THE GOD OF LIGHTNING
“By Odin,” said Artol, defeat in his voice as he gazed at the throng of Evermerians that chased them. “There's no way we can stand against that many.””
“Dolan, try to rouse the wizard,” said Theta. “We need him.”
Dolan repeatedly shook Tanch, but to no avail. He lightly slapped his cheek. He doused him with cold water. Tanch did not stir. He was out for the duration. “He's barely breathing,” said Dolan.
“That's it, we're finished,” said Slaayde. “We’re dead men thanks to you, you stinking bastard.”
“What of the monster?” said Graybeard.
“We'll get by it,” said Theta. “But there is no hope against that horde. So shut up and row.””
They pulled the oars with every ounce of strength they possessed, but the Evermerians continued to gain ground. The longboat was simply not as fast as some of the canoes and small boats piloted by the Evermerians.
“Two more minutes and they'll be on us,” said Artol.
“Keep rowing,” said Theta.
“I'd rather fight them with some strength left,” said Artol as he heaved at the oars.
“Keep rowing,” said Theta.
The lead canoe drew close to the longboat. Two of the Evermerians put down their oars and prepared to jump over.
“Dolan,” said Theta. “Give the man in the back of the boat an arrow in the eye.”
Dolan lifted his bow, nocked an arrow, turned, pulled, and shot, all within three seconds. The arrow struck exactly as Theta had directed. The canoe rocked. One of the other Evermerians lost his balance and fell into the water. But one of them leaped toward the longboat.
A normal man wouldn't have made it halfway to the longboat from that distance, but the Evermerians were no normal men. Captain Graybeard stood and swung his oar at the man, striking him full in the face, slowing his momentum. He landed atop the gunwale, but before he could steady himself, Slaayde put the point of his dirk through his ear. The Evermerian went limp and slipped in the sea. Short several rowers, the canoe fell behind, now too slow to hope to catch the longboat. Two other canoes took its place.
“Again,” said Theta.
Dolan turned and shot a rower in the nearest canoe, and then one in the canoe behind. Both Evermerians fell dead, one shot through the eye, the other through the forehead. Both canoes continued to gain on the longboat, albeit more slowly.
“One more in each,” said Theta.
And Dolan shot again. Each arrow hit, though it took three shots to get the second man to drop his oars and pitch over the side.
This pattern continued on and on as the minutes wore on. Dolan singlehandedly took five more boats out of action before he ran out of arrows.
Theta ordered that they all produce whatever knives they carried. Amongst them, they found a dozen blades that could be thrown. Three more boats fell victim to Dolan's knife throwing skill, which was nearly was impressive as his bowmanship.
“Everyone, keep rowing,” said Theta. “Dolan, remember the time that we met the Vhen in the Trachen Marches?””
“Aye,” said Dolan as he started scrounging around in his belt pouch, searching for something.
Theta pulled out a piece of hard leather from a pack he had stashed in the longboat. He unfolded it. It was stitched together into a conical shape and had some sort of metallic lining. He affixed something to the side of his battle hammer's head and lit a piece of tinder in no time flat.
Dolan found what he needed, held it in his hand, and then also expertly lit a piece of tinder. “Ready,” said Dolan.
Theta stood up, his hammer in one hand, the leather cone held in the other. He put the narrow end of the leather cone, a rudimentary bullhorn, to his mouth and spoke.
A half dozen of the Evermerian boats were now within ten yards of them, many of their warriors readying to leap across to the longboat.
“I am the lord Angle Theta,” he shouted, his voice amplified tenfold by the bullhorn. “I am the god of storms and death! I am the god of lighting! Taste my wrath and burn!” He held his hammer high and sparks flew from it. A tiny explosion went off and arcs of electricity ignited around the hammer. Sparks flew in long streaks. They seemed to come down from the heavens, crackling and popping, called by some magic unknown. “Come forth and meet your doom!” Theta boomed so loudly that most of the men in the longboat momentarily dropped their oars to cover their ears. Dolan swung his arm to and fro, throwing across the water some objects he held in his hands. Even as streaks of lighting erupted from Theta's hammer, more crackling, fiery streaks skimmed across the surface of the water toward the Evermerian vessels, tendrils of crackling flame that began at the longboat and searched for victims.
The Evermerians that were nearby ducked and pulled back on their oars, shouting in panic.
The sparks from the hammer began to sputter out and Theta lowered the weapon and pointed it at the nearest boats as he mouthed words in some long forgotten tongue, whispering them to the hammer. A moment later, a streak of crackling blue energy shot from the tip of the hammer in a continuous stream. Theta aimed it at the nearest boat. The stream struck one of the Evermerians despite her attempts to dodge. Sparks flew as it touched the woman. The Evermerian caught fire and screamed as the stream of energy passed through her. It cut her in two. Cleanly. Searing her flesh as it passed through, such that there was little blood. Her body collapsed, the top part falling into the sea.
Theta turned the stream and cut the head off a man on the other side of the same boat. Two more fell victim on the next boat over before the stream dissipated. “Come forth and meet your doom!” Theta boomed once again as more sparks erupted from the head of his hammer.
The Evermerians were in a panic. Many dived into the water to escape. Some lay flat in their boats, hiding. Others turned their boats, rowing back toward shore.
Above it all, the men heard the Duchess's voice. “Keep after them, you cowards,” she shrieked. “Kill them. They're running away; what god does that? It’’s just the wizard’s tricks. Kill them!”
Theta sat down and leaned forward, his hands rubbing his temples, his eyes closed, obviously in a great deal of pain. Dealings with magic, it seemed, even affected him.
Two-thirds of the Evermerian fleet was routed or had fallen back. The rest came on, led by the Duchess herself in a large canoe equipped with outriggers on either side. The huge mass of swimming Evermerians still came on though they lagged behind the boats.
Slaayde shook his head and eyed Theta. “Charlatan or wizard?” he murmured.
Ob heard him. “A bit of both it would seem.”
“The turtle is gone,” said Artol. “It sank beneath the waves.”
“Keep rowing,” said Theta, though he didn't lift his head from his hands. “We've got to clear the bay before it returns.””
“What's left of them bloodsuckers is gaining on us again,” said Ob. “Heck, even their swimmers are gaining. Never seen nobody swim that fast in my life, and the cold doesn't bother them. They'll catch us unless you've more in your bag of tricks.”
“It's empty,” said Theta.
“Dolan?” said Ob.
Dolan held up one last arrow that he had stashed somewhere. “For the Duchess,” he said.
“That's smart, boy,” said Ob. “Right smart. Kill her dead and the rest may turn tail. But if it don't work, it's knife work for us. A bloody lot of it.””
“If it doesn't work, we're dead,” said Slaayde. “There are still a thousand of them out there. Maybe more. We've no chance. My ship! How did it come to this? Oh, Bertha, how did it come to this?”
A few minutes later, they reached the mouth of the bay where The Falcon had gone down. The lead Evermerian boats were again within ten yards and closing fast. Swimmers a few dozen yards behind them.
“Do you see any survivors?” said Slaayde as he looked around, desperation on his face. “Any of my men?””
“Nothing,” said Artol. “Not even any debris. Not a single board remains.”
Theta perked up. He turned and looked around, scanning the water all around them and peering into the distance. “Turn to port, now!” he shouted.
From the east, out of a patch of mist, came four Evermerian boats headed straight at them, only yards away. Despite a quick turn of the longboat, within moments they were surrounded and cut off from the open water.
“Bring me the wizard and their lightning god,” shouted the Duchess from her boat, which was now well back from the lead boats. “Kill all the rest,”” she said, a patch affixed over her lost eye.
Dolan leveled his bow and shot.
Instead of trying to dodge the arrow, the Duchess put her hand up to block it. She didn't do that out of fear, or because she froze or didn't have time to move. She did it intentionally — because she was confident that she could pluck the arrow from the air in midflight, having done that many times before. She knew how intimidating such a feat was. What fear it would instill in the bulls. Not that they weren't afraid already, running for their lives, and with no hope of escape — not after the great turtle took their ship. There was nowhere for them to go.
Even with one eye, and one hand, she knew that she could catch that arrow. Her subjects would be in awe. Any doubts that they had in her, any loss of respect over her injuries, would be washed away. They would worship her. Her rule would remain unchallenged.
She reached out with her hand to catch the arrow, but she feared damaging her face any further. Who knew how long it would take her eye to heal? Years maybe, if ever. Her beauty marred. She'd make them pay.
Her hand was in just the right spot, at just the right moment. Few could hope to make such a catch, but she had the speed. She had the skill. One eye notwithstanding. The problem was that Dolan carried no normal bow. His was stiffer. Arrows shot from it carried farther, faster, truer. It raced through the air directly at the Duchess's forehead. As her fingers closed about it, the shaft slipped through them, and only the feathers brushed her fingers. The arrowhead impacted her cheek, and stopped only when it smashed into her jawbone. She fell back screaming in agony and fury.
Moments later, she was on her feet again, cursing them. Blood streamed from her hand. Her face was a ruin. “Kill them,” she sputtered, and spat blood. “Kill them, my lovelies. But bring me the wizard and the wannabee god. I will have my fun with them yet. Kill all the rest.”
“That's it then, we're dead,” said Slaayde. “The one shot that really counted, and Mister Dead Eye missed.””
Theta stood up in the longboat, falchion in one hand, his shield in the other. Artol, Tug, and Dolan did the same. The others braced themselves on one knee, their weapons held at the ready.
“Come forth and meet your doom,” shouted Theta.
From all directions at once, the Evermerians attacked, swarming them. Claws and swords, tooth and nail, hammer and dirk, the battle raged, and the bay ran red with blood and death.