Night came quickly, and we took turns keeping watch while others slept. Makatza and I were the first to watch over the quiet waters, me keeping a sharp eye while she kept the helm steady on our course.
“Thank you for coming, Mak,” I spoke in a whisper so as not to wake anyone.
“You don’t owe me thanks,tzuk vartu.” She leaned in, smelling of saltwater and spice, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “One of my crew, one of my blood.”
Makatza—a woman of few words—surprised me when she spoke again, her eyes fixed ahead. “You have never judged me.” She ran a thumb along the point of her tiny tusks. “You are a rare kind.”
I knew Mak had experienced harsh treatment for her half-Orc heritage. Whenever we’d dock at port and spend a few nights in an inn, both of us would get our fair share of nasty stares and whispers, but she’d had it even worse than I. I’d get the usual Faeling freak comments, but people would cower from her in fear—pull their children behind them, draw their daggers from their belts. Fear was worse than disdain. I knew that well, too.
“It’s the bare minimum, isn’t it?” I loosed a bitter chuckle. “Not to judge someone for something so irrelevant to their character.”
“People assume the worst of the Orc clans of the Azog Bog. They say we are a violent people. But never you. So, I needed to say it. Thank you, too. For everything.”
In case we don’t make it, was left unsaid between us.
I gave her hand a squeeze just as the acrid scent of sulfur filled my nose. Down on the deck, runes were forming in the wood, slowly forming a circle. Five that I could see—probably more that I couldn’t.
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”
Everyone was on their feet, positioned in separate corners of the boat before the final runes formed—revealing a total of nine men dressed head to toe in robes of white. All but one had their hood drawn. The one bold enough to reveal his face, who I assumed to be their leader, was a large man with a scar running from his cheek to the dark stubble along his jaw. His black hair, peppered with gray, was a mess of curls cropped close to his ears. It was his eyes that struck me most of all—a stormy silver filled with pure, unfettered hatred, and locked right on me.
“Alandris Vi’Elissar,” the man hummed the name like sweet poison. “You traitorous piece of shit. How unsurprising to find you here with that Goddess-forsaken abomination.”
“Tieran,” Alandris bit back. “How did you find us?”
I kept my eyes moving from one attacker to the next, observing their hands for any sudden movements as I listened and let my magic pool beneath my fingertips in wait.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you for quite some time.” Tieran smirked. “I never did trust you. You think I believed Lyandril was guilty of the crimes you accused him of?” His lip twitched.“It was not the Council, it was you who murdered him in cold blood. My friend. FOR A MONSTER!”
Let me show him a monster, dear.
I swallowed.
Tieran took a step towards Alandris. “You shall know the wrath of our Goddess, Alessiantha. May her holy light purge you of the corruption you’ve bathed yourself in.”
Jyuri suddenly cleared his throat. “I love the speech, really do, but I’m afraid I’m quite bored.”
The robed figure in front of him lunged. “Shut your mouth, you heretic!”
“Stupid Human.”
Jyuri grabbed the man by the face, an arm’s length away, digging his claws in until the man was screeching and bleeding all over the deck.
Tieran’s voice boomed as the man’s limp body smacked the wood. “KILL THEM!”
Seizing the chaotic moment, the two men beside me flanked me. The first, a Mage, shot an arc of lightning from his palm, which I blocked with a quick wall of shadow. The second, wielding two short blades, spun both down toward me in a whirlwind of speed. With only one arm to block, I caught one blade on my forearm, protected with hardened magic, while the other caught my upper thigh. Not deep enough to stick, but deep enough to send a concerning amount of warm blood cascading down my leg.
The pain barely registered—or rather, I didn’t have time for it to register before they were bearing down on me once more. I needed to take care of the blade wielder first. Close quarters magic against a blade was difficult enough one on one, with my uneven odds it was damn near impossible. And they had me nearly pinned against the rail.
I ducked under the Mage’s lash of lightning and dove straight for his friend, sending him to the deck—one of his blades ripped from his grasp on the impact. Rolling with him, I grabbed for any bit of his exposed skin and let my magic burst forth. He struggled to regain control, pulling himself on top of me and pinning me. His hood had fallen in the scuffle, revealing a young half-Elf with wheat-colored hair to his shoulders. His blade struggled to meet my neck, shaking with his trembling hands, and I dug deeper into the well of my magic, holding him back from slicing my head clean off my shoulders, with everything I had.
In the same moment, blood began to pool in his eyes, and I felt the last of his life drain from his body. The hairs on my arms rose, and a shock of pain electrified my body. A scream tore from my throat as I writhed underneath the lifeless body which had fallen forward on top of me, blade clattering at my side. I struggled to push off the dead weight as another arc of lightning shot through me, stopping me in my tracks.
My fingers and toes curled into claws as I clenched my teeth to endure the agony.
Let me out.
I choked out a cough. Blood.
