The Mosque Hill Fortune (The Sons of Masguard, Book One)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

“Come on!” Ryder snarled to the mob surrounding her. Just as her captain had warned, the enemy ships had abandoned the carronades after the initial salvo. Much of their rigging had been shredded, along with an unthinkable number of the crew. Now the Baron’s forces poured in angry masses over the rails, swarming the deck of the Albatross with swords and zeal. Despite their numbers, her captain had ordered her to keep them away from the forward hatch. And – feet apart, long-spear held ready – that was preciselywas she was going to do. Wave upon wave of challengers had broken upon her already. Still she stood, fuming with the rage of a dedicated soldier, an obstacle that would not be moved.

The worst of it had been watching the Baron board. Marshall’s men were well-trained – the best in the fleet – but such a thing hardly mattered against a force like Von Ulric. He moved like an avalanche, plowing across the deck with an indifference that made him seem otherworldly. Awful and unnatural at the same time. The jagged scimitar in his hand was used as an afterthought to add a bit of blood to the crushed bone and pummeled flesh in his rampage. He turned so violent that he even began using his teeth.

Her subordinates didn’t have a hope against him.

Ryder squared her stance.

Do not break position, her captain had said.

Never one to disregard an order, the avid lieutenant hefted her spear. If she couldn’t assist her crewmates by bringing herself to the Baron, she’d just have to bring the Baron to her. Stepping forward, she hurled the spear, whipping her entire body into the throw. In an impossibly straight and powerful line, it traveled the length of the deck, bound for the Baron’s back. It was unlikely that the spear alone would kill him. But it would certainly get his attention.

Or it would have, had it reached its destination.

From the corner of her eye, Ryder caught a blur of scars and ornamental coins, rusty fur. Then the spear was smashed, struck from its flight by the crushing blow of a steel mace – a weapon held in the rather delicate hands of a long-limbed coyote. Landing in a crouch, the lithe Kathkan came to her feet as the Baron turned. Though his teeth were bared with an eye for revenge, she sent him back to his slaughter with an unhurried wave of her hand.

The two canines made eye contact.

Then the mob surrounding Ryder found the courage to rush her.

Forced to defend her position at close range, Ryder drew her sword, cursing the pointless loss of a weapon that could easier have kept them at a distance, away from the hatch. She whirled and swiped, covering as much distance as she could with every movement until the area was clear and the Baron’s men lay prone at her feet. Ryder rolled them each from the hatch with a shove of her boot.

All the while, the coyote stared her down, seeming intrigued.

The battle roaring around her, she crossed the deck in languid strides, stopping just short of Ryder’s sword. There, she gave the lieutenant an approving once-over.

“Seeing you fight, I feel obligated to ask whether you wouldn’t be interested in a job,” she said in an accented tone.

Ryder felt her lips pulling back into a snarl. “Not remotely.”

“A shame.” The Kathkan shrugged, sounding bored. “But I expected as much. You Secorans are so predictable.”

With a lightning flick of her arm, Ryder’s sword shot forward and over the coyote’s face, leaving another future scar on her cheek. She followed the blade with her fist, knocking the startled Kathkan back on the deck.