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THE PRINCESS AND THE PIRATEThese are the chronicles of the Knights of Katesch, who for time out of memory have fought the wizard Maligor, across all the dimensions of the known universe.
After the death of her mother Hibana, one of the famed Knights of Katesch, at the hands of a Kladath assassin, Princess Hepzebah faces the fight of her life. As the new queen, she has inherited her mother's powers. The space pirate Captain Sergio runs the blockade to bring an unearthly army to fight the last battle against Maligor's hordes. He has plans for this young queen, but his plans are hijacked and they are thrust into an inter-dimensional battle for the future of the known universe. Read Chapter One below. Download the teacher's notes. ![]()
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CHAPTER ONE
The six-masted sailing ship roared through space towards the mightiest armada ever assembled in the known dimensions. The pirate captain sat on his command chair, calmly sipping a hot tea, as he gazed at the forward
monitor screen.
“Secure all decks, Mr Vicana,” he ordered. “Battle stations… this is not a drill.”
Red lights flashed throughout the ship as claxons warned of the coming battle.
The captain casually blew his tea to cool it, before he looked up at his master gunner. “What are we facing this time, Olaf?”
The master gunner’s hands played over the fire control console, as specs and figures rolled across his monitor. “Five hundred main-line ships, Captain, made up of destroyers, battle cruisers, and dreadnaughts.”
The captain took a tentative sip of his tea. “And interceptors?”
After a moment’s silence, the master gunner replied cheerfully. “Only twenty-five thousand, Sir.”
The command crew looked expectantly at their captain and the heavy silence was quickly punctuated by Olaf’s enthusiasm. “Can we sir?”
The captain carefully placed his cup and saucer on a small table next to his chair. “Granted, the odds are a little one sided, but I almost had a mutiny the last time we ran this blockade. I am not going to close down half our guns this time. It’s not fair on our crew. The men all deserve a little sport.”
“Arm Arkon torpedoes, forward tubes one to ten. I want a volley of five hundred. Man all the cannons. Target their biggest ship. We’re going right through the centre of it.”
Olaf laughed with excitement, as he quickly dispatched the orders, before leaving the command deck to join his gun crews.
The captain smiled as he looked at the fast approaching armada on the forward monitor screen. “Here we come, ready or not.
***
Grey smoke swirled around the black cloaked monks, as they glided through the darkened halls of the Cave of Healing. Here they gave comfort and aid, where possible, to the wounded soldiers.
An ominous rumbling from deep underground sent a young woman stumbling to the cave wall for support. When the earthquake had spent its anger and moved on, Hepzebah steadied herself, picked up the surviving clay pots, and quickly made her way to the herbarium that was cut into the soft rock near the cave entrance.
She brushed the dust from her mane of red hair, her jade green eyes burned with a determination that not even an earthquake could dim.
An occasional flutter of chill breeze moved the sluggish pall of smoke above her head, only to have its thick embrace swell back just as quickly. Hepzebah clutched the pots to her chest, and stared at the torn and
broken bodies that flowed past her on stretchers.
In a gap in the endless stream, she ducked across the entrance to the herbarium. A wizened old apothecary shuffled to the counter to greet her — a tired smile lit his features. “My Lady, you shouldn’t be here, if
your mother the Queen finds out.”
Hepzebah stilled the monk’s protest with a raised hand and then passed across a crumpled piece of parchment “Then pray she doesn’t. Now quick, I need these medicines.”
The old man gasped when he saw her hand covered in blood. “My Lady, you’re been hurt!”
Hepzebah breathed deeply to quell the sob that swelled up from her heart. “No brother,” she whispered, just able to control herself. “It’s not my blood… it’s...”
She couldn’t continue as a stream of hot tears coursed down her cheeks. “The soldier… she was only sixteen… we couldn’t stop the bleeding. She just sighed and died in my arms. Why has Maligor done this?”
The old man flattened the parchment on the stained bench without replying – how could he, there was nothing he could say that would offer any comfort. “I’m afraid I can’t give you all you need,” he mumbled quietly. “We have run out of most of the medicines you request.”
Hepzebah stood, a silent statue, her troubled face lined from a close association with death and disease. “We need the medicines, many will die without them.”
“I’m afraid the last of my supplies were taken by the royal household, for their own use.”
Hepzebah frowned in confusion. “My mother?”
“No, no My Lady,” quietened the monk. “Not the Queen, but her royal advisor, Lord Draco Darkinis. He ordered the emptying of my stores.”
Hepzebah’s lips thinned, her knuckles whitened. She was about to turn towards the entrance, when the old man reached out and grabbed her hand. “No, My Lady, please!” he implored. When he looked down and saw his hand
on the princess’, he quickly withdrew it. “Forgive me highness, if you confront the Lord Advisor, he will know I told you and…”
The princess’ body tensed even more, as she turned back to the quivering herbalist. “Be assured old friend.” She smiled, as she patted the old man’s hand. “I will get your medicines back, and no one will be the
wiser.”
“But mistress, he has guards all over his palace, his mercenaries will kill you. I heard only this morning that three young women have gone missing. It’s rumoured the…”
Hepzebah lifted a hand to stay the old man. “I know, I have heard the same and have sent a message to my mother. Darkinis and his mercenaries will answer these charges.”
“Don’t worry about me, brother,” she continued. “My mother has taught me well.” She pulled her cloak to one side revealing a tight fitting leather jerkin. Stitched into the leather were ten pouches, each carrying a razor sharp throwing-knife. At her side, a thin-bladed, short sword hung from her belt, alongside two throwing axes. “Agmar taught me well with the axes and my mother made sure I could use the sword and throwing knives.” Hepzebah’s face hardened, “I have a way of convincing people to leave me alone.”
The monk lent against the wall and drifted momentarily into his memories. “Ah, Queen Hibana, the best swordsman in the whole dimension, I remember when she was just 18, a little younger than yourself My Lady, she was just as determined as...”
“Brother Ralf… brother Ralf…” interrupted Hepzebah, “I need something for the wounded, something that will at least ease their suffering until I can get your medicines back.”
The monk smiled cheekily, “I may have something for you, some white juice. Captain Sergio Andronovich…”
“The smuggler...” snapped Hepzebah, “You don’t deal with that scum do you?”
Brother Ralph took a slow deep breath, picking his words carefully. “Yes, My Lady, I do. Where do you think you got the medicines from to treat the wounded in the first place? He has the only ship that can run Maligor’s blockade of our planet.”
“And he charges like a scrub bull,” hissed Hepzebah, “I know his type – he makes a profit from the suffering of
others.”
The herbalist was about to reply when he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. There was no way he was going to change Hepzebah’s mind, at least not with words.
He quickly ducked into the shadows at the back of the herbarium. Hepzebah heard the sounds of falling shelves, and shattering pots. Five minutes later the old man hobbled back to the bench where the princess waited impatiently.
He looked quickly in both directions, before he lifted a large clay pot onto the bench with a grunt of self-satisfaction. “Four litres,” he chuffed, “more than enough to put a whole regiment to sleep for a month.
Would you like me to carry it for you?”
Hepzebah looked into the darkened halls of the cave, and then at the down-turned heads of the stretcher bearers, as they streamed through the entrance. “No need,” she replied. She knew this medicine wasn’t a cure; it
just eased a soldier’s pain and when it ran out, as it surely would, there would be no more.
With another quick look both ways, she pulled her hood closer over her head, so her features sank into deep shadow, and clutched the precious juice to her chest. She moved easily into the stream that entered the cave. Her mind drifted with the haze that swirled around her head, as she moved deeper into the maze of tunnels, all lined with stretchers.
This war with Maligor had been fought throughout their dimension for as long as she could remember. Her father had died in an ambush with his whole army more than a decade ago. Now her mother Hibana, one of the
famed Knights of Katesch, led the defences against Maligor’s push on her planet’s capital.
They were expecting Linnaeus, the host of Methelgin, the leader of the Knights of Katesch. He would soon join the final defence of the city. If they could defeat Maligor’s attack, he may pull back; as he had lost so many warriors over the decades he had fought against them. There was a faint hope that he may content himself with a blockade of their dimension.
She finally reached her work station and carefully poured the precious juice into a container set against the wall. Before she had a chance to share it out to the sisters who tended the wounded, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
Hepzebah spun around and had to look down to see brother Ralf standing meekly behind her. “Your highness, I have some news. The Captain is due to land with more supplies today. You don’t have to take back the medicines from Lord Darkinis.”
Before Hepzebah could reply, she felt a rumble through the cave – the sound of a mighty spaceship roaring into the lower atmosphere. “Thank you brother,” she whispered, “but I will still recover what has been taken from you, and teach Darkinis a lesson at the same time.”
The monk blocked her way out. “My Lady,” he apologised. “Forgive me, but someone must get to the Captain before Lord Darkinis’ mercenaries do, or they’ll take the new supplies as well.”
A scowl clouded Hepzebah’s face. “And your famed Captain would sell to them!”
Brother Ralf simply inclined his head. “He has no reason to doubt Lord Darkinis’ intentions, My Lady. He just wants payment to deliver the supplies to the city.”
“Darkinis has gone too far,” replied Hepzebah with a finality that made the monk almost feel sorry for the royal advisor. “Why would he do this?”
The old herbalist looked around nervously to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. “Rumours have it My Lady that he is in league with Maligor. They say the mercenaries are his private army.”
Hepzebah’s scowl deepened, as her hand went to her sword hilt. “Has my mother heard these rumours?”
“No… no, My Lady. As I said it is warrior scuttlebutt. If Queen Hibana had heard, she would have immediately brought Darkinis to answer these charges. The theft of the medicines has only just occurred and your dear
mother has been at the frontline for the last month. I think he steals the supplies to reduce our army’s ability to fight on.”
“Then I will deal with it,” growled Hepzebah, “my mother need not know about it until it’s finished.”
The princess moved out of the cave and looked at the mercenary camp that nestled like an angry ant’s nest between the winding stretches of the Anon River. The cliff behind her circled off to her right and
left, a wall of stone covered in a spider’s web lattice of ramps and ladders.
Soldiers and workers scampered up and down this lattice, going about the business of war, their heads bent, not by the loads they carried, but by the heaviness each felt inside.
The mercenary camp had turned this once green hillside into a sewage filled garbage dump, which over flowed into the once beautiful Anon River.
Above the camp the water flowed swiftly, clear and blue, but below it came out sluggish and grey, filled with
refuse.
She heard another rumble and looked up in time to see a great ship, streaking down from space, followed by hundreds of smaller attack craft, their blasters lighting the sky in a fiery display that stopped all movement in the camp.
The smuggler’s ship fired back, burning the sky with such intensity that dozens of Maligor’s fighters spun in scorched spirals, to light new funeral pyres in the grain fields around the city.
Then, all of a sudden, the guns stopped, the fighters pulled back to the safety of space, while the smuggler’s ship lost power, and plummeted towards the ground.
Hepzebah whispered a silent word of thanks to whomever, or whatever, had banned high-tech war from all the planets in the chartered dimensions. Otherwise, Maligor would have bombarded planets into submission from
the safety of space.
Then she wondered about Linnaeus and Christianne’s planet. It was in an unchartered dimension. Would Maligor ever get to the home world of the host of Methelgin the Mighty?
She quickly brushed these thoughts to the side as the smuggler’s ship righted itself. Huge sails billowed from its upper deck, catching the wind and bringing it into a graceful glide towards the river.
Still travelling at a tremendous speed, Hepzebah feared it would simply crash into the water, spraying debris all over the hillside.
But at the last moment, a massive red parachute billowed from the stern of the ship and brought it to a bone jarring halt just above the river. It then settled gracefully into the water.
The ship looked deceptively like an ocean-going tea clipper, often seen in the picture books – nothing like a spaceship capable of outrunning Maligor’s fastest attack craft in the depths of space.
The river was over a kilometre away at the bottom of a large hill, on which the mercenary camp sat. Hepzebah had to move quickly to get to the wharf before Darkinis’ men did.
The six-masted sailing ship roared through space towards the mightiest armada ever assembled in the known dimensions. The pirate captain sat on his command chair, calmly sipping a hot tea, as he gazed at the forward
monitor screen.
“Secure all decks, Mr Vicana,” he ordered. “Battle stations… this is not a drill.”
Red lights flashed throughout the ship as claxons warned of the coming battle.
The captain casually blew his tea to cool it, before he looked up at his master gunner. “What are we facing this time, Olaf?”
The master gunner’s hands played over the fire control console, as specs and figures rolled across his monitor. “Five hundred main-line ships, Captain, made up of destroyers, battle cruisers, and dreadnaughts.”
The captain took a tentative sip of his tea. “And interceptors?”
After a moment’s silence, the master gunner replied cheerfully. “Only twenty-five thousand, Sir.”
The command crew looked expectantly at their captain and the heavy silence was quickly punctuated by Olaf’s enthusiasm. “Can we sir?”
The captain carefully placed his cup and saucer on a small table next to his chair. “Granted, the odds are a little one sided, but I almost had a mutiny the last time we ran this blockade. I am not going to close down half our guns this time. It’s not fair on our crew. The men all deserve a little sport.”
“Arm Arkon torpedoes, forward tubes one to ten. I want a volley of five hundred. Man all the cannons. Target their biggest ship. We’re going right through the centre of it.”
Olaf laughed with excitement, as he quickly dispatched the orders, before leaving the command deck to join his gun crews.
The captain smiled as he looked at the fast approaching armada on the forward monitor screen. “Here we come, ready or not.
***
Grey smoke swirled around the black cloaked monks, as they glided through the darkened halls of the Cave of Healing. Here they gave comfort and aid, where possible, to the wounded soldiers.
An ominous rumbling from deep underground sent a young woman stumbling to the cave wall for support. When the earthquake had spent its anger and moved on, Hepzebah steadied herself, picked up the surviving clay pots, and quickly made her way to the herbarium that was cut into the soft rock near the cave entrance.
She brushed the dust from her mane of red hair, her jade green eyes burned with a determination that not even an earthquake could dim.
An occasional flutter of chill breeze moved the sluggish pall of smoke above her head, only to have its thick embrace swell back just as quickly. Hepzebah clutched the pots to her chest, and stared at the torn and
broken bodies that flowed past her on stretchers.
In a gap in the endless stream, she ducked across the entrance to the herbarium. A wizened old apothecary shuffled to the counter to greet her — a tired smile lit his features. “My Lady, you shouldn’t be here, if
your mother the Queen finds out.”
Hepzebah stilled the monk’s protest with a raised hand and then passed across a crumpled piece of parchment “Then pray she doesn’t. Now quick, I need these medicines.”
The old man gasped when he saw her hand covered in blood. “My Lady, you’re been hurt!”
Hepzebah breathed deeply to quell the sob that swelled up from her heart. “No brother,” she whispered, just able to control herself. “It’s not my blood… it’s...”
She couldn’t continue as a stream of hot tears coursed down her cheeks. “The soldier… she was only sixteen… we couldn’t stop the bleeding. She just sighed and died in my arms. Why has Maligor done this?”
The old man flattened the parchment on the stained bench without replying – how could he, there was nothing he could say that would offer any comfort. “I’m afraid I can’t give you all you need,” he mumbled quietly. “We have run out of most of the medicines you request.”
Hepzebah stood, a silent statue, her troubled face lined from a close association with death and disease. “We need the medicines, many will die without them.”
“I’m afraid the last of my supplies were taken by the royal household, for their own use.”
Hepzebah frowned in confusion. “My mother?”
“No, no My Lady,” quietened the monk. “Not the Queen, but her royal advisor, Lord Draco Darkinis. He ordered the emptying of my stores.”
Hepzebah’s lips thinned, her knuckles whitened. She was about to turn towards the entrance, when the old man reached out and grabbed her hand. “No, My Lady, please!” he implored. When he looked down and saw his hand
on the princess’, he quickly withdrew it. “Forgive me highness, if you confront the Lord Advisor, he will know I told you and…”
The princess’ body tensed even more, as she turned back to the quivering herbalist. “Be assured old friend.” She smiled, as she patted the old man’s hand. “I will get your medicines back, and no one will be the
wiser.”
“But mistress, he has guards all over his palace, his mercenaries will kill you. I heard only this morning that three young women have gone missing. It’s rumoured the…”
Hepzebah lifted a hand to stay the old man. “I know, I have heard the same and have sent a message to my mother. Darkinis and his mercenaries will answer these charges.”
“Don’t worry about me, brother,” she continued. “My mother has taught me well.” She pulled her cloak to one side revealing a tight fitting leather jerkin. Stitched into the leather were ten pouches, each carrying a razor sharp throwing-knife. At her side, a thin-bladed, short sword hung from her belt, alongside two throwing axes. “Agmar taught me well with the axes and my mother made sure I could use the sword and throwing knives.” Hepzebah’s face hardened, “I have a way of convincing people to leave me alone.”
The monk lent against the wall and drifted momentarily into his memories. “Ah, Queen Hibana, the best swordsman in the whole dimension, I remember when she was just 18, a little younger than yourself My Lady, she was just as determined as...”
“Brother Ralf… brother Ralf…” interrupted Hepzebah, “I need something for the wounded, something that will at least ease their suffering until I can get your medicines back.”
The monk smiled cheekily, “I may have something for you, some white juice. Captain Sergio Andronovich…”
“The smuggler...” snapped Hepzebah, “You don’t deal with that scum do you?”
Brother Ralph took a slow deep breath, picking his words carefully. “Yes, My Lady, I do. Where do you think you got the medicines from to treat the wounded in the first place? He has the only ship that can run Maligor’s blockade of our planet.”
“And he charges like a scrub bull,” hissed Hepzebah, “I know his type – he makes a profit from the suffering of
others.”
The herbalist was about to reply when he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. There was no way he was going to change Hepzebah’s mind, at least not with words.
He quickly ducked into the shadows at the back of the herbarium. Hepzebah heard the sounds of falling shelves, and shattering pots. Five minutes later the old man hobbled back to the bench where the princess waited impatiently.
He looked quickly in both directions, before he lifted a large clay pot onto the bench with a grunt of self-satisfaction. “Four litres,” he chuffed, “more than enough to put a whole regiment to sleep for a month.
Would you like me to carry it for you?”
Hepzebah looked into the darkened halls of the cave, and then at the down-turned heads of the stretcher bearers, as they streamed through the entrance. “No need,” she replied. She knew this medicine wasn’t a cure; it
just eased a soldier’s pain and when it ran out, as it surely would, there would be no more.
With another quick look both ways, she pulled her hood closer over her head, so her features sank into deep shadow, and clutched the precious juice to her chest. She moved easily into the stream that entered the cave. Her mind drifted with the haze that swirled around her head, as she moved deeper into the maze of tunnels, all lined with stretchers.
This war with Maligor had been fought throughout their dimension for as long as she could remember. Her father had died in an ambush with his whole army more than a decade ago. Now her mother Hibana, one of the
famed Knights of Katesch, led the defences against Maligor’s push on her planet’s capital.
They were expecting Linnaeus, the host of Methelgin, the leader of the Knights of Katesch. He would soon join the final defence of the city. If they could defeat Maligor’s attack, he may pull back; as he had lost so many warriors over the decades he had fought against them. There was a faint hope that he may content himself with a blockade of their dimension.
She finally reached her work station and carefully poured the precious juice into a container set against the wall. Before she had a chance to share it out to the sisters who tended the wounded, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
Hepzebah spun around and had to look down to see brother Ralf standing meekly behind her. “Your highness, I have some news. The Captain is due to land with more supplies today. You don’t have to take back the medicines from Lord Darkinis.”
Before Hepzebah could reply, she felt a rumble through the cave – the sound of a mighty spaceship roaring into the lower atmosphere. “Thank you brother,” she whispered, “but I will still recover what has been taken from you, and teach Darkinis a lesson at the same time.”
The monk blocked her way out. “My Lady,” he apologised. “Forgive me, but someone must get to the Captain before Lord Darkinis’ mercenaries do, or they’ll take the new supplies as well.”
A scowl clouded Hepzebah’s face. “And your famed Captain would sell to them!”
Brother Ralf simply inclined his head. “He has no reason to doubt Lord Darkinis’ intentions, My Lady. He just wants payment to deliver the supplies to the city.”
“Darkinis has gone too far,” replied Hepzebah with a finality that made the monk almost feel sorry for the royal advisor. “Why would he do this?”
The old herbalist looked around nervously to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. “Rumours have it My Lady that he is in league with Maligor. They say the mercenaries are his private army.”
Hepzebah’s scowl deepened, as her hand went to her sword hilt. “Has my mother heard these rumours?”
“No… no, My Lady. As I said it is warrior scuttlebutt. If Queen Hibana had heard, she would have immediately brought Darkinis to answer these charges. The theft of the medicines has only just occurred and your dear
mother has been at the frontline for the last month. I think he steals the supplies to reduce our army’s ability to fight on.”
“Then I will deal with it,” growled Hepzebah, “my mother need not know about it until it’s finished.”
The princess moved out of the cave and looked at the mercenary camp that nestled like an angry ant’s nest between the winding stretches of the Anon River. The cliff behind her circled off to her right and
left, a wall of stone covered in a spider’s web lattice of ramps and ladders.
Soldiers and workers scampered up and down this lattice, going about the business of war, their heads bent, not by the loads they carried, but by the heaviness each felt inside.
The mercenary camp had turned this once green hillside into a sewage filled garbage dump, which over flowed into the once beautiful Anon River.
Above the camp the water flowed swiftly, clear and blue, but below it came out sluggish and grey, filled with
refuse.
She heard another rumble and looked up in time to see a great ship, streaking down from space, followed by hundreds of smaller attack craft, their blasters lighting the sky in a fiery display that stopped all movement in the camp.
The smuggler’s ship fired back, burning the sky with such intensity that dozens of Maligor’s fighters spun in scorched spirals, to light new funeral pyres in the grain fields around the city.
Then, all of a sudden, the guns stopped, the fighters pulled back to the safety of space, while the smuggler’s ship lost power, and plummeted towards the ground.
Hepzebah whispered a silent word of thanks to whomever, or whatever, had banned high-tech war from all the planets in the chartered dimensions. Otherwise, Maligor would have bombarded planets into submission from
the safety of space.
Then she wondered about Linnaeus and Christianne’s planet. It was in an unchartered dimension. Would Maligor ever get to the home world of the host of Methelgin the Mighty?
She quickly brushed these thoughts to the side as the smuggler’s ship righted itself. Huge sails billowed from its upper deck, catching the wind and bringing it into a graceful glide towards the river.
Still travelling at a tremendous speed, Hepzebah feared it would simply crash into the water, spraying debris all over the hillside.
But at the last moment, a massive red parachute billowed from the stern of the ship and brought it to a bone jarring halt just above the river. It then settled gracefully into the water.
The ship looked deceptively like an ocean-going tea clipper, often seen in the picture books – nothing like a spaceship capable of outrunning Maligor’s fastest attack craft in the depths of space.
The river was over a kilometre away at the bottom of a large hill, on which the mercenary camp sat. Hepzebah had to move quickly to get to the wharf before Darkinis’ men did.