The ship edged closer to the Urkan fleet. But Ivar’s watchmen soon caught sight of it, arrows raining down on the Zagadkian oarsmen, who steadfastly refused to abandon their task. Kass murmured a silent prayer to the four gods on behalf of these brave men.
Closer the Zagadkian ship edged, progress slowing as Ivar’s archers picked the oarsmen off.
But it was close enough. “Fire!” bellowed Kassandr.
From the tall grasses, archers stood, a torch-wielding warrior quickly lighting their arrows. Kass gripped the wall in anticipation as the fire arrows streaked through the sky. The oarsmen leaped free of the fire ship, Urkans bellowing as they realized what was happening.
But it was too late.
Arrows landed, one after another, fire catching quickly in the dry brush piled atop the ship. Soon the entire boat was ablaze, a river-bound inferno drifting ever closer to the Urkan fleet. Kass was now grinning, bracing himself for the culmination of this operation—when the flames reached the contents of the cauldrons.
An explosion rocked the air, shaking the walls and knocking warriors on their arses. But Kassandr gripped the wall, laughing like a fool at the scene upon the water. A perimeter of burnt and overturned Urkan ships encircled where the fireship had been momentsago. Warriors floundered in the water under the weight of their chain mail, while berserkers rushed to douse the flames of a dozen burning ships. But as Kassandr’s gaze found the largest warship—the one housing King Ivar and Prince Bjorn—he frowned.
It was unmarred.
Commands were shouted, too far off for Kassandr to hear. A prickle of unease slid down his neck as he watched the warriors abandon their efforts to extinguish the fires. Instead, they took up the oars. Started rowing the flaming ships toward the inner river gate.
A cold pit of dread opened in Kassandr’s stomach.
“They will burn the gate!” he shouted. “Stop that ship!”
Volk loosed a piercing whistle, and the reserve fleet waiting in the back channel surged into the river. But as Kassandr’s gaze jumped from the Zagadkian fleet to the flaming ships drifting toward Kovograd’s timber gates, he knew they’d be too late.
“Curse the one who built this city entirely of wood!” he bellowed. His beast raged, howled, battered against him. All the while, Kassandr’s mind raced for another plan.
But it was time. Kassandr already felt the shifting of his flesh, the lengthening of his limbs and backbone. Spines burst from his flesh, claws tearing through his knuckles. Kassandr rolled his neck, then stood on his hind legs. And tilting his beastly head back, he loosed an earsplitting howl.
Kassandr took in the glorious moment when the berserkers paused their frenzied attempts to climb their ladders. Gazed up at him with dawning horror. For in that moment, they beheld his animal nature, and discovered the secret Zagadka had long hidden away.
Behind him, Kassandr’s brothers and sisters in arms shifted into their animal forms. The confusion and disbelief on the faces of his enemies made Kassandr smile wide.
Then he leaped from the stockade walls.
And at last, his beast tasted blood.
The scarf tied over Saga’s nose did little to quell the foul smell of the dim, flameless room. A dozen or so women sat silently in chairs, spooning horrid ingredients into ceramic flasks before carefully passing them to their neighbor. Saga, leader of this grim operation, had placed herself at the end of the line. Her mind was numb with all that had happened but she was glad to have something to busy her hands.
Elisava passed her a flask filled with putrid-smelling rock salts, ashes, tree resin, and lard, and Saga slid the stopper into place with all the control she could muster.
“The warfire,” the mountain cat shifter Grigorii had informed her, “will catch under sunlight. You must keep it in darkness, sealed within the flask.” According to Grigorii, the mixture within the flasks would catch on almost anything—water included. It certainly sounded effective against the enemy, though Saga wished it weren’t such a danger to handle.
The women Elisava had brought to her were all members of Zagadkian nobility, yet the fact that none were afraid to get their hands dirty immediately endeared them to Saga. Nonetheless, there had been more than one cutting look sent her way. There was no question they blamed her for the danger now surrounding their city. But Elisava had reminded the women that in this room, they had the power to help Zagadka’s warriors. And with that common goal, a tenuous peace had settled.
“It’s the last of the lard,” said Elisava glumly. She pushed to her feet and arched her back. “The butcher shall soon arrive with more, but it is a good time to wash and take a meal.” She looked about. “We must return to our task as quickly as possible.”
The women nodded, quickly filing out of the room. Saga remained in her chair, frowning at the basket of fire flasks. She’d counted just over fifty, and yet it didn’t seem nearly enough. She’d seen the Urkan war vessels anchored on the Kovosk. All afternoon,shouts had carried from the stockade walls, the entire fortress shaking at intervals. How could fifty fire flasks truly make a difference?
A hand fell upon her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You must rest and eat some food,” said Elisava in slow Zagadkian.
An impulsive thought pushed forth in Saga’s mind. “Should we send word,” she asked, eyeing Elisava, “to the clans beyond the river?”
A long weary sigh. “It is a waste of time. They will never come for us.”
Saga thought of the book back in her chambers. Of the legion of winged horses flying over a battlefield of fierce shifters. “But once they did.”
“We must keep our minds on what we can do here and now,” said Elisava. Her voice was hard, so unlike the carefree woman who’d flitted into Saga’s chambers all those weeks ago.
Saga nodded numbly. “I shall deliver the fire flasks, then tend to my needs.”
