Lukhantl sprang to his feet, muscled his way through the press of fighters, and reached the elf before he had a chance to light another bomb. He knocked the bag from the Kin’s grasp and struggled with him to pull the bomb from his other hand. He hammered at the Kin’s thin, sallow face with the spike of his axe, and finally, as the spike pierced his eye, the Kin screamed and his hand unclasped. The unlit bomb rolled free into the center of the clash, and it was kicked repeatedly as the assault wavered back and forth.
The Kin were putting up a good fight, and it seemed to Lukhantl that his boarding attempt would be in vain. Then he saw salamander crew fighting for control of the ballistae swivel gun at the stem of the ship. Its base was damaged, it teetered on the swivel, but the bolt and firing mechanisms were in good order.
Lukhantl fought his way through the mass once again, taking one Kin sailor down with a crack across his sweaty, bald pate with the boarding axe. In turn, Lukhantl took a cut across his right arm. He fell to his knees in pain, feeling raw heat emanating from the wound. He staggered forward the last few remaining meters and found salamander crew there, holding the ballistae and fighting off three Kin sailors. But his allies were a mess. Lacerations everywhere; hot, fiery blood seeping out of every deep cut. Their energy was waning, but they were holding firm.
Take a rest, my brothers, Lukhantl said to himself as he pushed them all out of the way and took their place.
He killed the first Kin assailant outright with a spike stab from his axe through the throat. The others hesitated, then tried to reengage. Lukhantl saw the closest holding a long knife dripping with some form of oily yellow poison. He twisted the ballistae swivel and knocked the creature aside. Lukhantl hugged the bolt in place, knowing how foolish it had been to use it as a club. One more harsh push or yank, and the swivel would crack and be useless. But wasn’t that the point: allow it to be damaged, destroyed, so that it could not be used again? Under normal circumstances, yes, Lukantl knew that. But this was not a normal circumstance. The Kin had bombs, and used improperly, or fumbled in battle, they could knock a ho—
The Kin came at him again. Lukhantl ducked, letting the ballistae take the sword slash. The blade skidded off with a spark. The Kin struck again. The ballistae sparked even greater.
A boot struck him in the side of the head. Dizzy, Lukhantl rolled away, using his tail for balance and dodging another boot strike, and another. Another Kin buccaneer was coming on strong, and Lukhantl found it difficult to recover. To his surprise, however, the boarding axe was still in his hand. He gripped it tightly, held it up, and blocked another sword strike with its haft. He turned the Kin’s ankle and hooked his pant cuff with the axe spike. Lukhantl kicked up and struck the buccaneer’s groin. The Kin groaned, grabbed his crotch, and stumbled to the left.
He pushed the screaming Kin away. He tried getting up, but a large explosion below-decks rocked the entire ship. Another explosion and the center of the ship buckled upward.
The main mast toppled like a tree, its crumpled and shattered rigging and canvas falling like lava ash everywhere, indiscriminately covering and striking both salamander and Kin. Sea water began to rise up through the cracked hull, and the ship listed to the left.
Lorquan!
He suddenly remembered why he was here, risking his life and the corsair crew. Poraqa’s warning about his anger and about how it could get in the way of his mission was ringing loud and clear in his mind. But what did her words matter anymore, for the explosion in the center had pitched her body up and then down into the salty waves. Perhaps she and the others around her thrown into the sea as well had survived the explosion and were clutching wooden planks to keep from drowning. It did not matter. His captain was out of the fight, the Kin ship was sinking, and he was in charge now.
He staggered to his feet, using the ballistae like a crutch. Ignoring the chaos around him, he turned the weapon toward Devourer’s Fire. The Twilight ship was still listing left, taking on water, and pulling the smaller salamander corsair ship with it. Lukhantl aimed carefully, pitching down so that the ballistae was pointed right at the center of his ship, toward the galley and captain’s quarters, and pulled the trigger.
The large bolt whistled as it flew through the smoke-filled air, pulling the oiled chain with it. Lukhantl stepped away to ensure that he did not get caught up in the pull. He could feel the wind off of it as it unraveled beside him.
The ballistae struck Devourer’s Fire and punched a hole in the captain’s quarters, finding purchase below. Probably on the barrels of their guns, Lukhantl figured, but that too didn’t matter. Shooting at one’s own ship was grounds for execution, even between pirate crews, but it was necessary under the circumstances. For now, the ballistae’s chain mechanism was pulling the chain back, strong and taut, and keeping its sinking ship into contact with the corsair’s. Lukhantl steadied himself as the ships struck one another again, the smaller hull now holding the larger in place. Good, he thought, that’ll keep us afloat long enough for me to find my brother.
He moved to the center of the ship, through the continued chaos of hand-to-hand. The deck was slick with salt water, blood and gore, and it was difficult to walk without slipping. He used his tail again for balance, a nice advantage that all salamanders had over their non-prehensile foe, though it could get in the way as well. This time, it did not, and served to knock a few Kin aside as he moved.
Beneath a mixed pile of bodies, he found a companionway down into the hold. There was a commotion down there, he could hear, and a large one. But he could also hear water pour through the crack in the hull. Lukhantl’s heart grew hot with fear, but he breathed deep, girded his courage, held his boarding axe at the ready, and descended.
It was dark, the air filled with smoke. It was hot, but that did not bother him, for his own rough hide was giving off even more heat. It was obvious that salamanders were near, for as he moved further into the hold, the heat climbed higher and steam replaced smoke.
Water now was knee deep, but Lukhantl moved with conviction toward the most horrible sounds that he had ever heard, echoing off the insides of this doomed ship. The piercing screams of dying Kin, and guttural barks of dying salamanders. Chains striking chains. Swords cutting through leather and bone. Other, though smaller, explosions, and the flashes of light from erupting bombs. That’s what must have caused the explosions, Lukhantl thought as he struggled to find his brother. A bomb must have ignited the powder used to fire the cannons.
He entered a room, and there, three salamanders were beating a downed Kin with belaying pins. One of them Lukhantl recognized.
“Lorquan!” he shouted, though his clutch brother did not respond, so enraptured he was in the fight. His enslavement shackles still hung from his pink, swollen wrists, though their chains had been cut. Under the thrill of battle, his body was near twice its size and blood red, his back muscles rippling with each strike against the Kin. He was intimidating to look at, even here, in this small space. Perhaps even more so in such cramped quarters, Lukhantl thought, and that was why Lorquan had risen in the ranks above all others in their clutch… including Lukhantl.
But now was not the time to revel in the lust of battle. The ship was sinking and all their lives were at risk.
Lukhantl moved forward swiftly and grabbed Lorquan’s arm in mid-swing. It took all his strength to stop the blow.
“Lorquan!” He shouted, and this time, he was heard.
In his rage, Lorquan rounded on him, his breath the stench of sulfur. Then he stilled as he seemed to recognize who held his arm.
Lukhantl finally let go. “It’s me, brother. Me! Lukhantl. I am here to save you. Come, let us get out of here, before—”
Lorquan looked down at the Kin corpse, nodded, and moved to the door, toward the fight still roiling near the gun bays.
“No,” Lukhantl said, trying to reach out and grab his brother. “You come with me. The ship is doomed. We have little time. Let us gather who we can and go!”
Lukhantl tried pulling his brother in the other direction, toward the companionway he had descended, but Lorquan was too strong, too angry, too filled with rage and battle lust to listen. He pushed Lukhantl aside. “No! I am going to kill them all for what they have done, to me and to my men.”
“And then what?” Lukhantl asked. “They will be dead, and we will be too. The ship is sinking, Lorquan. Look to your feet, your legs, and tell me I am wrong. I have delayed the inevitable for a time, but it’s sinking. We have to leave… now!”
Lorquan paused as if he were considering Lukhantl’s words, then his face grew red and stern, his teeth clicked, his black-red tongue darted. “No! We have to finish this, so that they do not rise again and take more slaves. We finish them now.”
He pushed Lukhantl away and raced out of the room with the other two salamanders. Lukhantl followed, calling his clutch brother’s name, but Lorquan did not listen, did not respond.
Everywhere Lukhantl turned, there was fighting. Close in, desperate hand-to-hand action. One such engagement had a salamander wrestling the Kin’s first mate to the floor and biting its neck like a beast. Blood flowed out from around his teeth as the Kin tried pushing his assailant away. Another Kin was trying to take a belaying pin away from a salamander in shackles, but the place where they struggled was narrow, and the elf didn’t have the proper angle and leverage. The salamander prevailed, keeping his hold on the pin and smacking it across the Kin’s mouth in a shower of blood and teeth. The knocked-out enemy fell atop Lukhantl, and he lay still, protected by the elf’s weight, waiting for the maddened, out of control salamander to move on to the next fight. When it was gone, Lukhantl pushed the dead Kin away and kept going.
He followed Lorquan into another room where a row of lockers lined the far wall. Chains ran through the handles from locker to locker, and each had a strong cast-iron lock.
A mass of salamander slaves pressed into the room, as if they were trying to crush the Kin therein, who were lined up in front of the lockers, desperately trying not to get crushed. The Kin tried firing crossbows into the mass. One shot hit the salamander next to Lukhantl. He convulsed and fell dead. Then Lukhantl saw Lorquan, in the middle of the press, swinging a belaying pin at a buccaneer.
“Lorquan!” he screamed, but his brother couldn’t hear him.
A little further into the room, the right side of the mass lurched forward, and the Kin on that side in front of his locker went down. A breach was secured. The salamanders rushed the locker, grabbed the chain, and started pulling. Lorquan tried moving to help, but Lukhantl had had enough.
With all his strength, Lukcantl reached into the mass and grabbed his brother’s tail and yanked back so hard, Lorquan fell to the floor. Lukhantl did not let go. He pulled and pulled, heedless of Lorquan’s struggle against him. His brother screamed, and Lukhantl screamed back. He pulled Lorquan free, and then grabbed him in a hug, wrapping his body around his brother. Lorquan struggled. He punched, pulled, pushed, bit. He was strong, and it hurt, but Lukhantl did not let go.
Then an explosion hit the locker room. The mass of bodies above them shielded them from the brunt of the concussion. Kin and salamander alike were tossed into the air, their torn, mangled bodies falling in heaps upon them. Another explosion, this time from the other side. The wail of the wounded was deafening, as more bodies were tossed about the room. Lukhantl tried seeing what was going on, but they were buried beneath the heap. It was hard to breathe, but he found a hole in the wounded mass and pulled himself and Lorquan to it so that they could find air. There was smoke, thick choking smoke that filled the locker room. They could not get a fresh breath.
And then the hull wrenched, turned, twisted, and finally gave way.
The entire mass of bodies was flushed into the sea, below the wreckage of the Twilight ship. Lukhantl held his breath; he hoped Lorquan was smart enough to do as well. His brother struggled in his grip, but he did not let go. He held on tight with one arm and swam with the other.
It took time and effort to pull his massive, wailing brother out of the mangle of bodies and battered ship debris, but they crested the surf and took deep breaths.
“You damned fool!” Lukhantl said, trying his best to grab a plank nearby. “I told you the ship was gone, but you didn’t listen. Why do you never listen?”
Lorquan spit steaming salt water from his mouth, cleared his throat, and breathed deeply. He took hold of the plank as well and hooked his other arm on a passing barrel. He shook excess water from his face and eyes, blinking several times. “There are—there are some things more important than survival, my brother.”
“Well, you survived all right,” Lukhantl said, “but how many of your guard are now dead because of those last two explosions? And how many will drown and become food for sharks due to your stubbornness?” He pointed to the ships. “And look there. The Twilight ship is now dragging our ship to its death.”
And indeed it was. The larger Twilight ship, heavy with water, began to slip below the waves, and the two ballistae chains were holding tight and pulling Devourer’s Fire down with it, despite the desperate attempt of a few of its remaining crew to cut tethers and run. Lukhantl shook his head. Both ships were out, both crews down. Was it worth it?
He was about to scold his brother again, then thought better of it. Lorquan’s tortured expression gave his true feelings away: he was aggrieved and sorrowful for his dead men. In the cool water, his face grew pale, sallow, and though salamanders could not cry like other races of Mantica, they felt the pain of loss all the same.
“Well,” Lukhantl said, “I’m glad you survived.”
“Thank you, brother,” Lorquan said. “I will tell you someday about my trials at the hands of these infernal slavers, but not now. Now, we must make for that clump of rocks yonder, climb them, dry, and receive the gift of the sun.”
Lukhantl nodded and began waving his tail back and forth. Lorquan did the same, and they swam quickly through the wreckage toward the small rock island on the horizon.
“Don’t worry,” Lorquan said as they swam, as if he could read Lukhantl’s thoughts. “Your blood is too hot and bitter for shark bait. We’ll make it, though I can’t say the same for the Kin.”
All around them, the tainted elves struggled to survive the attacks of sharks. It was another horrific and bloody symbol of this terrible action that he, Lukhantl, had put in motion to save his brother. And despite the madness of it, he was happy. He was alive. His brother was alive, and perhaps that was all that mattered. For they would survive and rise again to bring war to the Twilight Kin, and that always made salamanders happy.
Lukhantl beamed with pride and joy, and together, he and his brother swam toward the sun.
The Emerald Eyes
By Michael McCann
“These are the new supply lines here? South of the steppes?” Commander Agrias said as she tapped the map laid out in front of her. The makeshift war table that she had erected in her pavilion was covered in various figurines, maps, and scrolls. Several days of combat had begun to take its toll on her, and one would know this simply by looking at what her current living conditions were. The cot that served as her bed, where restless sleep would only serve to distract her, was home to various tunics and surcoats; the chest that kept her things was wide open with even more items spilling out of its insides. She was not the woman who would tidy things up just to make herself more comfortable. Not with her men risking their lives against the Abyssal creatures edging ever closer to the encampment.
“Aye, ma'm. The runners returned a short while ago. Missives have already been sent to the Kingdoms.” The scout stood ever at the ready for Agrias’s next command, but it was clear he was tired.
“Thank you. Find a meal in one of the tents and get some rest, soldier. Dismissed.” Agrias peered at the map once more. No matter how many times she'd find herself staring at the thing, she had always hoped something would jump out at her. Some hidden path that she hadn't noticed before or some long-f
orgotten trail that the Primovantians may have used when treating with the elves. No matter how long she stood there, the breastplate of her armor growing heavier and the weight of the longsword at her side feeling like twice its size, nothing ever came.
She let out a sigh between her teeth and let her head hang loosely, several spots popping as she rotated it. The temporary relief soothed her. She closed her eyes and could remember the sounds of spells colliding with the stonework, the screams her men made as an efreet got lucky and met its mark. The sound of warfare kept her awake most nights and little rest was in her future. Especially if she failed her duty and lost the battle.
While they had been able to turn back any Abyssal forces, the efreets that had burned alive any militia she had sent past the no-man's-land of the battle had proven to be the biggest thorn in her side. She had ordered her finest archers to scale the precarious, unfinished ledges of the wall to try and pick them off; but after one of them, Darren Longstrider, had taken a bolt to the chest and landed just outside the camp, she called them back. By the second day, morale was beginning to wane, and seeing the half-charred corpse of one their comrades did little to bolster her troops’ confidence. The only hope she had remaining was the envoy she had sent requesting aid… and the reply was not what she had wanted to hear. One of her runners had gotten lost and had been sent back mutilated beyond recognition. Not by the Abyssal fiends that she had beaten back, but by a previously unknown horde of orcs. Thank the gods that the other runner had made it to the Kingdoms, but the word she received from home was almost just as concerning.
She had asked for reinforcements. No care was given as to how many or what they specialized in. She didn't care if the additional warriors were archers she could line the wall with, or swordsmen to meet the orcs head on. If the rumors were true, then a horde of orcs would be a flood in which she could not stop with the options left now. She had eaten her meals over conversation and contemplation about when exactly the barbaric orcs would lay siege upon her camp, but so far no sign of their arrival was given. Agrias’s stomach churned when she received word the Kingdoms weren't sending her any reinforcements... at least not human reinforcements. The letter addressing the issue simply said one thing, or it might as well have, Agrias thought.
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