CHAPTER 7
Forging alliances is the greatest burden of the Bound. They will resist you at every step. Some because they fear you. Some because they hate you. Some because they know, deep down, that you are right.
—Entry from the private diary of Jerris, Dragonbound
ELDRETH
“Bring me that falcon,” I commanded Sellan, who was my second in everything except height.
“Then up to the stempost?” he asked, handing over Fíon’s bird and a scrap of parchment.
“Right, you are.”
Thank the Great Dragon the Fíonai falcon found us when it did.
Otherwise, the entire village would’ve been wiped out.
Fíon was a small island of predominantly vineyards led by the tenacious Dana Ferngo—widowed two years prior from a similar attack—and her teenage son and daughter.
No more than five hundred lived there, making them easy prey for attacks from the northern tip of Volaach.
I diverted half our fleet from returning to Drakh just in time to catch the Volaachi crafts teeming with dragori, setting up to invade Fíon’s southern port.
Fucking dragori.
If there was one thing I was sick of, it was fucking dragori.
Killing dragori was better than killing humans, but their sticky black blood, leathery skin, and reptilian limbs revolted me.
Not to mention the smell. Up close, the half-human beasts were fucking vicious.
Our best chance was to kill them from afar.
Lucky for us, we had the superior archers.
Dragori, with their useless, protruding wings, lacked the range of motion to master a bow.
Scribbling a note while flying across the waves made for rough lettering.
I had to trust that they would be able to decipher it.
I released the bird back to return to Dana Ferngo, raising my hand in a salute of safe passage.
With luck, the Fíonai would have time to set sail and create a blockade while we positioned ourselves to the south, barring any Volaachi attempts at escape.
We hadn’t set sail for warfare, so our ship was light on warriors and heavy on supplies.
We had seven longships with twenty-five warriors apiece up against five of their carracks, each one carrying twice our number.
But the skill of one Riht counted for at least three dragori.
With the Fíonai warriors joining our ranks, we were certain to outmatch them.
“Yaego, what see you?” I called up to the crow’s nest. Her eyes, like her scouting skills, were second to none.
“They’ve set sail. Three longships from Fíon, but they’re undermanned,” she called down.
It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. I took up position at the sternpost. We were closing in fast.
“Get ready to turn starboard!” I blew three short blasts into the horn hanging from my belt.
The signal echoed down the line. I gave them a minute, then shouted, “NOW!” followed by a long blast of the horn.
The rowers on half the ship continued while the rest of the crew rushed to the side railing, offsetting the weight to keep us from capsizing.
I held my position at the steering board, guiding our turn.
With winds like these, we would have one sweep, maybe two, before we were upon them.
My longship led our small fleet, and I steered us down the line as Sellan called the archers to ready. Dragori clambered on top of each other at their sterns, hissing and jeering—and presenting us easy targets.
They fell by the dozens.
I blew four short notes on my horn. “Prepare to approach!”
These travel longships weren’t ideal for seafaring battle, but we could make chase, pick a few more off, and try for a fire volley on their sails. Ultimately, we’d need to board their ships and fight. Letting them reach land would be disastrous for the city.
All seven longships moved in tandem, each one turning about and closing in on our targets.
“Archers, prepare the oil,” I called out.
BOOM!
Fire leapt into the sky. The central Fíonai ship lurched sideways, nearly capsizing. Its sail erupted into flames that licked up the mast.
“What the fuck was that?” Sellan shouted.
I looked up to Yaego who shook her shaved head.
BOOM!
A second longship was hit at the stempost. Wood flew in every direction. Chunks of debris riddled the water. Bodies of warriors, both dead and alive, fell into the sea.
“We’ve got a problem!” Yaego shouted, clambering her way down the mast. “I don’t know what they are. Some sort of spiked balls that explode on impact.”
“What about the water?” I asked.
“Nothing happens when they miss. When they hit, well,” she gestured toward the wreckage.
“Fire!” Sellan shouted, and the tips of each archer’s arrow ignited. “Release!” Our first volley soared, and most hit their marks—the billowing Volaachi sails.
“All to oars!” I called out, then turned to Yaego.
“I need you up front.” We made our way to Sellan, who I sent back to take over the steering board and command.
What we needed now was speed, sparing only our two best archers to pick off as many as we could before our range disappeared.
Yaego and I nocked arrow after arrow, letting them fly.
When our quivers emptied, we readied the ropes. We’d have to board by climbing, which was risky. Our longship pulled up, keeping pace with the outermost Volaachi craft.
BOOM!
I didn’t have time to check which ship had been struck.
Now was the time for action. Swinging my rope in a high arc, I sent the hook flying through the air.
It embedded deep into the side of the Volaachi railing.
I leapt from the longship and climbed arm over arm.
The height difference between our ships was significant, but this was a skill I’d practiced since childhood.
In seconds, I was over the railing, trusting that the next warrior would follow.
I drew the two short swords I kept strapped at my waist.
The first dragori, lost to bloodlust, didn’t notice my approach until I had severed its wings.
It turned with a screech. I spun my blade and severed its head.
Black blood sprayed, and a putrid stench filled my nostrils.
I didn’t slow, piercing straight through the heart and stomach of the next creature in my path.
Sellan appeared at my back, and we moved forward in tandem, slashing through the beasts. I had judged the craft to hold about fifty, a quarter of which we had already slain. I hadn’t counted on how many more they’d packed below. No wonder their crafts were so sluggish.
More dragori charged our way. My mind relaxed.
I shifted from parallel strikes to singles, moving in a constant flow.
My left sword came down, biting into a dragori’s arm.
I pivoted, and my right sword followed, opening the next one’s gut.
I reversed my grip and pushed forward, scoring hit after hit.
With each strike, black blood oozed and sprayed, driving them into a frenzy and making it harder to take them down.
They could block out all pain and fight through anything that didn’t outright kill them.
But I had trained my warriors for this. The dragori were not human—there was no room for human tactics or mercy.
They lashed out with monstrous, talon-tipped claws and lunged with reptilian jaws.
They did not need blades when they could rip through human flesh.
Sellan and I fell back, side by side, dodging their strikes and goading them into thinking they had the upper hand.
Once our warriors were all on deck, we’d slice through their line, killing them in droves.
I glanced over my shoulder. A dozen Riht warriors gathered behind us. It was time to push.
“Fuck, Eldreth!”
I saw it, too. From somewhere at the front of their craft, a black spiky ball was lobbed over our heads. These were fist-sized, instead of the melon-sized ones they’d hurled at the Fíonai longships, but I had a feeling that didn’t make them less deadly.
The creatures began to chant. “Bahroi! Bahroi! Bahroi!”
The first of these bahroi landed, blowing apart chunks of the deck.
Half a dozen more flew overhead. We dodged easily enough, allowing them to blow holes in their own hull if they wanted to.
But the last one they lobbed hit the side railing and found its mark.
Everyone stilled when the explosive hit.
I couldn’t make out the face of the warrior who had just scrambled over the rope before they were taken in the blast. Chunks of flesh, sinew, and bone showered our rank.
The dragori hissed out cackling laughs, mocking us in their whispering tongue. The Riht closest to our fallen were covered in a mist of red blood and bits of matter, eyes wide with shock.
I broke the spell by cutting out the neck of the nearest dragori.
“For Holin!” someone yelled.
All took up the cry. Holin had two young girls at home, and I could not even bring them back a body to burn.
I ignored the ache in my heart. Instead, I forced everything into my blades.
I moved by instinct. With every slash, strike, cut, and stab of my swords, black blood sprayed, and death rained.
I let go of Holin. I let go of Fíon. I let go of myself.
I became an instrument of death, for through death, I would find a way for life to thrive.