Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

“KYRA!” they cried. “KYRA! KYRA! KYRA!”

Seavig sailed with urgency across the harbor of Ur, so close to achieving his goal of sealing off the harbor. Yet even while his men dragged the chains, they also cried out all around him on the ship as they began to fall, killed by Pandesian arrows. Seavig ducked himself as yet another Pandesian arrow landed in the deck beside him. He looked up and saw, amidst the glow of the flames, the sky was filled with them. Too many of his men were not as lucky, gasping in the night as they were punctured by arrowheads all around him. He flinched each time one of his men fell overboard, splashing into the water, food for the sharks. Their time, he knew, was scarce if they were all to survive.

Cannons boomed in the night, and cannonballs splashed in the water all around him, getting too close to his ship. The Pandesian fleet was closing in with each second, and Seavig looked out and saw thousands of ships all now directed toward the harbor, all turning their attention to him. They finally realized that he had been the culprit all along, the one who had commandeered their ship and set hundreds of their other ships aflame. Now, they wanted vengeance.

Seavig knew he had little time left before he and all his men were killed. If he were to succeed in his risky plan, now was his final chance. The dragging of chains, music to his ears, continued as they sailed across the harbor. He glanced back at the stern of the ship and saw the massive spiked chains being dragged, towed underwater in the blackness, just out of sight of the Pandesians. He ran over and helped his men as two of them fell overboard, dragging the chains as they had for hours across the harbor.

He looked ahead, and he saw they were nearly there. Just a hundred more feet, and they would make the far side of the harbor, be able to affix the chain to the stone wall and seal off the harbor for good. If they did, the thousands of ships pursuing him would sail right into their deaths, their hulls cracked to bits on the spiked, submerged chain.

As for the hundreds more Pandesian ships trapped inside the harbor, Seavig had another idea. But first he had to destroy the fleet pursuing him.

“FASTER!” he called out to his men.

A fierce splashing arose as his dozens of men rowed even faster. They heaved on the long oars, the splashing cutting into the night. Seavig had never made his men work so hard, some rowing, some fighting back, firing arrows back into the night, while still more raised shields and blocked for the others. He ran over and helped them row, yet still, too many of his men fell, their cries and shouts piercing the night.

Seavig suddenly winced in pain as an arrow, sailing through the night, found a spot through his shoulder. He slumped down, dropping his oar, seated at the head of his men, and clutched the wound. He gritted his teeth and shrieked as he broke the arrow in half and extracted it, leaving the arrowhead in. Face drenched in sweat, he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue to row, despite the pain. He could feel his men looking at him with surprise and pride, and he knew he had to set an example.

Seavig rowed and rowed, looking to the harbor wall, his arm and shoulder burning, not knowing how much longer he could go on. Finally, to his immense relief, he felt the ship’s hull hitting stone. The whole ship shook with the impact, and they came to a sudden stop.

Seavig jumped to his feet, wasting no time.

“THE CHAINS!” he yelled.

The men at the stern grabbed the chain and pulled with all their might as they yanked it across the deck. They formed a line, each man handing off the chain links to the next, as it made its way along the length of the ship.

Seavig rushed to the bow and looked down into the waters below and spotted a huge iron hook affixed to the stone wall of the shore; covered in rust, it had clearly stood there for thousands of years. His ancestors had affixed it there for times like this, times when their harbor was invaded, when their nation was in danger. It had, after all, always been the way of the men of Escalon to prepare for times of war. It was the same in all the major port cities, and in his own city of Esephus, too. Which was why Seavig knew exactly where to look.

Seavig, holding the chain, looked down at the steep drop and knew there was no other choice. Someone had to affix it, and he did not want to leave such a risky job to his men. It was now or never.

Seavig let out a cry as he jumped through the air, holding the chain, and fell twenty feet toward the black harbor below. A moment later he was submerged in the icy waters, losing his breath, still clutching the chain as he kicked his feet, struggling to surface.

Finally, he did, gasping for air, shaking off the shock of the cold, and began to swim as best he could while dragging the heavy chain.

Seavig, gasping with every breath, the wound in his arm bleeding into the water, killing him, finally reached the sea wall. He clawed at the slippery, moss-covered stone and fell back into the water too many times. He reached up again and caught a finger in a crack, jammed his boot in an indent and pulled his way up, still holding the chain, freezing, blood oozing from his wound.

Seavig managed to claw his way up several feet, arms shaking, knowing he was in danger of falling at any moment. He looked up and saw the huge hook above, yet it was feet away. It might as well have been a mile away.

Come on , he willed himself. Don’t give up.

Seavig reached with the chain high overhead, hands shaking as he tried again and again to slip it over the hook. It was just too high.

Come on.

He thought of Duncan, thought of all the great warriors of Escalon, and he felt a strength rise within him, a primal strength he always knew he had. He groaned as he stretched, and finally, he slipped it over the hook. He yanked on it to make sure it was secure, and just as he did, he fell backwards, into the waters.

Duncan quickly surfaced and looked up. It was a beautiful sight. From here, all the way to the other side of the harbor, the chain stretched, hundreds of feet across, hiding just below the surface. He tested it and it snapped to, taut, spiked, menacing. It would be a thing of death for the thousands of Pandesian ships sure to follow them into the harbor.

Seavig swam to his ship as his men threw down ropes, and grabbed hold as his men pulled him up. He held on tight as his men hauled him up.

Seavig, breathing heavily, landed on deck as his men grabbed him and pulled him over, embracing him.

Now on this side of the harbor, Seavig felt protected, knowing the only way the fleet could reach him was by sailing through that chain. He looked out and was thrilled to see thousands of Pandesian ships following, all rushing to catch up with each other. They were all so tight, moving so fast, so bent on vengeance, that they would be unable to turn around in time. It would be a slaughter.

Yet he knew there was no time to celebrate yet.

“TO THE LOCKS!” he cried.

His men rushed into action, redirecting the ship as they sailed for shore. They sailed as far from the chains as they could – and he braced himself as moments later, the first unsuspecting Pandesian ship sailed right into it.

The sharp sound of cracking wood cut through the air, like lightning. Seavig watched with a feeling of awe and victory as the first Pandesian ship buckled, its soldiers looking around perplexed, wondering what they could possibly be sailing into as they looked overboard. Yet they had no time to figure it out. Within moments, the ship buckled into itself and sank, bow first. Soldiers shrieked as they fell like ants, sliding off the deck and into the waters, immediately dragged down by the currents and their heavy armor.