CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FIRE ON THE WATER
Once back aboard the River Raven, Torin couldn’t help himself. He lunged toward Ferius, grabbed the man’s robes, and shook him wildly.
“Next time shoot yourself and rid the world of your idiocy!” he said.
Torin had never been quick to anger, yet now his rage pulsed through him, shaking his arms. Ferius only smiled thinly, eyes full of amusement.
“Are all gardeners so violent?” he asked, clutched in Torin’s grip. “My my, aren’t you a feisty one. Save your fury for the enemy, boy, not for a humble monk.”
Torin gripped tighter, thrust his face close, and glared at Ferius. The two’s faces were but inches apart.
“Oh, but you are my enemy, Ferius,” he said. “And I am no gardener here, but a soldier clad in armor, bearing a sword. You wear simple robes of wool. Anger me again, and you will not find me so meek.”
Ferius raised his eyebrows, but his smile remained mocking. “But I only seek to serve my king. I believed him threatened. I believed that the demons, those creatures you love, meant to harm him. I slew them. I rid the world of their darkness. You sought to bring their darkness aboard our ship.”
Torin twisted the man’s collar. He snarled, surprised at how much hatred filled him. “I tire of your lies, Ferius. Have you ever spoken a word of truth? You might fool the king but not me.”
With a smirk, Ferius leaned close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. His breath fluttered against Torin’s ear.
“Truth, gardener? You want to hear the truth?” Ferius said. “Here is the truth for your ears only. I will slay every man, woman, and child in this city of darkness. I will slay every last Elorian in the dark side of the world. And you will watch, Torin Greenmoat. You will watch them burn.”
Iciness flooded Torin, and for a moment he could only stand frozen, clutching the monk’s robes. The slaughter in the village still haunted him. To slay an entire people … Torin felt sick. He gave the man’s robes another twist. He was about to shake him again, to shout, even to toss him overboard. A hand on his shoulder jolted him. He turned to see the king.
“Torin, leave him!” said Ceranor. “Let him be. Look off the prow. The city is near and another ship approaches.”
With a grumble, Torin tossed the monk free. Hunched over, Ferius sneered and snapped his teeth at Torin, but all the while, his smile stretched across his face. Torin forced himself to turn toward the eastern waters, resisting the urge to attack the monk again.
Since entering the darkness, Torin had begun to notice that he could see farther and clearer than others. It had taken him several hourglass turns to realize that his wounded eye, the one with the permanently dilated pupil, worked perfectly in the darkness. Back in Timandra, that eye saw only smudges, nearly blinded by the influx of light. Here in Eloria, it was his good eye that felt blind. As Torin stared ahead, he knew that he could see the distant city better than anyone on his ship.
Pahmey loomed ahead, only four or five miles away now. While before it had seemed like a cluster of distant crystals, now Torin could make out individual buildings. A hundred towers soared here. Smaller buildings rose between them, their walls glimmering as if made of glass, their roofs green and silver. Domes reflected the moonlight. Bridges ran from tower to tower, and streets snaked across a hill like cobwebs. Black walls surrounded Pahmey, silver where the moonlight touched them. Outside the walls, a hundred ships were moored along docks.
One ship, larger than the elders’ pontoon, was sailing their way. A single sailor stood upon it, steering it forward. Its two sails were wide and battened, and painted blue dragons coiled along its hull. The deck was laden with narrow tubes of many colors. Each tube rose as tall as a man, painted green, red, and blue and topped with a colorful cone. They were stacked together in a pyre.
“I don’t like this, Torin,” said Bailey. She came to stand beside him and held his hand. “What are those things?”
Torin narrowed his eyes and stared. “They’re too colorful to be weapons. Some are painted with stars and moons.”
The Ardish fleet sailed on, a hundred ships of war. The single Elorian cog sailed toward them, laden with its colorful pyre of tubes. The Elorian sailor steered his boat toward the River Raven. This one was no elder, but a young man with clear cheeks and somber eyes.
King Ceranor turned toward his soldiers.
“Archers!” he said. “Send a volley his way. If he’s a madman, he’ll die for it.”
A dozen men nodded, lit arrows tipped with kindling, and tugged their bowstrings. With a dozen twangs, flaming arrows flew toward the Elorian vessel.
Several arrows landed in the water, extinguishing with hisses. Several more thudded against the ship’s hull, but this ship too was built of metal and clay; it did not burn. One arrow struck true, thrusting into the Elorian. The man grunted but kept steering, clinging to the railing onward.
“Archers, fire!” Ceranor shouted.
A dozen more flaming arrows flew, their light reflecting against the water. The Elorian sailor ducked for cover. Several arrows slammed into the hull, while two clattered against the deck.
The ship kept sailing forward; it was only a couple hundred yards away.
A fizzling sound rose.
Fire crackled aboard the Elorian boat.
With a whiz, one of the colorful tubes blasted upward like an arrow from a ballista. It soared into the night sky, twirled madly, and then exploded, showering a tree of green sparks.
Aboard the River Raven, men gasped and pointed. Soldiers stared at the cascade of lights above, a fountain of emerald beads. But Torin only glanced upward and then returned his eyes to the Elorian boat.
“Merciful Idar,” he whispered. “There are hundreds of them … thousands.”
The Elorian ship’s sails billowed. It came racing toward them, only a hundred yards away and closing the gap. Atop the Ardish ships, more archers tugged back bowstrings.
“Stop, wait!” Torin shouted, but he was too late.
A hundred flaming arrows flew toward the Elorian vessel.
Fire crackled against its deck. Whizzes and hisses rose and sparks showered.
“Bailey, get down!” Torin grabbed his friend and pulled her flat onto the deck. “Hem, Cam—down!”
Flat on the deck and holding Bailey, Torin raised his head to see the Elorian junk barrel into the Timandrian fleet. A tube flew upward and exploded, blasting red sparks. From a dozen Timandrian decks, arrows flew.
For an instant, Torin dared to hope that was it.
Then, with a crash that nearly deafened him, a thousand of the colorful Elorian tubes blasted out.
Fire lit the sky.
Thousands of streams of smoke spurted every which way. Flames burst. Shards of color—green, blue, red, and yellow—showered like shattered stained glass. One tube buzzed over Torin’s head, leaving a wake of smoke. Another crashed into the ship’s hull only feet away.
The River Raven rocked.
Wood cracked.
Beams snapped, rising from the deck like wooden claws.
Two more projectiles whizzed overhead. One slammed into a mast, and another crashed against the prow, snapping off the raven figurehead. The sails burned. Smoke billowed. Fire raged and Torin saw men run, wreathed in flames. The ship tilted and more of the projectiles spun overhead. Lights filled the sky, raining down with fire and smoke.
“Idar’s beard, what are those things?” Bailey shouted, but Torin barely heard her; his ears rang.
He rose to his feet, grabbed her shoulders, and yanked her up.
“Abandon ship!” he shouted, looking through the smoke, seeking the king, seeking his friends. He saw nothing but the inferno. Wood cracked, splinters showered, and a mast slammed down. It hit the deck only feet away, its sail burning. He leaped back, pulling Bailey with him. They reached the ship’s port side. The bulwark towered above them; the ship was tilting the other way, and already its starboard side was sinking in
to the water.
“Cam!” Torin shouted. “Hem!”
He could not see them. He coughed and clutched the railing, holding on as the ship sank. Bailey clung at his side. Scuffling his feet against the bulwark, Torin saw the rest of the Ardish fleet, and his heart sank.
A dozen ships blazed. Three were sinking; the others were listing. Men raced across the decks, shouting and slapping at burning tunics and cloaks, their hair ablaze. Some jumped into the water, only to flail and sink in their armor. A burning sail tore free from a mast, flew against a group of soldiers, and wrapped around them. The men screamed as they died.
“Armor off!” the king was shouting somewhere in the distance; Torin couldn’t see him. “Armor off and swim!”
Coughing, Torin began unbuckling his armor. The pieces came free frustratingly slowly. When he glanced eastward across the blasted prow, he cursed. Through the smoke and sparks, he saw three more Elorian junks sailing their way. Each bore more of the colorful tubes, these weapons of sparks and flame. As Torin tossed off his breastplate, he saw one of the Elorian ships blast out its projectiles. A blue shard flew, leaving a wake of smoke, to slam into the already-burning River Raven.
The ship blazed. Fire blasted upward. The deck splintered and the ship cracked in half.
“Torin, hurry up!” Bailey cried, one arm slung across the railing as the ship sank. She tore at his vambrace and tossed the steel aside.
Finally free of armor, they climbed over the port side bulwark, which now thrust upward; the starboard side was gone underwater, and the front of the ship had detached.
They straddled the railing, coughing, their cloaks smoldering. Torin clutched Bailey’s hand and their eyes met through the smoke. She tightened her lips. He nodded.
They placed their feet against the hull, kicked off, and leaped from the sinking carrack. Fire blasted around them. Another missile whistled forward, spinning madly, and crashed into the ship. The bulwark—which they’d clung to just a heartbeat ago—shattered. Torin held his breath and they crashed into the water.
The shock nearly stopped his heart. The water was icy cold, and at once he began to shiver and flounder. He thought this chill could kill him as readily as the fire, and he cursed. His teeth chattered. Beside him, Bailey’s face whitened and her lips turned blue.
They swam. Men bustled around them in the water like flies in blood. Sparks rained around them, hissing and steaming as they hit the river. Smoke and flame filled the air. When Torin looked around, he saw the three junk ships crash into the Timandrian fleet, firing their weapons. Elorians stood upon the decks, clad in scale armor, armed with bows and swords. Timandrian ships burned and sank all around.
“They’re going to smash through us!” Bailey shouted, swimming beside him. “By Idar, that idiot king is going to get us all killed.”
Arrows whistled around them and thunked into the water. Painted black, they were fletched with silk—Elorian arrows. One pierced the water behind Torin, and he grunted when it scraped along his thigh.
“Just swim back west!” he shouted. “Back to our other ships.”
He pointed as he swam. The vanguard of the Timandrian fleet burned and sank, but farther west along the river, ninety ships still sailed toward the fray.
“Where are Cam and Hem?” she said, spitting water.
“I don’t know! I saw them running across the deck. I think they’re swimming too.”
He scanned the river, seeking them. Thousands of Timandrians floundered in the water. Some floated, pierced with arrows. Finally he saw his two friends; they were swimming ahead, sputtering, their hair burnt and wet.
Torin and Bailey swam toward them.
Coughing water, his forehead bleeding, Cam managed a grin. “Having fun yet, darlings?”
Though she coughed and shivered, Bailey managed to slap the young shepherd. “Be quiet and swim! There, the Sunspear.” She pointed at a carrack ahead, one of Arden’s warships. “Toward that ship.”
The friends swam through the river. As ships burned and sparks blazed overhead, Torin realized that Eloria had become as bright as the day.
After what seemed ages of swimming, they reached the Sunspear, and its sailors tossed down rope ladders. They climbed, burnt and half-drowned and shivering. Around them, soldiers bustled and shouted. Archers stood lining the bulwark, firing arrows. When Torin stared east, he lost his breath.
Several Timandrian ships were gone. Several more were nothing but burning wood. Flaming arrows were flying off the surviving ships, slamming into the Elorian fleet, but the junks were built of clay, metal, and leather; the flaming arrows thumped into the hulls and extinguished, doing the vessels no harm. Missiles still flew from the Elorian decks, whizzing, and slammed into Timandrian ships with blasts of green, blue, and yellow light. More ships sank. More men screamed, burned, and died.
“There are only three Elorian warships,” Bailey said, shivering beside him. “And they’re tearing through us like steel through wool. Our arrows can’t stop them.”
A low, oared galley raced along the starboard bow, bearing the standards of Arden. Torin looked down to see King Ceranor upon the deck. Behind him stood a hundred Timandrian soldiers in armor, swords drawn.
“To the Elorian ships!” the king shouted, voice hoarse. “Board them! We fight on their decks. For light!”
The galley rowed onward, driving toward an Elorian junk. Beneath Torin’s feet, the Sunspear turned to sail the same way.
“For light!” cried a sailor upon the mast. “Draw your swords!”
Torin drew his blade. At his side, his friends did the same. Bailey bared her teeth. Cam hissed. Lips blue, Hem shuddered but held his sword tight. Their carrack raced toward the Elorian junk.
As they neared, Torin stared into the Elorians’ eyes. Those eyes blazed with fury. Hundreds of Elorians stood upon the junk’s deck, each covered in steel and bearing a sword.
With a thud that nearly knocked Torin down, the two ships slammed together.
The armies spilled from ship to ship, crashed together, and swung their blades.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE HUNGRY RIVER
The carrack swayed madly below him. Light burned above. Fire, bodies, and debris spread across the water. Torin stumbled from side to side, sword clutched in his hand, as the Elorian warriors leaped onto his ship.
“Torin!” Bailey screamed somewhere in the distance, but he couldn’t see her.
The enemy charged toward him. They wore armor of clattering scales; it reminded Torin of fish skin. Their helmets swooped downward, the visors shaped as animals—fish, wolves, and hawks. The eye-holes were large, revealing oversized, gleaming orbs of blue, green, and violet. In their left hands, they carried round shields emblazoned with a moonstar. In their right hands they swung curved swords—katanas, Torin heard his fellow soldiers call them.
Torin had begun to see the Elorians as a gentle, peaceful race. Now he saw pale demons.
He had lost his armor into the water, but he still had his shield. With a shout, he raised the triangle of iron-banded wood. Howling battle cries, an Elorian swung his katana. The blade slammed into Torin’s shield, thudding into its raven sigil. Several more Elorians lunged toward him.
Fear washed over Torin, colder than the river, all-consuming. For a moment he could barely breathe, barely move. All he could do was stare at the enemy, eyes wide, a deer caught facing a pack of wolves.
I’m going to die, he thought. I’m going to die here in darkness, far from home.
His foe raised his katana again, and Torin steeled himself.
No. My father would refuse to die like this in the dark. My father would fight.
With a yowl, Torin swung his shield. Blade crashed into wood again, and splinters showered.
Torin thrust his sword.
He did not crave to kill. He had never killed an enemy. But here in the fire and smoke, instinct took over. The king had been teaching him swordplay, but all of those lessons vanished fro
m his mind. He swung his sword in blind passion.
His blade arced and slammed against the Elorian’s armor.
Silvery scales cracked and flew.
The Elorian swung his sword downward. Torin raised his shield again, blocked the blow, and thrust his own sword. The katana parried Torin’s doubled-edged blade, then swung again.
The ship swayed beneath them. Fire filled the sky. All around, ships blazed and crashed together, and armies clashed. Across the deck of the Sunspear, dozens of other troops fought and died. Torin fought in a haze, shouting wordlessly, thrusting his sword again and again.
An Elorian junk drove through the water, rammed against the Sunspear several feet away, and the ship jolted. The deck sloped. Torin’s foe slipped in blood and fell, yet still he lashed his katana, aiming at Torin’s legs.
Torin’s body moved faster than his thoughts. He leaped sideways. He swung his blade down, screaming. His sword slammed into the Elorian’s chest, drove between the steel scales, and crashed into flesh.
Blood leaked between the scales.
Torin stood frozen, leaning against the blade.
The Elorian met his gaze. Fear filled the large, azure eyes … and then they went blank.
I killed a man, Torin thought. Oh Idar, I killed a man.
Even as others battled and screamed around him, he knelt over the Elorian. He placed his hand against the man’s helmet.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t … I didn’t mean to.”
Grimacing, he tugged his sword. It came free with a gush of blood. Torin’s eyes burned. He pounded the man’s chest, but the Elorian would not wake.
I tried to stop this violence! Torin thought, eyes burning. I didn’t want to kill anyone. I tried to—
Wails sounded behind him.
Torin spun his head. He saw two Elorians racing his way, katanas raised.
He was still kneeling over the dead man. His shield and sword were lowered. In that instant, Torin knew he had no time to block the assault. He knew he would die.
“Torin!”
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 25