Read Online Spectyr by Philippa Ballantine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philippa Ballantine
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Pretender’s stomach clenched in anger.
Many people, Raed among them, acknowledged that the new Empire had brought with it advantages: warfare was a thing largely of the past, commerce was flourishing and the people were no longer plagued as frequently by geist activity.
One of the terrible things that remained, however, was a rotten, stinking carcass at a fine feast: slavery.
His grandfather had often been tyrannical—holding an Empire together was not an easy task—but the issue that had haunted his reign most of all had been slavery. His crusade against it had been one of the reasons the Assembly of Princes had turned on him. At least a half dozen of them claimed their kingdoms could not manage without it.
The new Emperor, the one who the Princes had imported from over the ocean, had proven far more compliant to their wishes. He looked the other way while islands off the coast were raided for their inhabitants, who were set to work in distant parts of the Empire. Perhaps he didn’t want to test the loyalty of his benefactors so soon. Perhaps he felt he needed to wait and find his feet. Whatever his reasoning, Raed had none of those concerns.
Slave ships were his natural prey. His hunting earned his father much kudos among the ramshackle towns of the scattering of small islands between Arkaym and Delmaire. Today he would free more slaves and then use the stinking remains of the ship for his own purposes. Two birds had never been more efficiently killed with one stone.
With nod of his head, Aachon called for the topsail to be unfurled, and the Dominion leapt through the water to her purpose. Her crew meanwhile sharpened cutlasses and prepared for battle. No slave ship, low in the water and with the blunt scow features, could ever hope to match the brigantine’s speed.
At his left shoulder, Tangyre drew her sword. “I find I am rather growing to like your plan, my Prince.”
“This is the easy bit,” Aachon observed in a low undertone.
“But also the most satisfactory,” Raed replied, as the Dominion bore down on the slave ship. This close, the grubby lettering on its hull could be made out.
Sweet Moon might be a very unlikely name for a ship of this ilk—slavers often had a curious sense of humor. On the deck, several of them could be seen, also preparing for battle.
Raed called out, and Aleck quickly raised their flag. The Rossin’s mer-shape flapped free and loose, spilling out into the breeze with a sharp snap. The Young Pretender felt his throat constrict at the sight of his tormentor. Yet it was not just he who feared the image. A cry arose from the slavers. They now knew whom they faced.
Skimming across the waves, the Dominion came on fast like retribution. Aachon steered them skillfully, until they were stealing the wind right out of the Sweet Moon ’s sails.
“Heave to,” Aachon bellowed, “or we will blow your sorry arse out of the water!”
Perhaps the Rossin flag had been the wrong choice, because the slavers did the exact opposite. As the sailors of the Dominion scrambled to navigate their ship up within grappling range, the slavers on the Sweet Moon began throwing struggling forms off the stern.
“By the Blood,” Raed roared, standing on the rigging. “Filthy murderers!” He knew there was no time for grappling hooks.
“My Prince—” Aachon surged forward, but it was too late.
The Young Pretender wrapped one arm around a portion of the running rigging and kicked out hard from his ship. The ocean raced by under his feet, but years of sailing made Raed very adept at judging distance. Behind him a half dozen of his crew followed in his wake.
He landed on the swaying deck, dropped down lightly from the rope and grappled a swarthy shape that was about to thrust a manacled woman into the heaving sea. The slaver howled as Raed buried his knife into his neck. Blood poured onto the deck, while the woman screamed like it had been her who had been cut.
More of his crew landed next
Many people, Raed among them, acknowledged that the new Empire had brought with it advantages: warfare was a thing largely of the past, commerce was flourishing and the people were no longer plagued as frequently by geist activity.
One of the terrible things that remained, however, was a rotten, stinking carcass at a fine feast: slavery.
His grandfather had often been tyrannical—holding an Empire together was not an easy task—but the issue that had haunted his reign most of all had been slavery. His crusade against it had been one of the reasons the Assembly of Princes had turned on him. At least a half dozen of them claimed their kingdoms could not manage without it.
The new Emperor, the one who the Princes had imported from over the ocean, had proven far more compliant to their wishes. He looked the other way while islands off the coast were raided for their inhabitants, who were set to work in distant parts of the Empire. Perhaps he didn’t want to test the loyalty of his benefactors so soon. Perhaps he felt he needed to wait and find his feet. Whatever his reasoning, Raed had none of those concerns.
Slave ships were his natural prey. His hunting earned his father much kudos among the ramshackle towns of the scattering of small islands between Arkaym and Delmaire. Today he would free more slaves and then use the stinking remains of the ship for his own purposes. Two birds had never been more efficiently killed with one stone.
With nod of his head, Aachon called for the topsail to be unfurled, and the Dominion leapt through the water to her purpose. Her crew meanwhile sharpened cutlasses and prepared for battle. No slave ship, low in the water and with the blunt scow features, could ever hope to match the brigantine’s speed.
At his left shoulder, Tangyre drew her sword. “I find I am rather growing to like your plan, my Prince.”
“This is the easy bit,” Aachon observed in a low undertone.
“But also the most satisfactory,” Raed replied, as the Dominion bore down on the slave ship. This close, the grubby lettering on its hull could be made out.
Sweet Moon might be a very unlikely name for a ship of this ilk—slavers often had a curious sense of humor. On the deck, several of them could be seen, also preparing for battle.
Raed called out, and Aleck quickly raised their flag. The Rossin’s mer-shape flapped free and loose, spilling out into the breeze with a sharp snap. The Young Pretender felt his throat constrict at the sight of his tormentor. Yet it was not just he who feared the image. A cry arose from the slavers. They now knew whom they faced.
Skimming across the waves, the Dominion came on fast like retribution. Aachon steered them skillfully, until they were stealing the wind right out of the Sweet Moon ’s sails.
“Heave to,” Aachon bellowed, “or we will blow your sorry arse out of the water!”
Perhaps the Rossin flag had been the wrong choice, because the slavers did the exact opposite. As the sailors of the Dominion scrambled to navigate their ship up within grappling range, the slavers on the Sweet Moon began throwing struggling forms off the stern.
“By the Blood,” Raed roared, standing on the rigging. “Filthy murderers!” He knew there was no time for grappling hooks.
“My Prince—” Aachon surged forward, but it was too late.
The Young Pretender wrapped one arm around a portion of the running rigging and kicked out hard from his ship. The ocean raced by under his feet, but years of sailing made Raed very adept at judging distance. Behind him a half dozen of his crew followed in his wake.
He landed on the swaying deck, dropped down lightly from the rope and grappled a swarthy shape that was about to thrust a manacled woman into the heaving sea. The slaver howled as Raed buried his knife into his neck. Blood poured onto the deck, while the woman screamed like it had been her who had been cut.
More of his crew landed next
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