Another boat lands. Then another. Soon there are dozens, all in a brown-and-blue-striped line, scattering men with swords and knives like a pinecone scatters seeds.
Gard has halted on the plains, even with where the boats are landing. We stand in a long ribbon of black, both horse and Rider. As one, we melt into the storm, which has raised a light fog, reducing visibility to barely the edge of the ocean. We know the ships are there, bearing more men in more boats, but we can’t see them until they run aground.
“I can start feathering those baggards now,” Siena says from behind me.
At first I don’t know what she means, but then she holds out her bow to the side. Even as she does, Gard shouts, “Archers! To arms!”
Remembering the satchel of arrows hanging around my neck in the front, I unloop it and hand it to my riding companion. “Can’t hardly shoot from up here,” she says, swinging a leg over and dropping to the ground. Her legs tangle and she almost falls, but she manages to catch her balance with the tip of her bow, like a walking stick. She flashes me a smile, says, “I’d be lucky to hit a blind tug in a sandstorm.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I turn my attention back to the beach, where the Soakers are already charging up the slight incline to the plains, swords swinging with their arms.
“Aim!” Gard shouts. At the edge of my vision I see Siena nock an arrow, bringing it up to eye level. Down the line, dozens of archers do the same.
“Fire!” A flock of arrows sings through the storm, illuminated by dual flashes of lightning, joining the drops of moisture that rain upon our enemies. Soakers fall in droves, tumbling to the sand and tripping up those who were lucky enough not to be hit. Every man I can see is wearing brown. Where are the officers?
The Soakers reach the edge of the plains and pick up speed as their feet find greater purchase on the hard-packed grass than they had on the constantly shifting sands. Another round of arrows fly, and this time I watch Siena shoot. Her form is impeccable and her arrow lodges within the upper chest of a particularly angry-looking Soaker. When he drops, there’s no question it was a fatal wound.
“Baggard,” she mutters under her breath as she draws another arrow. “When I’m done with the lot of you, you’ll be pricklier’n Perry.”
Although I don’t know Perry, I’ve got a pretty good idea what she means. Her next arrow is every bit as effective as the first two, bringing down another Soaker.
“Hold your fire!” Gard shouts. “Riders!” My ears perk up. The Soakers are much closer now, perhaps only a hundred strides away.
I grip Passion’s mane. “You are mine and I am yours,” I whisper in her ear. She bucks, rising onto her hind legs, kicking her front hooves in front of her, anticipating the command.
She starts forward a split second before Gard yells, “Chaaaarrrggge!”
Huck
“I hate you,” I say, but I obey him, easing myself out from under Jade, resting her gently on the deck. Head pounding, I realize I’ll kill him if I have the chance. I want to kill him.
The admiral doesn’t move, keeps the tip of his sword at her neck.
“I love her,” I say, shocked at my own boldness. The time for caution and subservience is long past. “If you kill her, I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” my father says. “Get in the boat.”
It’s only then that I notice groups of bilge rats—both girls and boys—milling about near the edge of the ship. Every few seconds, another one leaps over the side. When they’ve all disappeared below, large rafts float into view, pushed forward by dozens of oars.
“What are they…” I say, but I don’t need to finish the question to know the answer. Anger rises so fast and hot that it feels as if I’ve swallowed the burning end of a lit torch.
“Today, even the filthiest of rats must fight,” my father says. Then, motioning to Jade’s sleeping form, he adds, “If she could stand, she’d fight too.”
My anger fades in an instant. My mind buzzes with a strange and unexpected excitement. Although everything I’ve done, every choice I’ve made to this point has led to Jade being bloody and broken, it also might’ve saved her life. She doesn’t have to fight, and when this is all over, I will go to her, I will mend her wounds, and I will take her away from this awful place. I will. I will find a way.
Casting a final glance at her, I stride across the deck to where the other officers are boarding a sleek, polished-wood sea-craft. Hobbs is already sitting near the front, along with a dozen other blue-clad lieutenants and captains. Even Montgomery is there, although he looks like he might be sick, his face greener than the churning ocean around him.
Cain waits for me. “Stay alive for her,” he says, low enough that only I can hear him. “The time for mutiny isn’t far away.”
I lick my lips. Although he’s helped me keep my secret from my father, I never expected him to go so far as to openly rebel against his leadership. “Thank you,” I say, clasping his shoulders. “Fight alongside me.”
He nods and slides down the rope. I follow shortly after him. Last to board is my father. I make a point of inspecting his sword, which is perfectly shined silver, not a speck of blood on it. Unless he wiped it clean afterwards, he’s spared Jade for now.
We push off from the ship and pull toward shore, which is nearly invisible in the growing fog.
Sadie
Wind whips around me and rain spatters my face, but Mother Earth isn’t trying to stop me—more like egging me on, telling me that she sees what I’m doing and she approves. When lightning flashes, it flashes for me.
We’re halfway to the charging Soakers and closing fast. I spot Remy, who looks dark and dangerous and ready, and a sudden and surprising lump gels in my throat. This could be the last time I see him. Then I notice Skye behind him, hanging on with one hand, holding her sword in the other. She sees me and smiles, a devilish, slightly maniacal, and remarkably calming smile that refocuses me.
There is only one thing I should be thinking about: killing our enemies.
Revenge! the Evil screams.
The Soakers are so close I can see the drops of rain—or is it sweat?—on their faces, see the anger and determination and fear in their eyes.
Twenty steps—I raise my sword…
Ten—I hold my breath…
We crash into the line of Soakers like a wave crashing on shore, Passion’s weight and strength battering through them like a falling tree on a flower patch. Swords poke and prod at me, but I deflect them away, hacking and hacking and stabbing and cutting. A Soaker falls when I slash him across the throat, a line of blood showing just before his skin gapes open.
A shudder runs through my body, filled with disgust and shame and excitement.
I’ve killed my first Soaker. For Mother, for Father, for Paw.
For me.
All those thoughts run through my head in an instant, but I have no time to ponder them, because another Soaker is upon me, his sword slicing through the air.
Clang!
I block it with the edge of my own blade, and shove him back. His body is swept away as a horse bashes into him, not stopping until the Soaker’s been trampled and bruised under its trod. I know that horse. With Gard atop him, a massive and awe-inspiring warrior, Thunder rears up on his hind legs and kicks another of the enemy in the head, sending him sprawling.
While I watch, captivated by the force of nature that is Gard and Thunder, Passion turns sharply, reminding me that we’re in a battle. Two Soakers approach from the side, as if trying to surround us. Passion kicks at one and he grunts, stumbling back. A ziiipping sound creases the air as an arrow lodges in his chest. He falls, spitting blood.
The other Soaker stops his attack and looks around in confusion just before an arrow catches him in the gut. I spur Passion forward, adding my sword near where the arrow entered, finishing him off.