Page 55 of Vasmora

Zevander threw out his forearm, deflecting one, and before the second struck its mark, he slapped his hands over the approaching blade, catching it in his clasped palms. He sailed it back and pivoted, narrowly missing an arrow that zipped past his flank—one he suspected would’ve torn through his organs, given the sharp tip.

An outcry told him the blade he’d volleyed had struck flesh, though he didn’t get the chance to see which of the men he’d felled. Not when that tentacle came snapping toward his face again.

Zevander ducked, the quick seconds sparing him the opportunity to release more of his scorpions. Their size expanded, insectile legs clacking against the wood at a quick pace toward the marauders whose expressions remained steady, not a lick of fear swirling in their eyes.

Yet.

As one of the men lifted his palm, the scorpion struck fast, hammering its stinger into his abdomen. His body dropped like deadweight and he planked, trembling in paralysis as the poison coursed through him, dissolving his organs. Blood sputtered from his mouth. A heavier-set comrade frowned as a quivering mass that might have been his crewmate’s tongue spilled down his cheek onto the deck.

A force of air shot over Zevander as one of the men on deck attempted to hit him with Aeryz, but he stood too far away to knock him off his feet.

Shouts from the bigger ship’s deck pulled his attention toward a volley of arrows arcing through the air, their gold-tipped points glinting like a star shower as they cut through the darkness. The split second they rained down, a scorpion stinger snapped like a whip from behind, slamming into the deck boards in front of him.

The arrows meant for Zevander’s body struck the shiny, black exoskeleton, some bouncing off the hard chitin, not a single one hitting its mark. His skin prickled as the much larger scorpion peeled itself from his spine with a hiss and reared back at the same time two more arrows shot toward him, thrown by one of the marauders on deck. Once again, the scorpion stinger struck fast, lashing them away into the sea.

Gold Teeth drew his palm back again, but Zevander lunged forward, violently hurtling a torrent of flames toward his outstretched hand. Sablefyre caught flesh, reducing the marauder’s limb to ash that carried on the wind.

“Fucking hell!” Gold Teeth held the stump of his arm up, his eyes bulging with panic.

Zevander recoiled, eyeing two of the men scrambling for the ropes, climbing fist over fist, back toward their vessel. The crew still aboard the other ship peered over the edge, yelling at the men to hurry.

The enormous scorpion loomed over him, a monstrous shadow at his back, and the men remaining on deck stood frozen.

Neither Zevander, nor the two left standing at the bow, made a move to attack, and Zevander sent a blast of flames across the ropes instead. The tethers snapped free from the grappling hooks, the flame catching fast as it chased after the men dangling from them.

“In case anyone else had any ideas of escape,” Zevander said with an air of amusement.

Gold Teeth drew his dagger, one handedly, of course, and nudged the younger looking man beside him.

Instead of following whatever silent command he’d been given, the young man dove over the rails.

A foolish distraction on Zevander’s part.

White-hot pain struck Zevander’s shoulder, and he let out a grunt, turning his attention to the dagger sticking out of his arm. He cursed and plucked the blade free, tossing it between them. As he raised his palm for the flame, the man across from him let out a gasp and, like the other, ran for the rails.

Zevander thrusted forth his palm and the flame lashed out, catching Gold Teeth’s wool coat before he could jump. A scream barely broke from his chest, before flames engulfed him and a small red bloodstone rolled across the deck, clicking down the short staircase and into the cabin behind him.

He sent another blast of flames over the man who lay with his organs spilled across the deck. The pooling blood drew into a small sphere, leaving no trace of the man besides his bloodstone and a small bit of ash. The rocking of the ship sent the stone rolling across the deck, where it bounced between the rails and plopped into the sea.

A violet blaze struck his periphery, and he turned to see the other ship had caught flame, the sablefyre tearing across the hull as it drifted away from them, fyre devouring the skin sails.

The stench of burning meat crinkled his nose. Gods alive, he hated that fucking smell.

Creaking wood alerted him to Oswin climbing out of the hatch behind him, frowning as he held up Gold Teeth’s bloodstone. The old man released a forced breath, stumbling to the side. “Sablefyre … you … you’ve undergone the Emberforge.”

“Seems it’s not a myth, after all.”

Hand covering his mouth, he continued to study the bloodstone. “You survived.”

“We’ve plenty of time to talk about this after you get this boat back on route to Solassios.”

He nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, I want to hear everything.” Oswin scrambled for the tiller again, and Zevander lowered himself to the deck, his energy sapped. From his pocket, he tugged the vial of vivicantem and squeezed another dropperful onto his tongue, closing his eyes as the cool sensation expanded in his chest.

“I never asked you …” Oswin gripped the rope, just as before, trying to catch the wind as the sail flailed about. “What’s in Solassios? Besides the general.”

At first, Zevander didn’t answer. He rarely offered that kind of information to strangers. But Oswin wasn’t a stranger. He was the father of a man who’d sacrificed himself for Zevander’s freedom.

“My mate,” he said, staring out over the dark sea, where the pirate ship, still ablaze, had begun to sink, disappearing into the foggy horizon.