by RG Long
Knowing that such a feat would be impossible however, she put all of her strength into the task at hand.
The woman who sat next to her, whose name was Perl, was rowing as well, but with less gusto. Serinde was sure she was pulling her share of the oar as well as most of Perl's.
It didn’t matter. They’d all end up in the same predicament even if they won this battle. Chained to an oar. A servant of the empire.
Serinde gritted her teeth and put all of her frustrations into pulling on the oar. She hated the empire. So she pulled. She was disgusted that she had ended back a slave to them. So she pulled. She wished her father hadn’t succumbed to the forced labor that had ended his life.
So she pulled with all her might.
The whip cracked above her head.
“Less strength, scum!” the oar master called over the rush and roar outside.
Canons began to blast above them. The resounding crack of lumber and the shouts of battle began to ring out dimly through layers of decking. Churning water and the rush of the ship plummeting forward drove them.
Serinde was glad, if only a little, that she could rebel by being too strong.
“Curse these imperial elves,” she heard behind her. It was Dairn. His face was dark and his hair covered most of his eyes, but Serinde could tell the same burning passion to do as much harm to any Enoth elf he could find was still in him. Jassa, two rows back, looked to be in the same vein.
Serinde turned to face forward again, before another whip cracked on her back. She pulled hard again and Perl strained with her.
“You’ll get into trouble if you don’t do what they say,” she said softly.
“What do you suppose we should call what we’re in right now?” Serinde shot back.
Another whip cracked. This time it slapped Serinde’s back and she grimaced with the pain of it, but refused to call out. She had learned early that those who yelped got extra.
She knew it was pointless, knew that to argue and fight would only get her lashes. Maybe even made an example of and killed. But she wanted to fight. She’d give anything to be free of her chains and get her hands on the empire.
Then a chorus of shouts rang out from above them and the ship around Serinde exploded into timber and broken boards. Screams filled her ears. Pain shot through her side. Perl’s shout of “Suns help us!” was drowned out in a rush of water.
Above her head, where there had once only been a dark and molded ceiling, there now shone winter light. Water chilled her and the winds were blowing fiercely, but the sky above shone through a massive hole in the ship.
Another ship had collided with Serinde’s and chaos reigned. The next thing Serinde saw was Dairn, of all people, free from his chains and running from prisoner to prisoner. Perl lay limp next to her, a piece of wood embedded in her side, a blank expression on her face. She was dead.
“Give me your wrists!” he shouted and Serinde obeyed without hesitation. The elf she had just met weeks ago freed her wrists and then her ankles. Then he tossed the keys to another prisoner and was shouting at Serinde.
“That’s all of our group,” he said. “We have to get off this ship before it sinks!”
Serinde stood up to see Omioor, Erilas, and Jassa all standing over a dead oar master. A piece of timber stuck through his chest.
They looked up to see a battle taking place above them. Enoth elves fought, Serinde was sure she had to be mistaken, creatures that looked like Wrents. But on the sea?
There was no time to think about it. They climbed whatever pieces of timber and boards that were left to get away from the bottom level, which was rapidly filling with water, and climbed up to the top of the ship as quickly as they could.
The morning suns were shining through sprays of water and misty clouds.
“Are you alright!?” Serinde shouted at Erilas, who was climbing next to her.
“Fine,” she replied, clutching at whatever she could to get higher. Several ropes, rigging, and masts lay about them and they used them to cling to. The cold wind bit at her face and the spray of water stung her eyes, but Serinde still climbed.
When they reached the top of the wreckage, Serinde was able to see that their main mast had been ripped from its foundations. The ensuing crash is what liberated them from their prison hold. It appeared that their ship had been sandwiched in-between two others. The one that had rammed into theirs was on fire, an inferno spreading to every part that wasn’t soaked with water. The other ship was the most ornate vessel Serinde had ever seen. Purple banners and stars decorated every part of it.
It looked...royal.
“That’s the emperor’s ship!” Serinde shouted. “It’s got to be!”
“We don’t know if the emperor is on it!” Omioor shouted, but he didn’t contradict her.
A group of Wrents came pouring into the open hole opposite where their group had climbed up, snarling and barking as they leapt onto any moving thing. Enoth sailors and liberated prisoners alike fell to the ravenous foxes.
“Who cares if it’s the emperor of the whole universe’s ship!” Jassa yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”
Serinde couldn’t help but agree.
They turned from the carnage they were facing and leapt up onto the deck. Serinde saw a fallen Enoth sailor still clutching his sword. She wrenched it from the dead elf’s hand.
“You stole enough from me,” she spat as she stood back up and held the sword tightly in her hand. They began to climb the ornate decorations that lined the ships outside. Canons continued to fire around them. The screams of battle, both close by and far off, reverberated off the cliffs of Darrion.
She had never seen them before, she realized as she clambered over the railing of the ornate ship. Serinde landed on her feet and found herself facing a hundred guards wearing shining breastplates, adorned with purple sashes. These were the elite of the imperial army. The guardians of the emperor himself.
And the only weapon they had among them was a pilfered sailor’s sword and, from the quick glance to her left, a broken piece of the ship that Dairn had picked up.
“This is not how our little plan was supposed to turn out,” Omioor said with a note of sarcasm in his voice.
Several of the guards, who were not busy cutting down the Wrents who were now beginning to also climb over the rails or clumped together in a tight circle towards the middle of the deck, began to come their way, weapons pointed directly at the rebellious elves.
“No time for regrets,” Serinde said through gritted teeth, stepping in between a guard and Erilas. She heard an odd screeching noise over the chaos of explosions, screams, canon fire and magical bolts of energy being shot at and from Lone Peak. It made her think of fairytales and bedtime stories of heroes of war who died defending those they loved.
“Time for revenge.”
42: Amidst the Assault
“I can see smoke on the horizon!”
Ealrin wasn’t sure who said it, but looking from the controls of their vessel to the sea that stretched out in front of him, he could, in fact, see a haze that didn’t appear to be only morning fog. They had made good time. It seemed they had come up upon a battle already in progress.
“Get this thing in the air!” Holve was shouting. “We need to see what we’re up against and let the ships we have know what they need to do!”
Strategy. The old man always had one.
“Harnesses!” Ealrin called as he put his hand on the glowing Rimstone wheel and felt the ship jolt forward and his knees buckle slightly. They were rising from the water and into the air. His closest friends were scrambling for the leather harnesses that would at least partially ensure they didn’t fall off the deck of the ship.
He saw Gorplin fumbling with one, too, mentioning something about not wanting to miss out on another fight. Amrolan and Panto, however, were headed below deck. The elf gave Ealrin a nod that he returned, remembering the plan they had made. Teresa went with them, her face grim.
The
princess just hadn’t been the same since they had been reunited. Moody, unwilling, and, it seemed, not ever looking forward to the next hour. Ealrin hoped she wouldn’t do something too foolish during the battle with her emotions so out of place. Then again, he missed Tory, too. Even if he did complain about everything under the sun.
Blume was by his side, handing him his own harness. Felicia and Urt were already attached to the ship, so he handed over the controls to them while he got into his own vest. They had practiced a little with Felicia steering while they were airborne, but she still wasn’t quite used to it. Ealrin had no idea why it was second nature to him, but he was glad to be of use to the group.
And he had remembered what it was called, the one who steered these flying ships. A pilot.
He took over the controls once he was strapped in. Felicia had managed to keep the ship rising into the air and not shake it to one side or the other.
“I hate to hand over a ship when we’re going into a fight,” she said as she drew her sword. “But I know where I’ll be needed more than at the helm.”
“Only on this ship,” Ealrin replied encouragingly. He then pushed some levers and checked the wheel.
“Everyone, get ready!” he shouted. Calls of assent came back to him, which he took to mean it was really time to fly.
“Have you named her yet?” Felicia asked, holding onto the rail with one hand and her sword with the other.
Ealrin hadn’t yet settled on a name. None came to him that seemed appropriate.
“I was thinking of Heaven’s Sword or Cloudwing,” he said.
“How about Skydart?” Blume asked.
“Hmm, Skydart doesn’t sound bad,” Ealrin thought out loud. “Alright, the Skydart.”
He pulled another lever and adjusted a second, and the Skydart rose into the air with a jolt and began to speed in the direction of the smoke. They flew for a few moments, level with the cliffs that ran along the coast. Ealrin called out to those in front.
“What’s going on?”
Wisym bounded back to him, lightly treading the ship as it flew.
“Looks like the elves are attacking from the sea and from the plains in front of Lone Peak,” she said, a look of concern on her face. “But something’s wrong with the Enoth fleet. Three of their ships in the back are on fire. One’s rammed into the flag ship.”
Ealrin nodded, then steered them back towards the Death’s Gate ships.
“Think she’ll come back?” Blume asked as Holve shouted down directions to the other vessels, forming a plan of attack.
“She said she would,” Ealrin replied. “That’s the best we’ve got.”
Holve walked over to them and nodded.
“That’s the best we can do with what we have,” he said. “As for us in the air...”
He looked at Ealrin with an inquiring look.
“Thoughts?”
Ealrin winked at Blume, then shoved a lever down and the ship began to zoom forward.
“Let’s get in there!”
THEY WERE ON THEIR third pass over the plains of Lone Peak. Ealrin had kept roughly the same pattern each time, going first over the troops of Enoth, watching Blume send down a rain of magical darts on the attackers, then they dropped over the cliffs and down into the naval assault, where Wisym and Elen were firing the giant bolts from their launchers at the Enoth ships.
Blume called a ring of green Rimstone energy into existence in her hand and then flung them down to the army below. It landed in a line of explosions that sent another troop of soldiers into chaos. The defenders cheered as they passed and Ealrin rose a fist into the air in triumph. If they could keep this up, they’d be a real asset to the battle in driving back Enoth. But more troops remained and plenty more ships still fired on the sides of Lone Peak. If Enoth ships reached the dock and could unload their troops, doubtless they’d crawl up the stairs of the city and overtake them from behind.
Ealrin was beginning to drop the ship for a run over the sea, when it gave a huge jolt. He felt himself lurch forward, nearly over the controls and onto the deck below. Urt was by his side in an instant, helping him to get back to his feet and work the levers.
The ship was tilting down far too much. Ealrin pulled on a lever and spun the wheel furiously, trying to slow the ship. Something was wrong. The Skydart wasn’t responding to the controls like it ought to. Jerkily, it obeyed the commands of Ealrin's lever pushing, but not with the same precision as it had before. They had been hit by something and it was affecting the mechanics of the vessel.
“Everyone hold on!” he shouted as they shot down towards the water. He knew the command wasn’t necessary. Every member of their party was grasping onto whatever they could find.
They rode through a cloud of fog. When they broke, Ealrin saw the water and the ships below coming towards them far too quickly. He pulled with all his might on the levers to raise the ship. Painfully slow, the falling vessel righted itself just as it flew over an Enoth ship, taking out a mast and sails with it into its descent into the water.
Due to everyone’s harness being attached to the ship, Ealrin had no fear of anyone being thrown into the sea. What he wanted to know, however, now that his vision was returning to its normal state and not a blur of motion, was whether or not everyone was alright.
A few groans issued out here and there, but it seemed like everyone came out alright.
The ship, however, was a different story.
Sails had been ripped from their riggings. The railing on the starboard side was nearly torn to shreds. And Ealrin had a bad feeling that they might be taking on water.
“We need to get off!” he shouted. “Where’s the Death’s Gate fleet?”
Holve scanned the sea and the battle taking place there. Ships were nearly stacked one on top of another. Crews from both were swinging from ropes to attack the other. They had landed a good distance from most of the action.
“There!” he shouted, pointing out to the side.
A ship with black sails was heading for them. Holve was waving them down.
“Make sure everyone is out of the hold!” Ealrin shouted to Elen and Wisym, who both opened a hatch and went below to check on whoever was still down there.
Ealrin saw Blume struggling over to them.
“You need to work on landing,” she said, gingerly rubbing her side. “I think a barrel knocked me into the rail.”
“Broken ribs?” Ealrin asked cautiously.
“If they are, I’ll pay you back when I’m healed up,” she said, giving him a weak punch in the arm.
The Death’s Gate ship came near. It was Denise and Micah.
“Get off of that thing!” Micah called to them. “You’ve got a hole the size of a bear!”
The saying made Ealrin take in a breath.
“Amrolan!” he said, turning towards the hatch. Wisym and Elen appeared there. Wisym shook her head.
“No one’s down there!” she said.
“Not Teresa? Or Panto?” Ealrin asked, heartbroken. The elf and his bear had brought them so far and helped them so much. And Teresa. The princess of Thoran couldn’t have met her end this way. Thinking about it put a lump in his throat.
They didn’t have time to investigate further. The ship was indeed taking on water. He felt it pitch to the side. Ropes came flying at them from Denise’s boat and they all began to clamber up the ship to the deck. Gorplin was the last to leave, as he needed to be pulled onto the ship with the combined strength of Urt, Holve, Wisym, and Ealrin. He arrived on board cursing and shouting, still wearing his harness with the rope cut off a few feet from him. Apparently he had given up trying to take it off and hewn it with his axe.
Once they reached the top, Ealrin watched with sadness as the Skydart began to sink into the sea.
“Not much time to mourn,” Holve said, clapping him on the shoulder and pointing behind them. “There’s still a battle to fight.”
Denise was already pulling the ship around to return to the fray.<
br />
“We saw you get hit and go down,” she said as they climbed to the captain’s wheel. “Glad we could come bail you out.”
Micah took note of the battle.
“It looks like Enoth has lost ten ships,” he said, pointing to the thickest fighting. “Three are on fire there, with another looking to go up in flames as well.”
“Darrion had five ships still in the water before we veered off to come and help you. Death’s Gate has lost three.”
“Enoth still has the advantage,” Holve said, nothing the large number of ships with purple sails and white hulls. “We need to take it away.”
“We’ve managed to get around to the back of the fleet,” Denise said. “We could get back into it over there.”
She nodded towards where a group of ships were all blasting one another with all they had. Each group was well represented and the fighting was fierce.
“Or we could cut the head off the fleet by getting the flagship,” Holve said, pointing at the most elaborate ship on the water, next to the three burning ones.
“I bet I know who’s on that one,” Wisym said, a snarl in her voice. She drew out her two swords. “That’s my vote. If it’s the emperor on that ship, we go for it.”
Micah looked around at the group, finally stopping at Ealrin and Holve.
“Any objections?” he asked.
“None,” Holve said. “Pull us up next to it.”
Ealrin nodded. He drew his sword and felt the familiar warmth of battle in it. It was time for a close fight.
43: The Fires of Battle
Flames burned all around them as the Wrents leapt from the ship they had captured to the one they had rammed into. Cuno was first among them. As he sailed through the air, he let loose a torrent of fire. He didn’t care if the ship they had captured burned to embers. They had used it for the one purpose they had planned: revenge.
