Arcanius (13 page)

The war ships, like the larger sky ships, had sails that protruded from their sides like huge canvas fins. Those sails were adjustable, catching the wind to propel the war ships and allowing the crew to steer the airborne vessels. They also kept the ships from maneuvering side by side. Instead the approaching ship had to swing around so that the bow of each ship was close enough to the other that ropes with grappling hooks could be tossed over and used to pull both vessels close together.

Rafe waited impatiently. He had both swords ready, but he needed several of the enemy crew to board his ship before he showed himself. His battle cry would be the signal for his father to scale the rope ladder that was now securing the first war ship to the watchtower. He remembered how agile and strong his father had seemed during that first climb, but now it seemed less impressive. Rafe couldn’t help but fear that his father would be slow to arrive and that something might go horribly wrong. Rafe wasn’t afraid of the men about to board the ship he was holding, but he feared he might be pushed back. What if the rope ladder was cut while his father was climbing it? What if his father was killed just trying to climb into the war ship? Rafe had spent his whole childhood trying to please his father, and now, waiting for a fight, all those old worries came back and filled him with doubt.

The metal hooks that were thrown onto the ship crashed hard against the wooden deck. Rafe knew it was almost time for battle, but he forced himself to relax. He wanted the other soldiers worried and tense. They had certainly seen the bloody bodies on Rafe’s ship. He wanted them to be afraid.

The hooks were pulled hard, the metal points biting deep into the wooden railing. Rafe peeked out from his hiding place to watch the other ship pulling itself close. There was a crash as the two vessels came together. Rafe felt the entire ship shudder, and then four soldiers, each with swords drawn and shields held high, jumped onboard the ship. Rafe knew that eight men remained on the other ship, almost certainly watching and waiting. Rafe needed to give them a reason to stay close, even if they saw his father and the men from Avondale climbing the rope ladder. If Rafe killed the enemy soldiers too quickly, the other captain would almost certainly throw off the lines that held the ships together and sail away. Rafe and the men from Avondale would struggle to sail the war ship and really had no chance of boarding the other ship without crashing both.

They could have attacked the second war ship outright, but that would have involved fighting in the air, which the king’s soldiers were trained to do and Grentz’s men were not. That risk was much greater, not to mention one or both of the ships could crash into the city. And even if the ships didn’t crash, the battle would be plainly visible from the ground below, causing the city to panic. No one knew that Rafe and Tiberius had returned to the city except for Grentz and the ailing earl. The people might have heard that Leonosis was now king, but Rafe doubted that very many would realize that something was incredibly wrong. And those that did probably wouldn’t realize that the entire kingdom was in danger.

The men moved steadily across the ship, checking the bodies of their slain comrades. Rafe was tired. He’d been up all night and he could feel his body growing tense as the time for action drew near. Finally, he’d waited as long as he dared. He stood up slowly, holding both swords low.

“You there!” shouted one of the king’s soldiers. “Don’t move, or we’ll cut you down.”

The soldier stalked forward, and Rafe noticed that the other three waited. They were cautious, and he had hoped for just such behavior.

“Drop your weapons!” the soldier bellowed as he approached.

Rafe ignored the order. He stood still, just watching the man, letting him get closer. He couldn’t shout for his father, not yet. If he sprung the trap too soon, the other soldiers might cut the rope ladder from the ship’s railing or flee back to their own ship. He needed them to feel like he was weak and afraid. They had hidden all the weapons of the first ship’s crew, so it looked like Rafe and his father had killed only unarmed men. The soldiers with their shields and swords would feel more confident and press the attack.

“I said throw down your weapons!” the soldier ordered again.

The man was six or seven paces away, too far to attack, and Rafe understood the man’s caution. The soldiers in Sparlan Citadel, like the men of the earl’s war band in Avondale and even Rafe himself, may have trained hard for battle, but most had never fought for their lives. Until the Tuscogee with the Hoskali, Rafe had never fought another man where death was a real possibility. And until the raid by the enemy Kepsmee led by the villainous Bu’yorgi, Rafe had never actually slain men in battle.

Rafe raised his swords slowly and he saw the soldier facing him narrow his eyes. He was angry, but he was also afraid. Rafe’s swords were still red with blood from the men he’d killed.

“Your funeral,” the soldier said.

Rafe didn’t speak; he just waited for the man to attack and pretended not to notice the two other men moving slowly to circle around the fighting platform to attack him from the rear. The soldier in front of Rafe stepped forward, swinging his sword at Rafe, but even though he had a full-length blade, the sword wasn’t close enough to connect with his enemy. Rafe stepped back anyway, trying to look frightened.

“Drop ‘em, or I’ll butcher you like a spring chicken,” the soldier said.

This time he took several steps forward and brought his sword down in an overhead blow that forced Rafe to raise his own weapon to parry the attack. Rafe countered with a quick strike aimed at the man’s shield. He let his blade crash hard into the wooden shield, before quickly taking another step in retreat. He saw the other two soldiers hurrying around the square command platform. Rafe waited as long as he dared. If he was backed into the corner, he would have no room to maneuver, and the soldiers could attack simultaneously.

When the first soldier attacked again, slashing his sword low at Rafe’s thigh, the young warrior batted the enemy sword away and dove onto the command deck. He landed on his side and rolled quickly to his feet. Then, taking a long stride across the command platform, he jumped toward the fourth soldier, who was still waiting in the middle of the main deck. As he jumped, Rafe bellowed a savage war cry. The soldier raised his sword and shield to protect his head, but Rafe had not raised his sword to strike down as he fell. Instead he kept his arms out to either side for balance, landing lightly in front of the stunned soldier and going to one knee, before slashing hard with one sword and severing the man’s leg. The wounded man fell hard to the deck, screaming in agony.

The other three soldiers had rushed to catch Rafe, but their companion’s wails turned their courage to smoke, and all three men hesitated. They looked at each other, and then one of the men put his fingers in his mouth and whistled a long, loud note that was louder even than the wounded man’s screams of agony. It was a call for reinforcements, and Rafe felt his back tingling. He felt exposed and so he turned, keeping his back to the rope ladder, which he was guarding, and glancing back and forth between the three warriors threatening on one side and the men he could see now crawling onto the ship from the other.

“You’re outnumbered, and if you try to climb down that ladder, I’ll kill you,” said the soldier who had first approached him. “Drop your weapons and get on your knees.”

“So you can kill me,” Rafe said. “You’re all cowards.”

The men feinted, pretending as if they were going to attack but then pulling back. Rafe didn’t move. The reinforcements were on the ship now. The wounded man had passed out, and Rafe was slowly being surrounded.

“You have no chance,” the soldier said. “There are seven of us here.”

“It takes seven children from Sparlan Citadel to fight one man from Avondale,” Rafe said, taunting the soldiers, but none of them took the bait.

He had hoped that he might engage one or two of the soldiers before they realized Grentz was leading more men up the rope, but a shout from the other ship ruined that plan.

“Reinforcements!” someone bellowed from the second war ship. “Cut the rope ladder!”

The soldiers tried to converge on Rafe then, as they realized what he was really doing. They had been cautious, but Rafe had merely been stalling, giving his own companions time to climb onboard the ship and even the odds.

Rafe spun into action, as the men moved forward. He knew he had little chance of landing effective blows to wound or kill the men, so he didn’t try. Instead he swung his sword in hard blows against their shields or swords, making the king’s soldiers hesitate. Their attack halted as they tried to stay behind their shields and attack Rafe. He had no time to think, no time to be afraid. He swung his swords first one way, then the other, bellowing his war cry the entire time.

One of the enemy was careless, holding his sword hand out past his shield as he chopped at Rafe, who swayed back away from the blade. But then Rafe jumped closer to the careless soldier and swung his sword hard, letting the razor-sharp tip slash through two of the man’s fingers. The soldier screamed, dropping his sword and staggering back.

Rafe jumped back the other way, swinging his swords so quickly that the six men opposing him hesitated. Then Grentz appeared at the railing. The enemy soldiers knew they had to do something, and one dashed forward. Rafe reversed his attack, suddenly spinning around and stabbing his sword just past the man’s shield. The blade stabbed deep into the soldier’s side, and he collapsed with a whimper. When Rafe swung his sword back around, blood flew from the blade, flashing red and dangerous before pelting the other five soldiers like deadly rain.

Another man engaged Rafe, thrusting his shield forward and shouting in anger. Rafe met the man’s attack by throwing his shoulder into the man’s shield, stopping the man suddenly. The soldier’s long sword was awkward in such close quarters, but Rafe’s slashed up under the shield, finding the man’s groin. The soldier’s scream was bloodcurdling, and the pressure on the opposite side of the shield suddenly vanished.

Rafe almost stumbled over the wounded man’s thrashing feet, but then he regained his balance and renewed his attack. Grentz didn’t help but instead dashed toward the stern of the ship and jumped aboard the other vessel.

The remaining five soldiers huddled back, forming a shaky shield wall and keeping their swords held ready to strike out as Rafe feinted toward them. He kept his distance, only coming close enough to swat at their swords. Another man from Avondale climbed over the ship’s rail.

“Go help Grentz!” Rafe shouted without looking back. “He’s on the other ship.”

Rafe heard the man’s boots thumping on the ship’s deck. Soon another man joined Rafe, then another. They took up positions on either side of Rafe, but he had stepped back, and the men beside him waited for his order to attack. Instead, Rafe spoke to the king’s soldiers.

“Lay down your swords and shields,” he said calmly, “and we will spare your lives.”

The soldiers hesitated, but then another man appeared over the railing, and they realized they were defeated. The man who had attacked Rafe before the others was the first to lay his weapons down. The others quickly followed suit.

“Take their weapons,” Rafe ordered. “Then get them off the ship. Grentz wants them alive.”

Some of the men with Rafe looked at him for a long moment, and he saw the recognition in their eyes, but military discipline kept them from asking about him. Instead, two men gathered the king’s soldiers’ weapons, and the other two forced them to climb down the rope ladder.

“Both ships are ours,” Grentz said, slowly climbing back over the railing as Rafe wiped the blood off his swords onto a dead man’s trousers.

“Any casualties?” Rafe asked.

“None of our men. There were only two left alive when Torry arrived to help me. We spared their captain.”

“Five men surrendered here,” Rafe said.

“You did a hell of a job holding them back,” Grentz said.

“They were timid,” Rafe said.

One of the captured soldiers looked up, almost insulted, but then looked away in shame, knowing that Rafe was right. If they had been willing to die, they could have attacked Rafe from all sides. One or two might have been killed, but they wouldn’t have been taken prisoner.

“What about this one?” Grentz said, bending over the soldier who had lost his fingers to Rafe’s sword. “Can you climb down the ladder, or should we just toss you over the side?”

The man’s eyes opened so wide in terror that Rafe could see the white all around his irises. Grentz laughed then hauled the man to his feet and shoved him toward the others.

“Now what?” Grentz asked, looking at his son.

“Now we go get Lady Olyva and her family.”

Chapter 15

Tiberius

Robere’s body had been cruelly abused. There were dozen of broken bones, his teeth were shattered, bruises covered his body, and there were several deep lacerations that had been crudely sewn shut. The open wounds were festering and infected. Despite being cold, Robere had a high fever, and the only merciful thing about his condition was the fact that he was too delirious to know how bad off he really was.

Tiberius wasn’t sure where to begin but decided to heal as many bones as he could. The magical empathy was excruciating but wasn’t as bad as burning away his father’s unnatural growths. Tiberius endured the pain and mended the bones, all except for the poor man’s teeth, which wouldn’t regenerate. Tiberius then healed the cuts and focused on the fever.