Page 30 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

F

ear did strange things to people. Meeting one’s fate in such a gruesome way caused even the bravest of men to cry—as evidenced by Blake’s sobbing crew behind him. Apparently, it also had the effect of driving some people mad. For Emeline’s declaration was precisely that. Reaching for her, he drew her close, wanting to be beside her when he breathed his last, hating that he’d been unable to save her and bring her home as he’d promised.

There was no defeating the power of the Ring. Which was precisely why he sought it for himself. Now all his efforts, all his wealth, his island and mansion, the little power he brandished was all for naught. Yet better to have tried than to remain an impotent serf, always yielding to the rules and dictates of overlords.

His only regret stood beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist and burying her face in his shirt. “I’m sorry, Emeline,” he whispered in her ear.

Charlie merely stared over the sea, a numbness covering her eyes. Pedro gripped Blake’s side. Tight. Blake wrapped his other arm around the lad. Finn and Layton forsook their tirades of curses and began to pray. Odd, that. He’d never expected to hear such pleadings to the Almighty from the likes of them.

The wind shifted. The mad rush of the sea softened. The Summons righted itself. Blake glanced over the railing to see the dark hole at the center of the funnel growing smaller and smaller as the frenzied spin of the waters diminished.

“Look!” His shout drew everyone’s gazes, including Emeline, who lifted her head from his chest.

The last dark spot of the funnel disappeared. Completely. Replaced by the normal rise and fall of the Caribbean swells glittering in bright sunlight.

“Huzzah!” His crew broke into cheers and laughter, louder and more joyful than when they’d captured a prize full of gold. Charlie bowed her head, breathing heavily. Finn drew out his pipe and stuffed it in his mouth. Layton didn’t move, just stared over the sea in disbelief. Pedro yipped and hollered and began dancing with Bandit, who had leapt into his arms.

In the distance, no more than one hundred yards away, the Guerrieri Della Croce had raised her remaining sails and was slowly drifting away, tilting beneath the blows she’d received and heading toward a spit of land in the distance.

Surely Blake was dreaming. The Summons and all on board had no doubt been sucked into the funnel and were now at the bottom of the sea. Though the look of shock and relief on Emeline’s angelic face and her sweet smell told him ’twas no dream. “What just happened?”

Smiling, she gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling with delight. “God happened. He saved us, Blake!” She blew out a sigh and scanned the sea. “The funnel was evil, demonic.” She glanced back at him. “You said there was no power greater, but I knew there was. God’s power is greater than anything!”

Blake shook his head. How could he deny what he’d seen with his own eyes? The funnel had been real and about to devour them, but with one prayer from this dear lady, her God rescued them.

Excitement lit her face. “Do you not see how powerful He is and how much He loves you? He sent His Son to die for you.”

A spark lit in his soul, a light, a hope that what Emeline said could be true. That there was, indeed, a Creator who loved Blake, whose power was unmatchable. Yet…wasn’t that what his mother used to tell him—before she threw him, penniless, onto the streets? Regardless of what just happened, Jo and Della Morte were getting away. And he couldn’t live with himself if he allowed that.

He turned to issue orders for the chase when she grabbed his arm and squeezed it tight. “Let them go. They deserve each other and that bedeviled Ring.”

He placed his hand atop hers, gently, and with his other eased a strand of hair the wind had blown across her cheek. “I cannot, Emeline. Not when it is within my grasp. Besides, with such power, think of the evil they could do in this world.”

Moisture filled her eyes. “Yet you have seen there is a power much greater than theirs.”

He eased the back of his fingers against her cheek. “’Tis your power, your God’s power, not mine.”

“It could be, if you give your life to Him.” She gazed up at him with such affection, such pleading, that he almost bowed his knee to her God then and there just to see her smile. But Blake could never relinquish his power and freedom to another. He’d been betrayed too many times to trust anyone again, God or not.

He stiffened his jaw. “I’m not ready for that. I may never be, Emeline.”

The pain that crossed her face nearly crushed him.

“They still have the Ring,” she said. “They can still evoke its power.”

“But I have you.” Winking, he leaned in for a kiss on her cheek before marching away.

b

“Warts and lizards!” Josephine stiffened her spine as she descended the ladder onto the gundeck and crew quarters. She’d had her fill of being treated like a bootlicking fluffhead. Especially by that swaggering toad in his ostentatious Jesuit finery! Did he truly believe she would not see through his facade? That she possessed no powers to do so? Imbécile ! Oui, she’d been enchanted by the man’s Italian good looks and charming words. She’d believed that perhaps he harbored some affection for her.

Rare emotion burned in her throat, but she quickly swallowed it as her boots landed on the deck. Perhaps she hoped he cared for her, that love actually existed in the world. Perhaps she was as big a fool as he was, for now she knew, without a doubt, love was a mere powerless fable, an impotent myth, and a cruel joke among the weak and gullible. Neither of which was she! Why the Ring seemed to work for him and not her, she could not say. What she could say was that the Jesuit cretin had greatly miscalculated both her power and her spite toward those who crossed her. Hence, the reason she’d concocted one of her special spells just for him and any of his crew who didn’t side with her. Now, to address said crew and convince them she would be the better captain, that she, along with her dark powers, would make them wealthier beyond their imagination. If that didn’t work, the incantation of obedience should turn them into jellyfish in her hands.

b

Blake could have caught and boarded the Guerrieri Della Croce within an hour, yet he held back, pretending damage to his brig. The foolish Jesuit was bringing his frigate to anchor at a small island in the distance, one of the islands of the Baja Mar. No doubt he assumed he had a better chance of winning a battle on land than at sea, especially as damaged as the ship was.

Yet Blake knew the skill and ferocity of his crew, knew they’d be even more ruthless, armed with revenge for Della Morte after he’d nearly sent them to the depths. Blake also knew he’d have a better chance of retrieving the Ring from the Jesuit fiend on land, where the powerful artifact could only cause wind and rain that would pummel them both. He waited until the Guerrieri Della Croce lumbered into a cove before hoisting all canvas and speeding their way.

Within an hour of dropping anchor along the western shore, his crew spilled over the bulwarks like rats disturbed from their lair and rowed to the sandy beach, all manner of weapons strapped about them.

Blake slid his cutlass into its sheath and adjusted the pistols in his brace, then took one last glance at Emeline standing at the railing, Bandit in her arms. She looked his way, sorrow and disappointment lining her comely face, but there was naught to be done for it.

He would not give up his dream. Not for a woman he could never be with, a woman more angel than human. A woman who deserved a noble, honorable man—the hero she kept wanting him to be.

“Stay here,” he said as he slid onto the bulwarks.

She offered him a gentle smile. “Be safe.”

He nodded, resisting the urge to run and take her in his arms. Instead, he leapt over the side into the jollyboat and headed to shore. He’d wanted to ask her to call upon her God should things not go in his favor, but how could he request such a selfish thing? Besides, he was no fool. God had only saved them because she’d been on board. With her safety assured, why would God bother to protect him and his band of ruffians?

These thoughts plagued his mind as he led his men through a mangrove swamp, then through a thickly vined jungle out onto a long strip of sandy beach. Tilting heavily to larboard, the Jesuit ship sat idly in turquoise waters several yards offshore, canvas, yards, and lines strewn about her deck in a web of destruction, looking more like a defeated dragon than demon. He’d expected an ambush in the jungle, but instead Della Morte had assembled the remainder of his men on the beach. At least forty of them stood behind the vile Jesuit, fully armed and grimacing in the hot afternoon.

The sun, now high in the sky, reflected off water and sand, nearly blinding Blake as he and his men marched toward their enemies. Dragging a sleeve over the sweat on his forehead, he wondered what devious plan brewed in the evil man’s mind. Standing behind him, two Jesuits dressed in similar attire as their leader glared at Blake. And beside Della Morte, wearing her usual black breeches and waistcoat, Josephine placed a hand on her hip and smiled his way. He supposed she could cast another spell upon him, but didn’t that require potions and cauldrons and such? He hoped so.

Della Morte reached up to stroke his beard, ostentatiously flaunting the Ring which sparkled in the sunlight. Ringlets of black curls danced about his shoulders, joining the purple plume quivering from his hat.

Only when Blake drew closer did he see the bloody bandages, cuts, and bruises marring the Jesuit’s crew. At least half of them were in no shape to fight.

He halted before the man. “Since you are clearly defeated, allow me to set terms which will ensure the lives of you and your men.”

“Terms, you say? Bah!” Della Morte waved a hand through the air, the lace at his cuffs fluttering.

Josephine took a step toward Blake, her eyes ablaze with hatred. “How are you alive, mon amour? ” She fisted hands at her waist. “How did you defeat the funnel?”

“Ah, ha, so you do admit defeat?”

“We admit no such thing.” Della Morte stretched his neck.

“How did you do it?” Josephine spat through clenched teeth. “I demand to know the source of your power.”

He barely afforded her a glance. “’Tis God’s power. One you will never possess.”

Her eyes widened and, for the first time since he’d known her, real fear sparked within them. She glanced behind him as if looking for someone before she uttered curse after curse over land, sea, air, and water. “My enemy. My only enemy.” She ground her fists together.

Della Morte released a sigh of boredom and waved her away. “Go back to your potions, mia cara . We men have business to discuss.”

She speared the Jesuit with a gaze that would surely wake the dead before she took a step back. Odd. The woman never cowered before any man.

“We have no business other than my terms.” Blake grew bored as well. “Give me the Ring, and you and your men will live. ’Tis really quite simple.”

“You shall not have the Ring while I live!”

“Then I shall take it when you are dead.”

“Ah, but you cannot. It will go to hell along with me. I must give it to you, or you must find it apart from a body. I believe those are the conditions, no?”

“I’d rather you go to your grave with it on your finger than for you to remain alive and wield its power.”

A momentary flash of unease crossed the man’s confident gaze. “ Sì, I do believe you. Therefore.” He twisted the Ring on his finger and uttered a string of Italian with the authority of a king.

Blake didn’t need an interpreter to know what he’d said, for dark clouds instantly crowded out the sun above them. Wind thrashed through the leaves of palms and pimentos lining the shore, adding a cacophony of sounds to the crash of waves and buzz of insects. Sand swirled around his boots.

Della Morte smiled.

“Fight us like men!” Blake shouted. “’Tis a coward’s way to use the Ring.”

“Is it? Then you are as much a coward as I.”

Blake was about to draw his blade and order his men to battle when the wind suddenly lessened, the waves stopped raging, and the sun broke through the dissipating clouds.

A screech akin to a dying pig emerged from Jo, who bent over, gripping her belly as if she were ill.

Blake knew what had happened before he turned around. Emeline stood at the edge of the jungle. Too far to make out her expression, but he found himself suddenly glad she’d not obeyed his order to remain on the ship. Bandit flew from her arms into a nearby tree.

He faced Della Morte again, pasting a cocksure grin on his face. “You were saying?”

The sneer on the Jesuit’s face transformed into a wicked grin. He flung a hand in the air. “I propose a challenge.”

Blake bunched his fists, longing to run the man through and be done with it.

“A fight. A sword fight between you and me. If I win, you and your crew set sail immediately with no harm to me or my men.”

Blake huffed. The man’s overinflated opinion of his skill would be his downfall. “And if I win?”

“Unlikely, but if so, I will give you the Ring, and you will leave me and my men unscathed.”

“Why would I agree to so ludicrous a challenge when you are so clearly outmanned?”

“I quite agree, though you should know my crew are trained to fight to the death. Therefore, should we battle, there will be many deaths on both sides. And, sì , perhaps I will be counted among them. Or perhaps you? But I will still have the Ring. What a waste, do you not think? At least if you accept my challenge, you have a chance of winning the Ring.”

Unfortunately, the Jesuit made sense. Blake studied him. That the man had been well trained at swordplay was evident from their last encounter. Yet they’d been interrupted before Blake could prove himself the master. To fight Della Morte and win would be the only way for Blake to own the Ring. To fulfill all his dreams.

Even if the fiend would not honor his bargain, they’d end up in a battle, one which Blake’s men would surely win.

“Then I accept.”

Cheers bellowed from both his men and the Jesuit’s crew as Blake backed away, removed his baldric, tore his shirt over his head, and plucked the cutlass from his sheath.