War of the Werelords by Curtis Jobling Page A

to power in the navy, Drew?” asked Vega from where he crouched beside him, eyes never leaving the warship. “Scorpio didn’t earn his reputation through diplomacy and good-hearted deeds. Show me a naval officer who’s not a pirate and I’ll show you a fraud. It’s in Scorpio’s blood, as sure as it’s in mine.”
    The Sharklord’s hungry smile made Drew shiver. It was dusk, and the sun was setting, painting the sky red behind the
Bastian Empress.
Vega was always at his most aggressive at dusk, something the young Wolflord had become accustomed to. The mention of piracy had clearly stirred something in him, sending him back to his grim and glorious past in a moment of reverie. After all, the war aside, Vega was the buccaneer Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles. His reputation demanded blood.
    â€œPerhaps he’s just coming to question us? Ask us our business?”
    Vega shook his head. “Look at her course, lad. That’s a fighting line: the
Maelstrom
’s easy pickings in her eyes. We can only hope she’s looking to intercept us. The worst that could happen would be she charges our open port side. Best, she comes across our bow to slow us down. Keep her steady, Mister Figgis!” he called back toward the wheel where his mate held the ship’s course.
    â€œAnd if she rams us?” said Drew anxiously.
    â€œWe get wet.” Vega grinned at him. “On an entirely unrelated topic, how are you at swimming?”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Scorpio stood on the prow of the
Bastian Empress
,
smiling. It was the first time he had smiled in weeks, since the debacle at Calico Bay. His siege of the Bull’s city had been going so well, Duke Brand and his allies at the point of starvation, when it had all gone wrong. Where that bag of blubber Bosa had gotten the flag codes that gave the Whale passage into the heart of Scorpio’s fleet, the commander would never know. Once there, the Whalelord and his allies had struck, using surprise and lashings of blasting powder to decimate the blockade. His navy in ruins, Scorpio and a handful of vessels had limped away, heading through the Lyssian Straits and following the coast to Omir. Thankfully, Bosa had not followed, remaining in Calico; if he had pursued them, the remnants of Scorpio’s fleet would have been sent to the seabed.
    The Spyr trader was a lean-looking ship, built for speed. He had to laugh at the idiot Omiri, flying their red silk flags and advertising their precious cargo. Did they think the blessing of their merchant guilds would protect them from plunder? Perhaps from Omiri pirates, but the ocean was an awfully big place, and not everyone played by the same rules.
    Scorpio glanced back across the decks. His men were buzzing, close to a kill. Many of his sailors had perished in the Whale’s attack, and only a skeleton crew now operated the
Bastian Empress,
but that was all he needed for such easy prey. They were a worthless crew he was lumbered with, and he never wasted any opportunity to remind them of that. He relished dishing out discipline, taking the whip to their backs himself, especially after their disgraceful showing in Calico.
    The sooner this sorry campaign in Lyssia was over with, the sooner he could get back to Bast and his real work, out of the Catlords’ service. Scorpio was a slaver, a dealer in blood, flesh, and bone, and he had lost out on a number of opportunities since masterminding the landing of Onyx’s army on this northern continent. No doubt his friend Count Kesslar was spinning gold out of Lyssia’s misfortunes. Scorpio made a mental note to catch up with the old Goat once this war was done.
    Poor though the fading light was, Scorpio was able to get a better look at the trader as the
Bastian Empress
lurched closer. She was a handsome vessel, with the sleek lines and swagger of a racing galleon. Perhaps she had once served in some military capacity before