It was mid-morning when the seafoam turned red. Corbaan Ryo, formerly Master Ryo of Ryo’s Baked Goods, sat between Dorim Longheel and Evela Kriya—one of Baron Kriya’s many nieces and nephews. Dorim pulled an oar, though Corbaan and Evela were fortunate enough to sit as passengers in the middle of the rowboat, by happenstance. Ahead, the murderous chanting of a thousand bloodthirsty pirates echoed to the beat of a drum.
A few of the rowboats had been smashed apart by catapults or cast adrift after being peppered by volleys of arrows. The water in between Corbaan’s boots was mixed with urine, not blood like the water outside the boat. The trembling townsfolk clutched their weapons and tried to ignore the stench of their own terror. Corbaan looked skyward and watched as blackbirds swooped and circled about the harbour of Aloor.
The city—the jewel in the far west of the Great Isle—sat behind him. Its once green terraces had collapsed into rubble. Its scholarly towers, steeped in mysteries, were scorched or altogether missing. Its streets were now empty more oft than not; the citizens of Aloor had been conscripted voluntarily or by force.
Aloor’s food stores had run out less than a week ago. Of course, Master Ryo’s bakery had gone out of business months ago. There was no food for anyone, anymore.
“Brace!” cried their rowboat’s resident soldier, Footman Morikar.
Corbaan ducked and Evela held up her shield. Arrows peppered the boat and four townspeople cried out. Now the water and waste sloshed red between Corbaan’s boots. He tried to keep his stomach contained and checked his comrades. Dorim pulled his oar again, unscathed. Evela had dropped her shield onto her lap to hurriedly wrap her arm—arrow points had punctured the shield and outer layers of her forearm. Corbaan released his spear into the grip of his knees and snatched up the shield as he saw Morikar keeping his own shield overhead. A second volley rained onto their rowboat and more shrieks echoed off the distant stone façade of Aloor.
Then—a blast of air and chaotic noise struck the boat, shaking them all to their bones. The first powder cog had reached the line of bandit ships—it’s yellow powder procured from the remote mines of the Elder Coast at great cost, and requisitioned by the Baron at no cost. The explosive produced more flame than blast. The single detonation engulfed four triremes in a bright orange blaze as men flailed overboard to burn in the water.
An uncertain cheer echoed up from the ranks of Corbaan Ryo’s peers. That explosion had cost a literal fortune in coins, and it had only done a little damage to the fleet that occupied Aloor’s waters.
The bandit vessels that hadn’t been burned hurried to turn aside from the other unmanned cogs. The arrows relented, and the provisional defenders rowed eagerly for the gap. Beyond, distant sails marked their objective—the besieger’s supply ships.
Flame-arrows began to rain onto the cogs—one burst into its tower of hot light too soon, engulfing a rowboat and sending embers toward the sails of Aloor’s last remaining galley. The two magicians on board quelled the ashes with wind.
Corbaan Ryo was not so lucky. His arms were pocked by falling clumps of yellow powder, held together like mud by the saltwater. Evela, who had taken back the shield, clawed at her hair as several strands of it were burned off by another bit of burning powder. Corbaan rubbed his own red sores with a damp rag.
Then Dorim Longheel collapsed against his shoulder. Further examination revealed that the once-fisher now-comrade-in-arms had been hiding an arrow wound near his armpit. How he had continued rowing was beyond Corbaan’s comprehension. Ashen-faced, Corbaan passed Evela his spear and took hold of the oar.
The time that followed might have been a few minutes or a few hours. The baker lost himself in it; the explosion of the third and final cog consumed three corsair ships, but registered on his senses like in a groggy dream. His muscles burned as his oar knocked against Dorim’s dead or dying body with each pull. The chanting of bandits grew feverish as more arrows fell. Evela did her best to cover Corbaan with her shield.
Morikar was among those casualties sustained as the civilian fleet breached the flaming hole in the pirate line. A townswoman Corbaan didn’t know took the post in the bow, balancing there with a shield on one arm.
Aloor’s triumphant galley led the way through, peppered by arrows and protected by magic. Several bandit triremes turned and lowered their oars. The beating of drums matched the feverish pulse pounding in Corbaan’s ears. The pirates would pursue them, desperate to protect their supplies from the starving townspeople of Aloor.
Then something hit the water nearby, drenching their rowboat and another. Water and blood sloshed around Corbaan’s ankles. The man ahead of Corbaan heaved forward and vomited—mostly honey water. None of them had much food in their guts.
Another catapult shot splashed ahead, nearly capsizing a boat ahead of Corbaan’s. He watched it collide with one of the others—two men fell overboard and were left, swimming desperately through bloodied water. One rowboat retaliated against the projectiles with bows. A few screams could be heard from the bandit vessels. It seemed that not all of the trained soldiers of Aloor had perished yet.
Evela shouted something at Corbaan, but he couldn’t hear it. She tossed him his spear—Corbaan caught it in confusion, releasing the oar. Then everything exploded. Spars of wood and scattered limbs hurled Corbaan out of the rowboat. Debris and saltwater spread across the ocean as Corbaan found himself surrounded by cool darkness. He saw the surface above, clouded with blood and the telltale signs of fire.
It was hard to swim with the spear clutching in his bruised, dazed fingers. It seemed one of his legs wasn’t working quite right either. Eventually Corbaan broke the surface and hacked up saltwater as he gasped for breath. He looked around.
A catapult round had obliterated his rowboat. He saw others from among their ranks trying to swim. A man missing a forearm floundered and sunk under, hollering for help until his mouth was full of bubbles. There was no sign of Evela. Corbaan splashed around, trying to wave the attention of one of the other rowboats. He was ignored.
Eventually, Corbaan found a section of the rowboat’s hull afloat. He pulled himself onto it and fell back exhausted. His left leg was twisted the wrong way, and he couldn’t move his foot. He used the spear as a handle, securing himself to the hull to await his fate.
The rest of the civilian fleet had already gone ahead, but from Corbaan’s point-of-view it was already too late. Even if they won the fight for the supply ships, their lost explosive cog had resulted in too small a hole in the siege lines. The enemy ships were already closing it. Aloor would be lost to starvation or surrender—along with all its treasures.
But to Corbaan’s surprise—the supply ships were already moving. The Aloor galley had reached them before the impact of that catapult round with Corbaan’s boat. The fighting must have been fierce, but they were moving the right way. Five supply ships and the galley—they were sailing back toward Corbaan, the enemy fleet, and Aloor.
I’m saved! the baker thought. He rose up onto one knee, holding his left side up with the spear shaft. He waved his right hand overhead as rowboats navigated around the wreckage of their toppled or destroyed comrades. There were far fewer such vessels, as many had arrived in time to board the supply ships and crew them for the return voyage. The smaller boats ignored the stranded Master Ryo. He thought he spotted his maize supplier on one, but he couldn’t be certain.
The galley did not ignore Corbaan. It sailed straight for him, knocking aside debris with its hundred oars and lowered sail. The return voyage had wind to their advantage. Corbaan realized too late: the galley wasn’t sailing to his rescue.
Red surf crashed over his hull fragment, capsizing it. The cloudy blue sky disappeared to the dark waves as Corbaan plunged under again. He felt the hull of galley smash his shoulder once—the spear was yanked from his grip and he was sent reeling deeper into the ocean. With a sore arm and a good one, he pulled at the turbulent saltwater and came up again. His eyes burned as fiercely as his lungs. He still couldn’t feel much from his leg, but he remembered the soldiers teaching them about wound-shock. The pain would come, no doubt.
When he managed to blink his way to vision once more, Corbaan saw trailing lines of rigging behind the damaged galley. He reached out to grab one, but a loop got caught around his right leg instead. He was briefly dragged under once more and then torn along the surface of the waves. Wooden debris scraped or stabbed him, but he managed to bend at the waist and get hold of the ropes with his left hand. He hung on for his very life—and saw what was ahead.
Cutting across the waves were four more corsair ships, bent on a collision course for Aloor’s precious galley. The fiery hole in the bandit ranks had been closed by these four. They would smash the galley to pieces and then the way back to Aloor would be blocked. The townspeople would be killed, and the bandits would recover their supplies.
Corbaan watched in horror as two of the triremes rammed the galley. Attached to the loose rigging, his inertia carried him a little closer, but the galley came to a sudden stop when two metal rams impaled its sides. Oars were sliced apart and Corbaan was showered with splinters. The other two pirate vessels approached beside their jammed counterparts, peppering the ship with arrows.
Then one disappeared. Shouts of confusion went up from the bandit crews. The sounds of battle intensified as the ships that had rammed the Aloor galley began to board. The second flanking ship vanished as suddenly as the first. The water around it sprayed and sloshed to fill the space where it had been. Corbaan felt the pull of it, but clung to his lifeline. He was stuck in a state of attentive disbelief. He was well-aware that he should not still be alive.
With two of the four reinforcing ships gone, the bandit fleet was, again, developing a passage to Aloor. Only the crippled galley and its two clinging attackers blocked the way for the still approaching supply ships with their on-board militias. If Corbaan’s ship disappeared… Aloor could endure the siege again, replenished with the bandit’s own supplies.
Corbaan pulled himself up the rigging, trying to hear or see what was happening on the ship. He heard desperate roars and battle cries from the fighting on deck—and then part of the nearest bandit ship seemed to flicker away. It was followed instantly by its remnant, then the front half of the Aloor galley, then the rest. The magicians had done it! Corbaan went with them. One moment he was surrounded by ships laden with bloodthirsty bandits, the next by open sea.
Aloor would stand another day.