Traitor's Moon by Lynn Flewelling

that they don’t develop speech and intelligence until they’re quite large?”
    â€œThat’s right, which means you’re more likely to be killed by one the size of a hound than those bigger than houses. Only a few of the fingerlings survive and they move up into the mountains as they grow. If you do happen to meet one of any size, always treat it with respect.”
    â€œThen there’s the
khtir ’bai
—” Alec began, but was interrupted by another warning cry from the lookout.
    â€œEnemy vessels off the port bow!”
    Jumping to their feet, they spotted two sets of striped sails rounding a point of land no more than a mile ahead. Alec’s hands tightened around his bow; the sight of those sails brought back ugly memories.
    â€œSomething tells me they knew we were coming,” Seregil muttered.
    â€œAre they showing the battle flag?” Farren called up to the lookout.
    â€œNo, Captain, but they’ve got fires lit.”
    â€œRun up the battle standards!”
    Sleek and fast as lion hounds, the great ships cleared the point and wheeled in their direction. Plumes of black smoke trailed in their wakes.
    â€œToo late for tricks,” said Thero, halfway to the castle ladder already.
    â€œAt least we outnumber them,” said Alec.
    Seregil shook his head. “They’re bigger, faster, and more heavily armed than our ships. And probably crawling with marines.”
    â€œMarines?” Alec’s mouth set in a hard line. Dodging through the throng of sailors and soldiers scrambling to their posts, he led the way to the port rail and joined the line of archers already positioned.
    Sailors struck the mizzen, slowing the
Zyria
to allow the other ships to engage the enemy first. As the
Wolf
sailed past, Alec saw Beka among those hurrying around the deck with weapons and jars of Benshâl Fire. Busy shouting orders, she didn’t see the luck sign he made in her direction.
    The
Wolf was
the first to attack, striking one of the enemy vessels amidships with canisters of Benshâl Fire. Oily smoke billowed up, but the ship held its course and sent a volley of arrows in return as it swept past to bear down on the
Zyria
.
    On Alec’s left, Minál shifted nervously. “We’re in for it now.”
    â€œArchers at the ready!” Klia shouted from the forecastle deck. “Shoot at will!”
    Alec chose a man on the foredeck of the enemy vessel, drew the Black Radly’s bowstring to his ear, and released the first shaft. Not pausing to see if it struck home, he drew one arrow after another and sent them speeding across the water. Beside him, Seregil and the archers of Urgazhi Turma did the same, each setting their own grim rhythm as the great ship closed in on them.
    Enemy shafts were flying around their ears now, thudding into the deck and the wooden shields mounted on the rail. The hissing song of string and shaft was soon joined by the first cries of the wounded.
    As the ship loomed ever closer, Alec spotted what appeared to be the bronze heads of some sort of monster mounted below her forecastle rail. The placement seemed too strategic to be mere decoration, but he couldn’t imagine what they could be.
    He was about to point them out to the others when Seregil let out a startled curse and staggered back, struck in the right shoulder by a blue-fletched Plenimaran arrow.
    â€œHow bad?” Alec demanded, pulling him to shelter against the rail.
    â€œNot so bad,” Seregil hissed through gritted teeth, yanking the shaft out with surprising ease. The thick leather strap of his quiver and the mail beneath his coat had prevented the head from piercing his shoulder, but the arrow had struck hard enough to drive the metal rings of the mail through the shirt below, leaving a bloody dent in his shoulder mere inches from his throat.
    He handed the enemy shaft to Alec with a wry grimace. “Send this back to its owner for me, will