18. Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
It was challenging to move twenty thousand men out of the harbor in the dark of night.
Challenging, but not impossible.
They sailed with a thousand men to a ship, maximizing space by taking no supplies. They would stop at the southwest port and gather a few more ships, even out their numbers, and take on provisions. The urgency was in departing before the council could delay him.
And before Essandra noticed he was gone.
She’d be furious when she found out, but she was right—he couldn’t stop her.
He could only leave without her. He didn’t anticipate that this would be a particularly perilous effort, but he wouldn’t risk her safety, not again, especially since he also refused to take Teron.
Both would stay in Rael, away from harm.
Cyrus took only half his men, leaving the other half to defend Rael.
He regretted sending Hephain to Pryam so quickly.
He would have felt better having him in Rael while he was gone.
But the guards that protected the coven were some of the best fighters he had, especially Aaron and Amiel, Essandra’s men.
And she was stronger than all of them together.
She also had open access to his power through the bloodline bond now, and she had the dogs. She’d be safe.
He didn’t stop for long at the southwest port. Additional ships and provisions were waiting, and within a half day, they were on their way again. It would be at least three days more before they reached Serra.
Cyrus made his way to the bow of the lead ship as they hit the open sea. There was a hypnotic calm to standing where the hull split the tide.
Orion was already there, leaning against the rail. He’d been upset by the news they were moving on Serra. He’d desperately wanted to take action against the Shadowlands first. And Cyrus did too, but as long as both Serra and the Shadowlands fell, he wouldn’t begrudge the order it happened.
Orion kept his eyes on the water as Cyrus stepped beside him.
“You know how our move against the Mercian queen was poorly planned and poorly executed?” Orion asked.
“How can I forget when you like to remind me so often?” Cyrus said dryly.
“Well, this is even worse. You’re just planning to walk in and dismantle another kingdom with several thousand men who barely know how to fight?”
Cyrus didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. “Twenty is a little more than several, and a few of us know how to fight.”
The assassin groaned. “Cyrus, this isn’t a fucking joke. The men in Serra are in chains. You can’t count on them to be able to join us.”
Cyrus spun and grabbed Orion by the metal clip and chain at his shoulder that fastened his cloak around him. It crumbled in Cyrus’s hand, letting the wind snatch the cloak and carry it out across the sea.
Orion stumbled back, his eyes widening and his breaths coming quicker. “How did you do that?”
If he were honest with himself, Cyrus didn’t know exactly how .
Just before he left Rael, the coven’s forge witch had given him the spell to focus his power to manipulate metal, but Cyrus found he didn’t need to use the spell, he didn’t need the focus.
He could simply will it. However, he did need to touch the metal, which could prove a challenge when they reached Serra, but he’d worry about that when he got there.
“When we reach the port,” Cyrus told him, “I want you focused on one thing: finding and killing King Milar. The Serrans will know there’s a problem as soon as we sail into Slaver’s Bay, so you won’t have much time.”
The assassin nodded. “I know where he’ll be.”
“And then you’ll find the two heirs,” Cyrus added.
Orion’s head snapped to him. He swallowed. “They’re young. Very young.”
“Then make it quick and merciful.”
Orion stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Not kids. I don’t do that anymore.”
This wasn’t something Cyrus took pleasure in, but he couldn’t allow the bloodline to continue.
Supporters of the regime would put the Serran heirs on the throne and groom them to uphold the same values, perpetuating the same culture.
This was a necessity. Surely, Orion saw that.
But Cyrus wouldn’t ask anyone to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself.
“Then bring them to me,” he said.
Orion said nothing. He only turned and left Cyrus alone again on the bow of the ship.
For three days, they sailed. Cyrus stood on the bow, resting his hand on his sword at his waist as he stared at the horizon.
It was true that the wants of his people had pushed him into action against the slavers’ kingdom, but he hardly needed the pressure.
He wanted to destroy Serra—he needed to destroy it.
He only regretted that it had taken him so long to go.
He glanced down at the intricate gold adornments on the hilt under his thumb.
He hated gold—a weak metal—even if it was only in the hilt.
But the forge witch had told him this sword was unlike any other.
Stronger than Mercian steel , he’d said.
Cyrus would be the judge of that. He pulled it from its scabbard, looking it over again.
A red firestone was set between the base of the blade and the grip.
It was a light sword, much lighter than it should be for its size. He swung it easily with a single hand. Perhaps he should have asked for two.
He paused.
Maybe he could make it two.
He’d seen Essandra do it—turn one sword into two. He wasn’t sure if it had been the power of the forge witch she’d used, but whoever’s power it was, he had access to it.
He closed his eyes, holding the sword with both hands. “Two,” he commanded.
Which did absolutely nothing.
Because, no, that was stupid.
Will it , Essandra always told him.
He held the sword in front of him again. And he concentrated. He imagined the feeling—the leather grip in his hand, the metal center adornment against his palm, the weight of the blade.
Hand over hand.
Then he pulled them apart.
And one sword became two.
He let out a disbelieving laugh in surprise. He’d actually done it. Two swords he held now—one in each hand.
“Sire, we’re half a day out,” a voice called from behind him.
Cyrus smashed them back into one and turned to find Nevin, his shipmaster, accompanied by Ram. He’d have to play with this newfound skill later.
“Should we slow and wait for the cover of night?” Nevin asked.
Cyrus slipped the sword into its scabbard and looked back out to the horizon. “No.”
“They’ll see us coming,” Ram said.
Yes. Yes they would. “I want them to know I’m coming.” He reached his mind through the blood bond to Everan and Kord, who were on separate ships. “ The shipmaster says we’re half a day out. ”
“ We’ll be ready ,” Everan replied.
“ Is the plan still to just sail into the harbor and start killing Serrans? ” Kord asked.
“ Pretty much, although once they figure us out, I imagine it won’t be quite that simple. ”
Serran ports weren’t open trade ports. The slavers delivered their trade to other kingdoms, which meant their harbors held only their own ships. Cyrus’s vessels didn’t bother to carry Serran flags, and it wouldn’t take the Serrans long to realize they weren’t supposed to be there.
He and his men would likely face heavy opposition once they landed, but Cyrus wasn’t unfamiliar with opposition.
He positioned archers along the bow rail.
They weren’t good archers, unfortunately, but wildly launched arrows were better than none at all.
The challenge would be for his archers not to hit his own men.
By late afternoon, land broke the stretch of sea in the distance.
“Serra!” came the bellows of men amid the ring of the upper deck bell.
Cyrus walked calmly to his cabin. He sighed as his gaze settled on the armor he’d promised to wear when he went into battle.
She wouldn’t know. Essandra wouldn’t know if he didn’t wear it.
He groaned.
She would know. But what would she do?
He didn’t want to find out, and he pulled on the metal plating.
The port of Slaver’s Bay was massive. And busy. However, despite the large vessels that were already moored, there were enough open docks for Cyrus’s ships.
Perfect.
They were ready.
On the top deck, Cyrus clutched his sword. As soon as the ships pulled in, they’d throw down the gangways and he’d lead the charge. One level below, his men formed lines at the portside doors, waiting.
They sailed quietly into the harbor. Serrans bustled along the docks, paying them little mind, more focused on the lines of chained men that they drove from their own ships up into pens like cattle.
Cyrus was a little surprised they hadn’t yet roused suspicion, but as his eyes traveled the harbor, he noted the Serran fleet was a motley one, comprised of various vessels likely stolen from around the world. As were Cyrus’s.
A shout rang out in the Serran tongue, and men picked up toward the docks.
There it was. They’d been discovered.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Orion said.
Cyrus snapped a glance at him. “What is?” He gripped his sword tighter and prepared to launch himself forward as soon as the gangway touched down.
“That was a call for more men to help moor our ships coming in.”
Cyrus paused, lowering his sword ever so slightly as he realized. “They think we’re Serrans.”
“Perhaps the gods favor us today.” Orion was proving to be quite useful with his understanding of the Serran tongue.
Cyrus glanced back to where the men were prepping the docks.
Was the goddess of fortune really with them?
Well, Cyrus wasn’t a man to miss an opportunity.
He turned to Ram, who stood just behind him.
“Tell the men below to hold and wait for my call.” He reached his mind back out to Everan and Kord and the others.
“ Hold. They think we’re Serrans, and they’re helping moor our ships. ”
“ That’s convenient ,” came Everan’s reply. “ We’ll wait for your charge. ”
Two men trotted down the dock to where Cyrus’s ship was coming in. One picked up the mooring line, the other waved the ship in.
Cyrus glanced at Orion. “This just keeps getting better.”
The assassin’s face was covered by his head wrap, but his eyes smiled.
Ram reappeared back on deck. “The men are holding.”
Cyrus nodded. They just needed to wait long enough for all the ships to dock. Then there’d be no stopping them.
The ship came to a halt, and the two men on the dock quickly worked to secure it.
Cyrus’s men dropped the gangway. He held out a hand to motion them to continue to hold, then he calmly walked down to the dock.
Orion and his small team followed. They would slip into the city and head for the palace.
With their newfound luck, they’d likely make it there before the men on the docks even realized what was happening.
The rest of Cyrus’s ships moved into place and were secured by the Serran dockworkers. He couldn’t have planned this better.
As he stepped onto the dock, the man closest to him called out something in the Serran tongue.
Orion chuckled behind him. “He makes fun of your pretty armor.”
Cyrus would kill that man first.
Orion’s small group of men skirted around them and disappeared as they took off toward the palace, but Orion lingered for a moment.
The Serran man jerked in surprise as the team slipped past. He looked back to the ship, and his brows drew together. His eyes drifted to Cyrus and narrowed. He spoke again.
“He asks if you have cargo,” Orion said.
It was Cyrus’s turn to chuckle. “Yes, I have cargo.”
The man’s brow trenched even deeper in hearing Cyrus’s foreign words, and Cyrus couldn’t help but smile as he watched the wave of realization hit him that something was wrong—very, very wrong.
The rest of Cyrus’s fleet were docked.
The waiting was over.
Cyrus looked back at the man, then took his sword and pulled it into two.
“Okay, that was impressive,” Orion muttered.
Cyrus’s smile grew.
The man gaped at him, staggering back quickly, but not quickly enough, as Cyrus took his head in a single sweep.
The second man on the dock turned and fled, but Orion caught him with a knife thrown with absolute precision.
A shout rang out on the harbor wall, then more shouts.
“Took them long enough,” Cyrus said as the Serrans finally started to catch on that this wasn’t another regular delivery. “Get to the palace,” he said to Orion, and Orion broke away after his men.
“ Now ,” Cyrus called through the bond to Everan and the rest of his men.
And Slaver’s Bay fell into chaos.