The body in Grymm's arms went stiff with a sudden rigor mortis, the limbs twitching and spasming as muscles contracted and released beneath the surface of the norn's skin. Slowly, a hideous smile spread beneath Bronn's mustache, a smile that was not his own. The swordsman's eyes snapped open, a solid, inky black, and his hand lifted to clench tightly around his brother's throat. "Brother!" Grymm choked out, horrified.

The thing that had been Bronn gave a sick-sounding laugh. "No more."

- Near the gunwale, Cobiah raised his sword and focused on Captain Whiting, refusing to allow the green pinp.r.i.c.ks of light within the monster's skull to unnerve him. "I outrank you, Cap'n," Cobiah snarled. "You can swab your own decks!"

Dawn's rays shone palely from the bone of Whiting's skull and the exposed bone beneath his torn frock coat. "Bosun Vost," the undead captain said with a smile. "Give him thirty-nine lashes as penance for his insolence."

A scuttling creature rose from the ma.s.ses aboard the Indomitable. Its hands, from the wrists down, had been replaced with leathery tentacles, not suckered like an octopus's, but serrated, like the teeth of a shark. His white hair hung in torn lumps from parchment-like skin, and beneath the skin, the muscles that s.h.i.+fted the creature's frame were a moldy shade of bluish-white. "Aye, sir," it rasped in a voice like sandpaper. "I'll teach the boy a lesson, a'right."

"Cobiah!" Isaye screamed from the fore of the s.h.i.+p. Her sword swung free of one of the Indomitable's undead sailors, tearing through its sternum. She placed her foot on the writhing corpse's chest and pushed, heaving the body overboard.

Cobiah struggled to keep down his bile as Vost crawled over the gunwale and onto the Nomad II's deck. "I'm a bit busy, Isaye-" Vost's arms lashed out, the tentacles slas.h.i.+ng across Cobiah's chest. Although he jumped back, the blow tore open his s.h.i.+rt, and where the undead bosun's tentacles touched his skin, boils rose as if he'd been splashed with acid. It scalded fiercely, burning through his skin with incredible pain. Furthermore, the knife wound on his side had begun to bleed again, spotting the bandages across his rib cage with scarlet. This fight was not going well.

Out on the open sea, the Krytan vessels were falling, one by one, to the Dead s.h.i.+ps. The two scarlet-sailed xebecs led the charge, their magic las.h.i.+ng out against the living fleet. As Cobiah watched, the red sails of one s.h.i.+p s.h.i.+vered and burst into flame, heat waves rippling out toward a Krytan galleon. The Krytan s.h.i.+p caught fire as the surge of heat pa.s.sed, its hull spontaneously bursting into flame. He could hear the distant shouts of the sailors as they hurried to put out the fire with the pumps before it could spread, and saw them targeted by a hundred arrows launched from the xebec's wide deck. Though the Orrian s.h.i.+ps were less advanced than the Indomitable, their magic made them even more dangerous.

- Bronn Svaard surged to his feet, lifting his brother by the neck. His black eyes blazed in sharp contrast to the deathly pallor of his skin. "Don't worry, Grymm," he snarled. "You'll join me in the service of the dragon, and we will again fight as one. We will serve Zhaitan forever!"

In panic and fear, Grymm raised his hands above his shoulders, bringing them down in forceful chops onto his brother's collarbone. Once, twice, three times, he struck to either side of Bronn's neck. On the third blow, the bone cracked, and Bronn's hands loosened around Grymm's throat. With a lurch, Grymm raised his feet to Bronn's chest and kicked, separating the two with a ma.s.sive shove. Grymm fell to the deck, and Bronn staggered back. Rolling to his side, Grymm roared to his brother. "Bronn! Fight it!"

"No, my brother." Bronn reached for his bloodied sword. Shaking the stain from its blade, he lifted the weapon and strode toward Grymm. "You cannot fight the inevitable. I feel it in my bones-in my blood. Zhaitan's will is my will. His strength is my strength." Bronn's black eyes flashed. "The world will be reborn by the dragon's will. Death is the beginning!"

He swung the greatsword in a mighty arc, and Grymm was forced to roll aside. As the blade completed its forward sweep, Grymm gathered himself, lunging to his feet in the wake of his brother's sword.

"No!" Grymm raged. "You are not my brother!" In fury, Grymm lifted his hands, screaming a prayer to the Spirits of the Wild as tears welled in his eyes. "Bear, give me strength! Snow Leopard, lend me speed! Raven, let my hands be your talons!" As he shouted the words, his flesh began to transform, his body s.h.i.+fting, growing larger. "Ever-running Wolf, I am your son. Let me die if I must, but I cannot abandon my brother to this fate!

"Spirits, be with me!" The last words were an almost inhuman roar. Grymm's body had swelled to nearly twice its original size, standing eight feet high with ma.s.sive shoulders. Silvery claws erupted from his overlong fingers, and cold starlight shone in his eyes. Part man, part wolf, Grymm raised his muzzle in a woeful howl. Then, with a surge of motion, he charged toward his undead brother once more, pitting claw and savagery against steel.

- Two smaller Orrian s.h.i.+ps cut across the Nomad II's wake, guns blazing. They were chasing a swift little ketch flying the colors of Port n.o.ble, her crew struggling desperately to keep up their speed. As the ketch tacked back and forth, the Dead s.h.i.+ps tried to follow, but their sails grew tangled in the constant s.h.i.+ft of rigging and line. Foundering, they blasted their deck guns in a desperate attempt to slow their opponent, but the ketch spun on a lofty roll of wave and danced back toward them, evading their fire. She took one out with a full broadside of her nine-pound guns, the cannons rocking back on their braces.

Yet for every victory, there were multiple defeats. One of the Dead s.h.i.+ps rammed the hull of a wide-berthed Krytan clipper, throwing lines over her side as the Krytans fired their guns, trying to ward off the Orrians. Chunks of the Dead s.h.i.+p's wooden frame blew off with each a.s.sault, but beneath the hull was a structure of bone and muscle, like a living underbelly that absorbed the shots from the Krytan guns. Although the wood peeled like flesh, the underside remained st.u.r.dy-and the brave little clipper could not be rid of her. Strange meaty tentacles, like mobile intestines, lashed up from clefts between the bony ridges and attached themselves to the deck of the clipper. The suckers on the flabby lengths clung to every inch of wood as the tentacles contracted, crus.h.i.+ng the s.h.i.+p with hideous strength.

In the harbor, the xebecs were making thin lines toward the Indomitable, apparently aware of the flags.h.i.+p's distress. With sails of flame, they cut through the billowing waves, leaving a trail of white foam and black ash behind them. "Cobiah!" Isaye yelled. She pointed with the blade of her cutla.s.s. "Something's under the water!"

Past the Indomitable, a shadow moved beneath the waves. At first, Cobiah dismissed it, thinking it nothing more than the monstrosities he'd already seen, the kind that clawed their way up the Nomad II's hull or walked on the sandy beaches beneath the white-foamed waves. But this one was different. It wasn't just the sheer size-though large, the ma.s.s could have been made up of sunken s.h.i.+ps or a crowd of undead moving across the ocean floor. But this one moved in a way that was unlike the others; it was no s.h.i.+p, no swimming human or near-human form. The purplish shadow moved like an eel, undulating and twisting in the current that pulled the Nomad II toward the island in the bay. As it rose toward the surface, the long shape took form-flippers, each as large as a small ketch; a tail as flat and ma.s.sive as the deck of one of the Krytan galleons. The head that broke the waterline was triangular and long, with sleek rivulets of hardened flesh to shunt the water from the creature's black, beady eyes. Its mouth was wide and long like a shark's, and rows of teeth-each the size of a man-slit the water into bloodstained froth. Cobiah stumbled as the s.h.i.+p tilted, water rus.h.i.+ng before the monster like innocents before an invading tide. He knew that creature.

It was the Maw.

"Eyes to port! Watch for a ramming blow from beneath us!" Cobiah yelled in warning. The leviathan rose farther, a bellow trumpeting from its rotting jaw. Once its leap lifted most of the monster's body above the water, Cobiah could see it more clearly-and it was not entirely as he remembered. The monster was as dead as the s.h.i.+ps of Orr, its black flesh rotted and fouled by disease. Barnacles clung to the creature's fins, and putrid green spittle blew from its thick, fleshy lips. The thras.h.i.+ng tail slashed through the current. Water rushed through holes in the creature's flesh, revealing bones etched with salt pitting and bloodsucking remoras the size of a lifeboat writhing in the behemoth's innards. A long, pale scar in the creature's cheek marked an old wound where a cannonball had once rent a b.l.o.o.d.y hole in sensitive flesh.

"The rule of the living has ended," Captain Whiting said mockingly. "This is the time of the Elder Dragons. Thus begins the time of Zhaitan and of Orr. The day of their ultimate victory is close."

"Close," Cobiah said through gritted teeth, "but not today." He spun to look toward the city and saw the fort at Claw Island growing nearer and nearer still. Cobiah could see the Lionguard manning its walls, turning their cannons toward the sea battle. The flag of Lion's Arch whipped in the wind above its highest tower, and the sandy beach outside the wall held two trebuchets standing ready with b.a.l.l.s of flaming pitch. "We're here," he breathed, a smile spreading across his features. "We made it."

As if in answer, the fortress opened fire.

The morning sun played over the high stone walls of the island fortress, illuminating sandstone and granite barricades-and the heavy black iron of cannons on its gunnery emplacements. The boom of the guns rolled like thunder, pounding heavy ammunition in waves, one immediately after the next, onto the Dead s.h.i.+ps of the Orrian armada. The cannons' muzzles glowed like red eyes, and the smell of powder smoke swirled in acrid plumes around the fortification. The foam on Claw Island's sandy beach should have been white, but instead it was stained red with blood spilled from the s.h.i.+ps at the mouth of the harbor. The fortification's cannons cracked a sharp, near-constant retort, and the bombard guns on the cliffsides above the city echoed with the fire of continued gunnery, but while they could destroy the Orrian s.h.i.+ps, they could do little against the Maw.

Even with the fortress and city gunnery, the Dead s.h.i.+ps still had an advantage. They outnumbered the Krytan vessels by more than three to one, and the magic of the two Orrian xebecs continued to raze smaller s.h.i.+ps. They raced here and there amid the battle, unfettered by tide or wind, shattering clippers with rock-hard buffets of air or setting them alight with the inferno of their blazing scarlet sails. They knew better than to come close to Claw Island, and with magic enough to give them motion and direction against the tide, the guns were of little use against the Orrian xebecs.

The Balthazar's Trident remained away from the main swell of the battle, using her long-range guns to aid s.h.i.+ps that were suffering under the Orrian attack. Cobiah was glad to see Edair was helping, but happier still to see that the s.h.i.+p was safe. For now.

All around the Nomad II, the Maw laid claim to anything that floundered or fell behind. The monster rose from the waves and bared huge rows of teeth, snapping a clipper s.h.i.+p in half. The screams of sailors were soon drowned in the gargantuan creature's wake. Chernock began clambering up the mast, her clawed hands sinking into the thick wood. On his high yardarm, Tenzin let go of the harpoon gun and drew a pistol from his belt, trying to get a bead on her, but the clever wight dodged and hid behind flaps of sail. As she climbed, she snapped rigging lines with her claws, causing the canvas to sag and s.h.i.+ft and cover her from his keen aim. Tenzin skittered higher and higher, trying to find an opening for the shot, but to no avail.

On the deck, Isaye's crew fought valiantly against the undead from the Indomitable, swords flas.h.i.+ng and pistols thundering. They were outnumbered, but the narrow deck kept the Nomad II's sailors from being overrun. They clumped together, pressing back-to-back to defend one another against the horrific enemy. Amid the shambling zombies and shuffling undead, the monstrous Vost laid about with whiplike tentacles, drawling blood with each crack and snap. He didn't bother to choose his targets, las.h.i.+ng the living and undead with equal enthusiasm. Pus.h.i.+ng past those in his way, Vost inexorably drew closer and closer to Cobiah.

At last, Cobiah found himself trapped between Vost and a pile of netted cargo secured to the quarterdeck. On the Indomitable, Captain Whiting stood with one foot on the gunwale, laughing at the brutal carnage. His eyes lit with green fire as he relished Cobiah's desperate situation. "Well done, Bosun," he oozed. "Thirty-nine lashes, if you please."

Vost struck, tentacles slicing through the air with a hiss that could be heard even over the clanging of swords. Cobiah caught the first strike on his sword, cutting through one of the tentacles with the sharp edge of his blade. He stabbed forward, but the blade of the cutla.s.s turned against Vost's hard carapace. The slicing sword was simply unable to pierce the rocky armor of the undead bosun's barnacle-covered skin. More tentacles flailed out where Vost's arms had once been, wrapping like wet seaweed around Cobiah's weapon. With a sharp tug, Vost jerked the sword out of Cobiah's hand. As it crashed to the deck, Cobiah lunged to trap the blade beneath his foot before the weapon slid overboard in a wash of water.

The undead bosun's second strike cracked over Cobiah's shoulder and across his back, tearing through his coat, his s.h.i.+rt, and his skin. Long red welts of blood sprayed up in its wake. "Cobiah!" Tenzin yelled from above. "Catch!" He tossed his pistol down through the rigging. Desperately praying to Dwayna, Cobiah lunged-and caught the b.u.t.t of the gun in his outstretched hand.

Unbalanced, Cobiah fell to one knee and jerked the pistol around. He squeezed the trigger, and shots rang out, piercing Vost's rocky skin. The carapace cracked, barnacles fell away where the bullets had entered, and the bosun staggered, bloodshot eyes turning red. He lifted a hand to touch the brackish blood seeping from the wounds and gave a withering smile. "Nice shot, but your bullets are too small to do me significant harm, Coby." Vost chortled, a sticky sort of sound. "Shall we continue with your lashes?" he snarled, and the undead bosun's tentacles whipped out with murderous intent.

Tossing away the empty pistol, Cobiah put out his hand and allowed the tentacles to strike his forearm. Skin flayed beneath his twisted coat sleeve as the tentacles wrapped about his arm. He clenched them in his hand, gritting his teeth, and then pulled with all his might. At the same time, he flipped his sword upward with the toe of his boot, grabbing the handle with his other hand and praying to Grenth that he still had some luck left.

Unprepared, Vost toppled forward-and Cobiah targeted the area of the carapace where the bullets had broken through. The sword point caught in one of the bullet holes, splitting open the hole with an audible crack. Cobiah tugged again, squeezing Vost's tentacles in his free hand and jamming the sword in farther with the other. The barnacle covering around Vost's flesh fractured farther, allowing the sword to slide in even more. Letting go of the tentacles, Cobiah clutched both hands around the sword hilt and shoved it upward, shattering the rough covering and splitting Vost's torso in half.

Vost shuddered and collapsed, the hideous light fading from his eyes. As the monstrosity crumpled to the deck, Cobiah tore the tentacles from his arm. Blood oozed from long cuts where skin hung like sc.r.a.ps of sail. He flexed his hand to see that all the fingers still worked, then twisted a sc.r.a.p of cloth tightly around the wound and turned back to the fight.

The Dead s.h.i.+ps in the harbor were taking a pounding from Claw Island's cannons, and one of the mighty xebecs had a sail listing in its traces. But the rest of the Orrian armada still harried the Krytan s.h.i.+ps-and three of the black-hulled vessels were drawing close to Prince Edair's flags.h.i.+p. Cobiah saw Isaye's eyes worriedly following the distant motion of the Balthazar's Trident, fearing for the waddling s.h.i.+p of the line.

At the center of the Nomad II's main deck, a ferocious battle was raging. Grymm, rising up to slash with steely claws, struggled against his brother's sword. Bronn's laugh was burbling and rank, filled with the cloying sickness of Orr. Where his sword cut, it left a black trail in the air like the bullets of Captain Whiting's pistol. Already, Grymm had a long gash in his side. Bronn had suffered as well; claw marks trailed across his face, there were bites in the meat of both shoulders, and dark blood flowed over the muscles of his chest. The wounds would have killed a mortal man. Against the undead, they did nothing but add to Bronn's horrific appearance.

Bronn slashed at his brother, sword flying through the air viciously. Grymm sidestepped the blow and roared, the anger in his b.e.s.t.i.a.l tone shaking the deck. He lunged closer, clasping Bronn's shoulders in his wicked claws. Bronn howled, unable to move his sword, as Grymm's terrible, wolflike head bowed closer.

"I'm sorry, brother. I tried," Grymm whispered.

"I'll slaughter you!" the undead Bronn roared, fighting to draw a dagger from his belt. The blade slid free of its sheath, on a path toward Grymm's heart.

Grymm didn't give him that chance. Savagely twisting his head, he dug long canines into his brother's throat and ripped it through. Bronn choked. His back arched as his muscles continued to try to fight the enemy, forcing the body to struggle even against such a horrible wound. Then, with a terrible wheezing sound, he fell to the deck, truly dead. The norn in beast form raised its head toward the last stars of morning and let out a sorrowful, heartbreaking howl.

Cobiah had never seen a wolf cry before. He never wanted to see it again.

The cannon barrage from Claw Island continued to batter the Orrian s.h.i.+ps, but now several of them had begun to hammer the fortress with broadsides of their own. The island was taking damage, and smoke rose from the fortress where buildings inside had been set alight. The gunnery emplacements were taking a toll on the Dead s.h.i.+ps, but it simply wasn't enough to make a serious dent in the Orrian a.s.sault.

The s.h.i.+p taking the most significant damage was the galleon in the lead: the Indomitable. She was closest to Claw Island, and despite the Nomad II's cover, the fortress had concentrated two of its cannons solely on the prodigious galleon. Areas of the Indomitable's hull were completely staved in, and the ocean swirled around the bones of her keel and lower decks.

Captain Whiting saw it, too. Instead of ordering more sailors forward, he was focusing on the bilges, struggling to keep his s.h.i.+p above water so they could finish the fight. The Nomad II's lines prevented them from avoiding the island or using the current to get away from the guns, making the Indomitable a sitting duck for the fortress's artillery. Unable to flee or fire effectively against Claw Island, the Indomitable turned her guns toward the most notable target behind the Krytan line.

The Balthazar's Trident.

Cannon fire rang out in furious tandem, white plumes rising from the far side of the Indomitable. The Balthazar's Trident was too close, harried by three Dead s.h.i.+ps. Cobiah saw them turn and work together, driving her toward this fate without any sign of communication. It was as if the minions of the Orrian dragon thought with one mind, capitalizing on every advantage that occurred along the battlefield. Those three smaller s.h.i.+ps would keep the Balthazar's Trident from retreating farther into the city's harbor. If the Indomitable kept firing, the prince's s.h.i.+p would break apart and sink-or worse, like other injured s.h.i.+ps, become chum for the lurking Maw.

Cobiah thought quickly. If he could distract the crew of the Indomitable, they might stop firing on the Balthazar's Trident. The king's s.h.i.+p could escape the galleon's guns. But how? He frowned, considering his options. There was only one thing that the undead sailors on the Indomitable wanted more than the destruction of Krytan s.h.i.+ps.

"Me." Cobiah's mind rushed through a thousand options, settling at last on the tactic he'd always preferred-he'd have to attack. Grasping a loose line of rigging in his uninjured hand, Cobiah ran backward to get a head start. He raced forward, hurling himself up and swinging wildly on the line as he had done in his youth. The line stretched, lifted him from the deck, and swung him toward the enemy s.h.i.+p-but as the rope played out to its full reach, Cobiah's strength failed. One arm was not enough to hold him aloft, nor were his muscles as powerful as they had once been. Instead of sailing gracefully to the Indomitable's yardarm, Cobiah found himself tumbling down onto her sticky black deck. He slid, scrambling, and slammed up against her mizzenmast. The sky spun above Cobiah as he struggled to catch his breath. Something tumbled from an inner pocket of his coat. Instinctively, Cobiah grabbed the limp bundle, barely recognizing the little doll. He stared into its lifeless b.u.t.ton eyes and tried to understand how she could still be wearing that st.i.tched-on smile. The sails above him flowed in the wind, black and foul, the purity of long-ago days washed away by the horrors of Orr.

The Indomitable.

The horrors of his last moments aboard the galleon rushed into Cobiah's mind, blotting out his purpose with cruel memories. This time, there were no charr to save him, no Havoc to draw him from the sea. He was alone with the shades of his past.

An all-too-familiar figure loomed over him. Although its pockmarked skin was filthy with mold and the limp ponytail slick with rotting kelp, the narrow brown eyes laughed cruelly down at him. It was Tosh-or what was left of Tosh. "Co . . . bi . . . ah . . ." The broken jaw worked, struggling to get out the word. "Still . . . the pretty little . . . dolly." Tosh's hands closed on Cobiah's s.h.i.+rt, and the reek of his fetid breath filled the air. His fingers clenched the linen clothing with a stronger grip than any living man could possess.

Something primitive snapped within Cobiah's spirit at the sight of his old rival's dead face, and he flailed, punches striking in punctuation with his screams. Other undead sailors cl.u.s.tered tightly around him, their hands grabbing at Cobiah's flesh, jerking him to his feet with avaricious, scrabbling fingers. Shuddering backward against the mast, Cobiah tried to push them away. Another zombie pushed ahead of the rest, a crooked smile rupturing his ruined face.

"Good ol' Coby," Sethus whispered, his voice like the whisper of fog on the sea. Sour, greenish cankers oozed pus across the remnants of his skin. "Why'd you leave me? I thought we were friends." The words struck Cobiah like a physical blow, robbing him of air. He gaped and fell back against the rotted mizzenmast as Sethus murmured darkly, "Together again." Sethus's undead eyes glinted. "For Zhaitan. Forever."

"Take me to the captain," Cobiah said grimly, chills running up his spine. "I'm ready to do my duty." The undead shuffled and smiled, their fetid mouths gaping open in jawless, dripping pleasure. More and more of the undead crew gathered to watch the spectacle as Tosh shoved him forward, heading toward the green-banistered stairwell of the quarterdeck. Taking his time, hoping that more undead would gather-leaving their posts at the cannons to see the captive walk the deck-Cobiah strode solemnly through the cl.u.s.tered, horrific ma.s.s of wights. He had to keep their attention, give the undead a reason to focus on him rather than the Balthazar's Trident.

Holding fast to his courage, Cobiah glanced up at the ruined sails, and an old, familiar memory returned to him. Angel's wings. Biviane's wings. He took a deep breath of air laced with sulfur and rot. You've always been with me when I needed you most, little sister, Cobiah thought. I hope you're watching now.

Isaye's voice cut through the roar and blast of battle. "Coby!" she screamed from the Nomad II's quarterdeck. He saw her fighting her way across the other s.h.i.+p, heading for the ropes that tied the two gunwales together. Before she could reach them, another shout drew her attention upward.

"Isaye!" Tenzin's voice echoed from the high yardarm of the Nomad II. "By Lyssa's veil . . . Isaye, look!"

"I have to help Cobiah!" Isaye screamed, pointing with her sword. Her eyes were wide and her motions frantic with worry.

"The fleet!" Tenzin yelled again, overriding her concern. "Look!"

Beyond the fortress of Claw Island, beneath the wide arch of the Gangplank Bridge, sails were fast approaching. They came in every size, every shape-some were little more than bedsheets sewn hastily together, while others looked like canvas that had been taken half-finished from the weaver. Still, the sails were attached to yardarms, which hung from masts, which were attached to . . .

s.h.i.+ps, at least thirty strong. s.h.i.+ps of all sorts, all sizes, as patchwork and haphazard looking as their sails. Their hulls were brightly painted, colored randomly in blues and oranges, the colors changing down their hulls. They seemed cobbled together, as if someone had collected chunks of s.h.i.+ps and nailed them one against the other. Cobiah stared, believing at first that he was hallucinating, but as they approached with guns thundering, the nature of the patchwork vessels became more apparent.

These s.h.i.+ps hadn't just been built in Lion's Arch.

They'd been built from Lion's Arch.

Every retired boat and schooner, every clipper and galleon that had ever been converted into warehousing or into shops, every building in the city that had a hull and a keel had been pried up, retarred, and sent to sea. Some still had advertis.e.m.e.nts or names of shops painted on their hulls; others had quickly been refitted with masts of light posts and rudders made of signboard. The s.h.i.+ps were ramshackle, afloat with spit and a prayer, but they had one undeniable advantage: they were crewed by the finest sailors in the world.

Despite the wind that was at loggerheads with them and the wild tides that fought any s.h.i.+p sailing Sanctum Harbor, the fleet out of Lion's Arch had sails swelled with power. Magic pushed them, hurtling them forward with the breath of a tempest at their heels. The Lionguard elementalists were strong enough to push more than two dozen s.h.i.+ps from a standstill to running speed, keeping a powerful wind blowing at their backs through force of will alone.

As the undead gathered around him, Cobiah's eye fell on the lead s.h.i.+p. She was a brave pinnace, plowing through the waves ahead of the others at a speed none of them could match. Smaller than the galleons, larger than the multicolored clipper s.h.i.+ps, the Pride was leading the way. Even on the distant Indomitable, Cobiah could hear the rumble and pound of a heartbeat in the little s.h.i.+p's hold, the Pride's mighty engine pus.h.i.+ng her to the fore. She had her guns rolled out and s.h.i.+ning, the crew firing on the Orrians as quickly as they could load the cannons, and standing boldly on her prow, his orange fur rippling in the wind, stood Sykox Steamshroud.

A resounding cheer erupted across Sanctum Harbor at the sight of the makes.h.i.+ft fleet. The cheers echoed from the high cliffs of the bay where the Lionguard manned the city's artillery, through the brave fortress that stood against the incoming s.h.i.+ps, and all across the scattered Krytan vessels fighting bravely in the harbor. As the morning sun s.h.i.+mmered on cool blue water, the blazing cannons of the patchwork navy rained fire and destruction down on the Dead s.h.i.+ps. Even undead vessels could not withstand such a barrage. Fas.h.i.+oned as they were from broken mortal vessels, the will of Zhaitan s.h.i.+elded them and made them powerful-but this new armada was as large as their own, and the sailors were skilled in exploiting the weaknesses of Dead s.h.i.+ps. Between the firepower of Claw Island and the constant volleys of cannon shot from the patchwork fleet, the undead s.h.i.+ps began to break apart and founder. The advantage they'd gained was crumbling, and as the tide swept out from the city, it carried with it the broken pieces of many a black hull.

Aboard the Nomad II, the tide of the battle had turned, too. Isaye's crew fought with renewed determination, cutting apart their undead enemies and clearing the deck of the minions of Zhaitan. First among them was Grymm Svaard, still in wolf form, wreaking t.i.tanic vengeance on the undead. They fought until the deck was covered in torn, rotting flesh and black blood, hurling their opponents into the sea or tearing them apart.

The Maw, on the other hand, seemed to be delighting in the chaos of battle. It swept through the carnage, eating anything and everything, wherever it found flesh. The jagged teeth of the ma.s.sive creature crushed hull and keel, shredding sails and dragging sailors to their doom. Nothing was safe from its a.s.sault, neither Dead s.h.i.+p nor living crew. It attacked them all, without concern for the meager weapons leveled by those on the surface. Neither cannon nor land-based bombard seemed to have any ability to cause it harm.

The Indomitable had taken heavy damage from the cannons of pa.s.sing Krytan vessels, and her hull was cracked to the bone. Bits of raw flesh clung to her deck, writhing as fire arched from the cliffs of the city and slammed into her wooden core. Captain Whiting turned his green-flame eyes away from Lion's Arch, cursing in a language that had died long before he was born. "Continue firing on the large galleon . . . what's this?" The captain turned to stare at Cobiah. "What have you brought me, lads?" The captain's rotten lips burbled in horrible imitation of his living, fleshly quaver.

"It's the deserter, sir." Tosh dragged Cobiah forward.

The captain hissed, stepping to the banister, and all eyes turned to Cobiah. The mighty guns of the Indomitable fell silent, and Cobiah felt a ma.s.sive, weighty presence focus on him, something greater than the s.h.i.+p or the captain; something far away, and impossibly strong. "The deserter . . ." Captain Whiting drooled eagerly. "Come to reclaim your commission, Marriner?"

"Never," Cobiah said loudly, his answer evoking hisses from the crew.

Captain Whiting's eyes fell on him with pleasure. "We'll see about that," he snarled. His once-soft face had been eaten through by maggots, and his eyes were empty pits lit by flickering green flames. "Give him what-for, lads, and see if that takes some of the wind out of his sails."

The zombies obeyed, leaving their posts at the cannons and masts to attack Cobiah with raucous, mindless glee. Cobiah fought back, punching and kicking with all his strength. His right forearm ached and bled where Vost's tentacle lashes had injured him, and the wound in his side spilled a trickle of blood. But despite the pain and the fear, Cobiah kept his gaze on the Balthazar's Trident, ensuring that he kept them busy while the king's s.h.i.+p-carrying Isaye's son-sailed toward the slapdash armada of Lion's Arch. At last, she was out of range of the Indomitable's cannons. The distraction had worked, and the Balthazar's Trident was safe.

A tremor rocked the Indomitable. Her black sails swung limply and then tore free, rippling and whipping into the fierce wind. The bronze figure on the s.h.i.+p's prow began to glow with a sickly green light, her eyes and fingernails blazing with eager malice. The s.h.i.+p trembled once more, then began to sink. "The s.h.i.+p's taken too much damage. We must return to Orr." The captain eyed Cobiah scathingly. "Throw Marriner into the brig. We'll make sure his punishment lasts a very . . . long . . . time," the captain commanded. The undead crew was quick to obey, grasping Cobiah's shoulders and wrists and dragging him bodily forward as seawater began to splash over the sides of the s.h.i.+p. The Indomitable began to move-down, into the waves.

"Cobiah!" a voice screamed defiantly from the Nomad II. "No! I won't let them take him!"

Isaye. He focused his will on the sound. While the Balthazar's Trident had been in danger, he'd been content to take a beating, possibly even die, so that Isaye's son would be safe. But now, with the s.h.i.+p out of combat and the Indomitable threatening to submerge, Cobiah's survival instinct surged to the fore. He had to fight, had to find a way to get free of the s.h.i.+p before it dove beneath the waves and returned to Orr. He had to get back to her. Again, he heard Isaye calling frantically, refusing to give up on him. No matter what had pa.s.sed between them, Sykox had been right. Cobiah still loved her. He always would.

The lines that stretched between the Nomad II and her prey, designed to keep the Indomitable from separating, now stretched to their limit. The weight of the Indomitable's descent pulled at the Nomad II with ponderous strength. The smaller clipper, weighed down by the force of the towering s.h.i.+p of the line, began to lurch dangerously to starboard. Bosun Rahli leapt from the quarterdeck, leaving behind three fallen Orrians. Blade ready in her hand, she hacked at one of the thick hemp ropes. "Captain!" she commanded. "We have to cut the stays! The Dead s.h.i.+p's submerging-she'll drag us to the ocean floor!"

Isaye pulled her blade from a defeated enemy and turned toward the Indomitable. Her dark, silver-touched hair blew around her face like a thundercloud threaded with lightning, and her eyes were filled with fear. "Cobiah!"

"We have to free the Nomad, or it'll be the death of us all! Captain!" the bosun screamed. "Your orders?"

"Cobiah!"

Cobiah's blue eyes met Isaye's hazel ones, with a hundred dead men in between. There was no time for words, nor could she have heard him over the furor and combat between them. Instead, he nodded to her, absolving her of the decision. Tears streaming from her eyes, fists clenching on the s.h.i.+p's rail, she called to Rahli, "Cut the ropes."

"Aye, Captain!" Rahli did not pause even for a second. "Sever the lines! Free the Nomad before we find ourselves in that monster's gullet!" Sailors rushed to obey her orders, but the press of undead kept them from the heavy ropes. Rahli was attacked by two hideous, scrabbling wights even as her blade sank into the hemp, and she was forced to pull her sword from the task to defend her life instead. Back on the Indomitable, Captain Whiting laughed. The dragon's will infused the Orrians, coordinating their response-defending the ropes even as the black-hulled galleon pulled them all into the sea. The Nomad II was far too rich a prize to abandon.

Nearby, the Maw circled the two s.h.i.+ps, its huge mouth snapping up anyone who had the misfortune to fall into the waves. The more their valiant s.h.i.+p listed, the more the living had to fight just to stay aboard-and the more easily the undead, whose clawed feet and bone-spur fingertips bit deeply into the wood, could keep them from severing the lines.

Spying a fallen weapon caught in the Nomad II's cargo nets, Tenzin yelled down to the deck, "Rahli! Throw me that rifle!" Tossing down the harpoon gun, Tenzin caught the long gun when the bosun hurled it into the air. Balanced lengthwise on a yardarm, he drew steady aim on the ropes, planning to shoot them free.

Then Chernock struck.

The wight had been biding her time, moving cautiously among the rigging, all but forgotten in the press of combat. When Tenzin turned his attention to the ropes, she seized her opportunity. Leaping out from behind a spiderweb of ropes and mast, the wight landed on the yardarm, sinking her claws into the Krytan's back with a vindictive glee, her leathery face stretched into the vile semblance of a smile. Tenzin screamed in agony, rifle firing uselessly as she ripped into his flesh like a cat sharpening her claws. Chernock shrieked her b.l.o.o.d.y victory to the sky, raising one hand to lop away the Krytan's head.

Cobiah saw it all happening from the deck of the Indomitable, where the undead dragged him toward the lower hatches beneath their captain's approving gaze. Seizing an opportunity, Cobiah tore a pair of pistols from a zombie's belt, turning them toward the Nomad II. He could have used them to end his life before the s.h.i.+p submerged, or to fire on Captain Whiting-but Cobiah never even thought of himself. Instead, he fired across the gap between the two s.h.i.+ps, and the bullets ripped through Chernock's body. The impact pushed the wight back, inch by inch, with the pounding force of repet.i.tion until at last, she collapsed in final death and fell into the sea. "Now, Tenzin!" Cobiah yelled, desperate to see the Nomad II safely away. "Cut the lines!"

"Aye, Commodore!" Despite the agony of his wounds, the sharpshooter raised his rifle and fired, reloading with incredible speed to fire again and again. With each shot, a hemp line snapped. It took eight shots, emptying Tenzin's belt pouch of ammunition-but at last, the Nomad II pulled free.

The clipper rocked to her port with the sudden release of liberation. Water splashed in thick, blood-touched foam around the Indomitable's gunwale as the sudden sway of the Nomad II's release hurled the Dead s.h.i.+p to its starboard. Taken by surprise, the undead were toppled left and right-and Cobiah found himself suddenly free. Leaping up, he thrust an elbow into Tosh's face, cracking the undead sailor's jaw and hurling him aside. Cobiah's foot caught another zombie in the kneecap, and the monster crumpled to the tilting deck, sliding rapidly toward the edge of the s.h.i.+p. With a scream, the sailor tried to grasp the rotten boards, the railing, anything that would keep him from the water, but his clawed hands caught nothing, and he slid into the waiting jaws of the Maw.

Still holding the pistols, Cobiah clocked one of the undead with the hilt of an empty gun. He laid about with abandon, pounding squishy flesh and raw muscle, breaking bones and shattering barnacles that covered rotting, putrid skin. With rugged determination, he fought his way to the railing of the Indomitable's deck and stared across the steadily growing chasm between the two s.h.i.+ps. The Maw still thrashed about between them, snapping its teeth in the air where tantalizing shadows fell across the sea. One jump, one ma.s.sive leap, and so long as he didn't fall, he'd be safe aboard the Nomad II. He saw Isaye rush to the railing on the other side, her hands reaching desperately over the gunwale. "Jump, Cobiah," she yelled to him.

Suddenly, pain exploded through Cobiah's body as a knife dragged its way between his ribs. "Escape? No. You're a deserter, Marriner." Captain Whiting twisted the blade savagely before letting go. "And now you will die."

Cobiah turned, grasping the hilt of the dagger. Rage overwhelming the pain, Cobiah pulled it out and reversed the blade, raising it to thrust the edge into Whiting's fleshy throat. The captain's bone fingers clenched around his wrist as the wight struggled to escape the slowly piercing blade. Cobiah grinned wickedly, forcing the dagger to cut through bone and enchantment as the greenish flame in Captain Whiting's eyes quavered in sudden fear. "Deserter? No. The word you want, Captain, is 'mutineer.'" With a fierce twist of the dagger's long blade, Cobiah severed the captain's spine, cutting the monster's head from his rotting body.

As Whiting fell, the Indomitable shuddered to its core, and the bra.s.s figurehead on the bow let out a long, keening wail as if it, too, felt the blow of the captain's death. The Maw surfaced with a roar of its own, and from every Dead s.h.i.+p left in the Orrian armada, a cry of unified anguish rose from slavering orifice and torn jowl, as if the dragon itself were screaming.

"Cobiah!" On the Nomad II's deck, Isaye called to him desperately as the gulf between them grew ever wider. He could see that the clipper was dead in the water, one mast collapsed and the other ravaged by grapeshot. Even though the Nomad II was free of the Indomitable's pull, Isaye's s.h.i.+p could not give chase, nor even remain alongside the black vessel. Her sailors rushed about, trying to save the Nomad II from sinking, but that was the most they could do.

The Indomitable was crumbling around him, her black masts cracking from deck to high tip, keel twisting as though the s.h.i.+p was writhing in agony. Cobiah watched the deck boards collapse, creating gaping holes in the upper deck, yawing open to reveal sickly, mold-covered holds below. The smell that rose from within the s.h.i.+p was noxious, like decayed flesh and rancid blood, threatening to choke Cobiah with every breath.

Behind him, another voice whispered, "Coby . . . You were right about Orr. It's so beautiful. The ancient cathedrals, the palace of the G.o.ds, the magic . . . Remember how we used to talk about all the riches it contains, all the secrets waiting to be discovered? Come with me, Coby . . . I'll show it to you . . ." Sethus's voice was plaintive, and he extended a rotting, pustule-covered hand. The Indomitable was settling into the water, plunging lower with each sweep of the waves. Cobiah remembered the dreams of their youth, the long hours they'd spent talking about just such things. Promising to go there together. "Stay with me . . ."

"Good-bye, Sethus," Cobiah choked out, his wounds aching with a cold more biting than the seawater. He dropped the dagger and clutched Biviane's doll tightly in his one good hand. "Good-bye."