by Brandon Mull
“Wow,” Jason said. He could hardly believe his actions had mattered so much to a warrior like Aram. “So you’re not leaving?”
“I’ll hold true.”
“Even though your instincts don’t like it?”
“Even so.” Aram stood up and crossed to the door. “I’ll be growing soon. Antsy or not, you should try to sleep. We won’t get underway until the stillest hour of the night.”
“Thanks for talking with me,” Jason said. “It helps to know I’m not the only person feeling anxious.”
“We should all be anxious! Maybe it will keep us sharp. This is a grim endeavor. We’ll need to be at our best tonight.”
Jason wondered what his best would look like. He hoped he would measure up. “I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”
“I believe it,” Aram replied. He glanced at the weapon on the bed. “Don’t wear out your sword arm.”
* * *
Jason slept restlessly, tossing and turning, waking up at intervals. When Drake came for him, Jason was awake, staring silently at the darkness. He rolled out of bed as soon as the door opened.
“Did you sleep?” Drake asked.
“Sort of,” Jason replied. “I felt tense.”
“Hiding away like this for most of a week would make anyone edgy. I’ll be glad to get on the water. Been some time since I toured the Inland Sea.”
Jason buckled on his sword and grabbed his crossbow. “Where are the others?”
“Some are already moving into position,” Drake replied. “The idea is to reach the docks without looking like fifty people.”
A male and female drinling awaited outside his room. Jason had not learned all the names, but these two were called Thag and Zoo. Both looked to be in their twenties. Both spoke English without much confidence, but seemed to banter cheerily with their comrades in their native tongue. Zoo was slender for a drinling, but had a sinewy toughness. Thag’s hulking muscles were developed to the point where it seemed they would limit his movement.
Drake led Jason and the two drinlings down to the enclosed alleyway outside the secret rooms. Overhead, a rectangular section of black sky glittered with stars. The curly-haired barkeeper waited at the far end of the little courtyard beside a ladder that led up to a window. Jason climbed the ladder behind Drake and entered the inn. A few drinlings lingered in the common room.
“The other drinlings will follow behind us,” Drake said. “Most have gone ahead. Come.”
Shadowing Drake, Jason exited the front door and climbed the steps to the street. He kept his crossbow hidden under his cloak. Nobody had weapons visible. The street was silent.
“How late is it?” Jason whispered.
“Less than two hours until first light,” Drake replied. “The moon has set. We’re going directly to the Valiant.”
They advanced along the side of the road at a brisk walk. The drinlings had their hoods up. A calm breeze blew against Jason’s back.
“Wind from the southwest,” Drake mentioned. “Close to ideal.”
The road ended at the waterfront. The bulky shapes of sailing vessels loomed in the darkness, lit by stars and a dozen dockside lanterns. Other lamps shed light aboard a few of the ships. Fires danced along the top of the sea wall that stretched out into the harbor: torches and cressets. At the mouth of the harbor, where the two walls almost met, a pair of bonfires blazed, the flames reflecting off the dark water.
The largest ship by far was off to the right, a long vessel with three towering masts rigged with numerous sails. Four lanterns brightened the deck. Jason saw at least two soldiers patrolling.
Drake furrowed his brow. “We should have the ship by now.”
He led them back a block, then along a cross street. They carefully approached the dock again. They came out closer to the Valiant, the name of the huge ship visible on the side. At the end of the next street over, a couple of inns remained brightly lit. Music could be heard from one of them.
Nia emerged from the shadows. “Come with me,” she whispered.
“What’s the problem?” Drake asked as she led them to a dark nook shielded by a low fence. They had a clear view of the Valiant.
“A patrol of six guards was roaming the docks,” Nia said. “We had to wait until they moved beyond sight of the Valiant. We took them quietly.”
“They’ll be missed sooner or later,” Drake warned. “Probably sooner.”
“The plan is in motion.” She nodded toward one of the lit inns. Aram came staggering out, wrapped in his huge leather cloak. He lumbered toward the Valiant. “More soldiers than we would prefer are still celebrating at the inns. They must sleep less than I do.”
“This late, none of them should be terribly useful in combat,” Drake murmured.
Jason watched Aram amble along the pier toward the Valiant. As he approached the ship, a soldier came to the top of the gangplank. “You there,” the sentry called in a raised voice, “state your business.”
Aram shouted his reply. “Some seamen at the Broken Barge were bragging about sailing aboard an interceptor. Never seen one up close.” He started up the gangplank, swaying unsteadily.
“Now you’ve seen one,” the soldier said. “I must ask you to come no closer.”
Still walking, Aram waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t spoil a beautiful night! I just want a peek.”
“Turn around, sir. At once. This vessel is imperial property.” Three other soldiers had joined the first one at the top of the gangplank.
Aram kept coming, taking his time as if the steepness of the gangplank were tiring him. “Don’t be sour just because your mates are out having a good time. I wore your colors for a season, in service of the emperor. Never aboard a ship like this, mind you.”
All four of the soldiers drew swords. “I’m in command here,” a different soldier said, his voice stern. “If you wore our colors, you know our duty. You’ve been out too late, friend. You’re not thinking right. Go on home. Don’t make us remove you.”
Aram was now three-quarters of the way up the gangplank. He stumbled and fell forward. After lying still for a moment, he rolled onto his side. “More comfortable than it looks,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take a breather.”
“You will not,” the lead soldier said, sounding exasperated. “Get on your feet and shove off. Last warning.”
Aram let out a long moan. “I may have overdone it tonight, lads. Something I ate wants back out. I don’t think it means to come quietly.”
The lead soldier gestured for two of the others to approach Aram. They sheathed their swords and started down the gangway.
Aram began to sing, the words strained, halting, and somewhat off-key. “Old Ingrim was a man of the sea, the sort you’d hope to know. He’d buy you a drink if you shot him a wink, then tell you—”
Retching sounds interrupted his tune.
The two soldiers had reached Aram, but they paused, looking at each other. They spoke to Aram too quietly to be heard. Crouching, each grabbed an arm, grunting as they helped the huge man stand. Once they had Aram on his feet, they gazed up at him, clearly impressed by his size. One of them kept a hand on the hilt of his sword. The other kept a hand on Aram, steadying him.
“Don’t tell my wife about this,” Aram blustered. “The woman is hard enough to stomach when I mind my manners. Don’t send me home. I’d be safer in a nice cozy cell. Hear my advice, lads—if you’re ever tempted by marriage, get a dog instead. You’ll thank me.”
Aram took little wobbly steps without going anywhere, as if struggling to maintain his balance. He hunched, leaning from one side to the other, a hand on each of the soldiers for support. Then he doubled over, making retching sounds again.
Figures began to appear on the opposite side of the Valiant from the gangplank. They stealthily advanced on the soldiers from behind.
“This is disgraceful,” the lead soldier complained. “Walk him down to—”
His words were cut off as he was blindsided by attackers. The
two soldiers at the top of the gangplank went down silently. Aram wrapped his powerful arms around one of the soldiers helping him, snapped his neck with a precise jerk, then swiftly did the same to the other man.
“Now,” Nia breathed. She led Drake, Jason, and the other drinlings out of hiding and toward the warship. One of the drinlings extinguished the dockside lantern nearest the Valiant. The night air smelled of brine and wet wood. As Jason reached the pier, he found that unless he stepped softly, his feet boomed too loudly against the planks.
Aram had hoisted the two soldiers on the gangplank over his shoulders and now carried them up to the deck. Presumably the splash would be too loud if he simply tossed them in the water. Jason was impressed by Aram’s performance. The distraction had fully occupied the soldiers while several drinlings had accessed the far side of the Valiant by rowboat and climbed up to the deck.
A drinling beside Jason carried Aram’s heavy shirt of overlapping metal rings, the armor clinking as he ran. Jason followed the drinling up the gangway.
“To your places,” Aram commanded in a loud whisper. “Do every task we rehearsed.” He shed his heavy cloak, accepted the armored shirt from the drinling, and put it on. Drinlings swarmed into position, some grabbing lines, some climbing the masts. Aram began striding about, giving specific instructions. Jason took up his position beside Nia near the top of the gangplank.
“Dousing the lantern was the main signal,” Nia murmured. “Our fighters should be advancing along the walls.” She held a bow with an arrow nocked and ready, eyes scanning the docks.
Jason stared at the impressive walls that stretched from dry land out into the water of the harbor. By the light of the distant cressets along the top, he could not yet see any activity. A sudden clash of steel rang from below the deck. Then he heard a strangled cry from beyond the ship, off to the right in the darkness.
Jason didn’t know all the details of the plan. Jasher, Aram, Nia, and an older drinling named Heg had been the architects—dividing up the teams, issuing assignments, and deciding how they would signal one another. Jason knew that Jasher was leading a group to sabotage some of the other craft in the harbor. A couple of small assault teams were supposed to charge along the walls, slaying sentries in order to stop the watchmen from closing the harbor mouth. The majority of the drinlings were working to secure the Valiant and get underway.
Crossbow ready, Jason watched the port. Every second that they went undetected increased the chances of their escape. Drake gripped Jason by the elbow and nodded off to the left. Flames were spreading across the deck of a large two-masted ship and leaping up into the sails. A moment later no fewer than five other fires started on five other ships, each moored to a different pier.
“Lantern oil,” Drake murmured. “No other ship in port could possibly outpace an interceptor. But three might be able to chase us to Windbreak Island in time to cause trouble. Jasher wanted to torch a couple others for good measure.”
Scattered drinlings began to converge on the pier alongside the Valiant—the raiders returning from the neighboring ships. A bell began to clang from the mouth of the harbor. Other bells on the wall took up the call. The sentries had caught sight of the rapidly spreading fires.
Jason surveyed the dock, finger near the trigger of his crossbow. The incessant bells made him feel jumpy. No more operating in secrecy. Trouble was coming. The only question was how long it would take to arrive.
Drinlings raced up the gangplank, making it bow and bounce. Three drinlings paused on the pier beside the Valiant to spill a generous quantity of lantern oil. Torch in hand, Jasher came racing along the dock. He sprinted onto the pier, dropped the torch in the pool of lantern oil, and kept running as flames licked across the planks behind him.
“Cast off!” Aram bellowed. “Away we go!”
Jasher pounded up the gangplank and sprang aboard just as the Valiant drifted away from the pier. A moment later the gangplank dropped into the water. Ships burned on either side, a few of them already becoming infernos as the flames spread from sail to sail. Men poured out of the nearest inns. Several raced for the pier where the Valiant was departing. They were met with a volley of arrows from the near side of the warship. At least one man was hit. Several others dove for cover.
Aram personally dumped the four soldiers who had guarded the Valiant over the side, all the while shouting orders about their heading and the state of various sails. Jason could not decipher the specifics of the nautical jargon, but it all sounded very official.
Jason heard water sloshing. Peering over the side, he saw three huge oars helping to propel the Valiant toward the harbor mouth. He assumed there were three more on the opposite side.
“The sweeps don’t accomplish much for a vessel this large,” Drake commented. “But they offer a little hope if we get caught in a calm. And they can add a little speed in situations like these.”
“Nobody rows like the drinlings,” Jason said, remembering his voyage from Ebera to the Durnese River.
“We have some of the best oarsmen in Lyrian aboard,” Drake agreed. “The harder they row, the stronger they get.”
The big waterfront bell towers added their gonging clamor to the alarm. The Valiant was now away from the pier and heading for the gap between the breakwaters. The fire on the dock was dying out as men beat at it, but the burning ships were lighting up the night. On two of them the fire had climbed to the highest sails, which meant that flames were stretching eighty feet into the sky, throwing fierce highlights onto the billowing smoke.
“We’re away,” Drake said calmly. “They can’t catch us from the docks. Their only chance is to block the harbor mouth. They have a pair of enormous winches on each side of the opening that can raise heavy chains to close off the gap.”
“Think our guys will stop them?” Jason asked.
Drake rubbed the back of his neck. “Our lives depend on it. Each drinling squad has a sledgehammer and a few flagons of lantern oil. They’ll try to smash and burn the winches into inoperability. They shouldn’t meet too much opposition. Nobody expected an attack tonight, least of all from inside the city. Their hardest chore might be to repel the reinforcements until we’re through.”
“Do they have an escape plan?” Jason queried.
“A risky one. Some of the drinlings used a skiff to board the Valiant while Aram distracted the guardsmen. Two drinlings were assigned to tie it to the stern with a long rope, so it will drag behind our ship. If the drinlings on the wall make it to the end of the breakwaters, and if we successfully slip through the gap, and if they’re still alive, they can dive in and swim for the skiff. Once out to sea and away from immediate danger, we can welcome them aboard. Any stragglers who miss the skiff will have to swim into open water and try to get away unaided.”
Jason peered anxiously ahead, trying to make out what was happening atop the sea walls. The hellish light of the blazing ships added to the illumination from the watch fires. Figures were running on the walls. The ship felt like it was advancing in slow motion. The breeze was weakening, and the oars could only do so much. Aram barked commands and occasionally climbed the rigging himself in the attempt to get the sails into the best possible position.
The bells continued to clang. Jason glimpsed fighting near the bonfire at the end of the left sea wall, silhouettes attacking one another. More combat became visible around the big bonfire on the opposite breakwater. A body fell from the wall. Jason hoped it was an enemy. After the fighting stopped, Jason could see figures attacking the great wooden winches, firelight glinting off the metal heads of sledgehammers. The left winch burst into flames, followed by the right.
Aram hollered the loudest, his rumbling voice audible over the panicky bells and the cheering of the other drinlings. Jason wondered if the drinlings on the wall could hear the gratitude. He wished the ship would sail faster. It was like riding a turtle during a jailbreak.
Back on the dock the fires were spreading. All the ships burned fiercely. A flami
ng mast had collapsed onto a pier, setting it ablaze. A second ship had ignited another pier. Whirlwinds of sparks spun up into the night above great sheets of flame. As a whole, the wild conflagration was beginning to look apocalyptic. If control was not soon gained over the fires, the entire waterfront would be lost.
The Valiant cruised toward the dark gap, oars sloshing, sails not slack but not bulging. Many guardsmen could be seen racing along the sea wall, best visible as they passed torches or cressets, sprinting toward the gap where the winches now blazed. The guardsmen moved faster than the ship, but they had more distance to cover.
The wind rose enough to fan the flames on the dock and fill the sails. Masts creaking, the ship accelerated in response.
The gap drew nearer. Jason tried to will the wind to push harder. As the ship approached, he gauged that the opening between the sea walls was probably eight or nine times wider than the Valiant. Standing on the deck, Jason was still a good fifteen feet lower than the walls. The closer the ship drew to the sea walls, the harder it became to see the activity up top. Jason gazed ahead at the darkness of the open sea.
“We’re through,” Drake said as the front of the ship nosed into the gap. “Too late to raise a barricade now.”
Relieved, Jason directed his attention to the unseen drinlings on the wall. He could hear blades clashing. Would any of them make it? He looked up at the breakwater as they sailed past, alternately glancing from one side to the other. The ship was nearly halfway through the gap before he saw three figures dive off the wall to the right. Moments later a pair dove from the wall on the left. Knowing there should have been five drinlings on each wall, Jason kept watching for other survivors.
“Down!” Drake shouted, tackling Jason to the deck.
For a moment the brusque action startled and bewildered him. Then arrows began thunking against the ship, a few at a time. A drinling plummeted at least thirty feet from the rigging, an arrow in his ribs. Jason grimaced as the body struck the deck with finality. Bearing shields, Thag and Zoo stood over Jason and Drake. As several drinling archers launched arrows of their own, Drake dragged Jason to a hatch and clambered down with him.
