Book 1 - Chapter 3

Ciaran

When Ciaran resolved to trail Kinna into the hold, he brought his axe with him, though it made him feel childish to do so. Might as well bring a blankie with ye, while ye're at it, he chided himself. Hell, bring a stuffy, too, you great sodding infant. Still, if it meant being equipped to defend the wee lass from the crew, should any of them be less than thrilled to catch her poking around where she wasn't welcome, perhaps it wasn't the most ridiculous precaution to take.

When he caught a glimpse of the creature within the cell, all doubt of his decision vanished. He'd heard stories of the ruthless barbarism of the elves, just like every other lad what entertained dreams of venturing outside the walls and into the Wilderness beyond. Locked up or not, Ciaran would rather come to blows with an Owlbear than an elf.

"Kord's Might, Kinna!" he hissed as he rounded the corner in full, weapon drawn. The halfling jumped, a squeal of terror issuing from her mouth before she could summon the sense to stifle the sound, and the elf winced when Kinna's pebble of light half blinded him as its brilliance swelled. "What are ye doin', lass?!"

Kinna stared up at him, golden-flecked hazel eyes wide and filled with fear. "Nothing!" she squeaked. "I was just– I heard a noise and I was curious, and—"

"Not what I meant," Ciaran said, pulling her away from the cage and behind him. He tried to keep his hands from trembling - with little success. "Do ye have any idea how bloody dangerous elves are?"

She shrank under his gaze. "Yes? But, he's locked up, so I thought—"

"Locked up doesn't matter," he interrupted. "Elves are born with magic the likes of which we regular folk have ta spend years ta learn. It's not safe!" Ciaran glowered at the elf. "Captain had a reason ta warn us out o' here, after all."

"I assure you," the elf said, fixing Ciaran with a piercing blue stare now that his eyes had adjusted to the brightened light, "I have done nothing to land myself in this position, save trusting the wrong person."

Ciaran snorted, breaking eye contact before the elf could charm him. "Likely."

"Would you listen to me?" The elf snapped. "The Captain took something from me, stole an invention that I offered to sell him. He's kept me on hand to keep it in good repair. I've been imprisoned - for two years, I've just learned!" He began to shake and laugh like a madman, his pleas turning into ranting and raving in the span of a breath. "Shackled to the wall and starved, drugged to keep me silent when the ship nears a berth, beaten for sport—"

Ciaran pushed Kinna toward the stairs. "Kinna, go."

She stumbled a few steps, and then stopped. "Wait– Ciaran!"

"He's just tryin' ta manipulate us, lass."

"I'm trying to go home!" the elf cried. "Please. I beg of you: help me!"

The ship lurched. Ciaran planted his feet and shifted his center of gravity in time to support Kinna before she fell over. Someone above deck was shouting for the captain, and from the sound of it, the whole ship had woken to heed the call.

"What was that?" Kinna asked, Ciaran's tunic in a death grip between her fingers.

"A welcome distraction," he replied, taking her hand. "Come on, let's go before they realize we're missin'."

Kinna followed him up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder as they rounded a corner and lost sight of the elf. "But... what about Oliver?"

He ground his teeth. "What about him?"

~*~*~

By the time they reached the gun deck, one word rang out clear, and it made Ciaran's blood run cold:

Dragon.

Kinna was out of his grasp before he could process the implications. Thoughts of the elf apparently pushed from her mind, she released Ciaran's hand and scurried up the stairs to the main deck, ignoring him when he called after her.

"Kinna, wait!" Ciaran hesitated, changed his grip on the axe, and charged after her. He emerged above to find that every gathered sailor was armed and standing in a nervous throng across the middle of the deck. They were shouting orders to one another, but none seemed willing to step a toe closer to the bow. Ciaran pushed his way through the crowd in search of the halfling, and froze when he caught sight of the source of the sailors' hesitation.

Atop the forecastle was, indeed, a dragon. Or, at least, a dragon of sorts. It was the vague size, shape, and stature of a short human, but it stood on its clawed toes like a cat. Frills, spines, and two ebony horns adorned its draconic head, and a long, reptilian tail swept out from the dark, scholarly robes draped across its body. Freckles of patina were strewn across copper scales, and its slitted eyes glowed turquoise in the night. It stood with an air of relaxed confidence, its hands clasped behind its straightened back.

A dragonborn. Ciaran had heard stories, learned of the draconic nation that the Wild Eruption had destroyed. To call their kind rare was an understatement of epic proportions.

And yet, here one stood, miles away from any known land, in the middle of the ocean. When it spoke, murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"I say again: where is your captain?" it asked.

There was a metallic clacking sound from behind Ciaran, and he watched as Calico Jack pushed through the throng, brandishing a long, thin, metal tube with a wooden handle as if it was a weapon - though certainly no weapon Ciaran had ever seen. "That'd be me," he answered. "Captain Jack Calico, at your service. And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"My n-name is Jinendrakul," the dragonborn replied in a cool tone.

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Jinendrakul." Captain Calico bowed to the dragonborn with a flourish, but did not break their gaze. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to get the fuck off of my ship, I'd be much obliged." There was a murmur of assent among the crew, save one tiny wince. Ciaran tracked the sound and at last caught sight of Kinna, pressed between two sailors and peering at the dragonborn with awe.

The dragonborn raised his chin an inch. "I come on behalf of my kin," it said. "These waters are extraordinarily d-d-d-dangerous. Change your heading, or be d-destroyed."

Captain Calico narrowed his eyes. "I don't take kindly to threats, lizard."

"I am n-not threatening you," the dragonborn replied. "I am g-giving you a warning."

The captain gestured out at the sea. "I've sailed this route dozens of times," he said. "Ain't nothin' dangerous out here, save scurvy. I don't know why you're trying to frighten me away, but it ain't working. And that stuh-stuh-stutter ain't helpin', neither."

Its turquoise eyes narrowed. "There are things in these seas of which you are unaware. New and t-terrible dangers beneath the waves. I say again: leave, or be d-d-destroyed—"

"—D-d-d-dest-t-troyed-d-d-d," Captain Calico mocked, much to the amusement of his crew. He rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand at the dragonborn, shouldering his strange weapon and heading back toward his quarters. "Get him off of my fucking ship, lads."

Kinna gasped and cried out, "No, wait!" as four crew members wielding clubs and blades began to stalk toward the dragonborn, their captain's words emboldening them. The halfling wiggled her way through a forest of legs, but someone caught her and pulled her back before she could breach the line. "Oh, don't hurt him!"

The dragonborn looked unphased. It produced its hands from behind its back and raised them in the air, palms parallel to the floor. The glow in its eyes brightened as it muttered a phrase under its breath, and pushed its hands down.

For an instant, the light around the four sailors shifted, and then Ciaran watched as they each tumbled to the floor as if something had seized their shirts and dragged them down. They cried out and tried to stand, but seemed overcome with the weight of their own bodies, limbs pressed upon the floorboards like an invisible boulder had fallen upon them.

The rest of the crew took a collective step backward, dragging Kinna and Ciaran with them. The dragonborn's gaze remained locked upon Calico Jack, who turned to regard it again at the sound of his crew's distress.

"This is your final warning," the dragonborn said. "Change your course, or face d-death."

"I'll give you a final warning," Captain Jack spat. He raised the metal tube and pointed it at the dragonborn, bracing the wooden handle against his shoulder. "Get the fuck off of my ship, or 'face duh-duh-death'."

There was a beat of silence. The dragonborn lifted its hands, and the weight pressing upon the four sailors lifted. It watched them scramble to their feet and rejoin the crowd, and then nodded at Calico Jack.

"So be it."

Ciaran blinked, and it was gone.

"Search the ship!" Captain Calico roared. "I want every gods’ damned inch of this boat checked and inventoried! I don't trust magic, and I don't trust that." He gestured at the space where the dragonborn had stood. As the crew scattered to carry out their orders, the captain caught sight of Ciaran and Kinna, and pointed at them.

"You two: get below deck and stay there, if you know what's good for you."

Dejected and staring at the spot from which the dragonborn had vanished, Kinna cast her eyes at her feet, nodded, and shuffled away downstairs. Ciaran turned to follow, pausing at the top of the stairs and watching as the captain stormed back into his quarters.

"Trusting the wrong person", the elf had said. Ciaran knew from the moment he stepped on board that Calico Jack wasn't to be trusted. Truth be told, he had only committed to the journey on this ship because no others were departing any sooner, and he was eager to put as much distance between himself and Stenner as possible, before his brother realized he was missing. Ciaran had long since suspected the captain of dabbling in piracy, but now - faced with the knowledge of a long-term captive aboard - he wondered if perhaps there was more to it than that.

What was that thing he was wielding, anyway?

The elf's pleas echoed through his head. The Captain took something from me, stole an invention...

"Hells bells," Ciaran growled under his breath as he started toward the captain's quarters. Yer really gonna get yer beard tangled in this, of all things, eh? Cannae leave well enough alone, can ye, ye numpty?

The door was open, so Ciaran didn't bother knocking. Captain Calico stood with his back to Ciaran, cursing as he fiddled with some mechanism on the metal tube before placing it on a pair of hooks on the wall.

Whatever the contraption was, it was clear that its creator was a master of their craft. The curved wooden handle was smooth and stained, arcane runes burned in delicate lines across the grain with a practiced hand. Intricate metal filigree twisted across the stock and climbed up the tube like a vine.

He glanced around at Captain Calico's quarters - at the scattered and stained bed sheets; at the bottoms of the curtains blackened with mold; at the corner dedicated to bottles of cheap alcohol and the empty, broken remnants of benders past.

"... 'S a mighty fine thing, ye've got there," Ciaran said, nodding at the contraption.

The captain looked up at him from the nearby table where he had begun to pour over a series of maps and star charts. "I thought I told you to go below deck."

"Aye, but I haven't seen anythin' like tha’ before, and the way ye were wavin' it around piqued me interest." He dared to take a step closer to the weapon. "What is it, anyway?"

Captain Calico held his gaze for a minute, and then continued studying his maps. "I call it a thundercannon."

Ciaran raised his eyebrows. "You call it? So ye made it, then? I didn't take ye fer the tinkerin' type."

"I bought it."

"Really? I hear tell ye stole it."

The captain froze, a narrowed glare flickering up to meet Ciaran's challenge. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then Captain Calico's cheek twitched and he spoke.

"Silverlord, was it?" he asked, his voice icy and smooth. "Ain't that the noble family of Sølvfjell?

Ciaran crossed his arms. "What's it to ye?"

He shrugged. "Way I hear it, people don't leave Sølvfjell these days, 'less they're exiled." The captain straightened to his full height and pointed at Ciaran. "You're dressed like a lordling, but you don't exactly carry yourself like one, so I'm willing to bet that you're either a runaway or an outcast. Either way, I doubt your family name lends you any protection anymore - and even if it did, accidents happen at sea all the time."

He circled the table and closed the distance between them as he spoke, bending down to speak to Ciaran on his own level, as if he were a child, to punctuate his last remarks.

"I suggest you keep your big dwarvish nose out of where it don't belong, Master Silverlord. And that includes out of my fuckin’ cargo hold. Or would you prefer to swim the rest of the way to Sheer Harbor?"

Ciaran could feel his face turning red with fury, and fought to suppress the urge to tackle the captain right then and there. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he could snarl a reply.

“Captain!” One of the sailors burst into the doorway, bewilderment stricken across his face. “Captain, we’re headed into a squall.”

The captain glared at him. “Did you hit your fuckin’ head? It’s the clearest night we’ve had in weeks.”

“Not anymore, sir.”

Calico Jack rose and stormed toward the sailor, shoving him out of the way and peering into the sky outside. Ciaran followed a few steps behind and reached the door just in time for a nearby crack of thunder to almost launch him out of his skin in alarm.

True to the sailor’s words, what was once a cloudless, starry sky had morphed into a veritable wall of fog, rain, and angry, lightning-streaked clouds a few hundred yards off the bow. It stretched to the north and south as far as the eye could see, and the ocean below was already beginning to grow choppy with the fury of the tempest.

“Fucking magic!” Jack growled. “That stuttering bastard isn’t getting its slimy hands on my ship so easily.” He left the threshold and started to run up the stairs to the quarterdeck, shouting orders at the crew as he went.

The deck was a flurry of activity all at once as the ship entered the squall. With no time to lose, the seamen sprinted for the masts, securing jacklines to the clamoring masses. The ship lurched as the helmsman adjusted course to aim the bow at worst of the oncoming waves, and midshipmen were already clambering up the rigging in a desperate attempt to furl the sails before they hit any of the nastier winds.

Ciaran made for the quarterdeck in pursuit of the captain, thankful for the stability that his low center of gravity afforded him. When he reached the top, he saw that Calico Jack had assumed the helm, and was glaring at the storm as though it owed him a debt.

“What are ye doin’?!” Ciaran bellowed over the wind as it began to rise into a gale. “Turn us around!”

The captain didn’t bother to look at him. “Get below deck,” he ordered.

A flash of light, and a deafening crack of thunder as lightning struck the peak off a nearby wave. “Turn the ship around!”

“I’ve sailed this route a dozen times,” Calico Jack snarled at Ciaran. “I will not be threatened by some petty display of magic!”

“Ye’re gonna get us all killed, ye fuckin’ madman!”

“GET BELOW DECK!”

White hot anger flashed across Ciaran’s skin. He hesitated on the stair where he stood, glancing across the deck at the crew. The axe in his hand felt heavier even as the deluge began. Without thinking too hard about the implications, he found himself doing the math in his head: if he killed the captain, how fast would the crew get to him? Would that even solve anything?

His eyes alighted upon the pair of rowboats strapped to the deck.

He was certain someone would try to stop him, if he tried to bring down the captain. He wasn’t so sure anyone would drop what they were doing to prevent him from commandeering a rowboat.

“A bloody imbecile,” he muttered. “That’s what you are, laddy.”

Mind decided, Ciaran sprinted for the stairs to the lower decks. Below him, the ship began to tilt to starboard, and a call rang out to brace. Ciaran seized the railing and hunkered down the instant he reached the stairs.

The wave winded him the moment it struck, and he was swept down the stairs to the crew quarters and into a wall with a resounding thud. Coughing and shaking the stars from his eyes, Ciaran pulled himself to his feet and started to run.

“Kinna!” he called out. “Kinna, where are you, lass?”

From behind a pile of dislodged crates came a gasp for breath, and a tiny, gold-freckled hand reached out and began trying to shove the cargo away. Ciaran cursed under his breath and was at her side in half a second, heaving objects away until the halfling was free. She was soaked to the bone and a bit bruised, but no worse for wear, thank the gods. Kinna stared at Ciaran with big, terrified, golden-flecked eyes, taking his offered hand and wiping strands of sodden brown hair out of her face.

“What’s happening?” she half-sobbed.

“The captain’s gone mad,” Ciaran explained, pulling her to her feet. “He’d rather sail us straight into a storm fer the sake o’ his own stubborn pride than consider himself weak fer obeying a warning ta flee.”

Kinna’s pupils narrowed with fear. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re gonna get tha fuck out of ‘ere, is what we’re gonna do!” He took her by the hand and started toward the stairs. “Come on, we haven’t got much time.”

The floor began to slant again, and another call rang out from above to brace. More unsecured cargo slid toward Ciaran and Kinna, and they were left in the middle of the deck with no shelter from the onslaught as another wave crashed down the stairs and through the hatch.

Ciaran sat dazed against the barrel he had been flung into when he heard the sound.

The grinding of stone against stone, the low, groaning creaking of trees in the wind. A cackle and a whistle, an agonized wail and a long, baritone growl. Something - no, many somethings - scraped along the hull and began to climb up the side of the ship.

A cry rang out, followed by a sickening crack as something hit the deck hard. Several sailors yelled in fear, and a warbling, inhuman bellow sounded as something big thundered its way across the deck above. More of the same followed a few seconds after, and the sound from below the ship continued.

Ciaran pulled the axe from the holster on his back and grabbed Kinna’s hand again. “We need to go,” he said. “Now.”

To his surprise, Kinna pulled against his grip. “We can’t just leave!”

“The hell we can’t!”

“If we leave, and the ship sinks, everyone on this ship will die!”

“Lass, if the ship sinks, there’s nothin’ we can do about it - and tha’s not ta mention the fact tha’ most o’ those rat bastard pirates up there probably deserve what’s comin’ to ‘em. Let’s go.”

Panic and despair shot through her face, and she wrenched her hand away from his. “If we leave, then Oliver will die.”

Ciaran stared at her in shock and fury for a solid ten seconds, snapping out of it when another wave poured down the stairs and threw Ciaran and Kinna against the wall once again. He sputtered and dragged himself to his feet, smearing saltwater out of his stinging eyes, and looked back at Kinna.

She was still staring at him with the wide-eyed determination of a puppy hellbent on a bone.

“Gods strike me tha fuck down, I cannae believe I’m doin’ this.”

~*~*~

By the time they managed to reach the cargo hold, Ciaran could tell that the ship was beginning to sink. Wave after wave had started to collect at the base of the vessel, and whatever thing was outside making all that horrible noise had punched a series of holes in the hull, through which more of the sea had already started to pour.

Kinna shrieked and leapt to the side as a white, fleshy tendril emerged through one such hole and began pulsating and flailing about. A searing, golden light erupted from her outstretched palm and struck the base of the mass. Sparking embers of magic flickered along the surface of the burn, and Ciaran came down on the spot with his axe, severing the tendril and kicking it to the side as it continued to thrash on the floor.

“What was that?!” Kinna cried.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” said Ciaran. “Something terrible. Keep moving!”

The cargo hold was flooded up to his chest - already high enough to be deeper than Kinna was tall. Some of the crates and barrels had shifted or were floating in the rising water, such that Ciaran had to force his way past them toward the cage while Kinna waited on the stairs. From further in the room, a strangled, terrified voice screamed for help in between sobs and gasps for breath.

Ciaran reached the cage at last to find the water was already up to the elf’s chin and rising fast. He struggled with animalistic ferocity to free himself from the shackles that bound him seated against the hull. Blood spilled into the water from where his wrists were torn against the rough metal. Even in the dark, Ciaran could see the abject terror in his eyes as he caught sight of the dwarf’s approach.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, help me!”

Without a word, Ciaran raised the axe and struck the blunt of it down upon the lock on the cage door. Once, twice, thrice - and the bolt came loose, sinking to his feet below the water as he wrenched the door open and trudged toward the elf.

“Thank you, thank you!” He sobbed in relief, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall.

Ciaran wrinkled his nose and backhanded the elf. “Pull yerself together,” he snapped. “And don’t fuckin’ make me regret this.”

He seized one end of the pillory, braced a boot against the wall, and heaved.

The locking mechanism cracked and broke away even as the elf’s head was submerged. He burst upward out of the water with a gasp as the restraint came loose, treading water and struggling to stand or otherwise move with a body that hadn’t eaten a good meal or gotten true exercise in gods only knew how long. He let out a manic half-laugh, half-sob and touched Ciaran’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

Ciaran growled and pushed his hand away. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, making his way out of the cage and back toward Kinna.

The sounds of fighting had all but overcome the sound of the storm above. A series of cacophonous, staccato bangs echoed down to the trio as they raced up the stairs. Ciaran headed the charge, axe in one hand, Kinna clinging to the other.

It was all he could do not to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of the fray.

The creatures were misshapen, as though the gods had drawn inspiration from a nightmarish child’s drawing of a humanoid - some with too many fingers, each long and jointless, some with bulbous bodies and spindly legs, and each one had a face more deformed than the last. Their flesh was white and clammy like the skin of a drowned man, and paper thin such that dark purple veins were visible throughout. Yet, despite their deformities, they were faster, stronger, and more agile than any man aboard the ship. When they were cut, the flesh and blood gathered on the deck and began twitching until a new, smaller version of the original appeared and continued the assault.

They enveloped and began to consume all those who fell to their strikes with gaping maws lined with rows of jagged teeth that stretched vertically from the top of their skulls to the middle of their abdomens.

Ciaran could hear his heart beating in his ears. He ground his teeth, locked his eyes on the rowboats, and shouted to Kinna and the elf over the howling wind and gargling creatures.

“Alright!” he said. “We make for tha boats together! If one o’ ‘em gets in our way, we go around and keep movin’. I’ll get the boat into the water.” He reached out a hand and squeezed Kinna’s shoulder. “Think ye can do more o’ that magic blasty ye did before, lass?”

Kinna nodded in the corner of his vision, but was too petrified to speak.

He smacked the elf’s leg. “What can ye do, elf?”

“Half-elf,” he corrected. Another staccato bang rang out from the quarterdeck behind them. “I have some ideas.”

Ciaran didn’t like the sound of that. “Dinnae do anythin’ stupid.” He waited for an opening between the sailors and the creatures, and shouted, “GO!”

He sprinted for the boats with Kinna by his side, dodging and weaving between sailors and flesh creatures alike. When he reached the boats, he raised his axe and struck down at the straps securing them in place, severing both in a single calculated swipe. He turned to ensure that his companions were hot on his heels, and watched Kinna shriek and duck between the legs of a flesh monster that stepped into her path. She was beside him a second later.

The elf, however, had run in the opposite direction.

In the distance, Ciaran watched as the elf reached the top of the stairs to the quarterdeck and locked eyes with Captain Jack Calico. There was a beat of stillness between them. Then the elf bellowed with rage and tackled the captain, seizing the smoking thundercannon he carried and trying to pry it from his hands.

“Bloody FOOL!” Ciaran snarled. “Some second chance at life YOU’LL ‘ave, eh?!” He sheathed his axe onto his back, squatted down, and slipped his fingers under the boat.

Kinna danced from foot to foot, eyes flickering in every direction in a desperate attempt to keep tabs on all of the fray at once. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to help,” she said.

He flashed a strained grin at her from under his ginger beard. “Dinnae worry, lass, I’ve got it - us dwarves are stout and strong.”

Ciaran took a deep breath and hefted the boat up. It was far heavier than he expected, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Then a tiny hand touched his arm, and an instinct welled up in the depths of his subconscious, guiding his hands to reach for a more stable point from which to pull the vessel. He grunted and began to heave toward the railing. The ship continued its descent into the ocean. Ciaran could only hope that the flesh monsters would be too distracted with the rest of the crew to bother going after the rowboat, once he got it floating.

A bang echoed across the deck, and Ciaran looked up to see that the elf was struggling against the captain to redirect the open end of the thundercannon away from his face. A thin red line had sprouted on the elf’s cheek, gushing in the pouring rain. Captain Calico roared and shoved him to the floor, shouting something incomprehensible into the howling wind; the elf spat a vindictive phrase back at him, kicked out with his feet, and sent the captain and his weapon flying.

The pair scrambled across the slippery deck, and the weapon at last fell into the elf’s hands. He flipped it around with a practiced flourish and brandished it at the captain, who spit a gob of blood into the elf’s face.

There was a flash, a bang, and the captain cried out in agony, clutching at his shattered knee with trembling hands.

“Ciaran! Look out!” Kinna screamed, giving him just enough warning to heave the boat up onto his shoulder as a shield against the thrashing limbs of a flesh monster as it charged toward him. The force of the blow against the hull forced the boat out of Ciaran’s hands mere inches away from the side of the ship.

Kinna skidded past him and through the creature’s legs, a beam of radiant golden light erupting once again from her outstretched palms. The creature’s grotesque body shifted to one side to avoid the blast, and then folded in on itself until its warped features were facing away from Ciaran and toward Kinna. She was sobbing with terror and backing away on her rump even as it grumbled and began to stalk toward her.

“Get UP, lass!” Ciaran shouted, pulling the axe from his back. “Run!”

She bumped up against a fallen barrel and became frozen with indecision, staring up into the creature’s growing, growing, growing red maw as it bore down on her. It lunged, she screamed, and then there was silence as she went limp in its jaws.

Ciaran bellowed with fury and brought the axe down across the monster’s shoulders, lopping off a good-sized chunk of its body. It gargled and screeched, dropping Kinna’s body as it retreated a few feet away. The split second between when Ciaran reached her and the moment he realized she was still breathing felt like an eternity. He shook her and shouted her name, but she did not regain consciousness.

A shadow shifted, and he looked up to see the elf kneeling in front of him. He was covered in diluted splatters of the captain’s blood and that which had seeped from his cheek. He held Ciaran’s gaze with the intensity of a predator.

“Focus on the boat,” he shouted. “I’ll take care of her!”

Ciaran ground his teeth. “If ye hurt ‘er,” he said, pointing a finger in the elf’s face, “I’ll make ye wish ye’d drowned in tha’ cell.”

Wrenching himself away from Kinna and the elf, Ciaran seized the rowboat once more and heaved. He heard the telltale warbling of another creature coming near, which was cut short with the blast of the thundercannon. At last, Ciaran managed to heave the boat over the side of the still-sinking ship, where it flipped and landed right-side up a few feet down to the ocean below. Without time for second thoughts, Ciaran vaulted over the railing and landed in the boat, holding up his hands to catch Kinna as soon as he steadied himself.

The elf had made it to the railing with Kinna and was preparing to drop her into Ciaran’s arms. Behind him, lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating for but an instant the shape of a gargantuan winged creature in the clouds. A piercing shriek echoed through the night, followed by a burst of lightning aimed straight at the center of the ship.

The force of the impact sent the elf and Kinna flying overboard, landing in the ocean a few feet from the rowboat. Ciaran cursed and grabbed the elf’s tattered vest, dragging him and a sputtering Kinna aboard. Woken from the sudden submersion, she glanced around for a second to get her bearings, and then burst into tears.

“It’s alright,” the elf said, rubbing her arms to warm her. “We’re okay.”

“Not fuckin’ yet, we aren’t.” Ciaran tossed the elf an oar. “Scrot monsters are enough trouble fer one day, let alone a fuckin’ dragon,” he said, pointing at the sky where the flying creature was again visible. Though he couldn’t catch sight of tooth or scale in the fog, there was no doubt in his mind as to what lurked above.

The elf caught the oar, dropped it from his trembling fingers, and picked it back up again. “I’ll help however I can,” he said. He was still out of breath, and coughing up seawater, besides.

“Ye bet yer ass ye will.” He dipped his own oar into the water and pointed back in the direction from whence the ship had come. “Row. We were only in it for a couple o’ minutes. If we’re lucky, we can get back out before whatever the fuck was draggin’ down the ship takes an interest in our escape.”

Neither the flesh creatures nor the dragon pursued them as they went, and soon after, the sinking ship and its crew disappeared behind a mountainous wave. They rowed and rowed and rowed, out of the squall, through the night, and well into the morning, silent but for the rolling of the sea against the boat.

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