by J M D Reid
“Theisseg’s scrawny tail feathers!” Vel screamed as he dove to the cobblestones.
Lightning arced over Vel’s head. Flesh sizzled behind him.
Vel glanced at the fight. Ary still swung his sword at the sagging fence while stepping back. He cleaved through another Agerzak, sweat and blood shining on his face and cheeks. Vel’s eyes focused between the brute’s shoulder blades.
Exposed. Vulnerable.
Vel gripped Ary’s sabre as he rose, the point dripping red. This was his moment. You didn’t fight fair in battle. He ignored the Agerzaks pouring in, howling for all their blood. He was focused on eliminating the brute, on saving Chaylene. Vel lunged, thrusting his blade at Ary’s back.
Something blurred to his right. Pain exploded across Vel’s arm. Wood splintered from a rotten board that had struck him. Vel’s hand went numb, the sword falling from his grip. He screamed, agony throbbing up his arm to his shoulder. The Agerzak raised the broken slab, amber eyes burning with murder. The slat hurtled at Vel’s head.
I’m dead.
Ary shoved Vel backward. The broken slab struck Ary’s shoulder. The marine grunted. Vel’s feet tripped over each other and he fell onto his backside. Ary smashed the hilt of his massive sword into the Agerzak’s face. The attacker stumbled back into the press. Ary’s blade fell, a gray blur holding back the storm of howling rage.
“Go, Vel!” Ary bellowed.
Vel gaped at Ary. You saved me? Vel glanced at the fallen sabre. He’d almost rammed it through Ary’s back. You saved me . . . again. Memories of huddling in the ditch as Ary fought the Shardhin boys filled Vel with shame. How many times had Ary protected Vel from angry brothers?
What happened to me?
It hit Vel just how twisted he’d become. His desire for Chaylene had warped him worse than wooden planks left exposed to the weather. He’d forced himself to beat down every part of him that liked Ary. He’d smothered their friendship in pig’s dung, fertilizing his soul with hatred for Ary like a farmer preparing his field. Then he tended what sprouted: a choking weed squeezing out everything but Chaylene.
Riasruo Above, I almost killed Chaylene to destroy him.
“Get to your feet and move, Vel!” roared Ary.
Vel’s shoulders shook. Tears blurred his vision. He reached for the sabre—Ary’s sabre—and regained his feet. He raced to the other marines. Lightning sizzled from their thunderbusses, filling the air with blazing deaths. Beyond, the docks burned, angry oranges and reds panting the defenders’ grim faces. Thick smoke stung Vel’s eyes. From the sky, gray ash fell, a polluted snow.
He reached the cover of the piled crates and crouched by Zeirie. Lightning crackled from her weapon, her face set. She killed an Agerzak woman charging at Ary as he retreated with the remaining marines and the Zzuki before the horde. Another volley of lightning slammed into the attackers.
“Go!” Ary shouted as another strobing barrage crackled into the mob.
The marines and the Zzuki with Ary whirled and raced for cover. The Agerzaks howled and surged over their smoking dead. A marine named Vay screamed, cut down by a greatsword. He hit the ground, his jacket ripped open, a darker red spreading across it. A Zzuki backhanded Vay’s attacker, snapping back the Agerzak’s head. Then the lizardman scooped up Vay without breaking his lumbering stride.
The Agerzaks poured onto the docks.
Ary leaped over the crates and dropped down beside Vel.
“Ary,” Vel said, his throat dry. “I—”
“We hold here!” Ary bellowed. “If we’re pressed, we fall back to the end of the cliff face. Watch the flames. Vel, attend to Vay.”
Vel’s apology died on his lips. He moved to the wounded marine and blanched; Vay’s back was flayed open like a fish, exposing splintered ribs. He coughed blood as he spasmed on the ground. Vel looked on, helpless, not sure what to do.
He knelt and took the dying man’s hand.
*
Chaylene clung desperately to the spar, her legs kicking above the Storm. A powerful cough barked from her mouth as she struggled to breathe. Her swollen throat strangled her. Sweat beaded her forehead. A violent shiver rippled through her. Exhaustion weighed her down. Her hands slipped.
Sails rippled and wood creaked as the mainmast slipped free of the tangle of the foremast. It crashed onto the deck. Half of its rigging and sails hung off the port side of the Dauntless, only held in place by ropes. The hemp creaked, protesting the strain. The sails billowed and slapped beneath Chaylene, undulating like waves on a lake.
“Hold on, Chaylene!” Velegrin shouted from above her in the foremast crow’s nest.
He climbed down the rope ladder, his body swaying as the Dauntless rocked. The world spun about Chaylene. Darkness washed across her vision. It was too hard to hold on. She desperately tried to breathe. She inhaled, fighting against her swollen throat. A whisper of breath squeaked through.
She needed more air. Her lungs screamed. Dizziness beset her. She had to . . . to . . .
Velegrin reached the spar. He slid out on it, holding the rounded beam with his legs. “Don’t let go! I’m almost to you! Just hang on, Chaylene.”
His voice sounded so far away.
Her grip slipped.
The air rushed about her for a moment, cool and free. She had no weight. She flew. A smile crossed Chaylene’s lips.
Her body slammed into the sails. The billowing canvas gave beneath her weight, stretching taut. She still hit hard, the impact compressing her diaphragm and forcing her to suck air past her swollen airway. The breath snapped her vision into clarity. She rolled on the rippling surface of the mainsail.
Ice pumped through her veins as she gained her bearings. She breathed again, savoring the sweetness of air, her mind working. She had to move. The sail shifted beneath her, the mainmast creaking, slipping off the ship. Sailors fought to save those, like her, hanging over the Storm.
Fabric tore.
The sound swept enervating energy through her. She couldn’t stay here. The rent in the canvas grew towards her. She crawled towards the Dauntless, the sail springy beneath her, slowing her down. She clawed at the rough material, boots scraping against it as she came closer and closer to the railing.
An explosion detonated against the bow of the ship. Fire blossomed. The Dauntless shook. Shrapnel ripped through the sail from beneath her. A piece grazed her cheek. Others left fist-sized holes in the canvas. More tears ripped out from tattered wounds.
Keep crawling!
Chaylene pushed with her legs and pulled with her hands. She struggled to breathe, each one a hoarse rasp passing through her inflamed throat. Exhaustion weighed down on her like a boar sat on her back. Her head throbbed.
I’m not dying because of the bad vapors! Move!
“Come on, Chaylene!” Ienchie shouted, her hand extended over the gunwale. Other sailors pulled their crewmates off the rigging ahead of Chaylene.
The fore ballista twanged as the Dauntless fired back at the pirate ship. Chaylene barely noticed the explosion behind her. Any moment, the pirate’s return shot would slam into the Dauntless. She couldn’t be on the sail when that happened.
Ienchie’s hand waved before Chaylene, beckoning her. The young woman leaned farther out over the gunwale. Chaylene lunged. Their fingers brushed. Chaylene tried to clench Ienchie’s hand.
Missed.
She crashed down onto the tearing sail. Her fingers grasped the canvas as the fabric’s rents ripped past her. She screamed as she fell, the tension gone from the sail. Her stomach rose in her chest and—
“I got you!” Ienchie shouted. Her lunging hand grasped Chaylene’s wrist. The sail fell away beneath Chaylene. She swung towards the Dauntless’s hull, only held up by Ienchie.
A shot whizzed over the Dauntless’s deck as other hands reached over the side and grasped her arm. Pain screamed in her shoulder socket. Chaylene’s legs kicked, feet scrambling to find purchase against the hull and then . . .
She tumbled over
the gunwale and fell atop Ienchie.
“You’re safe,” Ienchie smiled, her face drenched in sweat.
A titanic explosion thundered through the night.
*
“Fall back!” Ary shouted as the mass of Agerzaks kept pressing forward at their makeshift barricade of crates. He swung the massive sword, his muscles burning from the effort. Sweat poured down his face.
They left Vay’s corpse as they abandoned their position. The three Zzuk warriors stayed behind to cover their retreat, swinging their clubs. The auxiliaries fought with the same ferocity as the Agerzaks. They didn’t support each other the way Ary and his marines did. Each Zzuk fought his own war, slamming his club over and over into the tide.
Ary knew he and his marines would have died without the Gezitzizs’ ferocity.
The Agerzak howled with fury. Their town burned. Shots from the fighting ships kept falling on them, exploding and demolishing more buildings. The marines reached the end of the docks, butting into the stone cliff that half-sheltered the harbor. Coral grew up the face, sharp and twisted.
“Okay, I want—”
A loud groan split the night. The burning docks quivered and shook. In an explosion of sparks sprayed across the boardwalk, the pier broke away from the skyland. The flaming debris plunged into the Storm.
The belching smoke cleared, exposing the Dauntless and the pirate ship battling in the harbor, the mainmast half-hanging over the edge of the ship. Fear squeezed Ary’s heart. The rush of the Agerzaks at him vanished as he searched for any sign of his wife on the deck. It was futile, the ship too far away for him to spot her in daylight, let alone at night.
“Ary!” Vel shouted. The sailor lunged in front of Ary and performed a stop-thrust, ramming his sabre into the chest of an Agerzak. “She’ll be fine!”
“Right,” Ary nodded, tearing his gaze away from the Dauntless. He had his men and Vel to defend. “We hold here, cliff against our backs! We drive them back! Keep fighting! We just need to—”
A great explosion lit up the night. The massive boom slammed into the dock. Ary reeled before the shock wave. A fist of compressed air punched him. He crashed into Vel and the pair hit the ground. He blinked, ears ringing. The attacking Agerzaks lay in a jumbled pile, some scrambling to stand, others pointing out at the harbor where a fiery-red sun blazed in an upward rush of flames while pieces of a ship rained burning down into the Storm Below.
Ary’s heart clenched and—
The Dauntless hovered before the inferno, battered but sound. Relief surged through Ary.
“What?” croaked Guts.
“The Dauntless must have hit the pirate’s magazine,” Estan said, his voice strained. “All their shots went off at once.”
The Dauntless turned back towards Offnrieth. The hanging mast shuddered free of the ship and plunged towards the Storm, vanishing into the roiling clouds. Ary stared at the ship again . . . his wife was atop the mainmast . . .
A bewildered murmur transformed into growling rage. The Agerzak horde reformed.
“Get ready!” Ary bellowed as he pushed himself to his feet. He battered down worry for his wife. “A line! Form a line!”
The Agerzaks attacked. Ary raised his sword and swung his burning limbs. Vel stood beside him, sabre held ready. Ary’s healing surged through muscles, repairing fatigue as he hacked through a bony woman wielding a dull, red-pitted dagger.
Her body sheared in half. More came. A tide. A town full of anger focused on Ary and his men. The auxiliaries crushed bodies. Lightning crackled. Swords hacked. They had nowhere to retreat. They had to hold here or—
Explosions ripped through the Agerzaks.
Thunderclaps cracked into Ary. Body parts flew into the air. Hot, sticky blood rained down on Ary and his men. Something thick and meaty smacked into his shoulder. Ary didn’t look. He just brushed it aside as the Agerzaks faltered.
Some screamed, pointing to the harbor. The Dauntless’s bow pointed at the town and—
Two more explosions ripped through the mob.
“Down!” Ary roared as he dropped to the boardwalk. “Incoming!”
The Dauntless’s ballistae pummeled the mob. Waves of heat and hammering blows of air crashed over Ary and his marines. Vel huddled beside Ary, hands covering his head. Shrapnel hissed overhead. Ary squeezed his eyes shut. The ghoulish oven seared his face, cooking the Agerzaks in thunderous infernos. Smoke engulfed the docks, reeking of roasted meat and acrid black powder.
Ary covered his face with his arms. The sounds assaulted his ears. The screams . . . The crashing debris . . . The hungry flames . . . The boardwalk shuddered beneath him. Death shook reality. Chaylene blossomed in his mind.
The Agerzaks broke and fled, abandoning shredded bodies. Silence descended. A perverse stillness. Ary lifted his face, sweat, or worse, dribbling down his brow as he peered across the mangled boardwalk. Curtains of smoke, boiling from pale grays to greasy blacks, drifted away to reveal the carnage.
Ary shook as he rose. He leaned against the greatsword. A carpet of mangled bodies stretched before him to the street where they first fought. His jaw dropped. The immensity of it battered him senseless. He didn’t see whole bodies, only pieces, torn and ragged. Their life dripped off his face. He felt it soaking through his jacket.
“Riasruo Above,” he croaked. What had they just done?
Survived. We survived. The words echoed in his head. He didn’t feel alive. He felt hollowed out, gored by what they’d done.
Hundreds killed so a few could live . . .
Chapter Twenty-One
Estan’s arms burned by the time he reached the gunwale of the Dauntless. His near-mended ribs screamed with every heave upward. He gripped the rope with his booted feet, pushing up with his legs as he hauled himself over and onto the well deck. Sweat drenched his body. He roasted in his wool uniform. The cool, autumnal night did little to leach away the heat of battle. Bruises ached his body battered by rocks and other debris. Blood matted his uniform in thick, dripping stains almost blending in with the red of his jacket.
The screams and the explosions echoed in his mind even with his eyes open. The Dauntless’s explosive shots had decimated the Agerzaks while Estan cowered. Viscera and shrapnel flew over his head. Men and women disassembled in moments. Two or three decades of creation and growth undone.
All to burn a few docks. Estan shook as he sank down to his knees on the deck. His stomach rebelled, bile creeping up the back of his throat.
“You okay, Private?” a voice growled.
The Bosun loomed over him, a feverish sheen to her face. She coughed hard, barking like a crow. The strain bent her over. Estan blanched at the wet mist drifting over him, droplets that felt like . . .
Crimson mist sweeping across the boardwalk, propelled by the explosions . . .
“I’m fine,” Estan grunted, grasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. Deathly thunderclaps boomed in his mind.
“Any dead?” she asked once her coughing fit had passed.
“Just one. Vay.”
The Bosun grunted. “Stormin’ mess. We got five dead and another few who might not make it. Captain included.”
Her words energized Estan. He got to his feet, asking, “What happened to the captain?”
The Bosun pointed to the stern deck. The gunwale stood splintered and jagged while a quarter of the ship’s wheel was missing. “A shot hit the first officer, blew him into a hundred pieces, and put a piece of shrapnel into the captain’s leg. We lost another two when the mainmast toppled. Poor bastards fell into the Storm.”
“Chaylene?” Estan asked, heart tightening for his friend. She wasn’t waiting to greet Ary.
“She was lucky. Got pulled out of the rigging before it fell over. She’s a little banged up.” The Bosun pointed across the deck where a form lay in a blue coat. “She’s coughing bad. May have some internal injuries.” The Bosun peered over the gunwale. “Riasruo Above, it’s a mess down there.”
On
e of the Zzuk Auxiliaries hauled himself over the gunwale, the wood groaning beneath his bulk. Estan nodded to the gore-smeared hulk, saying, “They saved us. The Zzuki.”
“It was a good fight,” hissed the warrior. “Worthy foes.” Beneath the Agerzak remains, nicks and rents marred his hide, each oozing sluggish blood. The warrior didn’t notice. Why does their blood flow so gelatinous? Estan pondered, his shakes slowing as he directed his mind towards something familiar, fleeing the echoing explosions. A slower metabolism? Or does Gezitziz’s blood coagulate faster?
Sailors hauled up Vay’s body next. They threw a scrap of canvas over him once they’d settled him on the deck. The other marines and Vel, standing nearby, all looked how Estan felt—shaken. Zeirie’s face had lost all color, white as flour save for the bright purple bruise bleeding to sickly yellow swelling her left cheek.
The rope creaked as Ary reached the railing, the last one up. He heaved himself over the gunwale with surprising ease. Estan witnessed no stiffness in his posture or grimace of pain from his lashings the night before. He even carried that monstrous greatsword slung over his shoulder.
He’d fought with the ferocity of a Zzuk with that blade.
“Chaylene?” Ary asked, looking around, face tight through the mask of drying Agerzak blood.
Estan pointed across the deck. Ary dashed to his wife and knelt beside her, his fingers stroking her forehead. An ache swelled in Estan’s heart as he witnessed their intimacy. His hand shoved into his trouser pocket, gripping Esty’s garter.
How do I tell her I helped slaughter hundreds of her people?
Guts leaned against the gunwale, coughing as the Windwarden summoned a breeze. The foremast sails rippled, pulling the Dauntless away from the devastation. Estan stared down at it, leaning on the railing. Fires burned through the town, spreading like mold on wood, leaving only black ruin behind.
His shoulders trembled. His eyes burned from more than smoke. Tears ran down his cheeks as he clenched Esty’s garter belt. He’d fought so hard. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to see her again. But . . .