Chapter 37

“We’re gonna hit that boom hard!” Peckee cried out to no one in particular, as all eyes were fixed on either the floating menace ahead or the equally menacing ships closing fast from the port side.

‘Thwaack’ went Ean’s longbow. The missile struck one of the Tireean crewmen square in the chest, toppling him backward in a heap of ropes and rigging.

“Bloody good shot,” Troon crowed. “That was six ship lengths, I’d wager, and in this wind—you’ve still got the touch, McKinnon.”

Sabritha cried out, “Wait! Shouldn’t we at least make certain they are pirates?”

A hail of fire arrows from the first Tireean vessel quickly quelled her questions. Fortunately, all of the blazing bolts peppered the water well short of their mark.

Troon laughed aloud, screaming into the wind, “Bleedin’ amateurs—you ain’t worth the piss in a prior’s pot!”

Counting the shafts left in six quivers, Daynin handed his grandfather another arrow. “How many men does a ship like that carry?”

One of the crewmen swung down out of the rigging to gain cover and answered, “Score and a half, at least, if they’s fully loaded.”

“That’s almost a hundred men in three ships,” Sabritha gasped, “and our numbers are less than twenty.”

“Aye,” the elder McKinnon vowed, “but it’s thirty at a time, not all at once, and that we can handle.”

Daynin added, “And we have Brude. I myself saw him tangle with a dozen of the Duke’s mounted troops. These Tireeans will have hell to pay if they come aboard the Shiva.”

If the Great Deceiver had actually had mortal ears, no doubt they would have perked up from that spirited retelling of the priory battle. The boy’s words still warmed the giant’s armor, making him feel almost alive. “Bring ‘em on,” he boasted. “Droongar shall feast on Tireean blood today!”

Casting a glance at the mainsail, then down at the boom now looming larger than he had expected, Peckee yelled a warning, “Hold fast!” but it came too late. The Shiva’s bow struck the center log with the force of a battering ram.

Crrrraaack! The boom crushed a huge dent in the ship’s keel as the Shiva rode up and onto it. She settled in a precarious position, her barnacled bow as tall as a charger’s back, sticking high and dry out of the water.

Miles appeared on deck from his sickbed below. “Bloody hell!” he screamed. “What happened? Are we sinking?”

“Go below, you sniveling snot!” Sabritha shrieked. “Get those men in the fo’c’sle up here to fight.”

Captain Peckee’s thoughts turned to jumping overboard, so certain was he that the Shiva could never stay afloat. One look at the woman’s baleful stare and he knew she would strangle him if he tried to jump. Motivation renewed, he tied down the tiller and ran forward to check the damage.

Brude had already leapt onto the log to assess the situation. “She’s battered, but not sinking,” he declared. With a single slash of his giant broadsword, a chunk of log peeled through the air and splashed into the water.

“That’s it!” Daynin cheered. “Cut that bloody boom, Brude—you can do it!”

Arrows ripped into the rigging above Daynin’s head, some alight, some not. Smoke began billowing from the mainsail as Troon, Ean and the others fired back. One of the crew screamed in agony, his throat pierced by a flaming bolt. Another fell from the ratlines into the water. Blood flowed freely onto the deck, causing Sabritha to turn her head in horror.

The first Tireean vessel, now less than a boat-length distance, suffered heavy casualties from Ean and the other bowmen. Half her crew lay dead or wounded before the prow of their snekke struck the Shiva almost amidships. A muffled caaarummpph echoed in the shallow waters as the snekke’s ram penetrated the Shiva’s portside hull.

“We’re holed!” the lookout bellowed, an instant before the force of the impact tore his grip on the mainmast and brought him tumbling down.

Peckee seized a broad axe from one of the dead and weighed into the Tireean boarders flooding over the side of his ship. Several of his crew joined him, momentarily stemming the tide of the onrushing enemy. More armored pirates clambered onto the Shiva’s railings, dropping aboard with shields and short swords flashing.

Ean felled two of the cutthroats with one arrow, the range so short now he could reload and fire in a heartbeat. Troon killed another outright, as did Daynin with a well-aimed axe thrown with all his might. Seizing a sword, Sabritha fought off an intruder bent on stabbing Daynin in the side, only to be shoved onto her backside with a bloody lip for a reward.

Back at the boom, Brude’s hacking stopped briefly as the second Tireean vessel scudded to a stop alongside the Shiva. He scanned the melee for signs he was needed, but decided the boom was the far greater threat. He hacked hard again, then again and again, sending hog-sized chunks of timber flying in all directions. Straddling the boom, he could feel it begin to separate from the Shiva’s enormous weight.

An instant before the log boom split, Brude swung back aboard, his blade twirling faster than mortal eyes could see. “Bring it on, you blaggards!” he swore. Tearing into the onrushing crew of the second ship, he sent three men to their doom instantly. Gore, guts and pirate pedigree splattered everyone in range.

A crossbowman in the second snekke’s rigging fired bolt after bolt into Brude’s armor, cursing when the giant would not go down. More pirates attacked Brude, all of them hacking and clanging away with axes and short swords, but to no avail.

Peckee and his men, having temporarily run out of enemies, suddenly realized the Shiva’s bow floated freely in the water. The captain shouted, “Quickly, men! Cut that snekke loose so’s we can beat it outta here!”

Ean and Troon heard the cry but could not help. They were too busy targeting Brude’s adversaries, now that the second ship’s entire crew had engaged the giant. Single-handedly, Brude held the railing against all odds. Not one man had yet gained the Shiva from the second ship. A dozen of the snekke’s numbers sprawled on her deck, dead or dying.

Peckee untied the tiller loop, doing all he could to get the ship underway, yet she still would not budge. With a snekke’s ram embedded in her side and the log boom to her front, the Shiva wallowed like a mud hen in a midland marsh. Realizing the third snekke rapidly approached from the south, Peckee made a bold decision. “You men—come with me—we’re gonna board the snekke and back her off with her own oars.”

Miles heard the call and decided his fighting skills were no match for the heathens. Leaping over the railing into the mass of bloodied Tireeans, he grabbed an oar with the others and hauled away. The snekke groaned, but wouldn’t move, stuck fast in the side of the much larger Shiva. To make matters worse, a fire had broken out aboard the Tireean vessel, dooming her and the Shiva as well.

Daynin leaned over the Shiva’s side and suddenly remembered what Kruzurk Makshare had told him about leverage. “Common sense and leverage,” Daynin repeated from memory.

Barely hearing him over the din of battle, Sabritha pushed herself to her knees and cried out, “Daynin—look out!”

* The Drimnin Highlands *

The treacherous walk through the rugged highlands north of Drimnin Keep had taken a toll on Kruzurk and Mediah. A misty, gray day hung about them like a bad dream, making the trek to Sconehaven seem twice as long.

“Did the cleric say how far this donjon was?” Mediah asked.

Kruzurk slowed his pace, then stopped to get a better view of the land. “Three leagues, but it’s difficult to judge distance in this mist. I wish now we had brought Eigh with us. Trudging about in this wilderness without a map or guide is wasting time, I fear. Time we cannot afford to lose.”

“Indeed. Your lost boy could already be at Rhum, if that Prior’s story was accurate. And the Saxons as well. It’s a good thing you ordered the Pandora to join us at Kinsley spit—that will save us a long walk ba . . .”

Kruzurk abruptly thrust his staff in the air. “Shhhh—I hear something.”

In the distance, the clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer rent the air with its distinct ‘clink, clink, clink’. The two edged closer to a bend in the track, careful not to show themselves any more than necessary.

Around the turn and down a steep slope, a small holding occupied both sides of the road. Black smoke from the smith’s shop lingered in the heavy air. “We can’t go around—it will take too long,” Kruze whispered.

“Allow me to go first. If there’s no threat, I will give a shout.”

“No, Mediah. There’s strength in numbers, even with two. We’ll go together.”

Hiking down the trail like they were neighbors coming for stew, the pair strode into the farm’s midst and right up to the blacksmith. His rhythm interrupted, the smithy growled, “Who the devil are you?”

Mediah stepped forward, a broad smile his peace offering. “Pilgrims m’lord. Come to visit Sconehaven. We were wondering if . . .”

“Go back wherever the hell you came from, pilgrim,” the smithy replied, adding a menacing wave of his hammer for good measure. “Sconehaven ain’t exactly a pilgrimage site.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord,” Kruze intervened. “We were told of a place with great white stones and . . .”

“Damn it, pilgrim, are ye deaf? That bog is a demon’s den, not fit for men. And stop calling me ‘m’lord’—I work for a living!”

“Might we trouble you for directions, then?” Kruze pressed.

The smithy’s hammer went up again, this time waving toward the road. “If you’re that determined to die, just stay on this track. It takes you to Sconehaven. The bloody bog is beyond it a bit. But if you value your lives, turn around now and never look back.”

* Aboard The Shiva *

An instant longer gazing over the ship’s side and Daynin might never have seen another sunrise. Sabritha’s scream turned him just as a blazing beam from the burning Tireean ship collapsed and fell onto the Shiva’s railing above Daynin’s head. Once again, he found himself sprawled face down in Sabritha’s lap, but this time, ashes and soot rained all around them.

“We’ve got to go below and push that rr-rrram away, or we’re goners!”

“How can we do that?” Sabritha cried loudly, more to be heard than from fear of the battle.

“There must be a way,” the boy answered. “At least you’ll be safer there.”

Dragging her by one wrist, Daynin ducked the flying ash and cinders, making his way through the tiny hatch that led down into the fo’c’sle. “Come on, I think we can use one of these oars as a lever. Kruzurk showed me how.”

Sabritha shook the ashes from her hair and replied, “What the deuce is a lever?”

Daynin jammed one end of the huge oar between two of the ship’s side ribs, bending the other end like a longbow, hard against the tip of the Tireean ram. “Help me now—pull with all you’ve got!”

Their combined strength and the ‘magic’ of Kruzurk’s lever did the trick. The ram edged outward, ever so slowly giving way under the pressure. “Push, woman! Harder now!” Daynin shouted, his muscles strained to the limits. Sabritha gave it all she had, allowing the anger from that ‘woman’ comment to triple her strength.

Suddenly, shards of crimson light erupted around the ram’s edges. The darkened fo’c’sle lit up as the menacing mass eased its way out to sea, allowing light to flood the ship’s hold. “We did it!” Daynin yelled. He grabbed Sabritha and hugged her, and would have done a highlander’s jig if not for the cramped quarters.

“Oh god, Daynin . . .” Sabritha gasped, her eyes focused through the gaping hole left by the ram’s departure. “Our dimwit captain and the others are still on the burning ship!”

Daynin hurried to scramble up through the hatchway. The scene above was of total carnage. Ean and Troon had taken to pulling arrows from the dead that they might be prepared to fight the third ship. Brude’s armor and the deck around him flowed with gore, so many of the Tireeans had met their end from his whirling blade. And just as Sabritha had warned, the other crew members were rapidly disappearing behind the Shiva, in the smoke and flames of the burning snekke.

“Grandfather! We’re losing the crew!” Daynin shouted.

Ean turned in time to see the burning ship falling behind, even though Peckee and the others rowed like madmen in a vain attempt to keep up. “We cannae help ‘em lad. The Shiva’s sails are moving her too fast. Take the tiller, boy. Guide us through the channel. Keep ‘er midstream and maybe we’ll slip on through.”

Dashing to the tiller block, Daynin did as he was told. He had watched the others steering the ship for hours and now he practiced what he had learned. Skillfully maneuvering the Shiva away from the log boom and the other snekke, he steered a straight line for the clear passage he assumed lay dead ahead.

“HaaaaaHaaaarrrr!” Brude screeched, his hollow, booming voice full of a bravado heard all the way back to Tiree. “Bloody heathens! Know you now the extent of Cruithni courage!”

Daynin could only smile at the huge beast’s display. Never had he witnessed the scale of carnage the likes of that delivered by the Great Deceiver. And yet, somehow, it seemed all too familiar.

* Aboard The Woebringer *

The lengthy delay waiting for the other ships to come within hailing distance had driven Plumat near to rage. Nothing on his mission had yet gone right, and now, for all he knew, he was about to be subordinated to a man he didn’t even know. “Can they not hear you?” he growled angrily at Captain Coke, who stood precariously atop the stern block yelling his lungs out.

“Apparently not, m’lord. In this wind, they’ll likely have to bring over a skiff to parlay. Or, we can beat it into a bay somewhere and have us a talk whilst the crew replenishes the ship’s stores. Water is low and so is the . . .”

“Damn yer eyes, Coke. I don’t care how you do it—just get it done so we can be on our way. That boy gets further away the longer we sit here bobbing like a sea turtle in a cooking pot.”

“As you wish, m’lord. All hands make sail! Avast ya worthless lot! We’ll hug the coast, Plumat, then scoot into the Islets of Ismay. Should be safe enough there for the dracos to follow. And there’s water aplenty, and wood for repairs.”