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"Archers
at the ready!" Klia
shouted from the forecastle deck. "Shoot at will!"
Alec chose a
man on the foredeck of the enemy vessel, drew the Black Radly's
bowstring to his ear, and released the first shaft. Not pausing to see
if it struck home, he drew one arrow after another and sent them
speeding across the water. Beside him, Seregil and the archers of
Urgazhi Turma did the same, each setting their own grim rhythm as the
great ship closed on them.
Enemy shafts
were flying around their ears now, thudding into the deck and the wooden
shields mounted on the rail. The hissing song of the string and shaft
was soon joined by the first cries of the wounded.
As the ship
loomed ever closer, Alec spotted what appeared to be the bronze heads of
some sort of monster mounted below the forecastle rail. The placement
seemed too strategic to be more decoration, but he couldn't imagine what
they could be.
He was about
to point them out to the others when Seregil let out a startled curse
and staggered back, struck in the right shoulder by a blue-fletched
Plenimaran arrow.
"How
bad?" Alec demanded, pulling him to shelter against the rail.
"Not so
bad," Seregil hissed through gritted teeth, yanking the shaft out
with surprising ease. The thick leather strap of his quiver and the mail
beneath his coat had prevented the head from piercing his shoulder, but
the arrow had struck hard enough to drive the metal rings of the mail
through the shirt below, leaving a bloody dent in his shoulder mere
inches from his throat.
He handed
the enemy shaft to Alec with a wry grimace. "Send this back to its
owner for me, will you?"
Standing up,
Alec nocked the shaft and raised his bow to take aim at the vessel
looming over them now. Before he could draw, however, the bronze heads
of the Plenimaran's port side suddenly spewed streams of liquid fire. It
struck the rigging overhead and fresh screams burst out. A sailor fell
to the deck, neck snapped like an oak stalk. Another hung tangled and
screaming in the yards, sheathed in flame. Fire crews clambered up with
buckets of sand and urine to douse smoking holes in the sails.
Aboard the
Plenimaran ship, marines jeered and waved.
"What's
that?" cried Alec, ducking down in alarm again.
"Bilairy's
Balls!" gasped Seregil, grey eyes wide with astonishment. "The
Fire. They've learned to pump it, the clever bastards!"
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