Ice knocked against the Serpentine's hull as the mage began to cast, congealing the waters of the river into razor sharp floes. The golem-ship twisted and turned course to evade as frigid spikes the size of tree trunks burst from the river bottom. In the narrow confines of the underground river it moved like no other ship could, almost dancing across the still waters, an invisible wind filling its sails.

But the salvo wasn’t over. Enormous stalactites of ice formed on the arched ceiling of moss-spangled brickwork above, plummeting down. The water exploded in sprays of green as they came hurtling down, and one crashed against the deck, tearing a deep rend in the Serpentine’s armored sides.

We raced for the light at the end of the tunnel, where the river emerged back into the dimming twilight sky and split as it headed towards the seas. We could outrun any ship ever made by human hands on open waters. I was sure of it. The mind of the Serpentine was simple and clear and thrilled at the thought of sky, of wind, of new waters to cut its handsome prow through. She laughed with glee and roared with anger as we danced through the mage’s first volley only to be caught out by the next.

And still he wasn’t done.

With us slowing now, bent crooked as water flooded in the breach and weighed us down, he cast out chains of golden runic characters that wrapped around the oars and bound them, moving like the tendrils of a kraken to weigh us down.

A fiery halo surrounded him, metal fragments wreathed in flame circling his head. They came sputtering down on the decks in bursts of sparks and shattered timber, peppering the deck, tearing at the sails. He was gaining.

The glass golem lifted its spear. As the mage rushed into range, a sudden high-pitched note sung through the air, rising and rising into an unbearably sharp crystalline hum. For a second all the mage’s spellwork faltered and the runic diagram he flew through the air on failed. He tumbled down, and the the glass golem was already running towards the rear of the deck, lifting his spear-

He vaulted onto the railings and threw. The glass spear sailed through the air in a perfect arc.

And at the last moment the mage lifted his hand, conjuring a half-shell of densely interlocked characters that deflected the spear in a scrape of brilliant sparks. He landed on a platform of ice that lifted out the water to catch him.

We were floundering now, although the moment of distraction had let us burst through the golden chains. Fire still clung to our sails, eating ever-larger holes in the living mast and making the whole of the ship shudder with pain. Letters danced around the mage’s hands as he wove intricate, complex designs with his fingers, readying another spell. This one would be the crippling blow.

The glass faun leapt over the side, landing balanced with one hand clinging to the bottom of the railing and one foot balanced on the faint seamed between armored plates. With the boat slowly twisting left it was impossible for the mage to see him there. He reached out and snapped an oar free of the ship, breaking away the paddled end and leaving sharp, splintered tips.

The mage wove his spellwork tighter and tighter, forming a sphere of golden light that blazed within his hands. In the second he let go and threw it towards the Serpentine, the glass golem kicked off from the ship’s hull, and as he crossed into view of the mage, hurled his makeshift spear.

The spell flying towards us came undone in a sputtering drift of loose characters as the wooden pole smashed through the mage’s chest. Blood dripped down his robes as his mouth hung open like a fish.

The glass golem crashed into the water.

The Underqueen had pulled away from its moorings now. The oars beat the water to the tune of a great drum, to the crack of a bullwhip against the oarsmen’s backs. Captain Immer was coming for us, and although his barge was clumsy and slow, made for pleasure, our ship was brutally damaged from the brief encounter with his pet sorcerer.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

They took ground with every beat of the oars. Water rushed in through our wounded side, weighing us down, our course wobbling from the lack of oars along one side.

We were barely approaching the light of the tunnel when the first ropes were cast over our side. Guards in black iron masks climbed aboard or jumped down from the barge’s mast, landing on an empty deck. The golem-ship needed no sailors, no crew.

What it had instead was an army.

From below came crawling up giant spider after giant spider. The first man to turn and run, he died as a bone harpoon shot out and pierced him through the chest. The rest of them got to watch as he was dragged back, his trailing feet leaving bloody smears as the great eight-legged horror that had seized him reeled in the line with its clever legs, finishing him off with a skull-crunching bite.

That put the fear in them.

Cabochon, first of the Arachne, rose at the head of his warband, wearing armor he’d made himself from worked nacre I had infused with Mana to strengthen. With a helm across his face there was no longer any trace of humanity to him. His armoring shone like the grandest of pearls as it deflected a crossbow bolt and broke a sword. His hand swept out and his fingertips pierced through a man’s cheek, nearly ripping his face off with a simple raking touch.

And the ship rocked with the battle that unfolded, Immer crying ‘Forward forward!’ from the rear as his first mate lashed at any man balking, slowing, trying to retreat. The ones that went overboard found the waters below swarming with my reelfish.

It was bloody, brutal, and it wasn’t easy. The men of Immer’s private guard were battle-hardened and stronger than humans should be, able to hack through the plate of the nacre-spiders with their hatchets and cutlasses. They died by the dozens, torn down by bladed limbs, but they took as well as they gave. Only numbers and the close quarters were letting us push them back, slowly, slowly…

I almost didn’t see Immer move.

He was like a shadow flying over the heads of his men, over the backs of the spiders. In one leap he was streaking across the deck in a long blurred arc as the dagger in his hand flashed down, aimed at Cabochon’s throat.

The Arachne lifted his hand and the blade went directly through the palm. His fingers crushed down, ripping apart Immer’s fingers where they grasped the blade’s hilt.

Dagger, fingers, blood red and yellow- they all hit the deck as Immer fell back, narrowly rolling to evade a swipe of Cabochon’s blade-tipped legs.

Coins clattered to the floor. Silver and gold. Immer’s real weapons. Rings bedecked his remaining fingers, and he reached out, empty handed, as they began to shine with a greedy light. The coins flashed like tiny stars. The men were retreating now, running from their captain.

They knew what came next.

The Mana in the air was sucked in, forming violent whirlpools and currents as it collapsed into the blazing gold, the shining silver. His hand was alight with dancing colors of metallic fire as the rings drained Mana from the ship, from the spiders. My eight-legged beauties began to collapsing, snuffed out and dissolving as the Dungeon Mana that made up their flesh was stolen, leaving only drifts of ashy stuff behind.

Cabochon’s armor peeled from him like leaves coming loose from an autumn tree.

He opened his finger, and let a single petal fly from his hand, lifted by the swirling currents in the air. It was the very last petal of the divine flower the Messenger had left me.

A flower made of purest divine Mana.

It ignited, becoming a cloud of golden fire. That fire was pulled by the Mana-devouring currents towards Immer’s fingertips. Tiny tendrils of flame split from the cloud like a lightning bolt to strike each of the coins that had turned into greedy Mana sinks, turning them to molten dots of metal steaming on the deck of the Serpentine.

The main mass of brilliant, divine Mana descended to touch his outstretched hand. Immer ignited. His hand was melted away, the superheated rings falling through his flesh like hot knives through butter, while his long hair ignited like the wick of a candle. He screamed and screamed and stumbled, hurtling himself for the railings.

The burning shadow of Immer hit the water and did not come up again.

Our oars pushed against the water, the ropes binding us to the Underqueen snapping as we lurched free.

They had seen divine fire smite their captain, and all their willingness to chase us had gone with him. We sailed through the arched entrance to the river tunnel and out into the coming night, the air cool upon our charred sails, our wounded hull. The pull of the river strengthened, urging us on.

The day was won. The prize was ours.