A Reign of Steel by Morgan Rice

out at the ships, bobbing in the rough waters, anchored
perhaps a hundred yards offshore; the sailors surely had no idea what had happened
on shore, no idea of what was about to happen to them. He could not let them
get hurt. And he also needed to reach them for their own escape. Reece surveyed
the landscape, wondering how they could do it.
    “We
can swim,” Reece said.
    Srog
shook his head.
    “I’d
never make it,” he replied.
    “None
of us would,” Matus added. “Those waters are rougher than they look. You are
not from here; you do not understand. The tides are fierce in the open sea. We
would all drown. I’d rather die on dry land than at sea.”
    “What
about those rocks?” Stara suddenly said.
    They
all turned and followed her finger. As he peered into the rain, wiping water
from his eyes, Reece saw a jetty of rocks, jutting out into the ocean perhaps
thirty yards.
    “If
we can make it to the edge of those rocks, my arrows can reach,” Stara said,
lifting her bow.
    “Can
reach what?” Matus asked.
    “The
closest ship,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
    Reece
looked at her, confused.
    “And
why would you fire on our own ships?”
    Stara
shook her head, impatient.
    “You
don’t understand,” she said. “We can attach a rope to the arrow. If the arrow
lodges in the deck, it will give us a line. It can guide us through the waters.
We can pull ourselves as we swim to the ship.”
    Reece
looked at her, impressed by her bold plan. The idea was crazy enough that it
just might work.
    “And
what are the Queen’s men going to do when they see an arrow with a rope lodging
into their ship in the black of night?” Srog asked. “They will cut it off. Or
they will kill us. How should they know it is us?”
    Reece
thought quickly.
    “The
MacGil sign,” he said. “The falcon’s claws. Any MacGil of the Ring will
recognize it. Three arrows shot straight into the sky, all of them aflame. If we
shoot them off first, they’ll know it’s us, not the enemy.”
    Srog
looked at Reece skeptically.
    “And
how are you going to get flaming arrows to last in weather like this?”
    “They
don’t need to last,” Reece replied. “They just need to stay aflight for a few
seconds, just long enough for the sailors to see them, before the rains will
put them out.”
    Srog
shook his head.
    “It
all sounds like craziness to me,” he said.
    “Do
you have any better ideas?” Reece asked.
    Srog
shook his head.
    “Then
it’s settled,” Reece said.
    “That
rope there,” said Stara, pointing. “The long one, coiled up, on the beach, near
Tirus’s men. It is just long enough. That’s what we need. We can tie it to the
arrow and make it work.”
    “And
if your brother’s men spot us?” Srog asked.
    Stara
shrugged.
    “Then
we shall be killed by our own men.”
    “And
what of those ten men there, blocking the entrance to the jetty?” Srog asked.
    Reece
looked out and saw six soldiers standing before it. He turned, snatched Stara’s
bow, grabbed an arrow, raised it high, and fired.
    The
arrow sailed through the air, sailing down forty yards, and pierced one of the
soldiers through the throat. He dropped dead.
    “I
count nine,” Reece said, then took off at a sprint.
    *
    The
others followed Reece as he sprinted down the hill, slipping and sliding,
scrambling for the jetty. It took Tirus’s men a few moments to realize that one
of their own had fallen; yet soon enough they did, and they all drew their
weapons, on guard, peering out into the night for the enemy.
    Reece
and the others raced recklessly for the chokepoint leading out to the jetty, Reece
feeling that if they got their fast enough, just maybe they could kill the
soldiers guarding it before they knew what hit them. More importantly, maybe
they could get past them.
    “Attack
them, but no matter what, don’t stop running!” Reece yelled to the others. “We’re
not here to fight them all—we just need to make it past them,