Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

She turned to him.

“Our time is now.”

She turned the wheel and Merk saw her set their direction for a massive Pandesian ship, its sails rising nearly a hundred feet high. He spotted hundreds of soldiers in the boat, staring north into the flames, none of them looking south, down at the waters, none expecting a tiny ship like this to creep up on them.

“And now?” Merk asked Lorna, his foreboding deepening. “Are we attack this fleet alone?”

“A battle begins with one ship,” she replied calmly.

Merk looked at her firmly.

“Are you mad?” he asked, exasperated. “Do you really expect we can defeat that entire ship of soldiers yourself?”

She smiled back.

“No,” she replied. “I expect you to.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I, against a hundred men?” he asked.

“You have your dagger,” she replied, “and your speed. That is all you need, when I create cover for you.”

“Cover?” he asked.

She stared back, intense.

“You have to trust me,” she replied. “If you are willing. Are you ready to serve your country?”

Merk stood there, feeling at a crossroads. He had never truly cared for a cause before. Yet when he searched Lorna’s eyes, he recognized a fierceness in them, one that made him want to serve her cause, whatever it should be.

He finally straightened and stared back at Lorna, resolute.

She saw the look of approval in his eyes, and she turned and raised two palms to the sky, closed her eyes, and leaned back.

As she did, Merk watched in amazement as a white mist began to come forth from her palms, filling the air, filling the night. It wrapped itself around the ship like a snake, creeping down to the water and slowly, steadily, spread across the sea and to the Pandesian fleet. Within moments, the night was thick with her fog, so thick, he could not even see past the rail.

At the same moment, their small ship bumped gently into the hull of the massive Pandesian warship. Merk, heart pounding, knew the time had come.

Merk reached out, grabbed the long rope dangling down the side of the ship, and jumped, hanging on as he slammed into the hull. He yanked himself up one inch at a time, palms burning and not caring.

Ten, twenty, thirty feet he climbed in the fog, straining from the effort, until he finally reached the rail. He grabbed it and looked down; already the rope was lost below in the thick mist.

Merk hung there, by the rail, took a deep breath and steeled himself. This was his moment. He knew that as soon as he crossed that rail he would encounter an army of hostile men, all wanting his death. It would be the most deadly battle of his life. One wrong move and it would be over.

Merk’s heart slammed in his chest as he finally pulled himself over the rail, landing lightly with his two feet on the deck. He turned and was relieved to see he was, at least, immersed in a wall of fog so thick he could barely see his own hand. Lorna was good to her word: he had cover.

Merk wasted no time. He drew his dagger and rushed forward, using his killer instincts to find soldiers, darting from one to the other, slicing throats left and right as he went. He grabbed men’s mouths before they cried, silencing them.

Still, their bodies dropped with thuds, and a commotion ensued on deck as the others caught wind of a killer amongst them.

Yet Merk gave them no time to react. He darted from soldier to soldier, killing each. A few turned to catch him, but Merk moved quicker and faster than all of them, doing what he did best, what he was born to do, using his dagger with mastery and speed and stealth, as he had always done on behalf of the kingdom.

There was little they could do against an invisible foe, a trained assassin. Within moments, the ship fell very still, Merk standing there, breathing hard, covered in blood.

It took a moment for the realization to sink in: this Pandesian warship was theirs.

Merk heard a noise behind them, a light thud, like a cat landing on deck, and he turned to see, out of the mist, Lorna emerging. Merk sheathed his dagger, while she stepped forward, drew hers, and sliced the rope anchoring the ship.

Merk felt the massive ship begin to move beneath them.

He turned to her, wondering.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now,” she replied, smiling, “we sail into battle.”

Dierdre and Marco rode on the back of Andor in the black of night, heading south, away from the ruins of the Tower of Ur, away from the battle still raging with Alva and Kolva and Kyle, and determined to spark a battle of their own. Dierdre peered into the blackness as they rode, eager to return to her former city of Ur, even if it was now under water. She was eager to avenge her father.

Dierdre tried to collect her thoughts as she rode, still in shock at everything that had happened. She had been so sure, when she had set out with Marco for the Tower of Ur, that they would find Kyra there, that they would find safe haven together and have a chance to start again. She had never expected to find the tower destroyed, to find trolls attacking it, had never expected to find herself immersed in the front lines of an epic battle to spare the north. She had, most of all, never expected the Flames to be lowered, Escalon to be overrun. It had been like leaving a nightmare to walk into hell.

She would have surely died there had it not been for Kyle showing up, saving them – and then Alva appearing on his heels and saving all of them. Alva’s command to ride to Ur was one she had been too happy to obey. She could not wait to leave that place. Dierdre still saw in her mind’s eye the grotesque faces of the trolls, lunging for her, trying to tear her apart, and she wanted to get as far away from them as she could.

The idea of being able to be of service in her home city consumed her. She and Marco had had no choice but to flee Ur after the flood, yet now that they were returning, she was elated. If there was any glimmer of hope for her city to rise again, she would gladly give her life for it.

She wondered, though, what Alva had foreseen. She could not imagine, after the destruction she had seen, how her city could ever rise again. And she did not see how she and Marco could possibly offer any meaningful help. Yet, after witnessing his power she trusted Alva, and was all too eager to do her part to help.

Dierdre and Marco finally broke through the woods, she so hopeful for a glimpse of her city, praying that she would somehow find it rising from the waters. Yet as she did, she was dismayed at the sight before her. She had hoped that perhaps Alva had seen something she had not, that she might find an epic battle here that would see her city restored. Yet instead, she blinked, confused, as they stopped their horses and caught their breath.

There was nothing before them but water.

It was exactly as they had left it, the city of Ur now a lake, shimmering in the black of night, its harbor filled with thousands of Pandesian ships. There was no battle. It was in the same state of total conquest and defeat.

She and Marco exchanged a glance, both baffled, wondering why Alva had dispatched them here. Had he been wrong?

Dierdre peered out into the horizon, searching the black of night, wondering if she were overlooking something – and as she did, she saw something which caught her eye. There, on the horizon, far out at sea, she saw a dim haze of light; it appeared that some Pandesian ships were aflame. She was confused. Who could possibly be attacking the Pandesian fleet?

As she listened closely, she thought she could hear the distant rumble of cannon fire. She realized, with a jolt of hope, that a battle was raging. Someone was fighting back against the Pandesians.