Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Storms and Death on the Hydrai

Unaware of events stirring to the northwest involving his father, Seamus' eldest son paused on the ladder leading topside to pull his hood up against the storm howling across the deck in front of him. Only after he was satisfied that he had some protection against the vicious storm that had dropped on them almost out of a clear winter sky to pound at the task force fleet, did Caedin Tod proceed, one gloved hand on a nearby rail against the ship's heavy storm-caused roll and the other holding his cowl in place.

"My lord!" a voice hailed him almost as soon as his boots touched the ice-encrusted deck and Caedin was forced to swing his head to look for its source.

"Captain Douglas," Caedin quickly returned when he identified the crouched over figure carefully advancing over the icy deck towards him, a safety line tied about his midriff. He had to shout to be heard over the wind's howl.

"What news of import do you have for me? You said it was urgent."

Douglas, a veteran of Mamra's multiple wars against Septus and Xanchalda, nodded, managing to do so without exposing his weathered face to the storm's chilling bite. He looked comfortable in his oiled leathers, having seen and ridden out not a few storms in his time.

"According to my reckoning, Highness, we crossed into Septan territory sometime last night, shortly after the storm fell on us." From Port Titus, the captain's burr was nearly hidden by his firm and practical tone. "It's my habit to run up our colors then send a bird back with a progress report. I got my pennant up." He gestured to the stern lines where a number of triangular pennants sporting the colors of Mamra were flying.

"But the storm won't allow me to send my report. The bird would be dead half a length off the deck."

Caedin frowned. This was the news of such importance that he had to leave the relative comforts of his cabin below deck and venture into the maelstrom to receive it? He was about to comment on that when Douglas went on.

"That being said, Highness, we should've had at least a patrol cutter outbound from New Kalisor off our side to pace us, our colors snappin' in the wind and all. But the Septans have nothing in the water that we can see."

"The storm could be pinning them in port, captain. That means very little," Caedin observed, wincing as several slivers of ice were driven past his hands and into his face, slashing painfully against the exposed skin.

Douglas bobbed a quick bow of polite acknowledgement.

"Too right, Highness, that could be so. However, if I may point out, I've reefed my main sails, have storms sails only in the rigging and, while we're being tossed about, my draft is enough that I can brave this storm. The Septans are, by far, superior sailors. They'd have every span of canvas up in their rigging on a day like today and would be riding the storm's crest laughing. Only a hurricane's spout would keep the Fisherfolk in port, and a good number of them would be chaffing at the chance to ride the funnel to whatever land they can find on the other side!"

Chips of dark sapphire, Caedin's eyes stared at Douglas as his mind worked. It was true: the Septans were, bar none, the best sailors in the human kingdoms. No mere storm would keep them from wetting their keels against the might of the Seas of Hydrai and Polua. The exploits of the Fisherfolk were legendary, stretching their wind-driven hand as far east as the misty western coasts of mysterious Hydrai, south to Uepolua and the Chain Islands, and even around the southern horn of Reutha and into the vastness of the distant western oceans. It was said that if the Fisherfolk had spent less time sailing and more time fighting, Mamra would've been conquered a hundred times over. Even so, the battles between the two neighboring lands were vicious and unrelenting, resulting in dozens of vessels sank and thousands dead. Any Septan vessel spotting a ship flying Mamran colors would've been on them like a dog on a rat.