Yitz’ arms and legs tangled with Hephaestion’s, and they tumbled to the floor.
Hephaestion angled his fall so he landed on his back, the short blade still lodged in his chest. A blade snicked in the shadows, assuring Hephaestion he’d only provided a distraction.
The dull light negated identification, but he recognized the assassin’s posture—that of a warrior caste known as “ninjas.”
For all their craftiness and lethal moves, ninjas weren’t particularly effective against four-barreled, snub-nosed pistols in close quarters, and Hephaestion surmised as much after he used his own to blast the assassin’s head apart.
The gunshot brutalized his ears, drowning out Yitz’s shouts of alarm as Hephaestion dropped the pistol to assess his wound. His armor had muted most of the blade’s bite, but his chest oozed where the tip had opened his flesh.
The door blasted open, thumping against the dead ninja.
“Thank the God you’re here—” Yitz’s gratitude ceased when a second ninja rolled into view. Hephaestion tore the blade from his chest and shoved Yitz aside. With all of his weight and fury, he crash through the door’s wood, splintered pieces flying, stabbing wildly.
The second ninja, small of build, had not prepared for a wounded Grecian’s rage. Like a bear, Hephaestion slashed into him with his nails and blade, tearing the man’s throat and stomach open. Then Hephaestion checked the hallway for a third attacker but saw only a slumped sailor, probably dead.
“Boudica!” Yitz wailed, stumbling into the hallway. “Boudica, we need help—we’re under attack!”
The wood around them groaned, and the world turned a soft blue when she approached from below deck. The patterns on Boudica’s skin hummed with power, and as she approached, the hair on Hephaestion’s neck lifted straight up.
“What’s this?” Sparks leapt between her teeth as she spoke.
“Ninja.”
“I see that. You had two of them come after you?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get topside and see the captain.” Boudica and Yitz lifted Hephaestion by his elbows. With his left arm tucked in close and his right hand over the wound, he limped along with their help.
“Sorry I missed it,” she said. “I’ve never fought a ninja before, and they’ve got an impressive reputation.”
“Airships are now on the same list as trains for me, by the way,” Hephaestion informed Yitz.
When they reached the deck, thick clouds obscured the sky, glowing with the ominous light reflecting from far below. Hephaestion didn’t dare approach the railing. The small deck had been built of wood, unlike The Bonny Sweetheart’s massive steel design. Only the beams and propellers flanking the ship glinted with resilient metal. Captain Alan controlled the wheel, steering the massive boat through the air.
“Hey! I’ve never seen a man bleed from airsickness. What happened?” he barked.
“You’ve got stowaways,” Yitz called back. “All black clothing and Japanese. Ninjas. Be careful!”
Captain Alan’s face turned beet red, and then he threw an impressive fit, including muttered curses and slander that no mortal ears could decipher, Hephaestion surmised. Then the captain’s shoulders straightened, his eyes sharp, and he commanded his first officer to sound the call on his bosun pipe. The sharp tweet drew the sailors to the deck, and several carried their fallen comrade.
“Captain—ninja!” a sailor yelled, dragging one of Hephaestion’s would-be assassins by the legs.
“Form two-man teams and scrub this ship up and down for any Oriental barnacles! I want any remaining stowaways brought on-deck to kneel before me. Now!” The captain raised his cutlass high. The crew scattered, pistols and curved short swords drawn.
Boudica propped Hephaestion against the rigging and peeked into his armor. “You’ll be fine,” she concluded. “You’re lucky for the armor. Blade that sharp would have gone right through to the other side.”
Captain Alan strode over to the two dead ninjas, their blood staining Mom’s deck. He scowled at them, rolled the headless one over, and pulled down the neck of his gi.
“Looks like they skinned themselves recently,” the captain observed. “At least down their backs where they normally have their tattoos.”
“The Shinto usually tattoo their heritage on their backs. This one seems to have forsaken all of that,” Yitz said.
“Because they are assassins? To hide their identity?” Boudica speculated.
“Or because they converted to another religion other than Shinto?” Hephaestion added. “Captain, how could they have possibly gotten on board?”
“I don’t see how. There isn’t much to climb aboard with while we’re docked. Maybe under the gangplank? Or along the rigging like rats? But surely they would have been seen.”
Within a few minutes, several sailors returned to the deck. “We’ve got another one, but he’s squirrely. We’re trying to catch him.” Just as they spoke, a third black figure leapt from the shadows and fired off a flare into the murky clouds off the port side.
Captain Alan had both pistols out and gunned the ninja down before he could make another move. “Festering bastards. We’ve been made. Boys! Back on deck!”
The whistle sounded again, and the sailors assembled around their captain.
“One of those rats fired a flare, which means another ship is coming for us. They’ll board, take what they want, and send us to the depths, right into Satan’s maw.”
The men snarled and spit, swords waving. Captain Alan’s words inspired the men’s rage as Hephaestion observed with grim amusement. Despite the man’s lack of refinement, his skillful methods as their leader echoed Alexander’s.
“Are we going to let that happen?” Alan called.
“No!” they shouted.
“Roll those three rats over the side. Get that filth off Mom.”
“Look there,” a sailor called, pointing into the mists. The head of a dragon, jaws agape with white teeth flashing, hovered three leagues out. Unmoving eyes locked on Mom.
“Hard starboard!” the Captain shouted, grabbing the wheel. Mom’s massive girth banked, the sailors taking a knee for balance while Hephaestion and Boudica clung to the rigging.
Less than two leagues away, the dragon emerged from the fog, revealing two swollen, fuel-powered cells attached to its wooden hide, propelling the frightening ship at an alarming speed.
“Do we have cannons?” Boudica asked.
“No, too heavy.” Captain Alan pointed at several of his men. “Go get Bertha and Darla. Mount them up!”
Boudica’s eyes widened. “I’ll get your shield and spear. Stay put!” she ordered over her shoulder as she darted below.
“Boys!” Captain Alan yelled, a tinge of joy entering his voice. “They mean to board us and then drop us. I know I promised you all Heaven one day by following me, but that will have to be postponed for the naughtiness I’m going to ask of you now.”
Cheers and whoops filled the air. Two Gatling guns arrived on deck, each with ammunition belts and a hand crank.
As the men set up the “girls,” Captain Alan extended his spyglass. “Ha! They are shit sailors. That’s what they get for rowing everywhere in the living seas. Lazy!” Collapsing his scope, he turned to the crew. “Boys, they telegraphed their approach already and will board on the port side for sure. Get the ladies aimed that way. Expect them to move fast as they will avoid damaging Mom until they’ve got what they want.”
“What do they want, Captain?”
“Yeah, what are we carrying?”
“Him, I suppose.” Captain Alan pointed to Hephaestion.
Hephaestion’s breath leeched from his lungs as his unnerved fingers slowly wrapped around the handle of his short sword. Would they try and bargain him away for their own safety?
The sailors crowded in close, eyeing Hepha
estion as if to ascertain his importance. Yitz inched closer to Hephaestion’s shoulder, wetting his lips as if priming a weapon.
“He don’t look like much,” one said.
“Is he a ponce?”
“Pretty eyes, this one. They after those?”
“Either way, he’s ours,” one said with finality.
“Yeah, we’ll keep you below deck and safe until this is over.”
Hephaestion’s anxiety eased slightly. “I’d rather stay on deck and kill more ninjas, if it’s all the same to you.”
They roared in approval.
The dragon loomed a league away. Boudica returned, bearing all of Hephaestion’s gear and an additional trophy: a ninja’s head dangling from her raised fist.
“He was after your map,” she said to Hephaestion as she handed him his satchel. He slung the bag over his shoulder and tightened the strap.
“My God, woman,” Captain Alan marveled. “If you were only a whore, we’d name a gun after you!”
Adrenaline fueled Hephaestion despite his injury. He assembled his halved shield whole and fumbled with his pistol’s ammunition. A nearby sailor spied his trouble, and with surprising ease guided him through reloading the weapon.
Standing tall, Hephaestion rolled his shoulders back and raised his shield. The javelin still felt far too light in his hand, but with no other options present, he held it ready.
Boudica stood beside him, within the protection of his shield, her ink emitting an indigo glow. “If we can get me onto that ship,” she whispered. “I can bring it down.”
Hephaestion nodded. “Then we get you onto that ship.”
Yitz wandered past, trying to find a spot to hide on deck. Hephaestion started to call out, but then Captain Alan asked him to lean against one of the gun supports.
The whites of the dragon’s eyes warned them just in time: like winged bats, ninjas on black gliders swooped off the approaching ship and craned through the air, landing on Mom. They tossed smoke bombs and flash-bangs, disorienting the crew.
“Hold your fire. Don’t waste it!” the captain called through the din.
Grappling hooks connected to thick ropes arched high from the dragon ship and nearly all of them found their mark along Mom’s railing and deck. The sailors scrambled to wrench them loose or cut their tethers, but there were far too many.
“When they’re level, sweep their deck,” Captain Alan commanded.
Several of the gliders landed, their ninjas swinging wildly with steel blades as the sailors piled into them. Mom’s crew was comprised of brawlers and brigands, but they fought with every fiber of muscle they had while spewing every blasphemy they knew.
The enemy ship’s deck now level, an army of black-clad and steely warriors stood ready to attack. Bertha and Darla erupted, spewing as their operators grinded their molten rounds into their enemies.
Regardless, the ninjas swarmed. Leaping and climbing across ropes, they invaded without a yell or shout. Even when one fell, he did so silently, descending into the Hellscape below.
Hephaestion deflected throwing stars and crossbow bolts, and soon he noticed several sailors using him as periodic cover.
Boudica smirked in approval.
A ninja approached them from behind, and in an instant, Boudica unsheathed her sword and sliced the attacker into two. Her blade seared with such heat that it stifled the air. Only when she sheathed it again did anyone draw a deep breath.
The first wave of ninjas was under control, but their follow-up assault formed on the opposing deck. The ships floated close enough for a running leap, and Hephaestion’s head swam at the thought. He would not, however, let Boudica go alone.
“I’ll be quick,” she said, and stepped from behind Hephaestion’s shield. Before she could run, Hephaestion threw his javelin. A perfect and practiced motion, like any honorable Greek, Hephaestion had mastered the art of hurling a spear.
But he had never hurled a spear like this.
Aiming low, he’d intended to strike the nearest ninja in the gut, giving Boudica safe passage. The odd weight of the spear sent Hephaestion’s aim high, though—through the head of his intended target. Then through the chest of the ninja behind him. And finally into the thigh of a third, the spear shaft bouncing and knocking all three men into the pit.
Boudica leapt through the gap, her way temporarily clear. And with a running, slightly less graceful jump, Hephaestion did the same. Both warriors stumbled onto the deck of the enemy ship. Boudica gripped a ninja with both hands and electrocuted a hole through him.
“No!”
The high-pitched shriek whirled Hephaestion around in time to see Yitz, his face showing terror, as he followed their example.
With no time to wonder at Yitz’s inconvenient bravery, Hephaestion brandished his sword.
Yitz looked back, Mom’s deck far more chaotic as the gun crews had engaged the enemy that was trying to silence their weapons. Despite that, he was now completely out of his element. For a man who prided himself on always thinking things through and sitting tight, he should have been ashamed of himself.
But he wasn’t. Yitz saw Boudica’s blade shave the head off an enemy while Hephaestion struck another one down by slicing them behind the knee. Being married to Adina in the afterlife had taught Yitz a very important lesson: stay close to the most powerful people in the room. They are always targets, but they are the least likely to fall. Yitz was safer on the enemy ship next to Hephaestion and Boudica than he was on Mom.
Boudica spied Hephaestion and rolled her eyes in annoyance. Then she saw Yitz, and a brief guffaw escaped her as she cut a nearby support cable that fastened the dragon to its gas balloons.
The ship buckled, swaying off balance. Three arrows slammed into Boudica’s side. She snarled and cut another cable.
“Get back to Mom!” she shouted as Hephaestion dove and diverted several more arrows intended for her. Yitz scrambled to keep up.
Digging his sword into a ninja’s ribs, Hephaestion called back to Boudica, “Keep cutting! I’ll snap the boarding lines!”
Yitz emptied his weapon into a charging attacker.
As Boudica sliced through cable after cable, the ship detached from Mom and dipped low on its portside. Ninjas clung to the deck to keep from falling, and Hephaestion dug his blade into the wood to steady himself on his knees. When Yitz lost his grip, Hephaestion reached for him, just missing his hand. Yitz caught Hephaestion’s leg at the last moment.
Several more arrows struck Boudica. One lodged in her throat, blood and sparks erupting through her teeth. She stumbled and landed on her back, her hand holding onto a severed cable while the other gripped her sword. A ninja with claws on his knees and hands scratched along the deck towards her, blades ready to strike as Hephaestion and Yitz looked on helplessly.
Looking up at to the gas balloons above, half their cables dangling, Boudica pointed her sword and called down a bolt of lightning.
The violent crash and brilliant explosion were the last things Hephaestion saw.
Chapter 24
Alexander stood high in his saddle atop Bucephalus and eyed the front line ahead, just out of arrow’s reach. Hephaestion had been giving orders all morning, making sure the phalanx were in position and the archers within range of the enemy’s light infantry.
They’d already taken down Darius’s war chariots—rolling weapons of bladed death—with oil and fire arrows just after dawn break. No doubt infuriating the emperor, he now marched on Alexander and Hephaestion with all 200,000 of his troops in one unorganized mass. There was no reserve, no holding back for either front, and Alexander and Hephaestion’s men were outnumbered four to one. The enemy’s throng stirred up a storm of dust, and shouts reverberated across the sky. The dirt shifted as the ground rumbled under their advance.
Minutes before, the forward troops had made contact with
the enemy. Shields clashing in the distance, Hephaestion had given the order for all archers to fire at will into the enemy ranks.
“Start the smoke, Patty,” Alexander called.
Hephaestion raised his arm high, opening and closing his fist three times. Smoke leeched out of the tall grass, encircling the front lines. The visual impairment would be hard on the hoplite, but the growing fog was vital for Alexander’s ruse.
“The cavalry is back far enough to pull out and flank,” Hephaestion said.
Donning his metal, wide-brimmed helmet, Alexander replied with a hard grin, “We ride into them from the west, and we pile in until we see Darius’s banner. We take that banner. He’ll either be there or fleeing the field. What say you, Patty?”
“It’s that or we die.” Hephaestion nodded. Alexander often found joy in battle, winking and singing loudly, but Hephaestion was all business and pure focus. He didn’t have the natural talents for tactics and maneuvers that Alexander did, so he had to work hard to keep up. He’d never felt resentful, but standing in the shadow of a giant tactician had always been a reminder that Alexander was the great one, not him. Any bitterness generated by that revelation drained away each time Alexander rested his head on Hephaestion’s shoulder.
Both men reined their horses away from the command group, leaving others in charge of the line. Alexander galloped through the cavalry, pumping his sword in the air, Hephaestion behind him. The Companions, almost eight thousand strong, raised their own swords, pumping vigorously, and not daring to shout their courage for fear of giving away their plan to the enemy beyond the smoky concealment.
Per usual, Alexander insisted on leading the charge. Often he would ask Hephaestion to stay behind to keep the troops focused, but this was different. This was Darius. Alexander wanted nothing more than to have Hephaestion at his side when he pulled the emperor of Persia from his royal chariot.
The men leaned down on their horses, shields on their backs and lances down. Following suit, the cavalry folded in behind them, forming an enormous arrow. With the help of the wind, the smoke screen disguised their flanking maneuver, and when the Companions finally broke concealment, it was too late for the enemy. Startled Persian foot soldiers pointed and shouted, some turning to flee into the ranks for safety. They didn’t have their pikes or shields ready, and Alexander plowed his horsemen into the gathered enemy, like a punch to a giant’s ribs.
Trampling in the Land of Woe Page 14
