Part 53 (1/2)
”Stop!” the Skir Master commanded.
Argoth froze, the barrel only inches away, the pain of his blackening and blistering fingers shrieking up his arm.
The Skir Master strode toward Argoth, displeasure on his face.
Horror overtook Argoth: what had he done? How could he have betrayed his Master? He almost fell to his knees. But there was one small part of him that wanted something else.
”Nettle,” he said.
”Down!” ordered the Skir Master.
Argoth faltered, but then he mustered his strength. ”Nettle,” he said. And suddenly the Skir Master's command seemed less important than it had. His son's sacrifice would not be wasted.
”Nettle,” he said more forcefully. This was for him and for Grace, Serenity, and Joy. For Serah. A battle cry rose within him, and he shouted his son's name. ”Nettle!”
For one brief moment his mind cleared, and he thrust his burning fingers into the black liquid waiting in the barrel.
A blue-green fire raced over the surface.
Argoth almost faltered from the pain, but he s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back and wrapped it in his tunic, wiping off both flame and skin.
The seafire in the barrel spit, flashed, then, with a cracking thunder, flames exploded upwards. Thick smoke poured forth and rolled along the ceiling.
The Skir Master took a step back.
Argoth retrieved the hatchet he'd stowed between the barrels earlier. He brought it up and swung it against the rope binding the barrel, splitting it cleanly.
”No!” the Skir Master said.
”Yes,” Argoth replied.
Leaf was on his knees, violently trying to wipe the seafire from his face with his tunic. The Skir Master leapt over him.
But Argoth grabbed the lip of the burning barrel with the head of the hatchet and pulled with all his weight. The barrel toppled over, splas.h.i.+ng the burning seafire over the deck. The remaining contents of the barrel spilled forth was.h.i.+ng over and around the Master's boots, circling the man.
The blue flame raced over the surface of the widening pool.
Argoth backed away.
The Skir Master looked down at the spreading fire. Then the pool of seafire burst into flame and choked the pa.s.sageway with smoke.
Clasping the hatchet, Argoth turned and ran. Men shouted from the stern. The cook stepped out holding a long knife, probably the very knife that had hacked up the rat that had gone into his soup, and looked up the pa.s.sageway. Argoth swung the flat of the hatchet and struck the man in the face.
The cook fell back, and Argoth raced past him up the stairs to the main deck. Thick brown and yellow smoke billowed out of the hatches, the Skir wind carrying it forward over the deck into the sailors who had recently been dancing. An officer shouted for a team to descend with barrels of sand.
Argoth leapt up the stairs to the aftercastle and raced to the stern. A dreadman stood by the helmsman. ”The Skir Master,” Argoth shouted. ”Help me get the s.h.i.+p's boat in the water!”
The dreadman hesitated, then joined Argoth. He ran to the rope and pulleys of one of the davits, Argoth the other. But Argoth had no time for an easy lowering. He hacked trough the ropes and his end of the boat swung down and out.
The unexpected weight caught the dreadman off guard. The rope raced through his hands, burning them. He stumbled forward, cursed, and looked at Argoth with anger.
The boat had fallen, but not all the way. It dragged behind the s.h.i.+p, half of it still out of the water.
Argoth raced to the dreadman's side. He acted as if he were going to hack through the tangle. Instead, he buried his hatchet in the man's leg.
The dreadman yelled out.
Argoth yanked the hatchet out and kicked the man in the head, knocking him overboard.
Men raced up the stairs to the aftercastle.
Then an explosion rocked the s.h.i.+p, sending the men on the stairs sprawling.
Argoth brought the hatchet down with all his might, cutting the rope, and the boat fell to rest of the distance to the water.
A man shouted blood-curdling intent behind him.
Argoth turned and saw a dreadman charging him, sword held high. A large eye had been tattooed on his bare chest.
Argoth brought up his hatchet and parried the blow, but the force of the blow knocked the hatchet out of Argoth's hand.
The dreadman brought his sword back.
Argoth was in not state to fight him, so he scuttled backward and flung himself over the edge of the stern. Then he was falling, watching the Ardent pull away with the dreadman looking on.
Argoth pulled his broken arm to his chest to protect it, bracing himself, thinking he was going to land on the boat.
But he did not land on the boat. He crashed heels over head into a shock of the cold water. He gasped in a lungful of water, rolled, then came to the surface in a choke and turned to look for the boat. A wave lifted him, showing him the boat only a few yards away. He side-stoked towards it with all his might, holding his useless arm at his chest.
The dreadman who'd come at him on deck flashed down in the corner of his eye and splashed into the water.
At the crest of the next swell, he looked back. The dreadman was swimming after him hard, gaining on him.
Argoth swam with all his might. Two, four, eight strokes.
He looked back. The dreadman was only a few yards behind.
Another stroke and he touched the boat. Argoth reached up with his good hand, grasped the top wale, and swung his leg up, and then it was over the wale and onto one of the thwarts.
He looked frantically about for a weapon. There was nothing but the length of rope that had attached the boat to the davit.
The dreadman's hand grasped the wale behind him.
Argoth lunged for the rope lying under one of the thwarts.
The dreadman pulled himself up.
Argoth spun around, lunged at the man and slipped a make-s.h.i.+ft noose over the dreadman's neck. Then he looped the rope about his body and heaved back. The rope tightened about the dreadman's neck and pulled him into the boat. But Argoth knew that wouldn't be enough. He turned, and before the dreadman could gain leverage to pull Argoth to him, Argoth took one bounding step and jumped off the side of the boat opposite of the dreadman and into the water.