CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE HUNGRY RIVER
The carrack swayed madly below him. Light burned above. Fire, bodies, and debris spread across the water. Torin stumbled from side to side, sword clutched in his hand, as the Elorian warriors leaped onto his ship.
"Torin!" Bailey screamed somewhere in the distance, but he couldn't see her.
The enemy charged toward him. They wore armor of clattering scales; it reminded Torin of fish skin. Their helmets swooped downward, the visors shaped as animals--fish, wolves, and hawks. The eye-holes were large, revealing oversized, gleaming orbs of blue, green, and violet. In their left hands, they carried round shields emblazoned with a moonstar. In their right hands they swung curved swords--katanas, Torin heard his fellow soldiers call them.
Torin had begun to see the Elorians as a gentle, peaceful race. Now he saw pale demons.
He had lost his armor into the water, but he still had his shield. With a shout, he raised the triangle of iron-banded wood. Howling battle cries, an Elorian swung his katana. The blade slammed into Torin's shield, thudding into its raven sigil. Several more Elorians lunged toward him.
Fear washed over Torin, colder than the river, all-consuming. For a moment he could barely breathe, barely move. All he could do was stare at the enemy, eyes wide, a deer caught facing a pack of wolves.
I'm going to die, he thought. I'm going to die here in darkness, far from home.
His foe raised his katana again, and Torin steeled himself.
No. My father would refuse to die like this in the dark. My father would fight.
With a yowl, Torin swung his shield. Blade crashed into wood again, and splinters showered.
Torin thrust his sword.
He did not crave to kill. He had never killed an enemy. But here in the fire and smoke, instinct took over. The king had been teaching him swordplay, but all of those lessons vanished from his mind. He swung his sword in blind passion.
His blade arced and slammed against the Elorian's armor.
Silvery scales cracked and flew.
The Elorian swung his sword downward. Torin raised his shield again, blocked the blow, and thrust his own sword. The katana parried Torin's doubled-edged blade, then swung again.
The ship swayed beneath them. Fire filled the sky. All around, ships blazed and crashed together, and armies clashed. Across the deck of the Sunspear, dozens of other troops fought and died. Torin fought in a haze, shouting wordlessly, thrusting his sword again and again.
An Elorian junk drove through the water, rammed against the Sunspear several feet away, and the ship jolted. The deck sloped. Torin's foe slipped in blood and fell, yet still he lashed his katana, aiming at Torin's legs.
Torin's body moved faster than his thoughts. He leaped sideways. He swung his blade down, screaming. His sword slammed into the Elorian's chest, drove between the steel scales, and crashed into flesh.
Blood leaked between the scales.
Torin stood frozen, leaning against the blade.
The Elorian met his gaze. Fear filled the large, azure eyes . . . and then they went blank.
I killed a man, Torin thought. Oh Idar, I killed a man.
Even as others battled and screamed around him, he knelt over the Elorian. He placed his hand against the man's helmet.
YOU ARE READING
Moth
FantasíaThey say the world used to turn. They say that night would follow day in an endless dance. They say that dawn rose, dusk fell, and we worshiped both sun and stars. That was a long time ago. The dance has died. The world has fallen still. We float...
