A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle (21 page)

Six more men ran down below deck, readying
the anchored crossbows—three two-man machines that fired a spiked
anchor into the hull of another ship, latching it to the
Old
Maid
to enable boarding.

And Rhen, along with the remaining crew,
readied for hand-to-hand combat, field battle on the water.

He pulled his sword from the scabbard
strapped to his hip, swinging it in a wide arc over his head,
stretching his shoulders and loosening up. His body felt light
without the heavy armor of a knight, armor that was too arduous for
travel. He would just have to be good enough to not get hurt.

"Prince." One of the sailors approached,
holding a shield. It was wooden, the length of half of his body and
unpainted. Deep holes already punctured the surface, blows from
arrows in previous fights, but it would do well enough.

"Thank you, Geoff," Rhen said, pulling his
arm through the strap on the back, his bicep straining under the
weight. The man's eyes lit up, surprised and thankful for the
recognition. Rhen nodded once more, releasing him, and Geoff
circled back to the captain brandishing more weapons.

It was odd, Rhen realized as he stood there,
so odd to be waiting on foot without Ember's strong body to hold
him aloft. But it was better this way, better she was safe with Cal
in the castle stables than at risk on the water. Even if he would
pay for it when they reunited in Rayfort, Rhen smiled, picturing
the moment. Leaving Ember was never easy, even when it was for her
own good, but trying to get back in her good graces would be pure
torture.

He looked back to the horizon where the ship
was quickly becoming more visible. The center mast held no flag, no
identifying marker as were the rules of sea travel. Each ship must
have the flag of its kingdom and the flag of its city or
occupation. Looking up, Rhen took note of the flags on this
ship—the brilliant red flag of Whylkin decorated with a deep black
rearing stallion, the great horse of Whyl the Conqueror that was
said to be twice as large as any that had been born since. Below
it, the flag of a merchant, a blue canvas split diagonally down the
center with a white stripe and the image of a ship's wheel.

Below that, Rhen caught sight of Jin
standing with his hands outstretched, pointing to the sea,
silhouetted by the sun. His fingers seemed to almost glow against
the clouds—impossible.
But
, Rhen squinted,
can that truly
be just the sun?

He stepped forward.

Why was the boy holding his hands like that?
They moved in circles, in some sort of dance, fingers twisting in
and out of one another.

"Prince Whylrhen," Captain Pygott said from
behind Rhen.

He didn’t want to look away.

Something was happening—something the boy
had been hiding.

Some might think it crazy, but Rhen lived
and breathed magic—was it even possible the boy did too?

Or—Rhen paused, taking a moment to slow his
racing mind—he could be praying, practicing some Arpapajo ritual
that he, a newworlder, knew nothing about…

Rhen turned, facing the captain and
forgetting about Jin—there were more pressing matters.

"We engage on your command," the old man
said, bowing his head. Rhen balled his hands into fists, looking
back out toward the ship now twice the size it had been moments
before.

"As soon as it is within distance," Rhen
said, "make the call."

The captain nodded, moving back to the
stern, standing at his proper place behind the helm. And Rhen
turned, standing with the other soldiers, just waiting and watching
as the enemy neared. All of them fidgeted, anxious and excited, too
much electricity for their bodies to contain.

His feet held firm, but even Rhen couldn't
stop the ticking of his fingers on the hilt of his sword, over and
over, in a subconscious pattern he had been using since his time as
a squire.

When the ship was so close that Rhen could
begin to make out the men on board, Captain Pygott raised his
voice.

"Ready!"

Rhen flexed the muscles in his hands,
tightening and loosening his hold on both sword and shield.

"Aim!"

He held his breath.

But before the word
fire
could leave
the captain's lips, a flight of arrows from the other ship flew
over the water, fast approaching. Rhen lifted his shield, waiting
for the thunk of metal on wood, but instead he heard the pattering
of splashes.

He looked up, catching sight of the amazed
gazes beside him.

The other ship had missed—their arrows
sailing at least thirty feet to the right of the ship.

"Fire!" Pygott yelled and the archers stood
from behind the protective wood at the bow of the ship to launch
their own set of arrows.

A hit.

Five arrows landed directly on target.

And with that, the battle had begun. Without
needing orders, the archers continued to launch wave after wave,
sending blankets of arrows onto the opposing ship. The enemy
continued to misfire, landing set after set of arrows into the sea,
almost as though they believed the
Old Maid
was fifty feet
to the right of where it actually stood. Either the wind was being
unusually favorable, or…

Rhen shot a quick glance up at Jin, whose
hands still danced before his face, a face that spoke of intense
concentration.

He scrunched his brows, smelling a secret,
sour taste on the wind. But now was not the time.

Screams ripped through the air. The opposing
ship was in turmoil, and it was still early in the fight. The
Old Maid
remained untouched, unscathed.

"Petore," the captain called. A man beside
Rhen turned around. "Send word downstairs to prepare the
crossbows!"

He dashed away.

Rhen focused ahead. The other ship was not
two-lengths away, the men aboard were in complete madness. Even at
such a length, Rhen could see soldiers running from side to side,
looking every which way, confused and terrified, shocked each time
a new volley of arrows landed on top of them.

One length away.

Suddenly, a shout went up, ringing in Rhen's
ears as the remaining soldiers on the enemy deck turned on their
heels. Like one, they moved in a wave across their ship, to their
starboard side, looking at the
Old Maid
with shock and
horror written across their faces.

Rhen heard the harsh, guttural sound of
Ourthuri words being screamed, too soft to make out but loud enough
to cause Rhen to lift his sword.

He had been right.

It was the Ourthuri driving unmanned
ships.

It was the Ourthuri preparing for war.

In one moment, Rhen felt totally vindicated,
totally satisfied in all of the lies he had been spouting over the
years, all of the secrets he had found and kept.

For once, his hunch had paid off. For once,
his spying had done the trick.

And then the ship was right beside them.

"Steady!" The captain called. But the men
all knew what to wait for.

In an excruciatingly long pause, both ships
seemed to stop, as though time had ceased to exist, halting on a
note of pure anticipation.

Wind pushed against flapping sails, but
nothing else moved.

Almost afraid to avert his eyes, Rhen
continued to look ahead, meeting the terrified stare of an Ourthuri
soldier as the enemy ship pulled perfectly parallel to theirs. The
man's eyes were almost black in the daylight. His skin was
hardened, tough like leather, dark brown with the hint of
green.

Whipping chains blasted through the air,
ripping through the silence. The crash of splintering wood
followed, and it could only mean one thing—the anchors had been
loosed. Brown chips exploded into the sky, raining down on both
decks, splashing into the water, smacking into the sails.

A second later, the chink of a crank hit
Rhen's ear, and the Ourthuri ship began to move against the tide,
unnaturally closer to the
Old Maid
. Ten clicks later and
boom
, wood slammed into wood.

The anchored crossbows had done their job,
securing the bond between the ships.

Knowing what came next, Rhen raised his
sword and yelled, a deep and throaty sound, rippling with the anger
that boiled under his skin.

Those Ourthuri wanted to hurt his people.
And thinking of Jin, Rhen knew they had already succeeded. But they
would not succeed again. Rhen had a nephew to protect, a new babe
in the palace, a new future of the kingdom.

He would not let his family or his people
down.

Without blinking, he charged, running to the
edge of the ship and stomping over the wooden planks that had just
been laid like bridges across the gap.

Slicing his sword through the air, the crash
of metal clanking metal reverberated from mast to mast.

A man possessed, Rhen moved on pure
instinct, lifting his shield to catch a blow from one soldier just
to turn on his heal and cut another with his sword. Years of
playing at battle had prepared him well, and the training from old
knights resurfaced, letting his muscles move on pure memory.

Silver danced across his vision—silver and
red.

Rhen pulled his sword from the chest of the
man before him, blood spurting from the wound, already turning to
face the next foe.

Geoff stood behind him, engaged with a
lesser swordsman. He would be fine.

Spinning, Rhen searched through the curtain
of moving arms and shields for anyone in need of help.

There
.

Captain Pygott had abandoned ship, running
across the boards to join in the fray, and had been caught against
a man twice his size. Rhen charged, kicking the chest of a man who
tried to face him, pushing him out of the way. He held his shield
to the left, over his head, to guard against any flying daggers,
and moved swiftly parrying enemy blades with his broadsword.

In one move, he pushed the captain out of
harm's way and swung his right arm high overhead, catching the
Ourthuri's curved sword in its path. A deafening clang roared in
his ear, his bicep straining against the strength of his foe, his
elbow twisting painfully toward the ground.

Rhen stepped back out of the way and dropped
his shield, gripping the sword with both hands. He would need his
full strength for this.

The Ourthuri twisted the curved blade before
his face, spinning it in a circle, trying to intimidate Rhen. But
then his eyes flicked to the gold hilt of Rhen's sword, his lids
lifting high up into his brow before narrowing to a slit.

I guess he knows I'm a prince
, Rhen
thought. Gold encased swords were rare in both kingdoms. Ones
decorated with precious stones? Even rarer.

Good
, Rhen thought, angling the sword
just slightly so the reflection hit the other man's eye.

And then he charged, aiming low and for the
man's leg, an unexpected spot. But his opponent saw it coming,
slapping Rhen's sword away, returning with a strike at Rhen's
neck.

Rhen dodged, jumping back and out of arm's
length before surging forward once more. Up then down, circling
left and swinging right. He feigned one way, moving his sword to
the other.

They were evenly matched.

And Rhen's strength was running low.

A whistle tickled his ear, and too late to
do anything but duck, Rhen fell to the floor, smacking his nose
against the wood. Blood pooled from the wound, forming a puddle on
the boards below his face.

He jumped up, preparing for a sword that
never came. The Ourthuri stood before him, arrow lodged in his
chest, looking just as surprised as Rhen before sinking to the
ground.

What the…?

Rhen curved his neck, searching for the
archer. No man from Whylkin would shoot so close to his prince, no
one. But what Ourthuri would have taken the same chance?

Not ten feet away, an Ourthuri stood, aiming
an arrow into the fight. He let go. The bow whipped. The arrow
soared.

Rhen followed as it flew through the crowd
and watched, disbelieving, as it landed squarely in the chest of
another surprised Ourthuri warrior.

Yet one more arrow raced through Rhen's
vision.

A third Ourthuri fell.

"Keep one alive," Rhen screamed, suddenly
understanding what was going on. Ordered suicide, the man had been
ordered to do this, ordered to maintain secrecy at any cost. And
there was only one person who could demand such a thing, one person
who held so much authority—a king.

A fourth arrow.

And then Rhen was on the man, his sword
slicing through soft flesh. The bow clanked to the ground, precious
nerves in the man's wrist had been severed.

But there was no scream.

Instead, as Rhen took one small second to
look at the man's already paling face, there was only a small
smile, bubbling over with foam.

The man fell next to his bow, body shaking
wildly on the wood.

Poison
.

The entire deck was still, silent except for
the rivers of blood spilling and splashing into the ocean.

The enemy had been destroyed.

"Idiot," Rhen cursed softly.
Leave one
alive, always leave someone alive to question
. "Search the
ship," he said louder, a command.

"In all of my years," Captain Pygott said
softly, approaching Rhen with a grim expression, "I have never seen
something like that. A fight to the last man, yes, but never such a
surrender. There are stories, of course. But there are always
stories. To witness such a thing in the flesh," he shook his head,
"even I am left speechless." He paused, and then raised his hand to
Rhen's shoulder. "What have you uncovered here?"

"You mean what did I fail to uncover?" Rhen
shrugged out of the captain's grip, balling his hands into fists,
fighting the urge to punch at the floor.