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Synopsis
The sequel to the darkly fantastic WE ARE THE DEAD: with more unflinching action, A FOOL'S HOPE sees Jia's revolutionaries dig in their heels as they learn that wars aren't won in a day.
War takes everything.
From Tinnstra, it took her family and thrust her into a conflict she wanted only to avoid. Now her queen's sole protector, she must give all she has left to keep Zorique safe.
It has taken just as much from Jia's revolutionaries. Dren and Jax - battered, tortured, once enemies themselves - must hold strong against their bruised invaders, the Egril.
For the Egril intend to wipe Jia from the map. They may have lost a battle, but they are coming back.
If Tinnstra and her allies hope to survive, Jia's heroes will need to be ready when they do.
With more bone-crunching action, tough choices and impossible odds, fans of Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence and Ed McDonald will find something to love in this series.
'One of the best fantasy novels of the year' Novel Notions
'Probably my favourite book of the year' The Chronicler
'One of the best books I've read this year' Starlit Book
* * * * * * * * * *
THE LAST WAR
Book One: We Are the Dead
Book Two: A Fool's Hope
Book Three: Until the Last
Release date: December 3, 2020
Publisher: Gollancz
Print pages: 528
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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A Fool's Hope
Mike Shackle
Mateon
Kagestan, Egril
It was nearly the Blood Hour.
A time of death and sacrifice. For the Godly to stand and be counted. A time to give honour and show strength. For everyone knew that Kage’s one eye watched over all. And he would know of any who failed this most simple of tests.
Mateon, son of Gadrian, of the northern Leorus tribe, stood with his shoulders square and his chest out, unmoving despite the north wind that dragged the morning mist across the surface of the Red Lake, ignoring the cold that made his very bones ache. Pain was good, he told himself. Pain was how Kage measured one’s faith and Mateon’s faith was strong. After all, the Leorus tribe was one of the most devout in all the Egril Empire and Mateon was the son of a hero. And today he would become a man.
He’d spent the night at the edge of the Red Lake, a foot from the water, facing Raaku’s palace, dressed only in the uniform of a Puer: a simple white tunic, trousers and boots, and a white mask covering his face. No cloak, no fire, no food, no water, no sleep, no comfort. Only pain. A test of faith.
There were other Puers dotted around the lake, boys about to become men, many of whom Mateon had gown up with. Some had fallen in the night, too tired to stand, or too weak to ignore the hunger in their bellies or the cold that gnawed at their skin. Only Kage knew what would happen to them. They’d not have the honour of fighting in Raaku’s army. That was no place for the weak and the faithless.
But it was where Mateon belonged.
His mother and sister had joined him a short while ago, arriving along with the rest of the congregation that gathered every morning for First Prayer at the lake. A sign that daybreak wasn’t far away and that Mateon’s test would soon be over. Blood-red streaks already stained the dawn behind the city skyline – surely a good omen. And if the Emperor himself should appear? Mateon’s blessing would be complete.
Across the lake, Raaku’s priests were already in place, with a long line of heathen prisoners beside them. There had to be a hundred of the priests at least and five times that number of heathens. They didn’t normally have that many in attendance, did they? Was it a sign that Raaku would make an appearance?
‘He’s not coming,’ whispered Sophia, as if reading his mind. Mateon’s sister was three years younger than him, only just approaching adulthood. Her willowy body was hidden beneath a thick grey gown, matching the colour of the mask that covered most of her face. Her hood was drawn over her head so that only her mouth and chin were visible. She looked so warm compared to how Mateon felt but he had Kage in his heart. He needed nothing else.
‘Shhh,’ hissed his mother. Her mask was a deep purple, in tribute to the husband she lost in service to the Empire, and shaped with the nose and brow of the mountain cat that gave their tribe their name. She wore a heavy black winter gown adorned with a simple iron brooch, a medal given to her husband by Raaku himself for bravery during the War of Unification, when all the tribes of the Egril were brought under the Emperor’s leadership. It was a rare honour that still provided Mateon’s family with extra food five years after his father’s death. ‘Even if we do not see the son of Kage, know that he is near and be grateful for that privilege.’
Mateon said nothing, too nervous to speak. He tried to pretend he didn’t care if Raaku appeared, but he did. Of course he did. It would be a sign of Mateon’s coming glory.
Later that day, he would leave to join His Imperial Majesty’s infantry, like his father before him, to go and fight the heathens in Jia. He would be a hero like his father, bringing even more honour to his family, guaranteeing their place in the Great Darkness. They would stand at Kage’s right hand, with an abundance of slaves from the heathen souls he’d send to his Lord. He smiled, his heart swelling with pride at the thought of casting his Puer’s mask aside and donning the white armour and Skull mask.
He glanced around him at the thousands gathered along the Red Lake’s bank, all come to see the Emperor. There were masks of every type, from high born to low, from warrior to merchant, but all were equal before Kage. Possessions meant nothing to the Egril. It was what you gave to Kage in the Great Darkness that counted. The souls you sent him, the blood you spilled in his name. That was the only record of value.
The Emperor’s palace stood in the middle of the Red Lake. Shaped like Kage’s face and hewn from cold granite, it towered over the scarlet waters, Kage’s single eye staring at his faithful. Some said Kage himself had carved it from a mountain when he created the world. Others claimed it was the work of a hundred million worshippers, erected on a foundation of their blood and bones. Mateon liked to believe that the former story was the truth. He’d lived in Kagestan, the capital of Egril, his entire life and yet he never tired of seeing the palace. How could he? There was no more holy a place in the whole Empire.
Across the water, row after row of flags fluttered along the bank, red against cold stone. Raaku’s golden-masked priests, stretched across the pier at the palace’s base, looked like they stood on the water itself, their knives catching the first rays of sunlight.
If he was coming, it would be now. He’d arrive before the heathens were sent to Kage.
Mateon licked his dry lips and fought the urge to move his feet. Everyone knew the Emperor only appeared on rare occasions, but what if this was one of them?
Mateon’s family were lucky to live close to the Red Lake, so this wasn’t their first pilgrimage. Three times the crowds had been too dense to get anywhere close enough to the lake. On other occasions, there had only been his priests to listen to and the sacrifices to witness. That in itself was an honour to remember. But they’d yet to see the Emperor. Others had – or at least claimed so. Their tales always made Mateon jealous. Some would say that was a weak emotion, but not Mateon. He took it as a sign of his faith and it only made him pray harder.
And now that he stood in the place of honour? Today had to be the day.
Only the Devout stood closer to the water’s edge. They, too, like the Puers, had been waiting all night, gathered together, facing the pier. Mateon didn’t want to imagine what was going through their minds in these last few moments. Perhaps they thought of nothing, their spirits already departed.
The sun crawled higher, leaving its blood-red smear across the sky. This was it. No more waiting. The Emperor had to appear now or …
Drums echoed across the lake. A deep, heavy beat that quickly synced with the pounding of Mateon’s pulse. He saw his mother stiffen as she, too, felt the vibrations travel through her body. His sister reached for his hand but Mateon brushed it away. Kage demanded strength.
He peered at the palace and wished he was closer. The Devout had already waded into the water, but Mateon didn’t join them. There was a price to pay to enter the Red Lake. He would have that honour one day, perhaps, once he’d left the army, but not today.
Soldiers marched from the palace, wearing red armour and demon masks, and formed a line on either side of the priests. The First Legion. They were men from Raaku’s own tribe, his own blood. There were no soldiers braver or stronger than the First.
Mateon held his breath, strained his eyes, blood pounding in time with the drums. The tension gripped his heart. Where was Raaku?
The light spread on the horizon, the darkness retreating.
Then silence swept across the waters.
Now.
He was here. The Emperor had arrived.
The figure was a scarlet dot in the distance but there was no mistaking it was him, bigger, broader than any around him. He was a giant – a God – amongst men. There was no mistaking the power before Mateon.
Raaku waited between the great doors of the palace as time stopped. The sun halted its climb and not even the wind dared blow. Every eye was on Raaku, unblinking, as the rest of the world ceased to exist. He was all. He was everything. Kage’s son. The blessed.
How long did they all stand there, held together in that single moment? Mateon had no idea. It felt like forever and yet was no longer than a heartbeat.
When Raaku stepped forward, the drums took up their beat again, five times as loud, and the world started once more. He marched to the water’s edge and took his place beside his priests. The heathen prisoners recoiled in his presence, fighting their chains, crying and weeping, and Mateon felt another burst of joy. Their cries would please Kage.
The Emperor held out a hand and a knife was placed in it. The drums stopped. A heathen was dragged forwards by the priests and held before Raaku.
‘Blood I will give you, O Great One.’ His voice rolled like thunder across the water to the Great Darkness itself. The knife flashed out, cutting the heathen’s throat, and their blood shot across the water. The priests held the dying man out over the lake until there was no more blood to spill and then let him fall into the water.
Another heathen was brought before Raaku.
‘Souls I will send you.’ Again, the knife flashed out. More blood, another death.
‘My body is your weapon.’ Another died.
‘My life, your gift.’ And another.
And so it went on. Raaku repeating the words, his priests joining in, cutting throats, until all the heathens had been sacrificed and their blood had become one with the Red Lake. Their bodies claimed by the waters, their souls taken to the Great Darkness.
Now it was Mateon’s turn. His and all those gathered before the Emperor.
Raaku watched as his subjects produced knives of their own. Mateon’s was a small blade passed down from father to son, generation after generation, its handle worn with age but the blade still sharp.
‘Do you give Kage your blood?’ called out Raaku.
‘I do!’ The words were shouted back, full of passion and fury.
‘Do you promise to serve Kage in this life and the next?’
‘I do!’ shouted Mateon.
‘Show me.’
Their knives moved as one. Mateon cut his thumb, opening up a wound that never healed. His mother, his sister, everyone did the same. As one, they thrust their hands forwards, and blood dripped to the holy ground beneath their feet.
Only those in the water didn’t cut their thumbs. They were the Devout and were not there to give a drop of blood to their God. No. They cut their throats and wrists and stabbed their hearts. They gave their souls to Kage and their blood filled the Red Lake with the purity of their sacrifice.
Tears ran down Mateon’s face. He was so blessed. He wasn’t worthy of the honour bestowed upon him. To see Raaku, to witness the sacrifices, to watch the Devout die. It was all too much. He could see the others around him felt the same.
‘Raaku. Raaku. Raaku.’ Thousands chanted the Emperor’s name. It took the place of the drums, filling the air, pouring out from their hearts.
‘Raaku. Raaku. Raaku.’ The Emperor stood there, still as stone, and let their love pour over him. He knew they would all die for him, die for Kage.
Mateon was lucky to live in this time, as Raaku’s forces conquered the world, bringing the true faith to the heathen hordes and destroying what was left of the False Gods. And he would play his part in the great victory to come.
He would repay the privilege a thousandfold as one of the Emperor’s soldiers. The Great Darkness would overflow with the blood and souls of the heathens Mateon would personally kill. It was his duty. His purpose.
‘Blood I will give you, O Great One,’ he whispered as he watched Raaku. ‘Souls I will send you. My body is your weapon. My life, your gift.’
2
Tinnstra
The Golden Channel
Tinnstra stood on the deck of the Meigorian ship Okinas Kiba, Zorique gripping her leg, still shocked that they’d escaped the Egril’s clutches. After everything they’d been through, after all the lives that had been sacrificed, they were on their way to Meigore, to safety. But it didn’t feel like victory. Not yet.
She glanced back into the night. Kiyosun burned in the distance. No matter what happened next, it was the end of what was. As that city died, so did her country. If they were ever to return, what would be waiting for them? Would they find a country of ashes?
Perhaps Meigore would enter the war as Jax and the others hoped, perhaps then the Egril would be defeated, but Tinnstra wasn’t so sure. She’d seen the enemy’s full might. She knew what they were capable of. The Shulka had once thought themselves invincible but it was the Skulls who deserved that title. And they never give up. They’d rather destroy Jia than relinquish their hold on the country.
But that’s not my concern any more. My only duty now is to look after Zorique and ensure she has a future. Once we’re in Meigore, my war is over.
Of course, they had to get to Meigore first.
‘Let’s move, people,’ ordered Ralasis, the captain of the Okinas Kiba. A hundred hands went to work immediately and the big ship creaked into life, ready to catch the wind.
Ralasis turned to Tinnstra, an easy smile on his face. ‘You’re safe now. We’ll be in Meigore by morning.’ His Jian was faultless.
‘Thank you,’ she replied in equally perfect Meigorian. Another gift from her father. He made all his children learn the languages of their neighbouring nations. ‘It’s been a hard journey to reach you.’
The captain bowed his head at the use of his mother tongue. ‘The Okinas Kiba is the fastest ship in King Sitos’s fleet. Have no fear, we’ll get you to Meigore without any further trouble.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Tinnstra.
Ralasis bowed and walked off to take his place at the ship’s wheel.
The man was confident, Tinnstra had to give that to him, but she knew better. She slipped her hand around Zorique’s shoulders and faced Kiyosun once more. If more danger awaited them, it would come from there.
Somewhere out on that ocean was Dren, in the little fishing boat they’d used to escape the city. The boy was going back to the only home he knew. Going back to fight. Going back to a city on fire.
Flames danced from one end of the peninsula to the other. The fire had travelled quickly through the narrow streets and the packed buildings. By the Four Gods, they’d been lucky to get to the warehouse and the rowing boat in time. A few more minutes and it would’ve been too late. The docks were consumed by the fire now. And at the rate it was spreading, there’d be little left of the city by morning.
Dread spread through her at the thought of the thousands of people who lived there, and how many of them would die that night. All sacrificed so a little girl could escape.
Tinnstra glanced at Zorique. The poor girl had been through so much: seeing her parents and brother murdered, the relentless pursuit by the Skulls, Aasgod dying, Monon and Greener, too. Everyone who’d been sent to help her was dead except Tinnstra – and that had been down to luck rather than skill. After all, Tinnstra was nothing special. The daughter of a famous Shulka warrior but no more than that. She’d failed her training and been expelled for cowardice.
Tinnstra bent down and kissed Zorique’s head. ‘You okay?’
Zorique looked up at her with those big, scared eyes of hers and nodded. She tightened her grip around Tinnstra’s leg and Tinnstra squeezed her shoulder in return. Four years old and she was braver than all of them. A good job, too – she’d need that courage to face what was to come. She was, after all, the Queen of Jia. And more still, if Aasgod was right. Poor girl. If being Grim Dagan’s daughter had felt suffocating to Tinnstra, the pressure on Zorique would be a thousand times worse.
Even more reason to protect her from it all.
Something caught Tinnstra’s eye. A flicker of movement in the night, a shadow in the dark. She leaned forwards, straining to see, feeling fear.
Nothing there now, not that she could see, but she knew. They were coming. They’d not let them go so easily. ‘Daijaku.’ Tinnstra whispered the word, almost afraid to voice it in case it made the demons appear.
But where?
She could feel the Okinas Kiba shifting under her feet as it fought the waves, heard the creak of ropes taking the strain of the canvas as the sails adjusted themselves to the new course. The men worked hard but they’d not found the wind yet. The ship was moving too slowly.
And the demons were coming. She knew it. Tinnstra could feel it in her bones. They never gave up.
Then she spotted it. That cursed shape. Those long wings. It flew low, skimming the waves. ‘There!’ She pointed off the stern to starboard. ‘Daijaku! Daijaku!’
Zorique screamed and Tinnstra held her tight, for all the good that would do.
‘Archers!’ cried Ralasis. A dozen men rushed to Tinnstra’s side. She showed them the Daijaku as it raced towards them, skimming over the tops of the waves. Something glowing in its hand.
‘It’s got a bomb.’ Fear bloomed in Tinnstra’s gut. A bomb would finish them all, sink the Okinas Kiba to the depths. Tinnstra wanted to draw her sword, as if that could make any difference – but the creature wasn’t coming to fight them. It didn’t even need to get too close. Just close enough to throw the bomb. A bomb that could reduce a stone building to rubble and turn a ship into splinters. ‘Don’t let it get anywhere near us!’
Bowstrings were drawn back and then a dozen arrows flew. She held her breath, hoping, watching their flight – and then their fall. None had found its target.
The archers loosed another volley. Again, the Daijaku swerved. Most missed but one hit home, piercing its wing. The Daijaku shrieked, but more in anger than in pain.
‘Come on … someone kill it,’ said Tinnstra through clenched teeth, her heart racing. She felt helpless, waiting there, watching the demon. She wanted to fight – to do anything except stand there and wait to die.
‘More are coming,’ shouted a voice from above in the rigging.
‘Where?’ asked Tinnstra, but she saw them a heartbeat later. Another five, up high, framed against the orange glow over Kiyosun. She turned, saw Ralasis fighting the wheel. ‘We have to get out of here.’
He didn’t bother replying. He knew. Everyone knew.
The first demon was close now. More arrows had found it, but there was no killer shot. Shafts riddled its body but still it flew on, the orb in its hand a promise of death.
The Daijaku turned away from the ocean and soared upwards, winding its arm back, ready to throw. There was no way it would miss, not from that distance.
Time slowed. Bowstrings creaked, taking the strain of more arrows, more hope. A chorus of twangs and they were off, shooting towards the demon, already mid-throw. This time they flew true, striking the demon in the chest, the shoulder, the heart. It fell back, its wings still, down towards the ocean.
Too late. The bomb was thrown.
They all watched it, burning bright, a swirl of red fury in the night, coming towards them. Tinnstra crouched down and wrapped Zorique in her arms, shielding her as best she could. She didn’t want her to see the end. After running for so long, death had caught them at last.
But the orb dropped short of the Okinas Kiba. The arrows had knocked the demon’s aim off just enough. It disappeared beneath the waves a few yards to starboard.
The sea erupted a second later. The ship was thrown from side to side as the blast punched a hole in the ocean. Water rained down on them all as the ship dropped into the vacuum. Tinnstra, with Zorique tight in her arms, was hurled across the deck as the Okinas Kiba all but turned on its side. Any further and the ship would capsize. May the Four Gods protect us. I don’t want to die like this.
Then the ship lurched back as the sea settled, taking the Okinas Kiba with it. Wind caught the wet sails, filling them at last, and the ship surged forwards as if it was as eager as the rest of them to escape from the danger.
‘Are you all right? Are you all right?’ Tinnstra let go of Zorique and checked her for injury. Zorique stared at her, water running off her face, soaked to the skin, and nodded. Tinnstra scrambled to her feet, pulling the girl with her. The others did the same. The archers snatched up wet bows and drenched arrows, despair on their faces.
They all knew five more Daijaku were flying towards them.
Ralasis bellowed orders, urging his men on, demanding more sails to be unfurled, anything to increase their speed now the wind was with them. It was a race now. The sailors against the demons. The sails against their wings.
Tinnstra’s eyes flicked from the canvas to the demons, judging the distance, the speed. Was it enough? Were the Daijaku gaining or was the gap growing? She couldn’t tell.
The archers called for more bows, more arrows, anything they could use to fight.
Three of the Daijaku carried Niganntan spears with the long sword blades. The other two had orbs, still black in their hands. The bombs needed blood to work, to light the fire within. Tinnstra had no doubt the demons would find all the blood they needed.
‘Ralasis,’ called Tinnstra, and the captain looked over. ‘Can we take the queen below? Somewhere safe?’
‘Aye. She can stay in my cabin. Karis can take her.’ The captain motioned to a man nearby.
Karis rushed over, bowed his head and held out a hand for the girl. ‘Come with me, my darling.’
Zorique clung tighter onto Tinnstra’s legs. ‘I want to stay with you.’
‘There’s going to be fighting, my love,’ said Tinnstra. ‘I want you somewhere safe, out of harm’s way. This man’ll take you there.’
‘Nowhere’s safe,’ replied Zorique. ‘I want to stay with you.’
She’s not wrong. Tinnstra glanced back out to sea. The Daijaku were closer. They had perhaps two minutes before they attacked. She crouched down so she was eye level with Zorique. ‘You’ll be safer inside. I need to fight, and I can’t do that if I’m worrying about you. I’ll come and get you the moment the Daijaku are gone.’
The queen sniffed up a tear. ‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’ Tinnstra kissed her forehead. ‘Now go.’
This time, she took Karis’s hand. Tinnstra watched her, feeling a pang in her heart. Dear Gods, let us survive. Zorique doesn’t deserve this. Let me get her somewhere safe.
With a sigh, Tinnstra drew her sword and the axe she’d stolen off the Chosen. If a fight was coming, she was ready.
A few of the archers had dry bows and arrows, while others were making do with the sea-soaked ones. Two men carried spears, fear on their faces. Tinnstra knew that look only too well. She’d lived with fear all her life. It was niggling away even now, but it didn’t paralyse her as it once had. She’d accepted her life was only finite, that death would come for her one day. Except now, she wasn’t going to meet it curled up in a ball with her eyes closed. She’d face it on her feet, with sword and axe in hand. Like a Shulka. ‘We are the dead who protect our land, our monarch, our clan,’ she whispered to the wind.
The Daijaku were closer now and arrows flew out to meet them. The Meigorians were good, well drilled and disciplined. There was no panic, no undue haste. This time, their shafts had more luck. The number of the Daijaku left less space in which the demons could manoeuvre. One of the Daijaku carrying an orb went down, peppered with arrows, spinning on broken wings into the sea. A cheer ripped through the crew of the Okinas Kiba but the archers continued their work. There was no victory yet.
The other Daijaku carrying an orb broke from the pack and flew up above them. Tinnstra watched as the orb in its hands started to glow. A spear flew towards it, but lost momentum long before it reached the demon and dropped harmlessly away. With a squawk that could’ve been a laugh, the Daijaku threw the orb. Its bright red arc was easy to follow against the night sky. It gained speed as gravity tugged it down, burning through sails and then clipping a mast before spinning off, towards the deck.
A sailor dived for it. Time slowed as Tinnstra watched the man snatch it up, take a step and throw it off the starboard side.
Then the orb exploded. The ship shook from the force of it, fire ripping through the air. The last thing Tinnstra saw, before she ducked behind a barrel of water, was the sailor disappearing in the blast. Splinters and shards of wood and deck whipped through the air. Screams of the injured and the dying quickly followed. Tinnstra pressed her back against the barrel, ears ringing, blinking away the smoke, breath caught in her throat, but alive and unhurt.
She staggered to her feet. The main mast was down, cutting off one end of the ship from the other. And beneath it, a hole had been punched through the starboard side to the middle of the deck. Bodies lay scattered around the edges, a mix of torsos and limbs and scraps of everything else that made up a human being. The ship groaned with the shock of it as its timbers adjusted, threatening to break apart and sink. Smoke filled the air. Flames crawled up masts and across what was left of the deck, across the bodies of the fallen.
Ralasis, may the Gods bless him, was still on his feet, giving orders, telling his men to fight the fire, all the while stamping at flames with his boots. His crew did his bidding, but everyone was moving slowly, shocked, dazed and injured, while their mates lay dead around them. The boat beneath them rocked and wobbled, groaning with every pull off the waves.
At least the captain’s cabin was unscathed, thank the Four Gods. Tinnstra tried not to think of Zorique inside, petrified at what might be happening on the other side of her door.
Tinnstra felt her fear return at the sight of the mayhem but she fought it back. To give in to it was to die and she wasn’t that person any more. Let the crew deal with the aftermath. The Daijaku were coming.
‘We’re still afloat,’ said Ralasis, now standing next to her, a spear in hand, ‘but only the Gods know if it’ll stay that way. And with the main sail down, we’re a sitting duck.’
She looked around. Only a few of the archers remained, clutching a handful of arrows each, blood pouring from wounds. Five others stood with them, swords poised. Tinnstra had her Shulka blade and her Chosen’s axe. ‘They’ll come in low and fast, try to sweep through us and kill anyone they can with their spears,’ she said. ‘Keep your heads down and move if you have to. There’s no shame in hitting the deck and staying alive.’ Part of her wasn’t sure if that advice was for the sailors or for herself. ‘Save your arrows until they’re right on top of us and you’ve no chance to miss.’
She got nods back.
The three remaining Daijaku swooped towards the ship, skimming the tops of the waves, keeping a decent space between them to avoid any more arrows. Tinnstra looked for the fourth demon but there was no sign of it. Perhaps it’d headed back to Kiyosun once it’d thrown its bomb. She could only hope it was so. Three were bad enough.
‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Come and get us.’
The demons were twenty yards away. Fifteen, ten. Up off the waves they came, so close that Tinnstra could see the scales on their torsos and the yellow of their eyes. ‘Loose!’ she screamed, and the archers released their shafts. One Daijaku was punched out of the sky, but the other two swept over the rail.
Tinnstra ducked as a Niganntan blade slashed where her head had been. She swung the axe up, aimed with hope more than sight, felt impact but knew it wasn’t enough. She’d probably not even scratched the damned thing. Someone screamed, though, full of pain, and Tinnstra knew the monsters had been luckier. She turned, saw a body carved in two, another sailor missing an arm. The two Daijaku skimmed through the Okinas Kiba, hacking left and right, not slowing down for anything or anyone, leaving death in their wake.
Once they reached the prow of the ship, they peeled off to either side, preparing for another pass.
‘Same plan,’ shouted Tinnstra. ‘Shoot when they’re close. Let’s get them both this time.’
The remaining Meigorians nodded and stood their ground, may the Four Gods bless them.
‘Ralasis, get ready with that spear,’ she called out. ‘I want a demon’s head.’
‘I’ll do my best, but the bastards aren’t that obliging.’
The Daijaku came in for a second pass. The demons flew with precision, in well-rehearsed patterns. They’d trained for this, in the same way Tinnstra had trained in the phalanx at the Kotege. But if that was so, their attack could be anticipated and countered. Tinnstra crouched and tightened her grip on her weapons.
One Daijaku pulled forward of the other, needing space to swing that blasted Niganntan spear.
‘I’ll take the first one,’ she said to Ralasis. ‘You get the second.’ She was grateful that Ralasis didn’t tell her she was mad. She was Grim Dagen’s daughter and, by the Four Gods above and below, she would see Zorique safely to Meigore or die in the attempt.
The Daijaku angled up towards the boat.
‘Archers, get ready.’
Bowstrings creaked as they were drawn back. The Daijaku twisted mid-flight, Niganntan blade ready to strike.
‘Loose!’
The shafts shot forward. Four arrows instead of dozens, but the monster was too close to miss. Each one str
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