SLAM.
Tyria sat with her back resting against the chain room’s column, staring listlessly at the door. The hinges were already buckling despite the wood bracing them, just as the ones below had done.
SLAM.
Far from the nine hours she’d hoped for, the doors had only held the camels off about one each. Zevan had led them back up the tower as the doors fell, re-bracing the next one each time. Tyria hadn’t given much input since that knife had slashed open her face.
A new drop of blood trickled down her cheek, joining the red streaks already staining her coat and the ruined collar of her uniform. The pain was growing worse every hour, but Tyria’s initial chest-bursting panic had long faded into something quieter. Something emptier.
SLAM.
Around her, the surviving zebras licked their wounds. A few had picked up some scratches in the last mad scramble to retreat to the chain winch room, but they hadn’t lost anyone else since Zab had been killed saving her life. Lem was sitting on one of the defused barrels of blackpowder, sourly picking his teeth with the tip of his knife. Zennan, the bosun, stood at the window overlooking the bay, his hoof resting on the sill as he watched the war zone below.
Captain Zevan was seated just to Tyria’s left, his back also to the column. He’d been quietly spinning his black tricorn hat on a hoof. Tyria had never noticed before how seldom she’d seen Zevan without Zab at his side, but now the first mate’s absence was an oppressive pall in the air. Zevan had not said much since the other zebra’s death.
SLAM.
Tyria’s mind felt dull and hazy. It seemed like she was managing about one thought per minute. Hours after the injury, she’d almost grown accustomed to the missing half of her world, but every time another jolt of pain struck from under the bandage she was reminded of the loss.
She suppressed a whimper as the wound flared up again. Closing her eye, she rode it out. It would fade in a minute or two. It always did.
“Ye all right, girl?” asked Zevan, softly.
Tyria wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the question. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry for pulling you into this, Captain.”
“Aye,” he said with a dry smile, “but not half as sorry as I be.” Shaking his head, he tossed the hat up and caught it on his hoof. “The first crew to sail through the Serpent’s Maw and survive in a hundred years, just to die a week later in some bloody tower. To a bunch ‘o camels. It be embarrassing.” His smile faded and he fell back into silence.
Tyria stared down at the floor. The pattern of the stone reminded her of the tiling in the kitchen back at her family home in Whitetail. She hadn’t been back there to see her family in over two years.
Morosely, she rubbed the bloodstained rank insignia on her tattered uniform. She’d been putting the visit off for so long. There’d been some half-baked idea about not returning until she’d been promoted to lieutenant. Her father would have been proud of that. It just… hadn’t happened. At some point, she’d realized it never would; but still she’d delayed…
Now, instead of a homecoming, her family would get a visit from some dour-faced corporal carrying a scroll sealed in black wax. Would her father take some comfort in the fact that she’d given her all in service of Equestria, just like he always had? Or was he simply going to be brokenhearted at the loss of his youngest daughter? Her brother would try to be strong for their mother like he always did. Her sister… Carina was stationed so far north, she might not even get the news for half a year.
The first time that any of them would meet Rye would be at her funeral. At that thought, a small sob escaped her, which she tried unsuccessfully to convert into a cough. Zevan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
She couldn’t let herself die filled with regret and bitter sadness. Silently, she began to say her goodbyes. First to her family, then to Zanaya, and all the friends she’d made in the embassy and the academy. Perhaps some psychic echo of her mental farewell would give them some peace.
The last one to let go was Rye. In the short, precious time she’d spent with him, she’d seen a window open to a future she could scarcely have imagined before that awkward meeting on the docks. That window was about to slam shut, but the things she’d gained—and lost—in the meantime were treasures more valuable than all the sugar in the Isles.
Tyria held the memories of their time together close, smiling through pain. She inhaled, and let go of everything but the warmth of that morning sun the day they’d left the hot springs. Her hopes, her plans, her wistful fantasies, all of them lifted from her shoulders and drifted away on the wind. I’m already dead. In some strange way, that felt freeing.
She opened her eye, looking up at the ceiling, and breathed out, oddly peaceful. I think I’m ready.
“Captain,” murmured the bosun from the window. “You’d better have a look at this.”
Zevan stood, donning his hat. He strode over to the window and peered out, before giving a long, low sigh. “Well, there he be at last.”
Still in a trancelike calm, Tyria slowly found her hooves and joined them. Looking out over the ocean, she saw a new line of ships on the horizon, well behind the camels. Their green flags fluttered in the moonlight.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“Well, boss,” muttered Zevan, “guess ye’ll have yer revenge after all. I should’ve taken the money and run…”
Tyria watched the ships, her mind unwillingly spinning into motion once again. Viridian’s grand scheme had been broken up and had the pieces all mixed around, but it wasn’t yet in a true shambles. The ultimate goal for the camels and the pirates had been exploitable chaos, and there was plenty of that in the harbor tonight.
She glanced down at the chain, still pulled taut across the bay entrance. The camels had dragged the mangled wreckage of their cruiser away from it some time ago. From the looks of things, they were sending small boats with troops in under the boom. Those small detachments couldn’t take the city without the ships’ deck ballistae and full crew complements, but they could soften up the defenses. Already, there were flashing blades in the docks, visible against the flickering tongues of flame rising from several harborside buildings.
Many of the Zyrans in the harbor had made it to shore, but the ones who’d sunk outside the bay were still in dire straits. The fighting on the beachhead was too far for Tyria to tell who was winning, but without leadership those Zyrans couldn’t last much longer. Once the camels in this tower finished battering down the door, the whole Dromedarian fleet would come flooding inside.
Tyria’s eye flicked back to the newly arrived ships. Viridian had a lot of them, but not enough to take on the camels directly. Yet, if she’d learned one thing in her time on that island, it was that the Nordpony was a serial opportunist, even when it was to his detriment. If she could draw the camels into the bay, open up their rear to a surprise attack, then Viridian wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d be sucked into the harbor like a honeybee to nectar, stalling the camels while the Equestrian fleet drew closer…
But it wouldn’t be enough to simply drop the chain. Tyria’s gaze was drawn over her shoulder to the barrel Lem was perched on, innocently branded OATS 72 KG. Her eyebrows furrowed in abrupt determination. “Zevan,” she said, standing back from the window, swaying a little, “do you have a flint?”
“Aye, but what—” the captain’s eyes widened. “Ohhh, no, lass. Ye can’t be serious.”
“That door isn’t going to last another fifteen minutes, Zevan.” Another SLAM embellished her point. “We cannot let the camels take the chain. Even if that means scorching the earth.”
Beside her, the bosun grunted in outrage. “We’d be scorching ourselves!”
“We’ll take that last-ditch escape plan.” Tyria swung open the column hatch, revealing the chain. “Light the fuse, then we climb down.”
Zevan frowned, swatting the air in disagreement. “We discussed this, Tyria. The noise from climbing be too great. I don’t intend to get turned into a pincushion when they hear us. I’d rather go down fighting.”
“They’re going to have something louder to pay attention to than a rustling chain,” she said, dredging up a mischievous smile.
“That column be like a chimney. The fire’ll come straight down fer us.”
“Then we’ll just have to climb quickly.” Tyria stamped a hoof, feeling the return of a little of that fire she’d lost along with her eye. “Look, Zevan, if the camels capture this tower intact, they’ll let in their own forces and lock out the Vipers. It’ll be a massacre in the city. The Zyrans’ only chance is if we get Viridian and the camels to start killing each other. Besides… this way, you might survive.” She gave him a steely eye. “Get the flint.”
“I—” Zevan sputtered. His jaw worked for a moment in frustration. “Ach, girl, ye’ll be the death ‘o me yet.” He turned to his remaining crew. “All right, boys, stack those barrels and get a fuse ready. As long as ye can make it. We only need one barrel to go off to take the rest with it.”
The zebras nodded fearfully. They scrambled to pile the barrels up against the column, while Lem began measuring out the fuses that Tyria had severed and snuffed out only a few hours before.
Tyria reached into the column and touched the chain, scraping off a few flakes of rust. Zevan approached over her shoulder, leaning past her to gaze down into the black cavity. “Can ye make the climb?”
“I won’t slow you down,” she said, rubbing her forehead as another jolt of pain lanced through her eye. “I can go in last.”
“That weren’t what I asked,” he said, his voice warm. “I don’t want ye to die, Tyria.”
“No?” she asked lightly, facing him with a crooked smile. “I seem to remember a noose in our recent past.”
“That were before I saw ye in action during the Maw,” said Zevan. “Ye be a fine shipmare, Tyria. Ye’ve got good instincts. Ye’re bold. The boys respect ye. And, well, with Zab off meeting the gods…”
“Captain,” interrupted Lem, “we’re ready.” He lifted a long cord made from all the fuses, tied together with simple knots.
Tyria nodded. “No time to waste, then. The flint, Zevan?”
With a dubious groan, he jerked his head toward Zennan. The bosun, grimacing, withdrew a flint and steel strip from his vest pocket and gave them to Tyria. Zevan circled a hoof in the air. “In ye go, boys. Careful now, if the camels hear us, this be a short escape attempt.”
As the zebras piled into the column, beginning their descent, Zevan placed a hoof on the chain and looked back. “Keep up now, girl.”
“I will. Get going.” Tyria strode over to the lengthy fuse. As Zevan disappeared into the darkness, she gripped the steel strip in her mouth and lifted the flint.
The ram slammed against the door again, and one of the hinges snapped out of the frame to send the bolts flying across the room. Tyria winced, then winced again as the motion drew a stab of pain from her eye. She looked over at the door, holding her head, and sucked in a dismayed breath. It wasn’t going to hold for as long as this fuse would take to burn.
Sighing, she undid one of the knots, leaving only about a half-meter of cord left. The odds of them making it out in time now were next to nothing. Tyria closed her eye, sinking back into that peaceful state of emptiness. I’m already dead. She struck the flint, and the fuse hissed to life.
Dropping the stone and steel, she raced over to the column, practically leaping inside. She rapidly began shimmying down the chain. Under the weight of the five of them, the chain swayed imperceptibly, but it let out a small creak with every link she descended.
She breathed heavily in the musty air. The walls were damp with condensation, brushing up against her back as she made her way down. How much time did they have before that fuse burned out? As she was already dead, the curiosity was academic, but she still felt a rush of adrenaline that left her lightheaded.
As she passed the hatch of the floor below, she heard voices on the other side. Speaking in the Dromedarian tongue, the camels sounded agitated. The dull thudding of the ram on the door reached her ears through the wood.
She had passed the hatch and was nearly to the next one when the portal swung open to let in the orange blaze of torchlight. A camel thrust his head inside, and his eyes nearly bugged out when he met Tyria’s gaze. The camel swung back, yelling.
“We’re spotted!” shouted Tyria, drawing a violent curse from Zevan below.
Footsteps thudded on the floor above as the camels raced down to catch them at the next hatch. Tyria scrambled down the chain, sweating. So, a spear would be the thing to kill her after all.
Suddenly, there was an enormous roar from above, like some primeval monster awakening. At the top of the chain, a fiery orange light blossomed in the dark, and the force of the blast flattened her ears back against her head. Tyria’s good eye opened wide, staring into the boiling mass of flame as it descended with meteoric speed.
There was a jolt beneath her hooves as the chain broke, and her stomach jumped into her throat as they abruptly went into free-fall.
Below, Zevan yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hold on!”
The chain fell, the fire racing to catch them. The metal slammed against the opposite side of the column, thousands of sparks bursting to life and flying at Tyria’s face. She ducked her head, quivering, holding onto the chain with a deathgrip. The screeching metal and the deafening roar of the explosion became her world, battering her senseless.
Suddenly the chain smashed into a curve, and Tyria was riding sideways. She had one brief moment of clarity to inhale deeply, and then the chain went flying out of the rock face into open air. It crashed into the water below, still traveling fast. Tyria was flung free, slamming into the surface with nearly enough force to knock the air from her lungs. She plunged deep into the dark sea.
The briny water seared her wounded eye. She wanted to scream, but held her breath desperately. I’m already dead, she thought insistently, but her body refused to listen, still scrabbling to grip tightly on survival for another moment. A few bubbles escaped her mouth, and floated up past her head. She followed them, seeking the surface in a daze.
After an agonizing eternity, she burst into the air with a gasp, sucking in as much air as she could. The moon above shone brilliantly, the black figure of the Mare gazing down upon her. Tyria treaded water for a moment, trying to catch her breath.
She looked down from the sky just in time to see the dark hull of a camel cruiser rocketing toward her with the force of three dozen oars behind it. Tyria instantly tucked her body in and dove, barely scraping beneath the keel as the ship whisked over her. Feeling ready to burst, she swam sideways, finding the surface once more.
With great effort, she struggled through the water back toward the cliff face that the chain had flown out of. She knew from all the hours that she’d spent painting this place that a thin strip of shoreline encircled the entire bottom of the cliff, running out along the outer edge all the way to the base of the volcano on the island’s southern side. Her only thought was to reach the sand and rest.
Behind her, the camels were wasting no time. More ships followed the first, streaming into the bay with deadly speed. The city’s only hope now was that Viridian would take the bait. If not, the Zyrans were surely doomed. Above her, the flaming ruins of the tower burned brightly in the dark like a beacon, a rising cloud of smoke becoming a twin to the green column on the volcano.
Tyria reached the shore, dragging herself out of the water onto the bare meter of sand. She collapsed on the ground, panting heavily, thought blanked out of her head by pain and exhaustion.
She could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness, and shook her head to resist. Why fight it? she wondered, sagging into the sand. I’m already dead. I’ve done all I can. It’s time to let go.
Another lightning bolt of pain struck from her eye. Moaning, she cradled her head. It would be so easy to stop here. To lie down, go to sleep, and never wake up again. Why couldn’t she just let herself rest?
I’ve forgotten how to quit, she thought, suddenly laughing hoarsely. Maybe that was what she’d burned away with the flaming brand.
With a regretful sigh, she pushed her trembling legs against the ground, forcing herself to stand. Her legs nearly failed her, but she took a few stumbling steps toward the harbor.
It was then that she realized she was surrounded by camel footprints. The sand was covered with them, dozens at the very least. Tyria exhaled, trying to think through the tired haze in her mind. Those prints were pointed toward the city, likely one of those advance landing parties acting as a vanguard for the fleet. They’d be heavily armed.
The camels were going into the city, so she would go out.
Tyria turned and staggered around the edge of the cliff, walking to the outside of the harbor. The minutes passed in unbroken misery, as she walked along the beach, not knowing when she’d stop.
At last, she spotted something ahead. Half-concealed in the reeds along the shore was the unmistakable outline of a small boat. If the moon weren’t so bright tonight, she might have missed it. Tyria stopped, taking haggard breaths. A camel landing craft. There might be bandages inside, or food. Or alcohol. I could use a drink. She smiled humorlessly.
Dragging her hooves through the sand, she approached the boat. She reached it at last, collapsing against the side, taking a moment to rest before looking inside. It was empty. Tyria sighed, already past despair. She tried to find the strength to stand again.
“Tyria, girl, be that you?” came a familiar voice.
Tyria lifted her head, breaking out into a weary smile. “Zevan?”
“Aye,” he said, emerging from the reeds with Lem and Zennan in tow. There was no sign of the other two zebras from the tower. “Glad to see ye survived the fall as well.”
She closed her eye, still smiling. “I’m happy you made it.”
“Come on, let’s get ye in the boat.” Firm zebra hooves reached under her forelegs to lift her over the hull. They set her down on the bottom, and she lay her head against the side of the hull. The rest of the zebras climbed in.
“All right, boss,” said Lem, under his breath. “The coast is clear. Let’s get going, before the camels notice us out here.”
Tyria opened her eye, frowning in confusion. “Wait…”
“Don’t worry, girl, ye’re safe now.” Zevan lifted one of the oars from the bottom of the boat and tossed it to the bosun, taking the other for himself. Lem pushed the boat into the water, before hopping inside. The oars slipped into the water, and they began pulling away from the shoreline.
With great effort, Tyria sat up and pressed an accusing hoof into Zevan’s thigh. “Where… are you going?”
“We cannae get back into the bay to board the Adder’s Bite,” said Zevan, unhappiness plain in his voice. “Too dangerous now. But there be plenty ‘o other ships out here.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Viridian’s ships.”
“Fer now,” said Zevan, with a wicked grin. “But once they learn he be planning to betray us all, how long will that last?”
“But—”
“Shh. Ye’ve taken quite the beating, girl.” Zevan gave her a reassuring pat. “Get some rest. I’ll wake ye when we reach the ship.”
Her hoof fell. She wanted to protest, but was getting harder and harder to stay awake. She pressed a hoof to her bandage with a little ah of pain.
“Now,” said Zevan, staring hungrily at the nearest of the Viper ships, “let’s see what Captain Merrick be up to…”
Tyria’s eye fluttered closed, and merciful oblivion swallowed her up.
* * *
Breyr’s small boat rocked in the turbulent waters of the bay. The torch mounted on the ship’s prow flickered in the night. Most of the camel ships were lined up on the beachfront in the distance, ballistae already priming to fire into the city to break up any Zyran formations that had managed to assemble.
One camel schooner remained behind, covering the entrance of the harbor. The Vipers’ boats were closing on it fast, coalescing together with the camel ship as their central point. Breyr’s own transport headed the mob.
He adjusted his thick cloak. The fur was stifling in the tropical air, but he would only need its concealment for another few minutes. The zebras in his boat all wore similar garments. Those in the boats around them wore nothing but the green accoutrements that marked them, unwittingly, for death.
The boats came to a halt before the schooner, and Breyr stood. The craft rocked beneath him as he took in the lone camel figure standing on the deck to greet them. He recognized the Dromedarian. It was Menes Akhanehet, the Dromedarian embassy’s spymaster, and his most frequent contact in the city besides Arcturus Milliden. No doubt the camel had snuck out of the city and boarded his nation’s ship at the earliest opportunity, to avoid the fighting. He thought he was safe out here. Breyr smiled.
From the way his spine stiffened, Menes recognized Breyr as well. “Viridian,” he called out, “You’re late.”
“That didn’t stop you from starting without me, I see,” said Breyr with icy calm. Beside him in the boat, Captain Zillian raised a questioning eyebrow. Now? Breyr shook his head imperceptibly. Not yet.
Menes looked around at the Vipers warily. Breyr’s smile thinned. What was going on in that camel’s head? The camels had planned to catch the Vipers by surprise, not the other way around. But most of the pirates weren’t supposed to know about that part of the plan. Menes had to be wondering whether Breyr was still letting his troops think the camels were their allies.
The camel’s coat shone with sweat in the torchlight as he tried to covertly determine friend from foe. “The attack is well under way, but there is still room for your forces to help.”
“Where?” asked Breyr, flashing the briefest of looks to Zillian. The zebra captain winked, and began whispering to the pirates next to him.
Menes cleared his throat. “The right side of the harbor, to the south. We’ve landed most of our troops to the left and center, where the fewest Zyran ships went down. Once we’ve secured the beachhead, we’ll begin moving on the noble district and capture the Zyran leadership.” He was beginning to relax. “If you like, Viridian, you’re free to join me on the ship and have a drink while we wait.”
“A generous offer,” said Breyr, holding out a hoof to Zillian. The zebra placed a bottle in it. “In fact, I brought some spirits of my own.”
Menes smiled cautiously. “Oh, how… fortunate. I’ll have them roll down the ladder…”
The spymaster’s eyebrows drew together in concern as Breyr lifted the bottle up to the torch mounted on his boat. Breyr felt a shiver of anticipation as the rag stuffed in the bottleneck caught the flame. He drew his foreleg back, baring his teeth in a ghastly smile. “Alas, I’m afraid I must decline. I have business in the city tonight.”
He would treasure the look on the camel’s face in nights to come. Breyr had slipped a lot of knives into a lot of backs over the years, but he would never tire of staring into their eyes as he twisted the blade.
With a grunt, he launched the flaming bottle into the air. It smashed against the hull, bursting into flame, the sticky mixture of alcohol and carmelized sugar within exploding violently across the wood.
Menes shrieked. “Attack! We’re under—”
More bottle-bombs sailed through the air as the pirates let them fly. The accelerant splashed across the sails, inflaming them in seconds. Camels rushed onto the deck, only to be greeted by another volley of fire.
Menes was the first to realize the ship was doomed. He sprang up onto the railing and dived into the water with a splash, about ten meters ahead of the boats. Breyr looked down to his right and gestured to his current second-in-command. “Our friend is trying to leave, Zillian. Time for that little trick of yours.”
“Aye, boss,” drawled the zebra captain. He flipped an axe up from his belt, grasping the curved handle in his mouth. Squinting at the water, he waited a moment.
Menes broke the surface, gasping for air, and had exactly one second to savor his escape from the ship before the throwing axe buried itself in his back.The camel cried out and slumped back down into the water. A few seconds passed before his body floated up to lie limp on the surface of the bay.
Breyr raised his head and turned to face the rest of his boats. “They thought they’d plunder the city without us!” he called over the screams of the burning camels, raising his hoof and pointing to the growing inferno. “We’ll show them what happens to those who cross the Pit Vipers.”
A chorus of hundreds roared in approval. The pirates banged their weapons on the sides of the boats, champing at the bit to taste blood. Breyr slashed the air with his hoof. “Light them up, boys! Burn every ship with a Dromedarian flag! Kill every camel you see!” He jabbed toward the camel frigates lining the shore in the distance. “This city is ours!”
“Viridian! Viridian!” chanted the pirates, whipped into a frothing frenzy. Boats began taking off across the bay, cutting around the flaming camel schooner toward the shoreline.
Breyr watched them go, sitting back down in the boat with a faint smile of satisfaction. “That should give us plenty of time,” he murmured. With a nod to the oarszebras, their boat slid into motion, flanked by the two others that were part of the next stage of his plan.
“Brave lads,” said Zillian, watching the main pirate force head toward the camels’ unprotected rear. “Not going to stand a chance against the camels, mind you.” He reached down as they passed Menes’s corpse and grasped his throwing axe, yanking it out with a squelch. Sitting back down in the boat, he began to clean it with a rag, whistling a shanty.
“They’ll do some damage,” said Breyr, unclasping his robe. He gave Zillian an evaluating eye. The zebra was a brute, and a poor replacement for Zevan, but he had his uses. “Never underestimate the power of surprise.”
He flung the cloak off into the water, revealing the Zyran Navy uniform beneath it. The rest of the zebras in the three boats followed suit. Breyr wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, relieved to be out of the stifling fur at last.
“Where to, boss?” asked Zillian.
“Sir,” said Breyr. “You’re in the military, now.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said the zebra with a sly grin. “What’s our heading?”
“The camel said they were weakest near the theater district. We’ll start on that side. Let the dupes fight each other while we rally the Zyrans. Then we’ll push in to meet our friends in the noble district. Once the coup is settled, we can focus on the camels and any leftover stragglers.”
Breyr watched the shore as it drew closer, counting the moments till his hooves hit sand and he could begin the final stretch of his long climb to the throne.
* * *
Zanaya sighed with relief as they passed under the gate and through the city wall. “Nearly there, Marquis Zahira.”
The Marquis, who had her bad leg draped over Zanaya’s back, gave a grunt. “How much further from here to the embassy?”
“We’ll follow this road for about a hundred meters, then turn left onto Jellico Avenue and—”
“Yes, I know the rest of the way from there.” Zahira winced. “Let’s hope your griffons are as accommodating as you claim, Gableclaw.”
Tatius shook his wings, drawing another shower of soot from them. He’d been doing that for an hour, but more kept falling out. “Miss Sablefeather has seen far worse injuries than a broken leg, Madame Marquis. You’ll be fine.”
Zanaya raised an eyebrow, adjusting her support for Zahira. “Sablefeather? Your secretary pulls double duty as a medic?”
“All Gryphans serve a mandatory minimum of five years in the military, Officer Zanaya. At least, they did before that demilitarization treaty. Aetia was chosen for this post precisely because of her medical expertise. The secretary position is what she does when her other skills aren’t in use.” Tatius sighed wistfully. “I spent my own five years on the frigate Tiberius. I can’t say I preferred it to diplomatic work, but it wasn’t so bad. A shame our youngest generations will never have the experience.”
Zanaya rolled her eyes, glancing to her left at Rye. Wheatie would have snapped something at the griffon for that remark, but the pony ambassador didn’t even seem to be paying attention. His eyes were locked upward on the distant burning wreckage of the chain tower. He’d had that hollow look to him since they’d left the facility, his sunken eyes holding no spark of light.
The group continued through the streets, which were largely empty by now. The citizens had either fled to areas defended by the Watch or were huddling in their homes. Some had fled into the jungle, judging from the wide open gate that had greeted them upon their return.
Zanaya was relieved to see that the camels had not made it this far into the district yet. Tyria had managed to delay them longer than she’d had any right to. Zanaya quelled another shaky breath that threatened to shake her collected exterior. She had to stay strong for her city right now. She could mourn once the battle was done.
A few minutes later, they turned the corner revealing the street that contained both the Equestrian and Gryphan embassies. The Equestrian one still bore a gaping hole on the second floor wall, blackened bricks and peeled paint recoiling from the blast scar. The Gryphan one across the street was in much better shape, though no lights shone through the windows.
They reached the door, and Tatius knocked. There was a tense, silent wait, until at last the door creaked open an inch. “Ambassador?” came the voice of Aetia Sablefeather, filled with disbelief. Zanaya’s eyes narrowed at the sound of the griffon who’d given her so much trouble during the investigation.
“Yes, Aetia,” said Tatius. “Let us in. And get your medical kit, Marquis Zahira is injured.”
“Marqu—” Aetia opened the door fully, her eyes wide. “What’s going on, Ambassador? Have you been released?”
“That’s still under consideration,” said Zahira dryly. “Get that splint, would you?”
“Right away, Madame,” said Aetia with a bow. She hurried back into the darkened embassy.
The griffon embassy guards helped the Marquis inside, letting Zanaya take a break to massage her tired shoulder. They propped Zahira up against the welcome desk and waited for Aetia to return.
“What next?” asked Zanaya. “The Equestrian fleet is sailing here to help us, but I don’t know how long that will be, or what kind of force they’re bringing. Ambassador Strudel, do you—”
She turned to look at the pegacorn, but found only the empty doorway. Jerking her head back and forth, she saw only griffons. “Rye?”
Tatius poked his head out of the door. “No sign of him. He must have slipped away before we came inside.”
What is he thinking? Zanaya had an all-too-good idea, alas. She’d put the idea of finding Tyria in his head herself, after all. Foolish, to run off through the city alone, but it was ultimately his decision. She briefly considered trying to intercept him before he reached the ruins of the tower, but shook her head with dismay. She couldn’t leave the Marquis alone with the griffons. Not while so many traitors prowled the city streets. You’re on your own, Ambassador.
Zahira’s face darkened. “Off to join his friends in the bay?”
“Madame, you can’t still possibly believe the Equestrians are behind this.”
Zahira gave a dubious shrug. “Perhaps not the attack, but I wouldn’t put a little cold opportunism past the Sun Queen’s minions. With our navy destroyed, we are the weakest we have ever been.”
“Yes, which means we’re going to have to trust our allies.” Zanaya would never have been so bold with her city’s ruler before tonight, but it was her hesitance to go directly to the top that had allowed Commissioner Zireena to put them in this mess in the first place.
“You may trust the ponies, Officer Zanaya, but I don’t.” Zahira gave her an acerbic look. “Your judgement on the matter has been compromised. Many, many nights in a row, from the sound of things.”
“I don’t deny it,” said Zanaya, with an embarrassed rub of her fetlock. “But I’m not saying this just because of Wheatie. We need some friends right now, and the Equestrians are willing to help.”
“Hrmm.” Zahira’s scowl deepened. “We have little choice in the matter for now. It’s a problem for another day. Tonight’s order of business is stopping a certain pirate lord from stealing my military.”
Aetia finally returned with the first-aid kit, popping it open and beginning to craft a splint from the wooden spars and bandages within. Zahira held out her hoof to let the griffon work.
“Viridian is a Nordpony, if Ambassador Strudel was right,” said Zanaya, rubbing her chin. “He ought to be easy to spot, if that’s the case. Just look for bright blue eyes.”
“I want him alive, if possible,” growled Zahira. “He’s got to know about every foul clump of this treasonous rot that’s infested my city. Nobles’ heads will roll on his testimony.”
Zanaya nodded. “I’ll clap him in irons for you. And Commissioner Zireena as well.”
“He’ll just lie,” said Tatius, yawning. “He has to know he’ll be executed anyway if he’s caught.”
“I… doubt that,” said Zanaya. She’d seen one or two Zyran military interrogations before. They always got their answers.
“If I may, Madame,” said Tatius, “what are your plans for me?”
“I’m not dismissing your charges,” said Zahira crossly. “You’re the reason my entire navy is lying on the seabed right now. But…” she softened, “you did save my life. Continue helping me tonight, and I’ll let the crimes be covered by your diplomatic immunity. You’ll be sent home to Grypha, alive and unharmed.” She glared at the griffon. “As long as you never come back to my island.”
Tatius gave a half-smile, but his eyes held disappointment. “I… thank you, Madame.”
Zanaya remembered what he’d said about the lethal welcome waiting for him back home if he returned a failure. Where would he go instead, she wondered?
“There,” said Aetia, stepping back. “Try standing on it.”
Zahira rose, wincing as she put her splint-supported leg to the ground, but it held steady. She gave a curt nod. “It will do. How many of the embassy staff can come with us?”
“There’s only the three of us left,” said Aetia, nodding to the two guards. “The rest of the staff fled when the attack began.”
Grunting, Zahira shrugged. “Got to start somewhere. Well, let’s get down to the harbor and save my beleaguered military.” She pushed open the door without further preamble and started off down the street, limping slightly.
Zanaya and the griffons followed her out. Scanning their surroundings, Zanaya tried to spot a yellow-robed pony, but Rye was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, giving up the hope that he’d change his mind and return to the relative safety of the embassy. Trying not to think about him, or about the reason he’d left, she set off to follow the Marquis.
* * *
A gentle nudge woke Tyria. She blinked awake, feeling a sudden rush of terror as half her sight remained blind. After a few panicked gasps, she remembered, and the fear settled down into a cold pit in her stomach.
Sitting upright, she held the bandage over her eye. It was crusty with blood and salt water, but she didn’t dare take it off. She dared not risk seeing her reflection without it in the moonlit waters.
Slowly, she realized that they’d reached a larger ship. Looking up, she could see a figure on the deck silhouetted against the moonlight.
“Who’szer?” called an unfamiliar voice.
Sitting in the seat ahead of her, Zevan cupped his hooves to his mouth and called, “Captain Zevan ‘o the Nightingale! Get Captain Merrick out here, I’ve words fer him.”
There was a pause, then: “Zevan?” The sentry’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Aye, Merrick’ll want to speak with you. Hold on a moment.”
Zevan watched the zebra on the ship disappear, fidgeting with uncharacteristic nervousness. “This be the Copperhead, Captain Merrick’s ship,” he said to Tyria, under his breath. “He and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but…”
A vermillion-coated pony appeared above them, flanked by two zebras with lanterns. He stared down at the boat with obvious interest. “Well, well, the prodigal pirate returns. To what do I owe this surprise, Zevan?”
“Viridian,” spat Zevan. “He planned to sell us out. Did he tell ye about the camels?”
“Recently. Very recently.” Merrick said something to the zebras, and they began lowering lines to hoist up the boat. “Come on up, Zevan. It seems we have some things to discuss.”
As the boat lifted into the air, Tyria watched a flickering orange light reflecting on the water at the mouth of the bay. Had the camels set the city ablaze?
She was past fearing for herself. It didn’t matter what the pirates planned to do with her—she was already dead, after all. But a nervous tension still resided in her stomach, fueled by concern for the city, and concern for Rye.
They drew level with the deck, and the pirates stepped out of the boat onto the deck of the Copperhead. Tyria followed sluggishly, her legs barely responding to her directives. Lem and Zennan greeted their fellow pirates with wide grins and a great deal of back slapping, before they all began heading off toward the lower decks.
Zevan and the pony captain remained behind. Merrick shook Zevan’s hoof, smiling. “It’s good to see you again, you old relic.”
“Only good pirates get old,” said Zevan, with a weary chuckle.
“Viridian’s been raving about you for days. It’s made the trip from Zendruga unbearable, let me tell you. What on earth made you steal his ship?”
“He sold us out,” said Zevan, suddenly seething. “All ‘o us. He be plotting to have us and the camels kill each other while he seize control ‘o the city.” Growling, he muttered, “He wants us all dead. Every last captain and all ‘o our crews.”
Merrick frowned pensively, glancing toward the city. “If you’d told me this story yesterday, Zevan, I’d have gutted you on the deck and turned your entrails over to Viridian myself. But now…” His mouth tightened with grim resignation. “He expected the camels, all right. Wasn’t even surprised to see their fleet, just pissed.”
“Aye, they started a bit early,” said Zevan, wincing and rubbing one of the shallow slashes he’d gotten in the tower.
“I signed on for a raid, even a brief occupation, but not a bloody war.” Merrick scowled.
“Yer crew, be they inside the harbor?”
“Only the fresh meat,” said Merrick, shrugging. “I’d gotten the feeling something was wrong, after you left. I held back what few experienced zebras I have left. Enough to sail the ship, at least. My old crew is inside the city already, guarding that tower.” He looked up at the flaming ruin. “Doubt they’re still alive.”
Zevan paused. “Ah… nay, probably not.” Recovering, he continued, “The rest ‘o them in there be as good as dead, anyway. If the camels don’t kill em, Viridian will. It be time fer us to make like pirates and run.”
Merrick slowly exhaled. “I think… you may be right.”
Tyria was yanked back to full wakefulness. “Wait, what? We can’t just leave.”
Merrick raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”
Ignoring him, she looked to Zevan. “Captain, the city’s still in danger. We can help, if—”
Zevan shook his head, his face filled with sympathy. “Sorry, girl. I know ye’d like to, but this be more of a fight than we can handle. Especially with that Equestrian fleet heading this way.”
“But—” Tyria whirled around, clapping her hooves to the railing. Suddenly alarmed, she scanned the harbor entrance, staring with dread at those orange flickers. “Rye’s still in there! The Marquis, Zanaya—we can’t abandon them. Look, if we can at least—at least blockade the harbor until the ponies arrive—”
Merrick scoffed. “I plan to be well away from here by then. What do we care about the city, anyway?” He rubbed his hooves together. “Well, now that the Pit Vipers are breaking up, I suppose there won’t be anyone to get upset if we head back to the island and help ourselves to some of that loot… we leave now and we can get there before the other captains catch wind.”
“Aye, that be our first stop,” said Zevan. “But this don’t mean the end ‘o the Vipers.”
Merrick raised an eyebrow. “What, and who’s going to lead the captains? You?”
Raising his chin, Zevan’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”
A silence fell. Merrick’s eyes twitched back and forth, his jaw moving from side to side. “I… admit, these last few years, working as a group… it’s been very profitable.”
“Aye. The idea weren’t a bad one, so long as the boss don’t try to murder the lot ‘o us.” Zevan lowered his head again, looking Merrick in the eyes. “Ye need an experienced corsair leadin’ this lot.”
“You are one hell of a captain, Zevan,” said Merrick, a reluctant grin creeping onto his face. “I’ll give you that.”
Zevan’s mouth creased into an equally sly smile. “And ye’re a tricky little weasel, Merrick. What be the cost ‘o yer support?”
“Twenty percent of all our hauls combined. After maintenance fees for the ships, of course.”
“Five.”
“Fifteen.”
“Seven, and I’ll give ye first pick ‘o the loot on the island.”
Merrick whistled, before sticking his tongue into his cheek and mulling it over. “Ahhh…” he shrugged reluctantly. “Very well, you’ve got yourself a deal, Commodore Zevan.”
With a triumphant clap on the pony’s shoulder, Zevan nodded. “Get the word out to the other ships. Let’s see who else be ready to leave Viridian to rot and get back to some honest pirating.”
Merrick put a hoof to his mouth and whistled. “Up on deck, boys! Let’s get those carrier pigeons out here. We’ve got some messages to send. And get the ship ready to sail, we’re pulling out soon.”
Tyria watched him go, aghast. “Zevan, no,” she whispered. “We can’t leave them.”
“Tyria,” he said, turning to her with a kindly look in his eye, “we have to go. This fight be lost. No matter who wins, they be wanting us dead. Time to cut and run.”
“But—” Tyria felt sudden, helpless tears rise up. “We’ve got a job to do, Zevan. We’re a crew.”
“Aye, we are,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice. “That’s why I want ye to come with us, Tyria. I want ye to take Zab’s place at me side.”
Tyria blinked in shock. “What?”
“Become me first mate.” Zevan’s eyes were filled with eager hope. “Ye be the best sailor I’ve seen in years. With a little more experience and me training, ye could have yer own ship and command in a year or two.”
“I can’t… believe…” Tyria shook her head, mouth gaping. “You’re serious.”
“Aye.” Zevan strode over to the railing, nearly bouncing with energy. He raised his hooves, opening his forelegs wide to the ocean beyond. “All ‘o this, girl, it can be ours. The wind in yer mane, the thrill ‘o the hunt, the joy ‘o being free, it’s yers fer the taking.”
Tyria slowly turned, staring out across the moonlit horizon, her mind disconnected from her aching body. “Free…”
“Aye, no more military bollocks. Ye’re a kindred spirit, girl; ye hate being stuck following all those rules, I know it.”
She did hate the military. Not because of the restrictions, but because every day she woke up and put on that uniform, it was another reminder that her life had been chosen for her. Every failure that brought shame to her family name, every mediocrity that sank her chances of advancement, every dressing-down destroying what crumbling pieces remained of her self-respect…
If she wanted, here was her chance to leave it all behind. She could escape from Captain Petalbloom and Ambassador Milliden, from all those miserable days of playing babysitter, from her father’s endless expectations, from all the inward-aiming hatred and the shame and the sadness…
And she could do it. She knew she could. Zevan was right, she was a damn fine sailor, despite her pitiful academy records. Her father had made sure she’d be ready for the Navy; against her wishes, as always, but now she could use it for herself, for something she decided to do.
But she’d have to leave Rye and all the rest of them to die.
The tears spilled freely from her good eye, and the bandage grew damp. “I can’t…”
“Sure ye can,” he said, with a tender smile. He placed a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “It’ll be good, ye’ll see. We can get that eye looked at first thing next time we make port.”
“I can’t leave them all,” she said, her shoulders shaking. Crying, she trembled, and sank to the deck. “Please, don’t ask me to leave them.”
“There’s nothing left to leave,” said Zevan, crouching beside her. “Tyria, if yer mate had found Zahira, this battle would ‘o ended hours ago. He’s gone, lass.”
“No…” Tyria’s chest heaved. She couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer, curling down on herself and clutching her hooves across her chest.
Zevan slowly lifted her left hoof with one of his own. “No one will blame ye fer saving yer own life, Tyria. No need to throw it away, even fer love.”
“I can’t…” Tears dripped to the deck. “I can’t…”
“Yes, ye can.” Zevan offered her a hoof. “Come with me, Tyria. Be something better. Do great things with me.”
Great things. Tyria shook her head weakly, wracked with more sobs, trying to regain control.
“I’ll help ye,” he said, gently pulling her with him as he stood. She rose, the shudders subsiding, though the tears still flowed down her cheek. “Come on, girl, small steps.”
She staggered forward, leaning on him, still crying. Zevan murmured comfortingly to her. “That’s it. Let’s get ye down in the hold to rest.”
Tyria took a step toward the stairs, then another. She was already dead. Rye, Zanaya, they were already dead. Her old life, left behind, her spirit rising free like a phoenix to find a new existence. It was waiting for her, waiting in Zevan’s hooves for her to seize.
I can choose my own path, she thought, inhaling sharply, whatever it may be. Not what my father wants. Not even what Zevan wants. Not what anyone but me wants.
What had Rye wanted?
“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Even if it means leaving me behind.”
Her hooves froze to the deck. Her nostrils flared. Her lungs filled with air.
I’m not dead yet.
Bursting into a scream, she braced her forelegs against Zevan, and swerved backward. The zebra flew backwards, slamming into the rail with Tyria on top of him, pressing him back against the wood. “NO!” she shouted into his face, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth.
Zevan’s eyes bulged. “Tyria, girl—”
“Shut up!” Tyria shoved him against the railing, rattling his head. “We are not leaving this island, do you understand? We are not. Leaving. Them. To die.”
Zevan pressed a hoof between them, but she didn’t budge. “Tyria, don’t get yerself killed just because yer mate—”
“This isn’t about love!” Tyria’s whole body filled with fire. “This is about who I am, Zevan, and I am not going to abandon this city.”
“Tyria—”
With an enraged roar, she pulled back a hoof and flung it at his face. Zevan’s eyes instantly sharpened, and he shrugged easily out of her grip to catch the hoof in his own. He twisted under her, using her own momentum to flip her over the railing to crash into the lifted boat.
Zevan stood, breathing hard. “It be a fool’s hope to think ye can save them, Tyria.”
“Then I’m a fool,” she said, staggering upright. She collapsed back against the side of the boat, too tired to stand. “But I’m going to try, Zevan. You can come with me or not, but you can’t stop me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled sadly. “Aye. I suppose not.”
Zevan smashed his hoof into the pin that held the boat winch taut. It clattered to the deck, and suddenly Tyria was falling. The boat smacked into the water with a loud splash, knocking Tyria down again.
“It be time for the Pit Vipers to head fer different climes,” shouted Zevan from above. “I hear Antellucía be lovely this time ‘o year.” He smiled wryly down at her. “If ye survive, come find us there. Me offer still stands.”
She wanted to be angry with him, but her mouth quivered into an unwilling smile. He was simply being true to himself, just as she was. So instead of cursing at him, or begging for his help, she said, “Thank you, Zevan.”
“Here,” he called, tossing something down. It landed in the boat with a soft thud. Tyria bent to pick it up, and lifted a black tricorn with a strip of green cloth.
She tilted her head up at him, laughing. Zevan grinned. “Maybe me lucky hat’ll help ye.” He looked off toward the bay. “I hope ye be right about yer mate, lass. I truly do.”
“Goodbye, Captain,” she said, holding the hat.
“It be Commodore, now,” said Zevan, with an ironic salute. “Goodbye, Tyria.”
And with that, he was gone. Zevan turned back and vanished over the deck. The ship’s sails were unfurling already, as the pirates prepared to leave.
Tyria sat in the boat and began fitting the oars to their slots. As the Copperhead pulled away, setting its course into the night, Tyria lifted the hat. Wearing a crooked, melancholy smile, she placed it on her head. With her aching hooves on the oars, she bent her back and began to row.