A Reign of Steel

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Reece ran through the driving rain with Stara, Matus, and Srog by his side, stumbling their way down the muddy slope in the black of night. Matus ran with one arm clamped around the waist of Srog, who was limping badly, while Reece clutched Stara’s hand, not out of love, but to keep her from slipping, and to keep himself from slipping too. He felt guilty even touching it, thinking of Selese, but given the situation, he had no choice.

They all ran along the edge of the cliff, slipping in the mud as they went, careful not to fall over the edge. Reece knew the sea was not far, the crashing waves somewhere below, and yet he was barely able to hear them over the sound of the pounding rain. With the number of soldiers awaiting them out there, Reece knew they were likely on a suicide mission. He knew that the Upper Islanders would be waiting for them in force at the shores, blocking any possible escape route for them, any dream of making it to his sister’s fleet, which was harbored out at sea.

Reece no longer cared. At least they had a plan and would die with honor, not sitting as cowards in that cave. A part of him, anyway, had died with Selese, and now he just fought for survival.

Reece knew they hadn’t much time before daybreak, when the Upper Islanders would surely move to take vengeance on his sister’s fleet. Even if they didn’t make the safety of the ship, Reece knew they had to at least try to reach the fleet to warn them. Reece could not allow them all to die, could not allow their deaths to be on his head. After all, he was the one who had killed Tirus and who had unwittingly set them all up for retribution.

The cliffs finally gave way to a steep mountain slope, and they stumbled downward, trying to make for the shore below, slipping and propping each other up. Reece saw the ocean spread out below, and finally was close enough to hear their crashing waves over the sound of the rain.

They reached a small plateau and they all paused, breathing hard.

“Leave me,” Srog said, gasping, clutching his side. “My wound cannot sustain this.”

“No one gets left behind,” Reece insisted.

Reece gasped for air as he looked down and saw hundreds of Tirus’s men fanned out on the shores, standing guard, on the lookout, blocking their escape to the ships—and also blocking the ships from reaching shore. Reece knew the only reason they hadn’t been killed yet was because of the cover of darkness, and because of the blinding wind and rain and fog.

“There,” Stara said, pointing.

Reece followed her finger and saw dozens more of Tirus’s men pressed inside a cave on the shore, sheltered from the wind. They were dunking long arrows into buckets, then wrapping the tips of the arrows in cloth, slowly, meticulously, again and again.

“Oil,” Stara said. “They’re preparing to set their arrows aflame. Those arrows are long. They’re meant for the ships. They intend to set the fleet aflame.”

Reece watched, horrified, and realized she was right. He felt a pit in his stomach as he realized how close Gwendolyn’s ships were to being lost.

“Those arrows would never fly in this wind and rain,” Matus said.

“They don’t need to,” Stara countered. “As soon as the rain stops, they will.”

“We haven’t much time,” Srog said. “How do you propose we fight our way through all those men? How can we reach the Queen’s ships?”

Reece scanned the shores. He looked out at the ships, bobbing in the rough waters, anchored perhaps a hundred yards offshore; the sailors surely had no idea what had happened on shore, no idea of what was about to happen to them. He could not let them get hurt. And he also needed to reach them for their own escape. Reece surveyed the landscape, wondering how they could do it.

“We can swim,” Reece said.

Srog shook his head.

“I’d never make it,” he replied.

“None of us would,” Matus added. “Those waters are rougher than they look. You are not from here; you do not understand. The tides are fierce in the open sea. We would all drown. I’d rather die on dry land than at sea.”

“What about those rocks?” Stara suddenly said.

They all turned and followed her finger. As he peered into the rain, wiping water from his eyes, Reece saw a jetty of rocks, jutting out into the ocean perhaps thirty yards.

“If we can make it to the edge of those rocks, my arrows can reach,” Stara said, lifting her bow.

“Can reach what?” Matus asked.

“The closest ship,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Reece looked at her, confused.

“And why would you fire on our own ships?”

Stara shook her head, impatient.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “We can attach a rope to the arrow. If the arrow lodges in the deck, it will give us a line. It can guide us through the waters. We can pull ourselves as we swim to the ship.”

Reece looked at her, impressed by her bold plan. The idea was crazy enough that it just might work.

“And what are the Queen’s men going to do when they see an arrow with a rope lodging into their ship in the black of night?” Srog asked. “They will cut it off. Or they will kill us. How should they know it is us?”

Reece thought quickly.

“The MacGil sign,” he said. “The falcon’s claws. Any MacGil of the Ring will recognize it. Three arrows shot straight into the sky, all of them aflame. If we shoot them off first, they’ll know it’s us, not the enemy.”

Srog looked at Reece skeptically.

“And how are you going to get flaming arrows to last in weather like this?”

“They don’t need to last,” Reece replied. “They just need to stay aflight for a few seconds, just long enough for the sailors to see them, before the rains will put them out.”

Srog shook his head.

“It all sounds like craziness to me,” he said.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Reece asked.

Srog shook his head.

“Then it’s settled,” Reece said.

“That rope there,” said Stara, pointing. “The long one, coiled up, on the beach, near Tirus’s men. It is just long enough. That’s what we need. We can tie it to the arrow and make it work.”

“And if your brother’s men spot us?” Srog asked.

Stara shrugged.

“Then we shall be killed by our own men.”

“And what of those ten men there, blocking the entrance to the jetty?” Srog asked.

Reece looked out and saw six soldiers standing before it. He turned, snatched Stara’s bow, grabbed an arrow, raised it high, and fired.

The arrow sailed through the air, sailing down forty yards, and pierced one of the soldiers through the throat. He dropped dead.

“I count nine,” Reece said, then took off at a sprint.

The others followed Reece as he sprinted down the hill, slipping and sliding, scrambling for the jetty. It took Tirus’s men a few moments to realize that one of their own had fallen; yet soon enough they did, and they all drew their weapons, on guard, peering out into the night for the enemy.

Reece and the others raced recklessly for the chokepoint leading out to the jetty, Reece feeling that if they got their fast enough, just maybe they could kill the soldiers guarding it before they knew what hit them. More importantly, maybe they could get past them.

“Attack them, but no matter what, don’t stop running!” Reece yelled to the others. “We’re not here to fight them all—we just need to make it past them, to the end of the jetty.”

The blackness of early morning was beginning to lift as they all ran, swords drawn, Reece gasping for air as his feet hit the sand, stumbling, realizing this might be the last run of his life. The group of soldiers blocking the jetty did not see them either, their attention on their soldier who had fallen, all of them baffled as to who had killed him. Three of the soldiers sat hunched over him, trying to revive him.

That was their fatal mistake. Reece and Matus lunged forward as they reached them, Srog hobbling just behind them, swords drawn, and before the three soldiers, their sides exposed, realized, they stabbed each one through the heart. That left six of them.

Stara, right behind them, drew her dagger and backhanded one, slicing his throat, dropping him to the ground; then she turned seamlessly and stabbed another through the heart. That left four.

Reece backhanded one with his gauntlet and kicked another, while Srog head-butted one and Matus ducked as an attacker swung a mace for his head, then rose up and sliced his stomach.

Within moments the group of soldiers blocking the jetty was down, as Reece and the others blew past them like a storm.

A horn sounded, and Reece turned to see that Tirus’s other men—hundreds of them—had spotted them. There rose a great battle cry on the beach, as the men turned and began racing for them.

“The rope!” Stara shouted.

Reece ran over to the huge coil of rope nearby and hoisted it over his shoulder; it was heavier than he’d imagined. Matus rushed over and helped him, and they hoisted it together as they all ran down the jetty, the four of them running as fast as they could. Stara brought up the rear, and she stopped, turned, raised her bow, and fired six shots in procession, taking out six of the closest soldiers, the bodies piling up at the base the jetty.

They all, gasping for air, finally reached the edge of the jetty. Waves crashed all around them, foam spraying up over their feet. Reece lost his footing for a moment, and Stara reached out and steadied him. Beside them, Srog and Matus hurried to tie the rope to the end of one of Stara’s arrows.

“The warning sign first!” Reece called out, reminding Stara.

Stara took three arrows from a closed quiver wrapped around her back. These were wrapped with an oil-soaked cloth, prepared in advance, as all good archers did, in their own separate quiver. Out of the quiver she also removed the dry flint rocks and struck them together, creating sparks. She did it again and again, the sparks not catching in the rain. Reece turned to see Tirus’s men storming the jetty. He knew their time was short.

“Come on!” Reece cried.

Finally, the cloth sparked, and all three arrows lit up.

“Shoot them up high!” Reece said. “Nearly straight overhead! But angle a little toward the ships! That is the sign!”

Stara fired the three flaming arrows in quick succession, and they shot up, close to each other, perfect shots. It was the flame of the falcon’s claws, high up in the sky, the ancient sign of the MacGils, and any good commander watching the skies would see. Reece was relieved to see that the arrows stayed aflame for a good five seconds, until finally, all three fizzled out.

“The rope!” Matus said. “Fire it now!”

Stara took up the rope and arrow, aiming high, long distance for the ship.

“We’ve got one shot at this,” Reece said to her. “Do not miss.”

She turned and looked at him, and he was struck by how beautiful her face was in the rain, how proud, how noble—how fearless. He stared back at her and nodded reassuringly.

“You can do this,” he said. “I have faith in you.”

She nodded back.

Stara turned and fired, and they all watched, Reece holding his breath, as the arrow sailed up high, arching through the air. Reece knew that if it fell short, they would all be finished.

Finally, in the distance, Reece heard the satisfying thunk of arrow piercing wood, and as Reece saw the rope stiffen below, he knew she had hit: the arrow was lodged in the ship. The rope uncoiled as it sailed through the air, and there were but a few feet of it left as it finally lodged into its resting place.

Reece turned and saw hundreds of Tirus’s men shouting, too close now, drawing their swords and bows and closing in on them.

“The water’s not getting any warmer!” Matus cried out, looking down at the churning sea.

As one, the four them of them grabbed hold of the rope and jumped off the rocks and into the foaming sea.

Reece was shocked at how cold the water was; he struggled to catch his breath as he swallowed a mouthful of salty seawater, bobbing up and down in the raging ocean. He held onto the rope, not letting go no matter what, and he pulled himself up, one foot at a time, heading toward the distant boat.

Reece pulled hard and fast, along with the others, and they all began to move their way through the water, with each pull getting farther from shore and closer to the ship.

Reece heard the muted shouts of Tirus’s men on the shore behind them, and then he heard another noise which disturbed him—the noise of an arrow piercing water. The noise came again, and again, and Reece looked over to see arrows sailing through the air, piercing the water on either sides of him. He realized that Tirus’s men were firing on them.

Reece heard a scream in his ear. Stara. He looked over and saw her leg pierced by an arrow, the arrow protruding from her thigh. He looked back and saw a host of arrows airborne, whizzing by their head.

Srog cried out next, and Reece saw that he, too, was pierced by an arrow.

Reece knew he had to do something fast. He reached out and grabbed Stara, draping one arm around her as she flailed.

“Hang on to me tight,” he said.

He positioned his body over hers so that he was between her and the shore, putting himself in the path of the fire. Then, as she hung on, he pulled the rope for them both.

Reece shrieked as he suddenly felt an arrow pierce the side of his thigh. The pain was excruciating. But at least he took comfort in knowing that had he not been in its path, it would have hit Stara.

More and more arrows sailed by their heads, and Reece wondered how much longer they could keep this up, how much longer it would be until one of the arrows was fatal. He pulled for dear life, doubling his speed. Reece knew their situation was desperate; if they didn’t have help soon, they would all be dead.

Reece heard another noise, that of an arrow sailing over his head—but this time, from another direction. He looked up in surprise to see arrows flying overhead toward shore, launching from the Queen’s ship. At first Reece braced himself, thinking the Queen’s men were firing upon him. But then, as he saw more and more of them fly overhead, and as he heard the cries of Tirus’s men, he realized: the Queen’s men were coming to their aid.

Hundreds of arrows suddenly flew overhead from the Queen’s ship, killing Tirus’s men firing at them. Soon, the arrows from the shore stopped landing beside them.

Out of danger’s path, they pulled harder and harder in the churning sea—and soon, Reece felt a tug, and realized he was being pulled in by the Queen’s men. Dozens of sailors grabbed the ropes and yanked hard, and soon they were being pulled, faster and faster, right for the ship.

Bobbing desperately in the waves, gasping for air, all of them, wounded, reached the edge of the ship. A hand reached down for Reece, and as he grabbed it he looked up and saw one of his own, a MacGil from the mainland, eager to help.

The sailor looked down and smiled.

“Good to have you on board,” he said.