Traitor's Moon

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 on 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 oat 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.
    â€œWhat’s
that
?” cried Alec, ducking down in alarm again.
    â€œBilairy’s Balls!” gasped Seregil, grey eyes wide with astonishment. “The Fire. They’ve learned to pump it, the clever bastards!”
    The two ships were nearly parallel now, and Alec felt a jolt gothrough the deck boards as the
Zyria’
s aft ballistas launched their loads of canister. One struck the enemy’s mast; another exploded near her far rail, engulfing men in a spreading sheet of flame. Alec quickly looked away, but as the huge ship swept past he saw more men burning in her wake. Taking careful aim, he put three out of their misery before the ship carried him out of range. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in battle, he joined the other archers gathering enemy arrows to refill their quivers.
    â€œDown, Alec!” Steb yelled, jerking him sideways just in time to avoid a strip of burning canvas. The headsail was in flames and coming to pieces as it burned. Overhead, sailors worked frantically to cut it free before the mast caught fire, while others on deck slapped flames out with wet sacking. The mingled stinks of oil, piss, and burning flesh settled over the vessel in a pall of stinging smoke.
    Coughing, Alec gave the one-eyed soldier a quick nod of thanks. “You know, I believe I’d rather fight on land.”
    â€œSo would I,” Steb agreed.
    Aboard the
Wolf
, Beka and the ship’s captain, Yala, were having similar misgivings. The first Plenimaran ship had slipped past too easily and was heading for Klia’s vessel. The
Courser
turned in pursuit, leaving
Wolf
to block the second man-of-war alone.
    Standing atop the aft castle, they watched as the Plenimaran’s striped sails filled the sky and heard the sharp groan of her forward catapults. A sack of quicklime struck the forward castle, bursting to engulf a knot of riders in a choking grey cloud; a second struck the mainsail, blinding several sailors and archers perched in the yards.
    The screams of the maimed were terrible. Some of the archers positioned in the waist started in their direction, but Beka barked out, “Tell your riders to hold their positions, Sergeant Mercalle. Stand and shoot!”
    â€œStand and shoot!” Mercalle yelled, pushing men and women back into place.
    But the Plenimaran ship was still coming at them bow on, presenting a limited target. The
Wolf
’s ballistas sent jars of fire into her rigging and prow, but she still came on.
    â€œShe’s got a ramming prow!” someone yelled from the shrouds.
    â€œHard about!” shouted Captain Yala.
    The helmsmen threw themselves against the tiller, and the ship yawed, sending archers tumbling across the deck.
    The enemy catapults sang again, and spiked iron balls splinteredthe
Wolf’
s forward mast and tore a gaping hole in the headsail. The ship shuddered and slowed, her fallen mast dragging over the side.
    The man-of-war swept past, close enough for Beka to see the fierce, grinning faces of the black-clad marines sighting down their arrows. Mercalle’s riders howled out their war cries and returned a hail of arrows, aiming skyward to arch their shafts onto the higher deck. The forward ballista crews launched more fire jars, but these missed their mark.
    As the crew of the
Wolf
watched in horrified wonder, bronze lion heads mounted under the Plenimaran vessel’s rail vomited streams of liquid fire that streaked the
Wolf’
s torn sails with flames. From belowdecks came the