Mark
Other people were going to kill each other but that was not a concern for Mark. In fact, he sort of hoped for it. Going at each other would keep them from coming after him. His only concern was making sufficient use of this small respite.
But seeing the ship coming towards them didn’t only have a positive impact on Mark. The tiny spark of hope he felt bubbling within him also interrupted his single-minded focus. They weren’t out of the woods yet and he had to keep pushing on.
He grimaced as he felt the calluses on his hands ripping, exposing unprotected skin. His arms and shoulder felt like they were ready to fall off. But he had kept going. Single-mindedly moving the oars had been the only thing he could do.
“Atissa, please take the oars,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” The girl was surprised but responded immediately.
Mark sagged, letting his body slide off the bench, trying to find a position that would somehow relieve his arms of their own weight. He felt something wet under him. Looking down, he realized that it was blood. Trickles of the red fluid originating from Iristos’ body had crawled through the boat.
Mark looked away. Not now, he thought. Later.
Iristos wasn’t moving. The hand had dropped from the wound.
“Should we head for the gally?” Atissa asked.
Mark looked up. “No, go straight past it. If the Assanaten decide to continue their pursuit, I want that ship between us and them.”
“You mean, we should row away if they start fighting?” Atissa asked. “I still have arrows left. And we have the Assanaten’s arrows. We can help if the Riadnian cover us.”
She was almost enthusiastic. The hope combined with her amazing success earlier probably fueled it.
Let’s kill that spark quickly, Mark thought.
He held up his bloody hands, then pointed to the floor. “I think we paid our price. Let’s make sure we fulfill the purpose of this journey. For everybody’s sake.”
Atissa frowned. It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing as her eyes traced the lines of blood running below her feet back to Iristos' body behind her.
The oars dropped as she covered her mouth, muzzling a cry.
Damn it, Mark thought, scooting forward and grabbing Atissa’s knee.
He shook her. “Hey, focus!” he shouted, as insistently as he could. “There’s no time for this right now. We’re not safe yet. And you’re the only one who can get us there!”
Atissa seemed to be in some kind of shock. “The arrows…and mine…”
Mark had no idea what she was mumbling about. Still covering her mouth with her hand, she was staring down at Iristos’ unmoving body. Was she starting to shake?
He looked back. The Assanaten had stopped. Mark could only guess that they were undecided about how to proceed with the gally coming their way. Mark had enough historical knowledge to know that a galley was a warship.
But on the other hand, their pursuers had those flamethrower guys. Probably not something one should face while aboard a wooden ship. Mark only knew he wanted to be a safe distance away before that experiment occurred.
But that depended on the young girl currently sitting across from him, slouched over in despair. Should he shake her again? Or shout at her? He had no idea what to do.
What would have worked on Anne? No, he thought, they’re too different. Anne would have kept going and crashed later alone in her room behind a closed door.
Pushing through the pain, he climbed to his knees before her. He grabbed both her shoulders and turned her to face him.
She was sobbing.
It was kind of gross. Fluid streamed from her eyes and nose. Mark instantly dismissed the idea of slapping her face.
Atissa heaved heavily. It seemed as if she was trying to get a hold of herself. To force the crying to stop.
“I… am sorry!” The words came out between desperate sobs.
You should be for cracking right now, Mark thought. He was aware that he had probably accumulated a sizable amount of trauma himself and he wasn’t looking forward to the coming nights. His past had taught him to hold it together under adverse circumstances. At least as long as the sun was up and there was work to be done.
He reached out, ignoring his body’s protest. As Atissa leaned forwards, opening her arms, he pushed the oars into her hands.
“Cry. Let it all out,” Mark said, looking into her eyes. “But row! Three of us are still alive. Iristos brought us this far. We cannot let his death be in vain. You need to get us the rest of the way. So, row. Row!”
Atissa shrank back, looking shocked. But it worked. She started moving. After a few pulls she began to sob. Not trying to suppress it anymore, the tears flew down her cheeks in a continuous stream.
Mark patted her leg. “Good girl. Tatros would be proud.” He dropped back in relief.
Checking the position of the other vessels again, he noticed that the Assanaten had made up their mind. They had resumed the chase. Mark could only wonder what motivated these people. Not that he cared. He just wanted to get away from this insane place.
Judging by the lead they had gained and the speed of the Riadnian galley coming towards them, they could make it.
The Assanaten boats were increasing the distance between each other. Did they intend to take the galley from two sides? It seemed crazy. The deck of the galley was much higher. They would have to fight their way up there.
Mark shook his head. He had to admit that he knew nothing about ancient ship-to-ship battles. Actually, I don’t know anything about naval warfare, period, he thought. There was no way for him to judge their pursuers’ intentions. But if their focus was on the galley, they would use that to get away.
“We need to warn the Riadnian,” Atissa said.
She sniffed. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red. But she seemed to have regained some control over herself.
“Yes,” Mark said. “Our current course will let us pass them on the right. I will shout a warning in passing. With two boats behind us, we can’t risk hanging around. If one engages the galley and the other sneaks by to come after us, we are done.”
Atissa nodded. “Could you… could you help me?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t want to stop rowing,” she said. “Could you wipe my face?” She clearly was uncomfortable asking.
Mark examined the girl. She seemed small, sitting in the middle of the bench moving the long oars.
How old was she again? He thought for a moment before settling on between fourteen and fifteen. During the last week, she had fought and run for her life multiple times. She had been forced to kill more than once. And somebody she had known had died right next to her, his blood running between her feet.
He forced himself up on his knees again, suppressing a groan. “Of course.”
Children could absorb a lot. He knew. He had seen it, experienced it. It made him want to reach out to Atissa. He wrestled with the impulse. She’s not my responsibility, he thought. Not this time. He made sure his face didn’t give away his true feelings. He had a lifetime of training in that.
Mark ripped off a strip of the blanket bundle Atissa had used as a shield. A couple of arrows had cut through it, and it came apart without much effort.
Wiping the girl’s face was awkward as her whole body constantly moved back and forth. But they got there eventually.
“Thanks. It’s fine,” Atissa said after a while.
Mark wasn’t completely happy with the result, but he let it go, allowing his exhaustion to win. It would take a lot more than a face wipe to make her presentable. Against all likelihood, he hoped to find some tweezers in this primitive world.
“Hey there!”
The shout had come from the galley. As he had tended to Atissa he hadn’t noticed that they’d moved pretty close.
Mark could see figures dispersed on the deck. Two men stood in the bow. One of them wore a helmet that covered his face.
“Hey there,” the other man shouted. “Who are you?”
Time to perform, Mark thought. He pulled his stick from below Iristos and rose carefully. His arms and shoulders screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
“I’m master Mark Douglas,” he shouted, trying to strike a pose. “I bring a warning from the people of the Half-Moon Valley. The Assanaten have invaded. They’re hunting us in those boats.” He pointed at the approaching pursuers.
The man who had challenged them turned to his helmed companion. They only exchanged a couple of words Mark couldn’t hear.
The man turned back to them after a moment. “Come along. We will take you on board.”
Not a good idea, Mark thought.
“We promised Ipras to bring his message to Tepras and to warn the people of Riadnos. We cannot stop. We are being hunted by two boats full of warriors and an Assanaten fire magi!”
That got their attention. Their heads whipped around toward the Assanaten boats.
Mark had put as much information into these few sentences as he could, hoping the names would be recognized and that his audience would realize the urgency of the impending threat.
After exchanging a few more words the helmed man walked quickly towards the stern of the ship, barking out orders along the way.
The other man turned back to them. “You can pass. Tell the warriors in the harbor that Dorios wants you to report to the anax,” he shouted. “Remember, Dorios of Riadnos!”
Mark replied with a bow, committing the name to memory.
The galley sped up. In passing Mark saw the oarsmen sitting in the undecked side of the ship right below the railing. There were over twenty men in a single line of rowers. Doubling that for both sides and adding the men he could see on deck, the crew consisted of at least fifty people. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep the Assanaten off his back.
Then they were passed.
“I’ve never seen a galley before,” Atissa said. There was a hint of amazement in her voice.
“Yeah,” Mark said tiredly. “Looks a bit too flammable.”
“Uncle Tatros says, the Helcenaean are great shipbuilders and seamen, only second to the Crimson People.”
Mark took a seat, carefully pushing Hermistos legs to the site to make himself more comfortable.
Atissa was getting visibly tired too. Rowing was hard work, especially if you weren’t used to it. She was clearly very fit, but she was also small and not particularly muscular. Based on his observations of the women at both Ipras’ and Tepras’ homes, she was below average in stature even for this place.
He considered throwing Iristos overboard. Glancing over to his body, he tried to estimate what the large man’s weight might be. He dismissed the train of thought as fruitless. In all likelihood, Atissa wouldn’t react well to it.
He looked back toward the other vessels. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that he was about to see something nobody had witnessed in hundreds of years. Countless historians, archaeologists, and enthusiasts would pay to be in his place. Sadly, he had no way to commercialize this opportunity.
“Your uncle said he fought against Riadnos during the last war?” he asked. “Could that become a problem when we meet this anax?”
Atissa thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. He was just a mercenary. He said there were a lot of Helcenaean fighting for Saggab back then.”
Mark nodded. “I’m trying to anticipate potential problems when we meet the rulers of Riadnos.” Atissa might have grown up a hillbilly, but she was a sharp kid. It would be more efficient if she understood his intentions. “I had hoped to meet Tepras and the others first and have him navigate those encounters. But now it could be that we will be sent on to see the officials right away.”
“I understand,” Atissa said.
In the growing distance, the galley and the boats started to exchange arrows. In some strange way, it reminded Mark of a sports game. A fan would probably disagree, but he had always found the stadium experience even more boring than watching on a screen. The latter at least had close-ups, replays in slow motion, and a running commentary.
“Do you think there will be mistrust because you’re not Helcenaean?” Mark asked, carefully watching Atissa’s expression.
She frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “But uncle Tatros would have said something if they thought it might be a problem. And I’m with you. They say magi command respect everywhere. And fear.”
Checking their position, Mark saw that they were about to reach the end of the second lake. He could already see the opening, framed by cliffs.
In the other direction, the ensuing battle seemed to be missing the action a modern person was used to seeing in films. The rowing vessels lacked speed. And of course, there’s no soundtrack, Mark thought, smiling to himself.
As they edged closer to perceived safety, he allowed himself a little humor in a desperate attempt to relieve some of his stress. The last couple of days had been both mentally and physically draining to an extreme. He had actually needed to run for his life.
He yawned.
A stream of flames crossed the water, hitting the galley in the side.
Atissa let out a shriek while Mark just froze, staring.
The flames went into the open side of the hull and licked out the other a second later. Screams carried across the waters. Burning figures fell or jumped from the ship.
The continuous stream of flames swept along the side of the galley. More screams. More burning figures. Halfway down, the stream ebbed off.
For a long moment, the galley's oars stopped moving. Then the ship turned hard left. Somebody must have moved the rudder. Even with the oars still and half of the oarsmen taken out, the momentum carried the warship forward.
A couple of oars on the right started moving again. It could not be more than five or six at the very end of the row. The bow of the ship turned to face the flamethrower’s boat.
“This is crazy. They’re going straight for the flamethrower!” Mark couldn’t understand what the person in charge of that ship was thinking.
“They want to ram,” Atissa shouted. “They’re just far enough away from the boat to make the angle!”
Mark watched with a grim expression, as the Assanaten’s boat tried to get out of the lane of the much larger galley. They wouldn’t make it. Whoever commanded that ship knew what he was doing. Smoke started to rise from inside the front half of the galley. A lot of it.
The three very last oars on the left started moving again, making up for some of the speed that had been lost in the turning. The galley pushed forward.
To Mark’s modern eyes, it couldn’t be called fast. To him, a slow inevitability was playing out.
Three boat lengths away, a second stream of flames was spat out from the boat. This time it arced in a bow-like formation, as if shooting out of a hose held at a forty-five-degree angle. The flames cut through the smoke and hit the deck of the ship, moving back and forth.
More screams.
The magi apparently tried to hit the stern of the ship but had a hard time getting the angle right.
“He’s trying to kill the helmsman!” Atissa shouted.
Mark nodded. She was right. The Assanaten were desperately trying to evade the ramming. If the magi burned whoever was controlling the rudder, they might have a chance.
Then the galley’s bow crashed into the boat.
Or rather, it crushed right through the boat, thick clouds of smoke rising from its bow.
Mark felt cold.
“Atissa, row, please.”
Mark
Other people were going to kill each other but that was not a concern for Mark. In fact, he sort of hoped for it. Going at each other would keep them from coming after him. His only concern was making sufficient use of this small respite.
But seeing the ship coming towards them didn’t only have a positive impact on Mark. The tiny spark of hope he felt bubbling within him also interrupted his single-minded focus. They weren’t out of the woods yet and he had to keep pushing on.
He grimaced as he felt the calluses on his hands ripping, exposing unprotected skin. His arms and shoulder felt like they were ready to fall off. But he had kept going. Single-mindedly moving the oars had been the only thing he could do.
“Atissa, please take the oars,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” The girl was surprised but responded immediately.
Mark sagged, letting his body slide off the bench, trying to find a position that would somehow relieve his arms of their own weight. He felt something wet under him. Looking down, he realized that it was blood. Trickles of the red fluid originating from Iristos’ body had crawled through the boat.
Mark looked away. Not now, he thought. Later.
Iristos wasn’t moving. The hand had dropped from the wound.
“Should we head for the gally?” Atissa asked.
Mark looked up. “No, go straight past it. If the Assanaten decide to continue their pursuit, I want that ship between us and them.”
“You mean, we should row away if they start fighting?” Atissa asked. “I still have arrows left. And we have the Assanaten’s arrows. We can help if the Riadnian cover us.”
She was almost enthusiastic. The hope combined with her amazing success earlier probably fueled it.
Let’s kill that spark quickly, Mark thought.
He held up his bloody hands, then pointed to the floor. “I think we paid our price. Let’s make sure we fulfill the purpose of this journey. For everybody’s sake.”
Atissa frowned. It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing as her eyes traced the lines of blood running below her feet back to Iristos' body behind her.
The oars dropped as she covered her mouth, muzzling a cry.
Damn it, Mark thought, scooting forward and grabbing Atissa’s knee.
He shook her. “Hey, focus!” he shouted, as insistently as he could. “There’s no time for this right now. We’re not safe yet. And you’re the only one who can get us there!”
Atissa seemed to be in some kind of shock. “The arrows…and mine…”
Mark had no idea what she was mumbling about. Still covering her mouth with her hand, she was staring down at Iristos’ unmoving body. Was she starting to shake?
He looked back. The Assanaten had stopped. Mark could only guess that they were undecided about how to proceed with the gally coming their way. Mark had enough historical knowledge to know that a galley was a warship.
But on the other hand, their pursuers had those flamethrower guys. Probably not something one should face while aboard a wooden ship. Mark only knew he wanted to be a safe distance away before that experiment occurred.
But that depended on the young girl currently sitting across from him, slouched over in despair. Should he shake her again? Or shout at her? He had no idea what to do.
What would have worked on Anne? No, he thought, they’re too different. Anne would have kept going and crashed later alone in her room behind a closed door.
Pushing through the pain, he climbed to his knees before her. He grabbed both her shoulders and turned her to face him.
She was sobbing.
It was kind of gross. Fluid streamed from her eyes and nose. Mark instantly dismissed the idea of slapping her face.
Atissa heaved heavily. It seemed as if she was trying to get a hold of herself. To force the crying to stop.
“I… am sorry!” The words came out between desperate sobs.
You should be for cracking right now, Mark thought. He was aware that he had probably accumulated a sizable amount of trauma himself and he wasn’t looking forward to the coming nights. His past had taught him to hold it together under adverse circumstances. At least as long as the sun was up and there was work to be done.
He reached out, ignoring his body’s protest. As Atissa leaned forwards, opening her arms, he pushed the oars into her hands.
“Cry. Let it all out,” Mark said, looking into her eyes. “But row! Three of us are still alive. Iristos brought us this far. We cannot let his death be in vain. You need to get us the rest of the way. So, row. Row!”
Atissa shrank back, looking shocked. But it worked. She started moving. After a few pulls she began to sob. Not trying to suppress it anymore, the tears flew down her cheeks in a continuous stream.
Mark patted her leg. “Good girl. Tatros would be proud.” He dropped back in relief.
Checking the position of the other vessels again, he noticed that the Assanaten had made up their mind. They had resumed the chase. Mark could only wonder what motivated these people. Not that he cared. He just wanted to get away from this insane place.
Judging by the lead they had gained and the speed of the Riadnian galley coming towards them, they could make it.
The Assanaten boats were increasing the distance between each other. Did they intend to take the galley from two sides? It seemed crazy. The deck of the galley was much higher. They would have to fight their way up there.
Mark shook his head. He had to admit that he knew nothing about ancient ship-to-ship battles. Actually, I don’t know anything about naval warfare, period, he thought. There was no way for him to judge their pursuers’ intentions. But if their focus was on the galley, they would use that to get away.
“We need to warn the Riadnian,” Atissa said.
She sniffed. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red. But she seemed to have regained some control over herself.
“Yes,” Mark said. “Our current course will let us pass them on the right. I will shout a warning in passing. With two boats behind us, we can’t risk hanging around. If one engages the galley and the other sneaks by to come after us, we are done.”
Atissa nodded. “Could you… could you help me?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t want to stop rowing,” she said. “Could you wipe my face?” She clearly was uncomfortable asking.
Mark examined the girl. She seemed small, sitting in the middle of the bench moving the long oars.
How old was she again? He thought for a moment before settling on between fourteen and fifteen. During the last week, she had fought and run for her life multiple times. She had been forced to kill more than once. And somebody she had known had died right next to her, his blood running between her feet.
He forced himself up on his knees again, suppressing a groan. “Of course.”
Children could absorb a lot. He knew. He had seen it, experienced it. It made him want to reach out to Atissa. He wrestled with the impulse. She’s not my responsibility, he thought. Not this time. He made sure his face didn’t give away his true feelings. He had a lifetime of training in that.
Mark ripped off a strip of the blanket bundle Atissa had used as a shield. A couple of arrows had cut through it, and it came apart without much effort.
Wiping the girl’s face was awkward as her whole body constantly moved back and forth. But they got there eventually.
“Thanks. It’s fine,” Atissa said after a while.
Mark wasn’t completely happy with the result, but he let it go, allowing his exhaustion to win. It would take a lot more than a face wipe to make her presentable. Against all likelihood, he hoped to find some tweezers in this primitive world.
“Hey there!”
The shout had come from the galley. As he had tended to Atissa he hadn’t noticed that they’d moved pretty close.
Mark could see figures dispersed on the deck. Two men stood in the bow. One of them wore a helmet that covered his face.
“Hey there,” the other man shouted. “Who are you?”
Time to perform, Mark thought. He pulled his stick from below Iristos and rose carefully. His arms and shoulders screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
“I’m master Mark Douglas,” he shouted, trying to strike a pose. “I bring a warning from the people of the Half-Moon Valley. The Assanaten have invaded. They’re hunting us in those boats.” He pointed at the approaching pursuers.
The man who had challenged them turned to his helmed companion. They only exchanged a couple of words Mark couldn’t hear.
The man turned back to them after a moment. “Come along. We will take you on board.”
Not a good idea, Mark thought.
“We promised Ipras to bring his message to Tepras and to warn the people of Riadnos. We cannot stop. We are being hunted by two boats full of warriors and an Assanaten fire magi!”
That got their attention. Their heads whipped around toward the Assanaten boats.
Mark had put as much information into these few sentences as he could, hoping the names would be recognized and that his audience would realize the urgency of the impending threat.
After exchanging a few more words the helmed man walked quickly towards the stern of the ship, barking out orders along the way.
The other man turned back to them. “You can pass. Tell the warriors in the harbor that Dorios wants you to report to the anax,” he shouted. “Remember, Dorios of Riadnos!”
Mark replied with a bow, committing the name to memory.
The galley sped up. In passing Mark saw the oarsmen sitting in the undecked side of the ship right below the railing. There were over twenty men in a single line of rowers. Doubling that for both sides and adding the men he could see on deck, the crew consisted of at least fifty people. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep the Assanaten off his back.
Then they were passed.
“I’ve never seen a galley before,” Atissa said. There was a hint of amazement in her voice.
“Yeah,” Mark said tiredly. “Looks a bit too flammable.”
“Uncle Tatros says, the Helcenaean are great shipbuilders and seamen, only second to the Crimson People.”
Mark took a seat, carefully pushing Hermistos legs to the site to make himself more comfortable.
Atissa was getting visibly tired too. Rowing was hard work, especially if you weren’t used to it. She was clearly very fit, but she was also small and not particularly muscular. Based on his observations of the women at both Ipras’ and Tepras’ homes, she was below average in stature even for this place.
He considered throwing Iristos overboard. Glancing over to his body, he tried to estimate what the large man’s weight might be. He dismissed the train of thought as fruitless. In all likelihood, Atissa wouldn’t react well to it.
He looked back toward the other vessels. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that he was about to see something nobody had witnessed in hundreds of years. Countless historians, archaeologists, and enthusiasts would pay to be in his place. Sadly, he had no way to commercialize this opportunity.
“Your uncle said he fought against Riadnos during the last war?” he asked. “Could that become a problem when we meet this anax?”
Atissa thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. He was just a mercenary. He said there were a lot of Helcenaean fighting for Saggab back then.”
Mark nodded. “I’m trying to anticipate potential problems when we meet the rulers of Riadnos.” Atissa might have grown up a hillbilly, but she was a sharp kid. It would be more efficient if she understood his intentions. “I had hoped to meet Tepras and the others first and have him navigate those encounters. But now it could be that we will be sent on to see the officials right away.”
“I understand,” Atissa said.
In the growing distance, the galley and the boats started to exchange arrows. In some strange way, it reminded Mark of a sports game. A fan would probably disagree, but he had always found the stadium experience even more boring than watching on a screen. The latter at least had close-ups, replays in slow motion, and a running commentary.
“Do you think there will be mistrust because you’re not Helcenaean?” Mark asked, carefully watching Atissa’s expression.
She frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “But uncle Tatros would have said something if they thought it might be a problem. And I’m with you. They say magi command respect everywhere. And fear.”
Checking their position, Mark saw that they were about to reach the end of the second lake. He could already see the opening, framed by cliffs.
In the other direction, the ensuing battle seemed to be missing the action a modern person was used to seeing in films. The rowing vessels lacked speed. And of course, there’s no soundtrack, Mark thought, smiling to himself.
As they edged closer to perceived safety, he allowed himself a little humor in a desperate attempt to relieve some of his stress. The last couple of days had been both mentally and physically draining to an extreme. He had actually needed to run for his life.
He yawned.
A stream of flames crossed the water, hitting the galley in the side.
Atissa let out a shriek while Mark just froze, staring.
The flames went into the open side of the hull and licked out the other a second later. Screams carried across the waters. Burning figures fell or jumped from the ship.
The continuous stream of flames swept along the side of the galley. More screams. More burning figures. Halfway down, the stream ebbed off.
For a long moment, the galley's oars stopped moving. Then the ship turned hard left. Somebody must have moved the rudder. Even with the oars still and half of the oarsmen taken out, the momentum carried the warship forward.
A couple of oars on the right started moving again. It could not be more than five or six at the very end of the row. The bow of the ship turned to face the flamethrower’s boat.
“This is crazy. They’re going straight for the flamethrower!” Mark couldn’t understand what the person in charge of that ship was thinking.
“They want to ram,” Atissa shouted. “They’re just far enough away from the boat to make the angle!”
Mark watched with a grim expression, as the Assanaten’s boat tried to get out of the lane of the much larger galley. They wouldn’t make it. Whoever commanded that ship knew what he was doing. Smoke started to rise from inside the front half of the galley. A lot of it.
The three very last oars on the left started moving again, making up for some of the speed that had been lost in the turning. The galley pushed forward.
To Mark’s modern eyes, it couldn’t be called fast. To him, a slow inevitability was playing out.
Three boat lengths away, a second stream of flames was spat out from the boat. This time it arced in a bow-like formation, as if shooting out of a hose held at a forty-five-degree angle. The flames cut through the smoke and hit the deck of the ship, moving back and forth.
More screams.
The magi apparently tried to hit the stern of the ship but had a hard time getting the angle right.
“He’s trying to kill the helmsman!” Atissa shouted.
Mark nodded. She was right. The Assanaten were desperately trying to evade the ramming. If the magi burned whoever was controlling the rudder, they might have a chance.
Then the galley’s bow crashed into the boat.
Or rather, it crushed right through the boat, thick clouds of smoke rising from its bow.
Mark felt cold.
“Atissa, row, please.”
