A Reign of Steel

  “Help me,” Thor said, reaching up for him, upside down.

  “And why should I?”

  “I must see my mother,” Thorgrin said. “I have not come all this way to die so close.”

  “And yet you lost in battle,” the warrior said.

  “But I lost to myself.”

  He shook his head.

  “I am sorry,” the warrior said. “You are still not strong enough.”

  Suddenly, the warrior let go.

  Thor shrieked as he felt himself falling backwards, into the air, end over end, his screams echoing off the canyon as he plummeted towards the ocean, the rocks, and the sure death below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The dawn broke unusually calm for the Upper Isles, as Reece, Stara, Matus, and Srog stood on board, facing east, watching the first sun creep over the horizon and greet the day. Behind them stood Commander Wolfson and his dozens of men, all on deck, all with weapons at the ready, all watching the horizon. The day was cold but surprisingly cloudless, the sky streaked with amber, and as the early morning darkness began to fade and the sun began to light the sky, Reece wondered what everyone else was surely wondering: when would the Upper Islanders attack?

  The tension was so thick, Reece could feel it in the air. Now that dawn had broken, now that the stormy night was behind them, Reece was certain it was only a matter of time until Tirus’s ships arrived from the open sea and flanked them from behind. They had decided to dig in, and Reece knew their cause would be a losing one. With a mere dozen ships left of Gwendolyn’s fleet, there was no way they could defeat what would surely be dozens of ships, trapping them here in this harbor.

  Reece examined the shoreline, and he saw the silhouettes of hundreds of Tirus’s soldiers lined up, arrows at the ready, prepared to fire flame onto the fleet if they came into range. They were trapped.

  Srog stepped forward, hands on his hips, looking out at the sky. He turned and looked back over his shoulder, at the open sea, at the direction from which Tirus’s ships would surely approach.

  “We must hold our position,” Srog said. “And yet, at the same time, if we sit here we shall be killed.”

  Srog stood, thinking, and Reece stepped forward and surveyed the shores, thinking too. Reece knew Srog was right; he knew that something had to be done.

  “What would your sister have us do?” Srog asked Reece.

  Reece closed his eyes, thinking.

  “She would not want us to wait and be killed,” he answered. “She would want us to attack—just as my father would want us to attack. He always cherished the element of surprise. A smaller force attacking a bigger one: that is something they would not expect. If we are all to go down, we should go down boldly, attacking, with swords raised high. Not sitting here, waiting to be destroyed.”

  Reece opened his eyes and examined the shoreline.

  “And since we can’t sail out to sea, my father would want us to attack the shore.”

  Srog examined the shore, perplexed.

  “But as we get into range, their arrows will set us all aflame,” he protested.

  Reece nodded.

  “But if we move quickly enough, they cannot get all of us.”

  “And if we turn and sail out to sea?” Srog asked. “We could confront Tirus’s fleet.”

  Matus stepped forward and shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “My brother’s fleet dwarfs ours. They are well armed and well trained. It would be a slaughter.”

  “It seems it will be a slaughter either way,” Srog observed.

  Reece examined their options, staring, thinking hard. He came to a conclusion.

  “Better to die on land than at sea,” Reece said.

  As they stood there, debating, suddenly a sailor high up on the mast called down urgently.

  “My lord! They have arrived!”

  All heads turned, and they rushed to the far side of the ship and looked out: the horizon was filled with the outline of ships, all sailing right for them. Tirus’s fleet, on way to trap them in the harbor. To sandwich them between their ships and the shore.

  Reece could feel the vice getting tighter.

  Wolfson nodded, decided.

  “Sail to the shore!” he commanded. “It is time to attack!”

  *

  Reece ducked as a flaming arrow sailed by his head, heart pounding as it just missed. All around him the boats filled with the panicked shouts of men, as their fleet sailed for shore, right into the army of flaming arrows flying for them. To speed up their attack, dozens of men rowed with all their might, trying to bring the ships faster to shore.

  It was a slow, grueling effort, despite the crashing waves and current helping them toward land, and all around Reece, the air was punctuated by the screams of men, as flaming arrow after flaming arrow pierced them—and worse, began to pierce the sails and the wood.

  Reece and the men scurried about, alternately rushing to put out the flames as fresh arrows landed, and firing back. Reece glanced out at the other ships, and he saw that some of them were on fire, the arrows having hit the sails too high, sending their ships into flame. Reece looked around with dread as he noticed that already several of their ships were flame, a flaming flotilla sailing into shore. Reece wondered how much of their fleet, if any, would even be left by the time they reached shores. If they ever did.

  Reece turned and looked out at the sea, at their escape route, and spotted Tirus’s fleet getting closer; he knew that they had to make shore. It was just a hundred yards—but they would be bloody.

  Beside Reece, Stara fought bravely, not even ducking as she stood at the rail and fired off arrow after arrow at the shoreline, taking out men left and right. As a flaming arrow whizzed by Reece’s head, he dropped his oar, stood, grabbed a bow, and joined her, firing back. He landed a perfect shot, from nearly a hundred yards, and he heard the cry of one of Tirus’s men in the distance and watched him drop to the sand.

  An arrow landed a few feet from Reece, lodging into a sail, and the flame began to spread on deck; Reece grabbed a pail of water and doused it immediately. It hissed and smoked and luckily he put it out—yet Reece did not know how many times they would be so lucky.

  “Lower the sails!” the captain commanded.

  Sailors rushed to execute his command, just as a flaming arrow hit one; they pulled faster and faster, Reece running over and joining them, and as the canvas lowered, Matus ran up and patted out the flames with his bare hand. He did it just in time, before the sail lit up entirely; leaving a large, black hole in its center.

  Reece felt the speed of their ship drop, and Srog looked at the lowered sails with worry.

  “It will cut out speed!” he yelled to the captain.

  “I don’t care!” the captain yelled back. “It’s my ship! And we’re not going down in flames!”

  Reece, too, worried about the slower pace—and yet he realized it was a smart move, as the barrage of flaming arrows grew thicker and as more ships in their fleet began to catch fire. The sails just made them too vulnerable.

  “LOWER THE SAILS! PASS IT ON!” the captain shouted out to the ship beside them, and their sailors yelled out his order to the next ship, and they to the next ship. One at a time, all the sails in his fleet began to lower. One of the ships could not lower them in time, and Reece flinched at the awful sound of his men shouting as they lit up in a great ball of flames.

  As they got neared, now about seventy yards from shore, the currents were getting stronger, pulling them in amidst the crashing waves, and they regained their momentum. They passed the jetty on their right, and Reece spotted a group of soldiers, hidden amidst the rocks, suddenly rise and take aim for them.

  Reece saw that Stara was in their line of fire, and that she had no idea, as she stood proudly and continued to fire for the shore; he turned and ran for her.

  “Stara!” he cried.

  Reece sprinted across the deck and dove, tackling her, driving her down to the deck. They hit the
deck hard, Stara crying out as she impacted the wood. Yet as they sank, an arrow sailed by exactly where she had just been. The arrow pierced Reece’s shoulder instead, and he shouted out in pain.

  Reece lay there, groaning, looking at Stara, who looked at him, equally wide-eyed. Reece could tell by her expression that she realized he had just saved her life.

  He wanted to talk to her, but he was in too much pain; the flaming arrow was still on fire in his shoulder, and Stara, horrified, patted it out. With each pat, it hurt Reece even more.

  “Stay still!” she cried. “I have to get this out!”

  Reece looked over, and saw the head was not all the way in, only a few inches. But still, it felt as if were piercing through his entire body.

  “I don’t know if you should—” he began.

  But before he could finish the words, Stara reached down and yanked the arrow out with all her might.

  Reece shrieked, blood gushing from the wound. It was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced; Stara quickly reached up with her palm and covered the blood. She then used her teeth to pull a strip of cloth from her shirt, and wrapped it around his shoulder several times. More arrows whizzed by overhead, and they both ducked low to miss them.

  Reece looked down, his wound throbbing, and saw his bandage seeping blood. Stara tore another strip and tied it again.

  “Sorry,” Stara said, as Reece winced. “It’s not exactly what I’d call a lady’s touch.”

  There came a great shout and a commotion on board, and Reece looked up with surprise to see several of Tirus’s men jumping on onboard as they sailed closer to shore, alongside the jetty of rocks. Reece looked up and saw they were now hardly thirty yards from shore, and Tirus’s men were lined up, all leaping for the ship. Several bounced off the slick rails and landed, screaming, into the waters; others grabbed on but were knocked off by Reece’s men. Yet enough of them managed to land on board, and to pull themselves up. They were invading the ship.

  Reece scrambled to his feet, along with Stara, raised his sword with his good arm, and raced for the invaders. He stabbed two of them before they could get over the rail and sent them hurling back into the waters. A third, though, landed beside him, and he raised his sword and swung around, aiming for Reece’s exposed neck. Reece could not turn in time to block it, and he braced himself.

  Stara lunged forward, wielding a long spear, and stabbed the soldier in the chest before he could complete his blow. The man cried as she jabbed him backwards, over the rail, over the ship, and tumbling backwards into the waters.

  Reece looked at her, stunned, and so grateful.

  “Looks like we’re even,” he said.

  She smiled back, but she did not pause. She raced past him, wielded her spear in a dazzling display, surprising Reece as she swung the ten-foot spear around again and again, using it as a staff, knocking out four more of Tirus’s men as they tried to take the ship.

  He came up beside her, looking out at the damage, all the floating bodies in the water, and both of them stood there, breathing hard, side by side.

  “Where did you learn to wield a spear like that?” he asked, impressed.

  She shrugged.

  “Women on the Upper Isles are not allowed to use swords. So I learned to wield staffs. You don’t always need a blade to kill a man.”

  Several more arrows sailed above their heads, and Reece looked out and saw how close they were to shore now. Waves crashed all around them, and their ship lifted high and was brought low, as the current brought them in at full speed now, riding the waves. They were now hardly twenty yards to shore, and hundreds of Tirus’s men, wielding swords, firing arrows, rushed forward to greet them, wading out into the waters. His men, firing back, were falling left and right. It was like walking into a wall of fire.

  Reece knew that something needed to be done fast—if they continued like this, they would all be dead before they reached shore.

  Reece had an idea; it was bold, and risky, but it was crazy enough that it just might work. He turned to the captain.

  “Can you set it aflame?” Reece shouted out.

  The captain, just feet away, turned and looked at Reece as if he were crazy. He clearly did not understand.

  “Our ship!” Reece called out. “The sails! Light them! Set the whole thing on fire!”

  “Are you mad?” the captain shouted back. “So we shall all go up in flames and die?”

  Reece shook his head, coming in close, grabbing the captain’s arm with urgency as arrows sailed by their heads.

  “We shall arrange casks of oil around the center flame. As we get closer, we will let his men board the ship. As they do, we’ll jump off the back, and when we’re safe in the waters, we’ll fire our flaming arrows and burn our ship with Tirus’s men aboard!”

  Srog, standing nearby, looked at the captain, who looked questioningly back at Srog, both of them uncertain if Reece was mad or a brilliant commander. Finally, arrows whizzing by, they both seemed to decide there was little left to lose, seeing that a certain death lay ahead of them

  The captain nodded and began barking orders. His men rushed to follow his command, placing several casks of oil around the mast, and draping the lower sails over them.

  Reece led the others in grabbing arrows, wrapping their tips in rags, and soaked them in oil, prepared for flames. They all, as he led them, abandoned their positions and ran to the rear of the ship, giving up the bow to give Tirus’s men an opening to board.

  They huddled there in the back, waiting, as the current lead them closer and closer to shore. Reece watched as Tirus’s men began to board; like ants, they began to crawl over the rails of the bow and drop down to the deck, one after the other.

  All his men, crouching, waiting, were fidgety, anxious to jump off the ship.

  “Not yet!” Reece commanded.

  More and more of Tirus’s men stumbled onto the ship, filling the deck, hundreds of men. They began to run across the ship as they spotted them, an army racing to kill them.

  “Not yet!” Reece ordered. He wanted the ship to fill with as many of them as possible.

  They came closer and closer, nearly reaching them, drawing swords, letting out battle cries, assuming that Reece’s men were afraid.

  Finally, as the closest soldier was but yards away, Reece screamed, “Fire!”

  As one, the Queen’s men fired, unleashing dozens of arrows, aflame, for the sails and the casks of oil beneath them. They did not even wait for the arrows to hit; they followed Reece’s lead and immediately turned and leapt off the rear of the ship, into the ocean.

  As Reece went flying over the edge, he grabbed Stara, and the two of them landed in the water together. The water was freezing, especially as Reece was immersed over his head, but he held onto Stara’s hand, and she to his, and while he was underwater, he heard a tremendous explosion which nearly rocked his ears.

  Reece’s feet hit bottom—luckily only about ten feet deep here—and he bounced back up and surfaced to a spectacle the likes of which he was sure he would never see again. The ship he had just abandoned was exploding, in explosion after explosion, completely aflame, as one cask after another lit up. It lit the mast and the sails and the entire deck and rail, and the whole thing went up so fast, there was no time for Tirus’s men to react.

  There came the cries of hundreds of men aflame. They leapt from the ship, on fire, but it was too late for most of them.

  Reece looked out at the scene with a great sense of satisfaction. He had taken out hundreds of Tirus’s men, and had saved all of his men on the ship. They had gone from sure death, to now having a fighting chance.

  Reece, bobbing in the waves, turned and looked to the shoreline. Grabbing Stara’s hand, he, along with all the others, swam until he was up to his chest; then they began to wade, up to their stomachs, then their knees, as they made their way in the strong tides, waves breaking all around them, for shore.

  Yet still, they had no safe haven. Hundreds more of Ti
rus’s soldiers, reinforcements, appeared on shore, and these men, swords raised, charged for them, wading out into the water to greet them.

  Reece, his shoulder throbbing, dripping wet, freezing, knee-deep in water, raised his sword with his good arm and rushed out to meet his first foe. He blocked his blow with a grunt, the man twice his size, leaning in for him, then he sidestepped him; the man rushed forward into the water, and Reece spun and slashed him.

  All around him, his men fought hand-to-hand, soldier to soldier, trying to fight for each step, to fight their way to shore. They fought fearlessly, fighting for their lives, as the air filled with the clang of metal and the cries of men. Men fell on both sides, and soon the waters ran red with blood.

  Still more of Tirus’s soldiers arrived on shore, a never-ending stream. With each step Reece gained, with each man he killed, yet another man arrived.

  There came a chorus of horns, and Reece turned to see Falus’s flotilla bearing down on them, dozens and dozens of huge warships, closing in fast. They were trapped, sandwiched between two foes.

  Reece knew he would die on this day; yet at least he took comfort in the fact that he would die on his feet, as a soldier, sword in hand, and would not stop fighting until he could not lift his arms. He might die—but he would bring down all the men that he could with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  As dawn broke, Gwendolyn stood on the bow of her ship, clutching Guwayne, looking out with dread over the gloomy ocean of the Upper Isles. Finally, land had come into view—and yet, that was not what was catching her eye.

  Instead of feeling relieved at seeing land, relieved at having made it, Gwen’s eyes settled on a much more disturbing view: she saw dozens of warships, bearing Tirus’s banners, their backs to them, all sailing for the bay, as if to attack their own island.

  At first, Gwen was confused. It made no sense. Why would they be launching an attack on their own people?