so that we know what it is we’re fighting. He’s in the garden when you can get free.” “Thanks.” Shaundar thought he might very much like to have a look at the face of their enemy. Then he asked Yathar cautiously, “Have you heard about Tyelatae yet?” A look of fright came over his face. “No, what’s wrong with Tyelatae?” “She’s really hurt.” Shaundar licked his lips and forced the words past them. “She’s going to lose her leg.” Yathar’s expression both paled and relaxed into relief at the same time. “I guess I’ll go hold her hand,” he said. “Mr. Sunfall!” came the Captain’s voice through the speaking-tube. “Sir!” answered Shaundar. “We have survivors from the burning ships who seem to be trying to get our attention. I’m curious about just who these people are. Let’s go find out, shall we?” “Aye, sir!” They maneuvered around the wreckage of the Hornet that had lost part of its stern, and threw lifelines to the survivors clustered among the flotsam. Most of the survivors of the burning ships had abandoned the smoking, toxic wreckage, trusting in talismans to protect them against the vacuum of the Void, as all starfarers wore aboardships. But some had stayed, so the Queenies threw grapples to them before they did anything else. Shaundar caught a quick look at their enemies as they were hauled past the helm room and into the brig. Goblins were little creatures that cringed whenever an orc spoke to them. They were green or orange in colour and had large eyes and squashed faces. The orcs were green, orange, gray or black-skinned. They were taller and broader than most elves, between six and seven feet tall, and solid, like workhorses. They had thick body and facial hair and they pushed air in front of them when they walked. Shaundar realized where the epithet “pig-face” had come from, though it wasn’t what he expected. The description had led him to believe they had porcine, boar-like faces. They didn’t, but the enormous tusks jutting from their mouths where their bottom canines should be, combined with their pressed-in snub noses, did suggest a resemblance when compared to an elven or even a human appearance. Their language was guttural, almost primeval, and it differed from the language of the goblins, which hissed sibilantly. Commander Brightstar was quite pleased with this turn of events. Perhaps he had a good reason to hate the goblins and the orcs. He kicked goblins that were slower than he liked and spat in the faces of orcs that glared at him balefully. Some of the crew laughed, equally amused by the degradation of their enemies. Shaundar squirmed in the Pilot’s chair. It made him uncomfortable. How would the Exec like to be bullied and abused like that? Shaundar had been bullied at school. He knew what it was like. But when the Exec pushed one of the orcs at the rear hard enough that he sprawled on the floor, the skipper grabbed his arm. Commander Brightstar was surprised. He spun around with fury in his eyes. But seeing it was Captain Oleander, the fury faded. The Captain's quiet tone told Shaundar immediately that he was biting down on pure rage. “We will treat prisoners with dignity and respect,” he growled. Brightstar sneered. “They would not treat us with respect were the tables turned, sir.” “That doesn’t matter. Whether our foes choose to act honourably in war, or not, we will do so. And if you have a problem with that, perhaps you should seek a new commission.” Shaundar hitched in his breath. No one ever made such threats! The Brightstars were an influential family. Did he mean it? The Commander studied the Captain for a long moment. “I don’t have a problem with that, sir,” he said at last. He looked away from the Old Man’s fiery gaze. “Good.” The Captain watched the transfer of the prisoners for a few minutes before he headed back up to the quarterdeck. Shaundar grinned, satisfied, but he was glad the Exec couldn't see him down here in the helm room. There was some discussion around what to do about the enemy’s helm and engine while they had their ship in tow. They finally decided to seal the door to the pilothouse and conjure runes upon it, just to be sure the prisoners had no chance of escape if they made a break for it. They also made sure to take anything that could be used as a weapon from the ship, including the belaying pins. Shaundar would have loved to have a look at their helm and engine, but he knew there was no way they’d let a mere midshipman in there anyway. Garan came to relieve him, and his long shift was finally over. Before he did anything else, he went to see Tyelatae. Yathar was still in the infirmary, shirtless and with a bandage around his midriff, though his face had been cleaned up by this time. He was sitting beside Tyelatae. Her leg was tied up in bandages and it had indeed been amputated. “I came as soon as my shift ended.” His shoulders hunched. She looked up at him with the dazed expression of the heavily drugged. “Don’ worry about me, Shaundar,” she slurred. “I’m tough. I’ll be fine.” Yathar cast him an anxious smile. “Naliatha says that it’s easier to make prosthetics if you don’t have to build a knee, so she’ll be back on two feet in no time, one way or another.” “Well, I am glad to hear that!” He swallowed, relieved. “I came to say I’m sorry. I chose to take those ballista bolts instead of the catapult stones, so this is my fault.” “To the Void with that!” She swore as she sat up. “This is the orcs’ fault.” This was too much effort and so she collapsed back into her pillow. “They’re gonna tell stories about this day, Shaundar.” She sighed. “I really wan’ a pipe,” she lamented with a wistful expression. “Mine broke, dammit.” Shaundar produced his pipe and shared a smoke with the two of them in contemplative silence. “Have you had a look at the Balorian Commander yet?” Yathar asked. “No, I came right here. I’ll go do that and I’ll be back.” Shaundar got up, leaving them his pipe, and headed into the garden on the other side of the hold. Elven ships kept a garden when they could for many reasons. Not only did it provide them with fresh fruit and vegetables during a voyage, especially when tended by a druid, but they had noticed a ship’s air lasted longer with several plants to renew it. Besides, they nourished the soul. They were arranged to be both practical and aesthetically pleasing. Currently, there was a large planter lying fallow in the center of the garden, and that was where they had laid out the body of the enemy Captain. He was larger than even other orcs--at least seven feet tall, maybe seven and a half--and broader too. But he seemed less savage, somehow. Maybe it was that he had less of that strange fur-like hair, or maybe it was his smaller tusks, which were encrusted with jewels. Shaundar noted, looking closely, that one had been carved with a rune and then gilded. The Balorian Captain was wearing red leather armour, studded with the teeth or claws of an unfamiliar animal. The same rune as the one on his tusk was also tooled into two patches on his armour at the shoulder-joints. His skin was charcoal gray, but his eyes were closed so Shaundar could not see what colour they were. Around his neck, he wore a leather string threaded through a hodgepodge of different sized and shaped teeth. Wondering what had killed him, Shaundar inspected the body and found a congealing bloody patch between leather plates in the armour. “Fearsome brute,” Lieutenant Sylria remarked, studying him from a distance. “They’re pretty big,” Shaundar agreed. “Why do you think they hate us so much?” She touched one of the enormous steel-toed black leather boots that their dead foe still wore. “My father said it’s because we humiliated them in the last war, and no one can stand to be humiliated.” “I suppose I can see that.” It felt indecent, somehow, for the two of them to be poking at the orc’s body as if he were some kind of insect, dried and pinned to a display board. Suddenly Shaundar was ashamed. “I’m going back to the infirmary. I’m going to sit with Tyelatae.” Sylria winced. “Aye, I heard about that. Is she going to be okay?” “She says so.” He laughed aloud in appreciation of his friend’s resilience. “I imagine it will take more than a lost leg to keep Tyelatae down!” Sylria smiled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that! Just don’t forget to sleep at some point. And thanks for flying us out of that, Mr. Sunfall.” He smiled just a little. “My honour and pleasure, ma’am.”
***
They towed their prizes back to the lively free port of Phoenix Rock. Shaundar was secretly pleased by the agog expressions of his fellow sailors, and less secretly pleased by the tall, regal form of his father waiting for them on the dock.
“Admiral,” he said with a hopeful smile, offering his father a crisp salute. There was a new crescent at his father’s collar to mark the recent promotion.
Admiral Sunfall saluted back. “As you were, Midshipman-Pilot,” he gruffed, and with that he clasped Shaundar in a hug.
This was extremely out of character for his often-stiff Alfar father, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to do at first. But then he hugged him back.
“I have read the dispatches,” said the elder Sunfall, backing off to meet his son’s blue eyes with his golden ones. “I have never been so proud of you.”
Shaundar choked back the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You too, lad,” he said to Yathar, who was right behind him.
A slow grin spread across Yathar’s face. His shoulders straightened. “Thank you, sir.”
That evening was given to much frivolity and merriment, as Yathar composed a ballad on the spot to regale the Navy bar where the crew gathered; this time not just the officers, but all together, as one.Have you enjoyed The Queen's Dirk? Subscribe to my Patreon for more Toy Soldier Saga fiction, available right here on WorldAnvil!
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