The stars shined with blazing indifference. They wheeled over the dark ocean in their slow march with The Wanderer shining like a lighthouse high in the western sky, firmly fixed in the center of the Boar. Aboard the patrol cutter Redfin 12, oars stowed and rigged for half sail, the watchman sat with his back to the east and stared up. Partly because The Wanderer riding The Boar meant good luck for sailors but mostly because of his laziness, the watchman was unaware that he'd be dead in less than a minute.
The waters to the east of Redfin 12 had already started to rise. A subtle mounding that an experienced eye would have seen in an instant, but likely would not have understood. Water simply did not move that way. Not naturally, that is.
Redfin 12 was a Rennon cutter over 50 armslengths long and 10 to beam. Two masted, decked over a hold with 25 oars on each side, stern castle for the master's quarters and the mates. It's sharp prow was slicing through calm seas with a gentle breeze just filling out the sails. On a heading of south by southwest, the cutter was on a routine patrol in the waters between The Shattered and the Voy Diurne. Things were quiet amongst the scattered peoples of the scattered islands and so the Rennon had little to patrol for. It was this routine that doomed one hundred and twelve souls to the deep dark.
The water continued to rise up. It formed a pillar that blocked the stars, almost as big around as the cutter was long. It was when it started to crest like the head of a striking serpent that someone asleep on the deck happened to wake up and see it. If he had had the time to figure out what it was he might have shouted a warning. But the sailor just looked up in disbelief as the stars were blotted out by a giant plug of water punching down from straight above.
The sound built like a rushing waterfall. Men stirred. Then, like a hammer blow from an angry sea god, the pillar drove into the deck. The sides of the cutter split away and the deck was forced down against the keel, cleaving it in two. Wood splintered, rigging ripped at the sails, bodies were skewered. A thunderous woompf of air blasted out from the destroyed ship as it was turned over and over until every last piece of it separated. The metal bits sank and the wood bits bobbed their way up. The sizzling sound of air bubbles zipped across the wreckage and soon all became quiet again.
A minute later several sailing skiffs appeared in the starlight and coasted through the wreckage. The skiffs were catamarans with decks that thust forward into blunt nosed prows that were upturned like ramps. Blue skinned warriors were crouched along the fore deck with weapons and grim looks. Behind them were teams of sailors that manned the sails and rudders.
Gamble knelt at the top of a prow and surveyed the damage. He could hear the other skiffs around him as they slipped slowly through the waves. The closest skiff next to him held the same compliment of warriors and sailors plus his younger brother, Thrown. The younger Tormangi stood on his deck, holding on to some rigging. "So... overkill?"
Gamble looked down at the empty jar in his hand and gave his brother a look that wouldn't be visible in the low light but Thrown would have seen a thousand times before. "Perhaps. We still have enough Arcanum." He tossed the jar into the water. "If Spark succeeds we'll need even less."
He didn't want to think too much about the danger his lifemate was in. She had her mission and he had his. He tilted his head back and called out into the night. "Remember, brothers! For 300 years the Rennon have had their way! It ends today!" Cheers rose up all around him.
Thrown started to lead his skiff in song. The others soon followed. With a nod of his head Gamble told the sailors to haul up canvas and let them catch the breeze. The other skiffs all did the same and the strike force sailed on. Gamble had a dockyard to destroy and a Harbormaster to kill.
The stars continued to shine but Gamble thought they looked slightly less indifferent.
