“And run right into their ships that could be coming for us this very minute?” Sov hollered with disdain. “Seal all hatches, Mavvin! We can’t let them board us if they manage to stop us!”
“But what about the agreement you made with the Tra’Mell?” Vadris Plur yelled, appearing from the hold.
Agreement?Duren turned to his father for his response and saw the man giving his general a look that could scald metal.
“We were reassured the Tra’Mell would not attack us! But look at us now! No, we’re not going to run. We’re staying put. If these Tra’Mell are unaware of the agreement, they can easily get in contact with their Cu’Dall to correct this obvious misundersta—”
The ship lurched, and the sound of an explosion echoed through the hull.
“They’re firing on us!” someone yelled.
“I know that, you frag muk!” Sov roared. “Hold your fire!Hold your fire!” The Sarpi leaped down from the upper deck and raced to the communications board. “Jusgil, hail the Tra’Mellian ships. Get someone to answer.”
A second barrage hit them, sending them rocking from side to side. Even with the artificial gravity, they nearly lost their footing.
“They’re firing their bow cannons!” Distrad informed them.
“Shields up!” Duren shouted.
Sov whirled on him. “How dare you give orders!Lower the shields! No shields!”
“Father, I don’t know what agreement you’re talking about, but the Tra’Mell will destroy us!” He turned to Vadris Plur. “Take the wheel! Hard to port, and dive! Get us out of their line of fire!”
“Belay that, Plur!” Sov stuck an arm out in his son’s direction. “Take the pup and throw him in the brig! Jusgil, where’s that open relay?”
“They’re not responding, Sarpi!”
A third barrage struck the ship, and this time they felt the undeniable sensation of falling. Sarpi Sov took control of the wheel and began twirling it to the left. “Belvan! Stabilizers!”
“They’re not responding!”
Duren glanced around to see Vadris Plur frozen in shock or disbelief. It was impossible to tell which, and he wasn’t about to find out.
He took off, diving down the ladder, into the hold, and raced for the brig.
8
Escape
Lhora felt the first strike hit the ship. Running over to where she’d seen the doorway appear, she tried to find the portal. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes whenever a ship suffered a direct hit, for a few seconds the systems would go down. If she was lucky…
It was solid.
“Plug!”
She slammed her hand against the bulkhead. Something flickered, and then her eyes caught it. There was a soft, nearly indistinguishable glow coming from what she assumed was the seam that followed the edge of the floor. It took a bit for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She still couldn’t see across to the other side of her cell, but at least it was something. And better than sitting here in complete darkness.
She gave a grunt of frustration. “Esstika? Is that you coming after these plugging mortiks? If it is, I hope you blow them out of the sky!” Raising her voice, she lifted her face to the ceiling and shouted, “I hope you get plugging blown out of the sky, you plugging rhogs!”
A second blast impacted with the ship. The pale light didn’t waver. She heard feet pounding the overhead decking. If she was in charge, she’d be assembling the men to the cannons. She knew nothing about the structure of Coltrosstian ships, but if their brig was below the gun ports, it was probably very similar to Beinight ships. And if that was the case, the lifeboats would be located—
A third shelling rocked the ship. The force of it sent her tumbling into the wall. She threw out her arms to help soften the impact…
She hit the opposite side of an outer corridor. Stunned, she stared at the overhead lanterns flickering in response. The brief loss of power had taken down the cell door, and the ship’s subsequent bucking had knocked her out of it.
Lhora scrambled to her feet and hurried to the end of the corridor, noticing the other cells she passed appeared to be empty. When she reached the hatchway, she spotted a small, recessed panel in the wall below the entry port. On her ships, that’s where the prisoner’s possessions were temporarily stored. “Oh, please, please, please.” Saying a quick prayer, she opened it, and she almost whooped for joy. Grabbing her weapons belt with her sword and knife still attached, she fastened it around her waist. She debated for a second whether to ascend the steps to the next deck with her sword in hand, in case she was accosted by any of the Coltrosstians, when the sensation of taking a nosedive came over her. Clutching the ladder prevented her from flying across the narrow space, and she realized she’d need both hands if the pilot made any more of those moves. She hastily clipped her weapon back onto her belt.
The ship leveled off, for however long that would be. She needed to get off this craft. Climbing the short flight, she pushed against the door to find it jammed. Or locked.
