The wood was still smouldering where the cannonball had hit them. That was how little time it took for the Al-Safina to transform from an innocent three-master to a full-blown battleship.
The flaps of the hidden gunports were opened. Cannons were rolled to the port side. A pyramidal construction of heavy iron balls ready to be fired. Half of the crew had scimitars on their belt, the other arrows laced in poison, in case the Silvermark monsters came so close they threatened to board their ship.
The Prince had retreated to the captain's cabin where he would lie low until the mess was over. Or until a Silvermark accent would drive him through the small window in the cabin and into the water. If the Al-Safina went down, the sea offered his only chance of survival. As small as it was.
In the meantime, they were his only hope.
"All ready. Gunpowder!" shouted One.
Sci scooped powder from the iron-laced bucket by her side. Not too much, not too little. A shovel-full was enough. The weeks of training had prepared her for this, her hands knowing the movements better than her panic-filled brain that would rather jump into the water and swim back to Alburkhan.
All she had to do was follow One's instructions. "Wad!"
With all her force, she propped a ball of old rags into the barrel of the gun, assuring maximum pressure.
"Aim!"
She closed one eye, focusing on the curved flattening of the bow just above the waterline. This was where the five-master—like any ship—was most vulnerable. This was where her ball of fire and steel should penetrate Silvermark wood.
"Gunners out! Runners in!"
As Sci jumped onto her feet and staggered backwards, Esen took her place. With a long stick, its end a candle that could burn for hours on end.
"FIRE!" One shouted.
The moment Esen's stick touched the hole in the cannon, she counted under her breath. One. Two. Esen rejoined her. Three. Four. The flame tucked behind his hand, protecting it from the elements. Five.
An ear-shattering bang. The cannon leapt backwards, the chains with which it was attached to the ship clattered and rattled.
Instantly, a cloud of thick black smoke blinded her. She held her breath to avoid having to cough and lose her focus.
"Did we hit anything?" Six asked.
"No," One said, unable to hide his disappointment. "Bring her closer, Ten."
Ten protested. "But, One—"
"I'm aware of the dangers, Ten," One said. "They already hit us once. We have to take them down. Otherwise, they'll chase us across the sea. And we don't have the power of the wind at our disposal."
Esen leant over to her, whispering, "Except that we do."
She shot him a look of disdain. "Don't say that."
"You saved us once, a few weeks ago. I know it was you."
"The Gods sent the wind—not me."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"DUCK!" shouted One.
Sci flopped down on her stomach as a second whooshing sound of doom cut through the air at a much faster speed than before. She barely had the chance to cover her already ringing ears. The deck shook violently. Her heart appeared to stop as the thundering explosion vibrated through her entire body.
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The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
