The Opius Chronicles: Hellion’S War

By Aaron Campbell

Jensoria is on the verge of civil war and the crew of Striker couldnt care less.

All that Hellion and his crew want is to land a big score before the war erupts.

But when an offer draws the Striker crew into the conflict, their actions could fundamentally alter the Kingdom of Jensoria.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524517212

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CAPTAIN OF STRIKER

Hellion stood on the bow of his ship, Striker, staring into the blanket of darkness that shrouded the wide ocean. He breathed deeply, inhaling the salty sea air as he squeezed his sword hilt on his waist. Hellion always loved the smell of the water, spending most of his life aboard his medium sized ship. He ruffled the dark green cloak that was wrapped around his body, the hood resting over his head, his scruffy dark brown hair covered, keeping him warm.

Taking another deep breath Hellion turned around, he looked down the deck of his ship, the hard wood ran interlocked together, three tall masts lined down the ship with a large black sail, catching the wind and pushing them through the water. A bronze plated bolt thrower was anchored to the deck at the bow and a black chest with silver trim was bolted next to it. A line of chests ran down either side of the ship, ten in all against the meter high railing. Two more bronze plated bolt throwers were anchored against the railing half way down the deck, the wheel was positioned three quarters of the way down the deck and Hellion smiled as he examined his beautiful ship.

A large man with long black hair tied into a pony tail walked up the deck towards him, Egan was a hulking man, an entire foot taller than Hellion and broader than any man the captain ever saw. He had a large double head axe strapped to his back, over his dark green singlet, Egan had an unnerving resistance to the cold wind and freezing water spraying over the deck. Hellion couldn’t see his face; they had purposely left the ship in darkness to approach their target without being spotted. He had spent five years with his crew; he could recognise their shadowy figures without thought.

We are about fifty leagues north of Ashfall. Egan’s deep husky voice was loud enough to hear over the rushing wing without the brute shouting.

The convoy should be passing us soon. Hellion commented to himself, his voice fading under the sounds of the wind. Egan rubbed his neck as he stood next to Hellion; they began walking down the deck, stopping near the central mast.

Hellion! A voice called out, as Hellion and Egan stepped towards the voice, a small skinny man wrapped in a black hooded cloak sat against the railing, his head was covered but Hellion recognised Yeamon’s voice, the accent thick from his home land still muffling his words.

He wasn’t an imposing man, Hellion thought as Yeamon stood, and a foot shorter and his body looked compressed into his tiny frame. Hellion knew of Yeamon’s past and his formidable skill set. A former assassin from the secretive Lincara Kingdom. Yeamon was a controlled man, but he had no qualms about swiftly ending lives.

We are ready. His soft voice had to be projected to travel over the ocean sounds. Hellion nodded, turning his head to look up the central mast.

A crow’s nest, a wooden bucket built around the top of the mast was hidden by the darkness, but Hellion knew his crewmate Blake would be spying out over the ocean. Blake spent most of his time in the nest. His years of training as a former Jensorian Ranger had moulded him to be the perfect lookout. Hellion eyed the handle bolted to the back of the central mast, noting the rust beginning to form.

Blake! Hellion shouted, attempting to speak with his lookout.

No sighting. He heard faintly shouted back and Hellion nodded to Egan. The brute rushed down the deck to the wheel where another man stood, holding the ship steady. Hawk, the youngest member of the crew, was the wheel man shrouded by his dark blue hooded cloak. Egan spoke to Hawk before returning back to Hellion.

We are locked. Egan told him, Hellion felt the ship shift, the sails turning to catch the wind, rotating the ship. Hellion took another deep breath.

Everyone into position. Hellion commanded.

The Jensorian transport convoy sailed through the night. A large vessel flanked by two smaller ships. Captain Mark Houston stood next to the wheel, his blue navy vest covering his long sleeved grey shirt, hand resting lightly on the plain white sword hilt. He sighed loudly, the long trip had exhausted him. He tensed, gripping the sheathed sword tightly and watched his crew. They wore a similar uniform to him, nine men rushing around the deck, a man stood next to him guiding the wheel and he knew another was in the nest at the top of the mast, scanning the ocean.

Location helmsmen? Houston asked, his gruff voice sounding harsher than intended.

Roughly fifty leagues off the coast and seventy five leagues from North Port. The helmsmen answered sharply, a well-trained sailor and loyal to his Captain. Houston looked over the enlightened deck, several torches running down the railing and a few more hanging off the large mast in the centre of the deck.

The Captain marched down to the port side railing and stared at the ship flanking them. They were warships, a bronze plated bolt thrower mounted on the bow, torches lighting up the deck and Houston could see the gold trimmed uniforms of the marines. The marines’ stood around, short swords at their waists and crossbows slung over their shoulders. Proud, highly trained members of the Marine Corps, Houston was happy to have the two marine ships guarding them.

Captain? One sailor called out to him, Houston turned to face the man.

Seaman Hunter. Houston addressed him; the young seaman was a capable sailor on his first voyage.

Seaman McKenzie has requested a shift change in the nest. He spoke, Houston sensing the nerves of the young sailor.

Relieve him. Houston ordered, the seaman nodded and rushed towards the mast. Houston continued his march down the deck with deep shallow breaths. Check the supplies He ordered one sailed who nodded, marching off as Houston carried on towards the bow.

He leaned over the front railing, staring into the darkness. He reached into the breast pocket of his vest and pulled out a small grey container. He opened the lid, picked some chewing tobacco out and placed it in his mouth. Putting his container away, he chewed the tobacco while glaring out over the choppy water.

SHIP! Houston heard the lookout scream, but the darkened ship was already upon them. Slicing past Houston’s transports starboard side; Houston turned, grunting as he saw the dark green cloaked figure roll onto the deck.

Hellion drew the short sword from his waist as his other hand reached over his shoulder, under his cloak and pulled the second short sword free. His hood covered the massive grin on his face. He quickly examined the crew, counting eleven men all armed and unsheathing. Hellion surged forward, aiming for the captain, deciphered by the only man holding a long sword. Houston’s overhead strike effortlessly blocked, a swipe dodged by a swift back step, a swirling strike glancing steel off steel, a side kick landing right in the chest. The quick exchange of sword movements was like a dance; Houston stumbled backwards from the kick as Hellion turned to engage the oncoming sailors.

Striker turned quickly, following behind the convoy. Egan stood at the front bolt thrower, a long spear loaded onto the ornament, a chain connecting the spear to the deck. Egan laughed manically as they crashed over a wave. The two marine ships were repositioning, one dropping back the transport and the other rotating the face Striker. The spear flew as Egan pulled the lever, dragging the chain through the air and the spear head struck the transports rear, digging deep into the wood. The chain pulled tight as Striker turned, the transport ship kicked as the chain pulled against it.

Hellion stumbled as the ship jolted. He glanced several sword blades away as he regained his footing. Houston rushed back to engage the pirate, Hellions swift sword manoeuvrers deflecting each strike as he danced between the crewman. Three of the crew stumbled away, clutching their wounds as Hellion continued his graceful, deadly dance.

Striker crashed over another wave. The chain snapped tight, invisible in the darkness of night. Egan cheered as the engaging marine ship was sliced by the chain, the mast crashing onto the deck as the marines bellowed. The second marine ship rotated, turning to engage. Egan opened the chest next to the bolt thrower. Pulling out a winch out, quickly attaching it to the weapon, feeding the chain through and began winding as Hawk aimed Striker at the rear of the Jensorian transport.

Hellion sliced forward, dropping onto one knee as the sailor dropped to the deck. The pirate captain threw his hood back, panting softly as he turned to face the lone standing Captain Houston.

Give up captain! Hellion called out as Houston tensed on his long swords hilt. A quick lunch and thrust was parried. Hellion spinning away as he swiped a blade at Houston’s back, cutting him between the shoulder blades. Houston’s grunts were muffled as he turned, showing no weakness in the face of his enemy. Hellion breathed in deeply and spun the swords in small circles by his side as Houston approached him. The swords glancing off each other as the two men exchanged quick movements, both attempting to breach the others defence, Hellion leaned back as he parried a strike and with a quick lunge, his sword thrust penetrated Houston’s guard. Piercing his shoulder and the Jensorian captain fell to the ground as Hellion pulled his sword free.

Houston groaned, clutching the bleeding wound as he watched the pirate walk away, heading towards the supplies.

Who the hell are you?! Houston shouted into the wind, attempting the grasp his fallen swords hilt, a foot slammed onto the blade as his fingers reached out. Houston looked up as the black hooded cloak shrouded the small skinny man.

That is Hellion. His accent thick as he spoke. A knife swiftly, almost unseen, slashed along Houston’s throat. The Captain of Striker.

CHAPTER TWO

ASHFALL

The day was busy for the Striker crew, Hellion kept his two swords on him and traded their ill-gotten gains at the Ashfall dock markets, gathering supplies and essentials. Egan met with the local brewery, ordering a couple of barrels of larger while Yeamon bought a cask of imported Lincara wine. Blake and Hawk rented stallions, riding out to the decrepit Altum ruins and spent the day training with their short swords. Hellion visited Ashfall’s mayor; an old limping man called Poe and received updates about raiders pillaging travellers between North Port and Azmar. Hellion was glad to learn about Captain Logan sulking in the barracks and gave old Poe the fallen Captain Houston’s long sword. Poe appreciated the gift, neglecting to ask how Hellion acquired it. The old mayor was a former soldier and he hug the weapon above his desk.

Blake and Hawk returned in the afternoon while Egan visited the local brothel and Yeamon enjoyed a nap on Striker. Hellion spent his afternoon walking the small defensive wall of Ashfall, stopping at the gate to stare across the fields of North Jensoria. He admired the Altum ruins, the northern forest and in the vast distance, a small speck on the horizon was East Watch. A crossing town of the Great Northern River and the border between Central Jensoria and North Jensoria.

Hellion rarely ventured south, Ashfall was in the north and he enjoyed escaping to an uninhabited island further north of Jensoria, but the south held nightmares for the young pirate captain.

Night fell upon Ashfall. The local brewery was next door to the only pub in town, The Rusty Gauntlet, was a small pub. Hellion stepped inside smiling as he surveyed the room. Dockyard workers surrounded tables, sitting and drinking larger. The far wall had a long bar with a gap on either end to allow access behind it and Hellion cheered, clapping as the small band on his right finished a song.

He crossed through the crowd, speaking quickly to several of his favourite residents and Hellion sat at a table, slightly off centre of the pub. His crew sat around the table, each man had a larger in hand, several empty mugs sat in the middle of the table and Egan handed a mug to Hellion.

They chatted randomly as a young woman approached the table with a tray. She sat the new filled mugs onto the table as Hellion slipped several silver coins into the waitress’s gown pocket. She smiled, flicking her long blond curls from her shoulder; Egan was eyeing her long legs, slightly hidden by the brown dress beneath her gown.

Thanks Hellion. Her soft voice spoke as she placed an arm around him, Hellion wrapping an arm around her waist.

Is Johnny here, Alicia? Hellion asked, looking up into her beautiful green eyes.

By the bar with Kyle. She answered, Hellion finished his mug, standing and pecking Alicia’s cheek softly before heading towards the bar.