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 into 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 Elo
rian 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 from 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 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!"
Color and light blazed.
Bailey came swinging from a mast, clutching a rope. Her boots slammed into the two charging Elorians, one into each man's chest. The warriors fell backward, flipped over the smashed railing, and splashed into the river.
Bailey released the rope, landed on her feet, and turned toward Torin. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she yanked him to his feet, then slapped him.
"You foolish boy!" she said. "I knew I'd have to save you, Winky. Now raise your sword and fight, damn it!"
More Elorians raced toward them. Standing back-to-back, Torin and Bailey fought. The night burned around them.
The ship kept rocking. Corpses slid across the deck and spilled into the water. More Timandrians kept rising from the hull, replacing those who fell. Coughing in the smoke, Torin saw his comrades leaping onto the Elorian junks that had rammed them. The battle had moved to those dark, clay decks.
"I'm going up for a view!" he shouted to Bailey.
He raced toward the mast, grabbed a rope ladder, and climbed. Cold air whipped him, thick with smoke. Clinging to the ladder with one hand, Torin surveyed the battle.
In the east, he counted a dozen burning Timandrian ships. Some were sinking; others were still floating toward the city as their sails blazed. Several Timandrian ships had been lost; only the tips of their masts rose from the river. Shards of wood floated across the water along with corpses. When Torin looked back westward, he saw dozens of ships still sailing toward the battle; they hadn't even fought yet, and thousands of soldiers stood ready on their decks.
"I see only three Elorian warships!" Torin shouted down.
Was that all the Elorians had? Across all three junks, Timandrian soldiers were battling Elorians. Swords rang, arrows fired, and every heartbeat another soldier fell.
Upon each deck, the Timandrians outnumbered the Elorians ten to one. The nightfolk were falling fast. Soon King Ceranor cried in victory upon an Elorian junk; its warriors lay dead around him.
"The ship is ours!" The king brandished his bloody sword. "Seize their other ships!"
Farther east, a Timandrian galley slammed into an Elorian junk. Its prow thrust like a battering ram, snapping the junk's hull. The Elorian vessel began to sink. Its soldiers shouted and tried to jump overboard, only for Timandrian arrows to tear into them. Blood filled the water.
"Three Elorian junks against a hundred Timandrian warships," Torin said softly. "They crashed into us with fury and crushed our vanguard . . . but they cannot stop this fleet."
He looked toward the city. It loomed close now, only a mile or two away. Its crystal towers lit the plains and water. A hundred other ships moored there, but they were simply merchant and fishing vessels.
He scampered down the rope ladder and joined Bailey on the deck. She stood among dead Elorians, her shield chipped.
"The Elorian fleet is smashed," he told her. "By Idar, it's hardly a fleet at all; I think they only had three warships."
She nodded, face pale behind splotches of blood. She looked over at Pahmey. The crystal towers rose above, connected by bridges and walkways. The city now loomed as large as a mountain. Torin had thought Kingswall large; this city seemed thrice the size.
"Stay near me, Torin," Bailey said, holding her sword raised. "If we enter this city, stay near me. I'll look after you. I promised to look after you."
They stood at the prow, boots in blood, as the Sunspear sailed toward the city docks. Dozens of Timandrian warships sailed with them, archers lining their railings. They left the corpses of Elorians—hundreds of warriors—to sink in the water behind.
When Torin looked ahead, he gasped.
"Merciful Idar," he whispered.
At his side, Bailey clutched his hand. Her eyes watered. "They're going to keep fighting. By the sun, they need to flee."
Torin grimaced and watched as a hundred Elorian boats—mere fishing rafts, leisure pontoons, and merchant junks—came sailing toward the Timandrian navy.
Most of these vessels were smaller than a humble hut. Most had only a single mast. And yet they came sailing toward the fleet. Fishermen and merchant sailors steered them onward, clad in simple robes, bearing no weapons. Upon their decks they carried Elorian soldiers—two men here, three men there, a scattered army desperate to stop the sunlit onslaught.
Among the Timandrian fleet, laughter rose.
Soldiers stared at the ragtag vessels, pointed, and guffawed.
"The savages fight in dinghies!" shouted one Timandrian.
"Their ships are smaller than my tub back at home!" shouted another and brayed.
A soldier climbed a mast, pointed at the approaching rafts and pontoons, and roared with laughter. "Sink these barrels! Let's see if the savages can swim."
Torin grumbled. At his side, Bailey muttered curses.
"By the light," she said, "I almost want to abandon our ship and fight for the other side." She pointed at the approaching flotilla of fishermen and merchants. "That there is courage, Torin Greenmoat, and let there be no mistake."
Torin ground his teeth
and lowered his head, guilt burning through him.
And I slew one of them, he thought. I killed a man who simply tried to defend his home. And now I sail with an army to slay a thousand more.
He looked up again to see his fleet crash into the approaching flotilla.
Boats shattered and the river burned.
Arrows flew through the night, shards of flame.
Small, creaky junks smashed against the Timandrian galleys and carracks. Hulls shattered. Masts collapsed. Howling with rage, Elorian warriors boarded the Timandrian ships, only for swords to hack them down. A merchant cog charged forward, laden with more explosives, and blasts of green and yellow and red whizzed everywhere, tearing through sails, hulls, and men. Soldiers leaped from deck to deck, swords clanged, and blood rose in a mist.
"Sail forth!" the king was shouting upon a ship, a three-masted carrack with a black raven figurehead. "To the city. Smash through them! To the gates!"
The Timandrian fleet crashed through the flotilla like a wolf tearing through a brood of chickens. The smaller vessels sank all around, overcome by arrows and swords.
"Anchors down!" cried the king. "Into the landing craft. To the city gates!"
At his command, Timandrian soldiers entered small rowing boats, which they lowered on ropes into the river. The troops began sailing through flotsam, corpses, and sinking dinghies toward the docks of Pahmey. Hundreds of boats covered the water, storming forth, troops filling each vessel.
"Torin!" rose a voice behind him. "Bailey! Come on, we've got a boat."
Torin turned to see Cam running across the deck of the Sunspear. Behind him, as always, lolloped Hem. Ash, sweat, and blood covered both boys.
"Are you all right?" Torin said. "You're bloody."
Cam snorted. "The Elorians have it much worse." He grabbed Hem and tugged him closer. "Hem here squashed one half to death. Didn't even need his sword. Just fell onto the poor bastard as the deck swayed."
The larger boy's lips trembled. "I . . . I didn't mean to! Oh, this whole place is horrible. I want to go back home."
Cam shoved him. "Oh, toughen up! This is war, old boy, and we're soldiers."
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