Chapter 15
The ships sat there, still as driftwood.
The only movement was the dropping of anchors and the furling of sails. Then nothing. Dark crucifixes against a twilight sky that faded to darkness.
Bastion stared at the silhouette of Haddrick’s body until he couldn’t see it anymore.
You failed. You failed. You failed.
He hadn’t just failed Haddrick. He’d failed Rowan. Hollowness returned, and his stomach curdled at the prospect of telling the boy he would never see his father again. Bastion had vomited after his first few battles, his mind and body rejecting the carnage around him and the hand he’d had in it.
This was worse.
Ulla’s hand now rested between his shoulder blades. He could feel each finger splayed across his back, and the faint touch of magic in her palm, like a seed not yet sprouted.
She hadn’t looked through the spyglass, but Bastion had a feeling she didn’t need to. Even if she hadn’t sensed the truth, healers knew the language of death.
He glanced at her, and she gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Bastion touched his fingers to his lips and let his hand fall forwards at the elbow.
Her fingers curled, just slightly.
More guards and a few conscripted townsfolk gathered as darkness thickened. Their anxiety jumped from one man to the next like a plague.
To Bastion’s left, a man hissed, “Fire on them, already!”
“They’re out of range,” Hywell answered.
“They knew where to anchor,” Nesrin whispered. She turned to Bastion, a hint of fear dancing with the flames reflected in her eyes. “They’ll send men ashore before the moon rises.”
Bastion nodded.
“Let’s not make it easy for them,” Nesrin continued. “Douse the torches!”
Bastion seized the nearest one and snuffed it out. Hywell followed suit, and soon, every torch along the battlements sizzled out.
Now, only starlight illuminated them, just giving shape to faces, weapons, and structures.
In the bay below, not a single flame burned aboard any of the ships.
“My lady,” Hywell said. “You should take cover.”
“No,” Nesrin barked. “I will not hide while others put themselves at risk. If we must fight, we fight together.” Silence followed. Then, “Sir Bastion.”
“Yes, Lady Nesrin?” The honorific felt strange on his tongue, like he’d put a stone in his mouth instead of a sweet.
He rarely addressed her with her title, but this was why she’d knighted him.
This moment here, at the beginning of this long night, would shape how their forces viewed her leadership.
He’d be damned if they lost faith in her because of him.
“Remain here and take command of the west. Captain Hywell, the north. I’ll take the east and oversee the drawbridge.”
“And the south?” Hywell asked.
“I’ll find Lawrence on my way to the gate. He is not the soft scholar he pretends to be.”
Bastion dared to ask the damning question.
“Will Moonwatch hold?”
Beneath the sound of the waves, he could hear Nesrin exhale. “It’s never been captured.”
He’d seen for himself that the walls were too high and thick, and the terrain too rugged for a small group to take the keep by force.
He also remembered the water beneath the drawbridge as they crossed, glittering darkly like a great black serpent.
Even with three ships, it seemed futile for the pirates to attempt an attack.
The facts didn’t reassure him. They still had no idea what to expect from the weapon.
“And the townsfolk?” Hywell asked.
Ulla’s hand dropped from Bastion’s back as she moved past him to grasp Nesrin’s hand.
Nesrin hissed at the sudden contact, paused, then said, “Yes! Ulla and Minato will barricade everyone in the Great Hall.”
Bastion’s heart lurched in his chest. He clenched his fists, squashing the irrational jealousy that followed.
A moment later, cool fingertips grazed his cheek.
Through Ulla’s touch, he sensed her confidence in him and her belief that they would get through this. That seed of calm took root in his heart, and he felt how he imagined he would upon leaving the island triumphant.
Worthy.
Then, she left, her shoulders and horns dusted in starlight, unhindered by the darkness.
“Everyone to your stations!” Nesrin barked. The guards and conscripted men jumped into motion, but Bastion was still staring at the place where Ulla had disappeared, fighting the urge to go after her, scoop her up, and leave all the danger and uncertainty behind.
He wasn’t a coward, but now he knew why some called love a weakness.
“Sir Bastion!” Nesrin appeared in his line of sight. Hywell stood just over her shoulder, both of them nearly invisible except for a faint glint of light in their eyes. “We’re going. Light a torch if you see any sign of movement from the ships. We’ll do the same.”
A grim familiarity fell over him. One he knew well. It came when the waiting was done and the time for action was nigh. Bastion stuffed his fear and anxiety down the well bubbling within him and let an iron lid fall over it. Now, there was only room for logic, rationale, and muscle memory.
He nodded and thumped his fist over his heart. Unprompted, a Varo blessing spilled off his lips.
“May Death overlook us this night.”
He heard her swallow. She clasped his shoulder, squeezing hard, before marching away.
Bastion turned to the dark sea. It crashed against the cliffs while the sky stretched in utter silence. He found his constellation, but it gave him no comfort.
Turmoil still burned within him, but Nesrin was right. Belief was a powerful thing, especially within a group. Bastion was but one man. It didn’t matter if he believed as long as everyone else did.
He dragged his attention back to the bay and waited for the moon to rise.
Someone brought him armor, but he waved it off, taking only a leather jerkin and a chainmail shirt. Anything more felt too much like a coffin.
Midnight came and went with the changing of the guards. Bastion wished for rest, but his mind wouldn’t have it. He was better off up here, pacing to keep warm, than lying still in hopes of sleep.
Around him, fragmented whispers fell like autumn leaves on the wind.
“... it’s so dark.”
“We’re safe inside…”
The roar of the sea went on and on, a maddening drone masking everything else so thoroughly that the men startled and jumped at any cleared throat or scuffed boot that rose above it.
Bastion gripped the hilt of his borrowed sword, wishing for the familiar handshake of his own blade.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited…
The stillness stretched on in a way that didn’t feel right.
Bastion looked up. He’d assumed the pirates would strike with the rising of the moon, but only stars lit the sky.
His instincts sparked like he’d been struck by lightning.
“The moon,” Bastion whispered. “There’s no moon tonight.”
Certainty gripped him, and his heart plummeted with the swiftness of a guillotine. They’d chosen a moonless night on purpose.
“Light the torches!” he shouted, startling those men nearest. “Hold your positions!”
He didn’t hear the strike of flint and steel, but suddenly, his shadow leapt before him. Bastion sprinted north along the ramparts.
“Light the torches!”
Then, a languid, eerie sound rang out through the night.
Bastion pulled up. He looked into the bay as dreaded confirmation descended.
The tone started low and long, like gravel bouncing ahead of a stampede.
It rose aggressively as it crossed the water, reverberating up the cliffs and walls until it reached his legs.
From there, it clawed into his chest until it echoed in his head, as close as a wolfpack growling in synchronicity before a kill.
Bastion covered his ears as it blanketed Moonwatch in a terror so wild he thought his heart would burst in his chest. It cut through all his training, all his logic, and his hands could do nothing to dampen it.
The sound shook Bastion to his very core. He might have screamed.
Then, his legs folded beneath him.