Dragon Mage- Uprising by Brian Ference & Chris Turner

Author:Brian Ference & Chris Turner [Ference, Brian & Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cave Creek Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-10-17T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11.

Darkthorn Isle

A black flag with dueling dragons rode high on Serle’s lead schooner’s mizzen. He commanded The Persephone with a stern hand, guiding it through the waves like a fine-honed sailfish. His thieving daughter had evaded capture again, but larger prizes were for the taking.

Twelve schooners trailed in his wake as would a pod of whales. Four were commandeered Black Claw vessels outfitted with pirate crews. Captain Varnet, master of The Calliope, had just joined Serle’s fleet. A bluff, blond-bearded man, eager for spoils and slaughter, he ruled with hand almost as stern as his own. Fame tempted the man’s mind, with a longing to make a name for himself. His three ships sailed in unison, crowded with men bearing gleaming swords at the hip, eager to stretch their limbs across the deck of the next ship they fell upon.

The remainder of the fleet belonged to Serle, bringing the count to thirteen ships. He grinned. An ominous number. Unfavorable for his enemies.

The weather stayed fair, a hint of squalls to the south. A steady wind blew from the northeast. Like a flock of snow geese, the rogue ships rode the breeze, tacking back and forth across the blustery reach as they approached Darkthorn, the northernmost and perhaps most unwelcoming isle of the Black Claw territories.

Serle rubbed his leathery cheeks, the skin toughened by decades spent in the sun. If only they could seize enough Black Claw ships in this next raid to cement his power!

Soon enough, he would move against Rivenclaw itself and take the main port. It would cost him in blood and ships, but such a move would yield enough wealth to make up for the losses. Such was the pirate’s code and the game he had played all his life.

The fall of the Black Claw Empire was long overdue—the cursed Black Claws, yes, they would tumble, and his armada would be supreme. Skull and crossbones would ride the flags of every ship from Fairweather Town to Xandu, everywhere across the Serpents’ Deep. He would have the last laugh.

If this strange wizard, Cybox, or whatever the fool’s name was, stayed true to his word, that dream might come true even sooner. Not that he trusted the poisonous sea snake any farther than he could spit. No doubt the man would betray them on the drop of a silver shell. He’d tangled with serpents of his kind before—slimy, slick-tongued and dangerous, with about as much mercy as a striking adder—but this one was an extra special breed.

Perhaps the fool would deliver what he promised and die in the act. With all his heavy black garb and pale, twitchy hands, the wizard had one foot in the grave.

“Sails to starboard, Captain,” grunted Myx, his misshapen gunner. “Shall we engage?”

Serle jerked his attention back to the sea.

“No, Myx, let them flee before us. We’ve bigger fish to skewer. Ahead full sail to Darkthorn Island!”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The helmsman Grar grinned.

Serle reached for the horn of grog at his side and grimaced.

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