The Winds of Khalakovo Read Online Free PDF

Nikandr called, “and bring her down by half!”
    As one, the Maharraht bolted for the skiff.
    “Jahalan, they have at least one havaqiram with them, probably two.”
    “I feel him,” he replied, “but it is not just a havaqiram, son of Iaros. They have summoned a hezhan.”
    Nikandr turned. “That’s not possible.”
    “I agree that it should not be, but they have done it.”
    Nikandr doubted him, but now was not the time for questioning; they needed to neutralize this threat before it could be brought to bear on the Gorovna —or worse, Radiskoye.
    The skiff was airborne in less than a minute—the same time it took for the Gorovna to come about and close within striking distance.
    “All fire!” Nikandr called.
    The crack of four muskets rang out, followed a heartbeat later by the thunder of cannons. Bits of wood flew free from the stern of the skiff, and one of the Maharraht jerked sharply to his right, his shoulder and ribs a mass of red. One of the others helped him to the floor and immediately began binding his wounds while the other two steered the craft northward.
    The clatter of four men reloading their muskets filled the air as Nikandr sighted carefully down the barrel of his musket. His mouth was watering, his throat swallowing reflexively. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and released it, slowly squeezing the trigger as the urge to curl into a ball grew markedly worse.
    The pan flashed. The gun kicked into his shoulder.
    The shot went wide. He’d been aiming for the man holding the sails, but it had struck the Maharraht tending to his wounded comrade. The man held his shoulder and stared up at the ship. Nikandr was close enough now that he could see the look of venom on the man’s face.
    The wind continued to blow. The sails began to luff, and the ship twisted with the force of the wind. Jahalan was trying to adjust when a gale blew across the landward bow. It was so fierce that the ship’s nose was pushed upward and windward.
    Nikandr blinked at nearby movement.
    A heavy thud sounded next to him.
    When he turned, he found a crewman lying on the deck, moaning and a river of red flowing out from underneath his head. The severe angle of the deck caused him to slide. Nikandr reached for him, but he was too far. He accelerated until Borund, holding tightly to a cleat, locked his meaty arm around the man’s waist.
    Then the wind reversed.
    The ship tilted sharply forward. There were only sixteen sails in use, but they were full and round and near to bursting.
    A crack resounded from the upper part of the ship. Like a spruce felled in the forest, the topmost portion of the foremast tilted and was thrown amongst the rigging astern it.
    “Reef the sails, men!” Nikandr called above the roar of the wind.
    The crew began lowering the sails as the wind intensified. It was so loud that most would no longer be able to hear Nikandr’s commands.
    The ship had now tilted to the point where the dozen men on deck, including Nikandr and Borund, were sliding toward the landward bulwarks. Nikandr landed well enough, but Borund cried out as the weight of the wounded man fell upon his ankle.
    “Gravlos, right her!”
    Gravlos fought hard against the controls, saying nothing as the ship tilted further and further.

CHAPTER 3
    As the ship continued to rotate, the hull groaned. A crewman plummeted from the starward foremast and was caught in one of the windward shrouds. He screamed in pain, his left arm hanging uselessly above his head at an unnatural angle.
    Gravlos, who had been forced to maneuver himself onto the cabinet that housed the helm’s levers, was pulling frantically on the one that controlled the roll, but it was having no effect.
    Suddenly Nikandr realized what was happening. “Gravlos, release the controls!”
    Gravlos’s eyes grew wide. “ Nyet , My Lord!”
    “Now, Gravlos!”
    The ship had tilted nearly to the point where the starward masts were pointing toward the horizon.
    Gravlos’s