A Pirate's Crown

The defenders fell back, but they had nowhere to go. The initial line of defense broken, Jiran's men swarmed up the wall and quickly overwhelmed their foes. Even as shots from the drum tower skipped off the stones around them, some felling men where they stood, the triumphant storming party cut down their foes and took over the task of dragging the heavy shore guns into position.

"They're going to fell the tower," Vyrun gasped. A groan went up through the men at the windows.

"Think of all the loot they'll bury!" someone moaned. Bromm scowled. Even if he did crown Apsar now, what would he be king of? He hoped that Kainan secured him the fleet. He would need the slaves to dig out the treasure vaults from the ruins of the tower. Wherever Liya had hidden herself, he hoped that it was not there.

The cannon boomed, hurling a massive iron ball weighing half a talent across the bailey to shatter a gaping hole in the wall of the tower. The ball burst from the opposite side of the tower in a shower of stone, but Bromm breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the tower still stood strong.

"They'll be at reloading for a while," Serris muttered. "Damn, Kainan had better get here soon."

Shots cracked back and forth as Jiran's men struggled under fire to reload the heavy gun. Bromm waited anxiously for his reinforcements from the Lion of Amra, casting frequent looks toward the harbor for any sign of either them or the outbreak of a battle among the ships at anchor.

Overlooked by the still powerful bastion, the harbor remained quiet. Yet the bastion was anything but. Saffar's men poured from the drum tower and rushed across the bailey to storm the bastion, joined by more of his men from the blockhouses opposite those where Jiran had made his base. Reloaded, the heavy shore gun boomed, but when its massive shot whipped through Saffar's men, it struck the dirt in an impressive but ultimately harmless geyser of barren earth.

Jiran's men atop the bastion were hauling a number of smaller guns into position, and some of them fired off small shot into the approaching mob. Their effect on individual men was horrific, but the mob as a whole was unperturbed. They reached the base of the bastion where Jiran's fallen still lay and began to scale the walls using the still-attached ropes. Horrified, Jiran's men scrambled to cut the ropes and cast down the grapnels. Some of Saffar's men crested the parapet and were quickly shot down.

More of Jiran's men poured from the blockhouses, and Bromm saw that slippery pirate prince himself join the fray underneath his father's banner. From atop the drum tower, a light serpentine boomed, shattering its shot against the stone floor of the bastion and showering the defenders in fragments of stone. Somewhere in the smoke billowing from the tower, Bromm thought he spied Saffar directly the guns to fire on his brother's flag.

From behind him in the hall, he heard the Parash's voice Bromm turned from the window and pressed through the crowd of onlookers. Parash had entered the hall from the back entrance, escaping Bromm's anxious vigilance. He wore a steel cuirass and morion, with a brace of pistols thrust through his waistband beside his signature tulwar. At the sight of Bromm, he threw his captain a hearty salute.

"Ready for battle, captain!" he cried. Behind him, a gang of men trailed him, all armed and ready to fight. "What's the word?"

"Saffar and Jiran are spending themselves against one another. Once one of them gains the upper hand, we're going to storm in and take the fortress for ourselves. Take surrenders, but kill anyone loyal to Jiran or Saffar. Apsar is king now. And send men to seize the vaults, if the tower doesn't collapse and bury it."

"Aye, captain," beamed Parash. "We'll hold the loot for you."

"Good. Apsar!" Bromm called. He waited impatiently as Apsar pushed, or more accurately, was pushed, forward to stand before him. "Kneel," he said. The boy swallowed hard and hesitated, but Vyrun gave him a nudge from behind and the lucky prince dropped to one knee. "With your father's crown, I name you king," said Bromm, laying the crown on Apsar's head. He had never seen a coronation before, but he instilled it with as much gravitas as he could summon. Then he tore his sword from its scabbard and thrust it toward the rafters.

"All hail Apsar!" he roared.

"Apsar!" roared his men. "Apsar! Apsar! Apsar!"

Bromm smiled, turning from Apsar to Parash and back. Somehow through the throng, he spied Aniqa beamed from the door. She nodded to him, then shuddered in excitement and raised her hands to her mouth.

Suddenly, from outside there came a mighty crack and a roar that shook the walls and the floor beneath them. Bromm ran to the window.

The bastion was obscured by a massive column of smoke, its base licked by orange flames. All around the bailey were scattered heavy stones and broken bricks, some still raining down from above. Bodies lay bloodied and broken all around.

"It was a grenade, captain!" called one of his sailors. "It must have found its way into the bastion's magazine. Gods, they're all dead!"

It was not entirely true, Bromm saw, as many men still crawled or staggered around the bailey, embracing and intermingling with men who had just been their foes moments before. They were all in shock, and Bromm saw that the moment was right.

"The Goddess of Fortune smiles on us," he cried to his men. "Forward, into the tower and end these pretenders. To battle, and remember: the cry is 'Apsar!'"

"Firelocks ready, blades drawn!" Parash ordered, and with a great cry of "King Apsar!" they poured forth from all three exits of the wing to charge Saffar's drum tower. Bromm made for the front entrance where the survivors of the bastion explosion milled around in a state of shocked disbelief, while Serris led the others toward the rear entrance of the tower.

With Bromm at the head, his pirates crashed into the remnants of Saffar's men emerging from the tower. Bromm drove the hilt of his sword into a man's jaw and knocked him to the ground.

"Down them and get them out of the way!" he called. "Only Saffar has to die!"

Some of his men obeyed, though others did not. Saffar's men fired down at them from above, one struck striking the dirt between Bromm's feet. He drew his pistol and returned fire, only to strike the stone machicolation instead of his attacker.

"Into the tower!" he roared, pointing the way with his sword, its tiger-eye gems burning brightly. He surged up the steps, trampling a down man on his way, only to find the door blocked by Saffar's men. A thicket of boarding pikes blocked the way, supported by men with firelocks to shoot through the door.

"A grenade!" he called, thrusting his hand backwards in expectation. His fingers clutched at empty air twice before someone slapped a grenade into his palm. Bromm hurled it forward with a cry and it thudded onto the floor. He smiled in triumphant anticipation, then realized it was unlit.

"A lit grenade!" he clarified, thrusting his hand backwards again.

"Look out!" someone called, and Bromm looked upward, fearing that a grenade was about to fall from above. But instead his men were looking behind him, to where Jiran himself emerged from the blockhouses to attack their exposed flank.

"Form up!" called Parash, shoving his men into position to receive the charge. Bromm shoved his way back through the ranks to lead the defense, entrusting the bloodthirsty sea dogs at the front to find a way into the tower. Two firelocks reported from behind him, but Bromm's attention was focused on the party attacking him from behind. His men had left their boarding pikes behind, expecting a brutal fight at close quarters, but it now left them at a serious disadvantage in the open ground of the bailey where Jiran's men outreached them. His men needed their captain in the front to inspire them or else they would run.

He took up a position in the front, his sword sheathed and pistols drawn. Jiran was also at the front of his men, lurking in the back no more. Jiran knew that the time to personally enter the fray had come, it was time to do or die. Jiran glared daggers at him as the distance closed. His men drew closer together, anticipating the horrible clash of sword and pike, and Bromm fired.

His shot went high and wide, flying clear over Jiran's head. He leveled his sword pistol and pulled the trigger, but the frizzen failed to spark. He frantically recocked the weapon, but before he could fire Jiran's men were upon them and he was forced to draw his sword again.

The pikeheads drove forward with terrible force, laying out three of his men spitted on their points. Bromm and his men drew back in the face of them, pressed closer to the tower even as shot rained down from above. He heard a grenade at last explode in the doorway and realized it should have been thrown into Jiran's packed pike formation.

Jiran himself stepped forward, blade at the ready and eyes locked on Bromm.

"You were stupid not to take my offer, Bromm," he cried over the roar of battle, and Bromm glared hard at him.

"You should have given me the ship," Bromm retorted.

"Has my sister gotten her hooks into you so deeply that you gave up a king's ransom for her foolish dream? Pity she's my sister, for she must be incredible in bed."

Bromm snapped the recocked pistol up into firing position, but Jiran sprang at him and he had to parry with his blade. The tiger's eyes flashed again, and Bromm turned aside what could have been a killing stroke.

Despite his youth, Jiran was an excellent swordsman, far outstripping Bromm's own skill. Fortunately, the press of battle gave Jiran little room to maneuver, or else he would have been able to dance circles around Bromm. But the younger man attacked with the ferocity of a man seeking his life's ambition, and Bromm was forced back. Steel rang against steel, another of Bromm's men fell dead, and he realized the danger of his situation.

His men had realized it as well, and he could tell they were looking around for an escape. His plans teetered on the brink of disaster. He fended off another blow of Jiran's sword and thought he saw an opening. It was a narrow one, and to miss would expose him to a deadly counterstroke, but he had few other options.

Bromm lunged for Jiran, aiming a killing stroke at his foe's heart. Jiran turned aside and Bromm saw that he had fallen into a trap. His blade cut air, while Jiran's descended from above. Bromm turned as best he could, but the wicked edge sword cut through his sword arm in a great red arc. A searing pain shot through him. He was momentarily blinded by white light and staggered forward in shock. He heard himself cry out in pain and his enchanted blade fell to the ground. He grasped at the wound, thankful that his arm was still attached, but one look up at Jiran told him he was not long for the world.

Jiran smiled with cruel triumph and drew back his blade for the final strike.

From behind there came a thunder of guns, followed by a roar of "Liya!" shot scythed through the rear of Jiran's men, spraying blood and lead everywhere. Jiran turned with a start, shock and confusion on his face quickly turning to horror as his sister and her men surged into the rear of his flank. As he had flanked Bromm, so too was he flanked by the unexpected arrival of more pirates.

Jiran turned toward Bromm, his blade held ready, and tried to finish him off, but Bromm dove aside. His hands alit on a discarded pistol in the dirt and, hoping it was primed and loaded, he snapped it up into a firing position.

Jiran's eyes widened with revelation. "Damn," he muttered, and the pistol cracked.

The shot took him right between the eyes, punching a hole through his head.

"Jiran is dead!" cried Bromm, and his men lost heart. Their leader gone, attacked in the rear, and savaged by fighting throughout the day, they scatted or threw down their weapons. Liya showed little mercy, quickly ordering her brother's close lieutenants butchered where they stood, and Bromm was in no mood to countermand her. She strode through the carnage up to his side, her shirt bloody and her smile broad.

"Are you hurt?" he asked with concern, only for her to brush him off.

"This isn't my blood," she replied easily, "but that looks like yours."

"It looks worse than it is," Bromm lied, though his arm throbbed with pain and he could barely move the hand. "But we've got to get into this tower before they slaughter us in the open. Quick, give me a grenade."

Suddenly, there came a great cheer from the doorway of the tower. Saffar's defenders burst forth, but not in a triumphant attack. Instead, they threw side their weapons and fled in a panic, right onto the blades of Bromm and Liya's men. Those who threw up their hands and begged for mercy were spared, but most of them were hacked to pieces. In shock at their terrified flight, Bromm looked to the door of the tower.

There stood Serris, triumphantly holding aloft Saffar's battered and bloodied head.

"It's always better through the back way!" he laughed and tossed the head to Bromm. Bromm looked down into Saffar's lifeless eyes with a smile.

"The tower is won!" cried Bromm, lifting the head up high. His men roared with triumph, and cries of "Apsar!" were drowned out by "Bromm!"

The battle won, Bromm called a surgeon to dress his wounds, then paused to take stock of their losses. Despite being pressed against the tower and attacked from both sides, his losses had been light. Parash had taken an ugly cut to the chest, but it had already been washed and dressed and he was likely to make a full recovery. Only a handful of his other sailors had been harmed, with few among them dead. Soon enough, a runner from Kainan arrived to report that all of the xebecs had been captured intact and his own losses were light. Bromm smiled at that, but the losses among Terkar's former men had been much worse.

Half the captains lay dead or wounded, many of their lieutenants were similarly indisposed. The fleet would not be in fighting condition for some time. The drum tower was battered but still standing, though the harbor bastion was a smoking ruin. The harbor boom had been blown loose and was now floating astray in the water. Should an enemy attempt to make an unwelcome attempt to enter the harbor, they would have no good way to prevent it.

But Serris soon arrived with news that improved his mood again. They had captured the treasure vaults intact, with the last of Saffar's men standing down when showed his severed head. Descending into the vaults, Bromm was greeted with chests of gold and silver, mountains of jewels, and a veritable armory of gilt and jewel weapons variously made of ivory, silversteel, and dragonbone. He took his pick of the spoils and ordered the rest to be distributed among the men.

Returning to the main hall, he found that Apsar had presented his father's late concubines for Bromm to choose, all naked, jeweled, and perfumed for his approval. Bromm walked the line, fondling and caressing them as he recalled the many nights and days he had spent availing himself of the late lord's women.

"Have you forgotten me so soon?" teased Liya as she entered. Her bloodstained shirt had been stripped off, and now her chest was bare. She drank in the lustful admiration of the assembled pirates as moved up to Bromm's side. "Congratulations on your victory, Bromm."

Bromm bent and kissed her scalp. "It is your victory as well, Captain."

Liya smiled and grabbed his cock through his trousers. "Should we celebrate?" Bromm smiled. She was looking forward to finally joining in an orgy. But he shook his head. There would be time later.

"You should take command of your ship now," he counseled her, "before any more events of the day overtake you. I'll choose a few beauties and meet you in your new cabin."

Liya stood up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then left with a giddy smile.

Bromm turned back to the girls, but a man burst in the rear door of the fortress, out of breath and wild-eyed.

"Captain! Sails on the horizon!" gasping for air, he pointed wildly in the direction of the watchtower that sat atop the hill north of the fortress. His brow furrowing, Bromm ran from the room, his fresh wound crying out with each speedy stride. He bolted through the bailey and out the old gate, up the arid, golden hills to the watch tower of brick and mortar. The ladder creaked beneath his hasty weight, but Bromm spared no thought for safety. Sails on the horizon. A spice convoy heading north? No, it is too early in the year. Another pirate lord come to claim Terkar's legacy for himself? Or...

Summitting the tower, Bromm took the lookout's spyglass and peered northeast. The man spoke true, he saw with a sinking feeling. A line of swift galleys cut through the waves, twenty of them at least, stretching across the horizon. Atop their masts, he could make out the sable and scarlet banner of Emir Naser of Arram. Behind them came eight lumbering galleons, no doubt laden with cannons, sappers, and the emir's askari. The fleet's course would take them around the eastern headlands, into the wind, but once they rounded the headlands, they would be able to bear down on Terkar's fortress with the wind at their backs, while Bromm's fleet would have to sail into the wind to contest their approach.

Bromm grimaced and looked south toward the harbor. The destroyed bastion was still smoldering. Bodies were strewn around the bailey, blood stained the doors of the drum tower, and litter bearers were carrying the wounded to the infirmary. The fortress was in no state to resist an attack. He handed the spyglass back to the lookout.

"Burn the tower and head for the ships," he said quietly, and left them in their stunned silence to return to the fortress. He hurried down the hill to the fortress gate where Serris waited with a score of other pirates.

"What's the word?" Serris asked, and Bromm shook his head.

"They're too powerful to fight. They're coming around the headlands to the east and they'll have the wind, unless the gods intervene."

"We can't fight them without the Lion," said muttered.

"We can't fight them with the Lion," Bromm replied. "They're near thirty sail, and half our ships don't even have captains. Empty the vaults, take all we can carry and make for the ships. We're headed west."

"You're leaving?" gasped Apsar, pushing his way through the throng. "You would run so easily?!"

"Aye, and you're leaving too. Look at this fortress, Apsar! The harbor is blown wide open, the harvest hasn't been taken in, and half your men are dead or dying. Emir Naser has won, this time. The only matter left to decide is how much you will lose. Your fortress, or your fortress and your life?"

Apsar stood in stunned silence, and Bromm could not help but feel for the boy. He had come so close to death, then to triumph, and now to bitter defeat.

"We're not broken yet," said Bromm. "We can retreat and return at a later date, but not if the emir sends us all to the headsman. Serris, order the fleet to cast off. We're running. Don't worry, I know a place we can regroup."