Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“We just have to take them by surprise,” shrugged Formone.

“The last time, they saw us coming from a long ways off,” stated a sailor. “They didn’t understand what we were up to, and that is the only reason we got close enough to do any damage. We can’t do that again.”

“We can at night,” retorted Formone. “We know the direction that they are heading, and now we know their speed. It is simple to plot their location at any given time. We are small enough to sneak in between them without them noticing.”

“That might work,” mused one of the sailors, “but as soon as the first fireball goes off, it will be all over. We will be lucky to get two or three more ships.”

“Not necessarily,” countered Formone. “I suggest that we don’t strike right away. Pass by the closest ships and move further into the armada. As soon as someone notices us, we all fire our harpoons at the closest ships.”

“That might work,” conceded a sailor, “but you do realize what you are asking? We will get quite a few ships that way, but not a single one of us will be returning. We will be in the middle of three hundred ships with mages on every single one of them. We will be trapped.”

“What you say is true,” Formone acknowledged. “It is a one way trip. Because of that, I think each crew should decide this for themselves. Anyone who does not wish to be involved can cut his line to the rest of us right now. Float free and hoist your sails for the journey back to the mainland.”

“What mainland?” shrugged a sailor. “You were right before when you said that we have no homes. None of us are likely to survive this war, yet our actions tonight could save thousands of our friends and relatives. Count me in, Formone.”

Shouts of agreement rippled through the small group of patriots. Not a single man cut himself free from the line tying them all together.

“Alright,” explained Formone, “this is what I see us doing. We will want to strike in the middle of the night when most of their crews will be sleeping. Make sure that both your fore and aft harpoons are loaded and ready to fire. We will sail in groups of ten. The first group will have to penetrate the furthest into the armada. That is going to mean a lot of bobbing and weaving to get there without being seen. The second group will stay back about a thousand paces, and each group will do the same for the one in front of them.”

“We won’t be able to see that far at night,” frowned a sailor.

“I know,” nodded Formone, “but if we start out in proper formation and maintain a like speed, it will be close enough. The point is that we must not end up in a single clump. We must strike ships throughout the armada all at once. Fire your two harpoons and then try to get free. With any luck, one or two us might escape to describe this tactic to someone back home.”

“Aye,” nodded one of the sailors, “there are more skimmers in Fakara. It would be nice to tell them of our errors.”

* * *

The night was dark and foreboding as Formone piloted his skimmer towards the armada. Clouds had gathered overhead and were blocking the moon. Even the behemoths from the Island of Darkness were almost impossible to see. Formone stared ahead into the black of night, straining his eyes to determine if there was a ship in front of him. He couldn’t tell for sure, but the sea was alive with the sound of hulls cutting through the water and the occasional chatter of a seaman carried on the wind.

Formone felt his stern rise high in the water and quickly turned his head. He nearly gasped out loud when he saw the huge bow pushing his tiny skimmer aside. He pulled hard on the tiller and braced himself for the wake of the large ship. With sweat pouring down his brow in the cool night air, Formone adjusted his course to take him deeper into the pack of leviathans.

A short while later, Formone had to jerk the tiller around as one of the wooden whales appeared right before him. He brought his skimmer through a hard ninety-degree turn, his sails falling limp as his starboard rail banged into the hull of the Motangan ship. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. His partner used an oar to push the bow away for the leviathan, and Formone manned the tiller. Air filled the sails as the skimmer reversed course.

Formone turned again to port to pass behind the Motangan ship. The skimmer bounced wildly as they ran into the wake of the large ship. They rode out the turbulence and then Formone adjusted his course to the west so that he did not fall out of the armada.

For a brief moment, the moon peeked out between the clouds. Formone’s eyes widened with fear and excitement as he saw half a dozen leviathans around him. It was like seeing something on a dark night when a bolt of lightning flashes around you. Unfortunately, the brief glimpse provided by the moonlight also afforded the Motangans the chance to see the skimmers. Shouts immediately rang out from several directions. Formone wasted no time. He immediately pulled on the tiller to point the bow towards the closest behemoth.

“Fire,” he said softly, but urgently.

Formone’s partner did not hesitate. He fired his bow harpoon into the darkness. A tremendous crash of broken wood thundered in his ears as Formone immediately spun his craft to port to avoid the soldiers who would be jumping overboard.

Sounds filled the night as men shouted and hulls burst throughout the armada. Cargo shifted on the decks of tilting behemoths and eerie creaks drifted on the air like the sighs of dying whales. Splashes in the water came from every direction as Motangan soldiers abandoned their sinking ships.

Suddenly, the dark night sky blossomed with the brightness of several suns as intense white projectiles streamed into the sky. It was suddenly as bright as daylight, and the carnage that had only been visible as sounds in the night, became apparent to every set of eyes. Motangan ships all around were in various stages of sinking. Formone gasped as he saw that he and a behemoth were heading for the same spot in the ocean, their bows on a tangential collision course.

Formone fought the tiller as fireballs crisscrossed the sky. Arrows rained down from every angle and the Sakovan heard familiar cries as his friends were cut down. Formone barely won the race with the leviathan, the Motangans’ bow nearly clipping the stern of the skimmer. He exhaled his held breath and let go of the tiller long enough to fire his aft harpoon. He watched in amazement as the metal head burst through the side of the Motangan ship. He was so close to the Behemoth that he saw the smoke rise up inside the hull from the acid that was released by the impact. He knew that within seconds a large hole would burst in the hull. Formone tore his eyes away from the damaged ship and grabbed the tiller.

“Get us out of here,” shouted his partner.

“I am trying,” Formone shouted back. “Load another harpoon in the bow just in case.”

His partner nodded as Formone adjusted course towards the tail end of the armada in hopes that he could escape out the back. He was way too deep into the armada to sneak out the way he had come in. More bright projectiles shot into the air to replenish the light from the dying ones. That was when Formone noticed the behemoths sailing towards him. Not only had he managed to get deep into the armada, but he also managed to strike at its leading edge. Sneaking out the back was no longer an option. Formone turned once again to the south, but the wind was not favorable. Within moments Leviathans were all around him.

“This is it,” Formone said to his partner. “We have one more chance to strike a blow. Let’s make it good.”

His partner nodded silently and manned the harpoon. The huge Motangan ship bore down on them and arrows started to sail through the air, but the Sakovan did not fire the harpoon. He waited patiently until he was sure he would not miss. Formone looked up at the deck of the large ship and saw the archers firing at him. He also saw the black-cloaked mages running forward.