by J M D Reid
Nrein savored the fear in the whore-poxed bastard’s eyes.
*
Chaylene aimed her pressure rifle and fired at an archer kneeling atop a nearby building. Her shot caught the man in the guts. He toppled backward, but more archers took his place, drawing their bows and firing at her position.
“Down!” she shouted, ducking behind the ruined ballista.
Arrows hissed at them. Warned, Guts ducked low. Zeirie screamed in shock as an arrow flew inches past her face as she fought to hold the right staircase. Ary held the left, crashing his sword down into the rush of pirates. They boiled out of every hole in the damned fortress like a school of field guppies bursting out of the barley. More surged into the courtyard below where Estan, the other marines, and the Zzuki fought.
Chaylene’s hatred for the Zzuki Gezitziz vanished. They fought with her, to protect her and Ary and the other marines. They were risking their lives like they had during the Cyclone and during Offnrieth. All she had given them was hatred or cold indifference. She could be better. These Zzuki hadn’t killed her pa.
“We need support!” Ary shouted as he kicked an Agerzak off his sword. He ducked a second flight of arrows. Wood snapped and stone chipped as the missiles struck the battlements around them. “Signal the Dauntless, Lena!”
Chaylene blinked out of her musing. “On it!”
She turned and sighted the Dauntless banking around to take station off the fortress. She waved her arm. Captain Dhar, leaning on her crutches upon the stern deck, waved back. With a few simple gestures, Chaylene requested fire support, and then pointed at the building. The captain nodded her head and waved both her arms twice over her head.
Understood. Will comply.
“Incoming fire!” Chaylene screamed, crawling to the edge of the battlement and aiming her weapon. A third flight of missiles hurtled at them. An arrow hissed down before her, striking the pavement.
Behind her, the Dauntless’s ballista thwunked. A pair of shells streaked overhead. One flew too far, exploding against the central keep. The second landed among some of the archers. They vanished in a cloud of ripping black and tearing red.
Chaylene rose onto her knee and peered down into the courtyard. Chaos roiled as the marines and Zzuki fought. One lizardman lay dead or dying while an Agerzak attacked Estan with brutal swings of a greatsword. Estan parried, but the blow slapped his sabre from his hand. Fear clutched Chaylene’s belly as he back-pedaled. Estan unslung his thunderbuss and brought it up to his shoulder.
The pirate’s sword shattered the ceramic barrel.
“Estan!” Chaylene screamed as she raised her rifle to kill the pirate.
A titanic explosion roared behind her. Something slammed into the back of her head. Blinding light flashed across her vision then darkness engulfed her.
*
The cradle was lowered into the Dauntless’s magazine. Ensign Brald shouted for an impact fuse. Able Sailor Charmin grabbed the requested shot. His fingers brushed over the patch that had sealed Wriavia’s sabotage.
Charmin frowned for a moment at the rough feel. Then he shrugged and set the shot into the cradle.
The fortified water, prepared by the assassin, ate through the vial. The acid spilled into the gunpowder. The shot detonated in the heart of the Dauntless’s magazine.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ary would always remember the sight of the Dauntless in the heartbeat before her destruction, floating with her sails slack, the crew scurrying about the deck, and Captain Dhar standing proud upon the stern in her dark-blue coat.
The explosion shattered the warship.
A great, black-red cloud of destruction burst her hold like an eggshell. The sky rippled, the shock wave forming an expanding sphere of compressed air driving shards and splinters in all directions. Flaming wreckage soared like ballista shots as the remains of the Dauntless plummeted into the Storm.
The shock wave crashed into the pirate fortress. The walls groaned. The howling air slammed into Ary and threw him off his feet. He tumbled down the stairs, the world spinning about him. Stones pummeled his body. He crashed onto his back at the foot of the stairs, mind battered to unthinking jelly. His entire body ached like a giant had punched him. His ears buzzed with a high-pitched whine. Dazed, he stared up at blue sky and the raining debris of his ship. Splintered wood crashed into the courtyard, smoking and burning. Torn bits of smoldering canvas sail fluttered through the air like snow.
“That didn’t just happen,” Ary muttered, shaking his head. The back of his skull pounded. He rubbed there, half-expecting to feel blood. Heat flowed through his body, his mind. His thoughts sharpened. Despite the Healing fires, winter’s ice filled his body. “The Dauntless didn’t just explode.”
A smoking, tricorne hat drifted down to land beside him. An officer’s hat.
“What was that?” Corporal Huson asked as she struggled to her feet nearby, her face pale, her voice shaken. “Riasruo Above, what was that, Ary?”
“The Dauntless,” he croaked.
Corporal Huson’s stony mask shattered. Her face scrunched and contorted as Ary witnessed horror in her eyes.
*
The fortress shook, throwing Estan off his feet. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked around. Nrein staggered before him, keeping his balance by using the point of his massive sword as a crutch. Flaming wood rained down upon the melee. The young man struggled to catalog what had just happened and . . .
Nrein spat at Estan in Agerzese as he drew back his greatsword in an overhand blow. The sound galvanized Estan’s instincts. He had to escape. Esty’s warning screamed in his mind.
If I fight him, I’ll die. She saw it.
Estan trusted the validity of Esty’s predictions. He half rose, pushing up with his hands, bracing his feet against the ground to throw himself backward. His left foot planted on a piece of the Dauntless’s smoking decking.
The debris slipped.
His left foot flew out from beneath him. He landed heavily on his back. Nrein’s sword fell. Estan didn’t throw himself to safety like he planned. Moments before the blade impacted, Esty’s face flashed through his thoughts. He couldn’t die. He had to get back to her.
Pain exploded in his right leg.
Estan had scrambled back enough so the blade missed his torso. It landed with a sickening crunch on his thigh right above his knee. Estan screamed as the sword snapped his femur. Blood welled around splinters of white. Nrein yanked back his blade.
Estan gaped in horror.
His leg remained attached only by scraps of muscles.
His head swam. A cold wave sloshed through him. Spasms shook him. Nrein spat at him as he lifted his sword skyward. Estan knew he had to do something, but his mind didn’t want to work. Nothing wanted to work.
My leg’s been almost cut in half. Riasruo Above, I’m dead.
“Esty,” Estan croaked.
“Don’t say her name!” bellowed Nrein. “You defiled her! You stole her from me!”
Estan tried to answer Nrein, but everything was cold. “I’m sorry, Esty. I failed. You’re waiting for me. Sorry. I’m sorry. I love you. Tell her that.”
Screaming, Nrein swung his blade.
*
Ary forced himself to stand. His Gift of Fleshknitting soothed his ears, driving away the ringing. He surveyed the courtyard. One of the Zzuki lay dead while Estan was on his back, a pirate threatening him. Ary’s eyes widened. Estan’s leg gushed blood, pouring a sea of red across the courtyard.
“No!” Ary gasped. He charged forward as the pirate swung his blade.
Ary lowered his shoulder. In his panic, he’d forgotten all about the sword he clutched in his hand. His long steps carried him fast. Ary crashed into the pirate’s back. The force threw the Agerzak stumbling to the side.
“Tell her!” Estan gasped as he trembled on the ground. “I love her. Tell her.”
“You’ll be fine,” Ary said as the pirate regained his balance and turned. A fierce f
ace, adorned by a thick beard, stared mad death at Ary. A scar crossed the pirate’s cheek and nose. Murder showed in his amber eyes. He raised his greatsword in a fighting stance, the blade’s tip aimed at Ary.
Ary hadn’t seen this style. It looked like a variant on a sabre stance. Ary had no idea how to fence with the unwieldy Agerzak blade. This man did. The pirate darted forward, his weapon slashing in an arc at Ary.
Metal rang as Ary parried. The shock of impact jarred Ary’s hands and drove him back a step. The pirate bellowed in harsh Agerzese, spittle flying from his lips. Ary faced a maddened boar. The pirate swung his greatsword with fast, hammering attacks.
Ary retreated before the onslaught while Estan bled out. Ary needed to heal him. His stomach twisted as the berserk Agerzak forced him farther away from his friend. The pool of red grew larger around Estan’s limp form.
He. Was. Dying.
Ary beat down the reckless anger inside of him, that black rage screaming at him to hack down the Agerzak. The pirate possessed skill. Ary couldn’t attack without thought without strategy. He had to understand the pirate’s technique. Ary studied the man, incorporating the pirate’s style into the sabre fencing the Sergeant-Major had taught him.
Sparks burst as their swords collided. They drifted closer together for a moment, and then Ary pushed back and the pirate stumbled away. Ary had an advantage. He was bigger, stronger. He grunted as he slammed his blade into the pirate’s a second time. He wouldn’t let Estan die. He would save his friend’s life.
A smile crossed the pirate’s lips. “Finally. A man who knows how to fight like a shark!”
“Is this a game?” Ary spat as he swung again.
“The grandest game!” the pirate roared. “Life! Can you feel it? Your heart beats. Your blood howls through your veins. Nothing makes a man feel more alive than death!”
“I don’t have time for this!” Ary growled and slammed his sword forward.
The pirate caught his blade and twisted, letting Ary’s sword slide past. His riposte came fast. Ary dodged back, narrowly avoiding the tip of Nrein’s blade. He felt the wind of its passage.
“You have strength, but you do not know how to fight with a real weapon.” The pirate grinned. “Let me educate you!”
Estan’s gasps grew softer.
I need to end this fast!
*
Estan’s body trembled. Instead of the pain he expected after taking such a grievous wound, he experienced icy cold. It gripped his entire body and shook him. He stared up at the smoke howling past, whipped towards the hungry skyrift.
It is curious the way the smoke stretches so wide, Estan thought. The faster it goes, the more elongated it becomes. It is diffusing into the atmosphere and . . .
No, no.
He shook his head. He needed to concentrate. His leg . . . he had to attend to his wound. He fought against the cold seeping into his thoughts. He had to gather his wits and focus on the problem at hand.
I suffered a deep laceration to my thigh. My femur appears severed. My femoral artery must be as well. My blood is pumping out of me.
I . . . I . . .
Estan felt his thoughts slip away from him. His intelligence flailed about in the squeezing chill. He needed to do something. Attend to something. As his life spilled out of him, a part of him understood that his body’s heat flowed through his blood. Without it, his flesh cooled through the convection of the air swirling over his body.
The wind . . . it’s stealing my warmth.
Swords clashed. Men shouted.
He had to find some way to focus. He could do something. He felt so sure of it, but . . . but . . .
Esty. He found Esty. She blossomed in his thoughts, those amber eyes, her black hair swaying about her shoulders, beads clacking together with the slightest movement. She always had such a spicy scent about her, perhaps from dried flowers sprinkled over her dresses.
My mother used to do that. She would have flowers dried just for that purpose and . . .
Esty smiled. Esty talked. Her voice spilled through his thoughts. He witnessed her mind sparkling through her eyes, revealing the depths of her intelligence. While she possessed her beauty, it was her thoughts that stimulated him the most. That he would miss the most.
We won’t get to discuss Iolsuimn Oovthionick’s Treaties on the Principal of Gravity as It Relates to the Binding Forces of the Skylands. I would love to hear her thoughts on his theories. Will she agree with them or . . .
I’m dying.
I won’t get to converse with her again.
Through the cold gripping his body, a clammy fear swelled. He didn’t regret aiding Master Rlarim in his forbidden research nor his defiance of his father. He didn’t regret the draft conscripting him into the Navy. Everything in his life had led him to Esty and . . .
And he would lose her.
“No . . .” he gasped. He couldn’t lose her. “Need to . . . to tell her . . . Esty . . . love her . . .”
I should have asked her to marry me. I’m dying. I’m growing colder. A tourniquet. I should have applied a tourniquet with my belt and . . .
Too late.
He had no strength. The world grew darker.
Love you, Esty . . .
*
The pirate bellowed as he swung his sword with battering rage. Strength slammed into Ary’s weapon. He held the Agerzak greatsword before him, muscles straining as the pirate’s hammering blows drove Ary farther and farther back from his friend. Estan trembled on the ground, twitching. A great pool of crimson was spread about him.
His life spilled out of him, and Ary couldn’t save him.
Vel’s piteous moans echoed in his mind.
Sparks exploded as their weapons clashed over and over. Spittle flew from the pirate’s lips. He frothed, staining the coarse bristles of his beard. Amber eyes burned with molten fury. Ary could feel the rage, a dark and primal emotion, pouring off the pirate. Anger was too weak a word for it. Hatred too soft.
A monstrous darkness writhed inside the pirate.
He hungered to feast on Ary’s innards, swinging hard, striking fast to carve Ary open. The man knew how to fight with his weapon. How to swing it. How to leverage its great size and weight to deliver blows of such shuddering power.
But I’m a fighter, too, Ary thought as fear’s sickly blossoms opened in his chest. Estan lay dying. He had to save his friend. He couldn’t let another friend die.
He. Would. Heal.
The strangling blossoms squeezed out everything inside of Ary. They choked out all other emotions. The sickly-sweet scent of their dreadful perfume sickened his stomach. It twisted as Estan let out another piteous moan.
His body went slack.
Ary had to do something. He wouldn’t let his friend die again. He screamed out his own primal roar, meeting the pirate’s odious battle cries. He copied how the pirate moved his hands, shifting them on the long handle of the greatsword, changing the balance, adjusting his control. Ary swung his blade, discovering the ease of using the greatsword’s weight instead of warring with it.
The sword became an extension of his arm.
Metal screamed as they fought, shark snarling at shark. Ary shifted his grip on the over-long handle of the blade, modifying how he applied leverage. He studied his opponent, allowing the pirate to educate him. Fear driving him forward, Ary attacked with reckless desperation.
I can heal. Let him cut me. I can take it!
“Yes!” roared the pirate. “Finally! You learn! You fight, skyer! Do it! Plant your blade into my flesh! Try and kill Nrein!”
Ary didn’t respond in kind. Sweat flooded down his face as he swung the heavy blade over and over. Fire burned through his arms, healing the strain wielding the large weapon placed on his corded muscles. They bunched and sprang as he hewed and struck.
But it wasn’t enough. The pirate still had more experience. He knew other techniques. Better ways to parry, to shift his feints. He wielded his large blade with the same
deft artistry as a painter using his brush.
And Estan was dying. Moment by moment, more and more of his life spilled out. Ary had to end this now.
How?
Their swords came together. Sparks flew. Ary felt bits of his sword, small fragments invisible to the naked eye, sheer from the blade. The weapons damaged each other with each blow and . . . he could feel the metal. This awareness, something that lurked in the back of his mind, sprang to the forefront. It was like an old hurt, something that he had long grown accustomed to and ignored until the wrong movement of his body brushed it and flared it to life, bringing it screaming to his conscious attention.
He could affect his sword.
What could he do with that? He didn’t have time to experiment. He needed to make his blade so strong that he could shear through the pirate’s, or he needed to somehow weaken his opponent’s weapon and . . .
A memory surged through Ary’s mind, a moment of crystal clarity. He’d weakened metal once before. During the Cyclone, he’d sheered through a Stormrider’s armor, using his power by instinct, transmitting it through his sword and into the Rider’s cuirass.
“Yes!” he bellowed as he swung his sword at the pirate.
The bearded shark snarled, eyes blazing, and countered with his own powerful blow.
Ary reached through the metal of his sword. Their blades clashed in a burst of sparks. Ary’s Metalforging flowed from his weapon’s metal into the pirate’s. He felt the alignment of iron grains arranged in strong, orderly lines.
He disrupted them with a surge of heat.
In a single heartbeat, Ary made Nrein’s sword as brittle as poor-quality pottery. It shattered. Sparkling shards of metal spun through the air as Ary’s blade’s momentum slammed it through the wreckage and into the pirate’s side with a meaty thunk.
Blood spurted.
Shock filled the pirate’s face. “You have Her Gifts?”
“Yes. I’ve been touched by Theisseg!”
The pirate laughed as he crashed to the ground, blood pouring out of his side. Ary didn’t care about his victory. Only his friend mattered. He leaped over his enemy, the fear choking through his body, swelling his skin to bursting.
