image [https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/574524632b8dded535877035/3644fcda-b5b5-43da-ab95-c0e63863c315/Sword+3.png?format=1500w]

65 - Six Down

* * *

Senesio

Memories of Elpida’s death flashed in my mind as I sprinted up the Needlethroat’s gangplank. I’d suppressed them until now. Had forced myself to focus always on the next step, on what we had to do to get out alive. There hadn’t been time for grief, or anger.

But now. Now the next step was to take the Needlethroat. And from the wretches who had killed Elpida.

Now, there was time for anger.

A cold, boiling rage rose inside me. The kind I never let myself indulge. The kind that was unbecoming of a gentleman. But some moments, I’d found, called for drastic measures. Called for blood, and a fair bit of it.

I was not a man prone to violence, but I was good at it.

“It’s the Cyphites!” a soldier shouted, turning toward me.

My sword was through his throat and back out before he could draw his next breath. He collapsed to the side, but I was already past him, assessing the conditions on deck.

The engines weren’t yet running but a helmsman was working the wheel and associated levers. The ship was likely able to fly, then. That was a relief. A part of me had been worried it needed further repairs.

Several crew were rapidly untying knots from cleats, and a few more were loading ballistae.

Eleven or twelve men in all, it looked like, but with more on the way, flocking from every hiding space in the camp. I’d need to make this quick.

The closest men were soldiers, a group of three. They charged me with spear and sword and shield.

The first led with his sword, slashing then ducking behind his shield. I caught the slash on my blade, guided it to the side, then planted a kick in the middle of the shield. It caught the man by surprise, sent him stumbling backward.

The spearman came next, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing in rapid succession from outside of sword range. I leaned left, right, then ducked low and leaned left again, dancing around the spearhead as it darted in and out in a blur.

Blasted annoying things, spears were. Clumsy up close, but at the proper range, they did fine work.

The third soldier joined the fray, circling around to get at me from behind. The spearman was still on me, pushing the attack.

I sidestepped another stab, then feigned a retreat. The spearman leaned in and I darted forward and skewered him on the end of my sword. It wasn’t a fatal blow, but that hardly mattered. The man cried out and dropped the spear. I caught it in the crook of my foot and flicked it back into the air, then spun just in time to drop under a head-height slash from the man who’d been flanking me. It whooshed overhead and I reached a hand out and caught the falling spear, then ran it through the man’s stomach.

“Oof.” A burst of breath escaped him.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I jerked the spearhead back out, spraying blood across the deck, then checked him with my shoulder. He stumbled backwards, sword falling from his hand, then toppled over the ship’s rail and out of sight.

No time to relish the victory, though—the soldier with the shield was back. He came howling and slashing wildly.

I parried his first several attacks with the shaft of the spear, great chunks being hacked out of it each time I did. But it bought me time to strike back with my sword.

I slashed low at the man’s knees, then high at his head. He ducked behind his shield, going on the defensive. I raised my sword overhead, making a show of the coming blow, and the man adjusted his shield to meet it—and exposed his legs in the process.

I put the spearhead through his shin. It burst out through his calf in an explosion of bone and blood. The soldier cried out, up until my sword caught his throat and finished him.

Two more were rushing me, then. I tossed my spear up, caught it in an overhand grip, reared back, pivoted from my hips, and threw it. Really it wasn’t meant for throwing, heavy, long thing that it was. But when it’s life or death, you make do.

The spear caught its target square in the chest and lifted him backward off his feet. His friend paused, shocked, then cowered as I sprinted toward him. He ducked behind his shield, tucking in tight.

“None of that, now,” I said, then grabbed the shield with my free hand. I yanked hard and dragged the man forward. The shield was strapped tight to his arm, but I solved that with a hacking slash from my machete-like blade. Shield and arm came off as one.

The soldier looked down to his newly shortened arm, shock in his eyes for a moment, until my next blow took him in the chest.

“Six down,” I said, loud as I could, then turned to the rest of the crew and wiped a splatter of blood from my chin.

I had their full and undivided attention now.

A man who’d been working a knot stood frozen, rope still in hand. The helmsman was frowning, also frozen in place.

“At this time, I’d like to invite you all to get the hell off of my skyship.” I swept my hand, sword and all, toward the gangplank.

The men loading the ballista swung it around to face me, but too late. I’d been expecting that. I sprinted forward and leapt into the air. Planted a two-footed jump kick in the middle of the gunner’s chest and knocked him over the ship’s rail. The man shouted as he fell, until the ground caught him, less gently than he might have liked. It wasn’t a long fall, but it was enough to break a neck.

The other man on the ballista made to draw a dagger. I put an end to that with a stab that took him through the heart. Or, it should have, but he moved at the last moment, so the blade came in low, likely only puncturing a lung. Still fatal, probably, but it’d be a much slower death.

The man slipped to the deck, hand over the wound and gasping for air as he crawled toward the gangplank. I left him to it and turned toward the rest of the crew.

“I extend my very generous offer one final time.”

The helmsman took me up on it, ran, and vaulted over the rear rail. The rest of the men hesitated a moment. One of them scooped a discarded sword from the deck. I pulled the lever on the ballista and a javelin punched through the man’s chest.

The rest of the crew followed their helmsman and abandoned the ship in a hurry, pitching themselves over the rail and out of sight.

I took a deep breath, then. Gathered myself. Reeled the anger back in until it was all pent up and stowed away. Until I needed it next.

As the anger receded, I began to feel again.

Blood, not my own, but warm and sticky on my arm, nonetheless.

Exhaustion in my shoulders and back, from throwing sword strikes as hard as I could.

And regret. Regret that more men had needed to die. Some would say that was a good way to honor Elpida and the others, but I’d never understood how that worked. Putting more people in the ground made those already there feel better?

Bull. Blood only begot blood, and the dead didn’t seem to care what happened in the world of the living.

Boots on the gangplank. I spun, sword ready.

“It’s me!” a man shouted, hands in the air.

“Ah, Demetrias.” I lowered my sword. “Good to see you.”

The prisoners we’d rescued were behind him, trying to figure out how to climb the narrow gangplank all tied together as they were.

“Demetrias, my friend,” I said and tucked the sword into my belt despite the blood it smeared down my pants. “If you’d be so kind as to get the engines started, I think we’ll be on our way.”

He nodded and disappeared below decks.

“Theo,” I turned toward the gangplank. “I’ll need you on a ballista, keep us covered as we... ” I frowned. “Theo?”