Captain’s report: We are docked in Salrich, a client culture of the Pantheon, resupplying. Having a culture that is a known quantity, where crew can be given leave and not worry about entanglements with local customs, is a relief. Our plan is to set sail in three days.
Walking out of the bookseller, Sinclair Foran carried a large bundle of assorted books. Whistling, he walked along the cobblestone street and headed back to the docks. William Nickerson fell into step next to the healer.
“Quite a load of books you have there, healer,” said the quartermaster.
Looking down at them, the healer said, “Yes, but some of them are for the captain.”
“You know, if you let me know what you want, I can usually get better prices. Especially if you’re buying so many,” suggested Nickerson. Looking at the spines of the book, Nickerson read out loud, “101 Tales of Historical Romance.”
“The captain requested that one,” said the healer, coldly.
“I was going to bring this to you onboard, but since you’re here, I can give it to you now,” said William, feeling at his pockets. Pulling out a bag of sweets, he held them out to the healer.
Sinclair Foran stopped and looked at the quartermaster appraisingly. “If this is some sort of shakedown…”
“I don’t know why everyone is so ready to believe the worst of me,” said the quartermaster. “I know you like sweets, so I got you some.”
“Well, in that case, thank you,” the healer said, accepting the bag and putting it in his pocket. “I’d better get going.” He hurried off as Nickerson looked after him.
* * *
“You’re still not taking leave, Henry,” said Captain Baxtor, as he and Henry Cook stood alone on the main deck of the docked ship the Phoenix. “You don’t have anything to prove to me. I think you should blow off some steam,” said the Captain.
“After our time on Shazukar, I’ve been finding life onboard more relaxing than visiting ports,” said the youthful chief engineer.
With a chuckle, Joseph Baxtor said, “I can’t have a chief engineer who is afraid to leave the ship. Don’t make me order you to go for a pint, young man.”
“And what are you doing on board, Joseph?” asked Henry pointedly.
“My books are all on board,” protested the captain.
Looking out to sea, Henry said, “Is it just me or are there a number of ships on the horizon?”
Moving to the quarterdeck and taking out his farscope, Captain Baxtor scanned the horizon. Handing the spyglass to the chief engineer, he grimly said, “Zith.”
* * *
Clanging rang out across the harbor. People on shore could now see the approaching ships, and once their flags were visible, fled in a panic. On the Phoenix, Captain Baxtor and Henry Cook were assembling the crew on board and grabbing supplies to depart.
“I need to get something from healer Foran’s cabin,” said Joseph Baxtor.
“Can I help,” asked Henry Cook.
“No,” said Joseph Baxtor firmly. “I can handle it. You go grab anything of importance you can think of.”
* * *
Onshore, crew members from the Phoenix were fighting through the crowd of people moving away from the dock. Henry Cook joined them.
“Help carry what we’ve already pulled off of the ship,” he said, gesturing at the goods weighing down the deckhands with him. “Captain said no one is to get back onboard. We’re headed to the citadel.”
“There are just a few things I need to grab, quickly,” said William Nickerson, moving around Henry on the dock.
“Captain’s orders,” said the chief engineer. He handed the quartermaster the sack he was carrying. “We’re going to the citadel.”
The quartermaster took the sack and looked at the ship longingly.
Sinclair Foran approached the chief engineer and said, “You don’t understand. I must go back to the ship.”
“If it’s whatever is in your cabin, the Captain went for it already,” said Henry, looking at the healer curiously.
Exiting the ship, Captain Baxtor walked along the dock with a large bundle wrapped up and slung over his shoulder. Sinclair Foran’s face showed relief. He moved to take the bundle from the captain, until Baxtor said, “It’s fine, I have it.”
“Let’s move out men,” said Frank Ward, in his sweaty bedclothes. As a group, they began making their way through town toward the citadel.
* * *
Captain Baxtor led the ragtag group into the citadel. A low-ranking priest came up to them.
“Captain Baxtor! What support can we expect from the Pantheon? Has Mytar dispatched a fleet yet? What can you do to help us?” said the junior clergyman.
Gesturing at his group, Joseph Baxtor replied, “We’re as taken aback by this situation as you are. We’ve had to abandon our ship and haven’t been in contact with the Pantheon yet. Perhaps you can help us get settled first, then we’d be happy to begin coordinating the defense.”
“Why, of course,” said the priest, mouth tightening into a line. “Ensuring your comfort should be our top priority when we’re about to be raided by the Zith.” He called out to a number of stewards to prepare temporary quarters for the Phoenix’s crew.
“Send a report to Mytertown,” Captain Baxtor instructed Radiance. Turning to Albert Reeves, he said, “Talk to their city guard and defense force. Find out what they’re planning to do and how we can help.”
Following the stewards into a large dining hall, the crew helped move tables out of the way and spread out pallets to sleep on. Captain Baxtor insisted that putting up dividers to create privacy for the officers was a top priority and, once they were in place, he deposited the bundle he’d been carrying into Sinclair Foran’s designated area.
Minutes later, Radiance reported to Captain Baxtor. “The Zith elementalists are intercepting any sprites I try to send with reports. They’re preventing messages from being sent or received.”
* * *
As the Zith ships reached shore, they tied up on the deserted docks and raiders began pouring out of the ships, running into town screaming. Zith priests and their assistants began demolishing carts and collecting wood from around town and assembling along the main thoroughfares.
Over the next few hours, those citizens who had tried to hide were rounded up, bound, and taken to the burning pyres. From the citadel, Joseph Baxtor, Frank Ward, and Albert Reeves watched, along with a group of Salrich priests and municipal leaders as the Zith invaders sacrificed the citizens they’d captured.
Watching the Phoenix, the officers saw Zith raiders looting the ship, taking everything else of value they could find.
“They’re stripping her clean,” observed Albert Reeves. The Third Captain had a neatly trimmed goatee, but was otherwise clean shaven.
“I expect they’ll do worse than that,” suggested the northern looking Frank Ward. When the Third Captain looked at him questioningly, he continued, “I imagine they’ll assign a crew and take her.”
* * *
Creeping through the woods, Albert Reeves gestured to the group of seven marines following him stealthily. He reached the edge of the woods and watched the Zith raiders pulling the family out of their farmhouse and binding them. Tossing the bound family into a cart, the raiders began grabbing foodstuff and other useful objects that could easily be transported.
Gathering the marines, the Third Captain said, “There are only four raiders, so it should be easy to take them down without any injuries to the family. Do you all see the tracks from their cart? They’re going to head back the way they came. We’ll set up there, let them finish loading, and we’ll hit them from both sides as soon as they enter the forest.”
“Don’t let them see you or hear you and this should go over smoothly. Above all else, be careful not to hurt any of the locals when we attack. If you can’t get a clean shot, don’t use your hand cannon, stick to your rapier. We’ve got them outnumbered and we’ll surprise them, there’s no reason to mess this up.”
