The Spirit War(157)
“And no woman would give up life as a princess and betray her homeland for the love of a ruler she’s never met,” Josef said bitterly. “Don’t underestimate the Immortal Empress, admiral.” Josef looked up, raising his voice as he grabbed his crossbow from the ledge. “Stations! Here they come!”
The order was scarcely out of his mouth when the enormous palace ship crashed into the sunken remains of the Oseran fleet.
The squeal of wood on wood echoed off the cliffs, followed by the horrible crunch of breaking timbers. At the mouth of the bay, the line of sunken ships was bowing, dragged inward by the momentum of the enormous ship. The water churned as the sunken runners plowed along the seabed, and then, with a great clang of metal on stone, the tangle of anchors and knotted chains reached the end of its slack. The line caught, and the palace ship jerked to a halt.
The bay held its breath as the ship stopped. On its deck, the soldiers were sliding, thrown off their feet by the sudden stop. Some fell hundreds of feet into the water below as the ship tilted with a great groan, its keel well and truly stuck in the wall of the sunken fleet.
A cheer went up from the cliffs and then died out almost as quickly as the prow of the palace ship began to shake. Josef squinted. It was possible the crash had broken something inside, but the soldiers on the deck weren’t running with the sort of panic he’d expect from the crew of a damaged ship. He was still watching their movements for a sign of their plan when the prow of the palace ship fell forward.
The great pointed nose fell like an ancient tree, crashing into the bay with a splash that echoed off the cliffs. It bobbed once in the water before a network of ropes wrenched it tight. Josef bit back a curse. The prow hadn’t broken. It was designed to fall, forming a launch ramp for the troop boats Josef could now see waiting inside the ship’s enormous belly. The second the ramp was steady, the boats began to roll out, pushed by men carrying long wooden shields over their heads, their dark faces set in grim determination as they hauled the boats down the ramp and into the bay.
Three ships were in the water before Josef realized his army was gawking and not firing.
“Shoot!” Josef shouted, arching his neck to look up at the sailors on the cliffs. “Now!”
The men jumped at his voice, and at once a ragged volley launched from the cliffs. The short, black crossbow bolts flew from all directions, falling on the boats like rain. The enemy raised their shields over their heads, but it wasn’t enough. Men fell screaming into the water with bloody splashes as the Oseran arrows struck true, but it did not stop the torrent of boats pouring out of the palace ship.
“Keep firing!” Josef shouted as he reloaded his own bow. “Don’t let up!”
Wave after wave of bolts shot down from the cliffs, covering the enemy ramp in a bristle of wooden quills. The bolts struck hard, hard enough to punch holes in the troop ships that were already in the water. But for every boat the Oserans sank, two more appeared from the palace ship’s maw, sliding down the ramp into the bay whose blue water was now a sickly shade of purple.
“How many of the bastards are in there?” the admiral shouted.
“Too many,” Josef said, tossing his empty quiver down and reaching for another. “But they’re not the real trouble. Look.”
The admiral followed Josef’s gaze past the palace ship’s open nose to its back, and his ashen face turned even grayer.
On the rear deck of the palace ship, ten men stood in a circle around a glowing sphere of iron and stone. The sphere grew brighter by the second, until it hurt Josef’s eyes to look at. When it was as bright as a small sun, the men threw out their hands in unison and the glowing ball launched into the sky. It arced above the bay and started to fall, hurtling toward the watchtower with a high-pitched scream.
“War spirit!” the admiral cried. “Get a team down there!”
“No!” Josef shouted. “Keep firing! The war spirit is covered!”
The admiral stared at him. “Covered how?”
Josef nodded at the storm wall. “Time for that lazy bastard to do his part.”
The admiral turned and nearly dropped his bow. Eli was standing on the storm wall, staring up at the falling war spirit with a calm smile as he unbuttoned his shirt. With each button, black smoke rose to curl around him, flashing with sparks. Overhead, the war spirit was picking up speed, its scream ratcheting up to a deafening wail even Josef could feel in his bones. Just before it crashed into the tower’s tile roof, the fire over Eli’s head exploded and an enormous, glowing hand snatched the war spirit out of the air.